"I'll see you out," Justin said, releasing his mother's hand and standing up. The two men walked to the front door. Once they were along the corridor and into the entrance hall, Justin touched Tom's elbow to get his attention. He lowered his voice, clearly hoping to ensure his mother wouldn't overhear them. "I'm terribly sorry about my mother—"
Tom waved away the apology. "There's no need, really."
"Oh, I think there is. Please don't think ill of her. She was just born of a different generation."
Tom considered that thought. His parents were of the same generation, and neither of them cared a jot about another's sexuality. The different generation argument was often cited, and could be argued, but for him it didn't hold up.
"Don't worry, Mr Howell."
"Justin, please."
"Don't worry, I'm not here to investigate people's personal views, whether I agree with them or not is irrelevant. I'm looking for your aunt's killer. That's where I'll focus my energy."
"It's not just that, Inspector," Justin said, looking back over his shoulder. "Mother has… is going the same way as her sister. The same way many of the family do when they get older." He all but whispered the last. "I wouldn't put too much stock in the things she says… her memory is not what it used to be."
Tom understood the inference.
"It's one of the reasons I've been here so much. To keep an eye on them. She has good days and bad. Now that it's just Mother I have to look out for it should feel easier, but I'm only worrying more. Is that normal?"
Tom took a deep breath. He wasn't the best to advise. That would be better left to a medical practitioner. "You've all had quite a shock in the past few days, and there will no doubt be more to come, so it's probably inevitable that you'll be more… sensitive to your mother's needs."
"I wish she was more sensitive to mine."
"Excuse me?"
Justin dismissed his own comment by waving both hands and shaking his head. "Ignore me, Inspector. I'm just grumbling away to myself."
Tom reached for the handle, finding the door locked. Justin eased past him and turned the latch. The door wasn't locked but couldn't be opened from the outside without a key. Tom was certain he'd pulled it closed when he entered. Justin must have his own set of keys to the house. That was probably unsurprising based on what he'd just said. He pulled the door open and Tom stepped past him and out into the night. The sun had set, but the cloudless evening sky meant it was still light.
"Thanks again," Tom said, glancing back over his shoulder. The front door closed on him. Walking to his car, he noted Justin's car was parked alongside his. It was a red Volkswagen Golf, very similar to Alice's. The starting digits of the number plate were identical, meaning they'd both been bought locally. Unlocking his car, he glanced back towards the house as he got in. Janet Beckett was at the bay window. She was watching him leave, an impassive look on her face.
How different she had been today in comparison to the night of their first meeting. His mobile beeped and he took it out. There was another message from Alice, sent just after he'd received the last one earlier, but he hadn't noticed. He opened it up, the screen illuminating the car's interior in white light.
Can I see you?
He looked up Eric's number and called him. He answered quickly and Tom figured he was already home because the sounds of a kitchen were in the background. He heard a female voice, probably Becca's.
"Eric, how are you getting on with Prometheus Energy?"
"Erm… I'm only just getting started, really. I thought I'd carry on in the morning—"
"Yes, of course, that's fine," Tom said. He could almost hear Eric's relief on the line. "I've just got through talking to Janet Beckett and her son."
"Justin Howell?"
"That's the one. There was a suggestion that Daniel Crowe has an arrest in the past for solicitation, possibly related to a male prostitute. At least that's the insinuation. Justin got a little stressed about it all. Can you look into him for me?"
"Yes, sure. I'll do it first thing."
Someone mumbled a question in the background and Eric placed the receiver against his shoulder so his reply was muffled.
"Is there anything else you want me to do?" Eric asked, returning to the conversation.
"No, that's okay, Eric. I'll see you in the morning. What are you up to anyway?"
"Oh, Becca thinks I need to learn how to cook, so she's teaching me."
"Good luck, young man."
"Thanks," Eric said, then lowered his voice to a whisper. "I think I'll need it!"
Chapter Twenty-Five
Tamara Greave looked at the display of her phone, pressing the red button and diverting the call to voicemail. She could speak to Cassie later. There was nothing so urgent that couldn't wait a little while longer. Alice reappeared from the kitchen with two mugs held in one hand and a packet of biscuits in the other. Tamara sat forward as Alice bent her knees and carefully lowered the mugs to the coffee table, thanking her host with a grateful smile. Alice held the packet up to show her. It was a packet of milk chocolate digestives.
"Sorry, this is all I have at the moment until I can get to the shops," Alice said. Tamara smiled politely. Alice opened the end of the pack and put it in the centre of the table. "These are Saffy's favourites."
"Solid choice."
Alice smiled and sat down in the armchair off to her right. "She hardly eats any others… and don't ever think you can swap out branded for supermarket own because she can tell. You'll never hear the end of it."
Tamara laughed. "I have several nieces and their parents can feel your pain, I'm sure."
Alice lifted her feet up onto the chair, drawing her knees to her chest and sitting side-on among the cushions.
"You've never fancied having children
