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  Armstrong watched her in silence, content to let her work through it on her own.

  So far as Irvine could tell, there didn’t seem to be a family connection between any of the victims and none of them were reputed to have any gang affiliations.

  Two men: thirty-one and twenty-three.

  One woman: twenty-four.

  And the girl this morning — Joanna. Irvine couldn’t think of her as a woman.

  So young.

  Irvine closed the files and stifled a yawn.

  ‘You should head home,’ Armstrong told her. ‘You’ve done well to get up to speed on all of this in one day. There’s plenty more to do tomorrow.’

  ‘I want to be ready for it.’

  ‘You are. What else is there for you to do today?’

  ‘Just feels like we should do something, you know?’

  ‘Listen, we’re both exhausted. Can’t work at your best like that. And I thought that maybe you’d like to go home.’

  ‘I do. It’s just…’

  ‘What?’

  How much to tell this guy?

  ‘I got divorced not long ago,’ she said. ‘Last year. And I went through… some other stuff. A friend of mine got killed.’

  Armstrong frowned.

  ‘It was a difficult time and I didn’t work much. The boss was good about it, you know.’

  ‘And now you want to make up for lost time. Is that it?’

  ‘Maybe. I just know that since I came back I’ve been dealing with the usual crap this city throws up on a daily basis. Robberies and fights and everything else. And the one murder on my desk is at a dead end.’

  ‘Hey, I get it,’ Armstrong said. ‘We all feel like that sometimes. But you’re tired. Go get some rest and we can start again tomorrow.’

  Irvine sighed.

  ‘You’re right,’ she said, not looking at him.

  ‘Plus, a good sleep, a shower and a shave and I’ll be brand new.’

  He jutted his chin out.

  ‘I need to make a call first,’ Irvine said.

  She stacked the case files on top of one another and Armstrong walked out into the hall to give her some privacy.

  Irvine called Logan. She told him that she’d be late and could he pick Connor up from the childminder. He said sure.

  ‘That your husband?’ Armstrong asked, coming back in from the hall.

  ‘No.’

  ‘But you have a kid?’

  Irvine didn’t feel like having a getting-to-know-you conversation right now. Not after what she’d seen today.

  ‘No offence, Kenny. But can we save this till later?’

  He tilted his head as he looked at her and nodded. ‘Sure.’

  ‘It’s not you.’

  ‘Don’t sweat it.’

  Armstrong pulled his jacket on. ‘Come on, I’ll give you a lift,’ he said.

  Irvine looked at the new files on her desk.

  Four more deaths. It seemed never ending.

  3

  Logan was waiting for Irvine at his flat, leaning on the door frame. Irvine smiled and gratefully walked into his embrace, breathing deeply of his scent. She heard Ellie playing the piano somewhere inside.

  They went into the hall together, Logan asking how her day had been.

  ‘Depressing and exhilarating in about equal measures.’

  She followed Logan into the living room.

  ‘Ellie,’ he shouted, turning back to the hall. ‘Finish up for tonight, okay?’

  The piano tinkled for another few seconds and stopped.

  Irvine went into the room and saw Connor asleep on the couch, his hair mussed and his top pulled halfway up his back. The TV was on with the sound turned down low.

  ‘How was he?’ she asked.

  ‘Good as always. He followed Ellie around like a pet dog. I think she secretly enjoys the attention.’

  She leaned down and smoothed Connor’s hair back off his forehead, kissed him gently there. One of his hands came up, fluttering where she had kissed him. Irvine felt a wave of emotion hit her and swallowed it down.

  Logan was watching her from the window, leaning back against the sill.

  ‘You want to get home?’ he asked.

  Irvine felt tired, but wanted to get to her place after spending the whole weekend here. As much as she loved being with Logan, she wasn’t ready to live with a man again. Not yet.

  She nodded at him and sat beside Connor, resting a hand on his leg.

  ‘Tough day?’ he asked.

