Copyright © 2026 Heleyne Hammersley

All rights reserved

The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author.

No part of this book may be reproduced, or stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without express written permission of the publisher.

Cover design by: Rocking Book Covers

for Mary Gargett

He waits in the shadow of the hedge, dressed in black, his face covered. He knows she’ll pass this way; he’s observant, careful, meticulous. The anticipation is part of the thrill, and he could almost resist the act and wallow in this feeling of utter calm, utter control. Almost.

A movement in his peripheral vision. A misalignment of the planes of darkness. Then he sees her.

She’s looking at something on her phone, the screen lighting her face as she blunders towards him, oblivious. A smile as she appreciates a supportive message or a joke, then looks up and slides the phone into her back pocket. Suddenly alert she quickens her pace, unaware that she’s heading directly towards him, towards the darkness. It’s as if she can smell him.

He grabs the back of her jacket as she passes, a thick handful of denim, enough to stop her instantly.

‘What…?’ she manages to gasp before he covers her mouth with his hand and pulls her into his embrace. It’s over quickly. Too quickly. The anticipation has overshadowed the event and he’s disappointed with the brevity of his euphoria. All that’s left is to leave her, to leave his message.

Half dragging, half carrying, he manoeuvres the limp body from his car onto a small patch of grass on the riverbank and lays her down gently, delicately. Now it’s all about care and thought. He can’t rush this part despite the risk of being caught. He ties the ankles together and plunges the wooden post deep into the reeds. It’ll hold for a few hours, he thinks. Long enough.

He folds back the front of her jacket as though opening a book, her thin body the story within. Then he lifts her T-shirt and reaches for the waistband of her jeans. The button is a struggle, and he fumbles in his need for haste. It frees and he moves down to the cold metal zip. Halfway down, no further, and he peels back the fabric revealing a triangle of pale underwear.

Standing above the inert body, he angles his head, checks the arrangement of clothing. Perfect. The final act: baptism. He eases her into the river, holding her until the water can take her weight from him.

He’d expected it to be more difficult, but realises that, having crossed this bridge, he’s happy to have it crumble behind him. He steps from the riverside path into the light of a streetlamp, walking into a new world.

CHAPTER 1

A thin mist covered the river’s surface like smoke from an autumn leaf fire, floating lazily in the still air. Paul Messenger loved mornings like this, the sun appearing from behind the stand of trees on the low rise that overlooked this section of river. If he didn’t know better, he could imagine himself in the Rockies or on a sparsely populated island rather than in South Yorkshire, beside the River Don not far from Thorpe.

Fishing was his therapy, not catching – he didn’t get much of a thrill from hauling the poor buggers out of the water and throwing them back – it was the silence he came for.

Lena didn’t get it. She wanted him at home on his days off, fixing, painting, mowing but he needed his space, and she’d had to accept that. Married for fifteen years, she’d not had much choice. He wasn’t a bad husband. He didn’t get drunk, stay out with his mates, and he’d never raised a finger to her, but he needed peace and tranquillity to reset his own inner equilibrium and if that meant that the kitchen still needed painting, she’d just have to be patient.

He swung back, using his upper body to cast his line as far out into the river as he could, watching the ripples as the weighted hook broke the surface tension. Satisfied with the position of his line he settled into his canvas chair, pulled his hood over his head and sighed, feeling the tightness release from his shoulders.

Ten minutes later, Paul felt a tug and the rod bowed. He stood and reeled in his catch. It wasn’t much, probably less than a pound in weight – perch most likely. The coloured float drew closer to the bank, and he saw the flash of a tail fin as the fish struggled against the pull of the line. He finally plucked the fish from the water and unhooked its mouth, watching as its gills flapped weakly and its mouth formed a tiny O.

‘Bye, fella,’ he said as he leaned down to ease the fish back into the water.

‘Damn,’ he cursed as his phone fell out of his jacket pocket and plopped into the shallow water near his feet. He squatted, rolled up his sleeve and plunged his hand into the icy river, desperately trying to remember how long a phone could stand to be submerged.

‘Gotcha!’ his fingers clasped the plastic case before the device could be dragged into a reedy patch a couple of feet downstream. He skidded on the muddy bank and his left leg plunged into the icy water, almost knee deep.

‘Christ!’ He turned, floundering with his hands as he tried to keep his balance, and grabbed a handful of reeds. His other foot lost purchase and slid into the river, leaving him no choice other than to wade a few feet downstream where the water was shallower and the bank lower.

He’d taken two steps when he saw it. A hand reaching out, pointing in the direction of the current. His eyes followed the hand to an arm then on to a head and shoulders framed by tendrils of dark red hair. As he pulled himself from the river, shaking with cold and shock, he could make out the rest of the body caught in the reeds.

His numb fingers refused to cooperate at first and the phone screen wouldn’t read his thumb print. He cupped his hands together and blew warm air into the hollow. This time he managed to key in his passcode and dial 999.

CHAPTER 2

Six months. Six months at home allowing her ribs to heal and her fractured wrist to knit itself back together. It had felt too long but it hadn’t just been the physical discomfort that had kept her away from the office. Detective Inspector Kate Fletcher had been a police officer for most of her adult life, but she’d been forced to admit that she needed a break and some help after the last case that had almost killed her.

She looked down at her feet trying to remember the last time they’d been warm. She’d prepared for a trek along the riverbank – thick socks and waterproof hiking boots – but the icy morning was brutal, and she’d lost the sensation in her toes five minutes after leaving her car.

A short walk took her to where a white tent had been erected a few feet back from the water, presumably to cover the body. The entrance was guarded by a petite dark-haired woman in a protective suit that was too big for her compact frame. Dark eyebrows above a white face mask accentuated deep blue eyes.

‘Boss,’ the woman said with a nod.

Kate nodded back, reluctant to acknowledge the greeting. She’d met Detective Sergeant Maeve Warren only twice and already found her deferential manner irritating. As a replacement for DS Steve O’Connor, she had big boots to fill, figuratively and literally, and, so far, she was falling short. Kate had trained the other members of her team to call her by her first name, not out of any sense of egalitarianism but because she hated ‘Boss’, ‘Guv’ and especially ‘Ma’am’ which made her feel ancient. With each other they interchanged first and last names depending on mood and circumstances, but Warren couldn’t seem to remember.

‘What have we got, Warren?’

Warren stood aside to allow Kate room to pass.

‘Body of a young woman. Fisherman found her this morning. No purse, phone or any other form of ID.’

‘Drowned?’

Warren gave her a conspiratorial smile. ‘We mustn’t speculate.’ She looked towards the interior of the tent. ‘Doctor Kailisa might be able to tell us something when he’s completed his prelim.’

The pathologist was well known for his by-the-book approach and reluctance to give any details about a suspicious death unless he was certain of his findings. Kate knew that, for some reason, he found her presence particularly irritating, but that was between the two of them – Warren had no right to suggest she was part of that relationship.

‘Detective Inspector Fletcher.’ A voice from beneath the flimsy fabric. ‘I was hoping you’d get here soon.’

‘That’s a first.’ Kate gestured to Warren to pass her a plastic-wrapped package containing a protective suit, mask and shoe covers. Kate struggled into the suit, covered her boots and slipped on the surgical mask before stepping inside the tent. Rustling her way over to where Kailisa was squatting, she bent down to get a closer look at the body.

‘Where was she found?’ Kate asked.

She almost heard the squeak of Kailisa’s eyes rolling. ‘In the river.’

‘I realise that. Close to the bank? Floating down the middle?’

‘Close to the bank. Tied to a wooden post.’

Kailisa’s answers were always short, clipped. Kate was used to that.

‘Drowned?’ she asked, even though she knew the answer.

‘As you know,’ Kailisa gave a derisory sniff, ‘drowning is very difficult to establish without a full postmortem. And even then…’

His voice trailed off as he leaned closer to one of the arms.

‘Livor mortis.’ Kailisa indicated for a photographer to take images of the arm. ‘On the outside of the right upper arm. She was left lying on her side for some time after death. Long enough for gravity to cause the blood to pool. There’s a clear pale strip indicating she was lying on a hard surface. The livor is patchy, so she probably wasn’t lying there for very long, but it does suggest that she was dead before she was placed in the water.’

‘Any chance of time of death?’ Kate asked.

‘Yes. If you can determine who she is and when she was last seen, then I’d place time of death between that last sighting and when the fisherman found the body in the river.’

Smiling to herself Kate thanked Kailisa for his unhelpful remark. She knew he wouldn’t be able to give her an answer – especially not this early in his examination – but the question and his response were like steps in a familiar dance. And one day she hoped he’d be able to surprise her with an accurate answer.

‘How long has she been out of the water?’ Kate asked.

Kailisa checked his oversized diver’s watch. ‘Around forty-five minutes. I’ll send you the images of the body in situ and of the post, rope and knot. We’ve bagged everything for transportation to Doncaster.’

‘Is it okay if I have a closer look before you move her?’

The pathologist stood and stepped back. ‘Be my guest.’

She started at the feet, one still clad in a black Doc Marten’s shoe, the other in only a purple sock. The girl’s jeans were dark blue, but it was impossible to tell if that was their original colour or if they’d been darkened by river water. The button and zip on the jeans were unfastened, and a thin triangle of purple underwear peeked out.

‘Were her jeans like this when she was removed from the river?’ Kate needed to be certain that this wasn’t due to any part of the examination.

‘Of course.’

‘Anything to indicate sexual assault?’

‘Too early to say.’

Kate’s eyes travelled up the torso where a grey-and-black checked shirt covered a purple vest T-shirt. Odd given the weather. ‘No coat?’

‘No.’

Finally reaching the woman’s head, Kate took in the pale neck ridged with a dark line. ‘Ligature mark?’

‘Possibly. The only visible sign of violence. I’ve palpated the skull and scalp, no sign of contusions or fractures.’

Putting the facts together Kate tried a few scenarios. The girl was strangled with a rope or cord, left lying on a hard surface then tied up in the river. Whoever had done this wasn’t trying to hide the body – on the contrary, he wanted it to be found.

‘Okay,’ she said with a sigh. ‘Let me know when you’re going to do the PM. We’ll get started on trying to find out who she was. She’s young – I’d guess late teens – looks well nourished, like she takes care of herself. Somebody will be missing her.’

‘I truly hope so.’

Kate was ducking under the tape marking the inner cordon of the scene when Kailisa called out.

‘DI Fletcher? I think we may have an ID.’

CHAPTER 3

Kate hated starting the day with a meeting with her boss. She’d never been able to fully shake off the feeling of being a naughty child waiting for a telling off from the headmistress, and Detective Chief Inspector Priya Das seemed to have a sixth sense for Kate’s discomfort. The previous day had been tough – her first fully back from her extended sick leave – and this one was getting off to a bad start.

‘So you’re sure you’re okay?’ Das asked again.

‘I’m sure,’ Kate said. ‘It wasn’t my first body, and I doubt it’ll be my last. Kailisa’s doing the PM later today and it looks like we have an ID.’

‘That sounds positive.’ Das leaned back in her chair. ‘How did you find Warren?’

Kate nearly said something along the lines of the DS being outside the tent and in her direct eyeline, but Das wasn’t known for her sense of humour.

‘She’s… thorough.’

‘By which you mean…?’

‘She knows her stuff and she seems to do things by the book. But it’s early days. I haven’t seen her with the rest of the team yet.’ Kate knew her response sounded vague, but she hadn’t seen Warren interacting with the others and, in Kate’s opinion, being able to gel with an established group was crucial.

Das nodded. ‘She comes highly recommended and, to be frank, ‘by the book’ isn’t the worst personality trait for a DS.’

There was no missing the barbed reference to Warren’s predecessor who had read the book, digested its contents then set fire to it. O’Connor had been an exceptional police officer, but his methods weren’t even close to orthodox and, ultimately, that had cost him his career and his mobility.

‘I’m sure she does, Ma’am,’ Kate said. ‘I just feel for Barratt and Hollis – either one could have stepped up and replaced O’Connor. They’re both ready to take their sergeant’s exams and either could have been acting DS.’

A slight flare of Das’s nostrils was the only indication that Kate had overstepped, but it was enough to warn her to back off and, in fairness to Das, Kate had no say in this decision as she hadn’t been there to offer any comments or suggestions. If anybody had let Barratt and Hollis down, it was Kate.

‘And I’m sure both of them will take the exams in due course,’ Das said. ‘In the meantime, you have a fully qualified and experienced DS on your team who’s good at her job. I’m sure she’ll be an asset.’

Das checked the expensive fitness tracker she wore instead of a conventional watch. ‘Team briefing?’

‘About to head down there.’ Kate hoped that Das wasn’t going to offer to attend. It was her first briefing with the whole team and she wanted them to feel able to talk openly.

‘Do you mind if I tag along?’ Without waiting for a response, Das pushed back her chair and stood, patting her short dark hair into place. ‘I’d be interested to see how Warren’s fitting in.’

‘I’d rather you didn’t, if you don’t mind. It’s my first proper briefing with them and I’d like them to feel able to speak freely.’

‘Freely?’

‘With respect, it can be quite intimidating having a senior officer present. I’d rather they were able to relax.’

‘Intimidating,’ Das muttered, and Kate was unsure whether the DCI was annoyed or pleased. ‘Okay. Have it your way – just this once.’

She offered Kate a thin smile, standing next to her desk expectantly. Kate realised that was her cue to leave. She hoped she’d struck the right tone, but it was always difficult to tell with Das.

As Kate entered the team office, she could see from the body language of her colleagues that the group was far from a harmonious unit. Sam Cooper was engrossed in something on her laptop, as usual, her head bent towards the screen, blonde hair hiding her face.

Barratt had turned his desk chair as soon as Kate entered and was watching her expectantly, arms folded across his chest, his dark eyes almost buried beneath eyebrows drawn close in a frown. Hollis was leaning his tall frame against a door jamb opposite, looking like he couldn’t decide whether he wanted to be in the meeting or not.

This was the first time in half a year that the whole group had been in the same room at the same time, and she felt that she needed to mark the occasion in some way – she’d thought of sharing her big news, but that was a bit too personal, and she needed to focus on the professional. She could have commented on O’Connor’s absence and acknowledged the significance of his actions but that might have seemed like she was having a dig at the new DS or reminding Barratt and Hollis that they’d been overlooked. At a loss for something significant to say, she simply dumped her bag on her desk and offered a general ‘morning’.

Despite the chilly room, which clearly hadn’t had time to warm up yet, the atmosphere was heavy, oppressive, and the reason was sitting at the head of the conference table checking something on her phone.

‘Maeve?’ Kate said quietly. ‘Briefing?’

Warren looked up, her face colouring as she put the phone into her jacket pocket. ‘Sorry, Boss.’

Cooper had turned her chair round, and Kate caught the briefest flicker of a smile before her face reset to an impassive, slightly wary expression.

Warren ran her fingers through her hair before tapping her laptop keyboard. ‘Maya Marshall,’ she began as the whiteboard came to life. ‘Aged seventeen. Preliminary ID from a bank card in her sock.’

‘In her sock?’ Barratt said. ‘That’s a bit strange.’

‘In my day it was a fiver,’ Cooper replied. ‘In case I lost my wallet, or my coat. Emergency money for the bus home.’

Warren scowled at the interruption before continuing. ‘Her parents have been informed, and the father should have confirmed the ID by now. She didn’t come home on Tuesday night and her father called 999 to report her missing yesterday morning. He followed up with a visit to his local police station with this photograph.’

A projected image showed a young woman sitting for what was probably a school photograph. She wore a plain light blue T-shirt with an unusual, scalloped neck and a dark green lanyard arrowed towards her midriff which was out of sight. Her copper-coloured hair was tied in a high ponytail and her face, in slight profile, was attractive and devoid of make-up. The girl was smiling, her perfect teeth visible between slightly parted lips.

‘Student at The Groves Academy. She was a few months into her A levels in English, Psychology and Geography.’

Kate looked up, relieved to see that Hollis had stopped hovering and had taken a seat at the conference desk, his eyes scanning the screen as Warren continued.

‘County swimmer. Holds the record for the 100 metres breaststroke.’

Warren pressed another key, and the photograph changed to one taken at the crime scene that Kate had attended the previous day. This image showed pale skin and red hair darkened to auburn by river water. The brownish linear bruise on the girl’s neck stood out like a primitive tattoo.

‘Her body was discovered in the River Don not far from Thorpe, where she lived with her parents. Fully clothed but her jeans were undone. No obvious signs of sexual assault. Cause of death appears to be strangulation with a ligature – unless something else comes up at the PM.’

Even after seeing the evidence first hand, Kate found the photograph disturbing. The girl looked peaceful floating face up, almost like she’d been enjoying a cooling dip, arms carried above her head by the current, but her legs were tied to a wooden fence post that had been hidden in the reeds, presumably to stop the body from being carried away by the river.

‘Is that an unusual type of knot?’ Barratt asked, leaning closer, his hooked nose giving the impression of a bird of prey homing in for a kill.

‘Standard reef knot,’ Warren said. ‘Wouldn’t require any specialist knowledge.’

‘The body has been deliberately tied there, that’s obvious,’ Cooper said. ‘The overall image is almost like she’s sleeping on her back with her arms above her head.’

Kate smiled to herself as an unexpected memory surfaced. Her fiancé Nick was often telling her that sharing her bed was like sleeping with an angry starfish. She forced herself to focus on the screen – she couldn’t afford any distractions.

‘What about the jeans?’ Hollis asked and Warren moved to another image showing the girl’s waist. The button and zip of her jeans were unfastened, and the denim was pulled back far enough to reveal the purple cotton of her underwear. Kailisa had been certain it wasn’t due to the flow of water. If anything, the direction of the current would have pulled her jeans up rather than down.

‘It’s a bit odd, that somebody would start to undress her,’ Hollis said.

‘Maybe they were interrupted,’ Barratt suggested.

‘I don’t think so. There was time to tie the body. If the killer had been interrupted before he could sexually assault her – alive or dead – did he come back and tie her there later?’

‘Could be part of a ritual,’ Cooper said. ‘There was never any intention of sexual assault. This means something to whoever killed her but it’s not what it looks like.’

The others nodded apart from Warren who looked doubtful.

Kate had missed this. The back and forth. Sharing ideas and giving them credence or shooting them down in flames was what made the team so strong as a unit. No theory was too outlandish, and no dismissal or ridicule was ever taken personally. It was a process, and they were all part of it.

‘Anything similar in any of the databases?’ Kate asked Cooper. If there was anything even vaguely resembling this murder, Cooper would find it.

‘Not yet. I probably need to widen the parameters – haven’t had chance. Was her phone found with the body? I wouldn’t mind having a look at it.’

‘No sign of it,’ Warren said. ‘Her dad says she had an iPhone, but he wasn’t sure which model. Could be in the river. She should also have had a school bag and some swimming gear. Neither has turned up yet.’

‘I assume we’ve got a statement from the fisherman?’ Barratt asked.

‘Preliminary,’ Kate told him. ‘I spoke to him on the riverbank, but he was in shock and the CSIs wanted him out of the way. Hopefully his memory will be sharp. It’s been less than twenty-four hours since Kailisa said the body could be moved.’

Hollis grinned looking more like his old self. ‘After crossing the Ts and dotting the Is, I bet.’

‘We’ll need a formal statement from the angler – I’ll send a couple of uniforms, and we need to interview the parents and any friends we can find,’ Kate said starting to outline the jobs for the day. ‘Sam, check Maya’s social media. Find out who liked her and who didn’t and see if anybody new has popped up recently. Look at who she followed, was interested in, was obsessed with.

‘Barratt and Warren, I want you both at the school. The head’s been informed and the school is organising assemblies to announce Maya’s death and, hopefully, keep a lid on any gossip and speculation. I want you two to find out anything about her friends, see who’s crying and who’s not. You both know the drill.’

In Kate’s experience teenagers were both the best and worst when it came to finding out information. Most loved to put themselves as close to the victim as possible – same year, same class, same bus – but others were more circumspect and less likely to trust authority. It made weeding out the truth from the hyperbole irritatingly difficult.

She took a breath. ‘I’m sorry if that sounded callous – be sensitive but find out who her real friends were. Dan?’

Hollis looked up expectantly.

‘With me – family.’

It was the worst job and the one that required the most sensitivity – Hollis was her natural pick due to his empathy and ability to ask important questions in a way that didn’t feel intrusive. At least, that was who he used to be. She had a twenty-minute car journey to find out why he was suddenly so sullen and disengaged.

CHAPTER 4

Stepping out into the car park was a shock after the shelter of the building and Kate zipped her down jacket up to her chin. A watery winter sun was trying to spark light from the semi-frozen puddles, but it did little to alleviate the gloom of the parking area. Hollis had chosen a dark grey Audi from the pool cars and the unobtrusive sedan chirped as he flipped the remote control towards it.

‘You going to tell me what’s wrong?’ Kate had thought about being gentle, circumspect, but that approach rarely worked on Hollis who preferred to interact frankly and directly with his colleagues. Still, that was the old Hollis, and this was a bit of a gamble as he seemed to have changed.

‘What do you mean?’ Hollis pulled out of the car park and eased into a slow lane of traffic leading to the dual carriageway.

‘You’re not yourself, Dan. You didn’t want to engage with the team meeting, and you’ve not been very communicative over the past few months. God knows the changes have been tough on everybody, but this isn’t like you. If you need to talk, I’m listening. Or if you need somebody better qualified you know there’s help out there.’

‘I’m fine. It’s just a bit strange being back in the office with the whole team. Everything’s been a bit fragmented since your absence – I don’t think we’ve even used the meeting room once in six months. It should feel like old times, now it feels even more like everything’s changed.’

Kate wasn’t at all convinced, but she didn’t know whether to push or give him space. She tapped the heating control, giving herself time to think before pressing further.

‘Is it about Warren? You know that job should have been yours.’

‘Or Matt’s.’

He had a point.

‘Or Matt’s,’ she conceded. ‘I know my absence changed everything and now we all need to get back on track. I’m sorry I needed as much time off as I did but there’s nothing stopping you sitting your exams and looking for a promotion.’

Hollis pulled the car onto the dual carriageway and accelerated gently, his movements slightly stilted and self-conscious as if he were keeping himself in check. ‘To be honest, Kate, I’m not sure I want a promotion. I’ve had a lot of time to think, and I’ve been talking to Steve a lot. Things have changed and I’m not sure where I’m going anymore.’

It didn’t surprise Kate that Hollis had been in contact with O’Connor – they were a close-knit group and O’Connor’s injuries had hurt them all. She wished she’d been able to do more for her former Detective Sergeant, and it was good to know that the others had been looking out for him when she hadn’t been able. They’d managed a few Zoom calls, but O’Connor was still easily tired, and his wife was keen to limit his interactions.

‘So what’s Steve advised? Does he think it’s worth you doing the exam?’

‘It’s not really about the exam.’ Hollis slowed and took the turn-off for Thorpe. ‘It’s about my priorities. The last six months have made me think about what I want from life in general, not only work, and you being back with everybody this morning was a bit of a wake-up call. None of us is the same, we can’t be, we all change a bit after every big case. You remember what Sam was like after she was injured by that nutter? And this last one nearly killed you and Steve. And as for Warren, bloody hell…’

He was right, Kate knew. When Das had been brought in to replace the previous DCI, the adjustment had been unsettling, and Kate had the added burden of trying to shield her team from the change as she tried to keep everything running normally.

She stared out of the window at the bleak strip of bare fields separating Warmsworth from Thorpe, the top of the white concrete water tower glowing like a fairy castle above the trees. This had always been her cue to make a move from the upstairs of the bus to the lower deck after shopping trips to Doncaster as a teenager.

The tower marked the edge of the village and was a minute from Kate’s bus stop. That allowed her enough time to say goodbye to her friends who lived in different parts of Thorpe and get downstairs to stand next to the driver’s booth. Sometimes her timing was a bit out and the conductor would shoo her further down the bus to wait.

Hollis indicated left and they turned onto the estate of red-brick houses where Kate had grown up. The grass in the small park area was wet with melted frost, and the pavements were deserted as the icy breeze piled up litter in the damp gutters next to the roads.

Maya Marshall had lived in one of the private houses that had sprung up after Kate had left. Three short streets curved round the back of a row of shops and a bus stop, separated from the former council housing of the Crosslands Estate by a dense barrier of leylandii and implied snobbery. Ironic really, as most of the houses on the estate were now privately owned, many sold off in the great home-owning boom of the Thatcher era.

The newer houses had been constructed from a different hue of red brick, paler than Kate’s former house and, somehow, more modern. The quarry which had provided clay and bricks for much of the surrounding area had long been filled in with spoil from the factories of Sheffield and demolition rubble from the rows of terraced houses that had been condemned and replaced with bungalows and distance between neighbours.

‘Number eight.’ Kate pointed for Hollis to pull in. The house was detached but barely – a narrow gap between the righthand wall and the next house was scarcely enough to squeeze a wheelie bin through.

‘A bit nicer than your end of town,’ Hollis said with a smile, the teasing tone a reminder of his usual humour.

‘Yes, but I know what this is built on,’ Kate said struck by the memory of the old railway cutting that had been gradually filled with household waste – the lorries trundling through the estate at odd hours – then covered with a layer of earth before becoming prime building land.

‘Don’t tell me… when you were a lass this was all fields,’ his accent thickened to stereotypical Yorkshire.

‘It was a dump, literally. I once found a nineteen fifties Bakelite telephone receiver in a biscuit tin from the Queen’s coronation.’

‘You scavenged in a rubbish dump?’ Hollis’s tone was incredulous, and Kate wasn’t surprised. It did sound odd.

‘We used to come up a back lane from the estate and get into a part that had been filled in in the late sixties. It wasn’t like there was rotten food or anything. Got a hell of a telling off when my dad found out though. Then the council put decent fencing in, and we had to play in the quarry.’

‘And here’s me thinking you were in your early fifties. I hadn’t realised you’d grown up in Victorian times when you really did have to make your own entertainment.’

The banter was reassuring. The old Hollis was still in there, hiding like the pilot light in a gas boiler, waiting for the fuel to spark him back to life. But Kate sensed it would be a delicate process and couldn’t be rushed. If she were to get him to believe in the job again, she’d have to be careful not to be too obvious about it and scare him away for good.

The woman who answered the door was familiar. Smartly dressed in dark trousers and a pale blue blouse she struck a professional note. Her fair hair was shorter than Kate remembered, and she looked a few years older, but Kate was pleased to see that she’d stuck with the job.

‘PC Tatton,’ Kate said, greeting the Family Liaison Officer she’d worked with on a previous case. ‘Good to see you.’

‘It’s DC Tatton now.’ The woman passed Kate a business card with a clear sense of pride. ‘I was promoted to CID a few years ago. Partly due to my work with you on the Aleah Reese case.’

‘Good to know. Have you been here long?’

The woman looked over her shoulder, checking the hallway behind her before replying. ‘A couple of hours. They’ve not said very much. The older daughter seems to be taking charge – I think the parents are in shock. The mother hasn’t spoken yet. They’re all in the conservatory round the back. I’ll let them know you’re here.’

Tatton left them in an empty sitting room: the television was dark and silent, and the curtains were half drawn across the large bay window, obscuring the view of the street and, perhaps more importantly, the view of the interior from the driveway.

‘Sister?’ Hollis suggested, pointing to a picture above the mantlepiece. ‘She kind of looks like Maya.’

‘That’s what I thought,’ Kate said, eyes fixed on the photograph of two small red-headed girls beside a swimming pool. The older one was wearing blow-up armbands in bright orange, and the younger one had a rubber ring around her waist – both smiling broadly for the camera. Kate took in the trophies on the mantlepiece and windowsill – Maya’s name on every one – 100 metres breaststroke, 400 metres medley, 400 metres relay.

Kate turned to Hollis. ‘That’s a lot of trophies.’

‘And she deserved them all.’ A man stood in the doorway, his stocky frame nearly filling the space between the jambs. ‘She wants… wanted… to make it to the Olympics one day.’

He held out a hand to Hollis. ‘Colin Marshall, I’m Maya’s dad. My wife doesn’t want to talk to you at the minute; she’s in the back with my older daughter and that Family Liaison woman. Please have a seat. Can I get either of you a drink?’ His speech was stilted as if grief had forced him to ration his words.

They both refused and settled at either end of the surprisingly comfortable grey sofa that looked like it had been cut out of the pages of an Ikea catalogue. Marshall sat opposite in a matching armchair, leaning forward like he was ready to jump up at the slightest provocation. His bald head, face and arms were deeply tanned as though he had recently been on holiday abroad and the lines around the corners of his grey eyes gave the impression of squinting into the sun.

‘So what do you want to know?’ he asked. ‘We’ve already given you a list of Maya’s friends. There was no boyfriend, or girlfriend, she didn’t have time for any of that. School and training – that was her life.’

Kate nodded, but she wasn’t convinced. She knew from experience that few parents knew exactly where their children were at all times – or who with. ‘And Tuesday night she was training?’

‘She goes to the pool straight after school most days. Her coach is keen for her to put the hours in. Weekends she goes to the gym for a couple of hours, does her schoolwork. Sometimes meets up with her friends for a bit of shopping or a pizza.’

He was trying to paint a picture of a balanced, rounded life but Kate knew that Maya would have been hyper focused if she was hoping to be an elite swimmer. Or controlled by her parents and coach.

‘But she didn’t come home on Tuesday night? So you reported her missing yesterday morning.’

‘That’s right.’

‘Does she often stay away from home?’ Kate asked.

‘No. But things have been a bit rocky these past few weeks. We’ve recently spent a couple of weeks out in Tenerife at a training centre and Maya wasn’t pleased with her performance. She’s been a bit moody, sort of frustrated with herself. We’d had a bit of a row that morning and she told me she was going to stay with a friend.’

Kate sensed Hollis sitting further forward in his seat.

‘What did you argue about?’

‘Swimming. She felt I was putting too much pressure on her.’

‘And were you?’ Hollis asked.

Marshall sighed. ‘I don’t know.’

‘You said she went to stay with a friend on Tuesday night,’ Kate said. ‘Do you have their contact details?’

‘I do but it won’t help. It’s a girl called Ashleigh Dunstan. They went to Thorpe Comp together then both moved to The Groves for sixth form – it was handy for training after school. I rang Ashleigh first thing yesterday after I couldn’t get hold of Maya, but she said they don’t really talk much anymore. It looks like Maya was lying about where she was going. Then I rang the school and Maya hadn’t turned up. That’s when I reported her missing.’

Kate watched as Hollis made a note of the name and copied the number from Marshall’s phone. She wasn’t convinced that Maya had any intention of staying with this girl and she’d simply used a familiar name as cover so her parents wouldn’t question her too closely. So where the hell had she been going?

‘Is there anybody else she might have confided in? Somebody who might know where she was really intending to stay?’

Marshall shook his head and sighed. ‘Beyond swimming I don’t think I know much about my daughter’s life,’ he said, the sense of regret palpable. ‘I only wanted the best for her but I’m not sure I know what that is anymore. Maybe she was right – there was too much pressure. But her coach was with me; he thought she could go all the way.’

‘The coach is…?’ Hollis asked, notebook and pen poised on one of his knees.

‘Zander Elliott. He’s been training Maya since she was eleven. He’s one of the best. Lives and breathes swimming. He does lifeguarding shifts at the pool when he’s not teaching. He coached both my girls, but Nuala gave it up when she decided that she was more interested in drama. She’s going to start a post-graduate course at RADA after the summer.’ He grinned, his pride in his daughter obvious but the smile collapsed into a wince of pain as though Nuala’s success reminded him of Maya’s absence.

‘I can’t help but wonder if this wouldn’t have happened if we’d put a bit less pressure on her.’ He buried his head in his hands.

‘Did she always train at the Danum Centre?’ Kate asked. She knew that there were other pools dotted around the area and there was also an Olympic-sized pool at Ponds Forge in Sheffield.

He looked up. ‘Mainly. All the junior competitions she’s entered so far are in twenty-five-metre pools but if she’s serious about the Olympics we’ll probably move to Sheffield.’

Marshall suddenly put a hand across his mouth as if he was trying to stop the words as realisation dawned that the move wouldn’t now be necessary. Kate gave him a few seconds to compose himself.

‘Oh, God,’ he mumbled. ‘I’m sorry. This is too hard.’

‘Dad?’ A young woman had appeared in the doorway. From her colouring and age Kate thought she must be the older sister from the photograph.

‘I’m fine, Nuala.’ Marshall dismissed her with a vague wave of a hand.

‘I think you ought to go.’ The woman turned her gaze to Kate, the accusation clear. ‘It’s too soon. We have nothing to tell you. Maya was a good kid. She enjoyed her swimming and was dedicated to it. She didn’t have a boyfriend, no online stalkers, no cyber bullies. We were close, told each other everything. She didn’t deserve this and you’d better bloody catch whoever did it.’

Marshall had roused himself enough to nod. Either they were both in denial or they had nothing to offer the investigation. Either way, Kate knew, it was time to leave. The family were too raw, their wounds gaping open.

Tatton would have to be Kate’s eyes and ears in the house until she felt it was time to try another interview. She could only hope that Warren and Barratt were having more luck at the school.

CHAPTER 5

The Groves Academy was a newly re-built school on a leafy campus to the west of Doncaster, part of a multi-academy trust that was sponsored by half a dozen local businesses. Its website claimed that the school had over two thousand students, with over four hundred in the sixth form, and former students included an England cricketer, an actor in a soap and an up-and-coming comedian.

Barratt pulled the car up to the blue metal gate that straddled the impressive driveway and wound down his window. A button and grille on a post next to the gate suggested he needed to be granted access. He pressed the button and was rewarded with a high-pitched buzzing.

‘Yes?’ a metallic voice asked.

‘Detective Constable Barratt and Detective Sergeant Warren, South Yorkshire Police. We’re here to talk to students and staff about Maya Marshall.’

The gate slowly slid open.

Barratt tapped the steering wheel, irritated by the delay. ‘Since when did schools turn into prisons? At my school you walked up to the entrance to get in or jumped over the wall at the back to get out.’

‘Probably started with Dunblane,’ Warren said. ‘Then all the shit in America – Columbine, Sandy Hook. Can’t be too careful where kids are concerned.’

Her tone was neutral, but Barratt couldn’t help but feel like she was patronising him, offering an answer that she thought he should already have known. He wasn’t sure about the new DS. A team player, his instinct was to accept her position and authority and get on with his job. But he couldn’t help but feel some resentment. He knew he could do the sergeant’s job as well as Warren if he ever got the chance.

And there was O’Connor to consider. Barratt had stayed in touch with the former DS – who’d been surprisingly supportive when Barratt’s aunt had died suddenly a few weeks earlier – and felt his loyalties divided between his former colleague and Warren. He didn’t owe the new DS anything, but she was now part of their team and, if there was one thing Fletcher was insistent upon, it was having each other’s backs.

He knew she’d taken O’Connor’s injuries badly and there was an implication that she was partly responsible for ‘allowing’ him to go rogue, but they knew that O’Connor was his own man. He’d protect any one of them from anything, but he’d also liked to perpetuate his ‘lone wolf’ image and had kept information to himself.

Barratt pulled up in a parking space marked ‘Visitors’ and waited for Warren to tell him how she wanted to proceed. With such a large student body he hoped that the Head had managed to find Maya’s closest friends and the teachers who knew her best, otherwise it could be a very long day.

‘Right,’ Warren said. ‘Two groups to focus on: friends and teachers. Obviously the students will need to have an appropriate adult present, but I see no need for both of us to conduct each interview. If we split up it’ll be much quicker. I’ll take the teachers and you can talk to the friends.’

There was no point in arguing but it would have made more sense to Barratt for them both to interview the students. Some young people responded better to a male authority figure and some to a female. He had no idea what Warren’s interview strategy might be, but it would have been helpful if they’d worked out a way to complement each other and gone in together. And it felt like she’d given herself the easier task – teenagers weren’t always the most direct and open interviewees.

He heard a text alert on Warren’s phone and waited until she’d read it before opening the car door.

‘We need to talk to an Ashleigh Dunstan. Maya was supposed to be with her on Tuesday night. I’ll add her to my list if that’s okay. She might respond better to a woman.’

Or she might not, Barratt thought, unimpressed by Warren’s cherry picking the interviews. He eased himself out of the car and followed the sign for Reception hoping that they might end the day with a much clearer picture of what had happened to Maya Marshall.

‘Coffee?’ The Head’s PA appeared in the doorway of the classroom that Barratt had been assigned for interviews. The walls were decorated with enlarged book covers and posters for Shakespeare plays and on the open door was a laminated sign which said, ‘Mrs Norman is reading… Where the Crawdads Sing by Delia Owens’.

Barratt’s own experience of studying English at school had been mixed depending on whether he liked the teacher but, luckily, he’d had the head of department for his GCSEs and her no-nonsense style had enabled him to scrape decent grades. He imagined what it would be like to have lessons in here – bright, airy, colourful, instead of the ‘temporary’ caravan-like ‘huts’ in his secondary school. He decided it would still depend on the teacher.

‘Coffee would be great.’ He took a gulp from the bottle of water he’d been given at the start of the interview session nearly two hours earlier.

‘Tea for me, please,’ his companion, Tara Birch, the Director of Student Services said.

Barratt wasn’t sure what ‘student services’ involved but, judging by Birch’s behaviour it seemed to be a lot of ‘active listening’. The students they’d interviewed so far were keen to share and responded positively to the nods and ‘hmms’ of Birch but none had been able to provide anything useful about Maya’s life.

As he pushed his chair back from the desk to stretch his legs, Barratt noticed a young man lurking in the doorway. His dark hair was slicked back from his narrow face and his eyes were magnified by black heavy-framed glasses balanced on a blade of a nose that unevenly bisected his pale face.

‘Yes, Seth?’ Birch narrowed her eyes as if she was expecting him to be difficult, her face crinkling into a chamois leather of wrinkles.

‘Sorry to interrupt, Miss Birch, but I was wondering if I could have a word with one of the police officers.’ He took a step inside the room, one hand gripped around the green lanyard that sixth form students wore, the other stuffed in the pocket of his skinny grey jeans. His black hoodie clung to his frame emphasising his slight build.

‘Are you on the list?’ Birch asked.

‘No. I don’t know why I was missed off. Me and Maya are friends… were friends.’ His face seemed to collapse in on itself as he realised his mistake.

‘So why aren’t you on the list?’ Birch picked up a clipboard and made a show of slowly scanning the names on the top sheet of paper before turning over to a second page. Barratt tried to stifle a sigh as he saw that the list continued onto a third sheet.

‘We’ve not been friends long. We sit in the library together at lunch sometimes. We came from different schools so we’re both new here. Maya was kind to me when I first came. I told her about the bullying at my other school and she was really great about it. She told me some stuff about her life.’

‘What sort of stuff?’ Barratt asked.

Seth looked at him, head tilted to one side as if he was trying to work out if Barratt could be trusted.

‘Come on, sit down. We were just having a break so I suppose we can fit you in.’ Birch pointed to the seat on the opposite side of the desk. She’d objected when Barratt had set up the chairs like those in an interview room, but he’d explained that he wanted a familiar set up in order to be able to read the body language of the students. It wasn’t quite true, but he hadn’t wanted to give the impression that this was a casual chat – any one of the young people could be a potential suspect and the formal arrangement of the furniture helped him to keep that in mind.

Seth slid into the seat, slouching as though trying to get as far away as possible from Barratt. He had let go of his lanyard and was studying his fingernails.

‘Tell me about your relationship with Maya,’ Barratt prompted. ‘You studied together?’

‘We chatted. A lot. At first, I wasn’t sure if I could trust her. She’s popular with a lot of the sporty lads and I thought she might be taking the p… mick when she showed an interest in me, but she was genuinely being nice.’

This tallied with accounts from many of the students, but Barratt knew not to take any of it at face value. There was always a tendency to view a dead friend through rose-tinted glasses and teenagers were especially guilty of this. Nobody had claimed to be Maya’s best friend so far, but a few girls and two boys had said they were ‘close’ to her but that she didn’t really socialise because she was training all the time. Seth was the first to suggest any level of intimacy.

‘What did you talk about?’ Barratt asked.

‘School, people we knew, her swimming, my writing – I write sci-fi fan-fic.’

Barratt nodded suggesting he knew exactly what that was – no time for a lengthy explanation of what sounded like a niche genre. ‘What about Maya’s personal life? Boyfriend? Girlfriend?’

‘She didn’t mention anybody special – not from school anyway.’

‘So there was somebody she was interested in – just not here?’

Seth hunched his shoulders and looked at Birch for reassurance.

‘Go on, Seth,’ she urged gently, leaning forward. ‘Nothing you say can hurt Maya now.’

He nodded. ‘There was somebody, but he wasn’t a student here – and he’s much older.’

Barratt’s thoughts flew immediately to Maya’s coach. ‘Go on.’

‘She didn’t say much really and wouldn’t tell me his name. She said she was embarrassed and felt like a kid with a crush, so I didn’t push it. This was a couple of weeks ago and she hasn’t mentioned it since, but I thought it might be important.’

He looked at Birch again. ‘I hope I’ve done the right thing, Miss. Only, I thought, if there is somebody out there that Maya was seeing in secret, the police ought to know.’

Birch reached across the desk and briefly patted the back of Seth’s hand. ‘You’ve done the right thing. Let the police deal with it now.’

The boy nodded miserably and stood. ‘When you find out who did this, I hope he rots in jail for the rest of his life.’ He rubbed his eyes with the heels of his hands then left the room.

‘Interesting,’ Birch said.

‘Vague,’ Barratt countered. ‘Let’s see if anybody else mentions an older man.’

‘You think Seth’s after attention? He’s not really the type. He’s a good student, reliable.’

Barratt didn’t have time to listen to the teacher’s character analysis. Seth poked his head round the door looking embarrassed.

‘I’m not sure if this helps but I think this older man had something to do with swimming.’

Turning away from Birch, Barratt took his phone out of his jacket pocket. He could cope with Warren’s anger if this went wrong but not Kate’s wrath if he didn’t act quickly. He typed a brief text.

Check out the coach. One of Maya’s friends mentioned a crush on an older man who has something to do with swimming.

CHAPTER 6

‘I think Barratt’s a mind reader.’ Kate angled the screen of her phone to show Hollis. They’d just parked at Danum Leisure Centre hoping to interview Zander Elliott while he was on a break.

‘What prompted that?’

‘No idea,’ Kate said, ‘but you know Barratt, it won’t be a vague hunch.’

‘Seems a bit obvious,’ Hollis said. ‘Everybody watches enough TV to know we always look at the friends and family first. I get fed up of people telling me how to do my job after they’ve seen ‘Happy Valley’ or that other one.’

Was this what was bothering her colleague? Had he started to think that public perception had changed and that the police were as useless as they were sometimes portrayed on television? She enjoyed a good police thriller but often ended up explaining to Nick how cases were worked in real life.

‘Is that what’s bothering you?’

She stopped outside the glass doors to the leisure centre, trying to get him to turn and face her. ‘Is that why you’re fed up? Public perception?’

But Hollis wouldn’t look at her.

‘It just sometimes feels like an uphill struggle.’ Hollis pushed one of the doors open and marched through.

Kate followed him inside, the smell of chlorine sparking instant olfactory memories. She’d learned to swim when she was at primary school and loved it. Not only being in the pool but the sense of anticipation as the bus pulled up outside the baths, the shrieking and splashing as her classmates jumped in, and the hot orange squash to warm them up after they’d changed back into their school clothes.

The new Danum Leisure Centre had a choice of pools, including a thirty-foot-deep diving pool and a training pool for toddlers. The building also housed a gym, badminton courts, a small lecture theatre and a café that seemed to have been taken over by a secondary school group, judging by the number of teenagers glued to their phone screens while they sipped from polystyrene cups.

Already at the reception desk, Hollis was engrossed in conversation with a muscular man in a tight polo shirt who looked to be in his twenties. The younger man was gesturing towards a set of double doors to the right of the café, the movement showing off a perfectly sculpted bicep.

Hollis headed for the doors and, as she rushed to catch up, Kate pondered her next move with him. If he was so disillusioned with the job, there didn’t seem to be much she could say or do, and she knew from experience that Hollis was a man who liked to consider every angle before making up his mind about anything. It made him a diligent detective but, sometimes, bloody irritating.

Zander Elliott was sitting in the viewing gallery above the pool, feet on the back of the seat in front of him, drinking coffee from a mug that suggested he was ‘The World’s Best Coach’. He stood as Kate and Hollis approached and his swimmer’s build was clear in his broad shoulders and narrow hips.

Aged in his mid-thirties, Elliott obviously kept himself fit, his dark blue T-shirt strained across his broad chest and the tracksuit bottoms he wore looked like they could barely contain powerful thighs. His expression was wary, but Kate suspected the blond hair falling across one eye and his ruddy complexion could be easily disarming or distracting – especially to teenage girls.

‘Zander Elliott?’ Hollis approached with his ID in an outstretched hand.

The man nodded and looked from Hollis to Kate. ‘What’s this about?’

‘Can we go somewhere more private to talk?’ Kate asked, ignoring his question.

‘What’s this about?’ he repeated. ‘Am I in trouble?’

He asked with a smile, but his eyes betrayed his confusion and panic. Kate knew it didn’t necessarily suggest guilt – lots of people had the same reaction when confronted by senior police officers.

‘Let’s find somewhere quiet,’ Kate said. ‘Then we’ll explain.’

The coach led them through the viewing gallery to an office which looked like it had been recently burgled. Towels were strewn everywhere, and all the flat surfaces were covered with files and papers.

‘Sorry about the mess.’ Elliott swept a pile of folders from a plastic chair and digging another out from beneath a pile of towels. ‘I haven’t had time to tidy up since last night’s session.’ He sat at the desk, spinning the office chair round so he could face the two detectives.

‘We need to talk to you about Maya Marshall,’ Kate began.

‘What about her?’

‘Do you know Maya well?’

‘I’ve been coaching her for the past five years. I know her times, her fitness levels, her splits. I know she’d rather eat chocolate than fruit between sessions.’

‘Nothing more personal?’ Hollis prompted.

‘Of course not. I can’t get involved in the personal lives of the students I coach. I’m not their agony aunt or their confidante. When they’re with me they’re here to train – I make that clear from the start. I don’t need to hear about their family squabbles or their boyfriend troubles; I just need them to show up and perform to the very best of their ability. If they saw me as a friend, they couldn’t do that – there has to be a line, a barrier.’

He leaned forward as he was talking like an eager dog awaiting a treat from its owner, the earnestness apparent in his posture. He was making his co-operation clear. Overcompensating? Kate wasn’t sure.

‘So your relationship with Maya is purely professional? You know nothing about her home life or her schoolwork?’

‘Not much.’

Kate looked at Hollis and raised her eyebrows, his signal to continue.

‘I’m sorry to tell you that Maya’s body was recovered from the River Don outside Thorpe early yesterday morning. She hadn’t been home the previous night and we’re trying to find out what happened to her.’

The coach looked from Hollis to Kate as though for confirmation. ‘The river? She drowned? That’s not possible.’ He shook his head and stood, moving a pile of folders from one side of the desk to the other then folding a towel and placing it back on the chair where it had been abandoned.

