Tom shrugged. ‘Dunno if there is one. The first crash, Patrick Sullivan, that was most probably an accident. James Conway – could be an accident too, with the gas fire.’

Alison looked at him sceptically. Coincidences like that didn’t really happen.

‘There was a lot dodgy about that crash,’ she said. ‘And why was Matthews’ name in Conway’s flat – how do you explain that?’

‘Well, how about this? He’s a blackmailer, Conway. Drives the first fella – Sullivan – to top himself, steering into that tree. The hospital are being well cagey, but looks like Sullivan was nicking money from them. They have some kind of internal investigation going on. Then Conway, he moves on to Thomas – he has the wife’s details so he can go to her with whatever it is he knows.’ So far they had found nothing to suggest Conway and Thomas had known each other, and nothing untoward about Nick Thomas, an apparently blameless member of the public, but experience had taught Alison there would be something blackmailable. There always was. Everyone had at least one secret they’d kill for, if they were the right kind of person. Thankfully, most people weren’t.

She sighed. ‘You’re saying Thomas kills Conway to stop the blackmail. Then who kills him?’

Tom shrugged again. ‘That I dunno. Genuine hit and run? Some accomplice? How would we ever find out?’

That was the problem. They were so stretched at the moment, with all the cuts, that it would be hard to make a case for digging deeper into it. Fisher was keen to have it all wrapped up. Three apparent accidents, where at least two of the victims had known each other? Was it that rare thing, a real coincidence? Alison sighed again, eyeing the emails ticking into her inbox like the dripping of a water clock.

‘Suppose you’re right. Let’s kick it upstairs, see what they say.’

Tom stretched. ‘Who’s doing the death ID, me or you?’

Alison couldn’t face the thought of it, taking Suzi Matthews in to look at her husband’s dead, frozen body.

She pleaded with him. ‘Ah please, mate. I can’t. It’s been such a freezing, awful day.’

‘No worries. I’ll sort it. Doubt she’ll be too upset anyway, if he left her.’

‘I owe you one,’ she said gratefully.

‘One pint?’

‘If you like.’

‘After work, The Feathers?’ Suddenly, he wasn’t meeting her eyes, fiddling with a thumb tack on her wall. They’d had drinks together dozens of times. This was no different. But all the same, Alison suddenly found it hard to meet his eyes too.

‘No Tinder date tonight then?’

Tom cleared his throat. ‘Nah. Thinking I might knock all that on the head. You in?’

‘Alright then,’ she said casually, letting him walk away before she allowed herself to smile.

Eleanor

Eleanor

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