Another sigh. ‘I know you won’t tell anyone, right?’
‘Right.’
‘Yes. Completely. I’m going now, Tony. We never had this conversation.’
But he wasn’t listening. His mind was already racing, wondering how he was going to explain to Carol that her two bodies were not the first victims of this killer.
Kevin looked across his desk at Paula. ‘Tony? Would that be our Tony?’ He spoke quietly, for which she was grateful.
‘The one and only,’ she said. ‘The chief’s obviously keeping him right out of the loop.’
‘And he doesn’t like it, am I right?’
Paula flashed a glance at Carol, who was in her office, intent on a phone call. ‘You could say that. Don’t let on I’ve been speaking to him, OK?’
Kevin chuckled. ‘My name’s not Sam. Your secret’s safe with me.’ Before either of them could say more, his phone rang. ‘MIT, DS Matthews,’ he said.
‘This is DS Jed Turner at Southern CID.’ A strong Scottish accent, an unfamiliar name.
‘How can I help you, Jed?’
‘Is it you guys that are dealing with the dead teenagers? Morrison and Viner?’ His tone was offhand, uncaring. Kevin didn’t care for it.
‘That’s us,’ he said.
‘And they started off on the missing list, right?’
‘That’s right. Have you got something for us?’
‘I tell you, I’d be happy enough for you to take it off my plate.’ A bark of almost-laughter.
‘That wasn’t quite what I meant.’
‘I appreciate that, pal. I’m under no illusions about that. What it is, we’ve got what looks like it might be another one for your merry band.’
‘You’ve got a body?’
‘Not yet. We’ve got a missing fourteen-year-old. Niall Quantick. His mammy’s been giving us grief since early doors. It took the numpties on the front desk a wee while to process that he might fit in with the MO youse are looking at. They only passed it on to us this past half-hour. So, are you interested, or what?’
Kevin sat up in his chair and reached for a pen. ‘What’s the score?’
‘Kid’s a schemie. Lives with his mother in the Brucehill flats. She says he went into town yesterday afternoon. No word about where he was going or who he was meeting. He never came home. She tried ringing his mobile but it was turned off. Typical scummy mummy, doesn’t know who he hangs about with or what he gets up to when he’s out the door. So here we are, middle of Sunday morning and no trace of the kid. You want it?’
‘Sure do, pal. OK, it’s on its way to you as we speak. Missing-person report and a photo. Let me know what you decide, eh?’
Kevin replaced the phone, looking glum. Paula caught his eye and raised her eyebrows. Kevin gave her a thumbs-down. ‘Looks like we’ve got another missing kid,’ he said, heart heavy, thinking of his own boy and wanting to drive home and lock the kid in his room till all this was over.
‘Oh no,’ Paula groaned. ‘His poor parents.’
Kevin tried not to think about that. ‘I need to go and talk to the boss.’
The sense of deja vu was never a pleasant one on a murder squad. It rammed Carol’s failure home to her. They hadn’t caught the killer, her brilliant team with their top-drawer skills. He was still out there, another victim taken and who knew how many more to come? Under strength, under pressure and understanding what was at stake, the MIT had never faced a tougher challenge.
Carol looked round her team, knowing in her heart they were already too late for Niall Quantick. If Grisha was right about the times of death - and there was no reason to doubt him - this killer didn’t keep his victims alive for long. He didn’t take the risk of holding them prisoner while he satisfied his appetites. Which was unusual in itself, she thought. Usually they wanted maximum gratification from the experience. That was the sort of thing Tim Parker should have picked up on. He’d just delivered his second attempt at a profile and it was no better than before, in the sense that there was no significant insight and nothing that moved the inquiry forward. She’d not had the chance to talk to him about it yet, and he was hovering at the back of the room, like a small child anticipating parental praise. He wasn’t going to get it from her, that was for sure.
‘Right,’ she said, trying not to let the weariness show. ‘As I’m sure you all know by now, we have another report of a missing teenage boy. It’s possible that it’s an over-reaction from the mother. Apparently we had three or four similar reports last night that turned out to be false alarms. But this looks like a stronger contender for being taken seriously, so for the time being we treat it as if it’s the third in a series.’ There was a general mutter of agreement.
‘Southern Division are conducting the witness interviews and the search. Kevin, I want you to liaise with them. Paula, you go with Kevin. Any positive leads, I want you right in there reinterviewing the witnesses. I don’t want anything missed because the officer who talks to somebody crucial doesn’t have your skills. Sam, we’re going to have to put Nigel Barnes on the back burner for the moment. You’re with the mother. Anything you can find out from her, feed it back to us, but make sure Southern get copied in too. And Stacey - I’m sorry about this, I know you’ve got data up to the eyeballs, but you’re going to have to go along with Sam and see what you can get from Niall Quantick’s computer.’
‘It’s no problem,’ Stacey said. ‘Most of what I’ve got running is on autopilot. Anything that comes up will sit patiently in a queue till I get back to it.’
‘Shame you can’t program women to be like that,’ Sam said.
