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Back A Change of Circumstance Save as PDF
Chapters (67)
  1. Cover
  2. One
  3. Two
  4. Three
  5. Four
  6. Five
  7. Six
  8. Seven
  9. Eight
  10. Nine
  11. Ten
  12. Eleven
  13. Twelve
  14. Thirteen
  15. Fourteen
  16. Fifteen
  17. Sixteen
  18. Seventeen
  19. Eighteen
  20. Nineteen
  21. Twenty
  22. Twenty-One
  23. Twenty-Two
  24. Twenty-Three
  25. Twenty-Four
  26. Twenty-Five
  27. Twenty-Six
  28. Twenty-Seven
  29. Twenty-Eight
  30. Twenty-Nine
  31. Thirty
  32. Thirty-One
  33. Thirty-Two
  34. Thirty-Three
  35. Thirty-Four
  36. Thirty-Five
  37. Thirty-Six
  38. Thirty-Seven
  39. Thirty-Eight
  40. Thirty-Nine
  41. Forty
  42. Forty-One
  43. Forty-Two
  44. Forty-Three
  45. Forty-Four
  46. Forty-Five
  47. Forty-Six
  48. Forty-Seven
  49. Forty-Eight
  50. Forty-Nine
  51. Fifty
  52. Fifty-One
  53. Fifty-Two
  54. Fifty-Three
  55. Fifty-Four
  56. Fifty-Five
  57. Fifty-Six
  58. Fifty-Seven
  59. Fifty-Eight
  60. Fifty-Nine
  61. Sixty
  62. Sixty-One
  63. Sixty-Two
  64. Sixty-Three
  65. Sixty-Four
  66. Sixty-Five
  67. Sixty-Six

‘Hold on.’ He had taken a last look. He had no feelings whatsoever for the man, known variously as Fats, Ginger or the Weasel. If what had happened was any kind of escape, it was only one that had led down a short passageway to a swift and terrible end. He wore a washed-out grey T-shirt with some sort of slogan on the front. One trainer on, the other on the floor. Black socks. A navy-blue fleece jacket hung over the back of the door.

‘OK, it’s all yours.’ The two of them had edged in, white suits and overshoes rustling.

‘One thing – our guys will come in to take the place apart after you’re done, but if you spot anything you think I should know about straight away, call me. I can’t say what sort of thing, I don’t think I know, but you’ll know if you see it.’

Which was not strictly true, but he did not want to put a suggestion into their heads. Sometimes, you found what you expected to find, which was not always what you should be finding.

Work on the site had stopped, the machines were stranded and silent, the workmen’s cars and motorbikes had left but morning traffic was on the go and still being waved past, a knot of women with buggies stood just beyond the crime scene tape, watching every movement in and out, an elderly man had parked his invalid vehicle as near to the entrance as he dared and was sitting smoking, the local television news van was being confronted by uniform.

As he’d left, Simon had lowered his window beside the media men.

‘Nothing for you yet, sorry, I might have something for you around lunchtime. Or not.’

He had sped off, hunger gnawing.

Sixty-Two

‘We’ve got everything and we’ve got nothing.’

All of the on-duty CID bar one was in the conference room, photos of the scene were up on the screen, and there was something in the air, a new sense that perhaps this was ‘at last’, though Serrailler had said nothing to bring it on. But it did happen, an inquiry could go on for months, dragging like boots through wet sand, meticulous data work getting them nowhere, and then there was something, often small, and it shed a ray of light which led to another, and the mood changed.