‘I don’t know what to tell you. She’s a good kid. Loves her swimming. Trains hard. Are you sure it’s her? There’s no way she’d drown, even in a current. She’s strong and sharp. You must be mistaken. Somebody would have told me if it was Maya.’

‘Her father has formally identified her so we can now release her identity. It seems unlikely that she drowned. At the moment we’re working on the assumption that somebody killed her.’ Kate kept her tone neutral, eyes fixed on Elliott’s face watching his reaction carefully. He slumped onto one of the chairs and shook his head looking confused.

‘I…  I can’t believe this. Are you absolutely sure? Who’d do something like that to her?’ He was looking at Kate as if he expected answers, but she had none to offer. ‘Her family must be devastated.’

‘So you do know them?’

‘We don’t socialise or anything, but I’ve known them for a while. I trained their other daughter. The parents sometimes turn up for meets, and Maya’s dad has been supportive of her career.’

Elliott folded his arms across his chest and leaned away from her slightly. Kate decided not to push further. His defensive pose suggested he was feeling backed into a corner by being questioned about the family and, in Kate’s experience, a witness was usually more forthcoming if they didn’t feel threatened.

‘What about the rest of your students? Did Maya have any friends here or were they all her competition?’

Elliot’s shoulders seemed to relax slightly as if he felt he was on safer ground. ‘She was very focused on her swimming. There was some chat between sessions, but I wouldn’t know if she was especially close to anyone on the team. You could ask some of the others but I’m not sure how far it might get you.’

‘We’ll be sure to do that,’ Kate said. ‘A list of names and addresses would be useful when we’ve finished here.’

Elliott nodded enthusiastically, eager to demonstrate his cooperation.

‘What was her discipline?’ Hollis asked. Kate sat back slightly allowing him room to take over the interview. This was how they worked, if one of them wasn’t getting anywhere, the other would jump in. She was glad to see that he hadn’t lost that instinct, but she wasn’t sure where this might lead.

‘One hundred metres breaststroke. She did the medley and relay as well, but she could go all the way in the breaststroke. We’d been working on turns and shaving off hundredths of a second in the final reach. It’s all about timing your approach to each end of the pool and it changes for each swimmer as they grow. Maya’s stopped growing so she’s ready to really work on honing her approaches.’

For the first time Kate saw some energy in the man’s face. His eyes grew animated and he was leaning forward again as though on the start podium and about to dive off. Then the icy plunge of reality hit and his expression changed as he realised that the girl he was speaking about so enthusiastically was dead. It was convincing, but Kate had met some extremely good actors who could almost convince themselves of their own innocence.

‘Would you say she was Olympic material?’ Hollis asked.

‘Hard to say. We’ll never know now.’

‘What about her family?’ Hollis wasn’t giving the man a second to consider his answers. ‘You didn’t socialise but did you get on with them? You said her father’s been supportive. What about the mother and sister?’

‘I haven’t seen Nuala for a few years. She gave up. Wanted to pursue a career in acting,’ the sneer on his face echoed his tone – he didn’t consider Nuala’s choice ‘worthy’. ‘As for the mother –I’ve seen her at meets occasionally but not at training since Nuala used to come. It’s mainly the dad.’

Odd, Kate thought. And Jocelyn Marshall hadn’t wanted to speak to them that morning. Was she hiding something or was she being hidden away?

‘Can we talk about Tuesday afternoon?’ Kate said. ‘Training starts at what time?’

‘Five pm. Everybody has to be changed and poolside by then – unless there’s a damn good excuse. Most of my students come straight from school, grab a light snack and chill for an hour before we start. If you’re late, you’re out.’

‘A bit harsh.’

‘The key to sporting success is discipline, DI Fletcher,’ Elliott was on familiar ground now. ‘Lateness is poor discipline. It shows a lack of respect for my time and a lack of respect for everybody else. I won’t have swimmers rolling up whenever they feel like it.’

Hollis jumped in as the coach took a breath. ‘So on Tuesday at five everybody was ready to start training. What about Maya? How did she seem?’

He looked from Hollis to Kate and back again, his expression one of surprise.

‘I thought you’d know. Maya wasn’t here on Tuesday. She didn’t turn up to training.’

CHAPTER 7

The team space had been divided up in Kate’s absence, a section carved out and partitioned off to create a separate office for the Detective Inspector. Kate knew it was meant as a positive gesture and would give her her own space, but she’d never felt the need to separate herself from her colleagues and any private conversations could be had in various other offices around the building – or even in the canteen if necessary. She wondered which temporary replacement had persuaded Das that that was a good idea.

‘Cooper, how’re you doing with the social media?’ Kate asked, throwing her jacket over the back of a chair and heading towards the water cooler. She’d decided to head back to HQ after the visit to the leisure centre and had instructed Barratt and Warren to do the same. The knowledge that Maya hadn’t attended her training session changed the timeline for the previous evening and Kate needed to work out where the girl could have been.

She had hoped that Maya’s friends or teachers could shed some light, but Barratt hadn’t sent her anything encouraging, and Warren’s update said that Ashleigh had confirmed what they’d already suspected. There had been no arrangement with Maya for a sleepover. The two girls hadn’t had much to do with each other since they started sixth form.

‘Nothing so far,’ Cooper said. ‘I can’t log in to her accounts so I’m relying on what other people have posted, that includes Maya or her swimming team. She’s on a few Instagram stories and the school Facebook page mentions her, but no pic. I’ve tried TikTok but, if she’s posting videos, I’ve not been able to find them.’

‘Too busy?’ Hollis suggested from the doorway where he was lurking with a mug of something hot despite the stuffiness of the office.

‘Not sure.’ Cooper tapped her keyboard. ‘Most people her age find time for their socials. I think I’ve found her Instagram account – she’s MayaswiMMs – the Ms are upper case, but I can’t access anything yet.’

‘Dan, text Tatton. She might be able to get something from the family. The sister might know Maya’s password. Nuala said they were close and told each other everything – she might even have some idea where her sister was the night before last but she’s too scared to say.’ Kate passed Tatton’s business card to Hollis as Barratt barged through the door.

‘Did you speak to the coach?’ Hollis asked, loosening his tie and unbuttoning his suit jacket. ‘The friend said she had a crush on somebody, and he thought it was an older man. The coach makes the most sense – unless there are senior swimmers in the team.’

He sat down at his desk and logged on to his computer.

‘The coach was polite but not helpful,’ Kate said. ‘The best bit of information he gave us was that Maya wasn’t at the pool yesterday.’

‘Which changes our timeline,’ Warren said from the doorway. ‘So now we need to find out where she was and how she ended up in the river. She could have been anywhere after she left school. Maybe she knew her attacker and met him somewhere – got into his car.’

Kate took a deep breath and willed herself not to roll her eyes at Warren’s statement of the glaringly obvious, but she saw Barratt and Cooper exchange wry smiles. This was one of the issues with a new DS. The team had their own shorthand and played to each other’s strengths but a newcomer, at least this one, needed to find their feet and their fit. Kate really didn’t have time for any of it, not in the middle of a murder investigation.

‘Could she have gone to the leisure centre but not to training?’ Cooper asked. ‘I’m still waiting for them to release CCTV but, if she was there, we should pick her up.’

‘Or she meant to go but was taken by her killer before she got there. Then he dumped her in the river later,’ Barratt added. ‘It would have been a bold move though, snatching her in daylight.’

‘Which might back up the idea that she knew him,’ Warren pointed out.

Pulling out a chair at the large conference table that dominated one side of the office space, Kate sat down and put her head in her hands. She needed to think. They were flailing around like blindfolded boxers, hoping to make contact if they threw enough punches but a more systematic approach was needed.

Kate looked up. ‘Barratt, Warren, was Maya in school all day on Tuesday?’

‘She’s registered as being present in her English lesson and the teacher says she was there until school ended at half three, so we’re assuming she left then,’ Barratt said.

Kate nodded and made a note. ‘She was due at training at five pm so she had an hour and a half to get from school to the leisure centre – a fifteen-minute walk or a couple of minutes in a car. Did you find out if any of her friends drive?’

‘No mention of it,’ Barratt said. ‘But there was only the one lad who seemed to know her well. I suppose some of them drive so she might have got a lift. I’ll check with the school now. They kick out in half an hour.’

‘Get a list of the students who drive to school and we can check to see if any of them gave Maya a lift to the leisure centre or anywhere else.’

Barratt picked up his phone and hunched over his desk, striving for privacy. Warren was leaning forward on her seat watching and listening and Kate could see that the DS was slightly put out – liaising with the school should have been her job but it had been Barratt who’d raised the possibility that Maya had been given a lift and it seemed only fair to let him chase it up.

‘Boss, should we think about checking the whereabouts of local sex offenders?’ Warren asked.

It was a logical step in this type of crime, but they didn’t know for sure whether Maya had been sexually assaulted, or even if that was the killer’s intent as it seemed unlikely that he’d simply been disturbed before he could complete his twisted fantasy. Only the half-undone zip on Maya’s jeans hinted at a sexual motive.

‘Let’s wait for the PM,’ Kate said. ‘I don’t want anybody trawling through what’s probably a long list on a wild goose chase. Kailisa’s findings may shed a lot more light on the nature of the assault then we can check the databases for similar crimes.’

She was turning into Warren – stating the bloody obvious. They all knew this and talking about it was wasting time.

‘CCTV from the leisure centre’s just come in.’ Cooper was staring at her laptop screen. ‘I’ll get on it now.’

‘Check an hour either side of 4.30.’ It was possible that Maya had been in the building but decided not to attend training. If they could find her entering or leaving at any point during the afternoon or evening it would help them establish a timeline. Kate also wanted to know if she’d arrived early and left before training was due to start which might suggest something had happened to disrupt her routine.

Cooper tapped her keyboard. ‘Looks like we’ve got an outside feed from the main door, a camera with a view of the café and one above main reception. This could take a while.’

Hollis pulled out a chair and cleared space among the papers and folders next to his laptop for his coffee mug. ‘Ping one of them over to me, Sam. Two heads are better than one and all that.’

‘And me,’ Barratt said. ‘Might as well have a look while I’m waiting for the school office to get back to me.’

Kate sat back and tried to relax. The rattling of keyboards was soothing white noise allowing her time to think, to process. If Maya had left the leisure centre before training, then it might hint at some sort of argument. If she’d fallen out with someone, had they followed her, or lured her somewhere? But what sort of argument could have led to murder?

‘We need to talk to the other members of Maya’s swimming team,’ she said to Warren. ‘The coach said she didn’t turn up for training but one of them might have seen her outside the leisure centre or met up with her. She might have had an argument with somebody in the car park or on the way to training. Zander Elliott should have emailed a list of anybody who was at the training session. Names, phone numbers, addresses.’

‘Most of them will be minors,’ Warren said with a grimace. ‘And they’ll all need an appropriate adult.’

‘I know. We’re going to have to get organised. It’ll be the same again with the list of pupils who might have given Maya a lift. Although, if they’re driving, we can hope that some of them are over eighteen and we can send uniform to interview any others in their homes with a parent present.’

Tasks allocated, Kate needed a break, a few minutes to herself. She wasn’t overwhelmed exactly, more overstimulated. This was the most work her brain had had in months and the complexities of the case, combined with managing the new team dynamic, was a lot to process. She was glad that none of her temporary replacements had introduced a kettle and mini fridge to the office. A trip to the canteen was often the change of pace and scenery that allowed her brain to slip into a different gear.

‘Coffee?’ she asked the room in general. Warren looked up in disbelief. Obviously in her understanding of the team rules, the boss didn’t do the drinks run – that was grunt work.

‘I don’t mind going, Boss.’ Warren pushed her chair away from her desk and was about to stand. At the same time Cooper requested a mint tea, and Hollis asked for a double shot cappuccino.

‘I’m going, Warren,’ Kate said. ‘Do you want anything?’

‘Black tea,’ Barratt added to the order causing Warren’s head to swing round to where he was sitting.

‘Team rule,’ Kate said. ‘If anybody’s going up to the canteen, they offer drinks to everybody else.’

Warren just stared at her. Obviously this rule had not been observed in Kate’s absence.

‘And I’m going up to the canteen because I need to stretch my legs and my brain, both of which are turning to jelly sitting here. Would you like me to bring you something when I come back?’

Warren blinked and shook her head.

‘Okay. Mint tea, double shot cappuccino, black tea and nothing for Warren,’ Kate said as she crossed the room, pulled open the door and stepped into the chilly corridor.

The canteen was on the top floor of the building and its huge picture windows offered views of Doncaster’s ever-changing skyline. Kate sometimes thought that a new building appeared every week although the lack of leaf cover on the trees may have allowed her to see a few that had been obscured when she’d last been a regular visitor.

She’d been in for odd days during the previous two weeks, but Das had designated them as ‘reorientation’ and Kate had mostly been doing paperwork. She’d been hidden away in an office on the ground floor and had no authority to get involved in active cases. Hollis, Cooper and Barratt had visited, but Kate had sensed that they had strict instructions to keep conversation as banal and bland as possible. They’d each seemed relieved to have her back and were keen to check on her physical health which reassured her that only Das, and probably Das’s bosses, knew the truth.

The last case had left her broken in a way that she’d struggled to vocalise. It wasn’t something obvious and sharp like treading on a dry branch in a woodland. It felt more like the delicate crack of a small bone. Not one of her own, which had been damaged silently despite the roar of pain through her body. This was like the snap of mouse bone. A bird bone. Tiny but overwhelming at the same time.

She’d turned down the offer of a Police Federation-recommended therapist – turned down the offer of therapy completely at first – and eventually chose somebody who had no links with the job. Nick had asked around at the hospital and found Alec through a colleague who’d had similar struggles after a trauma and, after a period of resistance, she’d accepted that she needed help. Now, Kate could almost hear Alec’s calm voice asking her what she was hiding from, why was she running away from her colleagues when she’d been desperate to get back to them? Was it that she needed to process the day so far, or was there a deeper reason?

Kate had gone to therapy filled with resentment, but she’d liked Alec straight away. There was something about him that was simultaneously reassuring and challenging. His unwavering brown eyes and his confident manner had encouraged Kate to examine both the more recent reasons for her emotional difficulties and how they might also be rooted in her past.

Returning to South Yorkshire from Cumbria had never been part of the plan but nor had catching her husband cheating with a younger woman. Since Kate had been based in Doncaster, she’d had a number of cases with strong links to places and people from her childhood and Alec had helped her to explore the impact those links had on her confidence and sense of self.

In some ways revisiting her childhood home regularly had triggered memories that had also triggered emotions she thought had been processed in her teens. She was a professional, experienced and capable, but Thorpe reminded her of the lost teenager she’d been after her mother had died. These two elements of her psyche had been at war, and she’d ended up exhausted and overwhelmed.

She’d been back to Thorpe and immersed in those teenage reminiscences once again, but this time Alec was in her ear, guiding her through like Jiminy Cricket, allowing her to tell Hollis about playing in the tip without then becoming lost in series of interconnected memories and the associated negative emotions.

She was stable, regaining her confidence, and she was strong enough to pull her team back together – why not allow herself a fifteen-minute break from it all?

Tearing herself away from the view she approached the array of hot drinks machines that had replaced the counter and string of cheery servers who were always eager for juicy gossip about the latest cases. She’d fought the change – two years earlier – but had been no match for the march of progress.

She’d just finished the order when her phone rang.

‘Cooper?’

‘We’ve got something on the CCTV. It’s definitely Maya. Looks like the coach was lying.’

CHAPTER 8

‘See, here.’ Kailisa was pointing to a mark on Maya Marshall’s neck that stood out against her pale, almost grey skin.

Kate leaned in trying to make sense of the shape, fighting the fatigue from a mostly sleepless night. She’d decided to leave Elliott until the morning when they were all fresher and they might have the element of surprise.

Warren and Barratt had been assigned to reinterview the coach due to the CCTV findings. The footage clearly showed Maya Marshall entering the building at two minutes after 4pm – plenty of time for her to grab something to eat before training. There was no sign of her meeting anyone, or leaving, but there was no logical reason why Elliott would have lied – there were other witnesses to confirm Maya’s attendance at training.

Hollis was following up with members of the swimming team; confirmation would be simple – Elliott couldn’t have convinced ten teenagers to lie – could he? And, if she didn’t make it to the pool side, where had she gone?

Cooper had spent her evening digging into Elliott’s background and had armed Warren and Barratt with what she’d discovered. It wasn’t damning but it might be enough to convince him that he was in trouble if he was lying.

‘Ligature?’ she said, trying to focus on the autopsy.

‘Looks like it,’ Kailisa said. ‘The marks are more defined now the flesh has warmed up and started to decompose. They’re from something quite broad, possibly a belt or the strap from a bag.’

‘She didn’t have a bag or a belt,’ Kate said. ‘So it must be from something her attacker had to hand. Could have been improvised – maybe he took off his belt – or possibly something brought specifically for the purpose.’

‘Can you see the angle?’ Kailisa tilted one of the powerful spotlights to give Kate a clearer view.

‘Looks like it’s angled upwards from front to back.’

‘Suggesting that her attacker was taller. The ligature was wrapped around her neck and pulled from behind and slightly above. Or she was kneeling or sitting down for some reason.’

Kate tried to imagine the scene, but she could think of no reason for Maya to be sitting or kneeling. ‘Anything on her jeans to suggest she’d been kneeling?’

‘Not so far,’ Leo Davies, Kailisa’s assistant, said from the foot of the examination table. ‘We’ve done a preliminary examination of her clothing.’

‘Any sign of a struggle?’ Kate tried to imagine someone looping something around her neck and pulling it tight. Her first instinct would have been to claw at it rather than try to disable her attacker.

‘Some scratches on her neck, under the chin, two broken nails, fibres under two others. We’ve taken samples for DNA in case she managed to scratch him but it’s possible she injured herself trying to get the ligature to loosen. If she was attacked from behind, it’s unlikely she made contact – she’d have been too busy trying to release the pressure round her throat.’

Kate watched as Kailisa and Davies worked methodically down the front of the body. Neither said much to the other, there seemed to be little need for verbal communication as they moved in a macabre slow dance of high-intensity lights and magnifying lenses.

She’d declined Kailisa’s offer of a seat in the observation gallery in favour of a closer view – she’d attended enough postmortems over the years to be able to interpret for herself some of what the pathologists were spotting – and she could make more sense of their findings when she could see them clearly.

‘We’re going to turn her now,’ Davies said quietly, his voice a contrast to his tall muscular physique. Kate stood back as the two men gently turned the body until it was lying face down, the head carefully balanced in a skull ring so the face wasn’t pressed against the stainless-steel table.

‘Is that…? Kate asked, pointing to dark markings across the shoulders.

‘Livor,’ Kailisa confirmed referring to the pooling of blood due to gravity.

‘Why that weird pattern?’

‘Hard to say. It looks like she was lying on her back for a time after death. If she’d been put in the river straight away the pooling would be more uniform. There’s nothing on the backs of her legs but deep livor on her buttocks, upper arms and shoulders. She may have been positioned with her knees elevated, possibly in a confined space.’

‘Could something in her clothing have caused it?’ Kate asked. ‘Padding?’

‘Unlikely.’ Kailisa’s eyes narrowed as he studied the markings. ‘She was lying on something hard and flat. A floor, concrete, could be anything.’

‘Why do you think she might have been kept in a confined space?’

‘There are no signs that her hands or feet were tied to keep her in position. The body would have fallen to one side if it wasn’t supported.’

‘Car boot?’ Kate asked.

Kailisa nodded, his dark brown eyes sombre. ‘It’s a possibility.’

‘So we’re looking for a kill site that could be anywhere? Great.’

Kate strode to the exit, ripping at the collar of her surgical gown, the movement reminding her of how somebody might react if they were being strangled with a belt. She had to let Warren know, then she had an appointment to keep.

Warren opened her laptop and angled it so Zander Elliott could see the screen. Barratt had suggested they arrive unannounced and ask the coach to join them somewhere private ‘for a chat’. Keeping the reason for their visit vague would hopefully unsettle Elliott and that might lead him to make a mistake. Now, sitting in the untidy office he saw he’d been right – the man was sitting on the edge of the desk, one foot tapping on the floor and one hand picking at dry skin on his lips.

‘You told us that Maya wasn’t at training on Tuesday.’

‘She wasn’t,’ Elliott said. ‘I already told your colleagues that.’

‘So how do you explain this?’ She pressed play on the MP4 file.

Barratt watched Elliott’s face as he leaned closer, studying the screen intently, his expression shifting from bafflement to anger.

‘When was this?’

‘Tuesday, 4pm. You can clearly see Maya as she comes into the building, past reception.’

Elliott’s eyes narrowed. ‘Why would she be here and not come to training? I can’t believe she’d do that.’

‘So you still maintain that you didn’t see her on Tuesday?’

Barratt saw the precise second the penny dropped, when Elliott realised he might be in serious trouble. He sat heavily on a plastic chair and looked from Barratt to Warren. ‘I didn’t see her. She obviously came here but she didn’t come to training. You can ask the rest of the team.’ His voice was high with panic.

‘We’re checking with the other young people you coach,’ Warren said. ‘Let’s see if they support your story.’

‘It’s not a story,’ Elliott protested. ‘She didn’t come to training.’

‘You met her before training?’ Warren asked, her tone suggesting that this was a fact rather than a question. Barratt could see that she was trying to catch Elliott out, allowing him no time to think.

‘I didn’t see her on Tuesday. I was poolside until around 3pm, I finished my shift, spent some time in the office looking at my coaching plans for the evening then went back to the pool at around 4.30. Maya wasn’t there. I asked one of the girls if she was still in the changing room, but nobody had seen her.’

‘Who did you ask? What did they say?’ Warren was relentless.

‘I don’t remember. Possibly Lily. Or it might have been Amber.’

‘You can’t remember who you asked when one of your star swimmers was missing?’

‘They’re fucking twins!’ Elliott yelled. ‘I doubt their friends can tell them apart. I only know which is which when they’re wearing their swimming hats because I made them pick different colours. I’m not lying – ask them both and one of them will remember.’

Barratt texted Hollis.

Ask twins – Lily and Amber – did coach ask where Maya was?

‘Can you think of any reason why Maya would come here after school and not swim? Did she have a boyfriend or girlfriend she might have been meeting?’

‘I honestly have no idea.’ Elliott’s foot was tapping again. ‘I don’t get involved with my students’ personal lives.’

He was picking at his lips again and his eyes roamed the room, barely fixing on anything for more than a second. If he wasn’t guilty of anything he was certainly doing a good impression of the exact opposite.

‘We know about your past,’ Barratt said, the information dropping into the space between them like a firework about to go off. ‘Did you think we wouldn’t check? We know why you stopped competitive swimming.’

‘I stopped because I got injured.’

‘Nothing to do with the death of your sister?’

Elliott seemed to crumple like a discarded tissue, folding in on himself, bringing his knees up to his chin and wrapping his arms round them like a toddler trying to self-soothe. He shook his head repeatedly and his breathing became fast and shallow.

Warren took over. ‘Because we know you killed her.’

CHAPTER 9

Serena Burton perched on the edge of an uncomfortable looking, high-backed chair, her full attention focused on her twin daughters who were sitting huddled together in their lounge on a small dark blue sofa that didn’t match the burnt orange armchair opposite. Hollis and Cooper had been directed to a pair of pine dining chairs that flanked a large bay window.

Hollis knew the two girls were twelve, but they looked and acted younger – anticipation and anxiety making them pink-cheeked and glassy-eyed. Both had their dark hair tied back in the same style and both wore tracksuits – one pale blue, one navy.

‘You know why we’re here?’ Hollis asked. The two girls nodded in unison.

‘They know about Maya,’ Serena confirmed. ‘I told them this morning before we started lessons. We home school but we didn’t get much done today. They’re both upset.’

‘She’s dead,’ the twin on the left said – Amber, Hollis thought – with little expression.

‘That’s right.’

‘Somebody killed her,’ Lily added.

Hollis nodded. ‘We need to find out where she was on Tuesday afternoon when she was supposed to be at training.’

‘Coach asked us if we’d seen her,’ Amber this time. ‘He was surprised that she hadn’t turned up. We have to be on time, or we’re not allowed to swim.’

‘He’s very strict,’ Lily clarified.

‘And you told the coach that Maya wasn’t in the changing room. Is that right?’

Amber glanced at her sister and both girls nodded.

‘When did you last see her?’ Cooper asked. ‘The day before?’

Lily nodded again but her sister was beginning to look worried.

‘And how did she seem?’

Lily shrugged while Amber seemed to find something intensely interesting in the pattern of the carpet. Hollis watched as the two girls fidgeted and finally looked at their mother, their discomfort apparent.

‘I think they’ve had enough,’ Serena said. ‘There’s nothing else they can tell you.’ She stood as though intending to show the two police officers to the door.

‘If you don’t mind.’ Hollis remained in his seat. ‘We’ve not finished yet. We’re struggling to piece together Maya’s movements on Tuesday and anything Amber and Lily can tell us might be helpful. I’m sure none of us want what happened to Maya to happen to anybody else.’

His gut was telling him that one or both girls had something to hide, and he needed to try to find out what it was. Had they seen Maya? And had they lied to Elliott?

‘Did Maya have a boyfriend?’ he asked as Serena slowly sat down.

‘Don’t know,’ Lily mumbled as Amber blushed and shook her head. If there was something going on, Amber seemed to be the one who was struggling to keep it secret. Hollis glanced at Cooper and saw that she was watching the girl intently.

‘Amber,’ he said, his voice suddenly stern in the hope of shocking her into revealing whatever she was keeping from them. ‘You saw Maya on the day she went missing, didn’t you? Did she ask you not to tell the coach?’

‘No, she just said…’ Lily flew to her sister’s defence then looked to her mother as she realised that she’d made a mistake.

‘She just said what?’ Hollis asked before Serena could intervene.

‘She told us to tell Coach that we hadn’t seen her,’ Amber said with a shaky sigh. ‘She was skipping training and she didn’t want him to know she’d been in the changing room.’

Hollis paused, trying to make sense of the chronology. CCTV had shown Maya entering the building at roughly the time she’d have been there for training and now they knew she’d been in the changing room. What had she been doing?

‘Was Maya getting changed?’ he asked.

The twins looked at each other. ‘She was at the mirror putting make-up on. I think she’d changed out of her school clothes. She looked nice,’ Amber said.

Lily snorted. ‘Amber’s got a crush on her.’

‘Have not!’ Amber slapped her sister’s shoulder, her cheeks colouring. It was clear to Hollis that Lily was correct, and this might be something he could exploit.

‘What was she wearing when she was putting her make-up on? Can you remember?’

Amber studied the carpet again. Hollis knew that, if she admitted to taking an interest in Maya’s appearance, it would confirm her sister’s accusation but if the girl did have a crush on Maya, it could have made her hyper-observant.

‘This is really important,’ Cooper said gently, leaning towards the girl.

‘She can’t remember,’ Serena snapped. ‘Stop badgering her. Can’t you see she’s upset.’

‘She’d put a checked shirt on over a vest T-shirt and she was wearing faded jeans. The make-up made her look older.’

Hollis glanced at Cooper who gave him a hint of a nod. The description of the clothing matched that found on Maya’s body, but he didn’t remember any reference to make-up.

‘Did she have a bag with her?’ he asked. The lack of personal belongings had led the team to believe that her phone and purse had probably been stolen by her killer so it would be good to confirm whether she had anything with her in the changing room.

‘She had her school bag. She put her make-up and her hairbrush in it when she’d finished and put it in her locker.’

‘She has her own locker?’ This was news to Hollis.

Amber gave him a ‘duh!’ look. ‘No. But she always uses the same one. We all do. Then we don’t have to remember different locker numbers every day.’

If she’d stashed her bag, there might be something in it that could prove important to the investigation, Hollis thought. Not her phone – what teenager would go anywhere without that? – but maybe a diary, a notebook.

‘Amber, can you remember Maya’s locker number?’

‘407,’ Amber said, cheeks flaming. Hollis jotted the number in his notebook. If Warren and Barratt were still at the leisure centre they could check. Cooper was obviously already a step ahead of him as she was texting frantically, her fringe covering her eyes as she hunched forward on the uncomfortable chair.

‘Did Maya look like she was getting ready to meet someone? Was she happy?’

‘She was humming as she brushed her hair,’ Lily said quickly, obviously keen to attract the attention to herself. ‘I think it was that ABBA song – Dancing Queen.’

‘She liked a lot of older music,’ Amber added, but Lily ignored her.

‘Then she got a message. I remember because her notification tone is like a starting whistle. She said it reminded her to be alert, or something.’ Lily’s tone was dismissive. Whatever feelings her sister had for Maya they weren’t shared by Lily.

‘And did you see her leave the changing room?’ Hollis asked. If they did, it would help with the timeline.

‘She was still there when we went to the pool,’ Amber said. ‘I’m sorry I lied, but I didn’t want Maya to get into trouble.’

If Maya was still in the changing room when training started, she couldn’t have left the leisure centre earlier than 4.30 but the CCTV footage hadn’t shown her leaving. Cooper had checked from 3.30 to 5.30 on the cameras. Could Maya have been meeting someone at the leisure centre then left much later?

‘What time did training finish?’ Hollis asked.

‘The usual time – around seven o’clock,’ Lily said. ‘Maya wasn’t there when we got back to the changing room.’

‘Is there another way out? A fire door or an emergency exit?’

‘There’s a fire exit along the corridor from the changing rooms,’ Amber said, her voice more confident now she’d told the truth. ‘Maya could have gone out that way. Sometimes footballers use it as a shortcut to get to the astro pitches and they prop it open to get back in. Coach always closes it if he sees it open – it lets the cold air in.’

‘Did you notice if it was open on Tuesday?’

‘It was,’ Amber said. ‘I remember because it was a really cold day, and I had to wrap my dry robe round me as I left the changing room.’

Hollis scribbled this detail in his notebook. ‘Did Maya get on with the rest of the team? Was there anybody who didn’t like her? Who was jealous or unpleasant? Or maybe one of the boys liked her and she wasn’t interested?’

Amber shook her head but Lily narrowed her eyes and glanced at her mother.

‘Maya got on well with everybody on the team,’ Amber said. ‘We all competed against each other in our age groups but it’s not like anybody was nasty if they didn’t win. The only person who didn’t seem to like Maya was Coach Zander. Nothing she did was ever good enough for him, and he was always shouting at her.’

CHAPTER 10

‘It was an accident,’ Zander Elliott said. ‘It was partly my fault, but it was an accident.’

Barratt knew the details of the case – he’d asked Cooper to do some digging as soon as they realised that Elliott warranted further attention – Becky Elliott had drowned twelve years earlier while on holiday with her family. Zander had been arrested on suspicion of causing her death due to negligence as the girl had a learning disability and wasn’t aware of the dangers of open water swimming.

The story had made a local newspaper in Norfolk where the family were on holiday and it seemed Becky had followed her brother into the water, got out of her depth and drowned before anyone could reach her. Apparently, Zander had seen what had happened but did nothing to attempt to save his sister. The case hadn’t made it to court but there had been a suggestion that Zander had been cruel to Becky in the past and may have been indirectly responsible for her death.

‘If I’d been found guilty of anything I wouldn’t be allowed to work with kids. You know that. I’d have a criminal record.’

Warren did know that, which was why Barratt was surprised that she’d brought it up in an attempt to wrong-foot the coach. There were no similarities between his sister’s drowning and the death of Maya Marshall.

‘But you did feel responsible,’ Warren said. ‘Two months later you crashed your mother’s car into a motorway bridge.’ Another of Cooper’s discoveries.

Elliott nodded. ‘And I ended up with a rotator cuff injury that ended my swimming career. My parents wouldn’t press charges for the theft of the car, but they made it clear that they blamed me for what happened to Becky, and of course I blamed myself. If I hadn’t had the crash, I’d still have messed up any chance I had of a swimming career. Maybe even my life. The depression was suffocating me and there were a lot of temptations.’

‘So it was a suicide attempt?’ Barratt asked.

‘I don’t know. I was twenty. It felt like my life was over. My family hated me, and I hated myself. I ended up in hospital and it was a wake-up call. I know how cliched that sounds but it’s how I felt. I worked hard on my rehab, physio and counselling, and reinvented myself. I could swim but I couldn’t compete – coaching seemed a good option.’

‘What about your family?’ Warren asked.

‘An uneasy truce. They didn’t want to lose another child, but I doubt they’ll ever fully forgive me for what happened to Becky.’ Elliott shifted in his seat looking from Warren to Barratt expectantly as if he could sense there was more to come.

A text pinged into Warren’s phone and she frowned as she glanced at the screen before passing it to Barratt. He glanced at the contents of the message wondering where this left them with the coach.

‘Maya was in the changing room on Tuesday,’ Warren said, her tone neutral.

‘She–’ Elliott started to protest.

‘The twins lied. She asked them not to tell you. We’re going to need to open her locker.’

Barratt felt self-conscious as he waited outside the door to the female changing room, a wad of evidence bags clutched in one hand. He was sure that some of the women and girls leaving were looking at him oddly. Elliott had asked one of the women on reception to clear the area so Barratt could join Warren in examining Maya’s locker, but it felt like it was taking forever to remove everyone. Finally, Warren poked her head round the door.

‘All clear,’ she said with a grin, obviously enjoying his discomfort. ‘There’s someone stationed at the poolside exit so we should be okay for a few minutes. There’s a class in there and they’ve been told to stay in the water until further notice. The receptionist is going to open the locker for us.’

Barratt followed Warren and the other woman through two doors, emerging into a large changing room divided into smaller areas by banks of cabinets.

He spotted 407 on the back wall in a corner.

The staff member tottered over to the locker on heels that loudly announced that sport was her job but not an interest. Fair hair cut into a short bob and immaculate make-up suggested her passions lay in a completely different direction – but Barratt knew the dangers of stereotyping; people were rarely what they appeared to be on the surface.

‘Customers use a wristband with a chip to lock them, but we sometimes need access,’ she explained. ‘We went keyless a couple of years ago because people kept losing their keys. They rarely misplace their wristband when they’re in the centre, but it does happen.’

The woman held a bright orange fob up to the locker door and it opened with a loud click.

‘If you could step back,’ Warren instructed, jostling the receptionist aside. ‘We’ll take it from here.’

The staccato clicking of heels seemed to signal disapproval as the receptionist returned to her post. Barratt watched Warren snap a series of photographs of the inside of the locker on her phone, completely blocking his view of whatever was inside.

‘Do we need CSI?’

‘I don’t think this is a crime scene, DC Barratt,’ Warren said. ‘I’m sure we can handle any evidence we find. I’ll take everything out and you can photograph each item.’

She donned a pair of nitrile gloves and removed a down jacket from the locker, holding it in front of her like a shield. Barratt took a picture then watched as Warren searched the pockets and catalogued the contents.

‘Bus ticket from last week. Half a packet of sugar-free chewing gum. No phone, no money, no ID.’

A pair of faded  jeans and a hooded sweatshirt yielded no clues. Both were bagged and labelled before joining the jacket in a neat pile on one of the benches.

‘Trainers, size six, drawstring bag containing swimming costume, towel and swim cap. Toiletries bag – shower gel, shampoo, deodorant, tampons.’

Barratt photographed each item and slid it into an evidence bag.

‘And finally,’ Warren drawled like a quiz show host announcing the winner. ‘A backpack.’

After a quick snap, Barratt peered over Warren’s shoulder as she opened the bag. She removed two ring binder folders stuffed with paper, a pair of headphones and copy of Othello.

‘No diary or phone?’

‘Nothing.’ Warren checked the side pockets showing Barratt that each one was empty.

‘What about that top section,’ he said. ‘There’s a zip.’

Warren groped inside the compartment with her outstretched fingers and removed a folded piece of paper.

‘What is it?’ Warren asked.

‘Looks like an advert for an event. Some swimmer giving a talk. Luke Wilson?’

‘Never heard of him.’ Barratt indicated that she should hold the paper higher so he could get a clear photograph. Then he noticed that date on the flyer.

‘Hey, look at the date.’

Warren turned the paper to face her.

‘Tuesday. Looks like we’ve found out where Maya went.’

CHAPTER 11

Kate settled more comfortably on the sofa as she considered the question. She’d started the process of therapy by jumping in with her responses, keeping them simple, almost like a reflex reaction, but over the months, Alec had encouraged her to be more circumspect.

‘Of course it makes me angry,’ Kate began in response to the therapist’s question about attending the morning’s postmortem. ‘It makes me want to hunt down whoever did this and beat the shit out of him. But it also makes me feel powerless because, even if we find the murderer, we have to go through the convoluted process of having him charged, convicted and sentenced. There’s a lot that could go wrong.’

Alec watched her closely, his notebook abandoned on his knee, his deep brown eyes fixed on her face. Kate could see from his neutral expression that he was waiting for more. In the early days, despite finding herself increasingly comfortable with Alec, she’d given serious thought to whether therapy was worth it; she could step back, maybe do something completely different until her pension kicked in.

She’d expected it to be a box-ticking exercise, a series of hoops to be jumped through so she could get back to work. Gradually, as her relationship with Alec developed, she began to understand the benefits and actually felt herself opening up to his gentle but incisive questioning. She’d grown to enjoy his company and often found herself reflecting on how he wasn’t at all as she’d expected.

When Kate had first entered Alec’s office she’d been bogged down in stereotypes. When she wasn’t presented with a middle-aged overweight man in a tweed jacket with elbow patches, she’d felt slightly wrong-footed and the brightly painted office with its comfortable sofa and chairs had been a surprise. It hadn’t been enough to soothe her concerns, but the pleasant environment had been a good start.

Then there was Alec. His wiry build gave the impression of a climber or a marathon runner and the tan that could be seen on the areas of his face that weren’t covered with carefully groomed, greying facial hair added to the impression that he had brought something of the outdoors into his office. Kate could almost hear her sister’s response if she showed Karen a photograph of Alec – she had a thing for men she called ‘silver foxes’.

‘Which feeling would you say is strongest – the anger or the powerlessness?’

That was an easy one. ‘The anger. I want to find him and make sure he pays for what he did to this girl.’

The anger was what kept Kate coming back to the job. That feeling that there were people out there who felt such a sense of entitlement that they could take a life with little to no regard for their victim or the victim’s loved ones. Kate wanted to make sure that nobody got away with such disregard for another human life, and that every victim was given a voice.

‘And how are you dealing with that anger?’ Alec asked.

Kate laughed. ‘This is only my third day back on the job, so I’d say pretty well. But I know what you mean. I need to deal with it rather than let it overwhelm me. I’ve been delegating and not micromanaging and I’m listening to my colleagues.’

Alec nodded. ‘Early days I know but it’s important to remember that you’re not invincible and help is there should you need it. You always praise your team and I’m sure that respect is mutual. Lean on them if and when you need to.’

He was right. The shock of O’Connor’s injuries had made her own difficult to deal with and she’d struggled with guilt as well as broken ribs and a fractured humerus. Her return to work had been delayed, even after the physical healing was complete, because she’d not been coping with the emotional effects of nearly losing her own life as well as that of her Detective Sergeant.

Kate had come to terms with the fact that O’Connor was ultimately responsible for what had happened to him, but he was part of the team and she felt accountable for them all. Alec had gradually convinced her that she couldn’t have prevented the DS from ‘going rogue’ any more than she could have prevented her own fall, but the guilt was still lurking.

Kate considered her response, thinking about Hollis and his lack of enthusiasm and Warren’s seeming inability to resist stating the obvious. ‘I’m not sure. Hollis is floundering and I think that’s partly due to my absence. There’s been nobody pushing him to apply for promotion and we now have a new DS who doesn’t seem to fit in. The group dynamic isn’t the same.’

‘There’s that guilt again,’ Alec pointed out. ‘I’m sure that Hollis is more than capable of applying for promotion when he feels ready. As for the new DS – sometimes it takes time to adjust to a new work environment – for both parties.’

Kate shifted on the sofa and looked out of the window. The view was restricted by a large leylandii hedge which was frosted with white. A small bird hopped disconsolately from one branch to another, obviously in search of what meagre food might be available. She watched for a few seconds, trying to formulate a response to Alec’s observation.

‘I know that none of this is my fault, on an intellectual level, but when you’ve worked so closely with a group of people there’s a certain shared responsibility. We all feel it; that need to look out for each other and to be accountable. I suppose I feel it more strongly because I’m in charge.’

Alec smiled at her. ‘Not exactly a breakthrough but it’s good that you can consider your emotions intellectually.’ He picked up his notebook and jotted something down. This was another area where Kate felt she’d made progress.

The therapist had been very clear that his notes were to help him formulate a plan to help her deal with her experiences and she could ask to see them at any time, but she’d struggled to shake the paranoid feeling that he was judging her. She’d never asked, and Alec had never offered, but her acceptance of his writing things down was a symbol of her trust.

‘Do they know you’re here?’ he asked.

‘No,’ Kate admitted and with the admission came the understanding that on some level she still felt some shame around her therapy, for needing help to cope. ‘Only Das knows.’

‘And Nick.’

Of course Nick knew. Nick had been her rock, her chief supporter and cheerleader. As a medical professional, albeit in a very different field, he’d discussed the benefits of therapy in depth and even offered to find someone else if Alec hadn’t worked out.

She and Nick had bought a house together just before the conclusion of the case that could have ended her career – a move she’d been resisting because she didn’t want to give up her autonomy and space – and he’d been the perfect partner on this journey. So much so that Kate had taken the initiative, got down on one knee and asked him to marry her.

She hadn’t been surprised when he’d accepted her proposal – he’d been making jokes about a ‘big fat Greek’ wedding for a while and teasing her about the extent of the Tsappis family both in the UK and around their native country. Kate had suspected that he might have been tempted to ask her when they moved in together, but she’d been prickly around the subject, despite the jokes, so he seemed to have let it go.

‘Nick’s been great. He was keen for me to start this despite my… reluctance. Since we moved in together he seems able to instinctively read what I need and hardly ever gets it wrong – which is amazing because half the time I don’t really know what I need.’

Alec smiled and nodded.

‘I asked him to marry me.’

The therapist’s eyebrows flew up to his receding hairline. ‘Oh? And how did that go?’

‘He said yes.’

‘Congratulations.’

She saw Alec’s eyes drop to her hands, noting the lack of a ring.

‘We’re keeping it quiet for the time being,’ Kate explained. ‘It’s early days and we haven’t even started planning.’

‘We’re keeping it quiet? Or you’re keeping it quiet?’

‘Okay, I’m keeping it quiet. I’ve asked Nick not to say anything at his work, but he’s told some of his family. I was going to tell my team but then I’ve had to jump straight into a murder investigation, and it didn’t seem appropriate.’

‘Maybe too personal?’

Kate shrugged.

‘What about your family? Have you told your son or your sister?’

She considered the question, wondering how to respond honestly. ‘I haven’t told Ben yet and I know I should tell him before I tell Karen. You know my relationship with him is tricky, especially as my past put him in danger a few years ago. He’s always favoured his father despite his flaws.’

‘But he’s back in the country? Your son?’

Ben had been home for a few months after spending two years working on an environmental project in China. He’d kept in touch via email and the occasional phone call, but Kate would hardly define their relationship as close. He’d recently split up with his girlfriend which, Kate thought, had prompted his move to East Yorkshire where he was working on a nature reserve for the RSPB.

‘He’s back,’ she said. ‘But nothing’s really changed. He still doesn’t keep in regular touch and, before you say it, I don’t either. The odd text or WhatsApp but that’s all. He’s not even met Nick, so it’ll be a bit of a shock when I tell him that I’m getting married again. I have no idea how he’ll respond.’

Alec nodded. ‘Are you concerned that his response will be negative?’

‘Obviously. There’s an emotional distance between us as it is, but this could turn it into a huge rift. And he’ll tell his dad.’

‘Ah, and you don’t want your ex-husband to know anything about your life?’

‘I don’t want to have to think about him. His lies and deceit are in the past and I have no desire to relive any part of that time.’

Kate felt herself tense and her breathing quickened. Garry had treated her like shit, and it had taken her a long time to accept that it wasn’t her fault. She didn’t want to have to go over any of it with Alec, it was settled and done.

‘Is that something you think we should talk about? You seem uncomfortable.’

‘No,’ Kate said. ‘It’s done. The wounds are healed and the scars have faded. I don’t need help with the revulsion I feel for Garry. I think it’s healthy.’

Alec laughed. ‘Then I’ll leave it alone. But if you change your mind…’

‘I won’t.’

‘Same time next week?’

Kate was already checking her text messages. ‘It might not be as easy to arrange regular sessions,’ she said, her mind already occupied by Warren’s latest text. ‘It looks like this case is picking up pace. Although we might have a viable suspect, so I’ll let you know.’

CHAPTER 12

‘Do you think he knows Zander Elliott?’ Hollis asked as he bumped the car up the kerb outside Luke Wilson’s detached home in Auckley, southeast of Doncaster. Built from terracotta-coloured brick, the house occupied a corner plot on a newly built estate off the main road through the village.

‘Unlikely,’ Kate said. ‘They’re different ages. Wilson’s in his early twenties so I doubt they’d have competed together. But who knows? The world of swimming might be very small and selective.’

‘Worth checking though.’ Hollis released his seatbelt and pushed open the car door.

He wasn’t wrong, Kate thought. At that point everything was worth checking if it gave them even the slightest chance of finding Maya Marshall’s killer.

‘Nice car.’ Hollis nodded towards the electric vehicle plugged in next to the porch. ‘Must be around sixty grand’s worth. Not bad for somebody in their twenties.’

Kate wondered what Wilson was doing to earn money like that – or if the car might be part of a sponsorship deal. She stood back, allowing Hollis to ring the doorbell, and waited as a shadowy figure approached from behind the frosted glass.

‘Yes?’ The young man filled the doorway with both height and breadth. Hollis was tall – lanky according to Cooper – but Luke Wilson must have been at least four inches taller, making him around six feet seven. His wide swimmer’s shoulders and thin waist gave his upper body a triangular appearance despite the baggy grey hoodie, while running tights highlighted the muscles in his legs. Luke Wilson might not be swimming competitively anymore, but he was certainly doing something to keep in shape.

Hollis showed his ID and introduced himself and Kate, his tone expectant but Wilson made no move to invite them inside. His grey eyes focused on Kate.

‘If you’re in charge, why is he doing the talking?’ His voice was thick with suspicion.

‘Mr Wilson,’ Kate said. ‘We’re both here to ask you some questions about your event on Tuesday evening. If you’d prefer that I do that I’m happy to oblige.’

‘Don’t mind either way,’ Wilson said. ‘Just thought it was some sort of psychology thing, I know the police are fond of that.’

He might have been a former professional athlete, but Luke Wilson was still little more than a teenager trying to sound hard and knowledgeable.

‘Could we come in?’ Kate asked. ‘Our questions may take a while and it’s cold out here.’

A curt nod caused a few strands of Wilson’s dark hair to fall across his eyes. Pushing it aside he gestured down the hallway. ‘Second on the left.’

Kate led the way into a spacious sitting room which was dominated by one of the largest TVs she’d ever seen. Scattered on the floor in front of it were various gaming handsets, a pair of VR goggles and a few magazines spread out like an oversized deck of cards – most of them dedicated to swimming and running. Wilson obviously still took his fitness seriously.

‘Have a seat.’ Wilson settled himself down in the gaming chair and turned it to face Kate and Hollis who had opted for either end of a grey leather sofa.

