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She fumbled for the phone, still half-asleep. ‘Yes?'

She'd thought it would be Salter, but her fogged mind registered in time that it was the Maggie Yates phone ringing, rather than the secure line she'd used to call Salter.

There was a gulp and an intake of breath from the end of the line.

‘Lizzie?'

‘Maggie. I – I thought I should let you know,' Lizzie was crying, struggling to speak around her hiccupping breath. ‘I just had a call.'

Marie desperately wanted to put Lizzie out of her misery. Instead, she had to keep silent, allow the girl to force out the words she was finding so difficult.

‘One of the police officers who was there last night. They've found–' She stopped and Marie could hear her swallowing, fighting to keep control of her voice. ‘They've found a body, Maggie. A man. They think it must be Andy.' She was sobbing properly now,

‘Lizzie,' Marie said, as calmly as she could. ‘I'll come over. Just wait there. I'll be as quick as I can.'

She succeeded in extracting Lizzie's address between sobs. She ended the call, and stumbled into the bathroom. Jesus, she felt awful. Her mouth was parched. Her head full of cotton wool. Her body had the clamminess that comes from sleeping in your clothes. She really wanted a good scalding shower, a cup of decent coffee.

Marie did the best patch-up job she could on her hair and face, conscious that she looked exactly like someone who'd been up most of the night. Outside, the sky was dark and heavy, threatening rain. It hadn't been a great summer, and as the season shifted slowly into autumn there was no sign of any improvement. The sooner she was back down south the better.

She found Lizzie's flat without difficulty. It was in a part of the city still not quite as salubrious as the property developers had hoped. The block had been built, maybe ten or so years before, with the expectation of attracting relatively upmarket residents. Now it looked rundown. When they'd been chatting over coffee the previous day – it seemed a lifetime away now – Lizzie had said that she shared the flat with an old school friend who worked in a customer service role in one of the local banks. They were struggling with the rent, but it was better than living with Lizzie's mother.

She found the bell and pressed. The door buzzed open and she made her way through the dimly lit lobby and up the stairs to the first floor. Lizzie was waiting for her at the top of the stairs, her eyes red and sore from crying. As she saw Marie, she burst into tears again, and Marie found herself cradling the younger woman in her arms as if comforting a small child.

She led Lizzie back into the flat and sat her down at the kitchen table. The flat was small, but looked homely. It was clear that the two flatmates had put some effort into making it a pleasant place to live.

Marie busied herself making a pot of tea for them both, hunting through the cupboards for teabags and mugs, while Lizzie sat silently at the table, staring down at nothing in particular. A gloriously English response to a crisis, Marie thought. A pot of bloody tea. But she wanted to give Lizzie time to recover herself, with no requirement to deal with Marie's presence.

Finally she sat down, pushing one of the mugs towards Lizzie. ‘I've put sugar in it. Supposed to be good for shock.'

Lizzie looked up at her, her red-rimmed eyes blank.

‘Tell me what happened,' Marie went on. ‘You said the police called?'

‘They were trying to find out if he had any relatives. Next of kin. Didn't even tell me what had happened at first. But I'm not stupid.'

‘They found him in the office?'

‘That's what they said. Must've been in his own office. He said it was the smoke.' She stumbled to a halt and for a moment looked as if she might burst into tears again.

‘They didn't find him till they'd got the fire under control. After we left last night.'

‘I'm so sorry,' Marie said. ‘It's an awful thing.' As always in this kind of situation, there was really nothing to be said.

‘Poor Andy,' Lizzie said, burying her face in her hands.

‘He won't have suffered, anyway. If the smoke got him first, he wouldn't have known what was happening.'

Lizzie had begun to sob again, quietly into her hands. Marie put an arm around her shoulder. The best she could offer was a physical presence, reassurance that Lizzie was not on her own. She began to wonder about the mother Lizzie had mentioned and whether she should be contacted.

