One Left Alive - Helen Phifer Page 0,7

the smaller office at the back of the room when it opened and Ben walked out.

‘Sarge, have you got a minute? Can I have a word?’

‘Sure.’

She stepped inside, letting the door close behind her. ‘I’m a bit concerned about the circumstances surrounding Olivia Potter.’

He pointed to a chair and she sat down. ‘Do you want to tell me what’s bothering you?’

‘Have her next of kin been located yet?’

He shook his head.

‘Don’t you think that’s odd? Surely by now someone must have gone home or tried to contact her and got no answer. She has two teenage girls; wouldn’t they want picking up, or to know what’s for tea?’

‘I appreciate your concern, but we’re doing everything to trace her family. I’ve got two detectives on their way to speak to her mother. Is that better? I’ve also spoken to a friend who is a teacher at their school. He said they didn’t come in this morning and no one rang up to report their absence. They were picked up by their mum yesterday.’

Once more she felt her cheeks begin to flush. ‘Yes, sorry. I’m not trying to tell you how to do your job.’

‘Good, I hope not because I’ve been doing this for quite some time.’

‘Sorry. I just think there’s something not right with the whole situation. When we undressed her at the mortuary there were two different ligature marks around her neck.’

He let out a small laugh. ‘Were you a pathologist as well as a paramedic before you joined the police?’

‘No, actually, I worked at the outdoor education centre at Lakeside.’ Morgan wanted the ground to swallow her whole, but she wasn’t going to stop asking questions because of a little teasing.

‘Well in that case we’ll leave cause of death to the experts, shall we? Her post-mortem is scheduled first thing in the morning. Hopefully by then we’ll have located her family and broken the sad news to them. I think Saul has taken the girls away. Whether it’s to visit family or friends that’s anybody’s guess. If not, you have my permission to go back and search the house again to see if you can find anything that might pertain to where they are. Is that okay with you?’

Morgan wanted to die, right now. She didn’t know if he was being sarcastic or genuinely nice. She got the impression it was the former. Nodding, she stood up. ‘Thank you.’

She left and went to the report writing room, where she logged on to the computer and began to update the log and fill out the forms she needed to, taking her time so she’d have to spend less time at the pub.

Four

The Black Dog was almost full; it was standing room only there were that many off-duty coppers milling around waiting to toast Mitch. Dan was at the bar ordering his fourth pint of lager. He carried it back to the table he was sitting at and squeezed into the tight space. It was loud and everyone was well on their way to being drunk. The door opened and in walked Morgan. He grinned and waved at her. She looked like a fish out of water, but she also looked cute. He hadn’t seen her out of uniform before. She was dressed from head to toe in black; the little shorts she was wearing over a pair of fishnet tights showed off the tattoos on her thighs and not for the first time he wished he could take a closer look at them. Her copper-coloured hair was piled on top of her head in a messy bun and she had two perfect flicks of eyeliner. Not that he was an expert in make-up, but his last girlfriend used to spend more time trying to get her eyeliner right than anything else.

When Morgan finally got a large glass of white wine she walked over to where they were sitting. He squeezed up and patted the tiny space beside him. He was ready to be nice to her, give her a bit of a break since she’d had a rough day, but he saw the look which flashed across her eyes and a glint of anger sparked inside him. It was a look that said ‘Christ, is that the best I can hope for’ and it really upset him.

She squashed in next to him, their thighs touching. He didn’t speak to her. Instead he carried on telling some loud story about a job he’d gone to yesterday. Morgan sipped her wine, listening.

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