The room was sparsely but tastefully decorated. A plush bean bag presented the only other seating option, nestled in a corner between a cream wall and one painted deep brown. A small pine side table perched next to Wilson’s chair; the surface strewn with coasters. Matching umber Roman blinds half covered the large windows. Kate assumed they had been lowered to limit the glare on to the television screen, and large dark-wood speakers framed a recessed fireplace where convincing fake flames danced an irregular rhythm.

‘You said you wanted to talk to me about Tuesday night. Is something wrong?’

Wilson’s belligerence seemed to have evaporated, replaced with a cautious curiosity.

Hollis took his phone from the inside pocket of his suit jacket, tapped a couple of times. ‘Do you recognise this woman?’

Wilson studied the image. ‘No. Sorry. Should I know who that is?’

‘Her name’s Maya Marshall,’ Kate said. ‘She was murdered sometime between Tuesday evening and Wednesday morning. We found a flyer for your talk in her locker at the Danum Leisure Centre. We think she may have ditched her training to attend. You don’t remember seeing her in the audience?’

‘Having the advert didn’t mean she turned up and there were over two hundred people there,’ Wilson said, unable to keep a boastful tone from his voice. ‘I probably wouldn’t be able to recognise any of them. You say this young woman ‘ditched training’. Is she a swimmer? I get a lot of swimmers at my events. And a lot of young women.’

He added the final sentence with a faint grin and Kate was struck by his lack of interest. The fact that Maya had been murdered didn’t seem to have registered with him.

‘What sort of event was it?’ Hollis asked. ‘A lecture?’

‘Hardly. I’m not some boffin. I give talks about overcoming adversity; share my story and encourage people not to give up. It’s all about resilience. Then I ask them to donate to my charity.’

Kate had done some research on the drive to Auckley and knew that Wilson had been a very promising swimmer until he had to give up due to cancer. He’d set up a charity to raise money for teens with similar diagnoses in order to help them adapt and recover, both physically and mentally.

‘Did you raise much money?’ she asked.

‘Hard to tell. It’s not necessarily what we raise on the night; it’s everything that dribbles in afterwards as people become aware of what we do.’

‘What would a typical audience look like?’ Kate asked. ‘Do you get a range of ages and genders? You mentioned young women and swimmers but what about males and older people? I wouldn’t imagine you get much in donations from the under thirties.’

‘Not in direct donations, no,’ Wilson said. ‘Most of that comes from older people. And, yes, the audience is usually very mixed. I just find that some of the younger ones are inspired to set up their own fund-raising efforts. I’ve seen walks, swims, bungee jumps, all sorts. Younger people tend to be more able to use social media to their advantage when they want to raise money… or awareness.’

Kate tried not to smile at the put down of ‘older’ people. In Wilson’s world view she was probably good for coughing up money but little else. ‘And what about after the talk? Where did you go?’

‘Home. I came back here. I was still wired so I played a couple of games then went to bed.’

‘Alone?’

‘Alone.’

Nobody to corroborate his story.

‘Do you know Zander Elliott?’ Hollis asked.

‘The coach? I’ve met him a couple of times. He came to one of my talks last year and introduced himself.’

‘And you’ve had no other contact with him?’

‘No. He tried to suggest that we were in the same situation and we could work together, but we’re very different. I had no control over what ended my career but when I researched Elliott it sounded like he was driving drunk and crashed his car. I don’t want my brand associated with someone like that.’

It was hard to tell if ‘that’ was Elliott himself or his accident, but it was clear that Wilson had no time for Maya’s coach. Apart from the flyer in Maya’s locker there was nothing to link her to Luke Wilson and no evidence that she attended the talk.

Cooper was trying to get CCTV from Doncaster Racecourse which had hosted the event in one of the conference rooms. They hoped to prove that Maya had attended but they were still flailing around in the dark trying to add anything to the tenuous timeline they’d put together.

‘Did you notice anything odd at Tuesday’s event?’ Kate asked.

‘Odd? In what way?’

Kate didn’t know. Her instincts as a police officer ensured she was usually attuned to ‘odd’ but that feeling was too ephemeral to describe to anybody else.

‘Someone behaving strangely? Anybody drawing attention to themselves for some reason?’

Even as she asked the question, she realised that Wilson’s attention would probably have been firmly focused on himself and on what he was about to say to his ‘fans’.

‘No, sorry.’

Kate looked to Hollis who gave her the briefest shake of his head. He had nothing more to ask either. Another dead end.

She gave Wilson her card and the usual speech about getting in touch if he remembered anything, but she wasn’t optimistic and, as he closed the door behind them, she thought he’d have soon forgotten about their visit.

‘That was helpful,’ Hollis said as he started the car and Kate fastened her seatbelt. His voice was heavy with irony and something else that she couldn’t quite identify. Frustration? Resignation? She was disappointed that they weren’t making much progress but she needed to keep Hollis buoyed up as far as possible.

‘Maybe Cooper will have gained access to the CCTV.’ She dialled the DC’s number. ‘If we know Maya was at the racecourse, we can start to pin down her movements.’

Cooper answered on the first ring and didn’t wait to hear what Kate had to say – she had news of her own. Kate listened in silence as Cooper explained what she’d found.

‘Turn the car off, Dan,’ she said. ‘We’re going back inside. Luke Wilson hasn’t been straight with us.’

CHAPTER 13

Colin Marshall stared at the driveway through a gap in the curtains. He’d spent a fortune on those sodding paving blocks and they were already sinking in places and bowing in others, making the surface look like corrugated cardboard. He’d have to get in touch with the company that did the work – get them to come out again and sort it before it became any more of a trip hazard. The last thing he needed was the postman or paperboy taking a tumble and suing the family.

The car needed cleaning. The roads were covered in salt and grit and, every time it rained, the car’s bodywork got a good coating of grime. Why had he chosen white when he’d taken out the new lease? The Kia Sportage had been Jocelyn’s choice even though she had her own small hatchback, something big enough to fit the family, but he’d had the final say on the colour. He had no idea what he’d been thinking when he chose pearl white with a grey leather trim. Maybe Jocelyn was right when she said he cared more about appearances than practicality. It was a nice-looking car – when it was clean.

He reached down for the mug of coffee he’d left on one of the side tables and took a sip. It was cold. How long had he been standing there staring out of the window, thinking about inconsequential crap?

‘Colin?’

He turned to see his wife standing in the doorway to the living room, arms wrapped protectively around her middle as if she were cold – or frightened.

‘What are you doing? You’ve been in here for ages.’

‘Just thinking.’ He turned back to the view of the uneven drive and the dirty car.

‘About Maya?’

‘Yes,’ he lied. He couldn’t think about Maya. Every time he tried, it felt like the memory was ice and his attention slid off to somewhere less painful, less raw.

He heard his wife cross the room and slump in the armchair next to him, but he couldn’t turn. Couldn’t look at her.

‘Are you sure?’ Jocelyn asked for the third time that day. He knew what she meant. She’d asked him every day since he’d identified his daughter’s body in the morgue at the Doncaster Royal Infirmary.

‘It was her. I’m sure.’

‘It couldn’t have been a–’

‘I’m sure! It was her. She’s dead.’

He heard Jocelyn take a deep breath and when she let it out it was a muted wail that reminded him, bizarrely, of an old-fashioned kettle approaching boiling point. He supposed that was how his wife must feel, constantly trying to keep her emotions under control, to stop her anger and grief boiling over and scalding everything in their path.

‘How’s Nuala?’ he asked, hoping to shift the focus of the conversation to their elder daughter – only daughter now – who had been spending most of her time holed up in her room, or talking to the FLO. He didn’t like having the policewoman in the house. He felt like they all had to be on their best behaviour, a model of a perfect grieving family and any crack in the façade would be noted, catalogued and judged.

‘How do you think?’ Jocelyn said. ‘She’s lost.’

‘Has she said anything to the police?’

‘About what?’

‘I thought they were trying to get into Maya’s social media accounts. To see if she was meeting up with anybody we didn’t know about.’

‘When would she have time to do that? Her every waking hour was mapped out. If she wasn’t at school she was at training, or competing. You never let up.’

‘Me? I was only doing what I thought she wanted. She could have gone to the Olympics. She said that was her ambition.’

‘Of course it was.’ He couldn’t see his wife’s expression, but he could tell from her tone that she was sneering at him. ‘Because that’s what you wanted for her. She was always trying to please you.’

‘Hey.’ He turned to face his wife. ‘That’s not fair. She–’

‘Mum? Dad?’ Nuala stood on the threshold as though unsure whether she’d be welcome in the room.

‘Come here, love.’ Jocelyn patted the arm of the chair, encouraging her daughter to sit down.

‘No. I just wanted to let you know that we’ve managed to get into Maya’s Instagram account. DC Tatton has sent the password to somebody at Doncaster and they’re going to look into Maya’s history and messages and stuff. I’m going to get a glass of wine.’

‘Nuala!’ Jocelyn sprang up an followed her daughter into the kitchen where Marshall could hear them arguing in hushed tones, no doubt about Nuala’s sudden fondness for her mother’s Pinot Grigio. He dug his phone out of his pocket and opened the text messaging app. He should have done this as soon as Maya hadn’t come home on Tuesday but he’d been too caught up in his grief and all the questions from the police.

Delete all messages from me.

He typed.

Including this one. And clear call history. I’ll do the same. Don’t reply.

He tapped ‘send’ then deleted the message thread. After a few seconds of thought he also deleted the contact information. He hoped it was enough.

CHAPTER 14

Kate registered a look of surprise on Luke Wilson’s face before he quickly arranged his features into a look of bored resignation.

‘Now what?’ he asked, making no move to allow them back inside. ‘I’ve answered all your questions. I’m sorry that girl’s dead but I can’t help you.’

‘Really?’ Kate asked. ‘One of my colleagues has sent me evidence to the contrary.’

Wilson’s eyes widened. ‘What evidence? I never met her. I don’t even remember seeing her.’

Kate wondered if he was choosing his words carefully. The information Cooper had sent didn’t prove that Wilson had met Maya, but he’d certainly been communicating with her via social media, if what Cooper had found was genuine.

‘Can we go back inside? I don’t think you want to have this conversation on your doorstep.’

For a second, Kate thought he might refuse but his shoulders suddenly sagged with resignation, and he pushed the door open wider.

‘Okay,’ he sighed. ‘But I honestly don’t have anything else to tell you. You’re wasting your time and mine.’

They followed him back to the living room but this time there was no invitation to sit down. Wilson dug his hands deep into the pockets of his tracksuit bottoms and perched on the arm of the sofa, leaning forward slightly as though preparing for a sudden leap to his feet. Kate knew that Hollis would have noticed the pose and would be prepared for pursuit if Wilson decided to run.

‘What’s this colleague found?’

‘She’s accessed Maya Marshall’s social media accounts, and her Instagram messages make interesting reading. Kate took her phone from her jacket pocket and tapped it to life. ‘According to this new information you’ve been chatting with Maya for weeks and arranged to meet her after the talk to give her some tips about how to improve the speed of her turns. Reading her responses it seems like she had quite the crush on you and you didn’t exactly discourage her.’

‘Not me.’ Wilson shrugged and pressed his lips tightly together.

‘Looks like you.’ Kate passed him her phone which displayed a screen grab of a message with Wilson’s name and profile picture next to it. He scrolled through then passed the phone back.

‘It does. But it isn’t.’

He took out his own phone, tapped the screen a few times and handed it over. It showed his Instagram profile with the same picture next to his name. He tapped again.

‘It’s the same photograph but the name on the profile you’ve got isn’t the same. My agent manages some of my social media and she set this up a while ago. Look. The ID is @LWEvents and this one is @lukewwilson. This is a fake. I don’t have a middle name and I don’t have a personal Instagram account.’

Kate studied the details that Wilson had pointed out. He was right but it didn’t mean anything.

‘You could have set this up,’ she said.

‘I could,’ he admitted. ‘But so could anybody else. I bet if your IT expert does a bit more digging, this profile will have a few posts about my charity work and swimming, but it’ll be thin. And they might want to see if they can find out when this account was set up. I’ve had the other one for two years.’

‘Read the messages from Maya. She obviously believed this was you.’

‘But it isn’t,’ Wilson repeated, enunciating each word slowly. He slid his phone back into his pocket and folded his arms across his broad chest, head tilted to one side as if challenging them to prove otherwise.

‘Why would somebody want to pretend to be you?’ Hollis asked from the doorway.

‘This girl was obviously dedicated to her sport. If you were some perv wanting to grab her or attack her or whatever, you’d find something she was interested in and play on that. Hang on. My profile’s public because of the charity so she might have liked one of my posts. If this weirdo was stalking her online, he might have made that connection and set up this fake account and hoped she wouldn’t realise it wasn’t me. It’s worth checking.’

Kate wasn’t sure. Wilson was very convincing, but his explanation was a little too trite and convenient – Cooper would need to check it out and do a deep dive into Maya’s other social media to see if there were any further connections. It wasn’t enough to make an arrest as they couldn’t prove that the account Maya had corresponded with actually belonged to him. Not yet.

‘We’ll be checking CCTV around the racecourse before and after the talk you gave on Tuesday,’ Kate said. ‘If we see you and Maya together at any point you’ve got some backtracking to do.’

She was hoping to prod him into an ‘Oh, I’ve just remembered…’ and an account of how he might have stopped to sign an autograph for her or some such crap, but Wilson gave her nothing.

‘I don’t know her and I’ve never met her,’ he said. ‘I have nothing to hide.’

Kate knew they had no choice but to leave but, as Wilson closed the door behind them, she said a silent prayer that Cooper would find something. She really didn’t like Luke Wilson.

‘Are they definitely gone this time?’

Wilson turned to smile at the woman who was leaning over the banister.

‘Looks like it.’

‘Can I come down then?’

He went through into the living room and looked out of the window checking that the unmarked police car wasn’t still on the street.

‘Yep. Looks like they’ve gone to torment somebody else. Come down.’

The woman trotted down the stairs and into the kitchen at the back of the house. ‘Want a cuppa?’ she shouted.

Wilson joined her, leaning on the marble-topped island that dominated the room. This was his favourite place in the house – apart from the home gym in his garage – and he’d had the kitchen kitted out with every gadget he could think of: huge American fridge, air fryer, coffee machine, boiling water tap, two ovens. The irony was that he had no idea how to use any of it apart from the tap – he was no cook, but he knew that the white tiles and deep red cupboard doors looked good.

He perched on a high stool and looked out of the window at the immaculate garden. Part of the fake grass that lay in the shade of the high fence was still covered in frost and the grey tiled patio was shiny with dampness. The built-in barbecue was protected by a custom-made cover and the cushionless chairs were neatly stacked against the back wall of the garage.

‘Coffee for me,’ he said. ‘Instant’s fine.’

The woman used the tap to make the drinks and placed Wilson’s in front of him. He grabbed a coaster and slid it under the mug to protect the grey marble.

‘You didn’t tell them about me, did you?’ she asked.

‘No. I said I was alone on Tuesday night. It’s nobody’s business but ours and I can do without all the gossip and judgement.’

The woman gave him a wry smile and took a sip of her drink. ‘You make it sound like we’re having a secret affair.’

Wilson studied her expression trying to assess whether she was hinting at something but, as usual, he found her hard to read. Would it look so bad if that’s what people wanted to think? She was quite a bit older than him and her greying dark hair and casual clothes were far removed from the usual fashionable young women he liked to be seen with, but it might be a useful cover in case they were spotted together.

‘Don’t even think about it!’ she warned him, obviously taking his lack of response as a sign that he was considering her as a potential mate. Obviously she hadn’t been hinting. ‘What we’re doing is bad enough – the last thing I need is to be accused of cradle snatching as well.’

He laughed. Cradle snatching – he hadn’t heard that expression for years.

‘Okay, Bridie.’ He threw up his hands in mock surrender. ‘No secret affair. Shall we get back to where we were before we were so rudely interrupted?’

Bridie drained her mug and bent to put it in the dishwasher.

‘Yep. You’ve only got me for another two hours so let’s crack on.’

He’d half expected the preparation to be easier the second time, but it wasn’t. He’d had to lay the trap more carefully, partly because his subject was potentially more unpredictable and also because he’d known this one would be stronger than the girl. Women could be physically overpowered, but males often needed more subtlety, more skill.

Now, waiting for the target to appear he feels a zen-like sense of tranquillity and calm as the sky darkens to pewter and the light in the alley fades. The only colour an orange glow from the exit sign above the back door.

A voice. He hears the tone before he can make sense of the words – a mix of fear and bravado – then the question is repeated.

‘You there, mate?’

He smiles to himself at the familiarity. He’s nobody’s mate but he calls out anyway and a tall figure joins him in his hiding place.

‘I’ve got the money.’ The words pass in a breathless rush, and he can sense that the boy is anxious beneath his excitement. ‘You got the stuff?’

He nods and reaches into his inside pocket. Timing is everything and he knows he has to rely on speed and surprise. The straight razor is in his hand, the cold steel reassuring as he slices down past the boy’s outstretched hand ignoring the twenty-pound notes that flutter to the floor.

‘What the…?’

The boy bends, clutching his thigh and it’s exactly how he rehearsed it. Three steps and he’s got the ligature in place, pulling from behind as the boy flails like a hooked fish, struggling for purchase, for air, then collapsing to the grimy ground as blood spurts from his femoral artery.

He drags his prey deeper into the alley, away from the sickly light, still pulling the cord tighter with each step, fighting the weakening attempts to loosen the pressure of the garrotte.

Then it’s over. The boy is still and malleable in death. Quickly he finishes the ritual, turning over the body, unzipping the jeans and opening them carefully, oh so carefully.

He returns to the door and picks up the razor from where he dropped it to transfer his focus from cutting to strangulation.

‘Damn!’ he snaps as he misjudges where the blade is and nicks the fleshy part of his palm just below the thumb. Blood oozes down his wrist, black in the dim light as he reaches into his pocket for a tissue or a handkerchief. Nothing. He knows he must have left drips on the ground but he’s a few feet from the body, so he settles for stuffing his hand deep into his trouser pocket and keeping his fist clenched to minimise the bleeding.

Four steps and he’s back on the deserted street. Ten more and he turns a corner, invisible in the shadow of a high hedge. Gone.

CHAPTER 15

‘But it must be him,’ Warren said, pacing the distance between the whiteboard and the window and back again. ‘It’s too convenient that he suggested somebody had copied his account. Can you look into it, Sam, see if the account can be traced back to Wilson?’

Cooper shook her head. ‘Already tried. It links to an email address that anybody could have set up. Nothing to connect it to Luke Wilson or his charity.’

‘But nothing to suggest it isn’t him?’

‘Hard to prove a negative,’ Hollis muttered without looking up from his laptop where he was scrolling slowly through CCTV footage from the main road closest to Doncaster Racecourse from the night Maya went missing.

Kate saw Warren shoot him a look of frustration. ‘But that’s all we’re working with, Dan. We have to keep moving forward even if it seems impossible.’

‘Anything else from Kailisa?’ Barratt asked, obviously trying to change the subject. He’d pushed his chair away from his desk and was leaning back with his elbows on the arm rests, hands steepled below his chin. ‘Tox results? DNA?’

‘Not yet,’ Kate said. ‘We’ll be lucky to find DNA after she’d been in the River Don for a few hours. Toxicology could be days yet.’

‘So nothing to go on.’ Hollis sounded dispirited, flat.

‘We know where she was on Tuesday evening,’ Kate reminded him. ‘We can see if we can place Maya and Wilson together at any point before or after the talk. And we can interview anybody who attended, starting with the staff and organisers.’ She glanced down at her phone where she’d written her list of tasks for the team while she’d been eating a quick breakfast of yoghurt and granola with Nick.

‘I want you and Matt to get over there and ask around. Bar staff, doorman, cleaners, anybody who was there on Tuesday night.’

Barratt was already putting on his suit jacket, eager to get started.

‘Sam, stay on CCTV and keep trawling Maya’s social media.’

Cooper nodded accepting the tedious tasks without complaint.

‘Warren, we’ve got Wilson’s car reg. Track it on Tuesday night as far as you can. ANPR cameras, traffic cams, anything. Let’s find out if he was where he said he was. I’m going to update Das then do a quick coffee run.’

What she didn’t add was that she was supposed to have a meeting with Alec. She’d emailed and asked him to set it up online, explaining that she couldn’t abandon her team. She’d asked Das for a free office and given Alec half an hour – Warren and Cooper would probably assume that her meeting with the DCI had been longer than expected. Kate just needed to remember to turn up with drinks when she went back to the team office.

Das had her back to the door when Kate knocked and entered. She was facing the window and took her time turning and acknowledging Kate’s presence – an obvious power move that didn’t bode well for the meeting.

‘DI Fletcher,’ she said, her tone one of surprise even though she’d requested the update. ‘Have a seat.’

Kate took the seat opposite Das’s and waited for the DCI’s next move.

‘Where are we on Luke Wilson?’ Das asked, pulling her chair out and settling at her desk. She fixed her dark eyes on Kate’s face.

‘Nowhere,’ Kate admitted. ‘We have nothing to help us make a confirmed link to Maya Marshall apart from the flyer in her locker which suggested she intended to attend his talk at the racecourse on Tuesday. The Instagram account she was communicating with could have been set up by anybody.’

‘Including Wilson?’

Kate nodded.

‘Next steps?’

She gave Das a brief outline of the jobs allocated to each member of her team and waited for a response, a suggestion, a rebuke. Instead, Das pressed her lips together and nodded.

‘And how are your team getting on, generally? I accept that you’re doing everything you can with limited information – not that I’m not pleased with your progress – I hope you’re leading the usual harmonious group.’

‘They’re fine,’ Kate said.

‘And Warren?’

‘Also fine. She’s getting a little less formal and awkward. Calls the others by their first names from time to time.’

Das smiled. ‘But you’re still Boss?’

‘When I’m not Guv or DI Fletcher,’ Kate admitted.

‘Can I ask you something personal? How’s the therapy going?’

Kate noted that Das hadn’t given her the opportunity to refuse a personal question. She considered her answer carefully, aware that fine or okay wouldn’t be adequate. Eventually she opted for something close to the truth. ‘It’s helping.’

Das studied her, one finger tapping the side of the keyboard in the middle of her desk. Obviously she was expecting further information.

‘I feel more in control,’ Kate said. ‘And I think I have better understanding of my reactions to certain situations. And to stress.’

‘Stress,’ Das echoed. She dropped her eyes from Kate’s and seemed to be considering what to say next.

‘I’m glad to be back,’ Kate went on. ‘And I feel like I’m handling the pressure of this case. And the frustration. I just wish we could get a break of some kind, anything to move us forward.’

‘But you’re making time for yourself? God knows this job can be all-consuming.’

‘I’m trying. And I appreciate your help with that.’

Five minutes later she was alone in Das’s office with the door closed behind her. Kate had been stunned when the DCI had offered Kate her own space for half an hour, waving off Kate’s protests with assurances that she had a meeting to attend with her own boss.

The WhatsApp call connected and Alec’s face filled most of Kate’s phone screen.

‘Hey, how are you?’ He sounded a lot more pleased to see her than Das had been.

‘I’m okay. Busy.’

‘Good busy, or swamped?’

She considered the question. They’d established a shorthand for how she felt about work. ‘Good busy’ meant that she was engaged, challenged and felt in control. Swamped was for when she wanted to dig herself a hole and pull the ground in on top of her. Overwhelmed and unable to cope.

‘Good busy. Frustrated but nothing I can’t cope with.’

Alec nodded and she saw his head dip as he made a note. ‘And your plans to delegate more to your team? How’s that now you’re in the middle of a case?’

Kate explained that she’d made a list of tasks over breakfast and hadn’t included herself on it.

‘Is that because you knew you had to make time to see me?’

‘Partly,’ she admitted. ‘But I’m also trying to give the various jobs to the person best suited to them. And before you ask, yes that is sometimes me, but I can’t do everything.’

He gave her a broad smile of encouragement. ‘Talk me through the last couple of days. Pressure points, coping mechanisms used. Negative thoughts?’

It was easy to give Alec an overview. They’d developed a pattern for her sessions that was simple to replicate when they weren’t in his office, and she ran through events of the previous couple of days in a series of precise steps. He didn’t ask for details about the case and she didn’t offer any, even when it might have been useful to be more specific about her reaction to something. There were some boundaries they couldn’t cross, and these had been established early in their relationship.

The half hour passed quickly, and Kate terminated the session with a vague feeling of regret. Was this how she was going to interact with Alec from now on? She felt comfortable in Das’s office after her reassurances that Kate would have the room to herself for as long as she needed but she’d miss the calm of Alec’s space and the way she felt the tension release every time she sank into the comfortable armchair. Still, at least they would be able to continue to talk even when things were getting ‘good busy’ at work.

‘Mint tea and a flat white,’ Kate announced setting the drinks carefully on the shared table at the back of the room. Cooper and Warren were staring at each other, and she wondered if they’d had an argument.

‘I wasn’t sure what you wanted,’ she said to the DS, ‘but you’re welcome to swap for my latte.’

‘I…  er…’ Warren seemed to be struggling to get her words out. ‘Didn’t DCI Das tell you?’

‘Tell me what? I’ve been in the canteen for the last ten minutes. She said she had a meeting to go to.’

Warren and Cooper exchanged a puzzled glance as though Kate’s story didn’t quite make sense.

‘The body of a young man was found behind the Dog and Gun on King’s Road this morning. Bin man called it in.’

‘And?’

‘And there are some similarities to Maya Marshall.’

CHAPTER 16

‘Er…  think you’ve missed the turn,’ Barratt said as Hollis passed a sign for Doncaster Racecourse. Hollis didn’t acknowledge the comment and continued driving at speed along the dual carriageway.

‘Dan! Where are you going? The racecourse is the other way.’

Hollis flicked on the indicator and took the next exit but made no attempt to turn round. Instead, he drove into a maze of streets where terraced houses fronted directly onto the road and Barratt realised where they were heading.

Five minutes later they left the terraces behind and pulled into a cul-de-sac of weathered bungalows. Hollis parked outside the one closest to the turning and sat back in his seat with a sigh. The property looked solidly built and had a neat patch of garden at the front but the peeling paint on the fence and front door suggested age and neglect. A SOLD sign looked like it had been blown down recently and was lying on the lawn.

Barratt peered at the greying pebbledash façade. ‘It’s got potential.’

‘It’s a nice part of town,’ Hollis said. ‘And handy for Sainsbury’s.’

‘Christ, we sound like a couple of estate agents.’ Barratt opened the car door and slid out into a biting wind. Hunching his shoulders, he zipped his coat up to his neck and trudged up the drive without waiting to see if Hollis was following.

A camera doorbell lit up as he approached the door.

‘Nobody’s at home,’ a metallic voice announced. ‘So please bugger off.’

Barratt smiled to himself and pressed the bell. ‘Police. Open up or I’ll kick the door down.’

‘I’d like to see you try.’ A tiny woman with blonde hair had opened the door and was greeting him with a tired smile. Dark smudges under her make-up-free eyes and her slumped shoulders suggested a deep-rooted fatigue but her pale blue jeans and navy-blue T-shirt looked freshly washed and the hallway behind her was clean and tidy. Gemma might have a lot on her plate, but it was clear that she was trying hard to keep going. ‘Hi Matt.’ She leaned to one side to peer round him. ‘Hi Dan. You coming in?’

‘Only if you’re making decent coffee and not that instant muck Steve drinks.’

Barratt stepped into the hallway and wiped his feet carefully, turning to watch as Hollis did the same. He wondered if he’d had a similar thought – he didn’t want to make any more work for Gemma by leaving dirty footprints on the spotless laminate flooring.

‘He’s in the sitting room,’ Gemma said from the kitchen over the sound of a running tap. ‘Play nicely. I’ve just got the boys to school and tidied up after them – I don’t want you lot making a mess.’

It wasn’t the first time they’d visited O’Connor in his new home, but Barratt still felt a nervous flutter in his stomach like there was a small bird trapped inside him. He knew that his former colleague was recovering from his injuries, and he’d gained some feeling and movement in his left leg, but part of him still expected O’Connor to be the same angry, lost man he’d visited in the hospital six months previously.

The turning point had come when Gemma, O’Connor’s ex-wife, had told him that she wanted to give their relationship another try and, despite his terrible injuries, she’d committed to making things work. Spending more time with her and his kids seemed to have completely changed O’Connor’s outlook and had made him determined to recover.

‘Look what the cat dragged in,’ O’Connor said with a wry smile. ‘If it isn’t Tweedledum and Tweedledumber.’

He was half sprawled on the sofa, left leg raised up on a stool, right one bent at a slightly unnatural angle. A pair of hospital-issue crutches rested against the wall next to him within easy reach should he need to get up. He leaned over to a side table, picked up the TV remote and turned off the screen.

‘What brings you two out this way?’

‘Got a tip off that an ex-copper was dealing drugs,’ Hollis joked, nodding towards two bottles lined up next to the remote control.

‘I wish. I’m down to six paracetamol a day – the others are vitamins.’

There was a hint of pride in his tone. A couple of months earlier he’d still been on a regime of strong opioids and antidepressants, but it seemed a combination of willpower and Gemma’s care had helped him turn things around.

He still looked strange though. When they’d worked together, O’Connor had sported a beard and moustache that matched the dark red of his hair but, after nurses had shaved his face and part of his skull, he hadn’t gone back to his former unkempt appearance. Clean-shaven he looked younger than his former self despite the lines that pain had etched around his eyes.

‘I see the unpacking’s going well.’ Hollis pointed to a pile of cardboard boxes nestling in an alcove next to the fireplace.

‘Just waiting till I can get some shelves up, then I can get my books sorted. Gemma’s brother said he might be able to pop in next week and give me a hand.’

That’s why they were here instead of the racecourse. Barratt wondered if Gemma had called Hollis or if Hollis had asked her if she and O’Connor needed anything. Either way it wouldn’t take long to put a couple of shelving units together and they’d be back at work before Kate knew they’d been distracted.

Barratt wasn’t sure when his attitude to the job had changed but he thought it was because of O’Connor’s injuries. He was still committed, probably more so than Hollis who seemed preoccupied and distant at times, but his almost pathological need to follow the rules seemed to have dissipated. And Barratt didn’t honestly believe that Kate would begrudge them spending an hour with her former DS if she ever did find out.

Barratt took off his coat and suit jacket.

‘Right. If we’re getting the decent coffee, the least we can do is make ourselves useful. Come on, Dan.’

O’Connor grinned. ‘Flatpacks are under the stairs, toolbox is in the dining room and the boss is in the kitchen making your drinks.’

‘Your side’s still a bit wonky.’ Hollis tilted his head to one side as he stared at the shelving unit that he and Barratt had put together. It was perfectly straight; he knew he was being teased. It had been fun to work together on something practical, something useful, and he knew that O’Connor appreciated the company.

‘I think it’s your head that’s not on straight.’

‘Not surprising given the case you’re working on.’

They’d shared some of the details of Maya Marshall’s murder with O’Connor even though he wasn’t officially one of them. He’d been in the job long enough before his injuries to know what he could talk about and when to keep quiet.

‘I think I’d be looking more closely at the coach. This ex-swimmer’s a bit too convenient and why would he use his own social media account to get in touch with her? He’d know we’d… you’d be all over that.’

‘But he could have set up a fake account, like a double bluff,’ Hollis argued.

‘He could, but why go to the trouble when, either way, any contact with this girl is going to bring the police to his door?’

Barratt collected the scattered tools and placed everything carefully back in the toolbox. ‘Why the coach?’

O’Connor picked up his mug and took a long drink of coffee before continuing. ‘He had access to her. Position of authority. She’d want to impress him, get in his good books. Who knows what he’d be able to get her to do.’

It had crossed Barratt’s mind that, given the new timeline, Elliott could have picked Maya up after Luke Wilson’s talk – but so could anybody else. If they could get lucky with the CCTV they might find a car or at least be able to see if Wilson was telling the truth about never having met the girl.

‘Right, that’s us done.’ Barratt stood working one arm into his suit jacket.

‘Make it an evening call next time,’ O’Connor said. ‘We can have a few beers and a proper catch up.’

‘Nice job, lads,’ Gemma appeared in the doorway, wiping her hands on a towel. ‘I’ve been nagging Steve to put those shelves up, but he just sits on his arse all day.’

Barratt saw Hollis’s jaw drop in shock at the woman’s casual mockery of O’Connor’s situation, but her tone was gentler than her words. This was obviously part of a familiar routine for both of them.

‘I was about to get to work before these two turned up,’ O’Connor said with a smile. ‘But why keep a dog and bark yourself?’

‘Woof bloody woof.’ Hollis shrugged on his coat. ‘Time we went walkies.’

They’d just slammed the car doors when Barratt’s phone vibrated. He checked the message – a series of photographs from Kate showing the body of a young man sprawled in an alleyway. Barratt scrolled through until he got to a closeup of the man’s clothing.

He tilted the screen towards Hollis. ‘Oh, shit.’

CHAPTER 17

An icy puddle marked the entrance to the alleyway, the surface a kaleidoscope of red and blue lights. A lone PCSO stood guard next to a line of blue-and-white tape which stretched from the corner of the pub to the wall opposite. He clutched a clipboard as though it were a talisman granting him permission to be there or warding off whatever evil lurked in the gloom behind the pub amid the overflowing bins and the graffiti.

Kate flashed her ID and signed herself into the scene, waiting until Warren had done the same before allowing the PCSO to lift the tape so they could duck under. The area was too narrow for a full tent to screen the body, so a gazebo-type structure had been erected. Three white-clad figures made notes, took photographs and measured distances.

It was a grim place to die – if the victim had died here – made worse by the biting wind and the smell of urine. Kate wondered if punters came out for a cigarette and used the alley as a makeshift toilet before going back inside. The reputation of the place suggested that could be a strong possibility.

She’d already dressed in Tyvek overalls at the outer cordon and felt self-conscious as she shuffled and rustled along towards where she could see the body of a young man, the faces of those surrounding him hidden by masks and hoods.

‘That’s a lot of blood,’ Warren whispered from too close behind and Kate took a further step to recover some personal space.

‘Femoral artery,’ Kailisa snapped from his position near the feet of the corpse. ‘He’d have died from exsanguination if he hadn’t been strangled. Perhaps he did. Too soon to tell.’

The pathologist fired off simple sentences like gunshots, but Kate knew he wasn’t being rude – economy with information avoided confusion and ambiguity.

A numbered yellow cone had been placed near a door into the alleyway from the pub and Kate squatted next to it, overalls crackling in her ears as she tilted her head to make sense of the mark on the ground.

More blood – this time spatter rather than a pool.

‘Do we think he was attacked here then dragged further down the alley?’ she asked.

‘Unknown.’ Kailisa glanced over to where Kate was pointing. ‘No obvious drag marks but there are signs of a scuffle that may have covered any sign of dragging. We haven’t found an injury that would account for the way those blood drips are angled. If it’s arterial blood from the thigh it would have spurted out and fallen more vertically – rounder drops. Those ones are more elongated, long tear shapes as if the blood had been shaken off something.’

It was a lengthy explanation suggesting Kailisa was certain of the science.

‘Could the killer have flicked the blade to get the blood off it after stabbing the femoral artery? Would that produce marks like these?’

‘Perhaps. If you look at the wall next to you there are some drips which would fit with the scenario you’ve described. Again, they’re too small and confined to be arterial spatter.’

Kate tried to imagine the sequence of events. Somehow the young man had been lured into the alley, stabbed in the groin, dragged or pushed further into the darkness then strangled. There was something cold about the attacker taking the time to give his weapon a quick shake before leaving the scene.

‘Can I come closer?’ she asked, keen to see the body in situ.

‘It’s very tight,’ Kailisa said.

‘I need to see the body. The photos you sent of the trousers and underwear look similar to Maya Marshall, but I’d like to see for myself.’

‘As you wish,’ Kailisa sighed, sitting back on his haunches to make room. ‘But only you.’

Kate expected Warren to protest but a quick look at her wide eyes and the pale skin above her face covering suggested the DS was more relieved than insulted.

As Kate inched closer, taking in the faded jeans and padded checked jacket, features came into focus – fair hair and the first traces of a sandy beard and moustache. One ear was pierced with a simple stud, the other had a small ear gauge suggesting he’d recently started stretching it.

The pathologist reached forward with a gloved hand and lifted the bottom of the jacket exposing the zip and waistband of the jeans. The fly was undone exposing a V of pale blue boxer shorts.

‘Looks a lot like how the killer left Maya’s trousers,’ Kate said.

Kailisa nodded and tucked the jacket back down.

‘What have we got?’ Warren asked from her position next to the back door of the pub. ‘Similar to the Marshall case?’

‘Same weird thing with the trousers. Underwear exposed but no sign of sexual assault.’

Kailisa coughed pointedly.

‘No obvious sign of sexual assault,’ Kate corrected herself.

‘Same message then,’ Warren said. ‘But what does it mean? And why the blade this time?’

Both good questions to add to Kate’s own thoughts. The stabbing was strange because it was in an unusual location on the body. Was it intended to highlight the groin and emphasise the message of the half-open jeans? The femoral artery wasn’t an obvious place to inflict a wound, but the smallest cut could be fatal if judged correctly.

Kate had seen a case where the murderer had stabbed the victim’s femoral artery then removed his genitals and thrown them away. Was this similar? Could it be something sexual? Or was the initial wound intended to shock and disable the victim to make it easier to strangle him? If he’d been grasping at his groin, he’d have been vulnerable to further attack, possibly from behind.

She looked back at the body. ‘How tall would you say he was?’

‘One hundred and eighty-three centimetres,’ Kailisa said. ‘Just a shade over six feet.’

‘Well built?’ It was hard to tell what was under the padded jacket.

‘Not especially. Slim to average.’

Maya Marshall had been athletic but only five feet five. The stab wound to the groin would have caused this victim to double over in pain and panic. Would this have made it easier to strangle him? So many questions but none of the answers would lead to who the killer was. Sometimes, Kate knew, it was important to work out the how in order to establish the who.

She turned to discuss her speculation with Warren but there was no sign of the DS.

CHAPTER 18

Hollis had been inside the main pavilion at Doncaster Racecourse on a couple of occasions for wedding receptions but, in the late morning mist, it felt abandoned. There was no racing until later in the month and clearly no other events were scheduled. The car park side of the building resembled an industrial warehouse – pale green corrugated panels with few windows and numbered signs marking various meeting points. He knew that the other side overlooked the course and was lined with rows of seats topped by a VIP glass ‘box’ for the wealthy and the fortunate.

The doors to the reception area were smoked glass, preventing a view of the interior and, despite the sign explaining that they were automatic, there was no movement as Barratt approached. He took a step back and tried to position himself more squarely beneath the overhead sensor.

Nothing.

‘Bugger this,’ Hollis muttered and stepped forward. Two hard knocks on the glass and the doors slid silently open to reveal a woman in her mid-thirties wearing a dark grey business suit and pale blue blouse. Her round face was flushed beneath a mop of dark brown hair which she tried unsuccessfully to smooth away from her forehead.

‘Gosh, I’m so sorry. The doors should have been activated. I told the security staff to expect you.’

She obviously knew who they were, but both men showed their ID cards – each being met with a cursory nod. The woman introduced herself as Antoinette Ribeiro – Toni – the general manager, as she led them through a cavernous reception area to a corridor lined with offices.

She held a door open. ‘Just through here.’

The office was large but sparsely furnished. A desk and chair and two armchairs occupied one corner, and three filing cabinets lined the wall opposite the door. A thin slit of window allowed a pale winter light to illuminate the cream walls, but it seemed to get lost in the dark grey carpet. Toni took the expensive-looking ergonomic chair behind the desk which Hollis knew would cost at least two months of his mortgage payments, leaving the armchairs for the police officers.

‘I’ve compiled a list of staff who were working on the night of the Luke Wilson event – including myself. I find him such an inspiration, turning adversity into something so positive. The money he raises for charity and the way he inspires young people is really something special.’

She looked at Hollis eagerly as though inviting him to agree but he kept his expression neutral as he took the sheet of A4 she was offering and scanned the list of names. Each had been assigned a time with fifteen minutes being allocated to each interview.

‘Of course, the timings are only a suggestion,’ Toni said. ‘The staff can be released from their duties for as long as you need them.’

Hollis looked down at the list and saw that they had twenty minutes before the first scheduled interview. Toni had placed herself roughly halfway down between a doorman and one of the catering staff. ‘Why don’t we start with you? While you’re here.’

‘I…’ The woman seemed wrongfooted by his suggestion as she took another swipe at her hair. ‘I suppose that won’t… that shouldn’t be a problem; I’ve freed up my time until later this afternoon.’

Leaning back as far as the chair would allow, she still looked uncomfortably formal as Barratt reached into his inside pocket and removed Maya Marshall’s school photograph.

‘Did you see this young woman on Tuesday might?’ Hollis asked as Barratt passed the photo across the desk.

‘Is this the one who was found in the river?’

Hollis didn’t respond, waiting for her answer.

‘I was working with the events manager all evening. He was on the door and I was backstage. I really only saw the audience briefly from there and I couldn’t say I’d recognise any individuals.’

‘What about Luke Wilson? You saw him?’

Toni nodded eagerly. ‘I managed a quick chat, but his agent was keen for him to stay focused on his presentation, and she didn’t want any distractions.’

‘How did he seem?’ Barratt asked. ‘Did you form an impression of him?’

Hollis knew what the answer was likely to be from the woman’s obvious fan-girling.

‘He was polite but didn’t say much. If anything, I thought he was a bit nervous.’

‘What about after the talk? Did you see him?’

‘Not to speak to.’ Her disappointment was clear in her downturned mouth. ‘He was signing autographs, but I didn’t catch him. Too much work to do. Aston, the events manager, was in charge of the queue.’

Hollis looked at the list. Aston Ferguson was the first name on it. ‘What about after the event? Who locked up? Who was the last to leave?’

‘Security would have done the external checks. I checked the toilets and locked the conference hall.’

‘And you didn’t notice anything unusual? Anybody hanging around?’

‘No. Aston and I left at the same time, and the car park was empty apart from vehicles belonging to the security team parked in the west bay. Nobody lurking.’

Hollis reached into his own inside pocket and handed Toni the envelope that Kate had given him before he left HQ. She looked puzzled as she accepted it.

‘We’ve requested CCTV footage but your security team have been very slow in complying. My colleague emailed you personally but has yet to receive a response so there’s a formal warrant requesting access to any footage from Tuesday evening including ten hours either side of the event.’

Toni blushed as she scanned the contents of the document. ‘I can only apologise. We’re careful about any footage from the site – obviously, gambling is our main source of revenue for much of the year, so we have to be sensitive about images of our customers and visitors.’

‘But this event had no connection to racing,’ Barratt pointed out. ‘In fact, there hasn’t been any racing for the past two weeks.’

‘It’s policy,’ Toni said. ‘But as you have a warrant, I’ll make the relevant footage available today.’

Hollis wrote Cooper’s email address on his business card and handed it across the desk. ‘We’ll need access to the footage while we’re here. And if you could send copies to this email address that would be very helpful. Now, if you’d like to show us to wherever you’ve set up for our interviews, we won’t take up any more of your time.’

Two hours later, Hollis drained his third cup of mediocre coffee and consulted his notes.

‘So, basically, nobody specifically remembers Maya. Aston Ferguson remembers a number of girls and women in the queue for autographs, two or three had red hair and quite a few looked to be under eighteen.’

According to the events manager, nobody had stood out and he’d been keen to keep the line moving, allowing no more than three minutes per person with Wilson, as per the instructions of his agent.

The head of security had walked the site before leaving at eleven thirty and had seen nothing unusual. Various other staff had been involved with catering and ticket checking but none had anything useful to add to the lack of information that Barratt and Hollis had gleaned.

‘Waste of sodding time,’ Barratt muttered, clicking the top of his pen repeatedly in frustration. ‘Doesn’t anybody notice anything about anything these days?’

Just as Hollis reached for his jacket his phone vibrated on the desk in front of him. Cooper.

Check CCTV 22.30 – 22.33. Main entrance.

They jogged back to Toni Ribeiro’s office desperate for anything that might move the investigation even a millimetre forward and Barratt breathlessly demanded access to the relevant files. Obviously shaken by the urgency of the request, the manager gave them access to her own PC and showed them the location of the files before backing out of the room with the deference of a Geisha.

‘Just after half ten,’ Hollis said as Barratt played the footage at twelve times normal speed.

‘Stop. Go back.’

He rewound, paused at 22.31 and pressed play. A lone figure walked into the range of the camera and paused; arms wrapped around herself as a defence against the cold.

‘Is that Maya?’ Barratt asked.

‘Hard to be certain but the hair looks right, and the shirt could be the same one she was wearing.’

They watched as a dark hatchback pulled in and the passenger window lowered. The girl leaned down, obviously speaking to the driver.

‘Bloody hell,’ Barratt breathed as they watched a figure who could be Maya Marshall open the car door and slip inside.

CHAPTER 19

‘Where the hell have you been?’ Kate snapped as Warren reappeared at the end of the alleyway. ‘I was talking to you, and you disappeared.’

‘Sorry, Boss,’ Warren said, but there was no sign of contrition in her unmasked face. ‘The back door of the pub opened while you were examining the body, and I thought it might be an idea to go inside and see what’s what.’

Kate looked back to where Kailisa and his team were manoeuvring a large thick plastic pouch into position beneath the canopy. It looked like it was time to move the body, and Kate knew that the CSI team would then continue to process the walls and the gritty concrete in the hope of finding a microscopic clue that would lead either to the identity of the victim or the killer. There wasn’t much else for her to do, and it would be a relief to get out of the biting wind for a while.

‘I take it the front doors are open?’

Warren nodded and disappeared leaving Kate to follow, tearing off her protective suit as she stomped after the DS.

Kate had never been inside The Dog and Gun despite having lived in a flat just a few streets away for two years. Its dusty exterior, peeling paint and murky windows had put her off. That and the reputation for drug dealing.

She pushed open one of the saloon-style doors and stepped into a brightly lit interior with a pale wood floor and a central bar. The seats, scattered among wooden tables, looked newly upholstered in deep green and the windows were topped with Roman blinds in a multi-coloured abstract pattern. A food menu was chalked on a blackboard on the wall nearest the door – mainly burgers and nachos – and a row of leather-topped high stools lined one side of the bar.

‘Not what I expected,’ she said to Warren who was hovering next to one of the stools as if she didn’t know whether to sit down. She’d also removed her coveralls leaving her suit jacket looking rumpled and ill fitting.

‘Good.’ A figure appeared from beneath the bar, popping up like a jack-in-the-box after the music had wound down. Kate took a few steps closer and examined him. Mid-thirties, dark red hair and matching beard – both immaculately barbered – silver-framed round glasses and a checked shirt stretched across a broad chest. Somewhere between a hipster and a lumberjack.

‘Rik Collier,’ he extended a hand, which Kate ignored.

‘Are you the owner?’ she asked.

‘Manager. I was brought in to turn the place around, that’s why I was happy to hear that we’re not what you were expecting. The place was a bit spit and sawdust when I came in, but I think we’ve made some improvements. Place had a bit of a reputation but we’re hoping to change that as well. Still fighting to get planning permission for the exterior though. The tiles and windows are Victorian so there’s not much we can do there. I expect we’ll only be allowed to paint the doors and window frames.’

