Page 42 of No Safe Place

Thursday | Evening

Field

Field let herself out onto the fire escape at the back of the building, and took in a lungful of air.

The sounds of Lewisham were loud below her.

Sirens, faint shouting. The usual chorus.

Field had a hard lump in her throat, that a cup of tea and a glass of water hadn’t shifted.

Her voice was fine, but she could feel it every time she swallowed. The threat of tears.

Mr and Mrs Hughes were crushed, and the forty minutes she’d spent with them had wrung Field out. Field always came out here for a break after the really difficult interviews, even after she gave up smoking.

She’d never cried in front of a victim’s family, although she’d come close a few times. She used the selfie mode on her phone, for a quick glance at her reflection. The lump in her throat was still there, but she looked normal.

A safe pair of middle-aged hands, with decades of experience. Exactly who you wanted working on your daughter’s murder investigation.

At the last minute, Field had told Zara that she wasn’t needed for the meeting, and she’d called in DI Bellamy instead. Zara and Sam were too close in age.

Mrs Hughes hadn’t been able to speak. She spent the whole forty minutes with a handkerchief pressed against her mouth, staring bug-eyed at the table as tears dripped onto it.

Sam’s father had asked a series of practical questions, gripping his hands together tightly. Then he told Field stories about Sam.

He spoke about her kindness. Sam was a volunteer at a children’s hospice on Sundays, cleaning the rooms at the end of weekend stays for new families to come in on Monday.

She played in a women’s football team at uni. Her PhD was on Emily Dickinson. She’d never had a long-term partner, but there had been a couple of people who came close.

Her dad asked Field if she had kids, and she told him yes – just one.

Sam had a sister. She was in Australia, travelling. They’d spent thousands on a last-minute flight home.

Field looked up at the darkening sky, wondering if she was up there now.

Mr Hughes had remained stoic as Field asked question after question about the trial, Sam’s time in the Maudsley, whether he knew of any recent contact with David.

He was resolute on all points. Sam had fully recovered from OCD and dermatillomania. She had been healthy and happy, and they all had nothing but respect and gratitude for Dr David Moore.

When the interview was over, and the family were on their way back to Hertfordshire, Bellamy had slapped Field on the back. ‘That was brutal, boss. Well done.’

It meant a lot more to her than she’d ever admit to him.

The lock screen on Field’s phone was the generic one that all iPhones had, but once she’d unlocked it, there appeared a picture of Toby on his first day of work, at Queen Elizabeth.

Eighteen and thin as a rake inside his hospital scrubs, beaming from ear to ear.

Thrilled to spend eight hours a day extracting blood from patients, nattering to them and holding hands with the squeamish ones.

She wished he’d stayed there.

Field had seen the slightly haunted, vacant expression on the faces of coppers and paramedics for nearly thirty years. The dazed look of someone who knocked for a routine welfare check and found something horrific.

She’d never wanted to see that on her son’s face.

Field felt guilty for even dwelling on Toby, after the conversation she’d just had with Sam’s parents.

Even if he does get ill – he’ll be alive.

But she couldn’t help the nagging feeling that he wasn’t strong enough for this job. He couldn’t study for the exams and work all the shifts, maintain his steady home life with Billy, take care of himself.

He’ll get through it , she told herself.

She would get him through it. Patiently, this time.

Something Sam’s father told Field came back to her:

‘I thought seeing Sam like that, a teenager in that hospital – I thought that would be the worst thing we’d ever had to live through as a family.’

The only thing Field could do for Sam now, was to minimise her family’s suffering by giving them answers and bringing the culprit to justice.

Field would let herself take five more minutes, out in the night air.

And then she would get back to catching the bastard who did it.