Trust Me - T.M. Logan Page 0,71

said firmly. ‘It was just a matter of time.’

‘So where’s he been for the past year?’

‘Trying to keep his nose clean, maybe. Trying to find out if he could just stop, walk away from that part of who he is. But the victim alone, if nothing else – her connection to the case. There’s no way on earth that’s a coincidence.’

Rhodri paused again, considering his answer. ‘I suppose I’ll leave that to you, Stuart. More your territory than mine.’

Gilbourne checked his watch. ‘Thanks Rhodri, appreciate you turning this one around so quickly. I’ve got to go.’

‘I’ll email the full report to you now.’

‘And could you copy in my partner?’

‘Already done.’

Gilbourne thought he’d misheard. He stopped on the second-floor landing, where the four major incident teams were housed in a set of open-plan offices, but didn’t pull open the door into the main area.

‘I’m sorry, say that again?’

‘DS Holt, correct? He’s been in touch with me twice already asking for the results to be expedited and emailed to him as soon as I had anything. As a matter of extreme urgency, he said. A real keen bean, that one.’

‘Yes,’ Gilbourne said, a strange feeling turning over in his stomach. ‘He certainly is that.’

Gilbourne thanked the pathologist again and rang off. Then he opened the door onto the second floor, and walked quickly through the bustle of ringing phones and inquisitive voices, over to the corner that was home to MIT 3. He nodded to a few other colleagues on the team, but Holt was not at his desk. Gilbourne sat down at his own workstation and called his partner’s mobile again.

This time he answered.

‘Nathan,’ Gilbourne said without preamble. ‘I’ve just had the headlines through on the PM from Rhodri Lawson. Need to brief the team. Are you nearby?’

He paused, waiting for Holt to say Oh yes, boss, I’ve already got the post-mortem report. To say I asked for it to be sent over asap. Or maybe I didn’t want to waste time. But Holt didn’t say any of that.

‘I’m five minutes away,’ he said instead. ‘What’s the story, boss?’

Gilbourne paused, trying to detect any hint of deceit in his partner’s voice. Any suggestion that he was hiding something. What was the story? Was Holt playing games, trying to get one over on his partner? Trying to climb the career ladder, go over his head to win brownie points from the DCI? Or was it something else?

Answers to those questions would have to wait. Because if he was right – and Gilbourne felt in his bones, in his blood, that he was right – then the results of the post-mortem were bigger, much bigger, than any of that.

‘I’ll tell you when you get in,’ he said.

FRIDAY

35

Dominic

He preferred the night. The twenty-four-hour places when there was no one around. He could get what he needed and get away quickly, disappear back into the dark before anyone knew he was even there.

He tugged the brim of the baseball cap down low, keeping one eye on the flood-lit forecourt and listening for the approach of other cars as he filled the tank of the BMW. He drew in a heavy breath sharp with petrol fumes, pulling it deep into his throat, his lungs. He had always loved the acrid smell of petrol, the burn, the headrush when you leaned in close. And it was better, purer than his own stink, unwashed clothes and the pungent tang of fast food. Too many days sleeping in his car.

Initially he’d stayed in the cheapest B & Bs, moving on every few days when he felt the press closing in. Staying on the move was supposed to be a temporary thing, but with the house gone, he mostly slept in the BMW if he couldn’t bed down in a derelict building for a day or two. Sometimes it still amazed him how far he’d fallen. How fast. Most of the time he tried not to think about it. He just had to keep moving, keep ahead of them. Stay under the radar.

He was screwing the petrol cap back on when a small red car pulled up at the next pump along, loud voices and music with a heavy bassline puncturing the early morning silence. Glancing up, he saw four teenagers crammed into the little Nissan, two boys in front and two girls in the back seat, fast food in their laps. Coming off the back of an all-nighter, judging by the pallor of their skin and excitable chatter. The