‘What about the clientele? Any changes?’

Collier shrugged. ‘Still working on that. We want to improve our food offering at some point, try to encourage people in to eat as well as have a few pints.’

‘And the drugs?’ Kate pressed.

Collier’s face clouded as he scowled at her. ‘Zero tolerance. That’s not a reputation we want to keep.’ He braced both arms on the bar and leaned forward. ‘If that’s what happened last night it was nothing to do with me or the management. We’re working hard to change that.’

He’d obviously heard about the body.

‘What do you mean what happened last night? Do you think there might be a connection to drugs?’

Collier sighed and leaned back, arms folded across his chest almost defensively. ‘Why else would somebody venture up a dark alley? It’s either sex or drugs, but neither have anything to do with me or the pub. I told you we’re–’

‘Trying to turn the place around. Yes, I know. Have your improvements stretched to CCTV? That might be a way to deter anyone from using the back alley.’

‘I told you, we’re waiting to find out what we’re allowed to do to the exterior. That includes installing cameras. We’ve got one above the bar but that’s all at the minute.’

Kate nodded. It was plausible but it could also be an excuse for lax security and a lack of interest in what the pub’s customers got up to. The shiny new interior was welcoming, and the food menu may be enough to tempt in a different crowd, but it was certainly possible that some of the regulars were reluctant to change their routine. She invited Collier to step out from behind the bar and join her and Warren at one of the tables so she could interview him properly without the barrier between them.

‘Right,’ she said when they were all seated. ‘Let’s talk about last night.’

She picked up her phone and scrolled to the photographs that Kailisa had sent. One showed a clear view of the young man’s face.

‘Do you recognise him?’ she asked, passing the device to Collier who studied the image before nodding.

‘He’s been in a few times since I took over. Never buys more than a couple of pints of lager and he’s usually on his own.’

‘Usually?’

‘He met a couple of other older regulars. They came in after we reopened but didn’t stay long. I expect the new décor isn’t quite to their taste.’

Kate noted the distain in his tone. Clearly Collier had very set ideas about the type of customer he wanted to attract.

‘Did you get any names?’

‘One of the older men shouted across when he was at the bar. He called this lad Evan or something like that. Owen, maybe? Something Celtic or Welsh.’

‘And you’ve seen him in here a few times? Roughly how often does he come in?’

‘We’ve only been open for three weeks. I’ve seen him maybe three or four times.’

‘And last night?’

Collier shook his head. ‘It was busy last night so I could easily have missed him. I can ask one of the other staff.’

‘Or…’ Warren looked towards the bar. ‘You could allow us access to your CCTV footage – assuming that camera’s live.’

‘Don’t you need a warrant?’ Collier asked, shifting in his seat as though struggling to get comfortable.

‘Not if you agree.’

‘It’s not up to me. I’m not the owner.’

He was stalling but Kate couldn’t work out why. Did he have something to hide? Was all his talk about cleaning up the pub’s image just that… talk. Maybe he’d taken over the dodgier side of the business as well as running the pub.

‘Maybe you could give us contact details for the owner. Then we could check with them. Or we can get a warrant and note your obstruction.’ Kate kept her tone neutral, but she could see from the reddening of Collier’s face that the implied threat had been noted.

‘I’m not obstructing you,’ he protested, fanning both hands out in front of him like a magician showing he had nothing to hide. ‘But I need to make sure I do things by the book. This is my first managerial position, and I don’t want to risk pissing off my employers.’

‘So let us piss them off. Give me a contact and you’ve nothing to worry about. We’ll get in touch and take it from there.’

She could see that he was thinking about it, probably trying to work out if he’d be in trouble with his boss.

‘Okay,’ he said with an exasperated sigh. ‘I can give you a card with their contact details.’

He stood and walked back to the bar where he leaned over and reached down to a hidden shelf or box. Kate felt her pulse quicken and her breathing speed up and grow shallow. What if he was reaching for a weapon?

Warren was studying the décor, not even looking at Collier, and seemed relaxed. Of course there was no weapon. Who’d be stupid enough to attack a couple of police officers in a building surrounded by their colleagues? This was the remains of her anxiety, and she knew how to get it under control – Alec had shown her. Taking a deep breath, Kate clenched her fists then relaxed them focussing on the feeling of tension ebbing away as her fingers uncurled with an exhalation.

‘Here.’ Collier slapped a business card on to the table in front of her.

Kate looked down at the company name – WIKEDO – she’d never heard of them but that wasn’t surprising. It often seemed like everyone wanted to be a developer these days – houses, shops, factories, pubs, everything up for grabs by those who could see pound signs reflected in every cracked window.

She pocketed the card. ‘Got a name?’

‘I deal with Lucy Doran. I think she has a couple of business partners, but I’ve never met them. The number on the card is her mobile.’

‘Local?’ Kate asked.

‘Lucy’s from Doncaster. She knows the area – I think this project was her idea. Not sure about the others though.’

‘Okay.’ Kate stood. ‘If you think of anything else, my colleague will give you her contact details.’

Warren dug through her pockets for a business card, thrusting it at Collier with an instruction to call anytime.

‘Well?’ Kate asked as the pub doors closed behind them.

Warren squinted at her, obviously trying to work out what the question meant and, not for the first time that day, Kate found herself missing Hollis and their easy shorthand.

‘I think he was being straight with us,’ Warren said. ‘And I think we need to get that CCTV footage. If we can place our victim in the pub, it’ll help us narrow down time of death.’

‘We need to talk to Lucy Doran or her partners – hopefully they won’t want a warrant.’

As they were passing the end of the alley, heading back to their car, a shout came from the huddled group around the body. Kate turned to see Kailisa waving an evidence bag.’

Two quick strides and she was staring at the item he wanted to show her.

‘In the rear pocket of the jeans when we moved the body.’

She leaned closer to get a clearer view, but she’d already worked out what was in the bag. It was exactly the same as the business card Rik Collier had given her five minutes previously.

CHAPTER 20

Zander Elliott looked at his phone for the third time even though he’d already memorised the meeting place and checked it twice on Google Maps. He turned on his windscreen wipers to clear the view through the glass but all he could see was darkness. He briefly considered putting his headlights on, but he didn’t want to draw attention or make himself a target.

The person who’d sent the messages seemed sincere in their request to meet up despite earlier communications to the contrary, but how could he possibly tell from a couple of short texts? This could be some sort of trap.

Headlights illuminated his rear-view mirror and he tensed, but the car sped past and turned left at the junction ahead. Traffic had been sparse since he’d arrived, and he wondered again if that was the reason for the choice of meeting place.

The layby was in a quiet lane next to a section of the River Don which flowed to a weir a few hundred yards downstream, and he knew this wasn’t a coincidence. How could it be? Maya had been found three or four miles away and this was a reminder of her death. As if he needed reminding.

Another set of headlights and another car passed.

Elliott checked his watch. They were fifteen minutes late – if they were coming at all. Maybe that was the plan: lure him out to somewhere in the middle of the countryside and leave him sweating, wondering what they wanted, what they had on him. No. That didn’t make sense. They already knew everything.

The wind threw a rattle of sleet against the windscreen as another car passed, turned and came back.

Was this it?

Elliott tensed as the car pulled in behind him and the lights went off. Now what? He watched in the side mirror, waiting for the driver to open the door and approach but there was no sign of movement. Were they waiting for him to make the first move?

His phone vibrated – a text message.

Get out. Let’s talk

He slid the device back into his jacket pocket then paused with his hand on the door. Was this a good idea? It could be a set-up and the car might be an unmarked police vehicle. But then how would they know to text him? He was sweating despite the chilly air, indecision rendering him immobile.

‘Sod it,’ he muttered and pushed the door open.

His feet crunched on the gravel as he approached the car behind his and he could see a figure in the driver’s seat but there was no definition through the wet windscreen. Despite the content of the text messages, it could have been anybody. He tapped on the window.

‘Get out. If you want to talk, get out.’

He leaped back as the door opened and the driver stepped onto the tarmac. It wasn’t who he’d been expecting, and the surprise almost threw him off balance.

‘You? But how did you–? Why didn’t you tell me–?’

His question was cut short by a flash of movement and light. Then pain.

A blade, a knife of some sort. How could he have been so stupid? Clasping his hands to his chest he stumbled back towards his car, but he could feel his legs weakening and his left arm growing numb long before he could reach out for the door handle.

‘It wasn’t–’ he protested but his words turned to ash on his tongue as pain seared through his abdomen and he collapsed.

He was unconscious by the time the other driver returned to their vehicle and drove off without a backward glance.

CHAPTER 21

‘How’s the search for the car going?’ Kate asked as soon as she stepped into the team office. She hadn’t been surprised to see Cooper there already, earbuds in, lost in her laptop screen.

‘No luck,’ the DC said. ‘I had no idea how many dark-coloured hatchbacks there are on the local roads. I’ve tried enhancing the image, but I can’t see the make or model. Dan thinks it’s a Golf, Matt says Fiesta, but it could be one of half a dozen models. I tried the CCTV from other areas of the car park, but coverage is surprisingly patchy.’

‘How about traffic cameras in the area?’

Cooper sighed heavily. ‘Without knowing which direction the car went in from the racecourse, it’s virtually impossible. As I said, too many dark hatchbacks.’

Kate took off her coat and pulled out her chair. She draped the down jacket across the back and thrust the balled-up scarf in a pocket. The scarf had been a present from Nick – a sort of ‘happy back to work’ gift – and, like most things he bought for her, it was perfect.

She’d just turned on her own computer when Warren and Hollis arrived at the same time in a flurry of warm layers, gloves and scarves. Kate gave them time to settle, logging herself on to the network and opening her email. One from Das demanded an update on the investigation, one from Kailisa with preliminary toxicology on Maya Marshall and something from an online police forum informing her that there were new posts that she might be interested in.

Ignoring Das’s request Kate clicked on the message from Kailisa. The tests were negative for alcohol and any form of stimulant, as she’d have expected of a dedicated athlete but there was one interesting find. Maya’s blood had tested positive for fluticasone and salmeterol. A quick search told her that these were common ingredients in Seretide – an asthma inhaler.

Kate looked up to see that Barratt had arrived and was taking off his jacket.

‘Matt, did you or Warren spot an inhaler in Maya Marshall’s belongings?’

Barratt shook his head as Warren said, ‘No, Boss.’

‘Are any of you asthmatic?’ she asked the team.

‘My sister is,’ Warren said.

‘Does she use Seretide? It’s a purple inhaler.’

‘She used to, I think. Now she has a blue one and a brown one.’

‘And would she have them with her at all times?’

‘I think so,’ Warren said, after a brief pause. ‘At least the blue one. I’ve seen her use it occasionally.’

Cooper had been busy tapping keys. ‘The blue one is usually to relieve symptoms. The brown one is to prevent them. Seretide combines both. If Maya was using it, she’d probably have had a blue inhaler in case of an attack.’

‘But we didn’t find one in her bag in the locker,’ Warren said.

‘If she was prone to shortness of breath she might have had it with her, in a pocket or a handbag,’ Barratt suggested. ‘It could have been dropped in a struggle, or the killer might have taken it, with Maya’s phone.’

‘Wouldn’t asthma make it difficult for her to swim competitively?’ Hollis asked.

Kate was pleased to see that he had arrived ready to engage and was making useful comments. The disillusionment from a few days previously seemed to have diminished as this case progressed and she hoped he was starting to feel a sense of purpose again. She also wondered if part of the issue had been the disruption caused by her absence.

Hollis liked routine and structure so having a succession of temporary DIs would have been more unsettling for him than Barratt or Cooper. She knew she still needed to keep an eye on him, but it looked like he was emerging from his despondency.

Kate shook her head. ‘Not sure. And, if it contains a steroid, wouldn’t that be considered a bit dodgy?’

As usual Cooper was three steps ahead. ‘There have been studies suggesting asthma inhalers can be used to improve lung capacity and stamina and should be considered as cheating if they’re used by athletes who don’t have asthma. At least in large doses. Apparently, a lot of elite cyclists use them, so agreed limits have been set. That’s for salbutamol – the blue one.’

‘But not an issue for a seventeen-year-old with asthma?’

Cooper shook her head, obviously having reached the limits of her internet findings.

‘Okay,’ Kate said. ‘I’d like to know if Maya was asthmatic and, if so, what might have happened to her inhaler. The killer may have taken it if it contained a clue to her identity – it might have had her name on – or it might have been dropped and could be anywhere. I’ll text Tatton and ask her to ask the family.’

Kate’s team were looking at her expectantly, awaiting their jobs for the day while she tapped a message to the FLO. Kailisa was going to perform the postmortem on the unidentified body from the alley. Somebody needed to follow up with the owners of the pub to get access to CCTV and maybe see if they had any idea about Owen or Evan. She could send out a small team of uniformed officers to canvas the area with a photograph to see if that would yield any further information, but somebody would need to coordinate that. Warren was the obvious choice, but Kate didn’t want the DS to think that she was being allocated ‘grunt work’.

‘Right. Jobs. Cooper – call the number on the card I got from the pub. Be persuasive but firm. We need any CCTV footage we can get from the pub and see if you can establish any reason why their card was found on the body. Warren, I need you to organise a team to canvass the area, door to door, any pub regulars that kind of thing. You decide who to talk to and follow any lead, however small – we need to find out who this man was.’

Warren made a note on her phone. ‘On it, Boss.’

‘Matt, I want you to–’ Her phone vibrated before she could allocate Barratt’s work for the day. It was Tatton responding to Kate’s request about Maya’s health.

‘Matt, I want you to attend the PM on the body from yesterday.’

Barratt looked surprised.

‘I’m relying on you to remember anything useful that Kailisa can give us. I was going to go with Hollis, but we need to get back to the Marshall house. And, when you’re done, I want you to get a number for Wilson’s agent and give her a ring. She was at the racecourse and she’s also the one who set up his Instagram account. We can’t afford to overlook anybody connected to him.’

‘Why’re we going back to Thorpe?’ Hollis asked.

‘Maya Marshall didn’t have asthma. She wasn’t prescribed any sort of inhaler. So how did the drugs get into her system?’

Tatton opened the door before Kate could reach for the video doorbell that she hadn’t noticed on their previous visit. She ushered them inside, directing them to the sitting room where they’d conducted their previous interview. Nothing had changed. The trophies still gleamed in the dim light trying to pierce the gap between the half-closed curtains, and the photographs of Maya and her sister still smiled at visitors. But the atmosphere felt different, as if the atoms in the room had been subtly rearranged to accommodate grief rather than the shock of Maya’s death.

‘Have a seat and I’ll get Colin. Jocelyn’s still in bed. The doctor gave her some strong sedatives and she rarely comes down before midday. I think Nuala’s gone out for a run.’

It felt strange how Tatton had stepped into the role of the host and, again, Kate felt admiration for the young DC. It must be so difficult to intrude in the grief and pain of a family like the Marshalls without allowing it to get overwhelming. The FLO role was one that Kate couldn’t imagine ever having the strength to take on.

Tatton reappeared followed by Colin Marshall. She directed him to the sofa as though this were her house and he was the guest, but he didn’t comment on being told where to sit in his own home. The anger he’d been exuding during their previous meeting had gone – replaced by a sense of sadness and neglect. His tan looked sallow, and he’d obviously not shaved for a few days. The hoodie he wore was stained, as were his jeans and his bare feet looked grimy and cold, almost grey in the gloom.

‘I’m so sorry to bother you again,’ Kate began.

Marshall looked at a spot over her left shoulder, refusing to meet her eyes.

‘We’ve had some results back from the tests conducted on Maya and they’re puzzling.’

‘Puzzling,’ Marshall repeated, chewing on the word like an unfamiliar food and he wasn’t sure whether to spit it out.

‘There were traces of drugs in her blood which are consistent with the use of an asthma inhaler. Have you any idea why that might be?’

Marshall’s grey eyes met hers then skittered away like those of a cornered animal. ‘She didn’t have asthma,’ he said, the words barely audible.

‘I’m sorry to ask but is it possible she was using the inhaler to enhance her performance in the pool?’

‘I don’t know. I don’t fucking know anything anymore. I thought she was staying with a friend, but she lied. When did she turn into a liar? She was a good kid but this… this isn’t her. Ever since…’ Marshall stopped and looked up at her like he was worried about what he’d been about to say.

‘Ever since what?’

‘It must be him. The coach. He was always on at her. If she was taking drugs, then he was pushing them onto her.’

‘Zander Elliott?’

‘He kept texting me, saying he wanted Maya to attend extra sessions. It was him who planted the idea of the Olympics and that was all she could think about. He said he had ways to help her and I went along with it. I should have asked. I should have been more involved. I told him I trusted him to do the right thing and now you’ll think I wanted him to give her drugs. I just wanted her to do well.’

Kate couldn’t make sense of what he was saying. Was he admitting that he knew about the inhaler? Or that he suspected Elliott was up to something and he turned a blind eye? She looked to Hollis for guidance, but he simply raised his eyebrows, obviously as baffled as she was.

‘Colin, do you know something about Zander Elliott? Was he encouraging Maya to take something to enhance her performance? What did she tell you?’

Marshall shook his head and covered his face with both hands. ‘I don’t know. I don’t know anymore. My head’s a mess and I don’t know what I’m saying.’

‘Dad?’

Kate turned to see Nuala in the doorway dressed in leggings and a T-shirt, her face flushed from exercise. The young woman looked at the three of them as though trying to make sense of this strange tableau, then focused on her father.

‘Dad. Come on. You don’t need to say anything else.’ She turned to Kate, her face dark with fury. ‘Is this about Maya having asthma? I already told her.’ She gestured towards the kitchen where, no doubt, Tatton was waiting. ‘Maya didn’t have asthma, and she didn’t take drugs. She wasn’t a cheat.’

Kate understood her anger – she’d experienced it often in the recently bereaved. Nobody wanted to think that their loved one had been anything less than perfect and, even if there was evidence to the contrary, death cleaned the slate.

‘We’re not suggesting Maya was a cheat. We only want to understand how the drugs got into her system.’

‘Nobody in this house gave them to her so leave us alone until you find whoever did this to my sister.’

Her eyes brimmed with unshed tears, but Kate could see they stemmed more from anger than grief. There was nothing else to be gained from the family until there was movement on the case. She’d have to rely on Tatton to be her eyes and ears in the house and report anything suspicious.

‘We’ll leave you in peace,’ Kate said, standing up and nodding to Hollis to follow her lead. Tatton appeared from the kitchen and escorted them to the car, checking over her shoulder before leaning in to speak softly.

‘They’re a mess,’ she said. ‘All of them. Jocelyn’s the worst – barely says anything. Something about this asthma business has Colin rattled but I can’t work out what it is.’

‘Let us know if you hear anything. Or even have a suspicion. I think there’s more to Zander Elliott than we’ve realised.’

Kate slid into her seat and closed the door. ‘Thoughts?’ she asked Hollis.

‘There’s something there but I’m not sure it’s going to be straightforward when we work out what it is. I do think we need to take a closer look at the coach. See if he thought Maya had asthma.’

Kate’s phone rang as they turned onto the main road back to Doncaster. ‘Cooper? Got the CCTV?’

‘Yep. And something better. You’ll never guess who’s one of the co-owners of the Dog and Gun.’

CHAPTER 22

The doorbell rang as Luke Wilson was saving the notes he’d made. When he opened the doorbell camera app on his phone, the two figures on his doorstep were something of a surprise – he hadn’t expected to see either of them again so soon after their last visit – and he could see from the man’s stance and the woman’s second stab at the doorbell that neither were in the mood to be polite.

He slid the laptop under one of the sofa cushions and went to open the front door, pasting a smile onto his face.

‘Detectives,’ he said with false cheerfulness. ‘To what do I owe the pleasure?’ Even to himself he sounded like somebody doing an impression of someone much older and much more middle class.

‘Can we come in?’ the woman asked. ‘We have a few questions.’

‘More questions? I already told you I had nothing to do with the death of that girl. I can’t help you.’ He kept one hand firmly on the door handle hoping that the tall one didn’t try to push his way inside. The last thing he needed was a tussle with a copper right on his own doorstep.

‘Mr Wilson,’ the male one, Hollis, said. ‘There have been some developments since we last spoke and we’d really like to ask you about your business ventures besides your lecturing.’

He looked from one to the other wondering what sort of game they were playing. When they’d last visited the woman was definitely in charge – he even remembered her name and rank, DI Fletcher. The man was her junior, but he seemed to be taking charge.

Then it dawned on him. The woman didn’t trust herself to speak to him civilly. He could see it in the flush of her cheeks against the pale blonde of her hair. Her blue eyes were narrowed like she was getting ready to pounce on him. The male cop was making sure she didn’t say anything she shouldn’t.

‘Okay,’ he sighed. ‘Go through to the kitchen – straight ahead.’

He let the two police officers lead the way, allowing him the opportunity to check up and down the street for nosy neighbours. One of the reasons he’d chosen this house was its quiet corner position and the lack of windows overlooking his property but there was still passing traffic – cars and pedestrians – and he didn’t want anybody sticking their nose into his business.

‘Have a seat.’ He indicated the stools next to the breakfast bar. He’d already decided that he wasn’t going to offer them a drink. No point in giving them the chance to get comfortable – they wouldn’t be staying long. ‘What’s this about?’

‘We have another murder,’ the woman said, blunt, direct. He kind of liked that.

‘And?’

He saw her flush again.

‘And,’ the tall male detective said. ‘It has a connection to you. Just like Maya Marshall.’

‘Who had no connection with me besides being in the audience of a talk I gave. I already told you, I never met her.’

The woman nodded and took something out of her pocket. A business card for WIKEDO.

‘Recognise this?’

He briefly considered offering drinks despite his earlier resolve to get rid of them as quickly as possible. Anything to buy him some time to think. ‘It’s a business card.’

‘And do you know this business? They’re property developers.’

He nodded. Rik Collier had raised the alarm and Lucy Doran had been quick to call her partners about the murder behind the pub they jointly owned. He decided silence was his best option.

‘One of our colleagues has done some digging,’ the woman cop continued. ‘You’re the WI in WIKEDO. W and I for the first two letters of your surname. Along with Kyle Emmerson and Lucy Doran. Nice little acronym.’

He’d thought so. Especially as his name came first. He waited for her to get to the point.

‘So we’re now in a position to link two murders to you,’ she explained.

He laughed. They didn’t have a connection – they were clutching at straws if this was all they had.

‘One of your victims came to hear me talk and the other was found near a property that I jointly own with two other people. That’s your link? Are you questioning my business associates?’

Neither of the police officers had an answer but at least the male one had the good grace to look embarrassed.

‘There was a WIKEDO business card in the pocket of the second victim,’ DI Fletcher continued. ‘That’s a bit more than him just being next to your pub.’

‘I’m sure there’s a stash of them in the pub somewhere. Or Rik might have given it to him. Rik Collier – the barman?’ He knew that the police had talked extensively to Rik.

‘Rik seemed to think he recognised the victim,’ Fletcher continued.

Luke shrugged expansively; arms stretched wide. ‘What’s that got to do with me?’

‘We haven’t been able to find an ID for him,’ Hollis said. ‘We thought you might know who he is.’

‘And, if I do, you want to set me up for his murder based on what’s, at best, an odd coincidence…’

‘No. We want to find out who he is so we can let his loved ones know and give them the opportunity to give him a decent burial.’ Hollis seemed sincere but he’d probably had a lot of training in how to get witnesses to trust him. It wasn’t going to happen this time.

‘Can you tell us where you were on Monday night?’ Fletcher asked. ‘Between 8pm and midnight.’

That was an easy one. ‘Here.’

‘Can anybody vouch for that?’

He considered throwing Bridie into the mix. Would she vouch for him? Did he want their relationship made public? Would she lie?

‘Nope.’

‘Could you at least have a look at a photograph?’ Fletcher seemed to have calmed down and was reaching into her handbag. She passed him a folded sheet of A4.

‘That was taken at the hospital this morning. With no ID, we don’t have a picture of him when he was alive.’

Luke took the paper, handling it as though it might rear up and bite him. He had no desire to stare at a photograph of the corpse, but he had to be seen to be cooperative and he couldn’t think of a valid reason to refuse to look. He carefully unfolded the picture and studied the face of the dead man.

‘No. Never seen him before,’ he said, handing the picture to Fletcher.

She took it back with a scowl. Obviously not what she’d been expecting He could only hope that he’d been able to keep his expression neutral to make up for the faint tremor in his hands as he remembered the pale face staring up at him.

CHAPTER 23

Barratt peered down from the viewing gallery as Kailisa completed the external examination of the body. Notebook open on one thigh, pen poised, he was determined not to miss anything. This wasn’t his first PM, but he felt the weight of responsibility; this could be the second in a series of murders and he needed to be certain of any connections with Maya Marshall.

The open jeans and strangulation were significant similarities, but the stab wound to the upper leg of this victim and the blood spatter around the body didn’t match. Of course, they didn’t know where Maya had been killed, only where she’d been left.

Kailisa muttered something to his assistant then looked up to the gallery.

‘A well-nourished male in his mid to late twenties,’ the pathologist said. ‘Distinctive tattoos. A crow or raven on his upper arm, covering most of the biceps, a Doncaster Rovers badge on his calf and a semi colon on his thumb. Some evidence of intravenous drug use on both forearms but this looks to be well healed suggesting he was a former addict. Toxicology will confirm whether he was still using but there are no recent injection sites in any of the more common places such as arms, legs, feet.’

Barratt noted every detail. He underlined semi-colon tattoo recognising it as a symbol that some people used as a sign of hope after a period of struggle, or even after a suicide attempt. If they could circulate the man’s photograph to local support groups for recovering addicts someone might recognise him. He knew Warren was organising a door-to-door session in the local area, but he hoped his lead might be more fruitful – not least because he’d felt the need to prove himself ever since the new Detective Sergeant had been appointed.

He knew Hollis felt the same. They’d had a few nights out in Kate’s absence where they’d bonded over a couple of pints and a game of pool, both lamenting the loss of the team that had been so successful in cracking some difficult cases. Now Kate was back he was hoping that things might change and that they might become a more cohesive unit again. At least until he applied to do his Sergeant’s exams and had to move on.

‘There is a single stab wound to the upper thigh,’ Kailisa said, peering closely at the body. ‘It measures 22 millimetres in length, the shape is suggestive of a single thrust from a blade that was sharpened along one edge and blunt along the other. Elongation at the bottom of the wound would indicate some dragging or downward pressure after entry possibly to maximise damage but also consistent with the victim lifting or moving his leg. There is a mark at the top of the wound which may be bruising from the handle.’

‘So you might be able to estimate the length and shape of the blade?’ Barratt asked.

‘It’s possible, yes. Internal examination will determine the depth and the effect on the femoral artery.’

Kailisa moved to the hands, lifting the left one and using a magnifying lens to examine it. He scraped beneath the fingernails before placing it gently back on the surface of the examination table. Moving round, he did the same to the right hand.

‘No sign of defensive injuries on the hands or arms, but I’ve taken samples to check for DNA beneath the fingernails.’

The pathologist moved on to the mark on the neck, studying, measuring and noting down his findings. ‘The mark on the neck and throat is consistent with a thin ligature, possibly something like a washing line or a cord for charging a mobile phone. There is bruising in the tissues, indicative of a struggle so it’s hard to determine the exact dimensions. The mark angles up on both sides suggesting strangulation from above and behind.’

Barratt made a note. ‘Hang on. How tall was he?’

Kailisa checked his notes. ‘One hundred and eighty-three centimetres.’

‘So his assailant must have been taller?’

Kailisa shook his head. ‘Not necessarily. If the thigh wound had incapacitated the victim he would have been hunched or slumped, probably unable or unwilling to stand upright. He might have been in pain or attempting to stem the bleeding – the right cuff of his jacket was heavily bloodstained – so he may have been vulnerable to an attack from behind whatever the height of the attacker.’

Kailisa turned and tapped a keyboard. ‘Marks on the knees of the jeans consistent with kneeling but could also be from when the victim collapsed after being strangled.’

Not helpful, Barratt thought. He watched as Kailisa and his assistant turned the body over, running a light and magnifying glass over head, neck, back, buttocks and legs. Nothing worth noting down.

‘Right, let’s have a look at the wound on the leg.’ The pathologist took a skewer-type instrument from one of the benches that ran along one side of the room and gently inserted it into the wound. He retracted it slowly and repeated the procedure.

‘Depth is 58 millimetres. The angle suggests a slight downward thrust.’

‘Any idea what type of knife?’ Barratt asked.

‘Something very sharp. Possibly an industrial craft knife. A blade like a traditional Stanley knife but longer.’

Barratt took out his phone and a quick search brought up a number of possibilities, each potentially lethal if the person wielding it knew where to stab. And each easily available on internet sites ranging from DIY specialists to Amazon – nothing to help them narrow down the source of the blade.

‘Is it likely that whoever stabbed him knew what they were aiming for or is it just chance that they got the femoral artery?’

Kailisa stopped and, for a second, Barratt thought he might have overstepped but he realised the pathologist was deep in thought.

‘There may be an element of luck,’ he conceded. ‘But it wouldn’t be difficult to find out where and how to stab somebody so they’d bleed to death fairly quickly.’

Barratt wrote premeditated? in his notebook. Had the murderer intended to disable a taller, stronger victim before the strangulation and posing? If so, there was nothing random in his choice of target; he knew he’d need a knife for this one but not for Maya who was shorter and probably not as strong despite her swimming training.

He watched as Kailisa began the internal examination, cutting the torso in a Y shape and removing the organs one by one for weighing and measuring. Barratt hated this part. While the body was still intact, he could see it as a person but to reduce it to a pile of organs and an empty cavity was somehow much more dehumanising than murder.

As he was preparing to open the cranium, Kailisa’s attention was drawn to a laptop that was sitting open on a high stool next to the steel operating table.

‘Ah, preliminary blood results. We took samples from around the body and also the droplets on the wall closer to the rear entrance of the building. All we can do at this stage is blood type – you realise DNA will take much longer.’

It wasn’t a question, so Barratt didn’t respond.

‘Victim’s blood type is O positive – very common and consistent with samples taken close to the body and from the clothing. The sample from the wall further down the alley is A positive. We have two different sources of blood.’

Barratt felt his heartrate quicken. This could be the break they needed. ‘Is it possible the other sample is older? Maybe from an earlier crime, or some sort of fight or scuffle?’

‘Unlikely, but we need to undertake more tests to be certain. We can test for degradation of cells and plasma to help age the sample.’

‘What does that mean in terms of our investigation?’ Barratt already knew but he needed Kailisa to confirm his suspicion.

‘The wall sample may contain the DNA of our killer.’

CHAPTER 24

Kate’s phone rang as Hollis turned out of the lane where Luke Wilson lived. Warren. Maybe the door-to-door had turned up something.

‘Boss?’

‘What is it, Warren?’

‘You’ve not heard?’

‘Heard what?’ Hollis turned to look at her, obviously surprised by the sharpness of her tone. The interview with Wilson had left her in no mood to play guessing games with her DS.

‘The body of a man was found early this morning near Sprotbrough, looks like he was stabbed.’

‘And? If it was linked to our case, Kailisa would have called. Please get to the point.’

‘Kailisa doesn’t know. This was picked up by another team. SOCOs are on the scene but no pathologist at the moment. They’re waiting until he’s free – he’s doing the PM on the unidentified male from the Dog and Gun.’

The mention of ‘another team’ clarified Warren’s involvement. Kate had heard the rumour that Warren’s fiancé was a police officer based in South Yorkshire and had been the reason for her transfer. He was probably part of this ‘other team’ and sharing information that he should have kept to himself.

‘Same as the others?’ Kate asked. ‘You said stabbed but was there any sign of strangulation? What about the underwear?’

‘Not exactly.’

‘Then why are you telling me?’

A dramatic pause, worthy of a reality TV show host, suggested that Warren knew something significant.

‘It’s Zander Elliott. ID’s been confirmed from his driving licence which was in his wallet. No suggestion that he was robbed – wallet and car keys on his body and the car’s parked up and not locked. Looks like he was killed last night. Do you want me to take a look?’

Was this the reason for the call? Did Warren want an excuse to ditch the door-to-door in favour of something more interesting. If so she was going to be disappointed.

‘No. Stick with trying to get an ID for the body from the alley. Text me the location.’

Hollis executed a speedy three-point turn as she told him to head for the river near Sprotbrough instead of back to HQ.

‘I’ll tell you on the way,’ she said as he accelerated onto the dual carriageway.

The white tent was unmissable as Hollis pulled into the lane and drew up at a strip of blue-and-white tape that barred their way. A uniformed officer with a clipboard made a winding gesture indicating that one of them should lower a window and Kate complied, showing her ID and waiting as the man made a note.

‘Inner cordon’s a few yards up there,’ he said, turning and pointing. ‘There’s room to park in a passing place a few yards before it. You’ll be able to pick up protective gear there.’

As they got out of the car, Kate considered her next move. This wasn’t her case and, no doubt, there was a senior police officer in charge, giving orders and expecting answers – exactly like she would on one of her own cases. The description of the murder didn’t fit with those of Maya Marshall and the unknown man, but the identity of the deceased gave her a link, a way in.

She might be about to get into a pissing contest with an equal, or even a superior but it was one she was determined to win. She planned her strategy as she and Hollis donned protective coveralls and bootees before approaching another line of tape and a trail of step plates that led towards a dark blue Nissan Qashqai.

‘What have we got?’ she asked a white-clad figure. He turned and scowled at her, his eyes threatening above his face mask.

‘Who’re you?’

‘DI Fletcher.’ She avoided giving him more information than necessary. He’d find out soon enough that she had no authority there. ‘And you are?’

‘In charge of this scene. And I certainly didn’t send for you.’

Kate didn’t recognise him, but she wasn’t surprised. There had been so much reorganisation in recent months that she seemed to barely recognise anyone at Doncaster Central.

‘I picked up information about the deceased from my DS. I think there might be a link to a case we’re working on.’

‘Fletcher? I did a two-month stint with your team late last year. You’ve been off sick.’ His tone lacked any hint of sympathy. If anything, she was picking up derision, but that could have been her own insecurity.

‘So you’ll know DC Hollis?’ She stepped slightly to one side to allow the man a better view.

‘Vaguely.’

‘Vaguely?’ Hollis said. ‘We had a few pints at The Crown and you beat me at darts. Let me know when you’re up for a rematch, DI Anderson.’

Anderson. Kate knew the name but couldn’t recall having met him. Then she remembered. Oh, this wasn’t good. Should she acknowledge their connection or pretend they’d never met. Neither option seemed likely to appease the belligerent DI, so she opted for honesty.

‘Josh Anderson. You applied for the DI position at the same time as me,’ she said. ‘I think we might have met briefly at the interview. Glad you eventually got your promotion.’

The look he gave her told her everything she needed to know about how this encounter was going to go. She’d transferred from another police force when he’d been the local, and she was a woman. The resentment was clear.

‘I still don’t know what you’re doing here.’ He glanced over one shoulder to check on the progress of the SOCO team. ‘This is my case.’

Kate raised her hands in a gesture of surrender. Being bolshy wasn’t going to help but she still needed information – and a look at the body.

‘I know who he is and he’s connected to a double murder. If I could just have a look…’

‘The scene’s already crowded,’ Anderson said. ‘I can’t have people turning up for a quick look. We’ve got work to do.’ He turned away.

‘You can’t move him without a pathologist’s say so and Kailisa’s not here yet. I only need a few minutes.’

‘And I need you to step away from my crime scene.’

She turned and raised her eyebrows at Hollis wondering if he could invoke some sort of ‘boys’ club’ rule, but he shrugged. Obviously losing at darts had gained him no kudos with Anderson.

‘I’m investigating a double murder,’ Kate tried again. ‘I’ve been informed that this body is that of a man known to the first victim. If he was killed by the same person–’

Anderson finished her sentence. ‘You’ve got a serial killer. Good for you but this is still my case until somebody tells me different.’

‘I know,’ Kate conceded. ‘Our killer has a very specific signature. He strangles his victims with a ligature, but he also stabbed the second one. Both victims had their underwear exposed with no signs of sexual assault. Does this match with what you’ve got?’

Anderson sighed. ‘We’ve got a potential stabbing. There’s a lot of blood, but it looks like a single penetrating wound to the chest. No obvious signs of strangulation and no obvious disturbance to the clothing.’

‘If I could just…’ Kate took a step forward but was met with Anderson’s palm held out like he was stopping traffic.

‘Back off,’ he warned.

‘I think you should let DI Fletcher through,’ a familiar voice came from behind where Hollis was standing. ‘What she’s told you is enough to suggest we may have a link with two other murders. If this is Zander Elliott, as is suggested by his driving licence and credit cards then he has a strong connection with a previous victim. If you’ll just step aside.’

Kailisa pushed past her and Anderson, his scene case banging the back of Kate’s leg as he jostled his way towards the white tent next to the car. ‘DI Fletcher? If you’d like access, now might be the time.’

Much as she didn’t want anyone fighting her battles for her, Kate offered Anderson a victorious grin that was hidden behind her face covering. At least he’d be able to see it in her eyes though. She heard the DI instruct Hollis to stay where he was and almost turned for another round but decided to accept her own small victory. Hollis didn’t need to see the victim – especially as Kailisa had arrived – she’d talk him through her findings later.

Despite the chill of the day, the atmosphere inside the protective tent felt oppressive, almost stuffy, as if the violence had sucked the air out of the surroundings. Bright lights encircled the body allowing it to be viewed from every possible angle and the pathologist wasted no time, dropping to his knees and staring at the obvious chest wound.

Kate peered over his shoulder trying to get a glimpse of the trousers.

‘DI Fletcher,’ Kailisa snapped. ‘Please give me a little room. There’ll be time for you to ask questions when I’ve done my initial examination.’

Chastened, Kate stepped back and watched as Kailisa shone a light on the bloodstained jumper.

‘Looks like a single wound.’

He shifted position to examine the head and neck. ‘No sign of a ligature, DI Fletcher. Judging by the amount of blood and the absence of any other obvious injuries, I’d suggest the stab wound was the cause of death.’

‘Weapon?’ Kate asked.

‘Something sharp,’ Kailisa snapped. ‘I need to conduct a detailed examination to determine the size and shape of the weapon, as well you know.’

She heard a snigger from behind her. Anderson, probably enjoying her humiliation.

‘What about the clothing?’ Kate asked, deliberately vague.

Kailisa sighed and flipped open the dark waterproof jacket. Kate risked a step forward to look over his shoulder, scrutinising the waist band and zip of Elliott’s jeans. The belt was still buckled and the fly firmly closed.

‘Unless he’s changed his message or his method, I’d say this may not be the same person as whoever killed Maya Marshall and the man behind the Dog and Gun.’

CHAPTER 25

Warren was quietly seething. She knew the door-to-door was their best chance of discovering the identity of the body in the alley, but she felt she would be better used at the cutting edge of the investigation. When Josh had called with the news about Elliott, she’d been convinced that Fletcher would reward her with the responsibility of viewing the body. But no. She wanted to see for herself, and Warren was left knocking on doors.

She’d been unsure about sharing the information at first. So far, she’d managed to keep her relationship with Josh from her new team. She’d spoken about her fiancé, and they knew he was a police officer, but she’d kept the details vague as she didn’t want to be accused of a conflict of interest. God knows what he’d think when Fletcher turned up demanding access to his scene – Warren knew exactly how deep Josh’s resentment towards her new boss went, and she’d no desire to provoke another outburst about ‘Saint Kate’.

Warren knew that the sensible thing was to keep her head down for now and look for opportunities to prove her worth. Not that her next target looked like it could provide anything other than another dead end.

One more run-down house in a row of Victorian terraces, just like the last one, and the one before. Warren briefly considered leaving this to one of the two uniformed officers who had been assigned to help with canvassing the area, but she was starting to feel the chill of the northerly wind and each door knocked could potentially offer refuge from the cold – however brief.

She didn’t know how anybody could bear to live in houses like these where the front door opened directly onto the street and there was nothing except greying net curtains to stop anyone passing from having a look inside. She assumed they were cheap – handy for first-time buyers and landlords who wanted to get a good return on their investments.

Rapping on the door with knuckles that were starting to turn pink from cold and over-use, Warren took a step back and looked at the grimy windows with their peeling wooden frames and the red brickwork, chipped and scarred from over a century of passing pedestrians and acid rain.

The door opened a few inches, and a woman’s face peered through the gap. ‘Yes?’

Warren showed her ID. ‘We’re investigating an incident that happened near the pub across the road. We’re trying to identify a person of interest. Could I come in?’

‘Is it about that lad that was stabbed? I don’t know anything about that.’

‘You know what happened. That might be a good place to start.’

Everyone she’d spoken to knew about the stabbing. Warren supposed seeing the street crawling with police officers and forensics vans would breed gossip that would spread quickly through the community. So far nobody admitted to knowing the victim even when prompted with the names Owen and Evan – it seemed he didn’t live close to the alley where he’d been killed, but unlikely he was from too far away as he’d been a regular at the pub. The team would start in the adjoining streets in the next few days if this first trawl didn’t reveal anything useful.

‘I suppose,’ the woman said, holding the door open wide enough for Warren to squeeze inside.

As she’d expected, the front door led directly into the living room but, contrary to her prejudices it was brightly decorated with lemon walls and a pale laminate floor covering that seemed to reflect the meagre light from the single window. A pair of armchairs faced a medium-sized flat screen TV that had been mounted above a fireplace that looked like it had last been used not long after the house was built. Instead of a fire it housed an arrangement of dried flowers which added to the springlike feel of the room.

‘Through here.’ The woman led the way past the foot of a steep staircase and into the kitchen where two chairs were pulled up to a pine table perched beneath a window with a view of a square, paved yard. The cupboards were a deep burgundy which seemed to make the white counter tops glow against the cream walls.

‘Coffee? Tea?’

Warren declined even though a warm drink would have been very welcome – she didn’t know where the nearest loo might be. ‘Can I take your name,’ she asked as soon as the woman had directed her to one of the chairs.

‘Rosanna Stainton but I go by Roz.’

Warren appraised the woman sitting opposite her, her police training kicking in as she mentally recorded age and ethnicity as well as distinguishing features. Early thirties, white, bleached blonde hair with a pink streak and darker roots, blue eyes, minimal make-up. ‘Have you lived here long, Roz?’

‘About three years. Rented at first then I bought it off the landlord a few months ago. I’ve been saving up and doing bits and pieces. My brother works in a DIY place and he gets me stuff at a discount. Seconds and that. I work at the big supermarket on the roundabout and get a discount on electricals and other bits.’

That explained the décor and perhaps the woman’s pride in her own home after having paid rent for a few years.

‘So you know a lot of people, locally?’

‘People come and go. The area seems to change every few months. Now they’re doing the pub up it might get a bit better. A bit posher.’

‘I heard the pub has a bit of a reputation for drugs. It might take a while to change that.’

The younger woman’s face closed down. ‘It might. But if that’s what the owner wants it can only be a good thing.’

‘Of course. It’ll probably take time for the dealers and users to move on, but who knows?’

‘Typical copper.’ Roz’s eyes narrowed as she scowled at Warren. ‘Full of assumptions and stereotypes. People can change and places can get better.’

Warren held her hands up, palms towards Roz. ‘I didn’t mean to cause offence. Just calling it like I see it.’

‘But people like you don’t really see it. You see what you want to see. I bet you expected my house to be a dingy shithole – I could see your surprise when I let you in. And, for your information, a lot of people round here try to help themselves and each other. There’s a drop-in centre round the corner for people who’re trying to get clean. Or stay clean.’

Roz stood and filled the kettle, then seemed to remember that Warren had refused a drink. She turned to stand with her back to the sink, hands in the pockets of her jeans. ‘Have you got a photo? Of the man who was stabbed?’

Warren took the printed photograph from her pocket, hoping it wasn’t too obvious that it had been taken in the morgue. Roz took it between her thumb and forefinger as though reluctant to touch too much of the paper. She gave it a quick glance then nodded.

‘You know him.’ Warren wasn’t asking a question.

‘His name’s Euan. He’s been here for a while. I think he was in a flat a couple of streets over.’

‘There’s some suggestion that he was a known dealer.’

Roz nodded and handed the photograph back. ‘He was. But he was a user as well. Probably dealt to fund his own habit.’

‘Is that how you know him? Did you buy from him?’

‘No. I’ve been clean for six years. I help out at the drop-in centre and he came in quite a lot. He was trying to get clean, to make a new start. But he wasn’t able to get away from here – I don’t think he has any family – so he had nowhere else to go.’

Warren took out her notebook. ‘Do you have a last name?’

‘Patrick. Euan Patrick.’

‘And he was well known in the area?’ Warren asked, jotting down the name. ‘Funny, my officers seem to have drawn a blank up to this point.’

Roz smiled. ‘Your lot aren’t exactly popular. And it’s not always a good idea to talk to the police. Too many eyes and ears.’

‘But you’re not bothered?’

‘Oh, I’m bothered.’ She sighed and tucked a strand of pink hair behind one ear. ‘But I’m more bothered that a young lad’s life has been snuffed out before he had a chance to turn it around. If this area’s going to change then it’s up to those of us who live here to be part of it. And you can save your judgement – ex-druggie with a heart of gold – that’s not me.

‘I know about dealers and gangs, and I also know that some people will never do the right thing. But there has to be support for those who want to, and it won’t come from the government, and it certainly won’t come from you lot, so we have to help ourselves.’

Warren opened her mouth to protest but shook her head.

‘I know you’ve got your problems as well. I don’t need to hear about budget cuts and the like. We both want the same thing in the end, but we go about it in different ways. If you can find out who did this to Euan it might make an impact round here.’

Warren wasn’t sure if she meant a change to the way the police were viewed or to the reputation of the area but either would be a win. She underlined Euan’s name twice and snapped her notebook closed. ‘We’ll certainly try.’

CHAPTER 26

The lane leading from Kate’s house hadn’t been gritted, so she eased her Mini gently down the slope and out onto the main road through Bawtry. A sky of bruised clouds and watery sun promised little in the way of bright weather, and the mixture of brown grit and dampness on the tarmac added little to the almost monochrome colour palette.

She’d finally got round to making the call to her son after dinner the previous evening and telling him that she was getting married again. Ben had seemed pleased in a distant way but didn’t push her for any details. He hadn’t mentioned his father, but she suspected he’d be relaying their conversation to Garry at some point.

Nick had been chuffed. He always insisted that he didn’t regret never having had children, but he was also keen to point out the importance of family in his culture. He’d been the first one home – like most days – and had gone to the trouble of cooking a decent meal. They’d agreed early on in their relationship that cooking duties would fall to whoever walked through the door first, but Kate knew that he liked spending time in the kitchen, and he’d never managed to be fully convincing about her culinary efforts.

As she negotiated a busy roundabout, her thoughts abruptly shifted to the day ahead and the tasks she needed to allocate to her team. Warren had done a good job with the door-to-door and had been keen to follow up on Euan Patrick. With an ID they might be able to work out his movements and contacts and, hopefully, some link to Maya Marshall or Luke Wilson.

The murder of Zander Elliott was a bit more problematic though. Technically it wasn’t their case, and Anderson had been at pains to emphasise that at every opportunity – Kate was concerned that he wouldn’t be keen to share any evidence his team gathered.

