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Back Cross and Burn Save as PDF
Chapters (74)
  1. About the Author
  2. Also by Val McDermid
  3. COPYRIGHT
  4. CROSS AND BURN
  5. Dedication
  6. Acknowledgements
  7. Epigraph
  8. 1
  9. 2
  10. 3
  11. 4
  12. 5
  13. 6
  14. 7
  15. 8
  16. 9
  17. 10
  18. 11
  19. 12
  20. 13
  21. 14
  22. 15
  23. 16
  24. 17
  25. 18
  26. 19
  27. 20
  28. 21
  29. 22
  30. 23
  31. 24
  32. 25
  33. 26
  34. 27
  35. 28
  36. 29
  37. 30
  38. 31
  39. 32
  40. 33
  41. 34
  42. 35
  43. 36
  44. 37
  45. 38
  46. 39
  47. 40
  48. 41
  49. 42
  50. 43
  51. 44
  52. 45
  53. 46
  54. 47
  55. 48
  56. 49
  57. 50
  58. 51
  59. 52
  60. 53
  61. 54
  62. 55
  63. 56
  64. 57
  65. 58
  66. 59
  67. 60
  68. 61
  69. 62
  70. 63
  71. 64
  72. 65
  73. 66
  74. 67

He wasn’t entirely surprised to see plenty of lights on at the Mather house. The front room curtains weren’t closed, and light leaked in from the bright hallway. He checked to make sure he was unobserved, then cut into their tiny front garden, slinking past the front door and peering in through the window. No sign of life. A couple of deserted sofas, a TV, shelves that seemed to contain DVDs and a few books. No clutter whatsoever. There were paintings, or prints, he supposed, all over the walls. He couldn’t make them out in the dim light, but they looked colourful.

He slipped past the front door and down the side of the garage. A small window cast a parallelogram of light on the ground, and he ducked low to avoid being seen. Then he turned and edged his head forward so he could look inside. The usual crap-filled garage, he thought. Lawnmower, gardening tools. A tall freezer. Shelves crammed with tins of paint, household chemicals, assorted car products. He inched forward to improve his field of vision and saw something completely unexpected.

The top of a man’s head, motionless on the floor.

Startled, he jerked back. When his heart stopped racing, he crept forward again, this time bolder than before. He could see the rest of the man’s head from behind. Unsurprisingly, it was attached to a body. A body that was sprawled on the floor beside an exercise bike, one leg still trailing over the frame.

Marco Mather wasn’t pacing the floor, panicking over his wife’s absence. Marco Mather was dead.

Either that or he was going to be dead very soon.

51

Bronwen Scott enjoyed the moment then pushed her chair back. ‘I need a quick word with the custody sergeant,’ she said. ‘Five minutes, Carol, any more and he’ll start to get antsy.’

Tony and Carol stared at each other, stony-faced, waiting for her to leave. The door closed and they were alone for the first time in months. A scenario both had imagined but neither had expected. Tony cleared his throat. ‘How have you been?’

‘That’s really none of your business.’ The severity of her expression didn’t diminish. He’d seen her look at colleagues she despaired of and criminals she despised in the same way.

‘I think it is. You blamed me for what happened to Michael and Lucy.’ Most people would have missed the infinitesimal flinch in her eyes at the mention of their names, but he didn’t. Undeterred, he carried on. ‘You probably still do. That gives me a burden of responsibility and I think our history runs so deep that you owe me the chance to discharge it.’

She shook her head. ‘Even if I could translate that out of Tony-speak into something a normal person would understand, I suspect it would still be bollocks. I owe you nothing. No amount of twisted logic can change that.’