said, the West Country burr in his voice more noticeable than usual.
Carol’s eyes flitted to the squad room. Tony could see her checking. All present and correct, apart from Kevin. ‘Has something happened to DS Matthews?’ she said, formality disguising fear.
Blake looked momentarily wrong-footed. ‘DS Matthews?’ He clearly had no idea who she was talking about. ‘No, nothing to do with any of your officers. Carol, I’m afraid there’s been an … incident.’
‘What do you mean, an incident? Where? What’s happened?’ Now agitation was slipping out from behind Carol’s professional mask. Tony straightened up. He could see an ominous sheen of sweat on Blake’s upper lip.
‘Your brother and his partner – there’s been an incursion in their home. A violent incursion.’
Tony felt the shock in his chest, knew it must be worse for Carol. She was on her feet now, eyes wide, mouth moving without a sound issuing from it.
‘Are they alive?’ Tony said, crossing to Carol and putting his arm round her shoulders. It didn’t come naturally to him, but he knew how people were supposed to behave in a crisis. He felt more for Carol than any other human being; the least he could do was what was expected of someone who cared.
Blake looked hangdog. He shook his head. ‘I’m terribly sorry, Carol. They’re both dead.’
Carol slumped against Tony, shivering like a wet dog. ‘No,’ she said. ‘No, no, no.’ The pitch and volume decreased with each word till she was virtually growling the last ‘no’. He could feel the terrible tension vibrating in her as he held her close. She caught her breath, teetering on the edge of a sob, but somehow dragged herself back from the edge.
‘What happened?’ Tony asked, driven towards the story as he always was.
Blake signalled with his eyes that he didn’t want to answer.
‘Tell me what happened,’ Carol cried, turning back to face the Chief Constable. ‘You have no right to keep this from me.’
Blake wrung his hands. Tony had heard the expression, but he’d never seen so vivid a representation of it. ‘The facts I have are very sketchy. Your brother and his partner—’
‘Michael and Lucy,’ Carol said. ‘They have names. Michael and Lucy.’
Blake had a hunted look about him now. ‘I apologise. Michael and Lucy were surprised by an intruder who attacked them both with a knife. It appears to have been very sudden.’
‘This happened at the barn? During the night?’ Tony said. He’d been there for dinner three or four times with Carol. He couldn’t picture it as a crime scene. He certainly couldn’t imagine anyone approaching in broad daylight without being spotted.
‘As I said, I have very few details. But the officers at the scene believe the crime took place within the last couple of hours.’
‘Who found them?’ Carol said, attempting to cling to composure. She was defending herself now, building a wall of ice between herself and the rest of the world. Tony had seen her bulldoze her way through an extreme personal crisis before. He had also seen the aftermath, when the wheels well and truly came off.
‘I don’t know, Carol. I’m sorry. I thought it better to share what little I know as soon as possible rather than wait for more details.’ Blake looked at Tony, seeking help. But Tony was as much at a loss as he was. He couldn’t make sense of what he was hearing. He felt numb, but he knew the impact would hit him before long. Two people he had known were dead. Murdered. And it was hard to resist believing that he knew the culprit.
Carol drew away from Tony and collected her coat from its peg. ‘I need to go there.’
‘I don’t think that’s a good idea,’ Blake said, trying to exert authority.
‘I don’t care what you think,’ she said. ‘My brother, my choice.’ Her voice cracked on the words. She returned to her filing cabinet and took two miniatures of vodka from the drawer. One after the other, she swallowed them without pausing. As the alcohol hit, she clenched her jaw, blinking hard. Then she visibly collected herself and said, ‘Tony, I need you to drive me.’
‘If you’re determined to go, I can have an officer drive you,’ Blake said.
‘I want to be with someone I know,’ Carol said. ‘Tony, will you drive me? Or shall I get Paula to do it?’
It was the last thing he felt like doing. But choice didn’t come into it. ‘I’ll drive you,’ he said.
‘Obviously, you must take whatever time you need,’ Blake said as Carol pulled her coat on and started past him. She moved gingerly, as if recovering from a bad tackle on the sports field. Tony hovered behind her, not sure whether to put his arm around her or to leave her alone. Paula, Chris and Sam stared openly, bemused at what news could have so diminished their boss.
‘Tell them,’ Tony said over his shoulder to Blake as they reached the door. ‘They need to know.’ He nodded towards Chris. If he was right about what had happened to Michael and Lucy, she needed to be aware. ‘Especially Chris.’ He saw the shock on her face, but had no time to deal with it. Carol was the person who mattered now.
31
Every regular pairing has its own codified car behaviour. One always drives, the other is invariably the passenger, or the driving is shared along prearranged demarcation lines, or one drives except when they’ve been drinking. The passenger navigates or stays out of it; the passenger criticises the driving either directly, or indirectly, by drawing their breath in sharply whenever there is the faintest risk of disaster; the passenger falls asleep. Whatever the pattern, it takes a deep crisis to alter it.
Carol passively handing over her car keys and allowing Tony to drive was a measure of how stricken she was. Where she was a confident, assured and fast driver, he was nervous, hesitant and inconsistent. It had never become second nature to him. He still had to think about his manoeuvres and, given how easily he was distracted by thoughts of patients and killers, Carol always complained she felt like she was taking her life in her hands when she had to be his passenger. Today, her life was the least of her concerns.
He programmed the satnav and set off through the late afternoon traffic. Even though the recession had cleared some of the blockages in the city’s rush-hour arteries, their progress was slow. Normally, Carol would have sworn at the traffic and found some route through the back doubles that might not have saved time but had the
