I stared down at my fists. And yes: I know what that sounds like. I ve never Deep breath. It s mine.
Dr McDonald emerged from the SOC tent, something tucked under her arm and a steaming mug in both hands. Ash, did you want coffee, because I ve got you a coffee and there s doughnuts but they look a bit stale so I didn t bother, unless you want me to go back? She handed me a mug. Got the map too.
Henry spread it out on the Volvo s bonnet. It was fairly high detail, big enough to take in the park and the surrounding streets. Someone had marked the burial sites a red X for each girl recovered. Right: if he cared about the bodies he d keep them close.
Off in the distance, the sound of a car engine and crunching gravel came through the mist. Getting louder.
She leaned on the bonnet. But he doesn t. Given the deposition sites, it looks as if he s simply throwing them away.
Exactly. So he s not going to want to carry them too far Henry produced a pencil. Have you done any geographical profiling? These days it s all computers and statistical analysis, but we used to do it with brainpower.
A battered Astra pulled up on the other side of the SEB Transit. Dickie clambered out of the driver s seat, a smile putting extra wrinkles in his cheeks. Henry! Henry Forrester, you old sod, they said you were here, but I didn t He stared at me. Ash.
I stared back. Dickie.
Dr McDonald smiled. Isn t it great: Henry s agreed to assist the investigation.
Dickie didn t even look at her. Yeah, that s great. Ash, you can t be here.
She s my daughter.
I know she s Look, you re on compassionate leave: I promise we ll keep you up to date, but you can t be here.
I took a step towards him. Her birthday s tomorrow, do you really think I m
Don t make me get someone to escort you home, Ash. He closed his eyes, rubbed at his forehead. Please.
Sun sliced through the clouds, sparkling back from the wet streets as I creaked the Renault onto Rowan Drive. Weber must ve pulled a few strings, because there was a police cordon cutting off the road a good hundred feet from the house, keeping the journalist scumbags at a reasonable distance. Giving Michelle some privacy.
I pulled into the kerb, behind a BBC outside broadcast van.
Should really drive down there and see how she s coping. Give her some support. Lie to her and pretend this isn t what happened to Rebecca
Maybe Henry was right: maybe it didn t matter any more. They d booted me off the investigation anyway, who cared if everyone found out?
The steering wheel was cold in my hands, the plastic coating creaking as I squeezed.
I cared.
Blink.
Why couldn t it have been Steven Wallace?
Blink.
I screwed my eyes closed and squeezed the steering wheel till my arms trembled.
My phone rang, the noise too loud in the quiet car. I pulled it out NUMBER WITHHELD.
Who is this?
Ash, you old bastardo Andy Inglis, Mrs Kerrigan s boss. He cleared his throat, then dropped his voice to something less cheery. I heard about your daughter, I m really sorry.
The driver s window was cool against my forehead. So am I.
Look, I was gonnae give you a call, give you the usual
If there s anything I can do, bollocks, then I thought: why not lend a hand instead? Put out some feelers for you. I could almost hear him grinning. So I did. And guess what: man I know says another girl went missing a couple of months ago: got a card and everything. Her parents said fuck all about it, cos her boyfriend s connected, you know?
A couple of months ago: the twelfth victim. The one before Megan Taylor.
Nothing that would help me find Katie before tomorrow. I appreciate the effort, but it s
The boyfriend said he saw the bastard.
I sat up straight. He what?
Said he was there when she was lifted. Wasn t meant to be, but he was. Saw everything.
And he didn t tell anyone? How could he not
His dad s allergic to police officers. Now: you got a pen for the address?
I pulled out my notebook. What s it going to cost?
Fuck all. Public-spirited citizen, that s me. Make sure the bastard gets what s comin to him.
and that was that was Coldplay and
Fix You. A cough rattled out of the car radio. Sorry folks, had a bit of a rough one last night. A shuddering sigh. Right, OK: you re listening to Sensational Steve s Sunday Morning Lie-In Lovefest and and now here s another of Megan Taylor s favourite songs
The fields and little towns raced by as I hammered down the M74 accelerator flat to the Renault s filthy carpet, phone to my ear, swearing as the other end rang and rang and rang. Then put me through to voicemail again.
Henry, for fuck s sake: answer your bloody phone!
I hung up and tried again, for the fourth time in twenty miles.
Lockerbie was a blur in the rear-view mirror when I finally gave up on Henry and tried Dr McDonald instead. She picked up first time.
Ash, are you OK, I mean I know you re not OK, with everything happening and now you can t be on the team and I m we re worried about you.
When does he kill them?
On their birthdays, is there
