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Wednesday morning

“The thing is,” Tom said, “it’s a once in a lifetime opportunity.”

That didn’t make Charlie feel any better. Over a blessedly quiet breakfast, after the best night’s sleep, Tom told Charlie about Orianna’s call.

“It’s a year in London for Ann and Ori. And a year in this house for Amelie and Ziggy.” Charlie said flatly.

Tom nodded.

“A whole year of ear-splitting Taylor Swift, bathroom hogging and never having any bread.”

“And the arguments. Don’t forget the arguments.” Tom added.

“You want to do it.” Charlie knew there was no choice, not really. The poet-in-residence job Orianna had been offered was simply too good to turn down. There was even a tiny flat to go with it. Ann was an experienced PA and would easily get work in London. But the girls were coming up to their first set of important exams, exams they had been preparing for throughout the last year. If they couldn’t stay with Tom and Charlie, Orianna wouldn’t be able to take the job.

“Honestly? No. I don’t want to do it. I was only ever supposed to be a babysitter, but things change,” Tom said. “If it was just me, I’d put up with the noise and the mess and the rows, because, well, they are my kids, and Ori and Ann are my friends. Only it isn’t just me any more. This affects you, too. If you say no, I’ll support your decision. If you say yes, then we will agree some rules.”

Which made it impossible for Charlie to say no. “Tell Orianna to take the job,” he said. The way Tom’s face lit up, made his agreement – almost – worthwhile. “Before you do, could you take me to work?” Even with extra painkillers, his leg still hurt. They could discuss the rules later.

Charlie pushed the thought of a whole year living with Amelie and Ziggy to the back of his mind. He was almost grateful that he had a murder — two murders — to deal with.

When Charlie arrived at the police station clutching his crutches, Will and Eddy were both already in the break room with laptops, and Mags walked in looking exhausted two minutes later.

“Baby kept us awake,” she said.

Once the coffee was made, Will disappeared, returning with a large parcel. He unwrapped it to reveal a flip chart stand, and a pad of paper to hang on it. He grinned. “For when there just isn’t enough room on the whiteboard,” he said. Then he stood next to the pad, produced a set of coloured markers and started to write a list of names:

*Josh Pettifor (with aliases) three sites

*Corrine Bailey (with aliases) six sites, plus moderates: Is This Your Boyfriend?

*Jackie Price three sites

*Megan Mills one site

*Huw Jones (alias) one site

Jeff Britton one site

Dylan Gayle one site

*Josh Unwin

*Patsy Hargreaves

*Lola Unwin (U’s sister)

*Gerald Unwin (U’s father)

*Tansy Unwin (U’s mother)

Josh Lineham

Josh Thomas

Ella Williams (Josh P’s ex)

Alex Unwin (U’s brother)

The other three studied the list. “So, the stars are for people who live in or close to Llanfair, sites are internet dating sites. Is This Your Boyfriend? is an online group for women to share the details of men they suspect are cheating on them.” Will explained.

Mags looked puzzled. “I’ve heard of Is This Your Boyfriend? but I can’t believe there’s a lot of call for it here. I mean, everyone already knows everyone else and who’s going out with who. Or should that be whom? And is that Corrine Bailey who works for Huw Jones, the estate agent?”

Charlie said it was that Corrine Bailey, then looked at Will to answer the rest.

“There’s a lot of traffic on Is This Your Bofriend? ” Will said. “No sign of anyone we know, but plenty of women putting up pictures and requests for information. There are also warnings about serial cheaters, or men alleged to be violent or abusive. I didn’t have much time to read the individual posts, but there are some nasty stories in the ones I did read. I’m wondering if Corrine Bailey spends a fair bit of time tracking blokes through dating sites. I’ve got a bit of software that looks at writing styles, and I’m getting a lot of hits on Corrine on all the dating sites. It means that even when she uses a different name, or profile, I can be reasonably sure it's her.”

“I guess everyone needs a hobby,” Eddy said.

Charlie remembered Ravensbourne saying she had been to a domestic violence case involving internet dating. He should have asked for details. He also made a mental note to ask Will for more information about exactly where he could get this writing style software. “Any other connections?” he asked.

Will shrugged and took a different coloured pen and put circles around Corrine Bailey, Jackie Price, Megan Mills and Huw Jones. “People who work in the estate agent’s,” he said. “I’m just looking for connections.”

“What about the Mo’s Autoparts people?” Charlie wanted to know. “Surely someone there has a connection to the victims?”

Will made a note. “I’ll check,” he said, “and I’ll check if any of the others has a connection with the firm. I’ll do the same with the Hassans. All I was looking for was membership of dating websites.”

“I suppose we shouldn’t ask how you found out who was on which site?” Mags said drily.

“No, you almost certainly shouldn’t,” Charlie said as Will blushed.

“Or how he knows about people’s aliases,” Eddy said, and Will blushed harder.

“People put their photographs on dating websites,” Will said. “All I have to do is a reverse image search. It’s not being sneaky, everyone does it.”

“Which presumably means you’re a member of all those dating sites?” Eddy asked with a wink.

“Moving on,” Charlie said, and went back to his whiteboard. “We’re at a dead end. There might be something in this dating site business, or there might not. I’m working on the assumption that Jeff Burton blew up the Hassans’ takeaway, so that’s a win. But we’re no nearer knowing who killed Unwin and Josh Pettifor than we were three days ago. Though as Patsy would point out, Josh Pettifor wasn’t dead three days ago.” Silence fell, interrupted only by the hum of the refrigerator.

“OK then,” Eddy said, “Where do we go from here?”

“Back to the beginning, Charlie said. “Re-interview everyone on the list. Concentrate on where they were at the time of the murders. Find out who’s been buying cans of petrol …”

“And hammers,” Mags interrupted.

“And hammers,” Charlie said. They ought to have done that days ago. “Read through the whole file: interviews, forensics, post-mortem reports, everything, and work out what questions haven’t been asked, or properly answered.” And then, “Is it just me, or has it gone dark early?”

The police station had tiny windows, and it had taken Charlie a while to get used to the pervasive gloom in the building. But the days and days of bright sunshine had penetrated even here. Eddy stood up and went to the window, twisting round so that he could see out.

“Sun’s gone in,” he said. “In fact, it looks like rain.” He cranked the window open the inch that was permitted by the bars and a cool breeze — with the scent of rain — blew through and into the room. Charlie imagined the first big drops hitting the boiling pavements and evaporating instantly, of the dry earth that would drink in the water, and less happily, of the loss of more long evenings in the garden with Tom.

“Let’s get reading,” he said.