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having. A medium rare rib-eye steak with a large portion of fries, please. No salad. You have to order at the bar.’

‘I’m on my way,’ he said, as he stood and made his way into the other room.

After ordering their food, Seb returned to the table and sat opposite her.

‘Did they say how long it would be?’

‘I didn’t ask, but as there are very few people in here I suspect not long. While we wait, tell me about yourself. How long have you been in the force?’

‘What’s this, an interview?’

‘I’m curious.’

‘I joined at twenty-one after a string of boring jobs, the longest lasting six months at a local kennels.’

‘You’re a dog lover?’

‘Yeah. But the owner was a bastard and didn’t treat them well. I told him what I thought, and he fired me.’

He approved. Not of her being fired, but the fact she chose to stand up for the ill-treated animals.

‘I have a yellow lab. I’ve left her at the place I’m renting.’

‘Why didn’t you bring her with you?’

‘The weather.’ He took a sip of his stout. ‘You’ve stayed in the force, so you must enjoy it?’

‘If I say it’s my vocation, it makes me sound like a do-gooder. But I love it. The five years since I joined have flown by.’

‘It’s a good career.’

‘It would be if I could learn to play by the rules but, you know, sometimes rules are there to be broken.’

‘And sometimes they’re there for a reason.’

‘Yes, Dad.’

‘How old do you think I am?’

‘No idea. A lot older than me from the way you talk.’

‘I’m thirty-eight.’

‘Old then.’ She shrugged. ‘Your turn to tell me why you joined up. It’s gotta be more interesting than my story.’

‘I went to a police recruitment event at uni and liked the sound of it.’

‘I bet that went down well with the family.’

He gave a dry laugh. ‘You could say.’

‘What did they think about the scandal you were part of?’ She paused. ‘I googled you.’

‘The whole team was disbanded. We weren’t all guilty.’

‘That must have been tough. Were you fired?’

‘No. But the only job they offered was one I didn’t want to take.’

They were interrupted by the waiter bringing their food and he breathed a sigh of relief. He didn’t fancy rehashing everything when they had more important matters to discuss.

After they’d eaten, Birdie took out the folder from the carrier bag. ‘Shall we go through this now?’

‘Yes, let’s. Is there a copy of the suicide note?’

She opened the folder and pulled it out, handing it to him. ‘Here.’

He cast an eye over it and then read it aloud:

Sara,

Please forgive me. I can no longer live a lie. You’ll find out soon enough what I’ve done. Take care of the twins. I love you.

Donald

‘Short and to the point,’ he said.

‘Why is his wife concerned? Does she think it was written by someone else?’

‘No, it’s definitely his handwriting. But she believed he was forced to write it and was leaving her clues. First of all, he misspelt her name, the ‘h’ at the end is missing. Second, he referred to the children as the twins.’

‘They are twins.’ She frowned.

‘That was exactly my reaction. But it transpires he had a thing about wanting them to have their own identity. If he referred to them collectively, it would be the children, or the boys, but never the twins.’

‘Is that it?’

‘He left the family with nothing. Something he wouldn’t have done to them.’

‘He had no money, so there was no choice.’

‘Not entirely, there was an insurance policy but Sarah’s unable to claim because of the suicide verdict. There was a two-year exclusion period and he only took out the policy eighteen months ago. Surely if he took his own life he would’ve waited until the time he knew she’d definitely be paid out.’

‘Hmmm. Could he have thought it was one year and not two?’ she suggested.

‘That had crossed my mind, especially if he was depressed and not thinking straight.’

‘Did Mrs Witherspoon mention her thoughts to the police?’

‘She did, but they were brushed aside. Let’s take a look at the police report.’

Birdie took it out of the bag and passed it over to him. ‘It’s thin because there was nothing to report, other than where the body was located and the circumstances. Also, copies of interviews with the family who found him, and his wife.’

He flicked through it, his insides churning when he read about the two young boys who had found Donald with his head blown off.

He glanced up at her. ‘What about the coroner’s findings?’

‘They confirmed it was suicide. Witherspoon died between seven and nine on the Saturday night, the day before his body was discovered. The gun was found close to his right hand. He was right-handed. The note was influential in the final verdict, as were his financial problems, which came to light immediately after his death.’

‘Were there any witnesses?’

‘None noted in the file. Although, you’d think there might be someone there. Foxton Locks is a busy place. Unless …’

‘The officers didn’t look for any,’ he said, completing her sentence.

She shrugged. ‘Or the weather was bad …’

‘I’ll go through the reports in detail later when I’m home. I like to be armed with all the facts and while I’m not saying I think the death isn’t suicide, there are definitely some questions that need answering.’

‘I wasn’t part of the investigation, otherwise my instinct might have told me otherwise and we’d have looked a bit closer. What have you done so far?’

‘I’ve gone through Donald’s laptop and identified how he operated the Ponzi scheme. He used money from new investors to pay dividends to the existing ones. He was very organised, and all transactions were methodically recorded, both electronically and as hard copies. He would leave twenty thousand pounds in his current bank account and regularly topped it up with new investments. At the beginning of the year there was a substantial investment made, by an existing investor who happens to be Donald’s brother. Interviewing him is a good starting point, and

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