It was odd that Lizzie should be so affected by McGrath's death. Marie had warmed to McGrath during their conversation, but he'd still been little more than a small-time shyster. He'd simply been Lizzie's boss. A pleasant and easygoing boss, but still just a boss. Marie couldn't imagine becoming emotional about any of the bosses she'd worked for over the years.

Lizzie was just a teenager, though. At a similar age, or maybe a little younger, Marie could remember getting over-emotional about all kinds of things – supposed boyfriends, sentimental films, the end of school – in ways that were incomprehensible to her now.

‘You were very fond of him?' she prompted, finally.

Lizzie lifted her head and stared at the older woman as if she didn't understand the question. ‘You didn't know him, Maggie. He's kept me sane over the last couple of years. He was – well, not like a father, exactly.' She paused, as if considering the appropriateness of her last comment. ‘Not like a father at all, actually. Not like my father, anyway. More like – I don't know – like a nice uncle. You know what I mean?'

Marie didn't really. Her own father, still living happily with her mother and quietly retired in suburban Surrey, was decent enough, if too reserved to show the love he no doubt felt towards his only daughter. Marie had a couple of uncles, but hadn't met them since childhood. But Lizzie clearly had some relationship with McGrath that went beyond that simply of boss and subordinate. ‘He looked after you?'

Lizzie's eyes brimmed again with years. ‘Had an awful time, couple of years ago.' She took a deep breath, calming her voice. ‘Living with my mum. She's divorced. My dad left years ago.'

‘That must be hard.'

Lizzie shrugged. ‘I was just a kid when he went. What you've never had, you never miss, I suppose. Anyway, we were having a hard time. Mum had mental health problems. Depression. Spent half the day in bed, and the other half drinking too much. Not exactly violent, but she was a different person drunk. Insulting. Offensive. She'd say things – well, you know. She needed looking after, but the last place I wanted to be was home. I was working in a chemist's in town. Volunteered for any overtime going, just to spend more time out of the house. Then the shop went bust. The recession. There were rumours about some buyer. But it didn't happen. Closed us down almost overnight. Didn't even get my redundancy.'

‘I'm sorry,' Marie said.

‘It was a nightmare. There were no jobs going. I've got no real qualifications – they'd talked about me doing pharmacist exams, but it hadn't happened. No other shops were recruiting. Mum was on income support, so my wage had been keeping us going, really.' She paused, and Marie could sense that she was wondering how honest to be. ‘Worst thing for me was that I couldn't get out of the house. I was stuck there all day with mum. I mean, love her to bits, but – well, she wasn't the best company just then.'

‘Where did Andy come in?'

‘He was some old friend or contact of my dad's. My mum had been talking to my dad about me losing my job and all that. She wasn't exactly proud of having to go looking for help from him. But Andy phoned and then came to see us. Said he could offer me a job if I wanted it.'

‘That was nice of him,' Marie said, wondering what kinds of old acquaintances Andy McGrath might have had.

‘I'd always thought Andy fancied my mum a bit. He was kind to her as well. Helped her get support with the depression, helped her off the drinking. He found her a job too, doing admin stuff for some mate of his. They got together for a bit, but that was never going to last. He took it in his stride when she met someone else. He was just a nice man–' She stared at Marie for a moment, and again her eyes dissolved into tears. ‘It's not fair, Maggie. It's not bloody fair.'

‘Life isn't, Lizzie. Too often it's the nice ones who go first.' Unbidden, an image of Liam flashed into her mind. Yeah, she thought. Not bloody fair. ‘Sounds like he was a good man.'

‘It wasn't just all that – the stuff I've just told you about. When I started working here, he was the same. He was patient. Helped me along. Even paid me a bit extra when we were having trouble at home.'

Marie felt a twinge of guilt. She'd assumed that McGrath could have only one motive in employing an attractive young woman like Lizzie. It sounded as if there'd been hidden depths to Andy McGrath. ‘How'd he know your dad?'

Lizzie shook her head. ‘I don't know. They went back a long way. Mum would never really talk about dad, except to tell me what a bastard he was. And how she was glad he'd got what was coming to him.'

