Free Angel of Death by Ben Cheetham Page B

businesslike. ‘I realise this is a difficult time, but I need to ask you some questions. Someone will take a full statement later when you’re feeling stronger. For now, I just want to hear what happened.’
    ‘Da—’ Mark winced on the word as though it tasted bitter. He licked his scorched lips, before continuing in a strengthening voice, ‘Dad shot Mum and Charlotte. Then he tried to kill me.’
    ‘Did you see him shoot your mum and sister?’
    ‘No. He—’ A choke came into Mark’s voice. Whether from pain or emotion, Jim couldn’t tell.
    Jim picked up the glass of water. ‘Here,’ he said, putting it to Mark’s lips.
    Mark swallowed a mouthful. ‘Thanks.’
    ‘Now take you time and tell me exactly what happened.’
    Starting with the phone call, Mark gave Jim the full story. Jim jotted down the main points, pausing occasionally to give Mark another sip of water. He glanced up, frowning, when Mark got to the part about the strange sobbing he’d heard on entering the house. ‘Do you think it was your dad?’
    ‘No. I never saw Dad cry in all my life. It sounded more like a child.’
    Jim’s eyebrows drew closer together as he wondered whether there was another body waiting to be discovered. ‘Could there have been someone else in the house other than your parents and sister?’
    ‘There could have been, but I don’t think there was. The telly was on in my parents’ bedroom. That’s probably what I heard.’
    ‘Probably,’ agreed Jim, thinking, Christ, I hope that’s all it was.
    His voice cracking, Mark recounted the fight with his father, and the discovery of his mother and sister. By the time the tragic, horrific tale was finished, tears were streaming down his cheeks. Again, the rawness of the emotion in his eyes almost made Jim flinch from his gaze. He reached to give Mark’s wrist a squeeze, but stopped himself. He’d spent his entire working life learning how to separate truth from lies. The fact that Mark’s story tallied so closely with his own reconstruction of events, coupled with Mark’s obvious relief at hearing his sister was alive, was enough to convince him that what he’d heard was the truth. But technically Mark was still a suspect, and sympathy for a suspect would only serve to cloud his judgement.
    ‘Can you think of any reason your father might have had to do what he did?’
    ‘No.’
    ‘Are you sure? Think carefully. Did he ever mention troubles with money or his relationship with your mother?’
    ‘He never mentioned anything about anything to me. We barely spoke.’
    ‘Why? Had you fallen out?’
    Mark shook his head. ‘That’s just the way it was, the way it’s always been between—’ His tears suddenly overwhelmed his speech.
    ‘OK, Mark, we’re done for now.’ Jim’s tone was still businesslike, but despite himself, a gentle note had crept into it. You’re going soft in your old age , he thought, making to stand.
    Mark lifted a hand to touch Jim’s arm. ‘Stay with me. Please. I… I don’t want to be alone.’ His voice was awkward, almost as if there was something shameful in his words.
    Jim stared uncertainly at Mark. He knew he should get back to the crime scene. Garrett would be there by now, and no doubt severely pissed at his absence. More importantly, Mark’s story had opened up several lines of enquiry that urgently needed to be followed. But he couldn’t bring himself to deny the request of this man who was only just a man, this man who’d gone through, and was still going through, a hell that made Jim’s problems seem as nothing.
    ‘OK, but I’ve got to make a phone call.’
    Jim left the room and dialled Amy Sheridan. ‘I was just about to call you,’ she said. ‘The DCI’s going to brief the team and he wants you here for it.’
    Jim glanced through the observation window at Mark. The sense of duty instilled into him by decades of loyal service urged him to say he’d be there as soon as possible, but the desperation in