She’d spoken to Das, however, and the DCI had assured her that she could have access to the findings of Anderson’s investigation as it was too much of a coincidence that Maya’s coach had been killed a few days after one of his star swimmers.

Considering her own suspicions about the man, Kate was worried that they may be looking for a vigilante who felt justified in dealing out their own brand of justice whether Elliott was innocent or not.

Pulling into her designated parking space, Kate turned off the engine and reviewed where they were with the three cases, concluding that they still had a long way to go. It was going to be a busy day.

The photograph from Euan Patrick’s police record wasn’t much of an improvement on the one from the morgue. Taken three years previously he looked pale and tired with grey eyes that looked haunted, or frightened.

‘Twenty-four and he’d been in prison twice. Two months in HMP Wakefield for shoplifting,’ Warren was reciting. ‘Three more the next year for burglary. Looking at the court record, it suggests he was coerced, hence the lenient sentence. Nothing in the past couple of years which ties in with Roz Stainton’s statement about him trying to turn his life around.’

‘Funding a drug habit?’ Barratt mused. ‘But his record’s been clean since he was last released, which backs up the idea that he was trying to change. Be interesting to see what the toxicology report says. Kailisa didn’t find any signs of recent intravenous drug use.’

‘Any success tracking down a next of kin?’ Kate asked. Warren shook her head. ‘Phone? Wallet?’

‘Nothing, Boss. I can ask Roz Stainton again now we’ve confirmed ID but I got the impression that she just knows him from the support group, and I doubt they’ll have any more details.’

Kate knew from previous experience that groups supporting addicts and former addicts tended to be first name only and reluctant to even divulge those without a warrant. She turned her attention to Cooper. ‘Any luck with CCTV?’

‘We’ve got footage from inside the pub. A few frames show Euan Patrick at the bar, looks like he might have bought a couple of pints but the only person we see him speak to is the barman. It might be an idea to show him the footage and see if he can put names to some of the other faces – one of them might remember Euan or even know him.’

Kate made a note to add it to her list of jobs. ‘How about the mystery vehicle that Maya Marshall got into at the racecourse?’

‘Needle in a haystack,’ Cooper said. ‘But I have gained access to Maya’s phone data from the service provider. No calls or texts around the time she was seen getting into the car. If she was communicating with someone it was via an app and if it’s something like WhatsApp we’ll never find it.’

‘You think the Instagram contact led to another platform?’

Cooper nodded. ‘The Instagram stuff is quite benign and ends after Wilson – or whoever – dangles the carrot of speaking to her after his event. That was around three weeks ago. It seems unlikely that they had no further contact so I’m assuming he shifted their conversation to somewhere more private.’

‘What about triangulation?’ Barratt asked. ‘Can we find out where she went by tracking her phone.’

‘She didn’t use it to call or text, and her GPS services were turned off – maybe to save battery. I’m guessing she used the school Wi-Fi and the same at the racecourse if she went online – if they offer it free, we may be able to work out if she used it from their device logs, but I wouldn’t hold my breath. It’s possible that whoever picked her up told her to turn her phone off, or took it from her.’

Kate considered the possibility of the killer still having the phone. It would be damning evidence if it were to be found in his possession though, so she was willing to bet it was in a skip or a ditch somewhere. It might be worth checking the grass verges around the racecourse in case Maya’s phone was thrown from the car, but this felt too risky and this killer struck her as much more organised. Worth a try though. She made a note to allocate the search to a couple of uniformed officers. ‘Matt, did you contact Wilson’s agent?’

‘Yep. She’s called Beth Poole. She confirmed Toni Ribeiro’s account of the racecourse event. And she says she set up the Instagram account that Wilson showed us, but she wasn’t aware of any other social media accounts.’

‘Just her word then? Do we keep Poole in the frame as a possible suspect?’

Barratt shook his head. ‘I don’t think so. She broke her leg in a skiing accident in January. She’s been on crutches ever since which would probably prevent her from kidnapping and murdering a healthy fit teenager.’

‘You’re sure?’

‘I rang Toni Ribeiro at the racecourse and she confirmed that Wilson’s agent was on crutches and seemed to be in some discomfort. Maybe we could send a uniformed officer to her address on some pretext – just to check.’

Kate made a note to follow up on Barratt’s interview with the agent. ‘We’ve also got to consider the murder of Zander Elliott as being connected to the other two. Despite the preliminary findings we can’t rule anything out because he was well known to the first victim.’

‘But it’s not our case, Boss.’

Kate had been expecting this from Warren. She’d asked Cooper to do some discreet digging and knew that Warren and Anderson were involved in a romantic relationship. Cooper suggested that this might be the reason for Warren’s transfer to Kate’s team – to bring Warren closer to her boyfriend – and the relationship between the murders was an unfortunate coincidence.

Inclined to trust what Cooper suggested, Kate found it difficult to believe that Warren was acting as some sort of spy, but the conflict of interests was unsettling and best tackled head-on.

‘I’m aware of that, Maeve. I was almost marched from the scene by DI Anderson yesterday. I believe you know him quite well.’

Warren flushed from the base of her neck to her hairline and Kate saw Cooper’s lips give the barest twitch of a smile.

‘I…  er…  yes,’ Warren spluttered, all eyes on her as she struggled for an explanation.

‘None of my business, of course,’ Kate said. ‘As long as it doesn’t get in the way of our investigations.’

Warren gave Kate a look like a drowning woman having been thrown a lifebuoy while Barratt and Hollis looked at each other in confusion.

‘Anderson is your boyfriend?’ Hollis asked, his accusatory tone suggesting he felt betrayed.

‘None of our business,’ Kate reminded him, and he turned back to his laptop looking mutinous. She understood why. They were used to working together as a tight-knit unit and the idea that one of them was linked to another team – and an obstructive one – was worrying, but there was nothing they could do.

Kate had to assume that the relationship had been reported to the appropriate ranking officer – probably Das – and there was no concern about conflict of interest. Which there shouldn’t be as they were all doing the same job for the same reason.

‘So where does this leave us with Zander Elliott?’ Barratt wanted to know. ‘Do you think Anderson’s going to cooperate?’

Warren kept her eyes fixed on the surface of the desk in front of her.

‘Das says he will,’ Kate said. ‘I don’t know how much arm twisting she’ll have to do though. What we know so far is that Elliott was killed late on Monday or early Tuesday morning. Single stab wound to the chest, no similarities to Maya Marshall or Euan Patrick in terms of strangulation or the clothing signature.’

Hollis frowned. ‘Is it possible that somebody thinks we’re not doing our job properly? Somebody who thinks Elliott killed Maya and wants justice. Or revenge?’

‘Like a vigilante?’ Cooper said. ‘Or maybe somebody knows that Elliott is our killer, but we’ll never be able to prove it?’

It was a possibility, Kate thought. But it was also feasible that the same person who killed Maya and Euan had also killed Elliott but had been disturbed before he could finish his ritual. It could also have been opportunistic, but she’d yet to think of a reason why the coach might have pulled into a dark layby well away from a main road – unless it had been a sex thing.

‘Have we got access to Elliott’s phone or phone records?’

Cooper shook her head. ‘Nothing. I can put in a request to Anderson’s team.’

‘CC Das in,’ Kate said. ‘No, BCC Das in. I don’t want Anderson to think I’m telling tales.’ She glanced over at Warren who was tapping on her keyboard. ‘Maeve. I’m going to do a coffee run…’

‘Not for me thanks, Boss.’

‘I’m not offering, I want you to come with me. Maybe we’ll have a bit of a chat while we’re up there.’

‘I can see how this might be difficult for you,’ Kate said, wrapping her hands around a takeaway cup of black coffee. She’d ordered Warren a drink but the DS looked too anxious to drink the tea she’d requested – instead she was running a finger around the rim of the cup. ‘I think it’s important that we set some boundaries and that I’m aware of your loyalties. Make sense?’

Warren nodded.

‘Did you know about Zander Elliott’s murder because DI Anderson told you?’

‘He rang and mentioned the name they’d got from the credit cards.’

‘So he knew we were looking at Elliott for Maya’s murder?’

Another nod. This was worse than interviewing a suspect. Kate almost expected Warren to go ‘no comment’ at some point and refuse to answer any more questions without her lawyer present.

‘We’d spoken about the case, and I’d mentioned Elliott by name. I don’t see why that matters, we’re all part of the same force.’ Warren flushed and took a sip of her tea.

She was right. There was nothing wrong with her talking to another officer about the case as long as it was in private and not over a pizza somewhere. Kate felt she knew enough about Warren to trust her discretion in that sense. What she couldn’t share was her own history with Anderson because it was personal rather than professional and shouldn’t have any relevance.

‘You’re right. But if one team is reluctant to cooperate with another it can lead to mistakes, things being missed. We can’t rule out a connection between Elliott’s murder and Maya’s, which we think is linked to Euan Patrick. If you’re going to discuss our cases with Anderson, I think it’s only natural that you’d do us the same favour and discuss his with me. I’m not suggesting you hide this from him, but you ought to make it clear who you work for.’

Warren frowned. ‘And if that means he won’t tell me about his case?’

‘Then we have a problem,’ Kate said. ‘If the information is one-way, my team, your team, may be in the dark about something important while Anderson is able to make judgements based on all the information. This isn’t a competition, Maeve, but we do need to be on the same page.’

‘Yes, Boss. But I don’t see what I’ve done wrong. I told Josh about our cases and told you about his.’

‘I know. I just need to know you’ll keep it that way. If Anderson tells you anything relevant then it comes to me. I can’t dictate what you should and shouldn’t tell your fiancé but, please, let’s see if we can keep all the communication between our two teams open and respectful. We weren’t aware of your relationship with Anderson until yesterday and I think that might suggest secrecy to other members of the team.’

‘I know. I wanted to stand on my own feet here. I didn’t want to be Josh’s girlfriend or…’

‘Or?’

Warren hesitated.

‘Or an inadequate replacement for O’Connor. I’ve heard how you all talk about him, even in front of me, and it makes me uncomfortable. I’m not trying to be him. I want to make my own mark.’

Warren took a gulp of her tea and, for the first time since she’d sat down, she looked Kate straight in the eye.

‘I know I’m the newbie here but you’re the boss. If we’re being open and honest then I’d like you to treat me with a bit more respect and make the effort to welcome me onto the team. I know you’re just back from sick leave, I get that, but things have changed, Kate. I’m not the only one who has to adapt to a new reality.’

Before Kate could respond, Warren drained her cup, stood then walked away.

CHAPTER 27

The office was silent apart from the tapping of keyboards as Kate wandered between desks, distributing the drinks she’d brought back from the canteen. There was no banter, no swapping of thoughts and no eye contact.

Barratt had received a call from the uniformed officer that he’d sent to Beth Poole’s house and he’d confirmed that the woman was on crutches. Another dead end. Something needed to change and, if it wasn’t to be a break in the case then it needed to be a sense of purpose.

Kate clapped her hands. ‘Right. We seem to have hit a bit of a wall. What are we missing? What’s the connection?’

She picked up a marker pen and strode over to the flipchart that sat abandoned in a corner like a week-old lettuce on a supermarket shelf. Finding a clean page, she divided it in half and wrote Similarities at the top of one side and Differences at the top of the other.

‘Maya Marshall and Euan Patrick. Back to basics. I want to start with the similarities between the two cases. Underwear. Ligature.’ She wrote both words down and next to them wrote signature?

‘We’re assuming that these elements mean something to the killer, that they’re beyond simple coincidence. What else?’

‘Both discovered randomly in the morning suggesting a time of death the night before. And no phone or ID,’ Cooper said. Kate noted down her suggestion.

‘Luke Wilson,’ Warren added. ‘We can’t overlook the fact that he’d been linked to both victims however tangentially.’

Kate wrote the name in the Similarities column.

‘What about the victims? Both were young, both had connections with Doncaster – school and residence.’

‘Could they have known each other?’ Barratt asked. ‘We’re looking for someone else to link them, but they might have met.’

It didn’t seem likely given their different ages and Maya’s obvious obsession with swimming, but it couldn’t be discounted. Could Euan have known Maya’s older sister for instance? Or some of her school friends?

‘Okay, one thing I think we need to chase up is Euan Patrick’s history. I want to know as much as possible including where he was born, where he went to school, anything that might overlap with Maya. Let’s keep going. What other similarities are there?’

‘Drugs,’ Cooper said. ‘Maya was using an asthma inhaler that wasn’t prescribed; Euan has a history of dealing and using.’

‘Could that also lead us to the coach? Is it possible that he provided the inhaler? Maybe Euan had supplied him with other things?’ It was a good shout from Warren, but it didn’t move them forward in terms of motive.

‘Right, differences,’ Kate said. ‘Euan was stabbed. No suggestion his body was moved.’

‘Previous criminal record,’ Warren said. ‘He’d likely have had contacts that Maya didn’t.’

‘Euan’s murder feels more opportunistic,’ Cooper said. ‘Given Maya’s social media history it looks like she was either groomed or at least lured into the car that picked her up.’

‘That could be a similarity though,’ Hollis said. ‘Why was Euan Patrick in the alley? He must have been lured there as there’s no sign that he was dragged any distance.’

Scanning the room, Kate felt a sense of optimism. Everyone was engaged, making suggestions and they were all working towards the same goal. The issue with Warren and Anderson seemed to have been put aside and her responses were as welcome and pertinent as the others.

It hadn’t been Kate’s plan to initiate a brainstorming session when she’d walked into the office earlier, but it was clearly something that they’d needed to bring them together. And they were making progress.

Kate already had a mental list forming of actions and jobs, each designed to bring them a step closer to finding the killer. The only issue was Zander Elliott. She’d deliberately focused on the first two murders because she didn’t think Elliott fitted the pattern and making him a third victim of the same killer felt off, as though she were chopping parts from a jigsaw piece to make it fill a particular gap.

Kate turned the page on the flip chart and wrote the number 1. ‘Right. We need to find out as much as possible about Euan Patrick. Sam, digital digging.’

Kate wrote Cooper’s task on the sheet.

‘Two, Maeve back on the streets. Talk to acquaintances, people he knew at the addicts’ group, anybody who knew him from the pub. Barratt, you too. I want a connection between Euan Patrick and Maya Marshall.’ This went on the paper.

‘Three. Dan, I want you to help pursue the possible drugs link. If Elliott gave Maya an inhaler, what else did he give to the other members of the squad? Was Maya about to expose him? Did Euan Patrick supply him with legal or illegal drugs. I also want you to be our liaison with Anderson. He knows you so he might be a bit more forthcoming.’

Jobs allocated, Kate picked up her coat from the back of the chair where she’d left it – it felt like days had passed since she’d stepped out of her house and negotiated the icy lane to the main road, but it had only been a couple of hours. At least she felt like her team were now all pulling in the same direction and she didn’t need to put out internal fires or play referee.

‘You again?’ Serena Burton looked from Hollis to Kate. ‘And who’s this?’

‘DI Kate Fletcher.’

‘DI? Sounds important.’

Kate ignored the sarcasm and pressed on. ‘We’d like to talk to Amber and Lily again if that’s possible. Some new evidence has come to light in Maya Marshall’s murder, and your girls may be able to help.’ She deliberately didn’t mention Zander Elliott’s death, unsure whether the family knew.

‘What sort of evidence?’ The woman wasn’t budging, keeping them on the doorstep.

‘If we could come inside…’ Hollis tried.

‘What evidence? I’m not going to allow you to speak to my daughters unless I know what it’s about.’

The woman was well within her rights, so they needed to generate some goodwill. Honesty seemed like the best option. ‘We think Maya may have been given performance-enhancing drugs. Your girls may have seen or heard something that could confirm our suspicions. I’d very much appreciate your cooperation – it’s just a few quick questions.’

‘Drugs? Like steroids?’

‘That kind of thing, yes,’ Kate confirmed.

‘I know my girls wouldn’t be involved in anything like that.’

‘We’re not suggesting they’re involved,’ Hollis said. ‘But they might have seen something that seemed innocent at the time but, now we know about the drugs, might give us a huge step forward in finding out who killed Maya. And I’m sure that’s what we all want.’

Kate worked hard to suppress a smile. This was the old Hollis – diplomatic and convincing – she was glad he seemed to be using the skills that had made him such an empathetic colleague. And it worked. Serena was holding the door open and ushering them inside with reassurances and promises of help.

Once they were settled at the kitchen table, Serena went upstairs to fetch the twins, allowing Kate and Hollis time to take in their surroundings.

‘Nice.’ Kate nodded towards a stainless-steel coffee machine. She knew Hollis was a wannabe barista and would know exactly how much the device had cost.

‘Over a grand’s worth,’ Hollis confirmed. ‘Hope she offers us one.’

There didn’t seem much chance of that as the two girls were herded through the doorway with an instruction to be ‘as honest as you can’, whatever that meant. Serena arranged the chairs so the twins were sitting opposite Kate and Hollis before leaning against the back door with her arms folded, eyes scanning the scene.

The two girls looked identical apart from their clothes. One wore a faded grey hoodie that made her look small and slightly built, the other wore a dark blue long-sleeved T-shirt which emphasised the broad shoulders of an athletic swimmer.

‘I’m sorry,’ Kate began. ‘I don’t know which of you is which.’

‘I’m Lily,’ the hoodie wearer said with a sigh that suggested they had to deal with this sort of confusion on a regular basis. ‘She’s Amber.’

‘Thanks. Now, I know you’ve already spoken to my colleague, but some new evidence has come to light and we think you might be able to help.’

Lily nodded and stared at Kate eagerly if she were expecting a salacious revelation. Amber stared at the tabletop.

‘Do either of you remember if Maya had asthma? Did you see her use an inhaler or ever struggle for breath?’

Lily looked disappointed. Whatever she’d been expecting it wasn’t something as banal as a mild illness. ‘Nope.’

Kate looked at the other twin. ‘Amber? What about you?’

The girl shrugged.

‘It’s important that you think carefully, Amber,’ Hollis said. ‘Anything, however small, could help us to work out who did this to your friend.’

‘She might have used a puffer. I think I saw her once, but she put it straight back in her bag like she didn’t want me to see.’

‘Stalking her again,’ Lily muttered with a sly grin.

‘Shut up, you,’ Amber snapped. ‘I’m trying to help.’

‘Girls…’ Serena warned from her vantage position next to the back door. ‘No fighting. Lily, stop teasing your sister.’

‘Did your coach ever offer either of you an inhaler?’ Kate asked. ‘Or anything else?’

Another firm ‘nope’ from Lily.

‘Amber?’

‘If he did, they’d have told me,’ Serena said. ‘They know enough to not take drugs. If Zander Elliott was trying to push something on them, they’d have told me.’

Kate watched as Amber glanced up at her mother then back at the table. The girl seemed frightened of both her sister and mother. If she knew anything, there was no guarantee she’d feel safe disclosing the information. But there was nothing they could do. She was underage and had to have a responsible adult present at any interview, formal or informal.

‘Amber?’ Hollis said quietly. ‘Did coach Zander offer you anything?’

‘Vitamins,’ the girl whispered. ‘He said they were vitamins and would help me to swim faster than Lily.’

‘As if,’ Lily spat, and Kate was taken aback by the other sister’s hostility.

‘I beat you last week,’ Amber said.

‘I had period pain!’

‘Did coach give you something?’ Kate asked, trying to get the girl to focus. ‘Did you take the vitamins?’

Amber nodded miserably and Kate could see how it might have happened. If Elliott was clever, he could have divided the sisters and taken Amber’s side, got her to trust him. From there it would have been relatively easy to give her some sort of performance-enhancing substance.

‘Amber!’ Serena took a stride towards her daughter, hand raised as though preparing to slap her before pulling her into a rough hug. ‘Why didn’t you tell me?’

The girl started sobbing. ‘Coach told me not to. He said it was our secret and Lily would be amazed when I started smashing her times.’

‘By cheating,’ Lily snapped. ‘That’s not fair.’

‘Do you still have the vitamins?’ Hollis asked gently. ‘Can we have a look at them?’

Amber nodded and brushed off her mother’s embrace as she got to her feet and left the room.

‘I don’t believe this,’ Serena said. ‘They both know not to take anything. And they know to come to me if anybody offers them drugs.’

From what Kate had witnessed it didn’t seem likely that Amber felt safe trusting her mother or her sister and the girl had probably been struggling with the weight of what Elliott had done. Perhaps he’d worked out the family dynamic and portrayed himself as Amber’s only friend. Perhaps he’d exploited her competitiveness with her sister. They’d never know, but however he’d chosen to do it, he’d managed to split Amber away from her family.

‘Here.’ Amber was back, holding a plastic bottle which claimed to contain multi-vitamins. Hollis slipped on a pair of latex gloves while Kate dug in her handbag for an evidence bag.

‘We’re going to have to take those.’ She held out the bag for Hollis to deposit the bottle. She sealed the bag and filled in the label.

‘If they turn out to be anything dodgy, I’ll kill him,’ Serena said. ‘Nobody messes with my girls. I’ll fucking kill him.’

Hollis looked at Kate and raised his eyebrows. It was time to share the rest of the information they had about Zander Elliott.

CHAPTER 28

The drop-in centre looked like the other houses in a short row of neglected terraces – emphasising the effort that Roz Stainton was putting into her own home. The dark blue paint on the door was peeling and the wooden window frames were rotting around some of the glass panels.

There was nothing to suggest it was a place offering support or solace, but it was the address that Roz had given Warren and she’d been assured that there would be somebody in the building who might be willing to talk. Barratt had been following up a few leads generated by the door-to-door but, when Warren had texted, he had nothing to report so she’d asked him to meet her.

She tightened her scarf around her neck and scanned the street as she waited for Barratt to show up. The wind was bitter and the heavy grey clouds promising rain later did nothing to lift her mood. She’d spoken to Josh the previous evening, outlining her difficult position, caught between his investigation of Zander Elliott’s death and her commitment to her new team. As usual, he hadn’t seen a problem – his case wasn’t part of the pattern and should be treated as a separate inquiry.

She’d explained the coach’s connection to Maya and how Kate needed to be kept informed, but he’d dismissed her boss’s involvement as some sort of power play. As much as Warren wasn’t sure about Kate, she didn’t think she was the type to play games – unlike Josh.

Then there had been the confrontation in the canteen earlier. She hadn’t seen that coming and felt as though her loyalty was in question which was unfair. Just because she hadn’t mentioned Josh to the others it didn’t mean that he was hiding something. She’d got to her current position on her own merit despite having a senior police officer as her boyfriend. That was why she’d kept the relationship quiet – it had nothing to do with her ability to do her job.

Barratt puffed his way towards her, beak-like nose buried in the collar of his coat as he clapped his hands together a few times. ‘Sorry to keep you. Especially in this sodding weather. Old bloke wanted a chat but didn’t have anything to tell me. It was hard to get away, you know how it is sometimes.’

Warren nodded. Typical Barratt. He looked quite intimidating with his broad shoulders and sharp features, but he was never short or abrupt when he was speaking to a member of the public, or a suspect for that matter. The job hadn’t made him hard – unlike Josh.

‘I’ve only been here a couple of minutes,’ she reassured him. ‘Just thought two heads might be better on this one.’ She turned, stripped off a glove and gave the door three sharp taps. A few seconds passed then she heard the sound of footsteps on what sounded like bare wood. Warren took out her ID and held it up before the door was open, allowing whoever was inside no room to question her identity.

The face peering round the door registered no surprise when he saw the two police officers and Warren wondered if this was a regular occurrence. She introduced herself and Barratt then waited to be invited inside.

‘What’s this about?’ the man asked.

‘If we could come ins–’

‘I’m with a client. This isn’t a good time.’

Before Warren could continue, Barratt had taken a step forwards.

‘Sorry, but we really need to talk to someone about Euan Patrick. I assume you know he was murdered?’

A curt nod.

Barratt continued. ‘We’ve been informed that he spent some time here – getting help. We’ve no interest in any of your other clients, this isn’t a raid, but we do need to move quickly if we’re going to find whoever murdered Euan.’

The man looked back at Warren then pushed the door further open, inviting them into a dark hallway. He pointed to a door on the right. ‘In there. I need to finish upstairs then I’ll talk to you.’

The room was sparsely furnished with four plastic chairs and a pine table which was covered in scratches and cigarette burns. The floor was bare wood painted grey and the walls a dingy cream with scuffs and blotches showing where posters had been.

‘Cosy,’ Barratt said with a smile.

Footsteps echoed on the stairs and the front door opened then closed. The man who’d opened the door reappeared and pointed to the chairs.

‘Have a seat. I’ve got about twenty minutes.’

Warren studied him. White, around six feet tall, probably early thirties with a full head of blond hair and matching beard. Ratty grey jumper with holes in both elbows and faded jeans. His blue eyes regarded her coolly but without hostility.

‘You wanted to talk about Euan?’ He pulled out a chair and sat back with one ankle resting on the opposite leg.

‘I assume you’ve heard about the circumstances of his death, Mr…?’

‘Greg. Just Greg. I heard he was found in the alley behind the Dog and Gun. Stabbed.’

Warren nodded. Close enough. ‘Did you know him well?’

‘He’d become something of a regular. Been in and out for about a year.’

‘What is it you do?’ Barratt asked. ‘We’ve been told this is a drop-in centre but not what that means in practical terms.’

‘We try to help people who’re struggling with a range of issues,’ Greg said as if he were delivering a funding pitch. ‘Drugs, alcohol, mental health issues. We’re all trained in counselling and a couple of us have some personal experience of some of the issues.’

‘When you say we, that would be…?’ Warren took out her notebook and pen.

‘I can only speak for myself. My colleagues might not want their names known, we’re all volunteers and have other jobs. We get charity funding for the rent on this place but we’re always trying to find more money. Ideally, we’d like some funding for somebody to work here, paid, full-time so some of the volunteers could take a less hands-on role but that’s not likely to happen in the current climate. More important things for the government to spend money on.’

Warren decided to steer the conversation away from politics before they ended up in a debate about the rights and wrongs of rehabilitation. ‘You say Euan was a regular, was he doing well? Was he staying clean?’

‘Seemed to be. He’d even been talking about doing some training so he could help out. I think he was trying hard to cut ties with the people he’d been working for.’ Greg shifted position, uncrossing his legs and leaning forward. ‘Doncaster’s not well-known for organised crime but there are some nasty bastards around who you wouldn’t want to cross.’

‘We’re trying to piece together his movements,’ Warren said. ‘There’s been a suggestion that his death may have been a drugs deal gone wrong, but others have said Euan was clean and not dealing anymore.’

Greg stared at her, pinching his nose between thumb and forefinger as though considering whether to talk. Eventually he said, ‘I doubt it was a deal. As I said, he seemed to be making a real effort to turn things around. He had a bit of a scare a couple of months ago – I think he slipped and somebody convinced him to sell for them. Or they had something over him. You never know round here – it’s never the same story twice. He swore that was the last time.’

Warren nodded encouragingly while thinking that an ex-drug user turned dealer probably had a thousand ‘last times’. ‘You said he had a scare? What happened?’

Greg dropped his eyes to the scarred tabletop. ‘He was beaten up. Came in one morning covered in bruises. Split lip, black eye and walking with a limp. It took a while to get the whole story – ten minutes of walked into a door and tripped up a kerb before he told me the truth.’

‘Which was?’

‘He’d been caught trying to pass somebody a wrap in the pub and took a beating.’

‘Just a beating,’ Warren asked. ‘No mention of a knife or any other weapon?’

‘Just fists,’ Greg confirmed. ‘One of the regulars tried to separate them. Guy called Finchy.’

‘So was the beating from a rival dealer?’ Barratt asked.

‘That’s the weird thing.’ Greg shook his head. ‘I’d have expected it to be another dealer, but it wasn’t. Euan swore blind that it wasn’t somebody connected to drugs. Took me ages to get anything out of him but eventually he said it was somebody he went to school with. He had no idea why this bloke had gone after him.’

CHAPTER 29

‘Cooper, we need to know where Euan Patrick went to school.’

Cooper resisted a sarcastic ‘Your wish is my command’ in favour of something less acerbic and ended the call. She wouldn’t have had the same reaction if it had been Kate, or one of the other DCs but there was something about Warren’s attitude that raised her hackles.

It was partly because she missed O’Connor and she resented Warren as an outsider, but it seemed to go deeper than that in a way that she couldn’t pinpoint and it was getting harder to hide. The discussion earlier where Warren had revealed that she was engaged to someone on another team hadn’t helped but Cooper knew she had to get on with her job and not get bogged down in what was really just pettiness.

It wasn’t as if it was necessarily an easy task. She’d spent the morning collating information on Euan Patrick but didn’t have much to show for her efforts. Two previous addresses linked to his criminal record, a mobile phone provider and an Instagram account that he didn’t appear to have used in over a year. The only place to look was social media so Cooper logged on to an Instagram account she’d set up for research a few years ago and navigated to Euan Patrick’s feed.

The last post had been a photograph of a tattoo that looked red and raw – obviously fresh ink – showing the Viking and shield of the Doncaster Rovers crest with a slight mistake in the design of the Viking’s sword. The PM report said that Euan had the same tattoo with the same mistake on his left calf. Other photographs showed Euan at various football matches dating back four years.

A quick search of accounts that Euan followed revealed names and profile pictures of thirty-two individuals plus Doncaster Rovers. No schools. Of course it couldn’t be that easy. She’d have to work through each account, check who they were following and see if any local schools came up. She’d then try cross-referencing with other social media platforms to see if she could find out if Euan followed any ex-pupils of the school. Painstaking work but potentially extremely rewarding.

Checking that she was alone in the office and unlikely to disturb anyone else, Cooper scrolled through the music on her phone, chose a Beth Orton album and tapped play.

It had taken Serena a long time and cost her promises of money and treats before she finally managed to persuade the twins to go up to their bedrooms and continue with their studies. Even then, Kate wasn’t convinced they wouldn’t have tiptoed back to the top of the stairs so they could listen. She suspected Amber would probably have done as she was told but Lily wouldn’t allow it, and she doubted very much that either girl was studying.

Kate had intimated to their mother that there’d been a development in their investigation and that it might not be suitable for young ears. Serena had clearly been keen to hear what they had to say.

‘Right. I don’t know what you can’t tell me in front of the girls but it must be bad. We’ve already talked about Maya’s death together.’

Kate looked at Hollis and gave him a brief nod. She wanted to watch Serena’s reaction to the news. To focus on her facial expression and body language in case she gave something away. Did she really not know that Elliott was dead? She’d threatened to kill him. Could she have already committed the deed?

‘Zander Elliott was found dead yesterday,’ Hollis said, keeping the information simple and direct.

Either Serena Burton was a hell of an actress, or she genuinely had no idea. Kate saw her pupils dilate with shock and her facial muscles slacken as they sought an appropriate expression.

‘Where? How?’ Serena looked at Kate as though her superior rank gave her the authority to answer.

‘He was found in a layby close to the river near Sprotborough. We think he was meeting someone who then stabbed him and left him to die.’ Her explanation was deliberately over-dramatic inviting a similar response, but Serena seemed stunned into silence.

‘We don’t know who killed him but we’re unable to rule out a connection with Maya’s murder.’

Realisation dawned with an expression of shock.

‘What I said earlier… that I’d kill him. I didn’t… I mean I don’t… It wasn’t me. Is that why you’re here? You knew about the drugs and you think it could be a parent who’d found out and killed him?’

It wasn’t far from one possible scenario, but Kate was convinced that they weren’t looking at Zander Elliott’s killer. The shock and panic seemed utterly genuine.

‘We don’t know at this stage,’ Hollis said.

‘Could it be the same person who killed Maya? Oh, God! Are my girls at risk? Could they be next?’

‘It seems unlikely,’ Kate said, striving for a reassuring tone but unable to convincingly tell Serena that her daughters were safe. What if the killer was targeting members of the swimming club? Maybe Euan Patrick was connected in some way they’d yet to find.

‘Unlikely? That’s not going to help me sleep at night. What are you going to do to protect my children?’

Kate passed Serena a business card. ‘Here’s my number. Feel free to call if you see or hear anything suspicious. Stay vigilant but I honestly don’t think there’s any cause for alarm.’ It sounded trite but it was all Kate could offer at this point in the investigation. They had nothing to suggest that any other member of the swimming team might be a target.

Serena snatched the card and squashed it into the front pocket of her jeans. ‘What am I supposed to tell Amber and Lily? They idolised their coach. How can I tell them he’s dead?’

The sound of a door closing at the top of the stairs suggested she wouldn’t have to.

Cooper checked her notes again and placed a tick next to St John’s Catholic School. She was cross referencing the people Euan followed with any schools that they mentioned or, from their Facebook accounts, attended. So far, she had three who probably went to the academy in Thorpe, two who had definitely attended The Groves – Maya Marshall’s school – and five who seemed to have links to St John’s. Of those five, three followed Euan. It was enough for Cooper to search Euan’s name and St John’s together to see if she could find out if that’s where he’d gone to school.

Her first search wasn’t very promising. Euan Patrick wasn’t a common name but she found a few men called Patrick St John, none of whom were of any interest. She changed the parameters to include images and finally struck gold.

On the screen was a black-and-white photograph of a school football team. It was St John’s first eleven from around ten years previously and there, front left, was a young Euan Patrick. He had his arms folded and an intense expression suggesting that he was serious about his game and not to be messed with. On a man it might have looked threatening but, on a teenager, it looked slightly ridiculous as if he were trying just a little too hard to grow up.

She printed the photograph then clicked on the next image. Another football team a year later. Some of the faces were the same – Euan Patrick at the back this time, obviously having experienced a growth spurt – but others had changed. Cooper scanned the list of names to check whether any were among the five that had stayed in touch with Euan. Two were familiar but the final name on the list made her catch her breath. It couldn’t be.

Switching windows, she navigated to the school’s website to check whether they mentioned previous students who’d gone on to make a name for themselves. Under ‘Alumni’ her suspicions were confirmed. This changed everything.

CHAPTER 30

‘He lied to us!’ Kate saw Hollis flinch and tried to rein in her outrage to stop him driving them into the central barrier.

‘Luke Wilson said he’d never seen Euan Patrick before, but Sam’s found a school photo with them on the same football team. His body being found behind Wilson’s pub could have been a coincidence but not this as well. He looked at the photo we showed him and lied to our faces.’

‘Why was Cooper trying to find out where Euan Patrick went to school?’ Hollis asked. It was a good question.

‘Warren asked her if she could find out. No idea why or even if she was looking for a connection between Euan and Luke Wilson. I’ll give Warren a ring.’

Two minutes later, as instructed, Hollis was trying to find somewhere to turn round so they could pay Luke Wilson another visit.

‘I don’t get it,’ Hollis said. ‘Why would Wilson beat up Euan? Some beef from school? Drugs?’

Kate had no idea but she was determined to find out, and Warren was already hunting down ‘Finchy’. If Wilson really had assaulted Euan Patrick, then it gave them reason to question him further, possibly under caution. But he was slippery – she’d seen that in their previous interviews, and she needed to work out how to approach their next encounter.

Kate had considered calling first but not explaining why they needed to speak to him again, giving him time to prepare a story that they could then pick apart, but that was too much of a gamble. He was a bright man and had probably realised it wouldn’t take long for the police to make the school connection. Best to catch him by surprise.

‘I hate these bloody things,’ she said as Hollis pushed the button on the video doorbell. ‘They always put us at a disadvantage. The person inside knows who we are and they don’t have to answer the door if they don’t want to talk to us.’

Luke Wilson either didn’t check the video feed or didn’t see this visit as any kind of threat as he opened the door with a bored expression. ‘What now?’

‘We have some new evidence we’d like to discuss with you,’ Kate said. ‘And I’d very much like to know why you lied to us.’

A fleeting look of panic passed across his features before he pushed the door wider. ‘Come in then. But I don’t have anything else to tell you about the death of that young girl.’

Kate wondered if he was deliberately focusing on Maya, still trying to distance himself from Euan Patrick. It wasn’t going to work though.

As she passed the door to the living room, she glanced inside, wondering how Wilson had been spending his day. A laptop was open on the coffee table and a scattered pile of A4 pages suggested he’d been doing some sort of paperwork.

‘Keeping your accounts up to date?’ she asked, her tone conversational.

‘What?’ Wilson sat on a high stool next to the breakfast bar and spun it round to face her.

‘The laptop and papers. Looks like you were busy. Sorry to interrupt.’

He smiled thinly, recognising the insincerity of her apology. ‘Just making notes for my next presentation. I like to make each one different, keep it fresh.’

His face and neck coloured as though she’d caught him in a lie and he was embarrassed. She’d love to have an excuse to have a look at that laptop or, better still, give it to Cooper.

Kate sat on the opposite stool, facing Wilson across a shiny expanse of grey marble while Hollis stayed by the door.

‘So what’s this about?’ Wilson asked.

‘Euan Patrick.’

‘Who?’

Kate wanted to reach over the counter and shake him. ‘The body we found behind your pub. We showed you a photograph. His name was Euan Patrick.’

Wilson stared at her.

‘You said you’d never seen him before. Do you remember that?’

‘Because I hadn’t.’

‘You had your eyes closed all through school? And again a few weeks ago when you gave him a beating?’ She held up her phone to show Wilson the photograph of the football team. ‘You went to the same school. Played on the same team.’

Wilson’s eyes narrowed. ‘He’d obviously changed. I didn’t recognise him from the photo you showed me.’

‘And did you recognise him when you beat him up at the Dog and Gun?’

Wilson smiled. ‘Who says I beat him up?’

‘He did. And we’re working on CCTV footage as we speak. We’re also canvassing the local area and we have the name of a witness who tried to stop you punching Euan. We’ll be interviewing him later today.’

Only the part about the witness was true, but Kate was already planning to find anything she could about the incident. After speaking to Warren, her gut was telling her that Wilson was hiding something, and Kate intended to find out exactly what had happened with Euan Patrick.

‘I’m guessing that the beating wasn’t enough, so you decided to finish the job with a knife,’ she said. ‘Let me guess… you waited in the alley, jumped him and dragged him into the dark. Maybe you only wanted to scare him off, give him a final warning. Is that it?’

Wilson shook his head. ‘You can’t prove any of this. Even if you find something which backs up this story that I beat him up you can’t prove I killed him because I didn’t.’

He was being careful. There was no outright denial of the beating, but he was very clear about the murder.

‘As soon as we’ve interviewed the witness, I’ll be back to caution you and take you to Doncaster HQ. If you really expect us to believe that one assault didn’t lead to murder, you really ought to think about what we might find out. I’m wondering if the beating was some kind of warning, but Euan didn’t take the hint. I’d guess he was dealing drugs in your pub and when he was still trying it on after he’d been told to back off you decided to get rid of him.’

Wilson ran his forefinger up and down the bridge of his nose and seemed about to speak when Kate’s phone rang. Warren. Kate listened to what the DS had to say then ended the call and grinned at Hollis.

‘Warren’s found Finchy and he’s given her a statement confirming the assault on Euan Patrick. So, Luke Wilson, you do not have to say anything–’

‘No!’ He didn’t allow her to finish. ‘I didn’t kill Euan. I admit I punched him a few times but that’s all. He was dealing drugs and we’re trying to clean up the pub, change its reputation. I recognised him from school and tried to have a quiet word, but he threatened to tell everybody that I was a bully at school and he’d destroy my life. I just lost it. I didn’t kill him. I wouldn’t.’

Kate considered her options. She could arrest Wilson for assault but, with his victim dead, there wouldn’t be a case to answer and it wouldn’t get anywhere near a court. They could take Wilson into Doncaster for questioning, but his admission of assault wouldn’t automatically lead to being able to charge him for murder and they could only hold him for twenty-four hours without charge.

His connection with Maya Marshall was tenuous until they could find out more about the car that picked her up after Wilson’s talk and the only link with Zander Elliott was that they were both swimmers. Her gut was telling her that something was off about Wilson, but she was starting to feel like she’d allowed her anger to fuel this interview, and she needed to step back and take stock.

Hollis was looking at her curiously, as though he couldn’t anticipate what she might do next, and who could blame him. She didn’t really have a plan. By confessing to the assault, Wilson had taken some of the heat out of her accusations, but she didn’t think he’d realised that yet, which gave her time to do more digging.

‘We’re going to speak to this witness,’ she told him. ‘He might have seen you there on the night that Euan Patrick was murdered.’

‘Impossible,’ Wilson said. ‘I was at home.’

She was about to tell him that being at home didn’t constitute an alibi when there was a thump on the ceiling from the room above. ‘Is there somebody else here?’

Wilson shook his head. ‘No. I’m on my own. I was working on my presentation. There’s a window open in my bedroom. It’s probably a gust of wind catching the blind and knocking something off the windowsill.’

Kate nodded. ‘Okay. We’ll let you go and tidy up. You’re still a suspect, especially now you’ve confessed to assault, so don’t plan on going anywhere.’

‘What now?’ Hollis asked as he slid into the driver’s seat of the car. ‘We don’t have enough to arrest him. The assault’s nothing without a victim.’

‘I know. But something’s off about him. He’s not being straight with us about something, even if it’s not the murder. And that crap about something being knocked off a windowsill.’

‘Crap?’

‘Dan, there’s not a breath of wind today.’

A damp mist is forming above the moist grass as he waits in his car. He’s already deactivated the interior lights, so he’ll be able to sneak out without drawing attention to himself and now, watching the path, he feels a sense of peace in the darkness.

His earliest memories are of the dark. Being locked up, in pain and uncertain of what was to come. He learned to make the darkness his own, his sanctuary and now, with this project, it has become his ally. He remembers a song from his childhood and whispers to himself, ‘Hello darkness, my old friend.’

Feeling foolish, he glances around as though someone might have heard him talking to himself. He knows the consequences of seeming odd, different, loony. But there’s nobody to hear him and he settles lower in his seat; eyes fixed on the path running through the small park.

He knows her routes and routines. He knows she’ll be here soon then she’ll never be here again. Is that a line from another song? He can’t remember but there’s something familiar about the words as he rolls them around his mind.

Movement.

A figure materialises from the shadows, the stride confident and purposeful despite her diminutive stature, almost as if she was daring him to approach, challenging him – or is it a warning? He presses the boot release and opens the car door gently, silently easing out into the inky blackness of the winter street.

The end of the path is just behind him and he turns, pulling his woollen cap further down, almost to his eyes. It’s not a disguise; he doesn’t need to hide his features because who’s she going to tell? Dead men tell no tales. Or dead women. He uses his dark hat and clothing to blend into the night, to become the darkness.

She’s almost level with him before she realises he’s there and only manages a surprised ‘Oh,’ as he grabs her upper arm and pivots her towards the car. Two strides and he’s toppling her into the gaping mouth of the car boot.

Her muffled screams don’t bother him as he negotiates the icy roads to his place. He knows any pedestrians will be huddled into their warm coats and scarves, or deafened to her distress by headphones.

Finally, he sees the turning ahead and flicks on his indicator light. He pulls up on the frozen gravel and gets out of the car debating his next move. He knows she’s fit and intelligent. She’ll have a plan. He needs to wrong foot her, to catch her off guard, make her feel like she has the upper hand. He smiles at his own imagery – hands, feet – mixed metaphors. She might be clever but he has instinct, he’s an animal in his own habitat and there will be no escape.

He opens the boot of the car and steps back allowing her a view of the sky, the possibility of escape, but she doesn’t move so he waits. His patience is immeasurable, endless – she can’t out-wait him.

A tentative hand, pale against the blackness of the boot’s interior. A face, slowly rising like the moon in a winter sky. She shifts position, sitting up carefully and he senses her wariness, smells her fear. He moves further into the shadows and watches as she eases herself from her cramped prison.

He steps into her eyeline and she flinches.

‘Who are you?’ she asks.

‘I am the darkness,’ he tells her.

And the game begins again.

CHAPTER 31

‘Are you mistrusting your own judgement?’ Alec asked.

Kate considered the question. Was it her judgement she was doubting or was the issue bigger than that? Was she actually reassessing her ability to do the job?

‘I’m not sure,’ she said. ‘When I got back to work I felt a bit shaky, a bit uncertain in some ways but, working this case, I was starting to feel more like myself. It’s the white-hot anger that’s unsettling. I’ve never had a short fuse, but I was furious with a suspect for lying to us and, frankly, that’s what most of them do. I don’t know why this would be different.’

‘Do you think you might be expecting too much from yourself? You’ve started back at work with a case that seems to be very frustrating and it’s possible you thought you’d do better? You’re not feeling the same towards the rest of the team?’

Kate shook her head. ‘No. If anything, I expected them to struggle with my return and I thought it would take a while to get back to how we used to be, especially after Steve’s injuries, but they’ve all been solid.’

‘Even Hollis?’

It was a fair question. Kate had explained how he’d seemed dissatisfied and distant and tried to shoulder the blame, but Alec hadn’t allowed her that indulgence. Whatever had been bothering Dan seemed to have dissipated as he’d engaged with the double murder and she hoped that he was adjusting to having her back.

‘Even Hollis. I had to have words with the new DS about her loyalties but, hopefully, we’ve sorted that out. I think I’m feeling like I should be able to do more to move everything forward.’

Alec smiled at her. They’d spoken at length about her unrealistic expectations and the pressures she placed on herself. ‘Kate, is it possible that this case is complex and will take time? You can only work with the evidence you have. You can’t make something out of nothing and that isn’t your fault. We’ve spoken about internalising responsibility, and you’ve acknowledged that you’re only human. You can only do so much. I suspect your anger is due to frustration.’

‘I know it is,’ Kate admitted. ‘But I can’t allow it to affect my judgement or my behaviour.’

‘So recognise it. Instead of letting it control you, take a step back. Feel it but recognise it for what it is. Instead of allowing it to dominate, accept it and name it.’

Kate was puzzled. That seemed contradictory.

‘I can see you’re not sure,’ Alec continued. ‘Next time you feel the anger building, try to step aside and look at it from a new angle. Acknowledge the feeling but objectively. Here’s that anger again – I wonder what that’s about. There’s nothing wrong with feeling it, but you can control it, analyse it and potentially defuse it. Make sense?’

It did but Kate wasn’t sure she’d be able to apply Alec’s suggestion in the heat of her building fury but having him tell her that what she was feeling was valid was a help, and she could do her best to apply his advice. If only she could convince herself that she was a big enough, stable enough person to make it work.

‘Time, Kate.’

She looked at her watch. The session still had a few minutes left.

‘Not time’s up,’ he said, grinning at her obvious confusion. ‘Give it more time. I know it seems like your progress is slow but you’re back at work, your team are supporting you, and you’re doing what you love. Every one of those things is a win. And…’ He paused.

‘And?’

‘And, now your time’s up.’

The team office was buzzing when Kate pushed through the double doors. Barratt was on the phone, Cooper was tapping on her computer and Hollis and Warren were studying something on Warren’s tablet, heads together as they shared ideas. This was what Kate loved about the job, the camaraderie, the teamwork, and it was uplifting to see that it was returning, galvanising her colleagues into action and binding them together.

‘Right,’ she said. ‘What have I missed?’

Hollis raised his head, excitement clear in the brightness of his eyes. ‘You haven’t checked your email?’

