Free Burnt Paper Sky by Gilly Macmillan Page B

spill, he did.
    ‘My marriage wasn’t an emotionally fulfilling one. We didn’t…⁠’ He was choosing his words carefully. ‘We didn’t
communicate
.’
    ‘It happens,’ I said.
    ‘I was lonely.’
    His eyes flicked away from mine and I saw a frisson of emotion in them when our gazes reconnected, though it was hard to say exactly what. John Finch was definitely a proud man, and unaccustomed to sharing the personal details of his life.
    ‘Is Rachel a good mother to Ben?’ I asked him. I wanted to catch him when his guard was down. His reply came immediately, he didn’t need to think about it: ‘She’s an excellent mother. She loves Ben very much.’
    I took the interview back to practicalities. I asked him what he and his wife were doing on Sunday afternoon between 13.00 and 17.30 hours. He said that they were at home together. He was working and she was reading and then she started to prepare their evening meal. He got a call from WPC Banks at 17.30 to inform him that Ben was missing and he’d driven directly to the woods.
    ‘Did you make any calls, or send any emails during that time?’ I asked.
    He shook his head. ‘I was catching up on paperwork.’
    ‘I’ve asked Ms Jenner whether she’d be willing for us to look through her phone records, and she’s agreed. Would you be willing for us to do the same?’
    ‘Yes,’ he said. ‘Whatever it takes.’
    ‘One more thing.’
    ‘Yes?’
    ‘Have you had any incidents at work where patients or their families have been unhappy with you? Could somebody be bearing a grudge against you?’
    He didn’t reply to my question immediately, it took him a moment or two to consider it.
    ‘There are always unhappy outcomes, inevitably, and some families don’t take it well. I have been the subject of legal action once or twice, but that’s normal in my line of work. The hospital will be able to supply you with details.’
    ‘You can’t remember them?’
    ‘I remember the names of the children, but not their parents. I try not to get too involved. You learn not to dwell on the failures, Inspector. The death of a child is a terrible thing to bear, even if the responsibility isn’t ultimately yours, because you did everything you could.’
    Even through his fatigue, the look he gave me was sharp, and I felt as though there might be a warning in his words somewhere.
     
    I drove out to the woods after the interview. I wanted to see the scene for myself. I took a pool car. The drive gave me a chance to get out of the city for a bit, and think about the interviews, get my thoughts straight. My impressions were that the parents were both private people, though John Finch was possibly more complicated than Rachel, and certainly more proud. They were both intelligent, and articulate, a classic middle-class profile. It didn’t mean that they were whiter than white though. We had to remember that.
    In forensic terms the scenes at the woods were carnage. The combination of shocking weather, multiple people, animals and vehicles had churned up the paths and especially the parking area. I took a walk to the rope swing where Ben was alleged to have gone missing and regretted forgetting to bring wellington boots. It was a damp site, with trees crowded round it. It gave me a creepy, sinister feeling like you get in fairy tales, and in some way that was more unsettling than some of the rankest urban crime scenes I’ve visited.
    I talked to the scenes of crime officers. They were nice guys, cheerfully pessimistic about their chances of finding anything that might be useful to the investigation.
    ‘If I’m honest it’s not looking good,’ one of them said, stepping over the crime scene tape. It was bright yellow and hung limply across the pathway that led to the rope swing. He pulled a plastic glove from his hand so that he could shake mine. ‘The conditions are atrocious. But if there’s anything to be found we’ll find it.’
    I gave him my card. ‘Will