  ‘Yeah. Not only do I have an unsolved murder on my desk, but I got co-opted into a drug operation. Pulled a teenager out of the river today.’

  He reached out and pushed a strand of hair behind her ear.

  ‘How was your day?’ she asked.

  He told her about the plane crash and that Cahill was making noises about going over to America to kick up a fuss.

  ‘Sounds like Alex.’ She smiled.

  Cahill was growing on her. Slowly.

  Ellie came into the room and stood by the door. Irvine smiled at her and got a smile in return. Their relationship was still a little tentative so Irvine tried to give her space, let her breathe.

  ‘You’re getting good,’ she said to Ellie. ‘I mean, with the piano.’

  ‘My teacher says I should think about drama school or something. I don’t know.’

  ‘Well, sounds good to me.’

  Logan glanced at the guitar on a stand under the window. He didn’t get so much time to play it any more.

  They drove to Irvine’s house and Logan carried Connor inside while Ellie waited in the car. When Connor was in bed, Logan hugged Irvine and said see you soon. Kissed goodnight.

  After soaking in a hot bath, Irvine poured herself a glass of red wine and lay on the couch in her living room flipping through her notes from today. She couldn’t see any connection between the four victims and felt a little foolish for having mentioned it even as a possibility to Armstrong.

  Her eyes got heavy and so she turned off the lights and went to bed. As she lay there, she turned on her side and rested a hand on the space beside her, hoping to feel the warmth that Logan left there when they were together. There was nothing but cold.

  4

  Cahill sat in his study at midnight going through e-mails on a laptop but not seeing them. He gave up and closed the machine, leaning back in his chair and lacing his fingers behind his head.

  His wife Sam came in and sat on the couch.

  ‘You’re not doing anyone any good right now, Alex. I mean, you look like you need a good sleep.’

  He smiled and nodded.

  ‘Thanks, hon. You look great too.’

  ‘You know what I mean.’

  Sam got up and walked round behind Cahill, kissed the top of his head and started massaging his neck. He leaned forward.

  ‘You’re not getting any younger. Maybe it’s time you left the action man stuff to the newer guys?’

  ‘People don’t hire the company, Sam. They hire me. And Tom.’

  ‘You’ve got to let the younger ones take up the slack. Otherwise, who’s going to look after the business when you’re done?’

  He reached up and grabbed her hands, squeezing them lightly.

  The phone rang. Cahill picked it up and said his name.

  ‘Alex, it’s Scott Boston.’

  Cahill sat forward.

  ‘Scott. At last.’

  ‘I was just checking… I mean, how did you get on with Tim Stark? The plane thing, you know?’

  Boston didn’t sound like his usual confident self. His language was hesitant, staccato.

  ‘I’m still working on it.’

  Cahill didn’t want to say too much. Susan Jones had stuck her neck out to give them even the little information she had. It wouldn’t be right to drop her in it.

  ‘Anything I can do?’

  Sam backed away from Cahill and pointed up, telling him she was going to bed. He nodded at her.

  ‘I don’t know, Scot
t. The last time we spoke I didn’t get much chance to say anything. And you’ve been dodging my calls ever since.’

  Boston laughed. It sounded strained, like he was trying too hard.

  ‘Sorry about that,’ he said. ‘I mean, it kind of took me by surprise. Tim and the crash and all.’

  ‘Sure,’ Cahill said, waiting for Boston to say what it was he had called to say.

  ‘I needed to clear some things up before I could say anything.’

  ‘What’s on your mind?’

  ‘It would be a big favour to me if you could lay off with the crash. I mean, you asking around is making life difficult for a lot of people.’

  ‘Difficult how?’

  Boston sighed.

  ‘You haven’t changed, Alex. You never could leave well enough alone.’

  ‘It’s not in my nature, Scott. I mean, I don’t like getting fed bullshit. Especially by people who I thought were friends.’

  ‘Maybe I deserved that.’

  ‘There’s no maybe about it. Why don’t we start again and you tell me what’s really going on.’

