Free The Murder Wall by Mari Hannah

receipts?’
    ‘Who keeps receipts? I paid cash. It was a few pounds only.’
    ‘Of course,’ Daniels nodded. ‘And your friend’s name?’
    ‘Teresa.’
    ‘Surname?’
    ‘Branson, Teresa Branson.’
    ‘Thank you, Mrs Stephens . . .’ Daniels smiled and got to her feet. ‘I think that’s all for now. Be sure to get in touch if you think of anything else. And if you change
your mind, feel free to ring me at any time. And do speak with your family liaison officer if there’s anything you need, anything at all. That’s what they’re there for.’
    They said their goodbyes at the front door and made their way to the Toyota. Daniels waited until they were inside the car and Monica had gone back inside before speaking.
    ‘If she’s grieving for her husband, she’s doing a bloody good job of hiding it . . .’ She fastened her seat belt, turned on the engine and drove away. ‘Give Lisa a
bell, Hank. Tell her to get hold of a copy of the airport CCTV footage. And while you’re at it, get her to check last night’s passenger lists for Teresa Branson.’

15
    A storm was brewing as Jo walked back through the gates of Acklington Prison. This close to the Northumberland coast, there was little protection from the biting chill on a
gloomy November afternoon. She hunched her shoulders, pulled up her collar and rushed to her waiting car, checking underneath and inside the vehicle before getting in. It was a routine she followed
no matter what security level was operational at the time. Turning on the ignition, she sat for a while, dwelling on the incident in the VPU. The Governor’s attitude to the incident had
bordered on the bizarre; he’d questioned whether she’d done anything to precipitate such a violent reaction, today or in the past. Whose side was he on? Men like Woodgate were scum. A
bullet was too good for them.
    Engaging first gear, she moved off . . .
    The narrow country lane wound its way across country, passing an occasional farmhouse along the way, smoke drifting from chimney pots as people stoked their fires in readiness for the inevitable
drop in temperature that nightfall would bring. It was a road she could have driven blindfold, but water was streaming down the windscreen and her headlights weren’t picking out much more
than the white line in the centre of the road, making things more difficult.
    The car was buffeted from side to side as the wind reached gale force. As hedgerows flashed by, the rain became torrential. Jo had to concentrate hard just to keep the car on the road. Her only
crumb of comfort was that she was now on her way home. She imagined putting on some music and sinking her body into a steaming hot bath, shutting out the world and putting an awful day behind
her.
    And after that?
    After that she would speak with Kate Daniels – someone she had every faith in – someone who’d know exactly what to do. But, unfortunately for her, that wasn’t
quite what fate had in mind for her . . .
    Her world stopped turning as the tree fell, caught in the BMW’s headlights. She reacted immediately but it was still too late. The car swerved violently from side to side – rolled
over once, twice, and then – in what seemed like slow motion – flew through the air before coming to a sudden halt on its roof in a ditch.
    Within seconds Jo had lost consciousness.

16
    T here is no worse place on earth than a mortuary at dusk. The examination room stank of chemicals. Stephens’ naked body was laid out on a slab surrounded by people
dressed in forensic suits. Tim Stanton was in green scrubs, a face mask hooked to either ear and hanging loose around his neck. A coroner’s officer was taking notes as samples of tissue and
blood-soaked hair were removed from the surface of the body, labelled and dated. A Scenes of Crime Officer was taking photographs.
    On a nearby bench, a forensic scientist was searching through Stephens’ formal dress trousers. Daniels watched him remove a pair