Anni put her pen down. ‘Don’t mind me.’
He kept staring at it, his eyes widening. His fingers began to shake.
Anni looked at the phone, back to Howe. ‘I said, don’t mind me.’
He kept staring, then, as if breaking from a trance, glanced at Anni, back to his phone. He hit the red button, silencing it.
‘They can leave a message if it’s important.’ He pocketed the phone, turned back to her. ‘And that’s all I have to say. So if you’ll excuse me, Detective, I have work to do.’ He picked up a sheet of paper from his desk, pretended to look at it. His hands were still shaking.
Anni stood up, saw herself out.
She passed the student, waiting patiently outside the door, made her way down the corridor.
She had seen the read-out on the screen. The name.
Suzanne.
The blood was pounding in her ears, her wrists.
Anni left the building.
21
‘Don’t you ever do that again.’
Phil had parked the car at the station with the two reporters still in the back, gestured for Rose to join him at the other side of the car park.
She looked up at him, eyes still dancing with a defiant adrenalin rush. ‘Why? They were out of order. It’s a damned good job I stepped in.’
‘Is it? Really?’
‘I was within my rights on everything. You’ll back me on it.’
‘You were angry. At me, at the case, at not finding Julie Miller. You allowed that anger to cloud your professional judgement.’
‘You backed me up.’ Her voice was petulant but still defiant.
Phil leaned into her, face to face. ‘I had no choice, did I? But don’t you ever do that again. No mavericking, I told you. You pull something like that again and you’re off this case.’
‘You need me. I was in charge of the original investigation.’
‘I don’t need an officer who behaves like that.’
‘Make a complaint against me, then.’ There was an ugly smile twitching at the corners of her mouth.
Phil knew what that smile meant. Fenwick, his boss, was her protector.
Phil stepped back. ‘You can take them in, you can get them processed, you can handle the paperwork. Good luck.’ He turned to walk away, stopped, turned back to her. ‘This is your last chance with me. I mean it. And I don’t care who you think’s protecting your back.’
He watched the shock register on her face as she realised who he was talking about.
‘Yeah,’ he said, ‘I know.’
And this time walked away.
Suzanne heard his phone switch to voicemail. She started speaking but stopped herself. She didn’t know what to say. How to say it. Instead she ended the call.
She put the phone down on the table, sighed.
She would try again later.
The building was low-level with a brown sloping roof and nicotine-yellow brick walls. An anonymous piece of eighties architecture, this beige palace could have been anything from a prison to a hospital to a provincial budget motel. But it was none of those things. It was the main police station for the town.
Phil stood back and let Rose march their charges through the main door and up to the desk. She could deal with the Duty Sergeant and the processing. Good luck to her.
Phil crossed to the door at the side of the reception desk, punched in the code on the keypad. The lock clicked.
‘Excuse me…’
Phil opened the door, didn’t realise the voice was addressing him.
‘Excuse me…’
Phil turned. A woman had stood up from the sofa, was standing directly in front of him. She looked tired, her eyes red-rimmed, her face creased into worry-heavy frown lines. No make-up and her clothes weren’t good quality and they hadn’t been selected with care. She looked like she had slept in them. Her hair was uncombed and he couldn’t place her age. Possibly mid-forties but it could have been ten years either side of that.
Rose took the two journalists through the door without looking back. The pneumatic hinges pulled the door shut, leaving him behind. He had to talk to the woman now.
‘Yes?’
She looked him up and down. ‘You’re a police detective, aren’t you?’
The uniform on the desk had seen what was happening. ‘Just a minute, please,’ he said.
Phil held up a hand. ‘It’s OK, Darren.’ He turned back to the woman. ‘Detective Inspector Brennan. Major Incident Squad. What can I do for you?’
Her eyes held his, unblinking. Like sci-fi tractor beams. ‘There’s been a body found, hasn’t there?’
Phil said nothing.
Her hand gripped his sleeve like a vulture on carrion. ‘Hasn’t there? A young woman. In her twenties. Hasn’t there?’
‘There…’ No point in lying, he thought. ‘Yes. We’ve found a body answering that description, yes.’
The woman’s hand slipped from his arm. She gave a rough gasp, like she’d taken in more than she could swallow. She recovered quickly, her eyes locking on his once more. ‘Is it… is it my daughter?’
‘I don’t know,’ he said and she gasped again. ‘Have you informed us that your daughter is missing?’
She gave a bitter laugh. ‘Over a week ago.’
‘What’s her name?’
‘Adele. Adele Harrison. I’m her mother, Paula.’
‘Paula Harrison.’
‘OK. What does she look like?’
‘’Bout my height, bit big, dark hair-’
‘Dark?’
She nodded once more, eyes still on his, waiting for the next words out of his mouth.
‘We think we have an identification for the body we’ve found, Ms Hamilton. I can’t say too much about an ongoing investigation, I’m afraid. But if there are any changes we’ll be in touch.’
The air seemed to sag out of her, her legs buckled. Phil knew the signs. Not dead but not safe. The tyranny of hope, Marina had called it.
Marina. He hadn’t thought about her or the baby for hours. But he couldn’t feel guilty now, while he was working. He would leave that luxury for later.
‘So where’s my Adele, then?’
‘I… don’t know. It’s not my case, I’m afraid.’
‘That other girl, the one who’s on the news all the time, I bet you’re working on her case, aren’t you?’
Phil couldn’t answer.
‘I bet she’s gettin’ all the attention. An’ my Adele gets nothin’. No one’ll take any responsibility. My daughter just disappears, vanishes, and there’s nothin’ any of you can do-’
Her voice was tightroping on hysteria. When she spoke Phil saw the bite marks on her lips, anxiety kisses. She was attracting an audience in the reception area. Phil put his hands on her shoulders, looked into her eyes. ‘Please
