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treading water,and for the life of me didn’t know what to do next in the Laura Heeley case.
    If I’d known that she was number five in a series I might have had a few ideas.
     
    Next morning we had a big meeting, crowded in the conference room. I told the troops about the review team’s decision and thanked them for the hard work they’d put into the case. “Reports,” I told them. “Get your reports finished and tagged, no matter how futile you believe them to be, before you resume normal duties. And meanwhile, let’s have one last brainstorm. Anything you don’t understand about the case, or any cockeyed theory you might have, now’s the time to air it. Who’ll start the ball rolling?” Individual officers have their own areas of enquiry, and can’t be expected to know everything about the case. That’s my job, to have an overview, but I have no illusions about my omnipotence and was at a stage where I would have accepted suggestions from the cleaning lady.
    “Dave?” I invited, looking at big Sparky Sparkington sitting in the front row. He’s a close friend and doesn’t mind being put on the spot.
    “Yeah,” he began, shuffling in his seat. “We all know the statistics. According to them, it’s a family matter. Are we really happy that the husband and son are in the clear?”
    We’d covered this ground a thousand times, but it helped break the ice. I pointed at Jeff Caton, one of my DSs, and invited him to comment. We’d spoken to the family together , initially, handling them like one would handle any bereaved relatives. Then Jeff had called them in for a formal interview, “just for the record.” It’s a delicate situation, balancing sympathy for their loss with your suspicions that they may have done the deed themselves.
    “I’m happy about them,” Jeff told us. “The daughter’s alibi is watertight – she was ten-pin bowling with friends and still had the receipts. The son and husband are not totally inthe clear – they could have conspired together, but there’s nothing for them in it.”
    “I’ll go along with that,” Maggie Madison interrupted. She’d worked with the family as police liaison officer. “Barry and young Billy are completely lost without Laura. They don’t know how to boil an egg between them. Barry has never made a cheque out in his life and hasn’t a clue about the washing machine or where the clean towels are kept. Laura ran the house and ran them. In short,” she added with a smile, “they were a typical happy family.”
    “No skeletons?” I asked.
    “Big row, two Christmases ago. He got drunk, had a fight with Billy. The daughter, Sarah, used it as an excuse to leave home and live with her boyfriend, but she’s back now.”
    “Anything else?”
    “Laura was friendly with an old man who lives nearby. Used to take him meals and talk to him, but there was nothing in it. He’s a pensioner.”
    “Pensioners have their moments, Maggie,” I remarked. “Well, I hope they do. Did Barry know about this?”
    “Yes, but he’s not the jealous sort. He’s not any sort. A couch, a television and a remote control and he’s as happy as Larry.”
    “As you said, they were a typical happy family. Anybody have a question?”
    “Insurance?” a voice asked.
    “None,” I replied.
    “Are the kids his?” someone else asked.
    I hunched my shoulders, pursed my lips and opened my eyes wide. “Dunno,” I admitted. “They’re supposed to be his, not adopted, that is. What do you have in mind?”
    “Well, maybe somebody else put Laura in the family way, all those years ago, and he’s born a grudge ever since, biding his time. It’s just a thought.”
    “Yep,” I said. “It’s a possibility. Resentment smouldering away inside him. We have samples from them all but I don’t think we asked the lab for a paternity test. We’ll check it out. Thanks for that, anything else?”
    We rabbited on for another hour, chewing over stuff that I’d grown sick of