  ‘Don’t push it.’

  Cahill was pissed at that.

  ‘So, what you’re telling me,’ he said, trying to keep his voice level, ‘is that it’s okay for everyone to lie to Melanie Stark about how her husband wasn’t on that plane and let her think he was into something illegal.’

  Boston said nothing. Cahill heard him breathing.

  ‘And you and I both know that Tim Stark was as clean as they come.’

  ‘He was,’ Boston agreed.

  ‘So, tell me, Scott. What’s this all about? Why did you fire Tim? Why was he on that plane using a different name?’

  ‘Who told you-’ Boston stopped himself from saying any more.

  ‘You forget I know how all of you guys operate. I’ve been around the block more than most.’

  ‘I can’t tell you anything.’

  ‘But you can tell me to back off, right?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Scott…’

  ‘Alex, you know me. I’ve always been straight with you, haven’t I?’

  ‘So far as I know, yes. But there’s always a first time.’

  ‘Well, this isn’t that time. Believe me.’

  It was Cahill’s turn to sigh. ‘Is that all you’ve got?’ he asked. ‘Riddles?’

  ‘People’s lives are at stake, Alex. You have to leave it alone.’

  Cahill heard the strength of feeling in Boston’s voice. ‘This is nothing to do with the Service, is it?’ he asked.

  ‘No.’

  ‘So why are you calling me?’

  ‘I’m the messenger, that’s all.’

  ‘What, they thought it would sound better coming from you?’

  ‘I suppose.’

  ‘And what exactly is the message? I mean, let’s not be coy about it.’

  ‘Fine. You push any harder and life will get difficult.’

  Cahill closed his eyes. ‘What about Melanie?’ he asked.

  ‘You told her he was on the plane? That he’s dead?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Then she knows what she needs to know. For now.’

  ‘Christ, Scott. What’s fair about that?’

  Boston laughed, a harsh sound. ‘When has this kind of thing ever been fair, Alex?’

  Cahill knew that he was right. But it didn’t stop him feeling anger bubble inside.

  ‘Can we rely on you, Alex?’

  Cahill stared out into the night through the windows of his study.

  ‘Alex?’

  ‘I won’t tell Melanie anything else.’

  ‘That’s not exactly what I asked.’

  ‘That’s all I’ve got for you.’

  5

  Cahill went to bed but couldn’t sleep after the call with Boston. He pulled back the covers and swung his feet out of the bed, listening to the steady rise and fall of Sam’s breathing beside him. He turned and put a hand on her shoulder, feeling her skin warm under his fingers. Her breath hitched and went back to its steady rhythm.

  He went down to his study and called Melanie Stark. It was early evening in Kansas. He had no idea what he was going to say to her.

  ‘Alex,’ she said, her voice a flat monotone.

  ‘How are you holding up?’

  ‘You know…’ She faded into silence.

  Cahill did know.

  ‘It takes time,’ was what he said.

  A cliche. Still, it was true.

  ‘Why are you calling? It must be late there.’

  Cahill looked at the clock on his desk. ‘It’s after one. But that doesn’t matter, I was working anyway. Have you spoken any more to the police or anyone else?’

  ‘No. There’s no reason to, is there? Tim’s dead. That’s what you told me.’

  ‘But don’t you want to know why, or what he was doing on that plane?’

  ‘I thought I did. But I’m not so sure any more. What good would it do? I mean, what if I find out he was mixed up in something… bad? Then what?’

  ‘That won’t happen. I know Tim.’

  ‘Maybe nobody really knew him.’

  ‘Melanie…’

  ‘Bye, Alex.’

  He sat at his desk, clenching and unclenching his fists, wanting to hit something. He’d known too many people who had died. And he couldn’t shake the anger he felt about this. About what they were doing to the memory of a good man. And his family.

  He didn’t like not knowing. Hated being lied to and bullied, which was how he felt now after the call from Boston. It wasn’t just Melanie Stark’s problem now. It was his.

  And maybe he would make it someone else’s problem.