He didn’t know where Kate had been for the first hour of the working day, she’d just told them she’d be late, but she felt a prickle of accusation in his question. It wasn’t Hollis’s fault though, she reminded herself. What could he possibly have been accusing her of? She was his boss and she knew he respected and trusted her – there was no malice in his words. As soon as she allowed herself to acknowledge that, she felt her irritation ebb away. Maybe Alec was right.

‘Lab results from Kailisa. The blood spatter on the alley wall can’t be Euan Patrick’s. And it isn’t old. Something about the deterioration of the cells and the separation of fluids – I don’t know – but it’s almost definitely the killer’s blood.’

‘DNA?’ Kate asked, sharing Hollis’s excitement. ‘This could be huge.’

‘Yep. But the result will take time and there might not be a match on the database.’

‘Ah.’ Disappointing but at least it meant that, if they developed a probable suspect, once they had the results, they could swab and compare. Which made her think of Luke Wilson. If she asked him for a DNA sample, he’d have the opportunity to prove his innocence. If he refused, she’d have to wonder why. This could be the leverage she needed with him.

‘Okay, let’s see where we are in light of this news and get moving.’ She sat halfway down one side of the large central desk and waited until the others joined her, each choosing a seat where they wanted – no hierarchy, no head of table. She watched Warren, who usually seemed unsure of her place, but the DS simply pulled out the nearest chair and placed her tablet on the wooden surface in front of her.

‘Sam. What’ve you got?’ Kate asked.

Cooper turned her laptop round so they could all see the screen. A dark-coloured hatchback was frozen in the racecourse car park.

‘The car we’re looking for is a Dacia Sandero, second generation. Took a while and a lot of different enhancement programmes but that’s what it is. Colour unknown but definitely dark. Cheap and cheerful and not as common as some of our other possibles: Golf, Fiesta et cetera. No way to read the index number so I’m going to start with local dealers and work outwards. Hopefully whoever bought it didn’t get it from an advert in the paper or Facebook or eBay. I’ve also got the CCTV footage from the Dog and Gun, so I’ll do a trawl for Wilson and Euan Patrick.’

‘Great work,’ Kate said. ‘Maeve?’

‘I’ve been collating statements from the door-to-door around the pub. Euan Patrick was known to a number of residents but nobody mentioned Luke Wilson by name or description. Nothing yet to help us with a suspect.’

She paused and Kate sensed she was holding back, uncertain about something.

‘Go on.’

Warren took a deep breath. ‘The Zander Elliott case isn’t the same as our two. Different blade, no strangulation. Anderson’s team are working on the assumption that he was lured to the layby by someone he knew and likely trusted. His phone wasn’t found which suggests that whoever killed him took it, probably to hide their contact. They might be able to get something from his provider but that will take a while. They’re also looking at parents of the children he coached and also coaches of rival teams.’

Anderson hadn’t shared any of this with Kate, so Warren had obviously made a choice about her loyalties. Kate wondered if Warren’s fiancé knew she was sharing information about his case.

‘We have the possibility that Elliott was encouraging members of the squad to use performance-enhancing drugs.’ Kate gave them a brief account of the visit to the Burton family including the tablets they’d taken for testing.

‘I think we need to get someone back to the Marshalls house to see if Maya had been hiding any pills. We know the inhaler wasn’t prescribed to her but there may be something else that she’d been given but not tried taking – at least nothing that showed up in the toxicology report. Warren, can you follow that up please? Matt? Anything to add?’

Barratt hadn’t been allocated a discrete line of enquiry, but he was excellent at overview and Kate knew she could rely on him to bring the threads of a case together.

‘I’ve been thinking about Maya Marshall. Why would she get into a car with a stranger? We have an Instagram account in Luke Wilson’s name which he denies setting up, and which is different from his official account. Either Wilson used the fake account to groom her, or somebody used her interest in Wilson to convince her that her hero was sending her messages.’

Nods of agreement from everyone.

‘If Wilson is our killer we can use the DNA evidence, if he’s willing to give a sample. It will confirm or eliminate him in the Euan Patrick case and, I suppose, based on the similarities, the Maya Marshall case. I reckon we need to dig into the communication between Maya and ‘Wilson’. Ask her family for access to any other accounts – check with the sister. We seem very focused on Wilson but we can’t allow ourselves to develop tunnel vision. There may be no connection between Maya and Euan. This could be opportunistic.’

Kate thought about what he’d said and her own visceral response to Luke Wilson. Barratt was right – they needed to keep their enquiries as wide as possible.

‘Thanks. Warren, can you follow that up when you visit Maya’s family? Find out about all her social media. Matt, can you ask around the other members of the swimming team and their families, see if any of them have been contacted Luke Wilson or somebody pretending to be him. Dan, as you and I have such a close relationship with Wilson I think we should pay him a visit and ask for a DNA sample.’

Hollis nodded.

‘I’m going to continue the door-to-door around the pub – maybe widen the radius – but I’m going to hand that over to uniform and use civilian support to collate the statements. Maeve, you did a great job in helping to identify Euan Patrick but it’s time to hand that part of the enquiry over. I think we–’   

Kate’s phone rang before she could finish her sentence. As she listened to the person on the other end of the line her heart started racing. ‘That was a senior doctor from the DRI. Ambulance got a 999 call to a possible abduction and strangulation last night. The woman was found on scrubland between Thorpe and Doncaster.’

‘Same signature?’ Barratt asked. ‘Her underwear?’

‘It sounds like it,’ Kate said. ‘But I’m going to the hospital to find out. If it’s the same person, he didn’t manage to kill this victim.’

CHAPTER 32

Doncaster Royal Infirmary towered over them, a block of grey concrete and dull glass which had been the main treatment centre for the region since the late nineteen sixties. This was only the second time Kate had visited since she’d nearly died at the hands of someone she was trying to arrest.

The previous week she’d attended a postmortem but had accessed the modern pathology suite from the rear. Faced with the brutal bulk of the front of the building she couldn’t help but look up and wonder what might have happened if Dan hadn’t intervened.

‘You okay?’ Hollis asked. He knew what she must be feeling, he’d been there with her and he’d saved her. How could she have lost sight of that? Whatever Hollis was going through she owed him her time and support. After all, she owed him her life.

‘Fine,’ she lied. ‘Just not completely happy to be back here.’

He nodded then headed for the main entrance leaving her to face the building on her own terms. And really, that’s all it was – a building. It wasn’t responsible for what had happened to her – that person was in jail – but she still didn’t want to go inside. It felt strange that this huge mass, looming like a battleship on the horizon, was the scene of two of the most significant events in her recent history. Yes, she had almost died here but she’d also met Nick during a different investigation, and, for that, she’d always be thankful.

She imagined what Alec would say and tried to step aside from her anxiety to prove that there was nothing here that could harm her. It was just a building; the past was the past and she had a job to do.

Sophia Douglas’s face was almost as white as the pillow that had been propped behind her head and, with her eyes closed and her breathing shallow, Kate wasn’t entirely convinced she was still alive. She’d been placed in a bed in a single room and, as Kate had requested on the short drive to the hospital, a uniformed officer had been waiting outside – keeping guard. Sophia looked awful, but she was safe and might be their best chance of catching whoever had killed Maya and Euan.

A doctor stood close to the bed, shirt and tie beneath his white coat indicating seniority, watching closely and obviously willing to step in if he felt his patient wasn’t being handled carefully.

‘Sophia?’ Kate said quietly.

The woman’s eyelids fluttered like butterfly wings but failed to stay open.

‘She’s under quite heavy sedation,’ the doctor said, extending his wrist and checking his watch. ‘Should be starting to wear off but if she’s in pain I’ll up her dosage.’

Kate nodded and tried the woman’s name again. This time there was no response.

‘Do you have any background to her admission? How do we know her name?’ Kate asked the doctor. He dug his hands into his trouser pockets and leaned back against the windowsill making it difficult to see his features clearly as he was silhouetted against the bright white sky.

‘She was picked up by an ambulance late last night. A shift worker walking his dog spotted her. It seems he thought she was dead, but the paramedics found a pulse. She has epilepsy and wears an SOS bracelet.’

Strange that her abductor didn’t remove it, Kate thought. But it was also odd that he’d left her alive. Had he been disturbed? Spooked? Or was he in a hurry?

‘The bracelet was hidden by the cuff of her blouse,’ the doctor continued as though reading Kate’s thoughts. ‘It was discovered when she was undressed after arriving here. We’ve contacted her parents but they’re on holiday in Australia. They’re trying to arrange flights home.’

‘I’ll need to speak to the paramedics who responded to the scene,’ Kate said. ‘I hope they got contact details for the man who found her.’

The doctor nodded to Sophia’s medical notes which were on a clipboard at the end of the bed. ‘Probably something in there. We keep digital records of course but still use the paper system for anyone who’s admitted as an emergency. The circumstances of her admission should be recorded, as she was brought in by ambulance. That will include the name and address of whoever found her.’

Hollis unhooked the notes and started flicking through, pausing to take his notebook out of his pocket and scribble something on a clean page. In the bed Sophia shifted and moaned. Her head tilted to one side and Kate saw the stark red mark left by a ligature.

The similarity to Maya Marshall’s injury was striking, as was the woman’s colouring – dark red hair and pale skin. Was it possible that whoever did this had a ‘type’ and Euan Patrick was some sort of mistake? If so, where did that leave them with Luke Wilson?

Sophia shifted again and mumbled something.

Kate took a step closer and leaned down trying to make out words. ‘Sophia? Do you know where you are?’

The eyelids fluttered again but this time they opened slightly allowing Kate a glimpse of dilated pupils and a thin circle of amber iris like a ring around a planet.

‘I’m…  I don’t know.’ The woman’s voice was low and harsh, the effort of speaking causing her to cough. Her eyes opened wider, and she frowned in confusion. ‘Hospital?’

‘You’re safe,’ Kate said. ‘You’ve been hurt but you’re safe now. I’m a police officer. The doctors are looking after you. Are you in pain?’

Sophia shook her head slowly. ‘Not really. Thirsty.’

The doctor crossed to the bed and pressed a buzzer that was nestling next to the pillow. ‘I’ll get you some crushed ice.’

Kate tapped Hollis on the shoulder indicating that they should leave the room. ‘Give her a minute.’

They waited in the corridor with the officer who’d been assigned to guard the door. A nurse dashed in and out then returned carrying a plastic cup.

‘Anybody else been in?’ Kate asked. ‘Other than medical staff?’

The PC shook his head. ‘No, Ma’am.’

She saw Hollis fail to hide a grin. He knew she hated Ma’am more than Boss or Guv, but she just nodded her thanks and crossed the corridor to lean on the opposite wall. Checking her phone, she was surprised that there were no messages from the other members of her team. Although, she thought, that could be good news – at least they were busy.

‘Did you get the details of the man who found her?’

Hollis took out his notebook. ‘Jamie Myers. He works in the office of the Amazon warehouse, lives in Balby.’

‘And he was walking his dog in the middle of nowhere late at night?’

Hollis looked at Kate, down at the page and back at Kate.

‘Sorry. I know you’ve only got the basics. We’ll ask him.’

The nurse left Sophia’s room again looking straight ahead as if she was trying to avoid eye contact and the possibility of being questioned.

‘Try again?’

Sophia was sitting up, propped against the pillows looking slightly disorientated but conscious. The mark on her neck was more obvious as the hospital gown flopped open exposing part of her shoulders and upper chest.

‘Sophia? Do you know where you are?’

‘DRI,’ she whispered.

‘And do you remember how you got here?’

The younger woman looked at the doctor like he might have the answer. When he gave her nothing, she closed her eyes.

‘Do you remember what you were doing last night?’

‘Working. I’d just finished my shift at the restaurant. I got the last bus then walked home but…’

Kate waited, watching as Sophia’s eyes opened and widened.

‘But I didn’t go home. There was someone there.’ Her breathing started to quicken and slashes of red appeared on her cheeks as her eyes grew glassy. ‘He… he grabbed me and threw me in the boot of a car. I remember the noise of the engine then darkness. Oh, God. That’s what he said “I am the darkness”. I got out of the boot, but he grabbed me again then… I can’t remember. I can’t remember.’

She reached for the cup on the bedside table and poured ice chips into her mouth, crunching frantically as she tried to quell her panic.

‘Sophia, I’m sorry to put you through this,’ Kate said gently. ‘But we want to catch whoever did this to you. Can you remember anything about him? Height? Build? What about his voice?’

‘He seemed stronger than me,’ Sophia said almost apologetically. ‘There was nothing I could do. He caught me by surprise. I should have been more careful, paid attention.’

‘None of this is your fault,’ Hollis said, his voice slightly ragged with suppressed anger. ‘You did nothing wrong.’

‘I can’t remember anything about him,’ Sophia said. ‘He was behind me all the time. It was dark and I couldn’t see.’

‘But you heard him,’ Kate prompted. ‘Can you describe his voice?’

She closed her eyes as though listening to music that only she could hear. ‘Low. His voice was low and quiet. I think he might have been putting it on.’

‘Putting it on?’

She nodded. ‘You know, like when kids pretend to be a monster and they make their voices gruff. I can hear it in my head and it didn’t sound natural.’

‘But it wasn’t a voice you recognised? It wasn’t somebody you know?’

‘I don’t know anybody who’d do something like this. I don’t know anybody who’d want to hurt me.’

Kate nodded. It was time to push Sophia a little further, despite her fragility. She could have crucial information about her attacker and might not even know it. ‘Sophia, he’s done this before. You’re not the first person he’s attacked.’

‘You mean, like a serial killer?’ she whispered, looking around the room as if she thought he might be lurking somewhere. ‘No, that’s … no.’

‘Does the name Maya Marshall mean anything to you?’

Sophia thought for a second. ‘No, sorry.’

‘Zander Elliott?’

A shake of the head.

‘Euan Patrick?’

‘No. I don’t know any of these people. Is one of them the person who attacked me?’

‘They’re victims,’ Kate said. ‘At least two of the murders bear some similarities to your attack.’

‘Shit,’ she hissed. ‘How come I’m alive and they’re dead? I could have been killed last night.’ She trembled as the truth of what had happened to her started to become real.

‘What about Luke Wilson?’

Sophia visibly stopped shaking, her eyes widening with shock. ‘Luke’s dead? No. He can’t be. Somebody would have told me.’

CHAPTER 33

Gemma O’Connor looked genuinely pleased to see Barratt as she opened the door and looked him up and down with her usual mock-flirtatious smile. ‘Aren’t you a sight for sore… anything really.’

Barratt grinned back. ‘You know me, ibuprofen on legs.’

Gemma laughed. ‘I wouldn’t put that on your dating profile; you’ll be inundated with old biddies with Zimmer frames.’

She led him into the house and opened the door to the sitting room. ‘Lazy bastard’s in his usual spot. I’ll put the kettle on – he won’t offer.’

She stepped back to evade a cushion launched at her by her husband, but Barratt hadn’t anticipated the attack and took it full in the face.

‘Oy!’ he protested. ‘That’s no way to greet guests.’ He stooped, picked up the cushion and threw it back, pleased to see O’Connor catch it easily with no grimace of pain.

‘Come in then,’ O’Connor said from the sofa. ‘I’ve been making a list of jobs for you. We could do with a new roof for starters – ladder’s out back.’

Barratt laughed. ‘Save that one for Dan. He won’t need a ladder. I just wanted to call round to see how you’re doing.’

O’Connor’s daft grin faded at the serious question and he shuffled round until both feet were on the ground. ‘Trying to spend more time sitting up. And I’m hobbling around on my crutches a bit better.’

‘Pain?’

O’Connor dropped his eyes to the surface of the coffee table where a packet of co-codamol sat next to an empty glass. ‘Not great. Had to try something a bit stronger than the paracetamols this morning. The doc said it might go in phases, and the pain could be a sign of healing.’

Barratt could see that his former colleague wasn’t convinced by this explanation and the disappointment was clear in his eyes. He’d been so pleased to have his drugs cut right down last time they’d spoken.

Gemma nudged the door open with a hip and set two mugs down in front of her husband. ‘Take no notice of him feeling sorry for himself. He’s had a couple of bad nights that’s all. The doctor said it’s to be expected. You’re not fucking Superman.’

O’Connor gave her a faint smile. ‘I know. It feels like a bit of a setback, that’s all.’

Gemma folded her arms. ‘And what about when you came out into the garden while I was clearing up out there? And you shelved most of your own books. For Christ’s sake, Steve, you’re doing brilliantly but you’ve got to know when to take it easy for a bit.’

O’Connor looked suitably chastened and Barratt wondered how often versions of this conversation took place. Having worked together for nearly a decade, Barratt knew his former colleague wouldn’t naturally ask for help with anything. He followed hunches and went down all kinds of rabbit holes in search of the truth about every case they’d ever worked on, and it had often got him into trouble with both sides – police and criminals.

That this trait had ended O’Connor’s career hadn’t come as a huge surprise. He’d been doing what he did best, in his own way and, this time, it had cost him nearly everything.

‘I’ll leave you to it,’ Gemma said huffily, and Barratt could see how frustrated she must be with her husband – the man she’d been on the verge of divorcing before his accident and now the man she’d promised to help heal.

‘Any further forward with the case?’ O’Connor asked as soon as Gemma had closed the door behind them. He’d obviously been following the news reports and, possibly, Hollis had filled him in on some of the details.

Barratt considered his response. Technically, he shouldn’t be talking to anybody who wasn’t a police officer, but he’d come there to bounce ideas off someone he trusted and respected. In his role as Detective Sergeant, O’Connor had brought an almost encyclopaedic knowledge of previous cases and was excellent at bringing the various strands of an investigation together. They weren’t getting very far with the murders so Barratt wanted to see if O’Connor could help him unlock a new line of enquiry. He knew their conversation would be confidential but, even if Kate did find out, she’d probably agree it was for the greater good. Besides, Barratt felt the need to break the rules once in a while.

‘We’re struggling, if I’m being honest. We’ve got two murders which look similar and a potential suspect. Dan and Kate have gone to DRI to interview another probable victim who survived. I hope she can tell us something new.’

‘What about the victims? Why do you think there’s a link?’

Barratt started with the discovery of Maya Marshall’s body, giving O’Connor as much detail as possible including the time, date and everything he knew about the crime scene and the body. He included the dark hatchback and Maya’s visit to the racecourse to hear Luke Wilson’s talk.

‘But she wasn’t killed on the riverbank?’ O’Connor asked.

‘Unlikely. Livor patterns suggest the body was somewhere else for a while.’

‘And the second one?’

Barratt described the discovery of Euan Patrick’s body and the link to one of the owners of the pub where he was found.

‘And you think this Luke Wilson might be your killer? His name’s come up in both cases.’

‘Could be.’

‘Bit obvious,’ O’Connor said. ‘The murders lead straight back to him. It’s not like you’ve had to do a lot of digging around. What about the swimming coach?’

As he recounted the details of the stabbing of Zander Elliott, Barratt could hear the differences.

‘Not the same killer,’ O’Connor stated bluntly. ‘No ligature, no signature with the underwear. I think you’re looking for two different people.’ He paused and frowned. ‘Talk me through the scenes again. And the bodies.’

Barratt obliged, watching as O’Connor’s frown of concentration deepened.

‘This is familiar. I don’t know if it’s the locations or the method or the trouser thing, but this is ringing bells.’

Exactly what Barratt had hoped for. Fresh eyes but, behind them, years of experience.

‘Look, mate. I don’t know when or where but I’ve heard of something very similar. I assume Cooper’s done the usual database trawl?’

Barratt nodded. ‘Of course.’

‘Then get Kate to get on some of the forums. Shit, get everybody on it. He’s done this before – I just don’t remember the details.’

CHAPTER 34

‘He’s your ex-boyfriend?’ Kate couldn’t quite believe what she was hearing. Was Luke Wilson taking the piss, daring them to stop him? Sophia had been devastated when she believed he was a victim and, despite their break-up, she seemed to have genuine feelings for the man. As did Kate. Feelings of anger and resentment.

‘When did you split up?’ Hollis asked.

‘Just after his cancer diagnosis.’ She seemed to be regaining some strength and lucidity, perhaps the drugs were starting to wear off. ‘It was my fault and I’ve felt guilty ever since. We were both teenagers and I didn’t want to spend the rest of my life looking after him. It was cruel and selfish, I know, but he gave me the option of leaving him before things got worse and that’s what I did. I’m not proud of it but I was a kid. Kids do stupid things.’

Hollis was scribbling in his notebook, so Kate jumped in. ‘How did Luke take the break-up? Was he upset? Angry?’

‘Upset,’ Sophia nodded. ‘Definitely upset. But I think he was more upset about his swimming career. He told me he was going to qualify for the Olympics but then…’

It certainly gave Wilson a motive, Kate thought. Revenge for leaving him when he was at his lowest. But why now? If they’d split up before his treatment, would he wait seven or eight years to make his ex suffer?

‘When did you last see Luke? Have you kept in touch?’

Sophia sighed and leaned back into her pillows.

The doctor moved to the bed and studied her face. ‘I think she’s had enough questions for now. Try again later. She needs rest.’

‘I’m okay,’ Sophia protested. ‘I haven’t really seen Luke to speak to in about four years. We’d sometimes bump into each other around town or on a night out and it was always awkward – he made a point of ignoring me. I don’t think he’s forgiven me and, if I’m honest, I’m not sure I’ve forgiven myself.’

‘And, when you did see him, how did he seem? Still upset?’

‘No.’ She shook her head. ‘He just looked right through me. I think it might have been better if he was upset. At least we could have had a row and got stuff off our chests.’

‘You said you haven’t seen him to talk to. What does that mean?’

Despite her fatigue, a blush briefly coloured Sophia’s cheeks. ‘I went to one of his events last year. I was curious, wanted to know what he had to say. He was inspirational – there’s no other word for it – what he’s overcome and where he is now.’

Whatever public persona Luke Wilson was projecting, Sophia Douglas seemed convinced it was genuine. How many more people had he fooled?

‘You knew Luke well. Would you recognise him easily in the street?’

‘Of course.’

‘What about in the dark?’

Sophia glanced at the doctor nervously as though expecting a trap. ‘Probably.’

‘And his voice, his build, very familiar?’

‘I suppose. It’s been seven years since we split up though.’

Kate nodded to Hollis, not trusting herself to ask the question in a sensitive tone.

He took the hint and leaned forward. ‘Sophia, is there any possibility that the person who assaulted you last night was Luke Wilson?’

She shook her head emphatically. ‘No. Absolutely not. Luke wouldn’t do something like that.’

‘But there’s nothing about your assailant that couldn’t have been Luke. The voice, the strength?’

‘The voice. It wasn’t his.’

Hollis nodded and flipped a few pages of his notebook over.

‘Earlier you said his voice was ‘low and quiet’ and he might have been ‘putting it on’.’

‘No. It wasn’t Luke. It wasn’t. It can’t have been. He’d never do something like this.’

It wasn’t a convincing argument, but neither was suggesting the attacker was Wilson because there was nothing to indicate it couldn’t have been. How to prove a negative? The impossible question. Kate stood. Hollis took her cue and copied her movements, sliding his notebook into the inside pocket of his suit jacket. He ran a hand through his blond hair and gave Sophia his most charming grin. Kate was half-convinced he practised it in front of a mirror.

‘You’ve been really helpful,’ he said. ‘Get some rest and, if you remember anything else, please give us a call.’

‘What do you think?’ Kate asked as soon as they were back in the corridor.

Hollis shrugged. ‘Why wait all these years? And why leave her alive?’

Kate had been mulling over Sophia’s survival. Had her attacker been disturbed? Did he think he’d killed her? Or, perhaps, he couldn’t do it. The others may have been easier because they were people he either didn’t know or, in Euan Patrick’s case, barely knew but, if it was Wilson, maybe he’d felt remorse at the last minute. It was a crap theory but she had nothing else.

Hollis dug in his pocket and pulled out his phone. ‘Text from Barratt.’ He read it and glanced at Kate.

‘What?’ she snapped.

‘Matt’s been to see Steve.’

‘Who’s no longer a serving police officer,’ Kate reminded Hollis already sensing where this might be going.

‘I know. Steve reckons he’s heard of something like this before. The signature, the underwear. He says if it’s not on the database, you should ask around. Police forums maybe.’

Despite her unease at sharing details of the case with O’Connor, she had to concede the point. Cooper had found nothing similar with any of the search parameters she’d used which probably meant, knowing Cooper, there was nothing to find. What harm could it do? She’d used forums before and struck gold in a previous case when they’d felt like they’d hit a brick wall.

‘Okay,’ Kate said. ‘I’ll get on to it. But you’d better let Matt know he’s in bother, unless he rocks up with the best coffee in Donny and several rounds of apology sandwiches. She made light of Barratt’s actions but, in private, she’d make sure he knew that she wasn’t happy with the way he’d gone behind her back. The end might justify the means, but he was definitely going to get a bollocking for the means.

Another text landed on Hollis’s phone before he could put it away.

Kate studied his face trying to work out if it was more of the same from Barratt. ‘Well?’

‘Matt again. Steve reckons Wilson’s too obvious, but it might be someone trying to set him up as a suspect.’

Kate nodded. ‘I think we have to consider that possibility. Or he’s so arrogant that he doesn’t think he can be caught.’

‘We’ve still got the DNA from the blood in the alley. We could try to persuade him that it’s in his best interests to give us a swab. If he refuses, then it suggests guilt.’

‘Or he knows the blood isn’t his. I think we should head back to HQ. You can get on the phone and help Matt with the swimmers – he’s obviously been distracted this morning – and I’ll work with Cooper to follow up on O’Connor’s suggestion that we look for something similar. I’ll ask Warren to come straight back when she’s finished with the Marshalls and we can all get our heads together.’

Kate turned to the uniformed officer guarding the door and took out her phone. ‘If this man turns up, I want to know immediately,’ she said, showing him a photograph of Luke Wilson.

‘Yes, Ma’am. Is that Luke Wilson?’

Kate nearly dropped her phone. ‘You know him?’

‘Not really. He helped with a fundraiser for my nephew. According to my sister, the man’s a saint.’

Kate shook her head in disbelief. Saint? Was it possible that he was that good an actor?

‘That’s what they said about Jimmy Savile,’ Hollis reminded her. ‘And look how that turned out.’

CHAPTER 35

Warren strode into the office waving a small evidence bag and wearing a huge grin. ‘From Maya Marshall’s bedside drawer. Nobody in the family seems to know what they are or where they might have come from.’ Warren dropped the bag on her desk and showed Kate her phone. ‘I took a picture of one of the pills for comparison with the ones you got from the other girls.’

Kate studied the image of a small white pill that had been placed next to a pound coin for scale. It looked very similar but there was no way to know if they were the same substance without tests.

‘Nice one,’ she said. ‘What about the social media accounts? Nuala know anything?’

Warren shook her head. ‘She says her sister only used Instagram. Didn’t see the point of TikTok, and Facebook’s for old fogies like her parents. She used WhatsApp to chat with her teammates so we can try to get access to that.’

‘It’s encrypted,’ Cooper said without looking up from her screen. ‘If we could get hold of her phone, we could see who she was messaging but there’s no way to access her account remotely. There’s nothing else on her Instagram messaging that’s in any way suspicious. Just swimming stuff.’

‘What happened at the hospital, B… Kate?’ Warren asked, reddening slightly at her automatic desire to use ‘Boss’ to address her superior officer.

Kate filled her in on the attack on Sophia Douglas and the conclusions they were starting to draw about Luke Wilson’s involvement. Kate also mentioned the possibility that the killer had used similar methods and the same signature in the past, but she decided against naming O’Connor. Warren was too keen on rules and probably wouldn’t appreciate her predecessor’s input. Kate still wasn’t sure herself, but at least they had another line of enquiry.

‘But I thought Cooper had checked the databases,’ Warren said, her tone slightly accusatory.

‘I have,’ Cooper said. ‘Now we’re trying news reports, forums, anywhere else that might contain discussion of murder cases. Anything that Steve might remember.’

So much for not naming her source. Cooper blushed as she realised her mistake.

‘I’ve posted in a couple of police chat rooms,’ Kate added. ‘Just asking if anybody remembers anything remotely similar. You never know.’

Warren looked sceptical but, before Kate could reassure her that it had worked in the past, Barratt burst into the room, struggling out of his coat as he strode across to his desk. No coffee and certainly no sandwiches. Maybe Hollis hadn’t passed on the message. She considered letting Barratt sweat but decided that it would be better to deal with the issue promptly.

‘Matt? Coffee run?’

He looked up confused. ‘You want me to go or are you asking what I want?’

‘I want us both to go.’

He nodded, obviously understanding that she needed a private word and that he was in trouble.

‘So you just thought you’d call in to see if O’Connor wanted to play?’ Kate said, unable to control the urge to be sarcastic. She hadn’t realised how angry she was with Barratt until she’d got him alone in the corridor leading to the canteen. ‘I gave you a job to do and, instead, you run off to have coffee with your friend. What the hell, Matt? This isn’t like you.’

At least he had the good grace to look embarrassed. ‘I know,’ he said. ‘But he’s given us the best lead we’ve had in days.’

‘Doesn’t matter,’ Kate snapped. ‘Hollis is having to pick up your slack.’

‘What?’ Barratt lifted his head, frowning. ‘I’ve been doing my job. I spoke to the parents of five of Maya’s teammates and none of them know anything about Zander Elliott’s dodgy ‘vitamins’.’

‘And what about the others?’

‘I tried. I left messages.’

‘And now Dan’s knocking on their doors, doing the job that I assigned to you. I don’t care what you do in your own time but when you’re on the clock you do as you’ve been asked.’

She sounded like the strict headteacher she remembered from secondary school. Angry and disappointed. She’d expected Barratt to be contrite but there was an edge to his responses that she hadn’t experienced before, and she wasn’t sure where it was coming from.

‘Why do I get the feeling that you’re not as sorry as you should be? What’s going on, Matt?’

He sighed and leaned against the wall, arms folded, eyes fixed on hers.

‘You weren’t here,’ he said. ‘I know you were injured, and I know you needed time to put yourself back together, but we had to get on with it. Temp DIs, a new DS and that was that. But it wasn’t. Steve’s one of us and we weren’t going to just abandon him. Yes, he did a stupid thing, but he did it for the right reasons and he didn’t deserve what happened.

‘So me and Dan have been helping out. Well, Dan was at first then I got involved and it made me realise that the black and white that I’d believed in was really a million shades of grey. I know Steve’s not in the job anymore but that doesn’t mean he’s of no value. He’s as much a copper now as he ever was and I wanted his input.’

Kate was stunned. Not only was it the longest speech she’d ever heard Barratt make, it was the most passionate and truthful. He really believed every word, and he seemed genuinely not to care what she thought of him. Was this caused by her absence? She’d thought Hollis was ‘off’ but it seemed the feeling had spread to Barratt as well. What next? Was Cooper going to smash up her laptop?

‘Come on,’ Kate said and led the way to the canteen.

The canteen was quiet, only two tables occupied, both civilian staff more interested in their phones than anything going on around them. Kate placed a cup of black tea in front of Barratt. ‘I know I abandoned you all. And I know things aren’t the same without Steve. He was a pain in the arse, but he was bloody good at his job. I should have been to see him.’

‘Why haven’t you?’ Barratt asked, blowing across the top of his drink to cool it down.

‘Honestly? I can’t face him because I don’t know how to behave. I’m still furious with him for acting alone but you’re right – he didn’t deserve what happened. And I miss him.’

Barratt nodded and took a sip of tea. ‘Can I ask how you’re doing? As a colleague, as a friend?’

For a second, Kate felt close to tears. She’d wanted to give Barratt a thorough dressing down and here he was showing her kindness and concern. At least she could try to be honest.

‘I’m okay,’ she said. ‘Not back to where I was, but okay. Work seems to be helping. You know how it is; you get stuck into a case and the time just flies by. You can’t think about anything else.’

It wasn’t quite an admission that she’d had mental health issues, but she thought Barratt would understand what she was trying to say. Or trying not to say.

‘I’m sorry for how I went about talking to Steve about the case,’ Barratt said. ‘I know I should have spoken to you first, but I wanted to call in on him and when we started talking it was like old times. And he had some good ideas. I’m not convinced that Luke Wilson’s our killer – it’s too obvious. And if what Steve remembers is true then we might be able to find earlier cases and see where they lead us.’

‘That’s what me and Cooper have been working on,’ Kate said. ‘Not getting anywhere though. Maybe somebody will get back to one of my messages.’

‘Or maybe Steve will remember where he heard about something similar,’ Barratt said before draining his cup. ‘I know you’re pissed off with me, but he’s given us something to look for and I think we need to keep in touch with him.’

Barratt was right, Kate knew, but she still wasn’t entirely comfortable with his source. She just hoped O’Connor’s hunch led them somewhere so she could justify the man hours.

A text pinged into her phone as she drained her mug and she saw Das’s name in the notification bar. Opening it she saw she was probably in trouble with her boss – again.

CHAPTER 36

‘So Das knows about our visits to O’Connor?’ Hollis asked Kate, checking the rear-view mirror before indicating to turn into the road where Luke Wilson lived. ‘And she thinks you’ve asked us to ask him for help?’

He’d summed up the gist of Kate’s meeting with the DCI but hadn’t really captured Das’s anger and frustration with Kate. Hollis didn’t know that Das had been allowing Kate time to see her therapist, or that she’d been much more supportive than Kate had expected.

‘How did she know where we’d been?’

‘You were in a pool car and the satnav logs everything. I have no idea why she checked but she knows how close you and Matt are to Steve. I also probably didn’t help by not explaining why we’re going all out to find any other cases that are even vaguely similar.’

‘Surely that would come under best practice,’ Hollis said.

‘Yes. But we’ve already trawled all the databases and found nothing. She wanted to know why Cooper’s ‘wasting her time’ looking through news reports. I didn’t tell her about my posts on various forums but she’s probably on them as well, so that’s only a matter of time.’

‘I bet Warren told her,’ Hollis said. ‘She didn’t look too chuffed when Cooper mentioned Steve. And she’s probably not best pleased that we’re taking him seriously. She disappeared for about fifteen minutes when you left with Matt. It would have been easy enough for her to plant a seed in Das’s mind.’

Kate had thought the same thing. Warren seemed to have taken their chat to heart but, if she felt threatened by Dan and Matt still relying on O’Connor for leads, who knew what she might have done? No point speculating though. If it was Warren, Kate would deal with her when she had solid evidence.

The surprise in Wilson’s grey eyes suggested that, again, he hadn’t bothered checking his door camera when Kate had rung the bell, but he tried to cover it with his usual bluster. ‘Detectives. To what do I owe the honour this time?’ He sounded bored but a muscle in his cheek was ticking with agitation.

‘Can we come in?’ Kate asked.

‘Can I say no?’ Wilson countered.

Kate considered explaining to him that refusal to cooperate might look like an admission of guilt but, before she could say anything, Wilson gave her an insincere grin and stepped back.

‘Go through to the kitchen,’ he instructed. ‘I’m just in a meeting. I’ll be a couple of minutes.’

He closed the front door behind them, but he’d left the sitting room door open, allowing Kate a view of a middle-aged woman hunched over a laptop. She looked up, meeting Kate’s eyes with her own pale green ones, and smiled. Ignoring Wilson’s instruction, Kate stepped into the sitting room, taking in the coffee table strewn with papers and another laptop abandoned on the couch.

‘DI Kate Fletcher,’ she said. ‘This is DC Dan Hollis.’

‘And they’re on their way to wait in the kitchen,’ Wilson said from the hallway.

Kate ignored him. ‘And you are?’

‘Bridie Scott.’

No attempt to withhold her identity but also no indication of her relationship with Wilson.

‘Do you work for Mr Wilson’s organisation?’

‘I told you, I’m in a meeting,’ Wilson said. ‘Bridie’s a colleague. We’re working on my next presentation.’

Kate scanned the pile of papers. If this was the script for a talk, it would run into hours.

‘Please – wait in the kitchen.’

This time, Kate followed his instructions, taking a seat at the breakfast bar. The kitchen wasn’t as pristine as it had been on their previous visits, a dirty pan sat on the hob and teaspoons and sugar granules were strewn across one of the marble surfaces. It looked like Wilson was too busy with his meeting to clean up.

‘Who do you think she is?’ Hollis whispered.

‘No idea,’ Kate said. ‘But he didn’t want us talking to her. And if they’re writing a speech I don’t think I’d want to spend hours listening to it. There must be a hundred pages of A4 on the coffee table.’

‘Most of which are drafts of the same thing,’ Wilson said from the doorway. ‘Not that it’s any of your business. What’s this about?’

‘Sophia Douglas,’ Kate said, watching his face carefully in order to gauge his reaction to the name.

‘What about her?’ Wilson asked. Kate didn’t respond, watching as the colour faded from his cheeks. ‘She’s not…? She’s not dead? Oh, shit. This isn’t right. I didn’t…’ He looked at Hollis then around the walls, his eyes glassy with shock. Or fake tears. Kate couldn’t be sure.

‘She’s not dead,’ Kate confirmed. ‘She was attacked last night and she’s in hospital. Physically she’ll be fine but she’s very shaken.’

‘I should go to see her.’ Wilson turned to the door as though he were about to set off. ‘I just…’

‘Have a seat,’ Kate said. ‘You wouldn’t be allowed into her room. She’s under police protection at the moment in case… well… in case her attacker wants to try again.’

Wilson slumped onto a stool, shoulders hunched forward, head down. ‘Is it the same person who attacked that young swimmer? And Euan? Is that why you’re here?’

Kate considered lying, or at least fudging the truth, but there didn’t seem to be any point. Either Wilson was genuinely shocked or there was no way he was going to confess. In the end she decided a direct approach might be best. ‘We think it’s the same person. Sophia’s not been able to give us a physical description, but she did hear his voice.’

‘So you know it’s not me. She’d have recognised my voice.’

‘She didn’t recognise it,’ Kate confirmed. ‘But it’s possible that her assailant tried to disguise it. We can’t rule you out, Mr Wilson. That’s why we’re here.’

Wilson frowned, his expression one of mistrust. ‘To arrest me?’

‘No. We took a blood sample at the scene of Euan Patrick’s murder, and we think it may belong to his killer. We’re here to request a DNA sample from you. It might rule you out.’

Hollis reached into his pocket and removed the sample kit, placing it on the work surface in front of Wilson as if challenging him to refuse.

‘It’s just a cheek swab,’ Hollis said. ‘We can try to put a rush on it. It’s your best chance to clear this up. If there isn’t a match, we’ll leave you alone.’

Wilson snorted. ‘So that’s it is it? An ultimatum. Do the test and clear my name or refuse and have you lot hassling me for God knows how long.’

‘Sounds like you understand,’ Kate said.

Wilson studied the swab and plastic tube in front of him. Hollis sat up straight and Kate could see he was preparing for some sort of outburst, but Wilson only moved his eyes, staring directly at Kate.

‘And this will definitely rule me out? You’ll leave me alone?’

‘It will help rule you out,’ Kate clarified. ‘If the blood sample we have isn’t from you, it suggests that there was someone else in the alley with Euan Patrick, probably whoever killed him. And, if there’s any DNA evidence on his body that doesn’t match yours, we can rule you out.’

Wilson sighed. ‘Okay. Let’s get on with it.’

He was surprisingly submissive as Hollis eased the sterile swab into his mouth and ran it around both cheeks before sealing it in the plastic vial and labelling it in clear block capitals.

‘Done.’ Hollis looked at Kate as though waiting for further instructions, but she didn’t have any. They’d got what they wanted; there was nothing else to say.

‘So will I be able to see Sophia?’ Wilson asked. ‘I’d like to make sure she’s okay.’

‘She’s fine,’ Kate assured him. ‘The doctors think she’ll make a quick recovery. If I were you, I’d wait until she’s out of hospital and more able to make decisions for herself.’

Kate knew how it felt to be trapped in a hospital bed, unable to have much say about who could visit and who should stay away, and she didn’t want Wilson to exploit his ex-girlfriend’s vulnerability.

They followed Wilson back to the front door, stopping briefly to say goodbye to the woman in the living room who barely looked up from her laptop. Kate’s curiosity was in overdrive, but it was obvious that Wilson wasn’t going to offer any more information about his guest beyond the unconvincing explanation he’d offered earlier.

CHAPTER 37

The house smelled of garlic and tomatoes as Kate pushed open the door and dumped her handbag and coat at the bottom of the stairs. She’d texted Nick earlier and he’d obviously decided it was a night for his signature lasagne.

Turbo-charged comfort food served with buttery garlic bread and an afterthought of salad leaves – just what she needed after her dressing down from Das over O’Connor’s involvement in the case. Kate suspected the information had come from Warren but, without evidence, she’d had to let it go and take the full force of the DCI’s wrath. And the visit to Luke Wilson had only added to Kate’s frustration and tension.

‘Hi honey, I’m home,’ she yelled, slipping off her shoes and flexing her toes to get the circulation back. The heating in her ageing Mini was failing and the twenty-minute drive home was only enough time to push it from Baltic to chilly.

‘In here,’ Nick shouted from the kitchen.

‘God, what a shitty day,’ she said, pushing open the door. ‘I’ve–’

The sight of the figure perched on one of the stools next to the breakfast bar stopped the words, stopped her thoughts, everything lost in a swirl of emotion.

‘Hi Mum,’ Ben said with a grin that was so much like his father’s.

‘I… what are you doing here?’ She wanted to move towards him, to hug him, to drink him in but she had no idea how he’d react.

‘That’s no way to greet your long-lost son,’ he said. ‘Come here.’

He stood and scooped her into a tight embrace. She hadn’t realised how much she’d missed him until she allowed his height, his muscle, his presence to overwhelm her. Somehow, in the few years since she’d last seen him, he’d become a man. Nick gave her a smile over Ben’s shoulder, turned off the stove and stepped into the hallway leaving them alone to talk.

Kate thrust her son away, holding him at arm’s length so she could read the planes and lines of his face. There was so much of Garry in Ben’s jaw and mouth, but his eyes were her eyes, her father’s eyes, and his messy dark hair had always seemed to defy genetics as both his parents were fair haired.

Unable to take her eyes off him, Kate eased herself onto a stool before her trembling legs gave way. Why was he here? How had he got here?

‘Surprise,’ Ben said gently, taking a seat next to her. ‘You seem pleased to see me.’

‘Of course. But what are you doing here? Why didn’t you call?’

‘I did. I called your landline and Nick answered. Last week. We had a good talk, and he persuaded me that I ought to visit.’

‘And he didn’t think to let me know?’

Ben shook his head, his dark hair falling over one eye. ‘If he had, what would you have done, Mum? We’ve barely spoken for the last couple of years and, I don’t know about you, but I was really nervous about coming. If you’d known, you’d have spent days fretting and getting worked up and we both thought that wouldn’t be very good for you. I thought I could shoulder the anxiety for both of us.’

Not only did he look like a man, he spoke like one. Measured, reasoned, logical and thoughtful. Nothing like his father.

‘I know you’ve been through a lot of shit,’ Ben continued. ‘Nick didn’t give me any details, but he made it clear that things haven’t been easy. I just thought it was time for us to move forward. You’re getting married – and wow by the way – and I’m not a kid anymore. I want us to have a relationship; to put all that bitterness behind me and I can’t do that unless we talk. I’m sorry if you feel ambushed but this seemed like the best way.’

Kate wasn’t sure how to respond. She knew her job had been a huge issue between them and Ben’s choice to stay with his father after the divorce had stung but she’d known at the time that it was the best decision for him. The resentment had only deepened when Ben had been caught up in one of her cases and it had nearly killed them both.

Now here he was offering her an olive branch she wasn’t sure she deserved. She’d allowed them to drift, she’d tried to keep in touch but it had sometimes felt like a relief when he’d been reluctant to respond – it took the pressure off. But she was the adult. She should have done better.

‘Ben, I don’t know what to say. I wish I’d made you keep in touch. I wish my job hadn’t come between us so often…’

‘And I wish those things as well,’ Ben said. ‘But I had a parent. Dad’s no angel but he did a decent job. And he never bad mouthed you. I think it was probably good for me to only have one of you around: I had plenty of friends whose loyalties were so conflicted when their parents split up.’ He pushed his hair out of his eyes with the back of his hand. ‘When Nick invited me, I wasn’t sure at first, but he’s very persuasive.’

Kate laughed. She’d been on the receiving end of Nick’s powers of persuasion more times than she could count but whatever he got her to do it was always something that ended up being in her best interests.

‘I bet you couldn’t resist when he asked you to marry him.’

‘I asked him,’ Kate said. ‘Unconventional, I know, but it just seemed like the right time.’

‘Bloody hell, my mother the feminist!’ Ben laughed. ‘I didn’t expect that.’

‘I did it properly. Got down on one knee and everything.’

Ben shook his head in disbelief.

‘Do you fancy a drink? There’s usually a bottle of white in the fridge, or beer if you’d rather.’

It felt strange offering alcohol to her son, but she needed a way to cement their new, adult relationship – and she needed a drink after her encounter with Das.

Ben accepted her offer of beer and they clinked glasses to ‘new beginnings’ before drinking. He was part way through a story about his time in China when a tap on the door interrupted them.

‘Is it safe to come in?’ Nick asked.

‘Just about. As long as you haven’t got any more surprises for me,’ Kate said. ‘And as long as you get dinner on our plates in the next half hour. I’m starving.’

Nick shooed them into the living room where Kate flopped onto the sofa with her wine. Nick had lit the log burner and the flames and Ben’s stories soothed her in a way she hadn’t realised she needed. She should have been furious with Nick for interfering in her relationship with Ben but all she felt was grateful that she might be able to get to know the man her boy had become. They had a long way to go and a lot of hurt to heal but, for the first time in years, she felt comfortable being around her son.

‘When’s the wedding?’ he asked.

‘A few weeks yet. Your Aunty Karen’s going to be my maid of honour and she’s helping organise everything. At least, I think she is. Nick’s doing a lot as well. I’m being looked after.’

‘Is that something you need? Looking after?’

She wasn’t ready to tell him about her struggles. It would have felt self-indulgent, whiny even, and she didn’t want to burden Ben with her crap.

‘Doesn’t everybody? I suppose Nick told you a bit about me being off work?’

Ben nodded. ‘Don’t take this the wrong way but I was surprised. I know how much your job means to you. It must’ve been serious to keep you away from it.’

She studied his face for signs of sarcasm, but he was being straight with her. His previous antipathy to her dedication to work had either gone or he was doing a good job of hiding it. ‘I’m back now. It’s not been easy, but I’ve got a lot of support.’

‘You know, I always thought you might end up with that lanky one. Your sidekick.’

‘Dan? Christ, no. He’s way too young for me and he’s a friend as well as a colleague. I can’t believe you thought that.’

‘You two seemed so close last time I saw you together. Although, and I say this as a straight man, he’s not half the hunk that Nick is.’

Kate laughed. Ben was right. Compared to Hollis’s willowy build, Nick was definitely hunky. His dark features and olive skin could have made him seem threatening and thuggish, but his wide smile reflected his open personality and cut through any such preconceptions.

‘I thought Nick was Greek,’ Ben continued. ‘Why’s he cooking Italian food? Surely he should be giving us moussaka.’

Lasagne was the first meal he’d ever cooked for her, and he’d been mock-offended at her surprise when she’d voiced the same sentiment, accusing her of stereotyping. He did cook Greek food, but lasagne was his go-to dish when he thought she might need something a bit special. She should have known he was up to something as soon as she smelled the sauce.

