Margaret looked down at her lap. She tugged on a fingernail. “No.”
“Right. What did you do, when he went to his study?”
Margaret’s gaze shot up to meet Zoe’s. “What do you mean?”
Zoe frowned. “Did you go to bed, or did you stay in the kitchen? Did you have a Scotch too?”
Margaret shook her head, looking horrified at the thought. “Oh no. No. I went outside. To shut the gate.”
“The gate? What gate?”
“The back gate. It was banging. I had to lock it.”
“Mrs Jackson. I’m so sorry for your loss.”
Zoe looked up to see David Randle breezing into the room, arm extended toward Margaret.
“David.” Margaret turned and raised her hand to shake his but instead of taking it, he put his hand on her shoulder.
“How are you, Margaret?” he asked, his eyes crinkling. He was out of breath. How long since they’d managed to wake him?
Zoe looked at her watch, realising it was getting light. 4:45 am. Jackson had been dead over five hours.
“Thank you, DI Finch, I’ll be taking over from here.” David cast her a patronising smile.
“I was just in the middle of—”
“So I heard. Thank you for getting started for us. DCI Clarke will debrief you. She’s on her way.”
“Mo’s in the study, he’s—”
“I know. Lesley will debrief him too. You can get back to your son now.”
Zoe narrowed her eyes. Since when did David Randle trouble himself to know about her family situation?
“I’d rather stay, if that’s alright. Nicholas is seventeen, he can cope without me.”
Randle approached her, leaning in so Mrs Jackson wouldn’t hear.
“You’ve been very helpful, Zoe, but leave it to the big boys, eh? Report to the station at 8am and you’ll be assigned a role.”
“Sir—”
He raised a hand. “Do as you’re told, Acting Inspector. I’ll see you in the morning.”
Chapter Ten
Zoe and Mo sat in her car, gazing at the growing number of vehicles between them and the house. David’s Audi, Adi’s Skoda and two squad cars. Another pulled up, the pathologist.
“That’s harsh,” said Mo. “Kicking you out like that.”
She shrugged. “They were never going to let me take charge. It’s the ACC. They’ll want someone senior as SIO.”
“You reckon it’ll be Randle?”
“Probably.”
She yawned and dragged her hands down the back of her neck. It was gone five am and she felt heavy.
“They’ll involve you, boss, after the Canary case. They won’t waste that.”
“About that.”
“What? Canary?”
“No. You, calling me boss.”
“Well, you are.”
“It feels wrong. Makes my teeth stand on end.”
He chuckled. “Sorry.”
“We were always Mo and Zo. Ever since training. We’re still Mo and Zo.”
“You’re my senior officer now.”
“You’re OK with me being a DI?”
“Why wouldn’t I be?”
“You’ve always been ahead of me. CID first, Sergeant first.”
“It’s fine. It’s not a problem.” His voice was clipped.
“I need you to tell me if there’s an issue here.”
He turned to her. “It’s fine. Like I say. You’re my boss now. Rather have you than Dawson.”
DI Frank Dawson had been boss to both of them. Would be again, once he came back from secondment.
“I want to make it permanent,” Zoe said.
“Don’t blame you.”
“Still, I need to know we’re good.”
Mo stared ahead at the darkened street. “We’re fine.”
“Good.” She decided to take him at his word. “Mo and Zo. Don’t go all funny on me, OK?”
“I won’t.”
“Promise?”
“Promise.”
“Promise, Zo.”
“Promise, Zo,” he said. “Even in front of the team?”
“Even then.”
“You want Rhodri calling you Zo as well?”
“He won’t.”
“I wouldn’t bet on it.”
“I’ll make sure of it.” She yawned again.
“How was she?” Mo asked. “Mrs Jackson.”
“Sort of sunken. She seemed… downtrodden.”
“Grief hits people differently. “
“She seemed off to me,” Zoe said.
“Off?’
“Scared. She kept jabbing at her fingernails. Her voice kept cracking.”
“Like I said, grief.”
“She was scared at the party, too.”
“How so?”
“I didn’t get much chance to look at her, but it came off her like radiation. She was terrified of him.”
“Enough to kill him?”
“I don’t know. I hope not, for her sake.”
“Maybe she’d be better off.”
“Mo. That’s the Assistant Chief Constable you’re talking about.”
He lowered his voice. “Two weeks off retirement. And I know what he thought of people like me.”
Zoe looked into his eyes, as tired as hers. He’d have his young daughters to deal with when he got home, just waking up.
She thought of Nicholas drifting up to his room, phone in hand. When he woke, she wouldn’t be there. He was getting used to that. She didn’t like it.
She sighed. “You might as well get home. Catriona will be wondering where you are.”
“Catriona understands.”
“Yeah. Anyway, you get off. Get some sleep.”
“You too.”
“Sure.”
He opened the door and walked to his own Ford Focus. He waved as he passed her and drove away.
Zoe waited till he was out of sight then stretched a few times and left the car. She stood looking towards the house for a moment. The street was calm right now, not even a twitching curtain. No doubt the neighbours had already noticed the invasion of their secluded street. This place was so quiet, you could drop a saucepan on your foot and someone would call 999.
She glanced from side to side, checking for movement in windows. The houses were set back from the road and obscured by trees. None of them were in the same architectural style as their neighbours. She wondered if there was a view into the Jacksons’ house from any of the others. Probably not.
At the end of the driveway she surveyed the gravel. A wide groove marked the route Jackson’s car had taken when they’d returned from the Botanical Gardens. Parallel to it was a narrow but deepening gulley the paramedics had first trodden and which she’d followed. But apart from that, the gravel was smooth as a Japanese shrine. The Corsa sat to one side, the gravel around it untouched.
She wanted to steal round the side and investigate that gate. Beyond the gravel, up against the house, was a flowerbed, edged with narrow slabs. Someone could walk on those and get around without leaving footprints. But Zoe was wearing Doc Martens. The killer had to be light footed. He had to know the ways in and out. And she couldn’t see a way across the gravel, to reach the slabs.