“Why not?”

“She made me promise not to fuck you.”

“Oh?”

“She doesn’t approve.”

I can’t say I’m surprised. “Our little secret then.”

She’s been good, the one who calls herself Leah. As far as I can tell, she’s not broken character once since Chris’s arrest.

She posted on her social media accounts that she was thankful for the support of everyone over the years and then in the wake of this incredibly difficult time for her. Added a heart-warming tribute to her sister and a harrowing few lines about her ordeal at the hands of a killer. Then she shut them all down, saying she wanted a sense of a normal life, away from the spotlight, and requesting people respect her privacy at this time. #AChanceToHeal.

That red-haired man has all but moved in from the looks of things, but the pair seem to spend little time out and about, even with COVID restrictions lifting. They sometimes stroll up to Hampstead Heath, but that’s the main extent of their outings. Three weeks ago they rescued a little dog from a local shelter. According to the security company I had running the operation to watch her, the dog was called Lily and had been horribly abused by her former owner. I’m not a dog person, so I skimmed the rest of that part of the report.

The woman has not set foot south of the river since she came home. None of Megan’s contacts in Guildford, or at work, have been approached. Everything points to Megan being dead.

Chapter Twenty-Six

Derek, the awkward work experience boy, likes cats. Of course he does. He probably should have returned to school, or university, or wherever he is meant to be, by now, but he’s still hanging around. He looks nervous as he knocks on the open door of my office. With only a few days until the trial, I’m in a shitty mood and he shrinks back as I tell him to get the fuck inside and close the door.

“Sir… I… errr… I think…”

“Just spit it out, Desmond.”

“Derek. Sir…”

I’m impressed that he corrected me. He’s already much bolder than he was a few months ago. I break out one of my special smiles. “I’m just kidding with you, Derek. Pull up a seat and tell me what you’ve got.” As I talk I am reaching for the bottle of Glenfiddich and two glasses on my desk. Confusion clouds his face for a second but then he sits. He knocks it back, without even the flicker of a shiver. Perhaps I can make something of this boy after all?

“Leah had a cat.”

I look at him without speaking, silently willing him to continue.

“He was a Nebelung, a kind of long-haired Russian Blue, or at least I think he was. I mean he was a rescue so there’s no exact way of knowing, but he looks like one.”

Still I say nothing.

“The forensic report said there was cat hair on the clothing the body was dressed in.”