‘It’s not a debt. I’m asking for a favour. Please. Anything you can find out at all . . . you can run him through intel, can’t you? The police here must have a record of his name.’
‘I need just cause. I’ll ask around, it’s the best I can do.’
Sally-Ann offered a watery smile.
As Amy approached the station, she waited until her sister was out of earshot before making a quick call. ‘Darren?’ she said, as the private detective answered on the second ring.
‘Winter, good timing. I was just going to email you a progress report.’
‘Send it to my personal email address.’ Amy pressed her security tag against the wall of the station gate.
‘Sure thing,’ he said. ‘Not much to report though. Lillian rarely ventures further than the off-licence. I’ve been tracking her online behaviour but all’s quiet on the Western front as they say.’
She’s too busy with her new boyfriend, Amy thought, trying to scrub the mental image being conjured up in her mind. ‘Have you time to take on some new enquiries?’ Amy gave a brief outline of Sally-Ann’s plight. ‘I’ll email you the details when I get a chance. Maybe post you the notebook too.’ She opened the back door which led to her office, pausing in the corridor near the stairwell. ‘And, Darren . . . discretion is important to me. It’s early days. I don’t want my personal and work life getting mixed up.’
‘You’ve no worries on that front,’ Darren replied. ‘Although I would like to meet up with you at some point, maybe over a drink? I prefer to talk face to face than by email if I can.’
‘A drink?’ Amy stilled. Was this protocol for private investigators or was he asking her out? She honestly didn’t know. ‘OK, we can arrange to meet sometime.’ She emitted an awkward laugh before saying her goodbyes.
Her thoughts returned to her sister. She had felt her desperation, fuelled by torment that tethered her to the past. It would be worth hiring Darren if he could help find Sally-Ann’s child. Amy may be constrained by boundaries and red tape, but he wasn’t. The question was, could Sally-Ann cope with the truth?
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
As Amy entered the office, she was surprised to see that Bicks was no longer at his desk. ‘Are you looking for Sergeant Bickerstaff, ma’am?’ The question came from Denny, who rose from his desk. It was a mark of respect seldom seen these days. When she first saw Denny, she presumed he was head of a team. He had a suaveness about him, an air of authority that hinted he was destined to go far. His suit appeared fitted; his shoes were gleaming. This was a man who checked the mirror three times before leaving for work. Then she remembered, Denny was covering CID as acting sergeant, given Bicks had some time off in lieu. Amy guessed he was helping his wife prepare the late supper that she and Donovan had been invited to.
‘I just wanted a quick catch-up,’ Amy said as she walked towards Denny’s desk. ‘But you’ll do.’
A few heads bobbed in recognition of Amy, before returning their attention to their computer screens. Some of the overhead lights had been turned off in favour of desk lamps, casting shadows across the room, and the office blinds softly swished from the evening breeze. Amy caught a whiff of Chinese takeaway, evidenced by a few empty cartons next to the bin.
‘And please,’ Amy said, ‘call me Winter. And you’re Denny, aren’t you? Or is that what everyone calls you?’
‘It’s Daniel.’ He smiled. ‘Surname Negussie Aberra.’
‘Nice to properly meet you,’ Amy said. ‘But if you’d prefer to be called by your proper name then I’m sure I can have a word with . . .’
‘Not necessary.’ Denny raised a hand, chuckling. ‘It’s Nigerian. Negussie means “my king” and my grandpa’s name, Aberra, means “it’s shining”, so my entire name means “Daniel my king shines”. It would be a bit narcissistic of me to expect my colleagues to call me that every day.’
‘It’s a beautiful name.’
‘Thank you. It inspires me to be a force for change.’
Amy was impressed. Most of her colleagues would laugh at such a sentiment. It was nice to meet someone who was so open about their beliefs. She cast an approving eye over his desk. A moleskin notebook was engraved with Denny’s name in gold letters, and next to it was a five-year planner.
‘Organisational skills, I like it,’ she said, taking in the stationery. Her sergeant, Paddy, usually made notes on pieces of crumpled paper that would invariably get lost later on.
‘For every minute spent organising, an hour is earned,’ Denny said, still smiling. ‘My father’s old motto. Can I get you a coffee? Milk and two sugars, am I right?’
He was indeed right. ‘I’m fine, thanks.’ Amy sat herself down before him. ‘How did you know?’
‘It’s my job to know everything about everyone I work with.’
Amy’s eyebrows rose a notch.
‘Kidding.’ Denny smiled. ‘It pays to know your audience. Something else my father taught me.’
Amy could not help but smile. Her adoptive father had often passed on gems of wisdom to her. ‘Your dad sounds like a wise man.’
‘He was.’ Denny glanced down at his paperwork, and Amy sensed sadness there. She wondered how long it had been since his father passed. ‘Would you like me to go through the progress we’ve made?’
‘Fire away,’ Amy said.
‘I’ve made bullet points of each outcome and sent an email of the report to your team.’ He stretched across the desk as he handed her a printout. ‘We’ve been working with teams across other counties, highlighting graffiti from two of the scenes.’
Although Amy was aware of the graffiti, she was keen to hear Denny’s thoughts. ‘And you’ve found more.’ She scanned the paperwork before her, which included a printout of photographs.
Denny nodded. ‘The same graffiti tag near the areas where the murders took place. There was one sprayed on a bench near where our last victim
