specially bought swing-cut coat to hide the baby bulge. And something told her she
Fenwick sighed. And she saw beyond his politician’s bonhomie a worried, weary man. ‘We think it ties in with another two murders we’ve had,’ he said. Marina could clearly see the stress lines etched on his face. ‘It’s a biggie. A real biggie. Under a lot of pressure on this. A hell of a lot. We’ve got to come up with a result, and soon.’ Another sigh. He rubbed his eyes, then, aware that she was watching him, rallied. ‘Come on. I’ve got the case files ready for you. And a desk too, come to that. This way.’
She was led through more corridors. She tried to remember the layout from the last time, but this time she was being taken somewhere different. Fenwick opened the door to the bar. She frowned, followed him in. The pool tables were covered over, turned into desks with computers and phones on them, likewise the tables, banquettes and booths. Filing cabinets next to fruit machines. And there were plenty of people working. More than she had seen last time.
‘Bit unorthodox,’ said Fenwick. ‘Major Incident Squad is usually based up at Stanway, but they’re having asbestos removed in the interview rooms. Plus we need a lot of space for this one. Lot of space.’
The shutters were down over the bar, whiteboards placed in front, dominating the room. They kept the team focused, reminding them all what they were working towards; the desks, tables and chairs in the bar were in satellite formation to them.
She looked at one of the whiteboards, saw photos of four women’s faces. All smiling, anyone else cropped, leaving them the centre of attention, all unaware through their smiles that they would one day end up here. Names were attached: Lisa King, Susie Evans, Claire Fielding, Julie Simpson. Ordinary names, extraordinary deaths. Marker-pen lines linking them together like a grisly dot-to-dot. Other names, dates, locations beneath them. Nothing yet linking them. Marina knew there wouldn’t be. She wouldn’t be here if there were.
Fenwick gestured from a table at the side of the room. She crossed to him.
‘Here we are,’ he said. ‘Not much, I’m afraid, but there’s a computer and a phone. And these.’ He tapped a set of files sitting by the keyboard. ‘All yours. Photocopied this morning. If you could keep them on the premises we’d be grateful. But if you can’t, you know, be discreet.’
‘Thank you.’
‘Can I get you anything?’ said Fenwick, a smile playing on his lips as he gestured to the shuttered bar. ‘Gin and tonic? Wine? Beer?’
Marina smiled. ‘Coffee would be good, thanks.’
Fenwick arranged for a junior officer to fetch her a coffee. Marina sat down at the desk, took her notebook and pen from her bag, ready to read.
‘There you go. I’ll leave you to do your… whatever it is you do,’ he said, looking at his watch. ‘But I should warn you. The photos… they’re pretty upsetting. And if I’m saying that, they must be. So be warned.’
She nodded and he left her to it. She opened the first file, marked Lisa King, and began to read. She hadn’t reached the photos before she felt her stomach start to lurch. The uniform placed the coffee down on the desk and she took a mouthful. It tasted bitter. She felt it swirl around in her stomach. She kept reading.
Her head began to swim. She swallowed hard, blinked. Picked up the next file: Susie Evans. Read on. It became harder to breathe. Despite the room being large and open, it felt stuffy and hot. She needed air. Her stomach lurched and a heaving sensation began working its way up her chest. Her hand went to her throat, tried to hold down the rising acid and bile. She looked again at the photos.
And knew she was going to be sick.
12
Phil Brennan pulled the Audi into the car park, switched off the engine.
‘Come on,’ he said to Clayton, unfastening his seat belt and swinging open the door. ‘Report to write. Let’s see if Anni’s back yet.’
Clayton didn’t move. ‘You go on without me, boss. Just got something I need to do.’
‘What, put in a harassment claim because I made you listen to Neil Young? Again?’
Clayton managed a polite smile. It had sounded like the same three-note song all the way back. He had hated it. ‘Just got an idea,’ he said. As he spoke, his eyes darted round, looking anywhere but at Phil. ‘Thought someone in that scrapyard looked familiar.’
‘Who?’
Clayton began to get out of the car. ‘Not sure. Give me a couple of hours.’
‘Don’t take too long,’ said Phil.
‘Yeah, I know,’ said Clayton, turning and walking away. ‘First twenty-four hours and all that.’
Phil bit back the retort, tamped down the irritation he felt at his junior officer. Let him go, he thought. Give him his head. He entered the building, pushing through the doors, swiping his pass. He felt tense, on edge.
Nothing to do with seeing Marina again. All to do with the clock ticking, he said to himself.
He made his way up to his office.
Marina stood outside the bar, trying to pluck up courage to enter once again. She knew what they must be thinking of her.
She knew. Was sure they were saying it out loud. Normally she would be in there, confronting them, facing down anyone who dared to question her fitness for the job. But not this time. This time she didn’t blame them. This time she even agreed with them.
She put her hand beneath her coat, cradling the baby growing inside her. It might not have been planned, but she didn’t want anything to happen to it. To her. Not like in those reports, those photos. Dead mothers. Dead babies.
Taking a deep breath, she opened the door to the bar, walked back in. A few heads turned in her direction, then went back to what they had been doing. She walked over to her desk, sat down again, picked up a report.
‘You okay?’
She looked up. Fenwick was standing over her, concern in his eyes. She gave a quick look round the room. Saw only sympathetic looks in her direction, nothing judgemental.
She nodded. ‘Yeah. It’s just…’
‘Don’t worry. Nobody blames you for your reaction. I told you this was a bad one. I mean, I’m sure I’ve dealt with worse, but I really can’t remember when.’
She nodded again.
‘There’s something else,’ said Fenwick, leaning over her. ‘Now that you’ve had a look at the files I should tell you. In the first murder the baby was cut up in the mother’s stomach. In the second it was removed. The baby in this morning’s murder is missing.’
‘Oh God…’
‘So work your magic, the quicker the better, please.’
He laid a hand on her shoulder that could have been either comforting or patronising and walked away, leaving her to it. She watched him go into his office, close the door.
She looked at the reports in front of her, then to her notebook. She opened the Susie Evans report again, began to read once more. She was here to do a job.
She became engrossed, didn’t notice someone standing at her side until they spoke.
‘Hey.’
Her breath caught in her throat. She stopped reading. She wanted to look up but didn’t dare until she was ready.
