Sleepyhead

Tughan snorted. 'She lives in Edinburgh, she never saw her mother, for fuck's sake. The ring could be anyone's. Who knows how many men she had round there?'

Holland spoke quietly. 'I don't think Margaret Byrne had any men. Sir.'

Tughan turned round and glared. Holland refused to look away.

'SOC got no prints off the body…'

Thorne slammed a hand down on the desk. 'If SOC hadn't fucked up and catalogued a vital piece of evidence as one of the victim's possessions we wouldn't even be here. This would be over by now.'

'No prints on the body, Tom. The killer wore gloves, so how the hell does he lose a ring?'

Thorne took a deep breath. Answer the question. Nice and calm. 'I think he put the gloves on once she was unconscious. Surgical gloves. He put them on to handle the scalpel. To make his incision. The ring could have come off anytime before then. There was obviously some sort of struggle.'

Keable looked over at Tughan, who shook his head.

'What does Bishop say?'

Holland stepped forward, placed a hand on the back of Tughan's chair. Spoke over his head. 'He claims to have lost it a few weeks ago.'

Tughan was still shaking his head. Not having any of it.

'How do you 'lose' a wedding ring?' He began twisting his own. 'I couldn't get this fucker off even if I wanted to.'

Holland had answers as well as Thorne. 'His comes off quite easily, he told me. He takes it off at work. Takes all his jewelry off. Claims somebody took it out of his locker.'

Keable seized on this. 'Anything else taken?'

'His wallet and a watch. A Tag Heuer.'

'Did he report it?'

'No point. He says stuff goes missing from lockers all the time.'

Thorne's eyes flicked from one face to the other. Holland was doing well. Keable would not go for this without facts. He needed a weight of facts in support, and Holland was supplying them.

'When was this?'

'Nearly three weeks ago. The eleventh.'

Keable nodded. 'The day before Margaret Byrne was killed.'

Thorne said nothing. The day he'd conned the lift into town. Bishop had been wearing the ring then. Letting Keable make the decision. It was important he felt that it was his. He was still nodding.

'What do you want, Tom?'

'I want a warrant.'

Tughan stood quickly, his chair shooting back behind him. Keable raised a hand. 'Let's get this ring down here first, and over to the forensic boys. We'll talk about warrants if and when. Nick, get on the phone to Lothian and Borders. I want it driven down here. Understand?'

Tughan was first out of the door. Holland held it open for him. As Thorne went to follow, Keable stopped him.

'There's a press conference scheduled for midday, Tom. I'd like you on the platform, please.'

Keable's tone implied that he would brook no arguments. He wasn't going to get any. The adrenaline was pumping round Thorne's body. He was high as a kite. He'd have happily agreed to appear on Stars In Their Eyes. Thorne…

Walking into the operations room. Avoiding eye-contact with nobody. Acknowledging the kind words and approving looks. Putting a hand on Dave Holland's arm and savouring the smile he gets in return. Relishing the scowl on the face of Nick Tughan as the Irishman runs fingers through his thin blond hair and grabs at the phone. And enjoying the relief in the voices of the girls.

'It's going to be over soon, isn't it?'

' Tommy? Is this it?'

' You going to get him, Tommy?'

' Get the fucker…'

Christine, Madeleine, Susan. And Helen at the end. Spitting out enough hope for all of them. It was a hope he was no longer afraid of dashing.

' Yes, I'm going to get him. Very soon.'

And somewhere in the background, the laughter of Leonie Holden.

He watched it twice. He watched it on each edition of the lunchtime news, BBC and ITV. Both times he was entranced. Both times he laughed out loud, and applauded at the end.

He was in a much better mood anyway. Things were looking up and the despondency of the day before – it had been a dreadful day – had evaporated with one small snippet of news. It was a little overdue, but more than welcome. He still had no great urge to try the procedure again, but it seemed as if things might work out as planned after all.

Commander Sincere, Detective Chief Inspector Eyebrows… and Tom Thorne. He'd cheered when Thorne had been introduced, finally, to the nation. So everything was hunky-dory again, was it? Tom was back on the team.

The commander spoke about 'new leads and exciting new avenues of investigation'. And about time too! That said, they were still keen to hear from anyone who could supply even a partial number-plate on the blue Volvo, and they were still showing that bloody awful e-fib courtesy of some blind passer-by on the night he'd taken Helen Doyle. Margaret Byrne would have come up with something far more accurate…

Then Commander Sincere introduced the officer who was going to make a direct appeal to the man responsible for these terrible killings'. The camera moved along to Thorne. He looked a little nervous. Distracted. He wondered how Thorne would perform on camera. He must have done this sort of thing before he was bound to be good at it. The Irishman had been smooth but he guessed that Thorne would bring something else to it. Power, perhaps. Something fuelled by a genuine rage. Of course he would. Thorne was a man after his own heart.

He wasn't disappointed. There was nothing written down no need for notes, Thorne looked straight into the camera and spoke calmly but with precision and strength. He shuffled his chair forward his face only inches from the television screen his mouth open. It was as if Thorne was speaking straight to him.

Which of course he was.

'It's still not too late. You can just stop all of this now. I can't promise anything but if you come forward now if you come forward toda3 then your case is going to be viewed that much more favourably.

'None of us can even begin to guess why you've chosen to do these things. Perhaps you feel that you have no choice. You will get the chance to explain all this if you stop the killing now.

'You know, of course, that we will use any means at our disposal to stop you. Any means at all. I can't guarantee that this will not result in injury of some sort to yourself. Or worse. We do not want to see anybody else hurt and that includes you. You can believe that or not. It's your choice.

'So just stop and think. Right now. Think for a minute. Whatever point you're trying to make, consider it made. Then pick up the phone.

'Let's end this madness. Now. Come forward today and hand yourself over to me… to us, and people will be there to help you.'

Then Thorne leaned in towards the camera, his face filling the screen.

'One way or another, this will all be over soon.'

Rachel had forgiven him almost instantly.

He'd called first thing and had sounded so upset about what he'd done. He knew his behaviour had been unforgivable and wrong. ld completely understand if she wanted to end it.

That was the last thing she wanted to do.

His apology made her feel strangely powerful. It was as if there'd been a sudden shift. He could have just walked away but he hadn't. He'd wanted her forgiveness, and once she'd given it, she sensed that their relationship had moved on to a different footing.

He'd. explained that things at work hadn't been going too well. There were a couple of people he was clashing with and it had all got on top of him. Obviously that didn't excuse what he'd done or anything, but he wanted her to know that he'd been under a lot of stress, that was all. She asked why he hadn't told her. She