‘No one that we know of’ Longley responded.
‘And that’s the only link between the three of them, this building project?’ the DI continued. ‘Looks like we’re fucked.’
‘There was something else’ Rafferty told him. ‘And this is weird.’
Talbot turned to face his colleague.
‘In the two weeks leading up to their deaths, all three men reported having been burgled,’ Rafferty said. ‘Either their houses, their offices or their cars were turned over, but - this is the weird thing - nothing of any value was taken. None of the places was wrecked or even damaged. Whoever broke in knew exactly what they were looking for. They never touched TVs, videos, money, tapes, CDs. Nothing.’
Talbot frowned.
‘Someone went to the bother of breaking into Hyde’s, Parriam’s and Jeffrey’s’
Rafferty continued. ‘They could have cleaned them out. But, in each case, the only thing stolen was a photograph of the dead man.’
Forty
The ringing of the phone startled him.
Frank Reed heard the high-pitched tone and shook his head, as if to rouse himself from his stupor.
Lying on his sofa, feet up, he’d drifted in and out of sleep, his attention barely gripped by the programme on the television, which still glowed before him.
He swung himself upright and walked across to the small desk where the phone stood, alongside a pile of exercise books, which he knew he had to finish marking.
Later.
He picked up the phone, running a hand across his face as if that simple gesture would restore his alertness.
‘Hello’ he croaked, clearing his throat.
‘Frank.’
He didn’t recognise her voice at first.
‘Frank. It’s Ellen.’
He pressed the phone more tightly to his ear, gripping the receiver hard.
‘Ellen’ he said, finally. ‘What a pleasure.’
‘I’m not disturbing you, am I?’
He sat down at the desk.
‘Well, if my own wife can’t disturb me, who can?’ Reed said, sardonically. ‘I suppose I should be grateful you found the time to fit me in.’
‘If you’re going to be a smart-arse, I’ll hang up now.’
‘And deprive me of your attention. No, please don’t do that.’
‘How are you keeping?’
‘As well as can be expected, and don’t make small-talk please, Ellen, it’s embarrassing. What do you want?’
‘I’ve been thinking about what you said. You’re right, we do need to talk.’
He swallowed hard.
‘About us?’ he asked.
‘About Becky. You’re right, she’s your daughter, you do have a right to see her. I spoke to Jonathan about it and-‘
‘Well, as long as Jonathan agrees that’s all right, isn’t it? She’s my daughter, Ellen, not his. I don’t want him making any decisions to do with her.’
‘Don’t dictate to me. He’s her father now.’
‘He’s not her father and he never will be,’ Reed snarled, angrily. ‘Just because you walked out on me for that bastard doesn’t mean he can ever take on my role in Becky’s life.’
‘Becky thinks a lot of him.’
Reed felt something like physical pain.
‘I suppose you’ve told her how wonderful he is, how good he makes you feel.
Have you got around to telling her how wonderful in bed he is yet?’
‘Look, Frank, I rang you because I wanted to do the right thing-‘
He cut her short, trying not to shout, but struggling.
‘Then leave Ward and come home,’ he said, angrily, gripping the receiver so tightly it seemed in danger of snapping.
‘My home is with Jonathan now, and so is Becky’s,’ she told him, defiantly.
Fucking bitch.
There was a long silence, finally broken by Reed.
‘So, what do you want?’
‘You want to see Becky, spend some time with her. That’s fine. How about this weekend?’
He swallowed hard, not daring to believe what he’d heard.
‘Jonathan and I are going away for a couple of days and I thought-‘
He interrupted. ‘You needed a babysitter, is that it?’ he snapped. ‘You want me to babysit my own daughter while you and lover boy fuck off somewhere, right?’
‘You either want to see her or you don’t, Frank.’
‘You know I want to see her.’
‘So you’ll take her this weekend?’
‘And that’s it? One weekend, because it’s convenient for you? What about after that, Ellen? What about every weekend? What’s wrong with that? Or does Jonathan have plans for Becky?’
‘If you take her this weekend we’ll see about you having her on a more regular basis.’
‘Not just when it suits you,’ he spat.
‘Will you do it this weekend?’
‘Of course I will.’
‘I’ll drop her off on Saturday morning.’
‘You can remember how to get here, can you?’ he asked, acidly.
‘Just leave it, Frank.’
‘And don’t bring lover boy with you when you drop Becky.’
‘Jonathan’s busy in the morning anyway.’
‘I’ll bet he is.’
‘I’ll be round about ten.’
‘I’ll be waiting.’
‘I thought you might have had the decency to thank me,’ Ellen told him.
It was all Reed could do to prevent himself slamming down the phone.
‘Ten o’clock Saturday morning,’ he said through gritted teeth, then slipped the phone back onto its cradle, staring down at it.
He didn’t know whether to jump for joy or punch a hole in the wall.
Forty-one
The pain was deep in her belly.
Shanine Connor knew that it wasn’t hunger. She had come to recognise, only too well, that gnawing discomfort.
This was stronger, more intense.
It felt as if someone had wrapped a red hot band around her stomach and was slowly tightening it.
She groaned loudly and clutched at her belly, running her hands over it as if to soothe the pain, but it didn’t help.
It had woken her, dragged her from her fitful sleep, and now, huddled in the doorway of an empty shop on
