a ring before That Man’s voice barked out of the speaker, startling both of us.
‘I’m here! Where are you?’
I had a brief moment of doubt then. He couldn’t have known we were coming, could he? ‘Hi,’ I stuttered, trying to sound unfazed. ‘It’s . . . Are you okay?’
‘Who is this?’ he said. That voice. I remember that voice – deep, like a river of dark chocolate. Like leaning over an abyss. I wasn’t who he was expecting to hear from, but that knowledge didn’t settle me one bit.
‘Sorry,’ I said. ‘It’s Ali Green. Have I caught you at a bad time?’ I sensed Kevin shifting to attention in his seat and glanced at him, mirroring his raised eyebrow.
‘Sergeant Green,’ That Man said. ‘No. Perfect timing. I’m having a shitty day anyway, you can’t ruin it this time.’
I feigned laughter. ‘That’s not my intention,’ I said. ‘I was hoping I’d catch you, though.’
‘You don’t say,’ he replied. Indifferent. Smug, almost.
Kevin chuckled beside me, and I shot him a look. Then I went for broke. ‘I’m on my way there,’ I said. ‘There are a few things I need to talk to you about.’ Silence on the other end. ‘And before you say it, they’re actually not all about you.’
There was a long pause before he said, ‘I don’t understand.’ There was a definite crack in his voice then, barely detectable, but there. Something wasn’t right.
‘Neither do I, believe me. The sky’s probably about to fall down, but I’ve been over and over it in my head, and it’s hugely irritating, but we might actually need each other’s help.’ We were ten minutes away. ‘I’ll be there in about twenty minutes. Okay?’
Another interminable silence. Then, ‘Actually, I was just about to go out.’
‘You’ll wait,’ I said, perhaps a little more firmly than I intended, but it seemed to do the trick because his tone lifted instantly.
‘Oh, yeah, of course,’ he said, and faked his own laugh. ‘I just meant I’ve got to fix something round the back, that’s all, so if I’m not around when you get here, just come in and make yourself at home.’
Kevin’s face twisted in exaggerated incredulity, and he mouthed what the fuck at me as I tried to keep a straight face. ‘I’ve got a better idea,’ I said. ‘I’m going to stop and get a cup of coffee and a muffin. Let’s say I’ll be there in an hour, how’s that?’
‘That would be better,’ he said. I was sure he knew it was a lie, but that suited me just fine. Whatever happened next would happen through a jumble of double- and triple-guessing. ‘Can you tell me what this is ab—’ He stopped so suddenly I wondered for a moment if we hadn’t been cut off, but the speaker was clear enough that I could still hear him breathing. Fast, shuddering breaths. Either he was playing with himself or he was nervous as hell.
‘Are you alone, Mr Reed?’ I said.
‘Yes.’
‘And you’re sure you’re okay?’
‘I’m fine,’ he said, hoarsely, forcing the words, sounding for all the world like he’d just seen a ghost. ‘Sorry, I’m just getting dressed and I strangled myself.’
‘Right.’ I was already pressing the throttle to the floor. ‘In that case I’ll let you go before you come to any more harm. But to answer your question, we urgently need to discuss Erica Shaw.’
‘Oh, God,’ he said. ‘Ms Green, I’ve already told you everything I know about that girl. I really don’t know how else I can help you.’
‘It’s just routine,’ I told him. ‘Crossing the “i”s and dotting the “t”s. I’ll see you in an hour.’
‘Okay,’ he said. ‘One hour.’ And then he was gone before I could say goodbye.
Kevin opened his mouth to speak.
‘I’m going as fast as I can,’ I said.
Whatever I’d been expecting to find when we arrived, I was completely unprepared for what happened. I’d radioed for urgent backup; I’d called Diaz, and he was on his way with the DCI and an armed response unit. I knew I should have waited, hunch or no hunch. But I didn’t.
I stopped for nothing but the heavy iron gate across the track that led half a mile through the woods to That Man’s house. Kevin was out of the car before it stopped rolling, and then the gate was open, and I was already moving again when he scrambled back in. My temples were pounding, my eyes as focused as a hawk’s. Kevin was silent beside me, a little pale, gripping the grab-handle above his head.
When we reached the far side of those trees, the car sliding sideways out onto the wide gravel driveway in front of the house, the shooting had already started. And it was Erica Shaw behind the trigger.
I don’t remember much of what happened after that. I remember staring down the barrel of a revolver. I remember being on my back on the ground, Erica’s nails pressed hard into my cheek. I remember the rain hitting the gravel, and bouncing back red with a young woman’s blood. I remember That Man, weak but in full control, deciding Erica’s fate with nothing more than a look. And I remember Eli Diaz’s face staring up at me from the pool of blood in my lap, his body sliding away, slumping across my feet, detached.
The blood. I remember all of the blood.
DCI Malcolm Lowry was missing. No one was saying it, but everyone was thinking it. Losing Eli had triggered the breakdown we’d all known was coming since his wife had filed for divorce a month before. He’d been in hospital with chest pains within hours, signed off by the end of the day, and by the end of the next he was holed up in a static caravan on the Welsh coast, ignoring all offers of counselling and pleas to go back to hospital. After a week he’d stopped returning anyone’s calls, and within a fortnight he’d fallen off the grid altogether.
I learned this from Jennifer Riley, as I stood open-mouthed in the shambles of an incident room trying to figure out exactly who was in charge. Jenny and I came up through training together; she was always a couple of steps ahead of me, always seemed more suited to the touchier, feelier side of the job. And now, true to that, she was hugging me tightly, telling me how glad she was that I was back, how much she’d missed me, and how was I, and how sorry she was, both as my friend and now also apparently as my acting DCI, that she’d thrown me straight into the deep end without offering any briefing or preparation or indeed any kind of communication as to what the hell was going on. ‘I’m sorry,’ she said again, plucking one of her long copper hairs from the side of my face. ‘I know it’s my arse. To be honest, everything’s my arse right now. I’ve only been active on this for a week. Look at the state of the place. This whole thing’s been a fuck-up from the start. No offence.’
I scanned the room, the rogues’ gallery of whiteboards lined up along the wall beneath the windows, each plastered haphazardly with photographs, names, dates, but nothing, as far as I could see, of any real substance.
On one, the sorry, bedraggled mugshots of Kerry Farrow and Samantha Halloran,