‘If Aunty Karen’s your maid of honour,’ Ben said, ‘what’s my job?’

Kate had hoped he’d come to the wedding but hadn’t given much thought to him having a role. She looked at his eyes again and thought of her dad.

‘We’re not going overly traditional, but it would mean the world to me if you’d walk me down the aisle. Do you think you might be up for that? I know it’s a big ask.’

Instead of answering, Ben leaned over and gave her another huge hug.

CHAPTER 38

‘We’ve had the results back on the drugs taken from Maya Marshall’s house. Steroids. Exactly the same as the ones Amber Burton says she got from Zander Elliott.’

‘So, we can assume Elliott was doping at least some of the kids on the team?’ Warren asked. She’d been oddly quiet so far during the briefing and seemed reluctant to meet Kate’s eyes adding to her suspicions that Warren had told Das about O’Connor.

‘We only have Amber’s word that he gave her the drugs,’ Kate said. ‘The ones Maya had could have come from anywhere and there was nothing on the tox report to suggest she’d taken them, but it’s a hell of a coincidence. Serena Burton threatened to kill Elliott if he’d been doping her kids; what if another parent found out and did the job before she could get to him?’

‘We’re not linking Elliott’s murder to the others then?’ Hollis asked. ‘It’s definitely Anderson’s case?’

Kate saw Warren blush at the mention of her fiancé’s name, and she suddenly thought of another source of Das’s information. It was entirely possible that Warren had phoned her fiancé after she found out about O’Connor’s involvement just to have a whinge. He could have been the one to tell the DCI. Warren might not be entirely at fault.

‘I’m keeping an open mind,’ Kate said. ‘But I don’t think it’s the same killer. Sam, how’s your data trawl doing?’

Cooper sighed and glanced down at her laptop like it had let her down and she was deeply disappointed. ‘Nothing with the same signature. I’ve tried all sorts of keywords and word strings, been into some of the darker corners of the databases I have access to, but nothing matches. I’ve got plenty of stabbings and drownings but any with strangulation are either solved or there’s no mention of the underwear. I’m running out of things to try.’

Her frustration was palpable, as was the feeling that O’Connor might have been mistaken. How could he have remembered a similar case but there was no record of it for Cooper to find? They needed to push him further – but it had to be on the record, Das would have her demoted if she stepped any further out of line on this.

‘Okay. Sam, hold off for now. See what you can find out about the parents of any of Elliott’s team. I know it’s not technically our case but we’re at a bit of a loss at the minute and, until we get the DNA results back from the blood in the alley and Luke Wilson, we need to find something that might move us forward. There might be somebody else that had a connection to Euan Patrick.’

‘Or Luke Wilson,’ Warren added. ‘With everything pointing to him he’d be stupid to have agreed to a DNA test unless he knew he was innocent. I don’t think we can rule out somebody setting him up. Especially if the Elliott murder is the work of a different killer.’

‘Or Luke Wilson,’ Kate agreed. ‘Warren. I want you and Matt to continue interviewing parents. We’ve still only got two examples of steroids that probably came from Elliott. If Maya was killed because of the drugs, we can’t rule out further victims.’

Even as she said it, Kate was doubtful. They were looking at two separate murderers here, or at least two distinct motives and she was in serious danger of treading on Anderson’s toes. At least with Warren involved, the potential for conflict might be lessened.

She waited until Warren and Barratt had left the team office before turning to Hollis who was sitting at his desk looking dejected, like the last puppy left in the animal rescue. She had no idea why he seemed to think he was in trouble but there was something off about his demeanour.

‘You okay?’

He pulled his laptop towards him and skittered an index finger across the touchpad, waking his home screen. ‘Just not sure why Matt’s off on a job but I’m stuck in here. We both went to see Steve and I know you’re in a lot of bother because of it, but it looks like you’re punishing me and not him. He was the one who Steve spoke to about hearing something similar in a previous case.’

Kate nearly laughed out loud at his wounded teenager impression. She checked that Cooper was engrossed in something at the other side of the room and lowered her voice. ‘You’re not in trouble. I’m the only one who’s in trouble with Das. I just didn’t want Warren to hear what I’m going to ask you to do. If it’s not her passing on info to Das, then it’s her fiancé and she’s been talking to him.’

Hollis sat back, obviously intrigued.

‘I need you to go back to O’Connor and try to get more details.’

‘But–’

‘Hang on,’ Kate said, placing a hand on his arm as though to keep him in his seat. ‘You’re going to do this by the book. Treat him as a witness and make notes. That way we’re on the record and Das can’t complain.’ Kate heard a snigger of approval from Cooper.

‘Ask him for anything he can remember about this previous case and write it down. He might not like it, but it should keep us all out of bother.’

Hollis nodded and reached behind himself for his coat. ‘On it. And he’d better bloody well remember!’

‘That must have been quite a shock,’ Alec said, and Kate could tell from the movement of his shoulder that he was jotting something on his notepad. Zoom calls were handy in that she didn’t need to leave the building, but she did find the limited view of her therapist a little disconcerting when she’d been used to seeing him in the flesh. ‘You had no idea that Nick had invited him?’

‘Not a clue.’

‘And, if Nick had run it past you first, would you have agreed to Ben’s visit?’

It was a question that Kate had been asking herself all morning. Ben had frequently been on her mind since she’d proposed to Nick but she was more concerned with his reaction to the news than finding a place for him in the wedding.

Having spent time with him the previous evening, she realised that her fears had been groundless and based on a version of her son that didn’t exist anymore. Ben was a man with his own opinions and ideas, and they seemed to be far removed from Kate’s expectations.

The time he’d spent in China had seemed like a slight, a punishment for inadvertently putting him in danger and a sign that he didn’t want her in his life. The message she took from his absence was that she wasn’t safe to be around and that he was better off with his dad, or in a different country.

‘I’m honestly not sure,’ she admitted. ‘But now I think I was wrong in my opinion of him. Or he’s changed his opinion of me. I don’t know which, but it felt really good to be close to him. I want my son in my life, and I hadn’t realised how much until last night.’

She swiped at her cheeks where tears were flowing freely. She wasn’t embarrassed to cry in front of Alec, not anymore, but these tears felt self-pitying. Therapy had taught her that there was nothing to be gained from regretting the past unless it was to make amends to someone she’d hurt, but she couldn’t help but feel the weight of past absence now she had Ben back again.

‘What about the guilt?’ Alec asked. ‘Did you manage to talk to him about how you feel about your job being a danger to him… and to you?’

‘We didn’t really get into it,’ Kate admitted. ‘I think it’s a conversation for another day.’

Alec obviously sensed there was more to her response. ‘And?’

Kate sighed. ‘And I’m worried that if I bring it up it might remind him of why he didn’t want to have much to do with me for the past few years. Having Ben back in my life feels like a gift and I don’t want to do anything to disrupt that.’

‘Understandable,’ Alec said. ‘But you’re both going to have to deal with what happened at some point. Major trauma has a habit of resurfacing, as you know, until it’s been properly addressed.’

Kate knew he was right, but she wasn’t ready to rip the scab off that wound – partly because she felt it was too soon and partly because she didn’t know what she’d find underneath. She needed time to focus on the positives.

‘I think we probably need a bit of time to adjust to–’

A tap on the door interrupted her, causing a surprising flare of anger. This was supposed to be her allocated time to talk to Alec and the interruption suggested that Das’s promises weren’t to be trusted.

‘Hang on,’ she said to Alec, angling the laptop screen downwards so it wouldn’t be visible to whoever was at the door.

‘Come in.’

She was surprised to see Das looking flustered and apologetic.

‘Kate, I’m so sorry to interrupt but this can’t wait.’

‘What is it?’ Kate snapped with a quick glance at the laptop. Was Alec still listening? She held up a hand. ‘I need to end my session.’

Alec gave her a wry smile. ‘Can’t have me overhearing anything sensitive. Go and deal with whatever it is and hopefully we can find a bit more time next week.’

She closed the laptop and turned to face her boss. ‘This is supposed to be protected time for me,’ she reminded Das. ‘No interruptions.’

‘I know. And I am sorry, but this couldn’t wait. I’ve got Colin Marshall at the front desk and he wants to confess to the murder of Zander Elliott. He says he’ll only speak to you and if you’re not down in ten minutes he’ll walk.’

CHAPTER 39

Hollis pulled up outside O’Connor’s bungalow and turned off the engine, recognising his unwillingness to leave the car. It had been easy, visiting with Barratt, three of them seemed to be able to keep the banter going, but he wasn’t sure what he’d find to talk about beyond his questions about the case that O’Connor thought he remembered.

And that was another issue – was it a real memory or was it something vague that O’Connor had pieced together in his boredom and frustration and made into a similar case? Hollis didn’t want to doubt his former colleague, but he had to be certain of the facts.

He eased himself out of the car and walked slowly up the path to the door. Someone had been working in the garden since his last visit and there were new raised beds and a patch of grass seed protected from the birds with CDs on crisscrossed string. Hollis smiled to himself – it was good to see a new use for old tech.

The door opened before he could knock and Gemma pushed past him, zipping up a fleece jacket.

‘I’m off to get a bit of shopping, let you two chat. Back in a bit. He’s in the living room.’

O’Connor gave Hollis a big grin and held out his hands, fists clenched, wrists together. ‘Might as well slap the cuffs on now,’ he joked. ‘Save you the bother of interviewing me.’

‘Nah, my S and M days are behind me,’ Hollis responded. ‘And I’m not pandering to your kinks.’

He perched on the edge of the armchair opposite O’Connor and took out his notebook. ‘You sure you’re okay with this? It feels a bit weird to me, but it’ll keep Kate out of bother with the big boss.’

‘It’s fine. I just hope I can think of something that’ll help.’ He shifted position on the sofa and Hollis noticed a wince of pain.

‘You okay, mate?’

O’Connor nodded. ‘Just waiting for the painkillers to kick in. I had a couple of rough nights and ended up back on the co-codamol last week, but I can’t be doing with the fuzzy head so I’m back on paracetamol again. The doc says the pain will come and go as I heal so I’m taking it as a good sign.’

‘We can do this another time–’

O’Connor held up a hand. ‘No. If there is something in this vague memory then I’d rather it didn’t wait. You need to catch this bastard.’

He was right. If this was a potential lead, there was no point in putting off the interview until a time when O’Connor felt more physically comfortable. It wasn’t as if they had much else to move them forward.

‘Okay,’ Hollis said. ‘Let’s start with what you can remember about this historic case. You said it had some similarities to the current one. Is that with Maya Marshall or is it Euan Patrick as well?’

‘That’s the weird thing,’ O’Connor said. ‘It’s both. There was something about a young girl found in a river, but she hadn’t drowned. The body had been tied to something so it didn’t drift away.’

Exactly like Maya Marshall, Hollis thought.

‘Then there was a linked murder, but I can’t remember how they were linked. Somebody was stabbed and strangled. I’m fairly sure the case was solved though. Something about a blood sample from the stabbing that led us to the killer.’

Hollis nearly dropped his pen. He hadn’t told O’Connor about the blood on the wall near Euan Patrick’s body and yet the details matched exactly. How could an identical accidental blood spatter appear in two different cases? Maybe Barratt had said something.

‘Did Matt tell you about the blood we found at the Euan Patrick scene?’

O’Connor frowned and shook his head.

‘What you’ve just described is exactly the same. That makes no sense.’

He jotted ‘blood sample found at scene’ in his notebook. ‘Can you remember any more details?

‘They were both strangled but it looked like something else at first: one a drowning and one a stabbing. ‘I can’t remember who was arrested but I’m fairly certain it was a man. God, I wish I knew where I remembered it from.’

‘We can’t find anything similar,’ Hollis said. ‘Sam’s been digging, Kate’s put a question on all kinds of forums. Nothing. Might it have been something you saw on the news but in another country? America maybe?’

O’Connor shrugged. ‘I wish I knew.’

‘Okay. Back to the young woman. What can you remember about her?’

‘She was about eighteen. In school, decent family. The male victim was a bit older, possible record for something. Drink driving maybe?’

Hollis noted down the details. O’Connor was quite specific and seemed certain of his facts, so why couldn’t they find any reference to the case? Even if it had been in another country there should have been something on the internet.

‘Oh, shit,’ O’Connor said, suddenly, eyes wide. ‘I’m such a dick.’

Hollis smiled at him. ‘Can’t argue with that.’

‘No. It’s my memory. I spent weeks in hospital out of my head on morphine. All I could manage was watching soaps and a bit of reading. Gemma brought me piles of books.’

He looked across at the shelves that Barratt and Hollis had helped build.

‘I doubt it’s a storyline from a soap, but I might be remembering something from one of the crime books. It’s so specific.’

Hollis scanned the rows of books – there were at least a hundred paperbacks on the shelves.

‘There’s more in boxes under the stairs,’ O’Connor said following his gaze. ‘Probably another few dozen.’

Hollis snapped his notebook closed with a heavy sigh. ‘Best get started then.’

Half an hour later Hollis scrounged a couple of painkillers to deal with the growing headache he’d developed from scanning the blurbs of every crime book on the shelves. Nothing even remotely similar to the murders of Maya Marshall and Euan Patrick.

Gemma had come home, taken one look at the piles of books and announced that she’d remove certain body parts if he didn’t put them back tidily. She was even less impressed when he asked her to help him with the boxes that she’d only put away the previous week.

‘What exactly are we looking for?’ she asked, picking up a battered paperback.

‘Can’t tell you,’ O’Connor replied. ‘It relates to an active case. But we’ll know when we find it.’

‘If we find it,’ Hollis said.

‘So I’m not going to be much help then.’ Gemma threw the book to O’Connor. ‘I’ll put the kettle on.’

Hollis continued to dig through the box of books, flipping them over to read the back of each one before passing them to O’Connor to check. He was on to the second box when he found it.

‘Steve, listen to this… When the body of a university student is found in the River Dacre, police are quick to rule out drowning. A second murder victim looks like a stabbing, but closer investigation reveals striking similarities to the body in the river. How are the two victims connected? And can the police find the killer before he strikes again?’

‘Shit,’ O’Connor said. ‘That’s it. It wasn’t a real case, just my morphine-addled brain misremembering. I’m sorry I wasted everyone’s time on a wild goose chase.’

Hollis had flipped the book round so he could look more closely at the cover. The title – Invisible – didn’t give much away and the author was unfamiliar. ‘You read many books by this SJ Parton?’ he asked O’Connor.

‘If there’s any more in the boxes then, yes, probably. The name doesn’t ring any bells though.’

‘It looks a bit battered; you might have had it a while.’ Hollis opened the cover to check the publication date – 2012.

‘It’s probably from Oxfam,’ Gemma said as she pushed the door open with her foot and plonked two mugs on the coffee table. I get him quite a few from there. He reads so much we’d be bankrupt if I bought them new. A lot of the ones in that box were his hospital reading – too tatty for the nice new shelves.’

‘What are you thinking?’ O’Connor asked. ‘Somebody using this as a murder manual? That could be anybody. Christ knows how many copies there are out there.’

As well as the date of publication, the front matter stated the name of the publisher – Mannix Books – and an address in Sheffield. Not one of the big four then. Maybe a limited release. He’d have to get Sam digging around.

‘Maybe,’ he said. ‘Or this SJ Parton might be our killer, or known to him.’

He opened the book to the first page and read…

He waits in the shadow of the hedge, dressed in black, his face covered. He knows she’ll pass this way; he’s observant, careful, meticulous. The anticipation is part of the thrill, and he could almost resist the act and wallow in this feeling of utter calm, utter control. Almost.

A movement in his peripheral vision. A misalignment of the planes of darkness. Then he sees her.

She’s looking at something on her phone, the screen lighting her face as she blunders towards him, oblivious. A smile as she appreciates a supportive message or a joke, then looks up and slides the phone into her back pocket. Suddenly alert she quickens her pace, unaware that she’s heading directly towards him, towards the darkness. It’s as if she can smell him.

He grabs the back of her jacket as she passes, a thick handful of denim, enough to stop her instantly.

‘What…?’ she manages to gasp before he covers her mouth with his hand and pulls her into his embrace. It’s over quickly. Too quickly. The anticipation has overshadowed the event and he’s disappointed with the brevity of his euphoria. All that’s left is to leave her, to leave his message.

Half dragging, half carrying, he manoeuvres the limp body from his car onto a small patch of grass on the riverbank and lays her down gently, delicately. Now it’s all about care and thought. He can’t rush this part despite the risk of being caught. He ties the ankles together and plunges the wooden post deep into the reeds. It’ll hold for a few hours, he thinks. Long enough.

He folds back the front of her jacket as though opening a book, her thin body the story within. Then he lifts her T-shirt and reaches for the waistband of her jeans. The button is a struggle, and he fumbles in his need for haste. It frees and he moves down to the cold metal zip. Halfway down, no further, and he peels back the fabric revealing a triangle of pale underwear.

Standing above the inert body, he angles his head, checks the arrangement of clothing. Perfect. The final act: baptism. He eases her into the river, holding her until the water can take her weight from him.

He’d expected it to be more difficult, but realises that, having crossed this bridge, he’s happy to have it crumble behind him. He steps from the riverside path into the light of a streetlamp, walking into a new world.

CHAPTER 40

Colin Marshall looked up as Kate and Das entered the interview room. He was hunched over in his chair, elbows on the table, head in hands. His clothes looked unkempt and dusty like he’d been sleeping rough and there were smears of reddish mud along one sleeve of his green fleece jacket.

‘Took you long enough,’ he grumbled, looking Das up and down. ‘Who’s this? I only asked for you.’

Kate opened her mouth to introduce the DCI but Das beat her to it. ‘I’m Detective Chief Inspector Priya Das, DI Fletcher’s immediate boss. According to protocol, there must be two police officers present to interview you.’

‘I’m not under arrest,’ Marshall countered. ‘I’ve come in to make a statement.’

Kate pulled out a chair and sat down opposite Marshall, drawing his attention. ‘We were told you’d come to confess to the murder of Zander Elliott, so we need to interview you under caution. It’s important that we both hear your statement and that it’s recorded. Do you understand?’

Marshall nodded and looked lost as Kate started the recording and read out the caution. When she got to the part about later relying on something in court he shuffled in his seat and mumbled a few words.

‘Please speak up for the recording,’ Das commanded.

He shot her a resentful look. ‘I said I don’t know if it will come to that. Will there have to be a trial if I confess?’

‘A confession isn’t regarded as a verdict,’ Kate said. ‘If we think there’s a case to be answered it will still go to court, you can plead guilty then you’ll be sentenced. We still have to provide evidence to support your confession to make sure you’re not covering for somebody or being coerced. There’ll be an investigation, possibly forensics and witness interviews.’

‘But I did it. I can tell you exactly how and why.’ Marshall’s eyes roamed the interview room like those of a trapped animal, but he didn’t seem like he wanted to escape. He obviously had something to say, and Kate got the sense that he needed to get it all out.

‘Do you want to have a solicitor present?’ Das asked. ‘It’s your right.’

‘No. No need. I’ll say what I have to say then you can arrest me.’

Kate nodded for him to go on then added for the recording, ‘In your own time, Mr Marshall.’

He sat back and raised his eyes to the grimy ceiling as though seeking some sort of divine inspiration. Kate tracked his eye movements, vaguely remembering something about eye direction being a tell for if somebody wasn’t remembering but making up events. Useless really as she had no idea which direction indicated truth or lie.

‘I’d always trusted Zander Elliott with Maya’s career,’ Marshall began. ‘I thought he wanted the best for her, for all of them really, but then I found out he wasn’t who he appeared to be.’

‘In what way?’ Das asked. Kate wouldn’t have jumped in at that point and wished they’d had time to plan a strategy. Her boss was more of a pen pusher these days and didn’t take an active part in many of their cases.

‘Drugs. Nothing illegal, Maya wouldn’t have been into that, but performance-enhancing stuff.’

‘Like the inhaler we found in her bedside drawer?’

Marshall nodded. ‘We had no idea she had that, and it set me wondering what else he’d given her. I set up a meeting to confront him about it, to make him tell me the truth.’

‘Where was this meeting?’ Das asked.

‘In a layby. I picked somewhere out of the way, quiet, where we probably wouldn’t be seen.’

‘Why was that?’

‘Because, if he told me what I suspected he might, I was going to kill him.’ Marshall’s grey face seemed to collapse in on itself as he started to sob. ‘I’ve lost my daughter. My beautiful Maya, and it’s his fault. If he hadn’t been doping her up with God knows what, she would have been more careful. Or maybe she threatened to tell somebody, so he killed her. I don’t know, I wasn’t thinking straight.’

‘You just needed somebody to blame?’

‘No! I had somebody to blame.’ Marshall slammed a fist down on the tabletop. ‘I wanted him to suffer for what he’d done!’

Kate waited for him to take a shuddering breath that seemed to have a calming effect.

‘I wanted him dead.’

‘So, let’s go back to the meeting,’ she said. ‘How did you get him to agree?’

‘I texted him. Said I needed to ask him something about Maya and hinted that I knew something about his relationships with other members of the swim team.’

‘And you thought he’d trust you enough to meet up in a dark layby?’

‘I threatened to go to you lot if he didn’t tell me what he’d been up to.’

‘Is that why you took his phone?’

Marshall frowned at Das’s question and looked confused. ‘His phone?’

‘It wasn’t found with the body. We think whoever killed him took it or disposed of it nearby. We’re still looking. You could have deleted the texts. Why did you take it?’

Kate wasn’t sure quite what Das was getting at, but she’d wrongfooted Marshall and he seemed to be scrambling to get his thoughts in order.

‘I… er… I didn’t want to risk leaving anything incriminating. I don’t know much about technology and whether you can restore deleted messages. Besides, my fingerprints…’

He trailed off looking from Das to Kate. ‘I thought my prints might be on it if I left it.’

‘What did you do with it?’ Das asked.

‘Threw it away.’

‘Where?’

His face suddenly became animated. ‘In the river. I threw it in the river.’

Das nodded and made a note on the pad in front of her. ‘Okay. You lured Mr Elliott to the parking place then what? Who got there first?’

‘He did. He was waiting for me. We both got out of our cars and I confronted him.’

‘Saying what exactly?’

‘I told him that I knew he’d been giving drugs to Maya and probably others. He laughed in my face. Said everybody did it. It wasn’t illegal. Then I asked if he’d seen Maya on the night she died and he denied it. But there was something about his tone, his face. I didn’t believe him and I just lost it. I grabbed him and stuck the knife in. Then I took his phone and drove off. I stopped on the bridge at the junction and threw the phone in the river.’

Kate had jotted down Marshall’s version of events and she made a show of reading it slowly. ‘Where did the knife come from? You said you just lost it and stabbed him.’

Marshall nodded eagerly. ‘From our kitchen. Jocelyn’s got one of those Japanese sets. I grabbed it before I left. I told you, I intended to kill him if I wasn’t convinced by his story.’

‘And where’s the knife now?’

His eyes widened. ‘I… I threw it in the river with the phone.’

‘From the bridge?’

‘Yes.’

‘What about your clothes?’

‘My…?’

‘When Mr Elliott’s body was discovered, there was a lot of blood,’ Das said. ‘Whether by luck or chance, the killer found the superior mesenteric artery. You must have been covered.’

Kate didn’t know how Das had got hold of that important detail, but it seemed to unsettle Marshall again.

‘I had a waterproof jacket on,’ he said. ‘When I got home, I put it in the washing machine with my jeans and trainers.’

‘Where were your wife and daughter at the time? Didn’t they think it odd that you were doing a load of washing at… what time was this?’

‘No idea. I drove around for a bit, lost track. After midnight probably. They’ve both been given something from the doctor to help them sleep. And the washing machine’s in the garage.’

Das made another note. ‘Forensic investigation can still reveal traces of blood even if you washed your clothes. And there’s also your car.’

‘Is that necessary? I’m telling you what happened.’

‘As I told you earlier, we still have to find evidence to corroborate your story. Divers will search the river in the location you say you dumped the phone and knife, and there will have to be a full and thorough search of your car, garage and house. Daft as it sounds, Mr Marshall, we can’t take your word that you committed murder. DI Fletcher will formally arrest you, based on your statement and we’ll take it from there.’

Kate took that as her cue. ‘Colin Marshall, I’m arresting you for the murder of Zander Elliott. You do not have to say anything. But it may harm your defence if you do not mention when questioned something which you later rely on in court. Anything you do say may be given in evidence. Do you understand?’

Marshall nodded.

‘For the recording please.’

‘Yes.’

Das checked her watch, terminated the interview, then stood. ‘We’ll need you to wait here for a custody officer.’

Marshall closed his eyes and hung his head as though exhausted.

‘What did you make of that?’ Kate asked her boss as soon as they were in the corridor. ‘Bit weird.’

‘Weird? That’s one word for it. I could come up with another.’

Kate looked at her, and they smiled.

‘Bullshit,’ both women said in unison.

CHAPTER 41

‘Are you sure this is the place?’ Kate asked as Hollis pulled up outside a nineteen thirties semi with bay windows and a small, scrubby patch of lawn in front.

‘That’s the address I’ve got. Looks like a private house rather than a business but maybe it’s a one-man band. There are lots of small publishers around these days and they probably don’t need an office. Plenty of folk work online.’

‘Or one-woman band,’ Kate muttered, stepping out onto the icy pavement. After Colin Marshall’s ‘confession’ she’d handed the statement over to Anderson, feeling that she’d fulfilled her obligation as the only person Marshall would speak to. She had considered not mentioning her doubts but if Marshall hadn’t killed Elliott, then Anderson still needed to catch whoever had committed the crime and she couldn’t obstruct him out of pig-headedness and malice.

Cooper had done some digging into Mannix Books and found the sole director listed as a P Manchester. No first name, no gender and this residential address close to the main university campus in Sheffield. She’d also emailed Kate a link to their list of publications, including four by SJ Parton – it seemed like nobody in publishing used their first name.

There was nothing on or near the door to suggest that the house was the location of a business, just a plain white doorbell which Kate pressed twice. A figure solidified behind the obscured glass panes and the door opened a crack.

‘Yes?’

Kate held up her ID. ‘I’m looking for Mannix Books and a P Manchester.’

The door opened wider, but Kate still couldn’t make out the owner of the voice. ‘That would be me. I’m Phil Manchester. I run Mannix Books.’

‘Could we come inside, please? We have a few questions about one of your authors.’

‘I don’t have any authors,’ the man said. ‘I only publish my own work.’

‘Then your website needs updating,’ Kate said. ‘Because you’ve got a number of writers listed, including the one we’re interested in. Or are they all your pen names?’

‘No, no they… what’s this about? You’re a senior police officer; I assume it must be serious.’

Whether he wrote crime or published it, he’d obviously recognised her rank and realised what that might mean.

‘If we could come inside for a minute…’

Manchester sighed and the door opened fully to reveal a short man who looked to be in his mid-fifties. He wore a dark blue sweatshirt and grey tracksuit bottoms that bulged emptily at the knees as though keeping their shape from months of their owner sitting down. A scrim of greying stubble covered the bottom part of his face and his head was shinily bald. Round, wire-framed glasses highlighted red-rimmed hazel eyes which were looking at Kate suspiciously.

‘If I say no?’

‘Then I get a warrant to search your company databases. I have a colleague who’s very good at that, very thorough. The things I’ve seen her recover from a hard drive that the owner thought they’d wiped.’

She heard Hollis stifle a chuckle.

‘Look, Mr Manchester. A book published by your company has been linked to a series of murders. We want to know about the author, sales, and where anybody could buy a copy.’

Manchester’s eyes narrowed with interest. ‘Somebody’s been copying one of our books?’

‘I didn’t say that.’

‘I’m not sure how else a crime novel could be linked to a murder. Please, come inside.’

He led them down a bright hallway to one of the back rooms of the house that was clearly used as an office. Overstuffed shelves lined two walls and a light wood desk held a tower PC and two huge monitors. Pictures on the other walls were front covers of novels in clip frames – each one showed an image in black and white with bold primary colours for the titles and names of the authors. Kate immediately recognised the cover for Invisible by SJ Parton next to the window, title and author in a deep blue font. ‘That’s the one.’

Manchester followed her gaze then turned to her with a regretful smile. ‘Out of print, I’m afraid. Like most of our back catalogue. We can’t compete with the bigger publishers – just don’t have the money or the reach. We were doing pretty well with ebooks when they first came out but now, well, the market’s flooded.’

He turned the desk chair round and pointed to a folded-up sofa bed before sitting. ‘Have a seat.’

Hollis sat but Kate remained standing so she could inspect the bookshelves and other cover posters. There was nothing by P Manchester on any of the shelves but there was a section of four titles by SJ Parton.

‘Mind if I have a look?’ Kate asked, nodding towards the books.

‘Help yourself. They’re a series. Each one features a different case with the same CID team. We sold a few of each in paperback and maybe a couple of hundred ebooks. Not a great seller but better than some.’

A couple of hundred electronic copies was far too many to track down and the paperbacks probably turned up in second hand shops or were passed on to friends and family. If the killer was copying the book it could be anybody. Unless it was the writer.

‘Do you know the author?’

Manchester shook his head. ‘Not personally. We did business via email, so we never met.’

‘But you must have some details. An address, a bank account for royalties. My colleague has already tried SJ Parton on the internet but there’s no author website and an endless list of people with that combination of initials and surname. If that is his name.’

A thought struck her. ‘You said you only publish your own work now, but I don’t see any covers with your name on them. You wouldn’t be SJ Parton by any chance?’

Manchester laughed. ‘I write as Dean Phillips – a nom de plume using my first and middle names.’ He turned and picked up a book from the desk. ‘Here.’

Scanning the cover, Kate could see that it was another crime book but, as she read the blurb, this sounded darker than the usual police procedurals and hinted that a corrupt police officer was getting away with a range of hideous crimes against women.

‘And people buy this kind of thing?’

‘I sell a modest amount of each title,’ Manchester said. ‘But I also help other authors with their books. I have experience in editing, promoting, cover design…  and I have contacts in the printing industry.’

‘Like vanity publishing?’ Hollis asked. ‘They pay you to get their book out. Isn’t that a scam?’

Manchester reddened. ‘Not at all,’ he spluttered. ‘I offer a service and I’m completely transparent about charges and services. If anything, I help budding authors manage their expectations. Most are happy with the final product.’

‘So, this SJ Parton would have bought your services?’

‘No. Those books were published under my Mannix imprint. I ran a small publishing company for ten years. A few select authors with tiny print runs and ebooks. Parton was one of those. In fact, Invisible was one of the first books I published. I wish it had done better because it was a promising start to the series, and I’d hoped each one would boost sales of the previous titles. Sadly, it didn’t happen. I gave up during the pandemic. Shifted focus and found more time for my own writing.’

‘Do you sell many of your own books?’ Hollis asked.

‘I have a modest following. The books and my author services provide a living but I’m not Harlen Coben.’ He smiled like this was an in joke that two local plods couldn’t possibly be expected to understand.

‘You never know,’ Kate said. ‘When you’ve written thirty-odd novels you might get a Netflix series.’

Manchester sneered. ‘Not unless you know the right people. Anyway, true crime seems to be the big thing at the moment. Everybody’s waiting for the next Yorkshire Ripper story.’

‘How about a publisher who copies the murders in one of his authors’ books?’ Kate asked. ‘I bet one of the big four would pay for the inside story there.’

‘You think I’m your killer?’ Manchester shook his head and leaned back in his chair. ‘How could I possibly profit from writing a book about my own crimes when I’m in prison?’

It was a long shot, but Kate had wanted to test it as a possible theory.

‘Back to SJ Parton,’ she said. ‘Can you give us any information about him? Surely you have an author photograph, a biography, something you’d have used for promotion.’

‘SJ Parton didn’t want to do any publicity. No photos, no interviews. It made it quite difficult to promote the books to be frank. If I’d known what I was getting in to I would probably have said no from the start. But I did enjoy Invisible so I took a chance.’ He was rocking to and fro on his swivel chair almost as if he were enjoying the interview, enjoying the challenge of drip feeding them the information they wanted.

‘We need a name,’ Hollis said. ‘Is Parton a pen name? Surely you must know his real identity if you published four of his books.’

‘His books. That’s quite an assumption. Do you think it’s only men that write about the horrors that people inflict on one another.’

He was starting to sound pompous and Kate was getting fed up with his supercilious attitude. Time to finish the interview. ‘Her name then.’

‘What about data protection?’

‘If I have to come back with a warrant I’ll take every computer and device in the house,’ she promised. ‘But if that’s what you want…’

He sighed and turned to face his computer. A few key taps and a name and address appeared on the screen.

‘I’ve redacted the bank details but there’s the name and the last address I have.’

Hollis stood, notebook in hand to write the details down but his pen stopped short of the page.

SJ Parton wasn’t a stranger – she was someone they’d met.

CHAPTER 42

Barratt watched as Warren placed the evidence bag in the glove compartment in front of her as she slid into the passenger seat.

‘That makes five,’ she said with a smile as Barratt started the engine. He didn’t respond as he couldn’t share her obvious pleasure in finding that Zander Elliott had been doping some of his team members. The man was dead and there would be no justice for those whose trust had been abused.

While it was good to have their suspicions confirmed it left Barratt feeling oddly powerless and unfulfilled, and his colleague’s smugness was getting a bit irritating. He was about to explain his viewpoint when her phone chirped, and she scanned a text message, her cheeks reddening.

‘That your boyfriend,’ Barratt teased.

Her widening eyes told him that he’d hit the mark.

‘Hey, I’m only messing. It’s your business.’

He indicated and pulled out into the road, focusing on his driving to allow Warren some privacy while she responded.

‘He wants us to interview Jocelyn and Nuala Marshall.’

Barratt struggled to make sense of what she was saying. ‘I thought Colin Marshall had confessed to Zander Elliott’s murder. What else does he need to know?’

‘I’m not sure. He wants me to give him a ring. That okay?’

Barratt nodded, curiosity piqued. He didn’t glean much from Warren’s end of the conversation, but her monosyllabic responses suggested she was clearly agitated.

‘So?’ he asked as she slid the phone back into her handbag.

‘He knows that we’ve spent time with the family and thinks that might get them to trust us. The FLO isn’t there anymore, they asked her to leave after Marshall’s arrest, and Josh needs somebody to talk to them.’

‘How come?’

‘He’s not convinced that Colin Marshall’s confession stands up. There are holes, inconsistencies. He’s going to email the key points to me.’

‘He should send one of his own team then. He made it very clear that it’s not our case.’

Out of the corner of his eye he saw Warren nod. ‘I know but none of his people know the family. And Kate and Das also think Marshall’s lying.’

Convinced, Barratt took a left turn onto the dual carriageway that would take them to Thorpe.

The house looked much the same as it had on their previous visit except that the driveway was empty. Barratt assumed Colin Marshall had taken his car into Doncaster when he’d gone to confess to Elliott’s murder and that it would be seized for forensic examination.

The downstairs curtains were open but those in the main bedroom were closed – Nuala had explained that her mother was struggling to get out of bed and Jocelyn had only briefly appeared when they’d last been there.

Barratt followed Warren up the brick pathway to the front door and waited while she rang the doorbell.

No answer.

Warren pressed again and knocked on the glass panel. At least a minute seemed to have passed before the door opened and Nuala Marshall peered out, her thin face pale and anxious looking.

‘Why are you here?’ she whispered. ‘Mum’s sleeping and I don’t want to bother her. Is it about Dad?’

‘Can we come in?’ Warren asked. ‘We have a few questions about what your father’s told us.’

‘I don’t know what he’s said, and I don’t want to know. I can’t help.’

‘Nuala,’ Barratt said, keeping his voice low. ‘We’re trying to work out what happened with your dad and Zander Elliott. He’s told us some things that don’t add up, and we were hoping you and your mum might be able to clear up a few discrepancies.’

‘Discrepancies?’ She pronounced the word as though she hadn’t heard it before.

‘We just need to get everything straight,’ Warren said. ‘It shouldn’t take long.’

Nuala sighed. ‘Come in then. But please be quiet.’

She led them through to the kitchen at the back of the house and suggested they sit at the breakfast bar, before closing the door and joining them. No offer of a drink, Barratt noticed. His attention was drawn to a knife block next to the gas hob – the dark blue handles gleamed in the kitchen spotlights and there was an obvious gap where one was missing. Warren had read him the details of Marshall’s statement on the drive to Thorpe – obviously the part about him using a kitchen knife seemed plausible.

‘Nuala, your dad has confessed to murdering Zander Elliott,’ Warren began. ‘Did he tell you what happened?’

Nuala folded her arms and shook her head.

‘So, you don’t have any idea if he was at home or out on the night Elliott was killed?’

Another shake of the head.

‘Do you know if he had any reason to harm Maya’s coach? His motive’s a little unclear.’

‘Is it about the drugs? Maybe he was angry about that.’

Barratt watched her closely, her body language indicating that she was completely shut off from them. It looked like she wouldn’t answer rather than couldn’t, which suggested she was keeping something from them and that made him more determined to work out what she was hiding.

‘Do you know if your dad communicated with Elliott on a regular basis? He claims to have taken the coach’s phone and dropped it in the river to hide any messages.’

No eye contact and a weak shrug.

‘Nuala, this is very serious. We’ve arrested your father, but we need to be absolutely certain that he’s telling the truth. If he’s not there’s a murderer still walking around and he might target someone else.’

It was a good tactic, Barratt thought as he listened to Warren’s pitch. Nuala had seemed like she’d been hit hard by her sister’s murder and almost certainly wouldn’t want anyone else to have the experience of losing a loved one in such a way.

‘I don’t know anything,’ Nuala said. ‘You can’t guilt trip me into telling you what I don’t know.’

‘How’s your dad seemed over the past few days?’ Barratt asked. It was a banal question, but he hoped it might provoke a reaction.

‘How do you think he’s been? What sort of question is that?’ Her eyes locked on Barratt’s as anger flared. ‘He’s devastated. We all are. None of us know how to fucking cope. Mum sleeps all day then prowls about at night like a ghost. Dad’s either monosyllabic or raging. I feel utterly lost.’

‘Raging? What’s your dad been raging about?’ Barratt kept his tone neutral, refusing to acknowledge her anger.

Nuala stood and paced to the window. ‘Everything. He’s angry at the world.’

‘Angry enough to kill somebody?’ Warren prompted. Barratt winced inwardly. It was too soon for that question. He’d wanted to give Nuala time to paint a picture of her father’s behaviour.

The girl turned and narrowed her eyes to scowl at Warren. ‘Honestly? Yes. I think he could have killed somebody. If you’d been able to find whoever murdered Maya, Dad would have killed him with his bare hands. But we heard that your lot don’t think Zander Elliott killed my sister, and I doubt Dad would have gone after him for it.’

‘You don’t think he’s told us the truth?’ Barratt was trying to make sense of her statement. ‘You think he would have needed evidence that Elliott harmed Maya before attacking him?’

Nuala looked frightened. Her eyes roamed the kitchen as she appeared to be reviewing what she’d said and what it implied. ‘I just meant… if Dad did kill the coach he would have had a reason.’

‘If? You’re not convinced? Do you think giving her performance-enhancing drugs was a strong motive for murder?’ Barratt spoke quickly, not allowing Nuala time to think about the implication of her words.

‘Nuala. Can you think of any reason why your dad would confess to a murder he didn’t commit?’

She shook her head, looking miserable. ‘He always said he’d do anything for his family. Anything to keep us safe. And if anybody ever hurt one of us there’d be hell to pay.’

A thought struck Barratt. If Marshall wasn’t guilty, who was he protecting? ‘Where were you on the night that Zander Elliott was murdered, Nuala?’

‘I was here, in bed.’

‘Can anybody vouch for that? Your mum?’

‘Dunno.’

‘Nuala, did you think Zander Elliott had killed your sister?’

‘No.’ She sounded certain. ‘Why would he?’

‘To keep her quiet about the drugs? Maybe she’d threatened to tell somebody. That’s a hypothesis we considered.’

‘We didn’t know about the drugs until you told us about the inhaler and searched Maya’s bedroom. Zander was dead by then.’ She stared at Barratt as if she were daring him to challenge her further.

‘Okay. But you told us that you were close to your sister. Is it possible that you knew about the drugs and decided to confront Elliott yourself?’ He glanced at the knife block and saw Nuala’s eyes follow his own. Anyone in the house could have taken the knife.

‘Do you drive, Nuala?’

‘I… I can drive but I don’t have a car.’ Her voice was shaky.

‘Do you sometimes borrow your dad’s car?’

‘I usually use Mum’s. She doesn’t need hers as much as Dad.’

‘Where is your mum’s car? In the garage?’

Nuala gave him an uncertain nod.

‘I think it might be an idea to have forensics take a look at it,’ Warren said, obviously realising where this was leading. ‘You said your father would do anything to protect his family. Would he go as far as taking the blame for murder?’

Barratt saw Nuala’s face redden as she took in the implications of what Warren had said. And it made sense. The holes in Marshall’s story could easily be explained if he’d heard it second-hand – from his daughter.

‘I don’t understand what you’re…  No, of course he wouldn’t. If he said he did it then he did it.’

‘I don’t think that’s true,’ Barratt said gently. ‘I think you wanted someone to blame for Maya’s murder. It’s understandable. You were angry, confused, grieving.’

Nuala was shaking her head frantically. ‘No! No!’

‘Leave her alone!’

Barratt turned to see Jocelyn Marshall hunched in the kitchen doorway. She was wearing a faded grey hoodie over rumpled pyjamas and looked tired and ill.

‘Stop hounding her. I’ve been listening in the hall. Colin didn’t confess to protect Nuala; he did it to protect me.’

CHAPTER 43

‘Bridie Scott? This has to be more than a coincidence,’ Cooper said as soon as Kate gave her the name. ‘What do you need me to find out?’

‘Everything you can. What else has she written? Where does she live? What does she drive? And her relationship with Luke Wilson.’

‘You think they’re in it together like a tag team?’ It wasn’t a common scenario but there had been cases where serial killers had worked together to confuse the police. It usually turned out that one had been coerced by the other though and, where they were male and female, it was usually the woman who’d been manipulated. Cooper knew not to take this for granted – she’d worked enough cases where the gender expectation had been turned on its head and a woman had committed violent crimes.

‘I’m on it now,’ she said. ‘What about you and Dan?’

‘Luke Wilson isn’t answering his phone so we’re heading there first. If you can check the address we’ve been given for Scott, we’ll try her as well.’

The address they’d been given was from 2014 and it took seconds for Cooper to ascertain that the building had been demolished in 2017 to make way for an access road to a new stretch of dual carriageway.

Cooper’s next search was to find any form of professional profile for Bridie Scott as a writer. She found two possibles – one who wrote romance novels and one whose genre was more difficult to determine. A bit more digging and she discovered that the second Bridie Scott had experience as a ghost writer.

‘Whatever that might be,’ Cooper muttered to herself. There was no mention of SJ Parton on Scott’s professional profile and no suggestion that she’d ever written crime novels. Cooper quickly searched the term ghost writer and got a rough understanding of the term. Ghost writers were often employed when someone wanted to publish their autobiography but needed someone to help with content and structure.

Less often, they were used to produce fiction – she found a number of suggestions that a well-known fantasy author employed ghost writers to enable him to produce several novels every year. If Luke Wilson was writing his autobiography, it seemed likely that he might employ someone like Bridie Scott.

Cooper opened a search engine that would allow her access to numerous databases that the general public knew little, if anything, about and typed in Bridie Scott’s name. There were no exact matches, but another quick search revealed that Bridie was often used as a diminutive for Bridget and there were three Bridget Scotts in the local area.

None of them was the registered keeper of a car resembling the one that Maya Marshall had got into at the racecourse. It was hardly ever that easy. Noting down addresses for all three, Cooper discovered that one lived in a nursing home near Tickhill and a further search revealed she had recently celebrated her hundredth birthday. Cooper hadn’t met Bridie Scott, but she was sure someone would have mentioned it if she was elderly. That left two.

The electoral register gave her addresses for both, neither lived close to Luke Wilson. One was in her fifties and one in her forties – nothing there to help with ID. Frustrated Cooper typed in ‘Bridie Scott and Luke Wilson’ and was rewarded with a list of articles about Luke Wilson, his career and illness – no connection to either Bridget Scott. Cooper clicked on an article about Wilson raising money for a Scottish charity that supported bone marrow donors and helped them and their families while they recovered.

‘Interesting,’ she muttered to the empty office. They knew Wilson’s career had ended with a cancer diagnosis and he’d raised money and awareness for teenage cancer charities both in the UK and abroad, but they’d not focused on the specifics of his illness. Intrigued, Cooper searched again with Wilson’s name and ‘bone marrow’ which revealed that he’d been diagnosed with acute myeloid leukaemia and had received a transplant from an anonymous donor. Was that the link? Was Bridie Scott his donor?

Cooper scanned a description of the treatment and the success rate of bone marrow transplants before reading a short paragraph that had her scrabbling for her phone.

Having taken the call on her mobile, Kate raised her eyebrows at Hollis from the passenger seat of their pool car and mouthed Cooper. ‘So, the DNA from the blood in the alley could be Wilson’s? How does that work?’

‘If he had a bone marrow transplant his cellular DNA and blood DNA will be different,’ Cooper said. ‘I’ve just looked it up.’

‘Shit! Of course he’d know that. Maybe that’s why he didn’t worry too much about giving us a sample. His reluctance was probably an act. What about Bridie Scott?’

Kate listened as Cooper told her what she’d found so far. ‘Keep digging, Sam. Although it’s looking like Wilson’s using her book as a blueprint for his crimes. He’s a hell of an actor.’ Kate ended the call and explained what Cooper had told her.

‘That’s mad,’ Hollis said. ‘Some people are walking round with two different DNA profiles? Are you sure?’

Kate looked out of the side window of the car. They were passing through Thorpe and she wondered how Barratt and Warren were getting on at the Marshall house. Anderson had called her ‘as a courtesy’ but not before he’d tasked two of her team with interviewing Jocelyn and Nuala. Kate was pissed off with him about his presumption, but that could wait. She needed information.

Nick answered on the fourth ring and confirmed he had ten minutes free to talk. As a senior oncologist he was responsible for managing his own caseload and she knew he’d probably be on a lunch break. She explained the reason for her call, hearing the incredulity in her own voice as she got to the cheek swab that Wilson had consented to.

‘Cooper’s right,’ Nick confirmed. ‘It’s a strange phenomenon but it’s real. The donor DNA will be in the blood because of the bone marrow, but the recipient’s DNA will be in the cells of the body so hair, cheek swab, all that kind of thing.’ His tone was formal as though he were explaining a procedure to a patient.

‘So, the DNA sample we have is useless in confirming whether it’s Wilson’s blood. It could literally be from anybody? Man, woman, child?’

‘Not quite,’ Nick said. ‘There’s a minimum age for bone marrow donation – I think it’s seventeen, but I’d have to check. There’s an upper limit as well, maybe sixty but again–’

‘You’d have to check,’ Kate finished the sentence considering how large a percentage of the population that would be. They’d thought the blood from the alleyway was a key piece of evidence but now it meant nothing.

‘I’m sorry,’ Nick said. ‘It’s probably not what you wanted to hear. And it gets worse. Bone marrow donations aren’t always from donors in the recipient’s home country. They can be done across continents if a suitable donor can be found.’

