Page 33 of Not That Impossible

“Did he say whether he’d killed the man?”

“No. He called the police.”

“Do you think he killed the man? Do you know him well? Is he the type to kill? Would you say he was nice, quiet, kept to himself?”

“Ray is very nice, and quiet. I don’t think he’s a killer.”

“Hmm.”

“I mean, he could be,” Mrs Hughes said reluctantly. “Anyone could, really.”

“Interesting. Let’s circle back to that one. What happened when the police arrived?”

I scribbled furiously in my notebook, turned to a fresh page and kept scribbling. It was a barely legible mess, but it would make sense when I read it back and typed it up, I was sure.

Oh, damn. I needed my phone after all. There was no way I could put together an article, run to my car, drive home, type it all up on my MacBook, and get it over to Ralph in an hour.

I switched my notebook for my phone. It was only a little bit cracked. Please work, I thought. I brushed the grit off it, tentatively pressed the home button, and the passcode prompt came up. Brilliant.

I opened up my notes app and the screen went black.

I jabbed the button again. Still black. I pressed and held the power button down and waited a second or two. Nothing.

Goddammit.

Okay.

Back to the notebook.

I switched again, looked up, and realised that Mrs Hughes and Mrs Strickland were nowhere to be seen.

I looked around wildly. Where the fuck were they?

I followed the low murmur of voices around to the front of the house, where the two women were deep in conversation.

My shoulders slumped. My first headline opportunity, poached before my eyes.

This was the most exciting thing to happen in Chipping Fairford since there was a big battle in the 1300s over by the water meadow, and I’d managed to screw it up.

I was pretty sure that Ray was having a worse day. But still.

I kicked glumly down the drive and stood staring at Ray’s house. They’d set up crowd-control barricades at the bottom of his drive. Blue-and-white police tape was festooned around like tinsel.

The front door opened and two police officers came out, deep in conversation, briefly showing activity in the house behind them before the door closed.

It was as if the clouds had parted and the sun came out.

Liam.

I ran across the road. I’d hit the opposite pavement and was heading for the gap between barricades when I saw another officer coming in to intercept.

Maybe putting on a burst of speed to try to get to Liam first wasn’t my best move. But it had been aday, okay?

I collided with the police officer, who bodied me backward while shouting in my face, “Sir, I’m going to have to ask you to step back and stay behind the line!”

“What line?” I said.

She lifted her chin, hitched a thumb at herself and said, “This line.”

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