‘All of us,’ I say. ‘That’s me, Heidi Lewis. My husband, Alex Lewis. Ciara, and Stella Brown, Ciara’s partner.’

‘My aunt, Kathleen Douglas, was here, too,’ Ciara says. ‘My father’s sister.’

‘And where is she now?’ DC King asks.

‘Staying with a friend. She was very distressed. Dr Sweeney gave her some tablets to help her sleep.’

The policewoman nods. ‘And it was you, Mr Lewis, who discovered that Mr McKee had died?’

Alex nods. ‘I went to check on him just after eleven and I noticed he didn’t appear to be breathing. I checked his pulse, but he was gone.’

‘And who was the last person to talk to Mr McKee?’

I shrug. It’s hard to know. We’d all been making our way up and down the stairs over the course of the evening to take care of him. Or to take care of Lily. Or to use the bathroom. It was all muddled.

‘I’m not sure,’ I say and DC King looks to Ciara, who shrugs, too. ‘We were all in and out with him during the evening.’

‘Okay,’ Detective Constable King says before taking contact details for us all.

There seems to be an awful lot of red tape in this ‘just a formality’ business.

‘What happens now?’ Ciara asks.

‘Well, your father’s remains will be taken to Belfast, where the postmortem will be carried out. There are no facilities for this to take place closer to home, unfortunately. We should have preliminary results fairly quickly and we will keep you informed.’

‘Will his remains be released afterwards? Might it still be today?’ I ask.

‘That depends on the results of the postmortem,’ DI Bradley interjects. ‘But we will keep you …’

‘Informed,’ Ciara butts in.

‘If you could, Officer, that would be appreciated,’ Stella says, the lilt of her Glasgow accent softening the tension.

‘We are very sorry for your loss,’ DI Bradley says as he stands. ‘By all accounts Mr McKee was a well-liked man.’

Ciara nods. All fight seemingly gone. I don’t. I don’t react at all. I don’t stand up or follow the officers to the door to let them out. I think I’m afraid my legs will give out from under me if I even try to stand.

Chapter Twenty-Six

Heidi

Now

I’m afraid to speak, afraid to ask questions. I watch the door as if someone will walk in with answers. I watch my phone. I do my best to stay out of Ciara’s way, but I hear the rumblings of a heated conversation between her and Stella behind the closed door of the kitchen. I look out into the street, to where the light is already fading, and I wonder if people are peeking out from behind their own curtains to see what is going on here. Surely they must be wondering why his remains haven’t been returned yet, why the official period of mourning has yet to start. Did they notice the unmarked police car earlier?

I try not to think about the ‘unexplained marks’ that DI Bradley spoke about. Try not to think about how police are looking at all lines of inquiry or however he worded it. I definitely try, unsuccessfully, not to think about ‘foul play’ that may or may not be suspected or what that might mean. Except that someone else may have been so angry with Joe that they may have done the one thing I have spent my whole life wanting to be brave enough to do.