But Sally-Ann wasn’t ready to give up. Rooting in her handbag, she pulled out a pen. ‘We won’t mention you to Lillian. It’ll be our secret.’ Tears formed in her eyes as she searched in her bag, her movements becoming more frantic by the second. ‘Where’s my notebook?’ She tugged open zips, discarding items on the ground. A packet of tissues. A make-up compact. She grasped an unwritten postcard from Clacton, swiping away her tears. ‘Here’s my address. My phone number too. Ring me anytime. Or write, you could write.’
But Rachel pressed the postcard back into Sally-Ann’s hands. ‘Don’t make this any harder than it needs to be.’ She slid her hand into her bag. ‘Here. It’s all I can give you.’ She slipped an old photograph into Sally-Ann’s hands. It was one of her as a baby; she couldn’t have been more than a week old.
Amy left her sister standing next to the benches as she followed Rachel down the road. ‘Look, I don’t blame you, but Sally-Ann is fragile. Couldn’t you send her a letter every now and again?’
‘I don’t owe her anything.’ Rachel’s movements were stiff and mechanical as she marched down the footpath. ‘I came here for closure, and I got it. She should try therapy. It did wonders for me.’
Amy stood, watching the young woman march away. This had been a mistake. She never should have arranged to meet. What had she been expecting, after all? That Rachel would suddenly sense they were related and fall into Sally-Ann’s arms?
Her footsteps heavy, she returned to her sister, who was still staring at the photograph. ‘Oh, sis,’ she said with a sigh. ‘Do you want me to get Paddy?’ She retrieved her mobile phone from her pocket.
‘No – I’ll be fine,’ Sally-Ann replied. ‘And you need to be getting back.’
‘I’m so sorry,’ Amy said, picking up her sister’s discarded items from the ground.
‘Go find Matty,’ Sally-Ann said, still tightly gripping the photo. ‘Help him. Like someone helped my little girl.’
CHAPTER FORTY-SEVEN
‘Are you sure you’re OK to work?’ Donovan stood over Molly, arms folded. His search efforts had not borne fruit. Bicks and Denny had accompanied him to each location, but the group were one step ahead. He appreciated Clacton officers being on board with the investigation. As for his own team . . . Donovan wasn’t buying Molly’s story about cutting her hand in a rubbish bin. But given there were no witnesses, he didn’t have much choice. Their office was quiet today, as CID pressed ahead with their burgeoning workload, and the detectives were in a briefing about an upcoming drug bust that had nothing to do with their case. Desk fans whirred at Donovan’s end of the office as they tried to keep the humidity at bay. He rolled his sleeves up to his elbow in an effort to cool down.
‘I’m fine, it’s only a scratch.’ A bloom rose to Molly’s cheeks, a sure sign she was being economical with the truth. She pointed at her computer screen. ‘I’m updating the system. The tech team haven’t had any joy so far.’
‘Why not?’ Donovan said. They were so close, but time was not on their side. He’d had several of the victims’ families on the phone, demanding updates. But given their victims’ potential wrongdoings, they were going to be difficult conversations to have.
‘Everything’s been wiped clean. It’s odd, because when I looked at Martin O Toole’s iPad it was working OK. That’s where I got the lead about the site he’d been streaming from.’
At least they had received an update from Canberra City police station where their Australian victim, George Shaw, had once lived. He had left the area under a cloud, after a family dispute over his interest in his thirteen-year-old cousin. No arrests had been made, but intelligence revealed that he had emigrated a few months later after a fallout with his family. Contrary to what he’d told his friends, his parents were in Australia, alive and well.
Donovan observed Amy walk into the office. An icy coldness had emanated from her since their argument. He could hardly blame her. Coming here had opened up all his old wounds. For once, he was the one being erratic. They had a good grip on the investigation. The toxicology reports revealed poison in the victims’ bloodstreams. Before, he’d had his doubts that the gang possessed the strength to kill, but this latest evidence negated that. But what about Carla? Why kill the one person who had tried to help?
He watched Amy’s face tighten in concentration as she stared at her computer screen. Her hand went to her mouth, her eyes darting around the office before returning to whatever was before her. Unblinking, she stared, before catching sight of him approaching. Her fingers worked swiftly as she logged out of her computer, shutting down whatever program she had been looking at.
‘What is it?’ Donovan said. ‘Have you got a lead?’
‘You could say that, guv,’ she said with a fake cheeriness that gave him cause for concern. She stood from her desk and walked to the middle of the room. ‘Right, folks, we’ve got another tip-off from a witness. They were on the pier the night Carla was murdered. Not only that, but we’ve got her killer on camera.’
An audible gasp rose in the room. Fingers froze over keyboards and phone calls ended abruptly.
This was the first Donovan had heard of it. ‘How?’ he said. He should have been the first to know. He watched, thin-lipped, as she continued, her excitement evident in her voice.
‘They were filming for their YouTube channel when they saw the pier was insecure. They brought their camera. They got the lot.’
‘Bloody hell!’ Paddy said, rubbing his hands together. ‘When are they coming in?’
‘They’re not.’ Amy shot him a glance. ‘At least, not yet. They’re scared. That’s why they’ve sat on it for so long. I’m going to
