Liam pulled her hand back.

“But you still seem angry—” he started.

“Of course I’m angry. I shot him. I shot a man I cared about . . . for you.” She jabbed him in the chest. When the lift doors opened, they entered. He pressed the button for the ground floor.

“He died in my arms,” she continued, “and you never apologized, did you know that? Are you even sorry for putting me on the case, a case I was in no way prepared for? Are you sorry for risking my life and the lives of your officers?”

He opened his mouth to speak but she stopped him. “It’s too late now, Liam.”

“I know I can’t say anything to make you forgive me, but can we at least be able to have a civilized conversation?”

She leaned her head against the lift wall.

“We were talking about you in the office earlier.” He lifted his hand in front of her face to stop her from speaking. “But before you jump to conclusions, let me explain.”

He pulled a small slip of paper from his pocket and handed it to her.

“What is it?”

“It’s an address. I want you to meet me there first thing tomorrow morning. Nine. On the dot.”

Her shoulders sank. “I thought you said you would explain. What is it about? And you say we don’t have civilized conversations? You never tell me what’s going on.”

“I’ll explain in the morning.”

She sighed. “Do I have a choice? Did my boss approve this?”

“Yes, you’re required to go.” The lift doors opened and he walked out. “Nine, Evans. On the dot.”

Chapter Three

Theo Blackwell stood in aisle sixteen at Tesco, running his eyes up and down the rows of greeting cards. He knew the supermarket wasn’t the ideal place to find an anniversary card for his wife, but he was pressed for time and not many other places were open at eight in the morning. When he reached the section he was looking for, he pulled three different cards from the rack. They all pictured happy couples, kissing couples, and messages that didn’t apply to his situation. One had six different pictures of a couple from the moment they started dating to an older couple holding hands walking through the park. That wasn’t his life.

Where was the one that said, I know you don’t remember who I am and don’t love me anymore, but when I look at you, I remember. I remember how happy we were together and I know I still love you. Where was that card?

For their six year anniversary, his wife had been unconscious and hanging on for dear-life after getting in a car accident. He had got her a card and laid it by her side in the hospital but in the end, it went in the box with all the other cards she had received. She never read it. For their seventh, he bought her a card but ended up stuffing it in his sock drawer. Though she was making a fine physical recovery, she still couldn’t remember anything about her past and they were as good as strangers.

He actually considered not getting her a card this year. Although they were talking now, and she had begun to display the same sweet personality she had when he fell in love, he just wasn’t sure she would appreciate the gesture.

He took all three and stuffed them behind a random card.

His mobile rang and he reached for it on his belt. It was his boss, Detective Chief Superintendent Deveau. “Good morning, sir.”

“You sound chipper this morning, Blackwell.”

“Thank you, sir.” He wasn’t chipper but he didn’t feel like correcting his boss so he let the matter drop. “I’m optimistic your call will take me from the last few days of doldrums to an exciting new case?”

“You solve one really high-profile case and now you’re never satisfied. Yes, you will be happy to know that a man died for your enjoyment this morning.”

“Wonderful,” he said ignoring his boss’s sarcasm and pulled a Biro from his coat pocket. It was true, a lot had changed since he solved his first homicide. And really, he had Sophia Evans to thank for it, even though she wanted no recognition.

He hadn’t seen Sophia since the week after they arrested the man they were after, and although he knew where she lived and had her mobile number, he made no attempts to contact her. And to his knowledge, she hadn’t made any attempts either.

One day she was in his life, the next, she disappeared. And he had to respect her wishes.

“Would you like the address?” his boss asked, interrupting his thoughts.

When Theo couldn’t find a piece of paper, he walked an aisle over and picked up a small notebook. “Can you repeat that, sir?”

As he began to write down some instructions, an extra loud announcement blared over the speaker above his head. He heard nothing.

“Where are you, Blackwell, the Underground?”

“Actually, at a Tesco. Sorry, come again, what was the address?”

“You’re shopping at eight in the morning? Doesn’t your mother do that for you?”

“Looking for something, is all. I’ll be at the scene ASAP. Have they got the scene under control?”

“Everyone has been dispatched. You’ll find this case interesting.”

“Why?”

“You’ll see.”

Chapter Four

On the path leading from a small house on Connell Road in Ealing, Queen of the Suburbs, laid a man in his bathrobe. The victim had his eyes opened and might have been mistaken for cloud watching if it wasn’t for the pool of blood beneath him. A gray steel walking frame and a neatly folded newspaper were at his feet. No, foot. The man only had one leg.

The brick house that belonged to the deceased was two-story with large windows. It had a small yard out front. The lawn and hedges neatly trimmed. The white wooden fence, recently painted.

Theo looked up and down the street. The crime scene was loud and hectic. A crowd had gathered behind the crime scene tape. Only a handful of uniform officers were there to keep control. Amateur photographers pushed the tape boundaries hoping to snap the best shot.

Children ran to the first floor of their neighbor’s homes where they could get a view of the dead body, while mothers were doing all they could to keep their children away from the tape. A group of older men were huddled together debating whether this was the first of many attacks to come on the old men in the neighborhood and what was the world coming to. Old women were huddled debating who had seen the most from their planter-covered windows and discussing the theories they had in which to enlighten the police.

“Are you the SIO?”

Theo turned around to face a short, pudgy uniformed officer whose blond hair was cropped short. “I am.”

He took out his warrant card and displayed his credentials. The young officer just stood there.

“And who are you?” asked Theo.

“I’m PC Barry Borders. I was the first to arrive on scene, but I didn’t touch the body, and I made sure no one else touched the body. To make sure there were no other victims, I entered the house, but I didn’t touch anything there either—except the door handle, I had to touch the door handle, but I used gloves. No one was inside. The deceased is Maddock Tipring, sixty-two. I don’t really know how he died. Perhaps he had a heart attack while fetching the newspaper. But, I didn’t touch the body.”

“That’s perfect, Borders. Good job.”

Just then, a small child of around eight years brushed past Theo’s leg. With a swift grab of the school bag attached to the boy’s shoulders, Theo yanked him back.

“Sorry, sir,” said another officer who was running after the boy.

Bending down to meet the boy at eye level, Theo asked, “Where is your mum, lad?”

The wide-eyed boy pointed in the direction of a woman intently capturing the scene on her mobile phone camera. Theo dragged the boy to his mother and confiscated the phone out of her hand. “Are you the crime scene photographer?”