  6

  Tuesday

  Irvine went to Liam Moore’s room and knocked on his open door. He beckoned her in with a wave of his hand, not looking away from his computer screen. She sat and waited while he typed something on his keyboard. Irvine had not yet worked out if Moore was always in the middle of something when she wanted to speak to him or if he pretended to be so that he could make her wait. Maybe he was checking his Twitter account.

  ‘How did it go yesterday with the SCDEA thing?’ he asked eventually, pushing the keyboard forward and resting his arms on the desk.

  ‘It was a long day.’

  ‘Anything you need from me?’

  ‘No. It’s too early to really know where the investigation is going.’

  He watched her silently.

  ‘They’re retaining overall control of the investigation, right? I mean, the SCDEA.’

  ‘Yes. They’re happy for me to lead on the latest victim. The girl.’

  ‘Territorial boundaries and all that. Plus, they think they’re better than regular cops. Hand-picked, you know?’

  ‘Yeah.’

  ‘I appreciate that boundaries are not your strong point, Becky.’

  She smiled. He did not.

  ‘Try to play nice, okay? Stay out of trouble.’

  ‘Sure.’ She frowned. ‘Of course I will.’

  Armstrong had changed and washed his hair but the stubble was still in place, grown heavier overnight. It looked like he didn’t need much time for a full growth to develop.

  ‘You going for a beard?’ she asked.

  He rubbed at his chin.

  ‘If it was good enough for Serpico…’

  ‘So what’s the plan for this morning?’ she asked.

  ‘Chase up the lab results,’ he said. ‘Talk to the uniforms. See what shakes loose.’

  ‘ See what shakes loose?’ She squinted at him. ‘Kenny Armstrong, LAPD.’

  ‘You’re a little weird. And potentially very annoying.’

  ‘Thanks.’ She beamed at him.

  Armstrong took a large bite out of a chocolate muffin. Crumbs stuck in his beard and he wiped them away with his hand.

  ‘Uniforms are here,’ he told her. ‘They’re downstairs.’

  ‘When were you going to tell me this?’

  �
��I just did.’

  Irvine called down to the main reception and asked them to direct the officers to her desk. When two men came on to the floor she raised a hand in greeting and they started over.

  ‘DC Irvine?’ the taller of the two male officers asked.

  ‘That’s me. And this is DS Armstrong.’

  Nods all round. The uniforms took their hats off and set them on the empty desk next to Irvine’s then pulled up two spare chairs to sit down. It looked to Irvine like the taller man was probably in his mid-thirties and the shorter one not yet out of his twenties. They were both lean, with short brown hair.

  ‘You responded to the call-out yesterday morning, right?’ Armstrong said. ‘The body in the river. Joanna Lewski.’

  ‘Yes,’ the taller one answered again. ‘She called herself Tanya. For the punters, you know. I guess she thought it was exotic.’

  ‘And you arrested her before. When was that?’

  The taller man lifted a plain file and placed it on the desk in front of Irvine. She hadn’t even noticed he had been carrying it. She opened the file and skimmed the arrest report.

  ‘Picked her up for soliciting down on Waterloo Street about nine months ago,’ the tall cop went on. ‘She was high as well and had some gear on her. Heroin.’

  ‘Says here that she got community service.’

  ‘Six weeks. And she did it, to be fair to her.’

  Irvine looked up at the man.

  ‘How is it that you remember her?’

  The man held Irvine’s gaze.

  ‘She was new. I could tell. And, well, she was just a wee thing, you know. I felt for her.’

  ‘You’ve been on the job how long?’

  ‘Does it never get to you?’

  Irvine had felt the same resentment of detectives herself when she had been on patrol. She looked back down at the file, finding an address for the girl south of the river in Bridgeton.

  ‘Who does she live with?’ Irvine asked.

  ‘Another girl. An older one. Real hard case name of Suzie Murray.’

  ‘Someone put her up in the flat to keep an eye on her while they got her started?’