‘I’ll need to see your updates on the case.’ Amy shot a glance at Gary and Molly, who were arguing over a desk. Her glare was enough to silence them, and Donovan bit back his smile.
‘That’s all taken care of,’ Bicks replied. ‘You’ll have access to the system soon.’ He paused as a tannoy requested his presence for a visitor at the front desk. ‘I’m being summoned. Give us a shout when you’re all settled in.’
Donovan glanced at his team, who were hovering around their computers. He had sorted out their logins on to the police system, but after travelling down from London, they looked beat.
‘Put your jackets back on, I’m taking you out.’
‘Where?’ Amy frowned.
Donovan could see she was chomping at the bit to get their side of the investigation underway. But a team couldn’t run on an empty stomach.
‘Sustenance.’ He raised a hand to stem any interruption. ‘You can’t log in yet anyway. We’ll go downtown, grab a bite and by the time we come back we can log in.’ It was a lie, but the best way of persuading Amy that her team needed a break.
‘I thought you’d never ask.’ Paddy pulled his vape from his jacket pocket. ‘I’m parched.’
‘And I can get some supplies in.’ Molly smiled. ‘Run the tea club from here.’
‘I’ve not eaten,’ Gary said.
Steve joined them, holding reams of printer paper in his hands. ‘Did someone mention grub?’
After one longing look at the whiteboard, Amy gave in. Just as well, Donovan thought. They had a long day ahead of them.
CHAPTER SEVEN
Amy gave Donovan the side-eye as they walked into town. Sustenance was important, but she would have preferred to send for a sandwich run rather than dragging them all out. But as she glanced at her colleagues, Amy realised she was the only one being dragged. Molly was clearly in her element as she took in the sights and sounds. While some people had a resting bitch face, Molly’s was the opposite and she was rarely without a smile. Paddy was busy telling Donovan all about his new motor, and Gary and Steve seemed animated, as if they were on a sightseeing trip. A pang of guilt hit home. Perhaps she should give them a break. Their last big case had tested all their limitations. Not one of them had complained when their rest days were cancelled, and they always showed up for work on time. Besides, Donovan would argue that they needed to know their way around. Even if this was Clacton, not Las Vegas, and their phones were equipped with GPS.
Donovan caught her attention. He had become adept at reading her expressions, speaking her thoughts before she voiced them. It felt good to be with someone in tune with her emotions. Someone who cared. He pointed across the street. ‘If you want, we can nip into Greggs for a bite to eat. It won’t take long.’
‘Can’t we just grab something to take back . . . ?’ Amy looked left and right as they crossed the road. Try as she might, she could not escape the urge to dive into the case.
But Donovan was ready with an answer. ‘What say we get some breakfast, then I can show you Carla’s route. The pier isn’t far. We can eat on the way.’ He rifled in his pocket for his wallet as they walked into the bakery. ‘What can I get you? Croissant? Bacon bap?’
‘A pastry and a bottle of water, thanks,’ Amy said, as Paddy picked up two packs of doughnuts.
‘Blimey.’ Molly reached for a chocolate muffin. ‘You feeding the whole office?’
‘For later,’ Paddy said, his lips curled in a guilty smile. ‘You can’t live a full life on an empty stomach.’
The jingly tunes and flashing lights of Clacton’s amusement arcades brought a sense of déjà vu as Amy strolled past with her team. Outside, a teenager manoeuvred the grabber machine as his girlfriend asked him to win one of the teddies housed there. Holidaymakers fed coins into the penny arcades within, and the roar of the old horse-racing machine was accompanied by children’s excited tones as they cheered on their steeds. Amy paused as a flash of a memory invaded the present day: Jack, shouting at the plastic horse to hurry up and win. Lillian whispering something in his ear and both breaking into a dirty laugh. Looks were always furtive. Laughs were dirty, and innuendos were commonplace. There was nothing normal about the family Amy wished she could forget. She had been almost five when she was adopted, but memories still returned in horrific multicoloured glory. They were so at odds with the life she led today. Would she ever be delivered from her past?
Picking up her pace, she tuned back into Donovan’s deep, rich tones as he described the areas where CCTV was located. At least Clacton was well covered with cameras, and the local council cooperative with police.
The road leading to the pier was of colourful paved brick with red and yellow machines to either side. Flashing lights accompanied the soundtracks of jingles designed to lure holidaymakers in. On they went, past the Wetherspoons and down the sloping paved hill beneath the bridge to the pier. Flashing screens dominated the frontage and the soft golden sands came into view.
‘Carla came from this direction.’ Donovan pointed to the left. ‘Then headed towards the pier. That’s the last we saw of her on CCTV.’
‘I don’t get it. Why isn’t there any footage of her on the pier?’ Amy said. ‘Surely with the amount of tourists . . .’
‘There are cameras, but they were spray-painted the night she died. The entrance was jemmied open too.’
‘Yet Bicks still thinks she killed herself?’
‘There are two popular theories,’ Donovan replied. ‘One is suicide, and the other is that she was pushed. There were some teenagers hanging around that night,
