Free Shatter by Michael Robotham

compensation.’
    ‘You must have insurance.’
    ‘The insurance underwriter is trying to find a loophole. We may have to go to court .’
    She takes a plastic bottle of water from her gym bag and drinks, wiping her lips with her thumb and forefinger.
    ‘If you don’t mind me saying, you don’t seem very concerned.’
    Lowering the bottle, her eyes lock on mine.
    ‘Chris put up most of the money. My exposure was minimal and my husband is very understanding.’
    ‘Indulgent.’
    ‘You could say that.’
    The money problems and legal action could explain what happened on Friday. Perhaps the person on the phone to Christine Wheeler was owed money. Either that or she lost hope and couldn’t see a way out.
    ‘Was Christine the sort of person who would commit suicide?’ I ask.
    Sylvia shrugs. ‘You know how they say the ones who talk about committing suicide are less likely to do it— wel , Chris never talked about it. She was the most positive, up-beat, optimistic person I’ve ever met. I mean that. And she loved Darcy like there was no tomorrow. So the answer is no— I have no idea why she did it. I guess she cracked.’
    ‘What’s going to happen to the business now?’
    Again she glances at her watch. ‘As of an hour ago it belongs to the receivers.’
    ‘You’re wrapping it up.’
    ‘What else can I do?’
    She tucks her legs to the side in that casual effortless way al women can. I see no signs of regret or disappointment. Hard-bodied Sylvia Furness is as tough on the inside as she is on the outside.
    Darcy and Emma meet me downstairs. I lift Emma onto my hip. ‘Where are we going?’ asks Darcy.
    ‘To see the police.’
    ‘You believe me.’
    ‘I believe you.’

    9

    Detective Inspector Veronica Cray emerges from a barn wearing baggy jeans tucked into Wel ingtons and a man’s shirt with button-up pockets that sit almost horizontal y upon her breasts.
    ‘You caught me shovel ing shit,’ she says, leaning into the heavy door, which swings inwards on rusty hinges. She drops a plank into the bracket. I hear horses shifting in their stal s.
    Smel them.
    ‘Thank you for seeing me.’
    ‘So you wanted that drink after al ,’ she says, wiping her hands on her hips. ‘Perfect day for it. My day off.’
    She spies Darcy in the passenger seat of my car and Emma playing with the steering wheel.
    ‘You brought the family.’
    ‘The little girl is mine.’
    ‘And the other one?’
    ‘Is Christine Wheeler’s daughter.’
    The DI has spun to face me.
    ‘You went looking for the daughter?’
    ‘She found me.’
    Suspicion has replaced some of her warmth and affability.
    ‘What in glory’s name are you doing, Professor?’
    ‘Christine Wheeler didn’t commit suicide.’
    ‘With al due respect, I think we both should leave that to the coroner.’
    ‘You saw her— she was terrified.’
    ‘Of dying?’
    ‘Of fal ing.’
    ‘She was perched on the edge of a bridge, for God’s sake.’
    ‘No, you don’t understand.’
    I glance at Darcy who looks tired and apprehensive. She should be back at school or being looked after by her family. Does she have any family?
    The detective sucks in a breath. Her entire chest expands and then she sighs. She strides towards the car and crouches next to the open driver’s door, addressing Emma.
    ‘Are you a fairy?’
    Emma shakes her head.
    ‘A princess?’
    Another shake.
    ‘Then you must be an angel. I’m pleased to meet you. I don’t meet many angels in my line of work.’
    ‘Are you a man or a woman?’ asks Emma.
    The DI laughs.
    ‘I’m al woman, honey. One hundred per cent.’
    She glances at Darcy. ‘I’m very sorry about your mother. Is there anything I can do for you?’
    ‘Believe me,’ she says softly.
    ‘Normal y, I’m a true believer in most things but maybe you got to convince me of this. Let’s get you somewhere warmer.’
    I have to duck my head as I go through the door. DI Cray kicks off her Wel ingtons. Rectangles of mud fal from