The younger son, Marcus, had spent the evening with a bunch of friends from college and had ended up spending the night on the floor of one of their places in Sneinton.
Michael was back in London, at his shared digs in Camberwell.
Howard Brent's friends supported his story. It was Marcus's alibi that was the weakest and potentially the easiest to break; Marcus and his pals with time and opportunity, Khan thought, to torch the Alston place before getting their heads down for the night.
Just maybe.
When he put his doubts forward, Resnick told him to go ahead and find out what he could.
That morning Lynn had arranged to see Tony Foley, the husband and father in the Bestwood murders, Lynn explaining that she was taking a new look at the case and Foley, concerned, wanting to know should he bring his solicitor. Up to you, Lynn had told him, if you think it would make you feel more comfortable go ahead; but, she assured him, it was just an informal conversation, filling in background, bringing herself up to speed.
Foley arrived on his own, smart after a fashion in a dark blue suit that had probably been dry-cleaned too many times, white shirt, blue and silver tie, shoes polished to within an inch of their lives.
Lynn asked herself if she'd have pegged him as a car salesman if she hadn't already known.
'Good of you to come in.' She offered her hand. 'I'll try not to take too much of your time.'
Foley's smile was practised, his grip firm and just a little overeager, holding on to her hand that few seconds too long. 'Anything I can do to help. Anything at all.'
His breath smelt freshly of peppermint, either from one of those little gizmos you sprayed in your mouth, Lynn thought, or else he'd been sucking extra-strong mints in the car.
On the way to the Interview Room, he chatted on about the day, the weather, the drive down from Mansfield where he was currently living-more Ravenshead than Mansfield, really, pricey that side of town, south, but nicer, bit more class, plus easier for getting into the city. As if priming her for the moment, he showed her the new Audi Cabriolet TDI Sport convertible. Definitely a lady's car, and for her he could see a way of shaving 5K off the price.
'Please,' Lynn said, 'take a seat.'
'Thanks.' He sat back easily enough, one leg hooked across the other, helpful smile in place. He was quite heavily built, more than a few kilos overweight, a reddening in the cheeks which suggested, Lynn thought, high blood pressure or an overdependence on alcohol or both. Thirty-nine, but she might have placed him as older, midforties easily.
'The enquiry into the murder of your wife and daughter,' she said briskly, taking the smile off his face in one stroke. 'As I explained on the phone, I'm just familiarising myself with the case, the people involved. Sometimes it's useful to have someone look at things with a fresh eye.'
Foley shifted a little in his seat. 'Different perspective, that sort of thing.'
'Yes, if you like.' She shuffled a few papers on her desk. 'Susie, she was how old?'
Foley blinked. 'She was four.'
'And you've two other children? From a previous relationship?'
'Yes.'
'How old are they?'
'Fifteen and eleven. Jamie, he's fifteen, Ben's eleven.'
'Both boys.'
'Yes.'
'It must have been different, having a girl?'
'Yes, I suppose.' He looked away, as if there were something logged in his brain. 'I suppose it was.'
'You still see them, the boys?'
'Not really.'
'You not want to or-'
Foley shook his head. 'They're living in Suffolk, for one thing. Colchester, just outside. Not as if you can nip across of an evening, anything like that. For another, she's married to a real self-righteous prick, excuse my language, who's gone out of his way to make it clear from day one that any contact with me was definitely a bad idea. So, no, I don't see too much of them anymore.'
'They're your children.'
'I know, but'-Foley leaned forward, one arm on the table between them-'you've got to understand, this last five, five and half years, since I met Chris, Christine, my life… well, let's say my life changed. Tanya and I, when we got together, got married, and Tanya had Jamie, I was what? Twenty-four? Twenty-five? Still wet behind the ears. I was out there working all the hours God sends. Different jobs, lots of different jobs in those days. Tanya, too. Bits and pieces, you know how it goes. And the boys-it was never easy. Jamie, he was always getting into trouble at school, and Ben, Ben was… well, Ben was, I suppose you'd say, slow. Kind of slow. Special needs. So it wasn't easy. None of it was easy. And we'd row, Tanya and me. Fight. Argue. It was all a kind of nightmare. I don't know why we stuck with it, either of us, as long as we did.
'But then, then I met Chris and everything else, everything that had happened, it didn't seem to matter, this was it now, this was my life, and when Susie was born, I suppose-I suppose, if I'm honest, that was when I seemed to start caring less about not seeing the boys, just birthdays and Christmas and not always that.' He looked at Lynn. 'That's wrong, I know.'
'Not necessarily.'
'But that's how it was, Chris and Susie and me, the three of us, you know? Perfect.'
He brought his hand to his mouth as if to stifle a sob and turned his head aside, and Lynn asked herself if he were putting it on.
'Till something went wrong,' she said.
'What?'
'Something went wrong, with the relationship. Between you and Chris.'
Foley tilted his head back and, for a long moment, closed his eyes.
'I had this stupid, this bloody stupid-I won't even call it an affair, it wasn't an affair, not anything like that, it was a fling. I suppose if you want to call it anything, that's what it was. A fling with this girl, worked in the showroom. I needed my bloody brains tested, I know. It was all stupid, like I say. She was just some kid flashing her legs, bending forward whenever I walked past the desk so I could see right down her front. I mean, she knew, she knew I was married, I think that was half the fun of it for her, to see if she could. Jesus!' He hit the edge of the table with his fist. 'We were at this sales conference, Milton Keynes, a whole bunch of us drinking in the bar after dinner, you know how it is? Having a laugh.' He shook his head. 'I'm not making excuses, it's just how it happened. One minute we're down in the lobby, and the next we're getting into the lift, and then we're there, in my room and, to be honest, I was too pissed to remember much about what happened, but it did, just the once, and Chris she finds out. Next day. Only texts me, doesn't she, this stupid little tart, and Chris has got my mobile because the battery on hers is flat and the cat's out of the fucking bag and I'm out the door. No explanations, no excuses, no fucking second chance.'
He pushed his hands up through his hair.
'I still don't understand it, you know, how you can throw everything away, everything we had, all because of one little… transgression. One half-drunken step in the wrong direction that didn't mean a thing. Not a bloody thing. You understand that? Can you?'
Lynn wasn't sure. Although, looked at coldly, it did seem a bit extreme, she thought perhaps she could. If what they'd had together had really been as full, as complete as Foley had said, then maybe all it needed was one little crack to feel the whole thing was in danger of falling apart.
'I mean, would you?' Foley persisted. 'In her situation. React like that?'
Would she, she wondered? If she found Charlie going over the side? She didn't know. She'd never really given it a thought.
'You tried to get her to change her mind?'
'Of course I bloody did. Only she'd met up with what's-his-face, bloody Schofield, by then, hadn't she?'
'How did you feel about that? Christine meeting somebody else?'
'How d'you think I felt? Like shit got wiped off some fucker's bloody shoe.'
'You got angry, then?'