‘What’s the current world population?’ Kate asked rhetorically. ‘About eight billion? And how many fit the age profile? Five billion?’

‘Don’t forget gender,’ Nick said. ‘You can halve that five billion. I know it doesn’t help though. Sorry.’

‘Gender? I don’t get it.’

Hollis was pulling off the dual carriageway and heading for the road that would take him through Doncaster towards Auckley.

‘It’s highly likely that Wilson’s donor will have been a male. There have been studies showing that female-to-male bone marrow transplants can cause difficulties and even lead to rejection.’

‘Oh well, only two and a half billion – that’s a relief,’ Kate said.

Silence at the other end of the phone indicated that Nick wasn’t sure how to respond.

‘Thanks for clearing that up,’ she said, softening her tone. ‘See you at home.’ It wasn’t his fault that the news wasn’t good, and there might be something she could use when she spoke to Wilson, but it depended on how familiar he was with the science.

CHAPTER 44

Nuala Marshall’s mouth dropped open, and she stared at her mother with wide eyes.

‘Mum! No!’ She crossed the room and grabbed her mother’s hand. ‘You don’t know what you’re saying.’

Confused, Barratt tried to work out what to do next. He could arrest Jocelyn for the murder, but they already had a confession from her husband. If Colin Marshall stood by his statement, then where did that leave the Crown Prosecution Service? Two confessions to the same crime.

With no concrete evidence there wouldn’t be a credible case and one of them would get away with murder. Was that what they’d planned between them? He looked at Jocelyn’s face, trying to read her expression but she looked lost and exhausted.

‘Jocelyn,’ Warren said. ‘I think you need to sit down and think about what you’ve said. You’re obviously upset and grieving. Let’s see if we can sort this out.’ Nuala looked at her gratefully and Barratt felt his heart rate starting to slow down. He wasn’t sure how, but Warren had found the right words. Jocelyn Marshall followed her instructions and pulled out a chair, leaning heavily on the pine table. Her head slumped forward and she started to sob.

‘It was me, not Colin,’ she said, her words distorted by her distress. ‘He didn’t hurt anybody, it was me.’

Nuala stood frozen in the doorway looking like she didn’t know where to be, and it crossed Barratt’s mind that she might run – or confess, just to add to the confusion. Were they all going to claim to be sodding Spartacus?

‘Put the kettle on,’ Warren snapped at the younger woman. ‘Make your mum a cup of tea, sweet and strong.’

Barratt was surprised by her command and certainty. This was a side of the DS that he hadn’t seen before, but it was welcome – his own thoughts were jumbled as he tried to process the implications of what was happening.

‘Jocelyn,’ Warren said, her voice low and calm. ‘We’re going to have a drink and you’re going to tell me what happened. Is that okay?’

A feeble nod as the sobbing subsided.

‘Then we’ll work out the best thing to do.’ Warren squeezed Jocelyn’s arm in a gesture of reassurance as Nuala slid a steaming mug in front of her.

A heavy silence hung over the kitchen as Jocelyn wrapped both hands around the mug, clinging to it like a treasured keepsake, like it was the only thing in the world helping her stay grounded.

‘Let’s start at the beginning,’ Warren said. ‘Why would you want to kill Zander Elliott?’

‘He was a two-faced bastard,’ Jocelyn hissed. ‘We trusted him and he went behind our backs. Giving her drugs and God knows what else. Then I found out…’ She glanced at Nuala and shook her head.

‘Found out…?’ Warren prompted.

‘Doesn’t matter. He deserved it – that’s what matters.’

She pushed the mug of tea to one side and began picking at the table mat in front of her.

Nuala gently placed her hand over her mother’s, stopping the frantic action. ‘Mum, you have to be honest with them. If they can’t work out what happened, then you and Dad might both go to jail.’ Her voice was quiet, but Barratt heard the tremble in the way she said the final word. Nuala was obviously battling to save one of her parents, but it wasn’t clear which one.

‘Jocelyn,’ Warren said. ‘It’s important that we establish the facts. When did you find out that Zander Elliott was giving Maya performance-enhancing drugs?’

‘I didn’t… I don’t…’ She looked at her daughter and frowned. ‘Can we do this without Nuala? I don’t want her to hear the sordid details.’

Nuala shook her head. ‘No. I want to hear. I want to know what happened and I want to hear the truth. However awful.’

Jocelyn sighed heavily, expelling all the air from her body and slumped in her seat. ‘Nuala, I killed Zander Elliott. Your dad didn’t. You should know that. But your dad’s not innocent in this. It’s his fault.’

Nuala’s eyes narrowed as she responded to what her mother had said. ‘His fault how?’

Barratt leaned forward. It had been the question he would have asked but the daughter had got in first. He took his notebook out of his pocket and flipped it open to a clean page. Warren caught the movement of his hands and gave him a slight nod. They needed to get this written down.

‘He knew about the drugs,’ Jocelyn said. ‘He knew that man had been giving Maya something to help her improve her performance. And he didn’t stop him.’

‘How did you find out?’ Warren asked.

‘His phone. Colin was being odd about texts that were coming in. I asked him who was messaging at all hours and he told me it was business, or golf. Obviously, I suspected…’

‘You thought he might be having an affair,’ Nuala said.

Jocelyn nodded. ‘What else was I to think? So a few weeks ago when he left his phone on the bedside table one morning while he was in the shower, I had a look. It was all there. Colin had gone along with it. Maya was being drugged.’ She spat the final word as though it left a bitter taste in her mouth and her daughter flinched.

‘You knew? And Dad was involved? Why didn’t you do something?’

‘What could I do? I didn’t know exactly what was going on so I decided to wait until I knew for sure.’

‘You fucking wimp!’ Nuala leaped up and her chair toppled backwards. ‘You never could stand up to him, could you?’ She leaned forward, hands on the table, face close to her mother’s. ‘Spineless cow!’

‘Nuala, this isn’t helping,’ Warren said.

‘Nothing can help. One of my parents is a murderer and the other is a liar and a drug dealer. How can anything help with that?’

She stood and tottered slightly as if uncertain what to do or where to go. ‘I need some air.’

Jocelyn waited until the front door had closed behind her daughter before speaking again. ‘I know how this looks, and she’s right. I should have confronted him straight away; I should have made him stop. I think part of me didn’t want to believe what I’d read but when Maya… when Maya was killed, I confronted Colin and he told me what had been happening. He said he’d told Elliott not to contact him again and to delete all their messages – I suppose he did the same.’

She took a sip of her tea and looked Warren square in the eyes. ‘He deserved it, Elliott. What if he’d given her something on the day she was taken and her judgement was impaired? What if she’d become dependent on something and started trying to source drugs herself?’

Barratt was scribbling furiously, relying on Warren to steer the interview. He could see where this was heading and he knew it should be relatively easy to prove Jocelyn’s story.

‘So how did you get him to agree to meet you?’

‘I pretended to be Colin texting from a new phone. I knew enough about what had been going on to be convincing. I took a knife, met him in the layby and stabbed him. I don’t regret it and I don’t want Colin to go to jail for it. I know he made up a confession to protect me, but I need to be honest, and I need to own what I’ve done.’

Barratt scribbled Phone records for JM and CM? They could verify Jocelyn’s account by checking with her phone provider. There’d be a record of the texts to Elliott. ‘Did you take your own car?’ Barratt asked.

A nod.

‘And what about your clothes? They must have been covered in blood.’

‘There’s a washer dryer in the garage. Maya keeps a swim robe in there. I stripped off, put her coat on and chucked my clothes in a hot wash.’

The techies would have to take the appliance apart to search for traces of blood. And they’d need to examine the car. Barratt jotted the details in his notebook then nodded to Warren who cleared her throat before speaking.

‘Jocelyn Marshall, I am arresting you on suspicion of the murder of Alexander Elliott. You don’t have to say anything–’

The kitchen door opened with a crash as Nuala reappeared, face flushed from the cold.

‘You’ve only got yourself to blame,’ she snapped at her mother as Warren finished reciting the caution.

CHAPTER 45

The car dipped into a bank of freezing fog just before Kate and Hollis reached Auckley, almost obscuring the road ahead. The side mirrors were quickly rimed with ice as though someone had spray painted their edges silver, and the view through the windscreen was a swirling wall of grey-white cloud.

‘Pathetic fallacy,’ Kate muttered.

‘What?’

‘The fog. Reflects my mood and this sodding case. Grim, gloomy and impossible to see a way through. Did you not learn about it in English lit?’

Hollis laughed. ‘I think my class wouldn’t have got beyond the phallus bit. You know what lads are like – always on the alert for any suggestion of smut.’

‘Sounds about right. I always found it incredible the way Ben could give anything a double meaning.’

She smiled as she thought about her son, aged around ten, laughing at an episode of an American comedy where the word fanny was used to mean bum. No matter how hard she tried to convince him he struggled to believe that they could possibly use it for anything but vagina. Then, when he was finally convinced, the endless exhortations to his parents to get off their fannies and do something.

‘You look miles away,’ Hollis said. ‘Thinking about pathetic phallus?’

She laughed, grateful for his attempt to lift her mood. This was the old Hollis, the one she knew and trusted and could share her moods with. Something about this case had brought him back to himself and she wondered if he’d been missing the camaraderie of his ‘old’ team. There had been so much disruption in her absence, and he’d also had O’Connor’s situation to deal with. Or, maybe, she was giving herself too much credit and what he’d needed was something to throw himself into to find his feet again.

There was no car in Luke Wilson’s drive when they pulled up outside the house and nothing to suggest he was at home. Kate instructed Hollis to stay in the car and keep it running and warm while she rang the doorbell.

A minute passed with no sign of the door being answered. She tried again but, instead of waiting on the front path, gestured to Hollis to join her and suggested they try round the back. A narrow passage ran between the side fence and the back garden, and the paving stones were slick with ice.

‘Watch your footing,’ she warned, using the rough brick wall to lean on as she inched forward. The end of the passageway was barred by a wooden gate, bolted from the garden side. Kate stepped back allowing Hollis to use his height to reach over and undo the top bolt. He turned the wrought iron loop handle and they gained access to a small patch of frosty grass and a jumble of planters, some filled with earth, others empty and abandoned-looking.

Pushing past him, Kate moved round to the patio doors that allowed access into the dining room that she remembered from previous visits. The doors were locked and there was no indication that anyone was home, no dirty dishes, no half-finished drinks.

‘No sign,’ she said. Hollis was peering through the frosted-glass access door to the garage, one hand pressed against the glass, shading his eyes.

‘I think the garage is empty as well.’

Kate had deliberately not called ahead, hoping to surprise Wilson before he could prepare a story – or run – but they were left with no choice. She dug her phone out of her shoulder bag and dialled.

‘Voice mail,’ she told Hollis. The message was the automated, anodyne one allocated by the provider – Wilson obviously didn’t want his voice on the recording – and she left a brief message requesting a call back.

‘Maybe he’s driving,’ Hollis suggested. ‘Or swimming somewhere. He wouldn’t answer if he was in a pool.’

‘Looks like we’ll have to wait in the car. No sense in driving round all the local swimming pools on the off chance.’

Hollis was reaching over the gate to bolt it when a figure appeared at the end of the passageway, blocking their exit.

‘What the hell do you two think you’re doing?’

The voice was male and aggressive, but Kate couldn’t make out any details of the man silhouetted against the fog, he was just a black shape.

‘We’re looking for Luke Wilson,’ she said, edging closer.

‘Normal people knock on the door and bugger off if there’s nobody at home. Try again.’

‘If you could step back and let us past, I can explain.’

‘No chance. Stay there and tell me who you are.’

Kate moved close enough to make out a dark suit jacket and jeans, but the man’s features were still in shadow. It was difficult to assess his age but the way his body blocked the light suggested he was big and probably strong.

‘Step back now, sir. We’re police officers and we’re concerned for Mr Wilson’s safety.’

‘Good one,’ the man said. ‘What would a couple of coppers be doing poking round the back of the house? I bet you’re bloody journalists, aren’t you?’

‘If you step back, I can show you my ID. If you don’t, I’ll have to consider arresting you for obstruction.’

The alleyway brightened as the man moved away, allowing them onto the driveway.

‘Show me then.’

The man looked to be in his early to mid-thirties. His dark hair was gelled into spikes, and his clean-shaven face was contorted into a belligerent frown. He had fingers in the front pockets of his jeans, holding them like they were a pair of guns and he was ready to draw at the slightest provocation. Kate showed him her identification and nodded to Hollis to do the same, watching as the man made a show of scrutinising the details.

‘Right, well…’ he blustered. ‘Can’t be too careful. I’m only looking out for Luke. He’s had a bit of hassle from journos and the odd weird fan.’

‘You know him well, Mr…?’

‘Thomas,’ the man said without making it clear whether that was a first name or a surname. ‘We both moved in at around the same time. We’re not in each other’s pockets or owt like that but we’ve had the odd drink in the garden in the summer – that kind of thing. I always keep an eye on things when he’s away and he does the same for me.’

‘Away? Has he gone on holiday?’

The man’s cheeks coloured, and Kate wondered if his description of his friendship with Wilson may have been slightly exaggerated.

‘I don’t have any details; I just saw him putting a couple of suitcases in his car this morning.’

‘What time was this?’ Hollis asked.

‘Maybe half nine, tennish.’

‘And he left in his own car? Not by taxi?’

‘Yep. Can’t miss that Audi he drives.’

Kate sensed a slight tone of envy as Thomas mentioned Wilson’s electric car.

‘Was he on his own?’ Kate asked. ‘He didn’t have anybody with him?’

‘You mean that lass that’s been visiting. Can’t work out what’s going on there,’ Thomas said with a smile. ‘A bit old to be his girlfriend but she’s in and out a lot.’

‘Was she with him this morning?’ Kate snapped.

‘No. He was definitely on his own. Maybe they’ve fallen out.’

Or maybe Bridie Scott had outlived her usefulness.

CHAPTER 46

‘Dan, you’ve read Bridie’s book. How closely are our murders following those in the story?’

Hollis shut the car door and started the engine. ‘The first two are identical. The attack on Sophia Douglas was similar but, in the book, he kills her. We still don’t know if leaving her alive was a mistake or deliberate.’

‘And what’s next? If Wilson is using this book as a blueprint, we know what the next attack will look like – but not who and where.’

‘It’s a domestic setting,’ Hollis said. ‘The body’s found in a house. It’s set up to look like a suicide, but the PM makes it obvious that it’s murder.’

‘But not Wilson’s kitchen,’ Kate mused. Cooper had mentioned that she had two possible addresses for Bridget Scott and one was on the other side of Doncaster.

‘Sam,’ Kate said as Cooper answered her phone after a single ring. We need to check out the two Bridget Scotts you found. If you’ll give me the addresses, me and Dan can cover the Bentley one and I’ll get a couple of uniforms to check out the one near Mexborough.’

Hanging up, she gave Hollis the Bentley address before making a call for a check at the other house.

‘If she lives here, she’s obviously not hit the best-seller list,’ Hollis observed, squinting through the windscreen at the row of shops on Bentley’s main street. ‘What’s the betting hers is the one above the bookies?’

Kate smiled at his joke as she read the numbers on the doors. The street was quite busy for mid-morning but, in between well wrapped-up shoppers, she saw a dark grey door set slightly back between the betting shop and a nail bar. Cream plastic numbers and letters with rust streaks indicated it was the entrance to 11A and 11B.

‘You might be right,’ she said, opening the car door and almost knocking a teenager off an electric scooter. He gave her a V sign, and she considered flashing her ID, but he’d have been gone before she could get it out of her pocket. Sometimes the small battles weren’t worth it.

‘Little shit,’ Hollis muttered as the boy swung his hips and disappeared into a side street.

Two doorbells were attached to the door frame and Kate rung the one for 11A – the address Cooper had given her. Hollis stamped his feet and tucked his hands into his armpits while they waited.

‘Should have brought your big coat,’ Kate teased, zipping her down jacket up beneath her chin.

‘Nah, this is T-shirt weather – have a look round town tonight.’

Kate pressed the doorbell again, but she wasn’t convinced there was anybody home. Frustrated, she rang 11B three times. If Bridget’s neighbour was home, they might be able to let them into her flat. Heavy footsteps pounded downstairs and the door was flung open.

‘I’ve told you–’ a woman, probably in her mid-twenties and definitely pissed off.

‘Oh, thought you were kids messing about. Little buggers should be in school not roaming the streets tormenting folk.’ She wore a bright cerise towelling bathrobe over pale pink pyjamas, her face unmade-up and her hair hidden in a dark grey towel twisted into a turban.

‘They always seem to catch me before I’m dressed. So, what do you two want? If you’re bloody Jehovah’s Witnesses you can bugger off right now.’

Kate showed her ID and introduced them both, but the woman seemed either unimpressed or unsurprised.

‘And?’

‘We’re looking for Bridget Scott, your neighbour,’ Hollis said.

‘Bridie? Why, what’s she done?’

‘You know her?’

The woman shrugged and crossed her arms. ‘Have the odd cuppa together. Can’t say we’re friends, like.’ Her tone was wary as though trying to distance herself from whatever trouble her neighbour might have been involved in.

‘Can we come in?’ Hollis asked. ‘You might be able to help us, and I wouldn’t mind a coffee.’ He flashed her a persuasive smile and she grinned back.

‘You’re a cheeky one. I’m not sure I want the police in my flat though.’

‘Maybe in the hallway?’ Kate suggested. ‘At least it’ll get us out of the cold.’

The woman sighed and stepped back allowing them access to a narrow dimly lit corridor that smelled of damp and fried food. An uncarpeted flight of stairs ran up one wall, and a metal door barred access to what Kate assumed was one of the shops.

‘Can I take your name,’ Hollis asked, notebook in hand. The woman looked worried.

‘Why? I’m not in trouble; it’s Bridie you want.’

‘It’s just routine,’ Kate reassured her. ‘In case we need to get back in touch.’

‘Paige, Paige Ferguson.’

Hollis made a note. ‘How long have you lived here, Paige?’

‘About a year. Moved in last March.’

‘Was Bridget already living here?’

A nod as Paige leaned against the grimy wall. ‘Yep. She came round with some milk and a box of chocolates. She’s thoughtful like that. She’s only been here a couple of years herself.’

‘Can you describe Bridget Scott for me?’ Kate asked, conjuring up her own memory of the woman they’d met at Luke Wilson’s house.

‘Like I said, she’s thoughtful. Kind.’

‘Physically,’ Kate prompted. ‘Tall, short, age, hair colour…’

Paige raised her thin eyebrows. ‘You don’t know what she looks like? What’s this about?’

Kate didn’t have time for a lengthy explanation. They had no idea if this Bridie Scott was the woman they were looking for but, if she was, they needed to find out quickly.

‘We think a woman called Bridie Scott may be in danger and we have two potential addresses for two women with the same name. We’ve met her, once, and we need to know if your neighbour is the woman we’re concerned about. We have police officers en route to the other one.’

Paige looked at Hollis as if checking that this wasn’t a wind-up. ‘Okay. Bridie’s about forty-five or fifty. She’s a bit smaller than me. Er, grey hair cut shortish. Oh, and she’s got unusual eyes, sort of a pale green. She says it’s from her Irish roots.’

Kate pushed past Paige and started up the stairs. The description was close enough to the woman they’d seen at Wilson’s house to justify entering her flat – if they could find a way in.

‘Oy, where you going?’ Kate heard Paige stomping after her.

‘Have you got a key to Bridie’s flat? We need to get in, and I’d rather not ask Hollis to kick the door down.’

‘Why would I have a key? Why do you need to get in?’

Kate stopped outside flat 11A and placed an ear to the door. No sound from inside. She shook her head at Hollis who took a step back and scanned the painted wood.

‘Hang on,’ Paige said. ‘You can’t just break into her flat when she’s not there. Don’t you need a warrant or summat?’

‘Not if we believe there’s a risk to life,’ Kate snapped then realised what the woman had said.

‘She’s not here? How do you know?’

‘I saw her putting a case in her car this morning. She keeps it round the back, but she’d pulled into the bus stop so she didn’t have to carry her stuff too far. Heard a load of beeping so I looked out of the window and saw her giving the finger to the bus driver before she drove off.’

‘What time?’

‘Dunno. Oh, wait… it was about half nine. The number 87 bus to Donny stops at half nine.’ Paige smiled, pleased with herself.

‘And you haven’t heard her come back?’

‘Nope. But you can check to see if her car’s there. Well, I say her car, I think it was her mam’s. She got it after her mam died and I think she said it was part of her ‘crappy inheritance’. Always moaning that her mam hadn’t left her a Porsche or a Merc or summat. Some people are never happy. I’d love it if somebody gave me a car… lot better than…’

Kate held up a hand almost in Paige’s face and the younger woman flinched back.

‘Oy!’

‘Paige. We don’t have much time here. What sort of car does Bridie drive?’

‘Dunno,’ Paige mumbled sulkily. ‘Can’t tell one from another.’

‘Colour, age, style, anything…’

‘Okay, keep your hair on. It’s dark blue. Quite small and definitely not new. She gave me a lift in it a couple of times. Doors in the front and back cos I put my shopping on the back seat. I could see that she’d got a load of boxes in the back bit.’

‘The boot?’

‘Suppose.’

Hollis had pulled out his phone and was scrolling frantically.

‘Does it look like this?’

‘Might do,’ Paige said. ‘It’s that sort of shape.’

Hollis held up his phone so Kate could see the photograph. It was a frame from the CCTV footage that Cooper had downloaded from Doncaster Racecourse. Maya Marshall getting into a dark blue hatchback.

CHAPTER 47

The thin light through the windows caught the dimples on the beaten copper tabletop and turned it into a squashed disco ball as Luke Wilson placed his half pint of bitter carefully on a drip mat. He checked his watch even though he knew he had plenty of time – the cottage’s owner had given clear directions and even clearer instructions that they weren’t to arrive until after 3pm.

He still had an hour to wait, and a quick half would be the perfect thing to calm his nerves. He’d stopped off in Sheffield to meet with a sponsor on the way and had found it difficult to focus on the deal, eventually phoning Beth and asking her to sort it out.

As he took his first sip he peered over the glass at his surroundings. He’d not been in The Stag before, but he’d driven past a few times on his way to the Peak District for walks and various speaking events in the Hope Valley, and he was pleasantly surprised to find that it did a range of lunch choices and had a few decent local ales on tap. Better still it was fairly quiet, and nobody had given him a second glance as he’d approached the bar. It wasn’t that he hated being recognised but, sometimes, anonymity had its advantages, and he didn’t want to get bogged down in a conversation with a stranger – however well-meaning.

As he took another pull on his drink, his thoughts turned to the past few months and his relationship with Bridie. Things had been difficult at first – the secrecy and planning – but it looked like it was going to be worth it. One final push and it would be over. He’d been thrilled when she’d accepted his invitation to spend a long weekend with him in a holiday cottage and hadn’t seemed concerned when he’d insisted that the secrecy around their partnership had to be maintained. He didn’t think she’d told anybody because he didn’t think she had anybody to tell.

He checked his watch again. A couple of days and they’d be done. Then he’d be rid of Bridie Scott for good and he could get on with his life. Although he knew his life would never be the same. He’d grown used to being in the public eye and being recognised was probably a weekly occurrence, but it was something he controlled. His talks, public appearances, charity work were all part of a persona he’d developed after his illness. Once his work with Bridie was finished, he’d achieve a different level of fame, a different kind of interest and he wasn’t sure how he’d handle it or where it would lead.

He downed his drink and took the glass back to the bar.

‘Another,’ the barman asked, eyes fixed on his phone screen.

‘Why not?’ No need to hurry.

The drive to the cottage took longer than he’d expected but he enjoyed the quiet roads. The weak sun cut through the clouds lighting up parts of the hilltops like a spotlight coursing across the pale-yellow grasses and dark peat. He’d put the address into the satnav and followed a turning to a narrow lane between Hathersage and Hope. The cottage was set back down a short driveway, hidden behind looming, dark leylandii. Very private. Perfect.

He knew she’d be the first to arrive. She’d often told him that it was rude to be late and showed a lack of respect for other people’s time. He wouldn’t miss her trite sayings and tendency to cliché. She was leaning on that battered old car, arms folded across her chest, smiling at him as he pulled in next to her. Her usual uniform of jeans and cardigan had been replaced with a pair of black cords and a grey polo-necked jumper. He thought she looked like a middle-aged version of a nineteen sixties beat poet who’d managed to survive the drugs and the ridicule.

‘I’ve already got the key,’ she said as soon as he stepped out of the car. ‘The owner was here when I arrived, so he let me in. I haven’t unpacked or anything yet though. Seems a bit rude as you’re the one paying for this. I don’t want to take over. Choose your room and I’ll fit in around you. I did put a few bits in the fridge though – don’t want the milk to go off.’

He was sure the milk would have been fine – the thermometer in his car had hovered around five degrees for most of the journey – but she’d probably wanted a nose around. She’d sent him links to a few cottages so he could choose somewhere but her language suggested this was her preference and, really, he’d had no reason to object. Any of them would have served the same purpose but, if she wanted this one, he didn’t have any complaints.

Grabbing his case from the boot he nudged open the main door which led into a brightly lit hallway with a pale wood floor and cream walls. Three doors led off and a flight of stairs indicated that there were bedrooms above. He dumped his luggage and clomped along the hall to the back room – the one he hoped was the kitchen that he’d seen on the website.

He opened the door and took in the modern appliances, hard-backed chairs and a plain but functional table. It had obviously been added at a later date with a high roof and faux aged rafters, but he had to admit to himself that it was tastefully done. It wasn’t as upmarket as he’d have chosen for his own home but that didn’t matter. It was perfect for what they’d come here for.

CHAPTER 48

It had taken Kate two tries to get through to Barratt and, when he’d finally answered his phone, he’d launched into an account of Jocelyn Marshall’s arrest. She knew he was chuffed with the way he and Warren had handled everything, but she didn’t have time to stroke his ego. Instead, she’d simply told him they’d talk about it later and asked him to text her the number for Luke Wilson’s agent.

Kate had expected Beth Poole to be difficult, but the level of secrecy around Wilson’s whereabouts suggested he was a Russian spy or a minor royal. When politeness had failed and cajoling had fallen on deaf ears, Kate had resorted to threats and, finally, the woman capitulated and told her that Luke Wilson had rented a cottage in the Peak District to work on a project and couldn’t be disturbed.

It had taken another five minutes for Kate to convince the agent that not only could Mr Wilson be disturbed, he would be and if she didn’t give Kate the details of the rental the consequences would be career ending.

‘Christ,’ Kate said, ending the call. ‘Talk about tight-lipped.’

‘Where is he?’

‘Derbyshire. A cottage somewhere near Hathersage. She wouldn’t say if he was there alone, but I think we know the answer to that one. I’m going to get a call through to Derbyshire Police for a welfare check – it’ll take us well over an hour to get there – at least if he knows we’re watching he might think twice about harming Bridie.’

Hollis didn’t respond.

‘You don’t think she’s in danger?’

He slipped the car into gear, eyes briefly focused on the rear-view mirror and Kate sensed he was playing for time.

‘I don’t know,’ he said as they pulled into the traffic. ‘It was her car that Maya Marshall got into. Surely that suggests that she wasn’t suspicious of the driver, and a woman would probably seem less threatening.’

‘Unless Wilson borrowed the car. We already know that Maya thought she was chatting to him online. She was probably thrilled that he was offering her a lift.’

‘Suppose. I just think there’s more to this. What if Wilson and Scott are working together? Could they both be murderers?’

Kate wasn’t convinced. She knew there had been serial killers who worked in pairs – some quite notorious – but she didn’t feel that any of the murders were the work of two people. It was possible that Scott was covering for Wilson for some reason – perhaps to do with money, or sex – but she wasn’t sure that they were some sort of criminal tag team.

‘What happens in the book? Are there any clues there?’ She felt irritated that she hadn’t had time to read it and was relying on Hollis’s interpretation.

‘Not really. It’s a single murderer picking people off at random. I’m not sure the motive is fully explained but the connections between the victims are a bit vague. Different genders, different ages but all have the same signature with the underwear.’

‘Sounds a bit unlikely. Most serial killers have a ‘type’ or a connection to their victims.’

‘Most,’ Hollis agreed. ‘That’s what makes the one in the book more difficult to trace – he’s invisible because he doesn’t have a pattern. Hence the title.’

She texted Cooper with the details of the cottage and asked for any information she could find on its location, access routes and the owners. Then she rang Derbyshire Constabulary and asked to be put through to someone who could organise a visit to the property. A frustrating ten minutes later she reached a DI based in Bakewell who told her he could have a couple of uniformed officers drop by in the next half hour.

Kate checked her watch. That would still be half an hour before she and Hollis could get there – better than nothing.

They were leaving the outskirts of Sheffield when Kate’s phone rang. The number was unfamiliar but, suspecting it might be one of the officers tasked with checking on Wilson and Scott she answered, putting it on speaker so Hollis would be able to hear.

‘DI Fletcher?’

‘Speaking.’

‘I’m Sergeant Osbourne with Derbyshire Constabulary.’ He enunciated each word carefully as though proud of his status and position.

‘Me and a fellow police officer have visited an address near Hathersage as requested by Detective Inspector Coles.’

‘Great. Thanks. And…’

‘Both parties were present in the property. Neither seemed in any danger or distress, in fact they were eating a meal together. The male seemed irritated, something about police harassment and how had we got the address, but the female was happy to answer our questions. Nothing sinister – a weekend break together. Bit of an age difference but each to their own.’

Kate couldn’t decide whether to be relieved or disappointed. Had they read it wrong? Were Wilson and Scott involved in a romantic relationship? Kate hung up and looked at Hollis who seemed to be very interested in the road ahead. He didn’t actually say ‘told you so’ but it hung between them, unspoken like a weird smell.

‘I still think we should check it out,’ she said, looking at her phone as emails from Cooper started to arrive. Kate opened the first one – Land Registry documents listing the owner of the rental property as G Prescott. The second was a photograph of the building and finally a section of OS map with the property highlighted.

As she was typing to thank Cooper, another email dropped into her mailbox. Kailisa.

She almost dropped her phone as she tapped frantically, the subject line feeling like it was screaming at her.

DNA

She scanned the contents then read the whole thing again, much more slowly and carefully trying to make it make sense. The DNA recovered from the blood on the wall of the alley where Patrick’s body had been found didn’t match the sample given by Luke Wilson – that wasn’t surprising given the conversations she’d had with Cooper and Nick earlier – and there was no match on the database.

It seemed like another dead end apart from one line. The DNA showed that the blood belonged to a female.

CHAPTER 49

‘So it could be Bridie Scott’s blood?’ Hollis said as he slowed down to the speed limit on the edge of Hathersage.

‘It could belong to anybody. We haven’t asked her for a sample so there’s no way to check. I still don’t see why she’d kill Ewan Patrick. What’s the connection? And Maya? It doesn’t make sense. What happens in the book? You said the next victim is found in their house.’

‘He’s hanging from the banisters. Police suspect auto asphyxiation at first because his jeans are undone, but the rope is hiding a mark from a different ligature. And I think there are drugs involved. Maybe GHB or some sort of sedative. I didn’t have much time to read: I was skimming rather than taking in all the details.’

‘But it’s a male victim?’

‘Fairly sure, yes. Cooper’s got Steve’s copy. Give her a buzz.’

Kate considered his advice, but she wasn’t convinced that the gender of the victim was important. It was going to be either Wilson or Scott – unless there was a third party involved who hadn’t pinged on their radar yet. If the Derbyshire police were right and Scott and Wilson were eating together, it looked like there was time to be circumspect about their approach. There was no point in them showing up and demanding answers.

Wilson would, quite rightly, complain about victimisation and they’d be sent packing with nothing to show. Kate opened the map that Cooper had sent and saw a narrow lane leading round the back of the cottage to a farm. It was nearly dark – if they could approach the cottage quietly on foot they would have the advantage of surprise.

She directed Hollis to turn into the lane then stop.

‘What are we doing?’ he asked.

‘Waiting. I don’t want to just drive up and announce ourselves. If we park up here, there’s a footpath that connects this lane to the main road – it goes right past the cottage.’ Kate silently thanked her GCSE geography teacher for drumming Ordnance Survey maps and symbols into her class decades ago. She hadn’t been very interested at the time, but the basics had obviously stuck and she even knew that the walk to the cottage would be less than five minutes based on the distance – if Cooper had copied it to scale when she’d sent the screen grab. Otherwise, they could be floundering around in the dark for a while.

Kate reached up and turned off the interior light before slowly opening the car door and Hollis followed her lead, easing himself out into the icy gloom. Glancing round, she couldn’t see lights from any nearby buildings so she risked switching on her phone’s torch but kept it angled low to the ground where it sparked off frozen puddles and frost-encrusted grass.

‘Down here,’ she whispered. ‘There should be a path on the left that goes right past the cottage. Let’s get close and see if we can work out what’s going on.’

She led the way, the crunch of her shoes on the gravel sounding like a cement mixer in the absolute stillness of the enclosed lane. She stepped to one side, working her way through the grass to dull the sound of her footsteps and hoped Hollis had got the message.

A public footpath sign listed slightly, pointing the way to the right like a skeletal hand urging them towards certain danger, its shadow improbably long in the weak beam from her phone. She squeezed through a gap in the hedge onto a narrow strip of grass and got her first view of the cottage. Blinds were drawn against the winter night, but she could see that the back rooms were illuminated.

‘Looks like somebody’s home,’ she murmured to Hollis. ‘Let’s have a nose around before we knock.’

The path led to the driveway of the cottage, a patch of rough gravel with room for two cars – a Dacia Sandero parked beside an expensive EV. Kate noticed that Wilson’s electric Audi was plugged into a charger next to the front door – they may be away from the towns and cities but, obviously, holiday accommodation owners were expected to offer all mod cons.

She stepped into the small porch and listened. No sound from inside, no music, no TV and no conversation. The blind covering one of the windows was bulging away from the frame slightly, allowing a thin crack of light through. Kate angled her head, trying to see into the room but all she could make out was the edge of a chair or sofa and a table lamp.

Turning to Hollis she shook her head. He moved left to a darkened window and leaned in close to the glass before backing away again. Obviously, he couldn’t see anything either. She beckoned him over and made a knocking gesture with her fist, hopefully he’d get the message and give her his opinion. He shrugged.

‘Sod it,’ she muttered and knocked on the pane of glass above the letterbox.

CHAPTER 50

Bridie Scott blinked at them, frowning. ‘Yes?’

Kate saw the moment recognition dawned on the woman, her pupils dilated and her quizzical smile settled into a hard line of resistance.

‘Oh, police again. This is getting ridiculous.’ She held onto the door with one hand and leaned against the jamb, barring their way inside.

‘Can we come in?’ Kate asked. ‘It’s important. We need to speak to Luke Wilson urgently.’

‘He’s not here.’

‘His car’s right there,’ Hollis said. ‘Or has he wandered off into the dark?’

Bridie glanced at the car. ‘He doesn’t want to be disturbed. We’ve already had a visit from Derbyshire’s finest and now you two. Your superiors will be receiving a complaint. Unless you have a warrant, you can both fuck off.’

The expletive was strangely shocking coming from a woman who looked like she wouldn’t be out of place at the local WI or sitting round a ‘knit and natter’ table. Her short greying hair was untidy and Kate noticed that the front was plastered to her forehead in small curls like tiny grey slugs.

Her face was red as if she’d been exercising and the sleeves of her polo necked sweater were rolled up. Either the heating was turned up full, or Bridie Scott had been exerting herself. Had Kate got this wrong? Was the woman in danger or a danger?

‘We can’t do that,’ Kate said. ‘We have a credible concern for the welfare of Luke Wilson and that overrides the need for a warrant. Please feel free to contact my superiors to check – I can give you a number to call.’

‘He’s resting.’

‘All we need to do is see that he’s okay and we’re gone,’ Hollis said, blunt and matter of fact.

Bridie looked at him then back to Kate. ‘Two minutes. Then I’m making that call.’

It was enough to get them into the house.

‘Through to the kitchen at the back. Grab a seat and I’ll get Luke.’ She disappeared up the stairs.

The kitchen was brightly lit and smelled of fried onions and garlic. A laptop sat open on the central island, a tall stool lay on the floor next to it. Kate nodded towards it and Hollis raised his eyebrows. Something felt ‘off’.

‘Wonder what happened there.’

‘Maybe you startled her when you knocked. I think…’

Kate watched in confusion as Hollis crumpled to the floor before he could finish the sentence revealing Bridie Scott standing in the hallway clutching a hammer.

‘God, some people never know when to shut up,’ she said, her tone disconcertingly conversational.

All Kate’s attention was on Hollis. How hard had he been hit and where? Bridie was at least a foot shorter and didn’t look very strong. Could she have managed a fatal blow?

As if in answer to her questions Hollis moaned and tried to sit up, pushing on the floor with one hand as he lolled sideways. Kate reached into her pocket for her phone.

‘No signal, love,’ Bridie said. ‘We’re in a dip. I’d give you the WiFi password but, you know, can’t have the cavalry turning up.’

Frantically Kate looked around for a weapon, but the kitchen surfaces were bare. She could try the drawers but that would involve turning her back on the other woman, exposing her own skull to the hammer. She watched as Bridie reached into one of the cupboards and took out a length of blue nylon rope fashioned into a crude noose. She threw it onto the table and retrieved another piece.

‘Killing this one isn’t part of the plan, she said, bending down and looping the rope around Hollis’s ankles. He moaned in protest but didn’t have the strength to resist when she secured it around one wrist to draw it close to the other before tying it into a hefty knot.

‘I think this is the part where you tell me I’ll never get away with this,’ she said to Kate with a grin. ‘But I already have. I’ve never been bothered about being caught – that’s what’s made this so easy. I’ve been in a win win situation from the start.’

‘Where’s Luke?’ Kate asked.

‘I told you he’s resting. I put enough special K in his dinner to knock out an elephant. I needed him to be compliant but, you never know, it might kill him. Can’t say I’m bothered either way.’

She finished with Hollis and stood, staying close enough to hit him again if Kate made a move towards her.

‘This is an unexpected development though, DI Fletcher. I need to have a bit of a think.’ Bridie’s green eyes crinkled into a smile and she licked her lips as though preparing for a delicious meal.

‘What’s this about, Bridie? I have to admit you’ve had us guessing. Is Luke the killer? Are you working together? We thought you might be in danger.’

‘Ha! It takes imagination to kill. Luke is sadly lacking in that area, that’s why he needed me.’

‘So what, you’re the brains and he’s the brawn?’

Bridie looked down at the hammer she was holding as if she couldn’t work out how it got into her hand. ‘Brawn? No. We’re not partners in crime. He’s been writing a book.’

Of all the things Bridie could have told her, this was probably the furthest from Kate’s expectations. ‘A book?’

‘A police procedural to be precise. Another one of those lovely celebrity authors that everybody fawns over. What a talent! First he’s an athlete then he’s a wordsmith. The contract was signed before he’d written a word. Before I’d written a word. Six figures with the promise of support for a series if that’s what Luke wants. Publicity lined up, social media posts set to go viral. It’s all there.’

‘You’re his ghost writer?’

Bridie’s eyes narrowed. ‘I hate that expression. I’m just the invisible talent behind the celebrity gloss. And it makes me sick. Do you know how hard I’ve worked? How hard it is to get a publisher interested? Even the smaller ones have impossible expectations and standards. Have you got a website? Can you pay for an editor? It’s bullshit. If your face doesn’t fit, it doesn’t matter how good a writer you are. Some pretty boy swimmer without a GCSE in English will storm up the best seller charts – especially with the cancer story.’

Nothing was making sense. Wilson was ‘writing’ a book and Bridie was what… jealous? She’d killed two people because she couldn’t find a publisher for her own work?

‘Is this some sort of revenge?’ Kate asked, trying to keep the woman talking. She’d backed towards a set of drawers and rested her hand on the handle of the top one.

‘Don’t you understand?’ Bridie sneered. ‘When the press gets hold of this everybody will want to read the book that inspired it. Invisible will be a best seller.’

‘And you’ll be in prison. Or were you hoping to stage Luke’s murder to look like suicide?’ Kate glanced at the laptop. ‘Is there already a confession on there? But we’d still have found you. We’ve got your DNA from one of the scenes.’

‘How do you know?’ Bridie countered. ‘I’ve never given a sample. And I could easily say that I cut myself at Luke’s house and he must have kept one of the cloths we used to wipe up the mess.’

‘It was fresh blood, Bridie. Forensic science can easily age a blood sample. If you’d refused to give us something for comparison, don’t you think that would have raised suspicion?’

‘It doesn’t matter. It never did. I only left it there for dramatic effect – to match my story. A quick nick to my thumb and a nice bit of blood spatter. What matters is people will be reading my book. My book, with my name on it. Agents and publishers would be bidding for it.’

‘Enlighten me,’ Kate said. ‘Was this the plan from the start? Did you target Maya Marshall from the beginning?’

Bridie laughed. ‘Of course not. A lot of young girls were keen to chat to ‘Luke’ on the Instagram account I set up, and one or two might have been close enough to work but Maya turned up online one day and she was perfect. Young, keen, local…  I couldn’t help myself really. She almost fell into my lap.’

Bridie could have been talking about hiring a cleaner or someone to walk her dog. Kate found the lack of emotion unsettling – the woman sounded like she thought she was entitled to kill.

‘And Ewan Patrick? What did he do?’

Bridie smirked. ‘Luke told me about their encounter in the pub. He wanted to base a scene in the book around it. Stupid idea but it did give me the next victim.’

‘What about Sophia Douglas? According to your book she should have been the third murder. You let her live.’ Kate was desperately trying to buy some time while she worked out how to disarm Bridie. The hammer was still far too close to Hollis.

‘I didn’t let her live. I thought she was dead.’

‘She has epilepsy. It looks like she might have some sort of episode. You made a mistake.’

Bridie smirked. ‘Invisible isn’t a murder manual. It’s fiction. So what if it doesn’t quite match up to what I did. People will still buy it now.’

‘I doubt it,’ Hollis muttered from the floor.

Bridie’s eyes flicked towards him as Kate’s fingers tightened on the handle of the drawer and she eased it open.

‘You again?’ she said. ‘Do you want another whack?’

‘Do what you want,’ Hollis said, his voice gaining strength. ‘It doesn’t matter because you won’t win this. Nobody will buy your book.’

‘We’ll see. Who could possibly resist a novel that sparked a murder spree?’

Hollis shifted position and raised his head slightly. Kate could see that he’d managed to loosen the rope while she’d been keeping Bridie’s attention fixed on her.

‘Nobody… if it was well written. I’ve read Invisible, Bridie, and it’s a pile of shit.’

The woman’s eyes narrowed and her cheeks flamed. ‘What would you know? Stupid plod. Do you know how easy police officers are to write? You’re all the same. You think in clichés and stereotypes.’

‘Is that why your work’s full of them?’ Hollis said. ‘There’s no wonder Phil Manchester dropped you. Nobody bought your book, because it’s rubbish. You should have been grateful for the chance that Luke Wilson gave you. It’s probably the only way you’d ever get published.’

Bridie raised the hammer and turned. Kate dragged the drawer open and grabbed the first thing her fingers found.

‘No,’ she yelled stepping forward and swinging a marble rolling pin in a wide arc, making solid contact with Bridie’s upraised hand as Hollis rolled frantically to one side. The hammer dropped to the floor and both women scrabbled after it. Kate saw Bridie’s fingers close around the wooden handle as she flung herself onto the woman’s back, dropping the rolling pin and trying to force Bridie’s upper body to the floor.

‘Drop it!’

She brought up a knee and connected with the other woman’s kidneys putting all her weight into the jab and almost lost her grip as Bridie collapsed full length on the floor, the hammer flying out of her hand and under a chair.

‘Kate!’ Hollis was on his feet hovering over her, the rope dangling loosely from his wrists. ‘Let me.’ She rolled off and watched as Hollis tied Bridie’s hands together behind her back then attached the loose end to a radiator pipe.

‘Try to find some signal or the Wi-Fi and get help,’ Kate gasped as she struggled to her feet. ‘I’ve got to find Wilson. She’s given him ketamine.’ She stumbled into the hallway shouting Luke’s name and pushing open doors. Nothing. Energy waning, she hauled herself upstairs and crashed into a bedroom.

Luke Wilson lay face up on the king-sized bed.

CHAPTER 51

‘Fancy a dance?’ Hollis asked.

Kate smiled at him. ‘In these shoes? I don’t think so.’

He laughed at the Kirsty McColl reference and wandered off to pester another unsuspecting female. Kate was pleased to note that the blow he’d taken to his head hadn’t left any permanent damage and, if anything, he seemed much more relaxed in his own skin than he had when she’d returned to work earlier in the year.

Kate took another sip of her champagne and scanned the crowd of people on the dance floor, wishing again that she’d got changed after the ceremony. The simple dark blue silk sheath had looked good on her in the shop, but it wasn’t the warmest of dresses and didn’t allow the greatest range of movement.

Nick had looked almost impossibly handsome in a charcoal grey suit and Ben had done her proud in his own choice of navy blue to match her dress. He’d initially laughed when she’d asked him to give her away and made a joke about never being rid of her, but she’d seen the tears sparkle in his eyes as the registrar pronounced Kate and Nick married.

Das had accepted her invitation despite still being pissed off with Kate and Hollis for confronting Bridie Scott without backup. Kate knew saving Luke Wilson with CPR had gone a long way towards mitigating Das’s anger though, and having Bridie Scott’s confession was a bonus. Kate still had some grovelling to do to the DCI but she was confident that her actions had been justified.

Kate watched Nick dancing comically with one of his many aunties and was reminded of yet another reason she loved him. His generosity of spirit was contagious. Despite all the hugs, kisses and other demands on his time and attention, he’d spent the day making everyone feel welcome and valued. She smiled at him and he gave her a fake grimace and a wave.

O’Connor was nursing a drink at a corner table, watching Cooper and her wife Abby twirl each other round the floor. His wheelchair was propped in a corner, and he’d managed most of the day with only his crutches. He’d even promised Gemma a dance later.

Kate been surprised and pleased when Barratt turned up with a date – a woman she recognised from the SOCO team – but perplexed when Warren had turned up alone. It seemed that Warren’s loyalties had been tested and Anderson had lost out. Kate had no idea what this might mean for the team in the future but if it put a stop to some of the friction it could only be a good thing.

The music changed to something slow that Kate vaguely recognised from the eighties and she saw Nick heading towards her. She wasn’t going to be able to wriggle out of this one. And really, did she want to?

She took a final gulp of champagne and walked out onto the dance floor and into Nick’s arms.

Acknowledgements

I’m hugely grateful to everyone who’s supported me on my re-publishing journey. This is the first book that I’ve self-published from scratch and it’s been quite an adventure!

Thanks to Morgen for editing with sympathy and patience, despite some of my bad habits.

Thank you to Adrijus at Rocking Book Covers for the artwork.

A lot of coffee was consumed during the writing process and some of the best was at Neaum café at Carlisle Airport where I spent a good few hours hogging the table with the best view.

And, as always, thanks to Viv.

Books In This Series

DI Kate Fletcher

Closer to Home

Merciless

Bad Seed

Reunion

Shattered