Chapters (67)
- Cover
- One
- Two
- Three
- Four
- Five
- Six
- Seven
- Eight
- Nine
- Ten
- Eleven
- Twelve
- Thirteen
- Fourteen
- Fifteen
- Sixteen
- Seventeen
- Eighteen
- Nineteen
- Twenty
- Twenty-One
- Twenty-Two
- Twenty-Three
- Twenty-Four
- Twenty-Five
- Twenty-Six
- Twenty-Seven
- Twenty-Eight
- Twenty-Nine
- Thirty
- Thirty-One
- Thirty-Two
- Thirty-Three
- Thirty-Four
- Thirty-Five
- Thirty-Six
- Thirty-Seven
- Thirty-Eight
- Thirty-Nine
- Forty
- Forty-One
- Forty-Two
- Forty-Three
- Forty-Four
- Forty-Five
- Forty-Six
- Forty-Seven
- Forty-Eight
- Forty-Nine
- Fifty
- Fifty-One
- Fifty-Two
- Fifty-Three
- Fifty-Four
- Fifty-Five
- Fifty-Six
- Fifty-Seven
- Fifty-Eight
- Fifty-Nine
- Sixty
- Sixty-One
- Sixty-Two
- Sixty-Three
- Sixty-Four
- Sixty-Five
- Sixty-Six
In the early hours of the morning, the phone rang, waking him up, then rang again, so that in the end he had switched it off but still left it in the rice.
The police car had pulled up outside while they were having breakfast.
‘What did I say we needed?’
‘Stroke of luck, guv.’
‘And you got it. Bloody hell, this is one of those that never happens until it does.’
As part of the routine, the IT support team had put a trace on Fats’s mobile. When it had been reactivated, the signal had gone straight back to them.
Sixty-Three
Sam’s phone rang.
He was pushing a semiconscious patient back from theatre to ITU, a nurse beside them attending to drips and tubes as they walked.
‘Are you supposed to answer your phone on duty?’
‘I’m not answering it.’
‘Even have it switched on at all? Honestly, it’s one rule for you porters . . .’
He was not sure how far she was joking.
‘Hold the doors.’
They reached the patient’s bed and Sam handed over. Back in the corridor, he called Hannah.
‘Hi. Why didn’t you answer?’
What’s up?’
‘Nothing in the wide world. Can you pick me up from the station at half five?’
‘No, I’m on till seven.’
‘Can’t you knock off early?’
‘No, I bloody can’t, and I don’t have a car. Sort yourself out, woman.’
‘It’s your charm that has got you so far.’
What was she coming home for so suddenly when she hadn’t been back for weeks? Not since Christmas, now he thought about it, because she had gone straight from the end of her pantomime into the musical.
His beeper went and he headed back to the theatre suites.
The printout of numbers from the recovered phone reached Serrailler as he was thinking of leaving. Voicemail and texts had been corrupted and they were still working on them but the stored list was intact and he glanced down it. Eleven mobile numbers, fewer than he would have expected and probably only the tip of the iceberg. Maybe Fats and the rest of the bottom feeders in the drug supply chain had instructions to delete anyone the moment they had dropped off the radar and become uncontactable. He started to pack up, ready to take the number sheet down to CID on his way out and get whoever to go through them and report in if any were answered. But after he had done so, he turned back.
‘Just let me have that list again, Denzil . . . I need another look.’
‘Recognise one, guv?’
‘Not sure. Maybe.’
‘If there’s anything that looks like something I’ll call you, otherwise enjoy your evening.’
‘Thanks. How’s the newborn?’
‘Noisy.’ Denzil’s baby son had arrived safe and well, and clearly the fun had now started.