‘Why did he threaten him?’

‘I never found out. I just heard about it from the practice manager. I was going to ask Gregory when he returned from holiday, but…’ Estelle began to sob again. She looked up as the Forest Hill Tavern pub came into view on the corner. ‘It’s just on the left, here, and my house is on the end,’ she said.

Erika came to a halt at a smart end-of-terrace house. She wished the drive had been longer.

‘Would you like us to come in with you?’ asked Erika.

‘No, I wouldn’t. I just need some time and space, thank you. I’ve been through a great deal, as I’m sure you will appreciate… If I were you, I’d go straight over and arrest her brother. It’s Gary, I’m telling you.’ Estelle waggled a crooked finger. She undid her seatbelt with difficulty and removed the court shoes from the plastic bag.

‘Mrs Munro, we will need to send some officers over for you to make a formal statement, and we need someone to come and identify your son’s body,’ said Erika, softly.

‘I saw him once, like that… I don’t want to do it again. Ask her, ask Penny,’ Estelle said.

‘Of course,’ said Erika.

Peterson got out of the car and round to the passenger side. He took Estelle’s shoes and placed them on her feet, then helped her out of the car to her front door.

‘Looks like this is getting interesting,’ said Moss quietly to Erika. ‘Money, property, families at war: never bodes well.’

They watched Peterson help Estelle up the steps. She opened her front door and vanished inside.

‘No, it doesn’t,’ agreed Erika. ‘I want to talk to Penny. And I want to talk to this Gary Wilmslow.’

9

Penny Munro’s house was in Shirley, an area of south-east London just a few miles from where they’d dropped Estelle. It was a modern ex-council house, with dun-coloured pebbledashed walls and lattice work on the new PVC windows. The front garden was neat, with a strip of immaculately lush green lawn, despite the lack of rain. A small pond was covered in netting, beneath which an explosion of lily pads was in bloom. A large plastic heron, frozen with one leg drawn up, was surrounded by a collection of huge, rosy-faced gnomes.

When they rang the bell, an electronic version of ‘Land of Hope and Glory’ chimed out. Moss raised an eyebrow at Erika and Peterson. There was a long pause, enough for a whole verse to play, and then the bell fell silent. The handle waggled, and the door opened slowly – just a few inches. A tiny, dark-haired boy peered round at them with bashful brown eyes. Erika could see so much of Gregory Munro in his little face – the eyes and high, proud forehead – it was quite eerie. A television blared out from behind a closed door in the hall.

‘Hello, are you Peter?’ asked Erika. The boy nodded. ‘Hello, Peter. Is your mummy here?’

‘Yes. She’s crying upstairs,’ he said.

‘Oh, I’m sorry about that. Could you ask her if we can speak to her, please?’

His eyes travelled over Erika, Moss, and finally, Peterson. He nodded, then threw back his head and yelled, ‘Mummy, there’s people at the door!’

There was a clink and the sound of a toilet flushing, and then a young woman with red swollen eyes came down the stairs. She was thin and attractive, with shoulder-length, strawberry-blonde hair and a small pointed nose.

‘Penny Munro?’ asked Erika. The woman nodded. ‘Hello. I’m DCI Foster. This is DI Peterson and DI Moss. We’re very sorry about your hus—’

Penny began to shake her head frantically, ‘No. He doesn’t know… I haven’t…’ she whispered, pointing at the little boy, who was grinning as Peterson stuck out his tongue and crossed his large brown eyes.

‘Could we have a word, on your own, please?’ said Erika.

‘I’ve already spoken to some officers.’

‘Mrs Munro, it’s very important.’

Penny blew her nose and nodded, shouting, ‘Mum! Muuum! Jesus, she’s got that telly up again…’ She opened the door in the hallway and the sound from the television intensified. The theme tune for This Morning blared out, rattling the thin frame of a mirror on the wall by the door. A few moments later, a large, elderly woman with a cloud of greasy grey hair and almost comically thick-framed glasses appeared at the living room door. She wore an androgynous green jumper and trousers, the legs of which were too short. They flapped above her swollen ankles, which poured over the edges of a pair of tartan slippers. The woman peered myopically through her murky glasses.