Page 81 of First Blood
She glanced back and was rewarded by the look of confusion on his face as he collected together his things.
It wasn’t an act of kindness on her part. It was a calculated plan. He reminded her of a tired angry puppy. Constantly distracted and trying to get the upper hand.
And sometimes all an errant puppy needed to refocus their addled little brains was a good night’s sleep.
And if that didn’t work he would be off the team for good.
Chapter Seventy-Two
Stacey wandered into the kitchen, took off her coat and resisted the urge to reach into her satchel for her phone. She was a grown-up now. She had her own flat, a new job and she had to deal with her feelings and doubts by herself.
During the chaos of the day it was easier to push the thoughts away. Her mind was diverted by the murder investigation: thinking, working, trawling, mining, more thinking.
She had already cursed herself many times for not trying to find Hayley on the system sooner by using just her first name and the knowledge of the birthmark. Maybe it was a life she could have helped save.
The logical part of her screamed out that the information on the system had done nothing to help them anyway but that wasn’t the point. She hadn’t had the thought to check. She couldn’t help wondering if the boss was thinking the exact same thing.
It hadn’t taken her long to work out that the boss didn’t dispense compliments like sweeties, but even her expression was difficult to analyse so Stacey was getting no clues there.
She sighed heavily as she took a cottage pie from the fridge and popped it into the microwave. If she’d still been living with her parents she would have returned to a home-cooked meal, maybe Ogbono soup; a Nigerian recipe with a hearty mixture of beef, fish and spinach. Or equally a plate of egg and chips with bread and butter. Her mother wasn’t faithful to one cuisine and liked to mix it up depending on her mood. But a home-cooked meal wasn’t all she’d have got at home. Immediately upon entering the three-bed semi she would have been assaulted by the cooking smells she’d grown up with, sparkly Christmas decorations hanging from every hook in the house, tinsel arching every doorway. Her mother welcomed the festive season into the house from the last week of November.
Stacey had been meaning to get a tree for a couple of weeks but she’d just kept putting it off. Her only concession to Christmas were the family and friends’ Christmas cards on the mantelpiece in the lounge, which she dared not divulge to her mum.
But it wasn’t even the homely, festive comfort she was seeking. Her mother would have known straight away that there was something on her mind. She would have pumped, cajoled and threatened her until she’d bared her soul. Her mum would have listened, nodded, snorted occasionally and then offered her reassurance and a soundbite. Her mum had a knack with short sentences that stuck in her head and made her see everything differently. There were no long speeches with her; she just thought it over, considered the problem fully and then offered a few words of wisdom.
Her hand reached for the phone once more, but she snatched it back.
She was a big girl now. She was adulting as they said. She had to find her own soundbites.
It was time for her to grow up.
Chapter Seventy-Three
Dawson walked into the supermarket with the same vague sickness that had blighted him after his night with Lou. He wasn’t sure of the cause but it wasn’t a sensation he was enjoying all that much.
He liked to think he knew and understood people. He’d expected many things from this new boss; another bollocking, another of those one-sided chats, threat of removal from the team. He certainly hadn’t been expecting a bed for the night.
He stood in front of the sandwich fridge surveying the last few offerings available. Most of which had probably been picked up, turned around and then rejected at different points throughout the day.
He pictured Ally at home. She’d probably be preparing something nutritious, healthy and bloody tasty. He didn’t know how she did it but how she worked full time as an Accounts Assistant and still managed to cook so well had been a mystery to him.
And he was here looking to get the best value for his meal deal. A sandwich, crisps and a cold drink that would tide him over until tomorrow.
He knew which he preferred, but he couldn’t go home yet. Or at all. He knew what she expected from him and the pressure was just driving him further away.
He pushed the thought away and settled for an egg triple sandwich, at least he got three slices of bread, even if it was brown, a packet of chicken crisps and a bottle of Diet Coke.
As he reached for the red-topped bottle he remembered the photo of the item found in Hayley Smart’s waistband.
At first, he’d wondered if it meant anything at all. The woman had been found by a row of bins behind a chip shop. Surely it would have been more unusual if some kind of debris hadn’t worked its way into the crime scene.
Although nothing else had, a small voice said inside his head. And for it to actually have worked its way into her clothing and not just beneath her niggled at him.
But what the hell was it? he wondered.
He took out his phone and scrolled to the photos he’d taken at the morgue. He put his meal deal back in the fridge and began walking the aisles of the supermarket.
He quickly ruled out the electrical, clothing and magazine sections and moved quickly past the fruit and vegetables.
