The receptionist glanced up from his copy of the Daily Mail.
You got a reservation?
Fucking thousands of them. Henry Forrester: where is he?
Room seventeen, first floor. Mr Daily Mail pointed towards a set of double doors. Lift s out of order.
Brilliant, more stairs.
I puffed and panted up to the first floor, paused for a second to catch my breath, then limped into a dingy corridor. A door at the far end lay open, the number 17 picked out in brass on the scuffed brown paint, a DO NOT DISTURB hanging from the handle.
Television noises oozed out into the hall some snooty woman s voice banging on about the interest rates.
They were watching the bloody news, as if we had all the time in the world. As if he wasn t going to kill my little girl at five.
For fuck s sake.
I lurched down the corridor. Henry Bloody Forrester, get your lazy drunken arse downstairs, now
Alice appeared in the doorway, both arms wrapped around herself, bottom lip trembling, a drip shining on the end of her nose. Ash
I stopped. Where is he?
She stared at the threadbare carpet. He s gone. A tear sparkled in the dim light, then plopped onto the toe of her red shoes.
What do you mean, he s No. I pushed past into the room.
Sheba was on the bed, on her side, completely still. Henry lay beside her, dressed in his funeral suit, an empty Macallan bottle at his fingertips, a clear plastic bag over his head the sides streaked with condensation.
He was cold to the touch, no pulse. The ancient dog was the same.
She s dead It isn t I can t.
And I d called him a useless drunken old bastard.
Alice shuffled in behind me. These were on the bedside cabinet. She held out a small white pill tub.
Fluvoxamine. The antidepressant he was taking in Shetland.
She sniffed. Cleared her throat. Rubbed a hand across her eyes. Took a big shuddering breath. He left a note.
Sodding hell: she d found her mother in the bath with slit wrists. And now this.
Henry, you stupid selfish old bastard. thoughts and prayers are with the families at this time. Both girls birthdays are today and we can only imagine how their parents are feeling.
Do you think Megan Taylor and Katie Henderson are already dead?
Well, we have no concrete evidence that the so called
Birthday Boy kills his victims on their
I switched off the car radio. Are you OK?
A shaft of sunlight broke through the clouds, making the wet road sparkle. The streets were arranged in neatly ordered rows: old-fashioned houses with four-pane windows and gardens out the front. Beech trees in cast- iron cages dotted the pavements.
Alice wiped at her eyes, smudging the black makeup even further.
I m fine.
It s OK to be
We should have called the police.
I softened my voice, put a hand on her shoulder. Henry won t mind waiting. We ve only got two and a bit hours. He d understand.
She sniffed, wiped her eyes again. Right, yes, I m being silly, I mean he s already dead We ve got a job to do. A little shudder. Then she peered out through the windscreen. Are you sure about this?
ACC Drummond s house sat back behind a beech hedge and a small granite wall two gateposts either side of a gravel driveway. But then the Wynd was that kind of neighbourhood.
Think about it: Drummond says he needs the families addresses so he can plan the work roster, but why spread the PNC searches out across so many people? Why not give the whole lot to Weber, or one of the DIs? Why divvy up the work himself? He doesn t want anyone to know what he s up to.
I opened my door.
She put a hand on my arm. Ash, you ve been shot, you ve been taking drugs, you ve lost a lot of blood, and Henry. Maybe you re not thinking all that straight, and
You got any other suspects lurking up your sleeve? Drummond s the only game in town. I got out, clunked the door shut, pointed at the house.
The cane crunched on the gravel as I hobbled up the driveway, pulling on my black leather gloves. A double garage sat off to one side, no sign of any cars. Better safe than sorry: I rang the doorbell and a high-pitched trrrrrrrrring sounded inside.
No answer.
Tried again.
Still nothing.
I looked down at my right foot, wrapped in bandages and stuffed into one of Alice s uncle s trainers no chance I was kicking the door in. Besides, this was a neighbourhood watch area. Some nosy old bat in twinset- and-pearls might hear and call the police.
Have to try around the back.
Alice scrunched up behind me. Maybe we should come back later?
A path led along the side of the building, to a cast-iron gate with an elaborate catch and no padlock. Looked as if Drummond needed someone to pop along and give him a talk about home security.
I slipped through into the back garden, then closed the gate behind Alice.
Big, lots of flowerbeds, bushes, trees, a hammock, huge greenhouse. Shadows already starting to lengthen across a neatly trimmed lawn.
The back door was part-glazed, with some sort of utility room on the other side. I stood and stared up at the building: no sign of a burglar alarm. Nothing around the front either. Drummond really did need that talk.
I grabbed a flowerpot and smashed one of the door s glass panes. Reached in and unlocked the door.
Alice shifted from foot to foot on the threshold. This is now officially breaking and entering, right?
Told you to stay in the car anyway.
Inside it smelled of fresh washing and oranges. The utility room opened on a large kitchen.
She crept in behind me, voice lowered to a whisper. What are we looking for?
Through the kitchen into a hallway with the usual assortment of jackets and keys, some shoes, a pair of long leather riding boots, a pile of mail lying on the mat. A flight of stairs heading up.
Alice tried a door it swung open on a living room with a couple of stripy sofas and a lot of wood panelling. Is he married? Because if he s married he s not likely to keep Katie here, is he, what if his wife found out, it d
Why aren t you wearing gloves?
Her eyes went wide, then she grimaced. Sorry. She wriggled her hand into the sleeve of her long-sleeved top and wiped the door handle. I ve never done this before.
Really?
We tried all the other doors on the ground floor: garage, dining room, reception room, one bathroom, one toilet. Stairs led up to the upper floor.
Bollocks.
Had to take them one at a time, one hand leaning on the walking stick, the other on the handrail. One of the doors up there was ajar. I raised the stick, placed the rubber-tipped end against the door, and pushed.
It opened on a study lined with bookshelves and framed photographs. A desk sat opposite the door, a laptop and flat-screen monitor on top, an office chair, computer tower unit and a half-height filing cabinet underneath.
Alice slipped through into the room. Maybe we can find out if he s got another house, or a lock-up or something? She tucked her hands into her sleeves again and pulled at one of the filing drawers. Locked. Oh
Try the computers. I went back onto the landing and checked the other rooms. No sign of Katie. According to
