Desperate Measures - [8]

‘That’s not a bit of mindless vandalism, is it?’ Shap said. ‘That’s been rammed. It’s a total write-off. We’ve had Halliwell shot, McKee’s house damaged, now Halliwell’s car…’

They walked up to the door and Shap knocked.

The music carried on and a woman opened the door. She was thin with ash-blonde hair, and was dressed in a pleated navy skirt and powder blue blouse, pearls at her neck and in her ears. A classic look, Lisa thought, timeless. The sort of thing you could get in the boring bits at M &S if you wanted. Never go out of fashion. Never in fashion either, as far as Lisa was concerned.

‘Mrs Halliwell? Norma?’

‘Yes.’

‘I’m DC Goodall,’ Lisa said, ‘and this is Sergeant Shap, may we come in?’

The woman gave a frown. ‘They told Don they’d send someone tomorrow.’

What’s she on about, Lisa wondered, crossed wires somewhere?

Norma Halliwell showed them into the hallway, black and white tiles on the floor, polished wood banisters and thick cream carpets on the stairs. Cream, thought Lisa, how did they keep them clean?

‘Will it take long?’ Norma Halliwell said, ‘Only I have a pupil.’ She gestured to the front room where the piano music was playing.

‘Perhaps you could ask them to leave?’ Lisa said.

Norma Halliwell made a little sound of surprise.

‘It could take a while,’ Lisa said.

For a moment it looked like she might argue the toss about it but then the woman said, ‘Very well.’ She disappeared into the room. The music stopped.

‘Have you got the tissues?’ Shap said, winding Lisa up. He’d know she was nervous, this the first time she’d given the death message. The sarky comments were maybe his way of trying to help – but they didn’t.

Norma Halliwell came out with a young lad and saw him to the door. ‘Bye bye, Jordan, see you next week, we’ll make up the time then.’

She closed the door and turned to Shap and Lisa. ‘Please, come in.’

The front room was spacious and well-furnished with a piano and paintings and tapestries on the walls.

‘Please sit down, Mrs Halliwell,’ Lisa said.

Norma Halliwell sat on one of the winged armchairs. She looked bemused, almost smiling, as though this might be some weird game they were playing.

Lisa’s chest felt tight and her face warm as she said, ‘We have some very bad news, I’m sorry to have to tell you that your husband, Dr Halliwell, has been the victim of a violent attack.’

‘He’s been hurt?’ Norma Halliwell looked stunned, her mouth hung open.

‘I’m sorry,’ Lisa said, ‘he’s dead.’

There was a beat, a little snort of disbelief from Norma Halliwell who frowned and shook her head quickly and said, ‘Sorry?’ as though she might have misheard.

‘Dr Halliwell is dead,’ Lisa said. She knew it sounded brutal but it was important to be clear, to leave no room for doubt.

‘Oh, no. Please, no,’ she said, ‘but how? What happened?’

‘He was found outside the surgery,’ Lisa said, ‘he appears to have been shot.’

‘Shot?’ Norma Halliwell seemed completely dazed. Lisa didn’t know how much time they’d have while the woman could still string two words together.

‘Mrs Halliwell?’ Lisa said, ‘Can you tell us when you last saw your husband?’

‘Erm, when he left for work, this morning. About, erm, quarter past eight,’ she said.

‘He took your car?’ Shap said.

‘Oh, yes. His… well, you’ve seen it?’ Norma Halliwell said. ‘I thought that’s why you were here.’

‘What happened to his car?’ Shap said.

‘We were asleep, last night, there was this almighty crash, terrible noise, then another and the sound of a car screeching away.’ Her voice shook. ‘Don went to look and someone had just driven right into it. Deliberately.’

‘Do you know who?’ Shap said.

Norma Halliwell shook her head.

‘Can you think of anyone who would wish him harm?’ Lisa said.

Norma Halliwell began to cry, covered her nose and mouth with her hands. ‘No,’ she sobbed.

‘Did your husband own a gun?’ Shap said.

‘A gun? No.’

‘I’m very sorry to ask you this but we will need someone to make a formal identification once the post-mortem has been completed. Probably later tomorrow,’ Lisa said.

‘No!’ Norma Halliwell gasped. ‘I can’t. I can’t do that. Don’t make me.’

‘Of course not,’ Lisa said. ‘I’m sure one of Mr Halliwell’s colleagues will be able to do it but we always ask next of kin first.’

‘I’m sorry,’ the woman said, tears on her face, ‘I just can’t.’

Lisa try to persuade Mrs. Halliwell to contact someone, a friend or relative or neighbour to come and sit with her but she steadfastly refused. It felt awkward, cruel, leaving her alone after dropping such a bombshell but Lisa couldn’t force the woman against her wishes.

Outside Lisa looked again at the damaged car. ‘If the same person as shot him did that,’ she said, pointing to the car, ‘then we might be able to find material from the culprit, or at least his vehicle, here and at the crime scene.’

‘Not a bad idea,’ Shap said. He got out his phone and selected a number. ‘We want a forensic exam on the victim’s car,’ he said, ‘which is currently at the home address. Full lift of the vehicle to the garage then cross reference and see if there’s any evidence linking this to the murder crime scene.’