Page 52 of Worse Than Murder (DCI Matilda Darke Thriller #13)

I manage to distract Adele from going through my phone with me by taking her on a tour of the restaurant and telling her Carl’s idea of the picture window in the basement and my idea to put money into the venture.

While we’re making pizzas– all four of us choosing different toppings, Sally getting to grips with the pizza oven, Carl stealing toppings to give to the dogs, then the hassle with the triple-cooked chips– the conversation is light and there’s even laughter in the air as Sally manages, perfectly, to cook each individual pizza, except for her own, which she drops on the floor.

Her own fault for putting pineapple on it.

We all donate slices from our own and she fills up on chips.

When I hear the sound of the Coronation Street theme tune coming from the TV, I make my excuses and say I’m off to shower and have an early night.

I stand by the window in my bedroom and look out over the lake and countryside. Darkness has fallen. The moonlight is dulled by the thin whisper of cloud sweeping in front of it. I hear the bedroom door open and turn back from the window.

Adele walks in. She looked exhausted. ‘Bloody hell, that boy can talk. All evening he’s been asking me about what it’s like to be a pathologist. What’s the most disturbing thing I’ve seen?

How do I open a rib cage? Is the brain pink or grey?

Which organ is the squishiest?’ She flops down on the bed.

‘That’s a good question, actually. Which organ is the squishiest?’ I ask as I climb into bed.

‘I’ve no idea. I don’t go around squishing them. In fact, the squishing of organs is greatly frowned upon.’ She kicks off her sandals and sits up. ‘So, are we Bert and Ernie, or Morecambe and Wise?’

There’s no bedroom for Adele so she’s having to share with me. We’ve done it before. It’s not a problem.

‘Adele, can I ask you a favour?’

‘Sure.’

‘Do you know any of the pathologists around here?’

‘Erm, I’m not sure. Why?’

‘I want to know the results of the postmortems on Celia and Jennifer Pemberton. I think there might be something surprising we haven’t thought of yet.’

‘Matilda, what are you doing?’ Adele asks, sitting up.

‘What do you mean?’

‘You’ve left Sheffield. I can understand why: you need to sort yourself out. Yet, here you are, getting involved in the double murder of two girls. You’re doing your job. You may as well send for Sian and Scott.’

‘I can’t forget. I’ll never be able to forget what happened to my mum, to Nathan and Joseph. I can’t undo it, either. I can sit here and mope and whine and cry, but nothing will alter the fact they’re all dead and I was responsible?—’

‘Mat—’ Adele tries to interrupt.

‘No, let me finish. Everything that’s happened has happened.

There’s no changing that. So, I need to find a way to move on, to continue living my life.

I’m scarred, I know I am. I’m never going to be the Matilda I was a couple of months ago back in Sheffield, but I’m still me, and being a detective is all I know. ’

‘You’re going to return to South Yorkshire Police, aren’t you?’

‘I’m taking Aaron’s advice. He suggested I go back; I find the bastard who killed my family, then resign and do something else. I’m not saying that’s what I’m going to do, but once I’ve tracked down the killer, I’ll be able to close the door on all this and see what’s left for me.’

‘But you’re not in a fit state to return to Sheffield, and your job, right now. And you won’t be while you’re running around the Lake District like you’re Miss Marple.’

‘I don’t think she did much running.’

‘Stop splitting hairs.’

‘I have to occupy my mind.’

‘Then do a cryptic crossword. There are other things to focus on than murder. Why do you always have to go dark?’

I smile. ‘It is my surname.’

‘Very funny,’ she says, flippantly.

‘This is all I know, Adele.’

‘It doesn’t need to be. I know you’re no sparkling twenty-something, but you’re young enough to start again.’

‘Is that supposed to be a compliment?’

‘You don’t need to be a detective.’

‘What shall I do? Open a sweet shop?’

‘There are worse jobs.’

‘Can you honestly see me standing behind a counter selling bloody mint humbugs and Dolly Mixture for the rest of my life?’

‘No. Knowing you, you’d eat them all yourself and go bankrupt. Can I ask you a question?’ Adele asks.

‘You know you can.’

She reaches over and takes my hand, holding it firmly in both of hers. ‘Answer me honestly. When you find the person who killed your mother and nephews, are you going to kill him?’

I look at her. ‘I haven’t decided yet.’

‘I’m really worried about you,’ Adele says, a tear rolling down her face.

‘Do you want to know the truth? I’m worried about me, too.’