The Dead Tracks

days. Everything I'd told them over those forty-eight hours would be logged in their database for him to find. He'd know about me, about my background, about my cases.

    'Why the career change?'

    I shrugged. Why not?'

    'You didn't enjoy journalism?'

    'I enjoyed it up until my wife got cancer.'

    'Is she still around?'

    I shook my head.

    'I'm sorry to hear that,' he said gently. He waited for a moment, once again laying both hands flat to the table. You know the Carver disappearance is an ongoing investigation, right? Her parents told you that, I expect.'

    'I'm not sure it makes much difference to them.' 'Oh?'

    'Megan hasn't been found. That's all they care about.'

    He didn't reply.

    'Look, I don't know what game you're playing here — but it's not me against you. It's not me against anyone. I'm trying to find Megan Carver, just like DCI Hart was trying to find her.'

    'But you can see how your presence complicates things?'

    'How Does it complicate things? Hart stopped calling the Carvers when the case hit a wall. You should be talking to him, not me.'

    He rubbed a couple of fingers against his forehead, as if he were trying to reason with a child. 'Truth is, David, you've — whether unwittingly or not — stepped into a situation here — and I need you to step back out again.'

    'What are you talking about?'

    'I need you to drop the Carver case.'

    'Why would I do that?'

    He sighed. 'I'm asking you as a favour.'

    'A favour?' I sat back in my seat and studied him. His eyes were dark, focused, looking right at me. 'Have you got a lead?'

    'I can't talk to you about that.'

    'I'm not dropping the case as a favour to someone I met for the first time an hour ago. Has anyone here even talked to the Carvers in the past two months?'

    'Of course we have.'

    'I don't mean calling to tell them there's nothing new to report. You might want to go around to their house some time and see what sort of state they're in. They spent four months waiting for Hart to bring their daughter home, and another two months waiting for the phone to ring. If you have a lead, then you need to act on it.'

    'Are you telling us how to do our job?'

    'No, I'm telling you you're messing with people's emotions here. You need to give them something to hang on to. The reason they came to me is because they need to see the case moving forward. They need to believe they're getting closer to finding their daughter, even if they're not. You need to share whatever you have with them.'

    He smiled. 'It's not that simple.'

    'Nothing's simple,' I said. 'What's the lead?'

    'It's an ongoing investigation.'

    'Maybe I can help.'

    'I don't think so.'

    'How do you know?'

    'Because I know,' he said, his voice simmering for the first time. 'I'm going to level with you here, David. I need you to step back from the case. The only reason I can give you is that, by you sticking your nose in here, you're jeopardizing a parallel investigation.'

    'You've got another case linked to Megan's disappearance?'

    He leaned forward. 'I can see your mind ticking over there, David. But whatever you think is going on here, it isn't.'

    'You've got another disappearance?'

    'No.'

    'Then what?' He didn't reply, and this time I sighed myself. You might want to take a refresher course where negotiation is concerned, DCI Phillips. We've all got to make a living.'

    'This is going to turn out bad for you, David.'

    'Is that a threat?'

    'No,' Phillips said, giving me his best innocent look. 'We're not in the business of threats here. We're the police.

    We respond to threats. But I'm telling you now: if you get in the way, we won't hesitate to push you aside.'

    Thanks for the heads-up.'

    He got to his feet. 'I'm going to make this easy for you, okay? Charles Bryant and his father are part of a murder investigation now. You can throw the dog in there too, for all I care. The one thing I want to make absolutely crystal clear for you is this: you don't even think about looking into the Bryant murder, and you don't come near us on anything to do with the Carver disappearance if it overlaps with lines of enquiry we're following with Bryant. Understood?'

    I didn't move. Just stared back at him.

    Your case….' He shook his head. We worked all the angles you're working. We worked them better, with more manpower and more experience. We found nothing. But that doesn’t mean the case is finished. It just means we're coming at it from another angle. And, like I said, if you get in the way…'

    I smiled at him. 'So you do have another lead?'

    He shrugged. You mull it over. I can't tell you anything else, but I can assure you that this DIY detective shite is going to come back and bite you on the arse.'

    His eyes lingered on me as I tried to figure out exactly what it was he was hiding. Then he turned and left the room.

Chapter Nineteen

    I'd been waiting about five minutes when the door opened again. It wasn't Phillips or Davidson this time, but another man. He was in his mid forties, at least six-two, broad - but thirty pounds overweight with messy red hair and blotchy skin. He looked like he hadn't slept in months. Once he might have been a good-looking guy, but something had rubbed away at him so only the shadows of that man remained.

    In one of his hands, he was cradling a mug of coffee. In the pocket of his jacket, a small spiral notepad poked out with a pen wedged in the top. He held the door in place, about two inches shy of the frame, and placed the pad on the floor in the gap to keep it open. Then he left it there and came over and sat down opposite me.

    'Mr Raker?'

    I nodded.

    'My name's Colm Healy.'

    He was southern Irish. He sipped on the coffee and flicked a look back towards the door. The pad was still there, holding it open. I studied him. He doesn’t want to use the intercom to buzz back out. Which means he's either lazy - or he's not supposed to be here. He turned back to me. 'How you doing?'

    'I'm sitting in a police station.' I said. 'What could be better?'

    He smiled. 'They been treating you nicely?'