So Say the Fallen (Dci Serena Flanagan 2) Read Free

reach of her tongue. Anger rose in her, but the root of his bitterness remained so veiled that she could form no argument against it. Instead, she rolled over and crept to her cold edge of the bed. She did not sleep again, rose with the sun, and set about preparing for another weary day.
    So now she stood apart from them, as she did more often every day. Her husband and children at the table, she at the window, no longer even trying to make conversation with her family. An intruder in her own home, just as those boys had been.
    Alistair’s voice cracked her isolation. She turned her head and said, ‘What?’
    ‘Your phone,’ he said, a tired sigh carrying the words.
    Her mobile vibrated on the table, the screen lighting up.
    She crossed from the sink and lifted it. Detective Superintendent Purdy, the display said.
    Purdy had only a fortnight left on the job, retirement bearing down on him like a tidal wave. He had confided in Flanagan that although it had seemed like a good idea a year ago whenhe’d first started making plans, the reality of it, the long smear of years ahead, now terrified him.
    Flanagan thumbed the touchscreen. ‘Yes?’
    ‘Ah, good,’ Purdy said. ‘I wanted to catch you before you left for the station. There’s been a sudden death in Morganstown. The sergeant at the scene reckons suicide, so—’
    ‘So you thought of me,’ Flanagan said. ‘Thanks a million.’
    Flanagan hated suicides. In most cases, the minimum of investigation was needed, but the family would be devastated. Few grieve harder than the loved ones of someone who has taken their own life. They’d be coming at her with questions she could never answer.
    ‘You’re closer to Morganstown than you are to Lisburn,’ Purdy said, ‘so you can go straight there.’
    ‘I’ll leave now,’ she said.
    ‘Take your time. From what the sergeant said, it looks pretty straightforward. You remember that road accident about six months ago? The car dealer?’
    Yes, Flanagan remembered. The owner of Garrick Motors, a large used car dealership that occupied a sprawling site on the far side of Morganstown. He had been badly burned, lost both of his legs, if Flanagan recalled correctly. A popular churchgoing couple, good Christians both. Close friends with one of the local unionist politicians. The community had rallied around them. After all, Mr Garrick had contributed much to the area over the years.
    ‘The wife found him this morning,’ Purdy continued. ‘She phoned the minister at her church first. He went to the house, then he called it in. The FMO’s on scene already.’
    Flanagan knew the steps by heart. When a sudden death was reported, a sergeant had to attend to make an initial assessment. Was it natural? Had the deceased been ill? Was it suspicious? If the latter, including a suicide, the scene would be locked down, the Forensic Medical Officer summoned, and an Investigating Officer appointed.
    Today, it was Flanagan’s turn.
    ‘What’s the address?’ she asked, pulling the notebook from her bag. She held the phone between her ear and shoulder as she uncapped the pen and scribbled it down.
    Alistair looked up at her from his plate of buttered toast. Ruth and Eli kicked each other under the table, giggling.
    ‘I can be there in ten minutes.’ Flanagan stuffed the notebook back into her bag, then hoisted the bag over her shoulder. ‘I’ll call DS Murray on the way.’
    She was halfway to Morganstown, trees whipping past her Volkswagen Golf, when she realised she hadn’t said goodbye to her husband or children.
    A uniformed constable opened the door to Flanagan. A beautiful house, inside and out, at the end of a sweeping drive. Not long built, by the look of it, and finished with enough taste to prevent its grandeur straying into vulgarity.
    ‘Ma’am,’ the constable said when Flanagan showed her warrant card. ‘In the back.’
    He looked pale. Flanagan wondered if it was his first sudden death. At least the next of kin