“Why are you doing this? You’ve never wanted company here before.”

“Company? It’s hardly company, lad.” The man grinned his long toothy grin. “Oh no, this is something else altogether.”

CHAPTER

22

SHIVERING OUTSIDE THE gates waiting to be taken inside the prison, Heather glanced back at a small strip of green across the road. In the summer it would be thick with trees, but thorough winds had stripped all the leaves from the branches and it looked exposed and raw. A figure was standing there, his back to her, a hood up over his head and his hands deep in his pockets. She thought of Michael Reave, so dedicated to the landscape and things that grow. Unwanted, one of the images she’d found during her Internet searches floated through her mind’s eye; a woman, her face pale and waxy looking, her mouth full of blood and her head garlanded with primroses and small white flowers Heather couldn’t name. What did Reave do now, trapped in an antiseptic little cell? Did they have schemes to keep the prisoners busy? Did they let him do gardening? The thought of it made her grimace, and it took her a moment to summon a smile for the guard who collected her and took her through.

“Inspector Parker. It’s good to see you.” And she meant it. She had spent the morning making notes and searching her memories for any other links between her family and Michael Reave, but the thought of the slightly awkward, slightly sweet lunch she’d had with the detective kept slipping to the front of her mind.

The slightly ruffled looking detective glanced up from a ream of papers, eyebrows raised.

“Likewise.” They stood outside the interview room, just out of sight of the small reinforced window. “I, uh … thanks for coming in again. I know it’s not easy.”

“Yeah, well. Last time I saw Reave, he lost his temper with me. Is he … is he happy to speak to me again?”

“Very much so. In fact, he’s been asking about you.” Seeing the expression that passed over her face, Parker continued. “I know it’s weird, but … this is a man that carted parts of bodies around the country then planted flowers around them. His behavior isn’t necessarily rational, or predictable. It’s worth remembering that while you’re in there. Are you ready?”

Heather straightened up, lifting her chin a touch. Her head was thumping steadily, but she had spent a good half an hour in the shower that morning, trying to wash away her tiredness and the lingering anxieties of the night before.

“Let’s do it.”

The interview room was still small, oppressive, yellow. Michael Reave was still a larger than life presence, hulking in his seat, yet there was no mistaking the brief expression of pleasure that passed over his face as Heather entered the room.

“You came back.”

“How are you …” Heather steeled herself, internally apologizing to a score of lost women, “… Michael?”