Unless their relationship went back further than she’d claimed.
Josh Ainsworth had obviously been fighting the system there almost from the moment he took the job.
‘His former colleagues can’t have been happy about Josh’s involvement in their sackings,’ Zigic said.
‘No,’ Greg rubbed his jawline. ‘I wouldn’t have thought so.’
‘Did Josh mention anyone in particular?’
‘Probably, but this was two years ago and I’ve not got the best of memories.’
‘It would be a great help if you could try and remember,’ Zigic told him.
A terrible light came into Greg’s eyes. ‘Do you think one of them killed Josh?’
They hadn’t, Zigic thought. Not until right then but he could see the potential line of enquiry emerging in front of them. The logic of it. An explanation for the brutality of Josh’s murder. It was a raging, wild attack. The action of someone accustomed to violence and practised in its uses.
‘Josh had been off work for a while,’ Zigic said. ‘Do you know what he was doing with his time?’
‘He went away for a bit.’ Greg stooped to retrieve the toy his son dropped. ‘Cycling holiday.’
‘Where did he go?’
‘Uganda,’ Greg said. ‘I went last year and I think he was a bit jealous that I got there first. Great rides. The scenery’s spectacular.’
‘Did you speak to him while he was away?’
‘A few times, yes. He wanted to see the boys, so we FaceTimed.’ Greg looked thoughtful for a moment. ‘I think he just needed to get right away from Long Fleet for a while. Get outside and clear his head, you know. He always said he felt best when he was on his bike.’
‘When did he get back?’
‘Last week,’ Greg said. ‘Wednesday. I picked him up from the airport.’
‘How did he seem?’
‘Like a new man,’ he said brightly. ‘The break obviously did him good. We talked on the way home about what he was going to do, jobwise. He said he was going to start looking for a locum role, just while he worked out what he wanted to do next.’
The sadness rose up and broke over Greg like a wave and Zigic could see the reality of it hitting him full on.
He thought about the short space between Josh Ainsworth’s homecoming and his murder. If that was significant or not. Was someone waiting for him to return? Their plan already made. Or was it less premeditated than that?
Ferreira was asking Greg Ainsworth about the leaflet campaign now, showing him the flier, getting nothing new. She asked about the protestors and Greg only knew the minimum about that too, didn’t recognise Ruby Garrick’s name or have any idea about the extent of his brother’s relationship to her.
‘Josh had company the evening he died,’ Zigic said. ‘A woman. Do you have any idea who that might have been?’
‘Josh wasn’t seeing anyone to the best of my knowledge,’ Greg told them. ‘Not properly anyway. I mean, he was seeing women, but not really dating them.’
‘Any exes we should talk to?’ Ferreira asked.
Greg blew out a thoughtful breath. ‘There’s not been anyone he was serious about for – Christ – a few years, I think.’ His face darkened. ‘Portia.’
They waited for more but nothing came.
‘Does she have a surname?’
‘Josh never introduced her to any of us. Mum always made such a big fuss about whether he was dating and when he was going to find a wife and settle down and have kids. He got sick of the conversation and just stopped taking anyone home. I don’t really know much about her, except that he said she was a wild woman.’
‘Was he suggesting she’d been aggressive towards him?’ Zigic asked.
Greg frowned. ‘Not that kind of wild.’
‘Oh.’
Ferreira shot Zigic a pitying look. ‘How long ago did they split up?’
‘To be honest, I’m not sure they did entirely split up,’ he said uncomfortably. ‘She got married a few years ago. Not long after they called it off. But Josh was still seeing her.’ Greg turned to Ferreira. ‘Josh wasn’t that sort of bloke – you need to understand that – he wouldn’t mess around with a married woman. It was just her. She came after him, he said. I told him not to get involved and he promised he wouldn’t, but then he started dropping little hints, and I realised they were still seeing each other on the side.’
Zigic tried not to be judgemental about it, told himself it was immaterial what he felt about the couple’s behaviour.
‘Is there anything you can tell us about her?’ Ferreira asked.
‘He met her at work.’
‘Long Fleet?’
‘No, at the hospital,’ he said. ‘She’s a surgeon of something or other.’
The kids were getting restless and there was no more to say, so they finished up, Zigic assuring him they’d keep him updated, even though they both knew a murder investigation moved too quickly and too erratically for them to do it.
Back in the main office Ferreira added the name Portia to the persons-of-interest column on the board.
Zigic looked at the clock, pushing around towards seven. ‘We’ll talk to her tomorrow.’
‘You sure?’ Ferreira asked. ‘We get her at home, she’s on the back foot right away.’
‘If we get her at work, she has less reason to lie,’ he countered.
He drove home through the tail end of the rush hour traffic, unbothered by the slowness of the journey and the long line of cars, which held him up at the edge of the Bretton suburb, knowing what was waiting for him when he got in.
Not quite the silent treatment but very nearly.
Days of it now but it felt like weeks because they never argued. Not seriously or at any length. They’d always been the kind of couple to air their grievances early and fast, to try to stay honest with one another because they’d both grown up with
