A beat later she noticed his ID and the smile froze on her face.
‘Mrs Ainsworth?’ She nodded too heavily, and he could see that she was already fearing the worst, was playing the scenarios through in her head as he introduced Ferreira and himself. ‘Do you think we could come in, please?’
She led them silently through the house, her gait uncertain, her neck stiff, to a large room at the back, where a wide set of doors stood open on a balcony overlooking the garden. There were a few pots out there, in the process of being planted with jewel-coloured flowers from plastic trays.
She went out and dropped her gloves near the pots, came back with her fingers knitted together in front of her.
‘I’m sorry, what did you say this was about?’ she asked. ‘There hasn’t been another break-in, has there?’
‘I think you should sit down, Mrs Ainsworth,’ Zigic said, gently ushering her towards a long, low sofa scattered with cushions. ‘Is your husband at home?’
‘He’s in his office.’ She gestured vaguely and Ferreira followed her hand towards the doorway, going to find Joshua Ainsworth’s father.
Mrs Ainsworth sat with her ankles crossed and her hands in her lap, head turned towards the view, tears already welling in her eyes.
People always knew. Long before you told them, they knew what had happened. From your mere presence in their homes, your discomfort and deference, the weight you carried visibly around on your shoulders, a burden they knew they would soon take from you. They would take most of it, but the part that was left couldn’t be passed on to anyone else. That you kept forever.
Ferreira returned with Mr Ainsworth and Zigic could see that he knew already as well. That his reaction was going to be different to his wife’s. Where she had retreated instantly to numbness, he was unbearably raw.
‘It’s Greg, isn’t it?’ he demanded. ‘Something’s happened to Greg and the boys?’
‘No, sir,’ Zigic said. ‘We’re here about Josh.’
Was he imagining it, or was that a very slight flicker of relief he saw pass over Mr Ainsworth’s face as he crossed the room and sat down next to his wife, taking her hand in his own big paw.
‘What’s happened?’ Mr Ainsworth asked, glaring at Zigic as if daring him to actually say it. ‘Has Josh had an accident?’
‘I’m very sorry to tell you that Josh was found dead in his home this morning.’
Mrs Ainsworth sobbed into her hand, looking at her husband who wasn’t looking back at her, but instead had fixed his attention on the floor between his feet, his face reddened with the effort of keeping in whatever reaction was rising up through him. A muffled cry broke out of him and his wife drew her arms around his shoulders, burying her face in the back of his neck.
Zigic glanced at Ferreira and saw that she had turned away to retrieve a box of tissues from a nearby table. She placed it carefully on the arm of the sofa, as the Ainsworths talked to one another in choked undertones, saying Josh’s name, cursing whatever twist of fate had brought them to this. In the background through the open doors, the sound of a summer day continued, as if this tragedy wasn’t occurring; birdsong and laughter, the thwack and splash of somebody hitting golf balls into the water.
Eventually Mr Ainsworth wiped his eyes across his forearm and asked Zigic how Josh had died. ‘Not those bloody stairs? I told him that cottage was a death trap.’
‘No, Mr Ainsworth, I’m afraid Josh was murdered.’
His mother gasped. ‘Why? Who would want to hurt Josh? He was always such a sweet boy. He was a doctor, for God’s sake.’
‘It’s too early in the investigation for us to speculate,’ Zigic said, perching on the edge of a denim blue armchair, feeling more comfortable now he could return to being a detective, and slightly ashamed of himself for noticing the change. ‘We know Josh spent the evening at home with a woman. Presumably his girlfriend. Would you be able to tell us about her?’
‘Josh didn’t have a girlfriend,’ his mother said, reaching for a tissue and blowing her nose.
‘He was too young to settle down,’ Mr Ainsworth said. ‘I was always telling him that. “You’re a good-looking lad, you want to play the field.”’ His voice broke. ‘“Plenty of time for all that marriage stuff.”’
‘Josh’s neighbour reported seeing the same woman visiting on a regular basis. He was under the impression this was Josh’s girlfriend. Did he ever mention her to you?’
‘No.’ Mrs Ainsworth tugged another tissue out of the box but just held it between her fingers, stretching it slowly, until it tore up the centre. ‘I assumed he was dating but he didn’t mention anyone special. Josh always kept that sort of thing to himself. I think he enjoyed the secrecy. He was like that when he was a little boy – hiding his toys away from his brother and playing with them on his own. Once Greg found them Josh wasn’t interested any more.’
‘Would he have discussed his relationships with his brother?’ Ferreira asked.
‘Maybe.’ Mrs Ainsworth straightened sharply, grabbed her husband’s arm. ‘We need to tell Greg about this.’ She looked at Zigic. ‘You haven’t contacted him yet, have you?’
‘No, Mrs Ainsworth.’
‘I think it’ll be easier coming from us,’ she said.
Zigic nodded. ‘Do you have a recent photo of Josh, please?’
‘I’ll find one.’ Mrs Ainsworth got up, shaky on her feet, and went over to a set of shelves where the family photos were lined up. Ferreira followed her and they began to speak softly, Ferreira asking who was who and saying how handsome the Ainsworth boys were, how happy Greg’s children looked, very mischievous.
Mr Ainsworth slumped back on the sofa, his face drawn, eyes heavy. He’d aged ten years in as many minutes, and Zigic knew that some of the effect was temporary, but the man seemed to be staring into a void with the full
