Free The Widow by Fiona Barton

and navy trousers. Glen didn’t like wearing a uniform – ‘It’s demeaning, Jeanie, like being back at school’ – but he got used to it and seemed happy enough. He’d go out in the morning and wave as he drove off to pick up the van. Off on his travels, he’d say.
    I only went with him once. A special job for the boss on a Sunday just before Christmas one year. Must’ve been the Christmas before he was arrested. It was only down to Canterbury and I fancied a run out. We sat in total silence on the way down. I had a root through his glove box. Just stuff. Some sweets. I helped myself and offered one to Glen to cheer him up. He didn’t want it and told me to put them back.
    The van was lovely and clean. Spotless. I never normally saw it. It was kept at the depot and he took his car to pick it up in the morning. ‘Nice van,’ I said, but he just grunted.
    â€˜What’s in the back?’
    â€˜Nothing,’ he said and turned up the radio.
    And he was right. I had a look when he was talking to the customer. The back was as clean as a whistle. Well, almost. There was a corner torn from a sweet packet poking out from under one edge of the mat. I got it out with my fingernail. It was a bit fuzzy and dusty but I put it in my coat pocket. To be tidy.
    It all seems so long ago. Us going for a drive like normal people.
    â€˜Glen Taylor?’ the nurse is saying to me, startling me out of my thoughts and frowning as she writes his name on a form. Trying to remember. I wait for the inevitable.
    The penny drops.
    â€˜Glen Taylor? The one accused of taking that little girl, Bella?’ she says quietly to one of the paramedics and I pretend not to hear. When she turns back to me, her face is harder. ‘I see,’ she says and walks away. She must’ve made a phone call because half an hour later the press are there, hanging around Casualty trying to look like patients. I can spot them a mile off.
    I keep my head down and refuse to speak to any of them. What sort of people are they, hounding a woman who’s just seen her husband die?
    The police are there, too. Because of the accident. They’re not the ones we usually see. They’re the local police, the Met, not the Hampshire officers. Just doing routine work, taking statements from the witnesses, from me, from the bus driver. He’s here, too. Apparently he got a nasty knock to the head when he braked and says he didn’t even see Glen step out.
    He probably didn’t, it was that fast.
    Then DI Bob Sparkes shows up. I knew he’d turn up eventually, like a bad penny, but he must’ve driven like the wind to get here from Southampton so quickly. He’s all sad face and condolences for me, but he’s even sadder for himself. He certainly didn’t want Glen dead. Him gone means that the case will never be closed. Poor Bob. He’ll be stuck with that failure all his life.
    He sits down beside me on a plastic chair and reaches for my hand. I’m so embarrassed I let him. He has never touched me before like this. Like he cares for me. He holds my hand and speaks in a soft, low voice. I know what he’s saying but I don’t hear it, if you know what I mean. He’s asking me if I know what Glen did with Bella. He’s saying it nicely, telling me I can let go of the secret now. Everything can be told. I was as much a victim as Bella was.
    â€˜I don’t know anything about Bella, Bob. Neither did Glen,’ I say and pull my hand away, pretending I need it to wipe away a tear. Later I’m sick in the hospital toilets. I clean myself up and sit on the loo with my forehead resting on the lovely cool tiles on the wall.

Chapter 10
Thursday, 12 October 2006
The Detective
    DI B OB S PARKES was standing in the incident room scanning the boards for emerging patterns and links. He took off his glasses and narrowed his eyes in case a change of focus might reveal something.
    There