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They shook their heads.

Sheldon put the cup on the floor and put his head back against the chair, as the sound of the blood rushing through his head overwhelmed him. He thought he could hear someone talking, getting closer, but he ignored it. Someone’s hand was on his but he didn’t look up. He saw Billy’s smirk, and Alice’s body. He remembered when his wife left him, her clothes packed into bin liners, her screams that she couldn’t compete with Alice Kenyon anymore. So it had come to this, his life defined by what he couldn’t solve, not what he could.

The hand around his became tighter. He could hear voices shouting at him. ‘Inspector. Inspector.’

He opened his eyes slowly and the room blurred into view. Then he saw that it was Tracey Peters, her hand shaking his.

‘Sir, are you all right?’

He looked at her, and then at Mr and Mrs Taylor, their eyes filled with concern, and he nodded.

As he stood to go, following Tracey, he glanced over to Billy’s house, visible over the hedges and rhododendron bushes. He thought it looked dark, a cloud in front of the sun casting the house in shadow, while everywhere else was bathed in sunshine.

Sheldon turned away.

Charlie faltered as he got near to the court building, the three files Linda had given him earlier tucked under his arm. First hearings. A guilty plea and two not guilty. One long, two quick. He could do this.

But he wasn’t sure that he could, because the blood-covered knife dominated his thoughts. He had to try though, because he had to appear normal. If he had hurt someone with the knife, appearing different could count against him if the police started asking questions. Same old Charlie, that’s what he had to be.

Donia was waiting for him, standing just to the side of the main doors, looking smart in a navy skirt and jacket. She waved as she saw him.

Charlie took a deep breath and smiled as he got closer.

‘I hope you don’t mind, but I knew you were coming here,’ she said.

‘I tripped,’ he said, knowing that she was looking at the graze on his cheek but not wanting to discuss it. He looked around for police officers, and felt a jolt when he saw a dark uniform on the other side of the courthouse door. He went closer, needing to reassure himself, and as he got closer he breathed more easily. It was an officer in uniform, but he was in his parade dress, best tunic and shiny buttons, so he must be giving evidence.

Charlie hustled his way through the crowd huddled around the door. It was the daily gathering, and the usual smells assaulted his nostrils, of cigarettes and sweat, unwashed clothes smelling like sour milk. There were grunted greetings, and one or two scowls from those people whose days in court hadn’t gone so well in the past.

Charlie nodded at the people he recognised, but he wasn’t in the mood for conversation. He was at court because it was what he did. He could have asked Amelia to do it, feigned illness, but it was all about appearing normal, just another day. Except that he needed his anxiety to keep him alert, because whenever he was able to convince himself that he’d done nothing wrong, the fear was replaced by fatigue. The fog of a hangover felt heavy and waves of nausea swept over him from time to time. He hadn’t eaten anything, apart from the steady supply of mints intended to keep the boozy smell away.

Donia fell in behind him as he went inside, elbowing his way through the crowded waiting room and towards the door to one of the courtrooms. He could see the respectful calm of the court on the other side, visible through a glass porthole. He practised his smile, so that it looked natural, not forced, but when his eyes focused on what was in the courtroom, he backed away.

It was the usual scene. Two rows of wooden benches, like church pews, facing towards the high bench occupied by the Magistrates, the backdrop a high velvet curtain, the royal coat of arms hanging in front of it, the lion and the unicorn. The prosecutor was ready in his seat, the white file covers piled up on the desk in front of him, but it was the person he was talking to that made Charlie back away.

It was one of the local detectives. He was standing over the prosecutor, talking. It wasn’t unusual for the police to attend the court hearings. Sometimes they had updates to pass on, and sometimes they just wanted to see the prosecutor put up a fight. This might be different though. They might be waiting for him.

‘Are you Charlie Barker?’

He started. When he looked round, there was a man in his early twenties, scowling, holding some papers in his hand.

‘I’m sorry,’ Charlie mumbled, backing away. ‘I just need some fresh air.’

Charlie bolted outside, banging through the entrance door, and made it to the street before he threw up. It was booze and nerves and tiredness, but that didn’t make him feel any better as he heaved to the cheers of the crowd behind him.

Once he had finished, he propped his head on his arm and leant against the wall. His forehead was clammy, and for as long as he didn’t look up, he could pretend that no one had seen him. There was a hand on his shoulder. He looked round, bleary-eyed. It was Donia.

‘Are you all right?’ she said.

Charlie nodded. ‘Just a bug, I’m sorry.’

His phone buzzed in his pocket. He fumbled for it and checked the screen. It was the office.

‘Linda?’ he said.

‘Have you seen Amelia?’ Linda said. ‘She hasn’t come in and she’s got an appointment.’ Her voice turned into a whisper as she said, ‘He’s sitting opposite me and he’s stinking the place out.’

Charlie took some deep breaths. He didn’t need this. Linda kept a can of air freshener under her desk for clients like that. ‘Have you called her?’

‘Yes, landline and mobile. And one of her friends called. She didn’t make their dinner date last night.’

He wiped his mouth with a handkerchief. ‘Okay, I’ll go round when I’ve finished here.’

‘And what do I tell her client?’

‘Just tell him to come back another time,’ he said, and then hung up.

Charlie leant back against the wall and enjoyed the feel of the cold brick against his head. Cold sweat prickled his forehead again, before he felt another surge in his guts, and there were more cheers as he retched once more against the brick wall of the courthouse.

Chapter Twenty-Two

John squinted as the bright morning sunshine streamed in.

The night had become raucous, with too much home brew, too much cannabis. Laughter, drinking, some people naked, as if it was the best party they had ever been to, Henry moving from person to person, asking for promises of loyalty. They had all given it, even Dawn.

He collapsed back onto the bed, sucking in air to calm the nauseous roll of his stomach. Gemma’s body was warm next to him. She mumbled and moved, her arm going over his chest as she shuffled closer, her head against his body. He smiled and ran one hand over her hair and then along her back, her skin soft, just the sharp ridges of her spine disrupting the smooth feel of her body. His mind went back to the night before, but it came back to him in flashes. Gemma on him, passionate, her shouts of pleasure, uninhibited and joyful. And there were other people with them, their hands on him, on Gemma.

He closed his eyes. It had got too wild. Gemma didn’t move as he climbed out of bed. He got to his feet, groaning, and then stumbled his way to the bathroom. He sat on the toilet for a while, wondering what lay ahead for the rest of the day. Henry had said that things were happening now, that the day ahead would be important.

There were footsteps on the landing. John coughed to let whoever who it was know that he was in there. There was no door on the bathroom. Henry didn’t like doors. Whoever was on the landing was walking softly, sounding like they were barefoot.

He froze when he heard a voice say, ‘John?’ It was Henry.

John flushed the toilet and scrambled to his feet, before stumbling onto the landing.

‘Morning Henry,’ he said, trying hard for normality. ‘The home brew came back and bit me.’

Henry grinned. ‘It can rot you from the inside if you don’t keep an eye on it.’

‘Were you looking for me?’

‘I was. Come with me, for a walk. You look like you need some fresh air,’ and he headed down the stairs and out of the main door, the one that opened onto the field, the Seven Sisters in view.

John ran to get some clothes. He paused to gaze down at Gemma, and he felt a moment of longing, a need to be with her again, but he looked away. Henry was waiting for him.

When John joined him outside, Henry was sitting on the stone slab of the Seven Sisters.

‘What do you think when you look at the stones?’ Henry said.