But he still couldn’t stop himself shouting something almost as unprofessional in Gareth’s face. ‘You’ll be working in a burger bar in Teddington yourself if you don’t get some sodding results soon! Go and see Peter Bell, now!’

He stopped dead. Winkler was standing at the far end of the room, a sickening grin on his face. Gareth, who had gone pale, turned to follow Patrick’s gaze. Winkler walked off, waving, and Gareth hung his head.

‘Actually, DI Winkler needs help. Why don’t you go and talk to him? Find out what he needs?’

‘Yes, boss.’

Gareth hurried away, just as Patrick’s mobile started to vibrate. Carmella, at last. As he answered, he looked up and saw Winkler talking to Gareth through the window, resting a hand on the younger man’s shoulder. Probably best, he thought, if Gareth did Winkler’s donkey work for a day or two. Then Patrick would apologise to him for losing his temper.

He swivelled his chair away from them. He’d listen to Carmella’s report, and then he was going to go home and take his daughter to the park, try to shift this funk.

Chapter 26

Day 8 – Patrick

Bonnie was ecstatic when she saw Patrick walk into his parents’ front room, where she had been playing with his old Fuzzy Felt farm set. She flung aside the board and threw herself into his arms.

‘Daddy! My daddy!’ she cried, reminding him of the ending of the movie The Railway Children, as she grasped him tightly around his neck, still clutching a limp felt cow in her fist.

His mother, Mairead, looked pleased to see him too. ‘Pat! We weren’t expecting you for hours yet!’

He smiled at her. ‘It’s all getting a bit fraught at work. Needed a couple of hours away from it. Who fancies a trip to the swings?’

‘Me!’ shrieked Bonnie, struggling to get down. ‘Gonna wear my wellies!’

‘Coming, Mum? Or do you fancy putting your feet up for a bit?’

Mairead pursed her lips. ‘I’ll come, I think. I could do with some fresh pear.’

‘Fresh pear?’

‘Air, Patrick, I said. Air. And you look like you could yourself too; you’re as white as a rice pudding.’

She had definitely said ‘pear’. This wasn’t the first time he’d noticed her randomly misusing words, but he had always put it down to her being tired. Now that Gill was going back to work and Mairead was resuming her duties as Bonnie’s post-nursery nanny, he hoped it wouldn’t all be too much for her. He felt the familiar stab of guilt at the burden he was placing on his parents – or, at least, his mum, he thought, regarding his dad, Jim, fast asleep with his mouth wide open on the sofa.

‘Let’s go, then,’ he said, helping Bonnie push her feet into her spotty wellies. ‘If I sit down, I won’t get up again.’

It was such a cold day that the playground in Bushy Park was almost empty. Bonnie’s cheeks turned bright red and her nose was running within moments of her leaping into the sandpit with both feet, where she raced around in circles cackling with excitement.

Patrick and Mairead sat together on a nearby bench.

‘She makes me feel knackered just looking at her,’ Patrick observed.

‘She’s a dote,’ Mairead said fondly. ‘So, how’s work going?’

Patrick sighed and took out his e-cigarette. ‘Tough. I feel like Bonnie’s not the only one going round in circles. It’s so frustrating when we get stuck like this, and terrifying to think that if we don’t figure it out, another girl could die.’

‘Ah, it’s a responsible job all right,’ his mother agreed, refusing to engage with the grimness of what he’d said. ‘And how’s the lovely Carmella?’ She’d always had a soft spot for Carmella. They’d met once, and Mairead had been delighted to discover that she knew of Carmella’s auntie from County Meath – which, in Mairead’s book, made them friends for life.

‘She’s fine. She went over to Dublin today following a lead. She’ll be back later.’

‘Dublin?’ His mother looked puzzled. ‘That’s an awful long flight!’

Patrick turned to look at her. ‘What are you on about, Mum?’

‘You can’t be sending her over there for just a day, when it takes nine hours to get there on a plane!’

‘Nine hours? Mum, are you winding me up? You know it only takes an hour to fly to Dublin!’ Patrick experienced a new rush of all the irritation he’d felt earlier with Gareth Batey.

‘Oh,’ she said in a small voice. ‘Does it now? I must be mistaken.’

‘You are,’ said Pat briskly, standing up to hide his worried expression. This was not normal. Oh God, he thought, please don’t let her be losing her marbles. He took a deep drag of his e-cig and was about to join Bonnie in the sandpit when a familiar voice called his name. Looking up, he thought for a second he was hallucinating. Of all people, Suzanne was jogging down the path alongside the playground towards him. He laughed at the incongruity of it, and she did too, stopping on the other side of the low fence.

‘Fancy seeing you here!’ she said, panting loudly. He couldn’t help noticing the way the skintight Lycra top and leggings hugged her figure. ‘You wouldn’t think we were in the middle of a case, would you?’

He looked sharply at her to see if this was a criticism, but she was still smiling at him.

‘Needed to clear my head.’

‘Yeah, me too,’ she said. ‘Don’t worry, Pat, I know how many hours you’ve put in over the last week. Of course I don’t begrudge you a couple off. Is that your Bonnie?’

Bonnie was now gawping up at an older boy, of five or six, who was studiously ignoring her as he made a sandcastle.

‘It is,’ he said proudly.

Suzanne gazed at her, her shoulders still heaving. ‘She’s absolutely beautiful.’

‘And this is my mother, Mairead.’ He turned to her. ‘Mum, this is my boss, Suzanne. DCI Laughland.’

‘You look awful glamorous for a detective,’ Mairead said suspiciously.

‘Well, thank you, Mrs Lennon,’ she replied, wiping her forehead. ‘Not that I feel it at the moment, after running three miles, I must be bright red . . . Pat, since we both find ourselves here, could we have a quick word?’

He vaulted over the fence to where Suzanne stood on the gravel path. ‘Mum, keep an eye on Bonnie, would you?’ he called back.

It was odd, being so near Suzanne when she was unkempt and sweaty, but Patrick couldn’t help feeling turned on. It was the way her breasts were heaving, the flush at her collarbone, the scent of fresh sweat coming off her. He had a mental flash of her in a post-coital tangle of sheets, a cat-that-got-the-cream smile on her face, arms reaching out to him.

Their eyes met.

‘So,’ she said, briskly zipping up her jacket to cover her chest.

Why did she make him feel like a randy teenager? He suddenly smiled at her, unable to help himself, and she returned the smile. Neither of them spoke for a moment, but their chemistry puffed almost visibly around them in the chill February air, like Suzanne’s hot breath.

‘So,’ he repeated softly, equally unable to stop himself reaching out and gently touching her hand.

The spell was broken by a screeching voice. ‘Daddeee! Look at meeeee!’

He and Suzanne both turned to see Bonnie lying on her back in the sandpit making sand angels, while Mairead tutted and tried to peel her onto her feet.

‘Any news from Carmella in Dublin?’ Suzanne asked abruptly, taking a swig from her water bottle.

‘Not yet. She’s about to visit the girl at home, says she’ll call when she’s done.’

‘Hmm. Anything else?’

Patrick frowned. ‘Not a lot. Batey’s dicking around getting nowhere, says he’s been to all the burger bars but nobody saw Rose. I got pissed off with him, actually – he should’ve been chasing up Peter Bell and the hotel key card. Oh, one bit of good news . . .’