Away down the street, not knowing where she was going, just moving, letting the adrenalin subside.

Played. She couldn’t believe it.

Dissatisfied and unfulfilled. That was how she felt. She had been made a fool of. Hadn’t learned what she wanted to know. And she had assaulted an innocent man. Well, she doubted he was innocent. But he was in this instance.

That didn’t bother her. That wasn’t upsetting her. She was only angry about being lied to. She could have kept on hurting him. Making him scream.

In fact, she had wanted to.

And she didn’t know how she felt about that.

So she just kept on walking.

32

Mickey hadn’t had much luck or help at the demolition firm and it seemed to be continuing at the building firm. He was becoming irritated.

He leaned across the desk. ‘Look, I realise your boss isn’t here; you’ve said that enough times. I just want to know when he’ll be back and when I can talk to him.’

The girl behind the desk just stared once more.

He was in the offices of Lyalls, the building contractors. He had checked them out. Once one of the East of England’s biggest firms, when the credit crunch hit they had found it hard going and the original owners had sold the company. But judging by the billboards and the blown-up photos adorning the walls of the reception area in the offices on Middleborough, they were still fronting, still looking prosperous. Still claiming to be responsible for the majority of new build going on in the town. Despite the fact that most of the projects had been completed a few years ago.

However, thought Mickey, whatever success the company had had didn’t stretch to them hiring a receptionist capable of independent thought.

She was pretty enough, beautiful even. He gave her that. In fact his first instinct had been to try and use whatever charm he had on her, but after her first, smiley response, all rictus grin and dead eyes, he had tried a more formal approach. That hadn’t worked either.

It was clear that whatever gifts she did possess were restricted to applying perfect make-up and choosing and wearing the right clothes, which, while looking suitably corporate, accentuated her gym-trim figure and showed just enough cleavage to distract from the fact that she was there primarily to stonewall.

‘I don’t know,’ she said. ‘Can’t say. Sometimes Mr Balchunas is out all day.’

‘And sometimes he isn’t. Right. Is there anyone else I can talk to? Anyone else who can help me?’

‘Umm… ’ She shook her head.

‘OK.’ Mickey took out a card, handed it to her. He spoke slowly. ‘Can you make sure he gets this, please? Tell him to call this number when he gets back.’ He underlined it with his finger to make sure she understood him. ‘Tell him it’s important.’

He waited until she had nodded, then turned, left the building.

Outside, he checked his watch. Back at the station, Milhouse was ploughing his way through computerised lists trying to find names behind the holding company that owned the property. Mickey seemed to be having no luck using up shoe leather. Time to call it a day, he thought.

As he did so, a car pulled up. Jag, chauffeur-driven. The suited driver got out, opened the back door. A small, dark man got out. Small but, Mickey noticed, compact. Solid. And well-dressed. Like a street fighter who had learned how to use his skills in business. He still looked like he could handle himself. But not at the moment. His eyes darted round nervously. They alighted on Mickey.

‘Mr Balchunas? Karolis Balchunas?’

The man jumped. ‘What? Yes, who are you?’ Spoken with an accent. Mickey couldn’t place it.

He showed his warrant card, gave his name. ‘Could I have a quick word, please?’

The man’s distress increased. Mickey sensed Balchunas was about to fob him off, brush him aside, but he stood his ground, took strength from stillness, didn’t move.

It worked. Balchunas sighed. ‘Come in, please. But I’m very busy, I can’t give you long.’

‘This’ll only take a few minutes, sir.’

Balchunas turned, entered the building, Mickey following.

He turned as the car pull away. And stopped.

There was another passenger. He ducked his head away as if not wanting to be seen, but too late. Mickey had glimpsed him. And recognised him.

The man from the solicitors’ offices. The one he knew but couldn’t give a name to.

Mickey’s stomach gave a small lurch. Something was happening here. He didn’t yet know what, but there was a pattern emerging.

Hurrying, he followed Balchunas inside.

33

Anni couldn’t concentrate. She was sitting outside the boy’s room, waiting. It wasn’t a skill she was proficient at at the best of times. And this wasn’t the best of times.

She felt out of her depth on this one. That was why she had called Marina in. But now Marina had left, and in her place was a child psychologist Dr Ubha had brought in. Jenny Swan seemed a pleasant enough woman, middle-aged, dyed blonde hair, curvy and handsome-looking. Probably a stunner in her youth, now more like a trendy grandma.

Anni had briefed her as much as she could, told her it was still early in the investigation and he was going to take a lot of working with. Jenny Swan had nodded as Anni talked, took it all in, asked questions.

‘I think it’s better if I work with him alone.’

Anni had nodded. ‘Fine.’ She felt happier about that.

Jenny Swan had then walked through the door to the room, smiling at the boy as she went in, putting him at ease as much as she could.

The door had closed behind her and Anni had been left outside.

When Anni had been in the room while Marina was talking to the boy, she had felt distinctly uncomfortable. She had been trained to work with abused children – her remit as a reactive DC in the Major Incident Squad encompassed that. But this boy was especially difficult. She felt it strongly from him, like a kind of chemical repellent.

All her usual tricks had failed. She could find no commonality with this boy. Nothing she could get a handle on. Nothing she could find to engage him with. Like he was from a completely different tribe. Or race, even. Species.

He gave her the creeps. She felt guilty admitting it, but it was true.

Anni knew what traumatised kids were like. She’d worked with enough of them. They weren’t the airbrushed, doe-eyed victims the tabloids liked to portray. They were fractured, damaged individuals, sometimes irredeemably so. Occasionally they could be helped, put back on track with the right care and support, but she had seen too many of them go straight from hellish childhoods to secure units to young offenders institutions to adult prisons. Their crimes escalating each time, externalising the abuse they had suffered, taking it out on someone else.

But this boy… he was beyond even that. From what she had seen of him, he was a breed apart and she couldn’t begin to get a handle on him.

The door opened. Jenny Swan emerged, closed it quietly behind her.

Anni stood up. ‘How is he?’

The strain was showing on her face already. ‘Not… happy. He’s calmed down since he first came here and is

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