‘How do you mean?' None of her business, Marie told herself. Although she'd come here to comfort Lizzie, her professional instincts were kicking in. She could justify taking the opportunity to dig into McGrath's past; she couldn't justify any prurient interest in the rest of Lizzie's life and family. But she could see that the girl wanted to talk.

‘Last year,' Lizzie said. She smiled faintly for the first time. ‘Cheered mum up, really, though she felt bad about that. She wouldn't tell me any details. But dad had ended up in prison. And then he was ill. Very ill. A stroke, left him pretty much paralysed.' She shook her head.

Marie was staring at her, an absurd idea worming its way into her mind. Prison. A stroke. ‘What did your dad do, Lizzie? His job, I mean.'

Lizzie looked up, puzzled, recognising a new tone in Marie's voice. ‘That was the thing,' she said. ‘That's why mum said he had it coming.' She hesitated. ‘He was a policeman.'

Marie reached out and took Lizzie's hand. She gripped it as if to comfort the younger woman, but she knew she was simply steadying her own nerves. A policeman. Lizzie's surname was Carter. Presumably her mother's maiden name rather than her father's surname. But Marie suspected that she might know the father's surname only too well.

And if she was right, that was yet another coincidence.

Another
hell
of a coincidence.

He stayed as long as he dared outside the line of emergency vehicles, watching the comings and goings, the clustered knots of figures, the movements growing less frantic as they gained control of events.

He hadn't known what to expect and had almost been caught by surprise as he turned the corner and saw the pulsing glow of blue lights. He pulled into one of the office units, tucking his car into an unobtrusive corner space, then continued on foot, his senses alert now for anything or anyone approaching.

Coming closer to the emergency vehicles, he'd recognised her parked car. There was a thick pall of smoke, and he could make out an occasional flicker of orange flame. He could almost feel the sense of organised urgency.

What was going on? Was this coincidence, or was some fucking freelancer trying to muscle in on his territory? Shit might happen, but there was usually a reason why it did. Maybe there were other interests at work here, people who were more impatient than his own employers. He didn't fully know or care
what was motivating his employers. But he knew that they would be royally pissed off if someone had screwed up their plans.

He drifted silently round the edge of the site, until he was approaching the building from the opposite direction. He had little fear of being detected. He remained just outside the light, half-hidden among the trees, his dark clothing blending into the shadows. Even if someone should spot his movement, they would just assume that he was another emergency worker making his way across the site.

For the next hour, he simply watched. The fire teams had the blaze under control and were working towards extinguishing it completely. There was a sudden burst of movement among the fire and police officers that indicated some new development. He watched with interest as combinations of officers gathered, pointing towards the office building as they provided each other with information. At one point he glimpsed his target moving, almost as surreptitiously as he had done, to stand close to one of the clusters of police officers. She was listening, he thought, trying to find out what was happening. He watched as, apparently satisfied, she disappeared back into the night. He couldn't imagine that she would be going anywhere other than back home, but he would check in a while.

As the sky lightened in the east, he saw more police vehicles arrive, including a scene of crime van. There were long discussions between the police and fire officers as they waited for the building to be declared safe for entry.

He had seen as much as he needed to see. Once it was light, it would be much more difficult for him to remain undetected. A scene of crime van implied just that. A crime, or at least a potential crime. And, judging by its rapid arrival and the body language of the assembled police officers, a more significant crime than arson.

As the first crimson light of the sun began to show between the buildings, he slipped back between the trees and cautiously made his way around the site, back to his car.

‘Hello?' A woman's voice, slightly cautious. With every reason to be cautious, Marie thought. What the hell was she doing there this early in the morning? She considered some acid response and then, just in time, bit it back. It wasn't early in the morning. It was nearly noon. Sue would be making her scheduled visit.

Marie had got back from Lizzie's a couple of hours before, stretched out on the sofa, and promptly fallen asleep. She'd woken feeling worse than she'd ever felt in her life, at least without the contribution of alcohol.