Free Mercy Killing by Lisa Cutts

couple of moments later by a woman dressed in a purple onesie. Her long dark hair hung loose but was stuck to one side of her face. She looked from Tom to Sophia as they
stood on her doorstep, warrant cards in hands.
    Concern ran across her features at the unexpected visitors on a Saturday morning.
    She opened her mouth to say something as the hand gripping the door frame tightened, turning her knuckles white. The other hand flew up to her chest.
    ‘No, Mrs Carvell,’ said Sophia as she recognized the look of a panicked mother when she saw one. ‘Please, it’s your husband we’ve come to see.’
    The relief exploded within her and forced a nervous, high-pitched laugh.
    ‘Thank God,’ she said and stepped aside. ‘The kids were at a bonfire display last night and stayed at their cousin’s house.’
    Although Mrs Carvell moved out of their way, as if to let them in, it wasn’t until the realization sank in that they weren’t about to deliver a death message that she pulled the door
behind her.
    She stood almost six feet tall, a ferocious Amazon of a woman despite being clad only in her nightwear.
    ‘What do you want to speak to him about?’ she said, arms crossed.
    ‘It’s best that we tell him ourselves,’ explained Tom in a tone intended to placate rather than provoke.
    A movement behind her on the stairs caught Tom’s eye, and he witnessed two bare, hairy legs descending towards them.
    The officer really hoped that Toby Carvell was clothed and just as important that his attitude didn’t match his wife’s. This thought was interrupted by the person they had come to
see as he shouted from the staircase, ‘Let them in, woman. And why are you standing there like Barney the fucking Dinosaur?’

Chapter 20
    Once the four of them were seated in the Carvells’ living room, Toby insisted his wife put the kettle on.
    ‘You’re sure you don’t want me here?’ she asked him over her shoulder as she got up from the two-seater sofa she’d been sharing with her husband.
    ‘Absolutely, Shirley,’ he replied, raising his eyebrows at the two officers on opposite ends of a larger leather sofa. ‘I’m gasping for a cuppa. I had a couple of beers
last night and my breath’s as rough as crap.’
    He aimed the last remark at Tom, as if to band together with the other man in the room, somehow implying this was how their entire gender began its Saturday mornings.
    Sophia took her opportunity to give Toby Carvell the once-over and drew her opinion that he was a good-looking middle-aged man who kept himself in shape. She then found herself shifting
self-consciously in her seat because his loosely tied, mid-thigh-length dressing gown was beginning to gape in the middle.
    One awkward aspect of police enquiries was at what point the officers informed their witnesses that their genitals were on display.
    ‘Shirley,’ he called out towards the kitchen, ‘put some toast on as well. I’m starving.’
    ‘The reason we’re here, Mr Carvell,’ began Tom, ‘is that we’re investigating a murder.’
    He looked closely at Toby’s face for any sign of anxiety or the tiniest indication that he had any idea what he was going to say next.
    Not one facial muscle moved.
    Tom edged forward on his seat, the squeak of the leather loud in the otherwise silent room.
    ‘The victim’s name is Albie Woodville.’
    Tom Delayhoyde saw something pass across Toby’s face. The detective had a feeling that he was hiding something from him. The problem being, he wasn’t sure what that something
was.
    Toby Carvell might have been hiding his part in a murder, but he equally might have been hiding the secrets of his childhood. Tom was willing to give him the benefit of the doubt, but not to the
extent of letting a murderer go free, whatever the circumstances.
    As soon as the sound of the kettle boiling could be heard, and Toby was safe in the knowledge that its hum obscured their conversation, he leaned forward and said, ‘So what