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Back Last Place You Look Save as PDF
Chapters (85)
  1. Cover
  2. Dedication
  3. Prologue
  4. Part 1
  5. 1
  6. 2
  7. 3
  8. 4
  9. 5
  10. 6
  11. 7
  12. 8
  13. 9
  14. 10
  15. 11
  16. 12
  17. 13
  18. 14
  19. 15
  20. 16
  21. 17
  22. Part 2
  23. 18
  24. 19
  25. 20
  26. 21
  27. 22
  28. 23
  29. 24
  30. 25
  31. 26
  32. 27
  33. 28
  34. 29
  35. 30
  36. 31
  37. 32
  38. 33
  39. 34
  40. 35
  41. 36
  42. 37
  43. 38
  44. 39
  45. 40
  46. 41
  47. 42
  48. 43
  49. 44
  50. 45
  51. 46
  52. 47
  53. 48
  54. Part 3
  55. 49
  56. 50
  57. 51
  58. 52
  59. 53
  60. 54
  61. 55
  62. 56
  63. 57
  64. 58
  65. 59
  66. 60
  67. 61
  68. 62
  69. 63
  70. 64
  71. 65
  72. 66
  73. 67
  74. 68
  75. 69
  76. 70
  77. 71
  78. 72
  79. 73
  80. 74
  81. Epilogue
  82. Acknowledgements
  83. Canelo Crime
  84. About the Author
  85. Also by Louisa Scarr

Then she stops. Trevor Stevens walks in, alive and well. He goes to the bank of fridges first, taking out a bottle of Coke, then he walks away, where Freya knows he pays at the till. Then he’s back in shot, and here’s the guy.

Freya lets her breath out in a rush. This angle’s no better. The man’s closer this time, but still turned away. There’s nothing new here. No distinctive markings on his clothes that would identify him.

The two of them talk a while longer, and Freya sees Trevor laugh, then place his hand on the squaddie’s arm. Then they turn. And Freya’s body goes cold.

It’s only a fragment of a second, but for that moment, the man faces the camera. And she sees him. With shaking hands, she rewinds the tape and watches again. She doesn’t dare blink. It can’t be him.

She watches it again, and again. And each time, her brain refuses to acknowledge what her eyes are saying is true.

Her brain just says, oh god, it can’t be. It can’t be him.

46

Monday

The instruction to see Baker comes early. Robin’s barely reached his desk, coffee in hand, computer still booting up.

‘What does he need to see me for?’ Robin asks.

The woman shrugs. ‘Didn’t say, just told me to get you. Personally.’

‘Personally?’ Robin gets up and follows her. This can’t be good news, and sure enough, Baker’s face is grim when he walks into the office.

‘Sit down, Robin,’ he says.

Robin does as he’s told. ‘What’s this about?’

‘I’ve had a complaint.’

‘What? Who from?’ Robin can feel his face flushing, anger surging round his veins.

‘Amy Miller.’

Shit. This is not going to be good, Robin thinks, but waits for Baker to speak.

Baker runs a hand across his shaved head, clearly exasperated. ‘At least, we think that’s what this is.’ He points to the piece of paper on the desk. ‘It’s barely intelligible, making some accusation about you and her sister, someone called Olivia Cross. You know who that is?’

‘She’s a witness, yes.’

‘Says you’ve slept with her.’

‘That’s bollocks,’ Robin explodes.

‘Says she’s been to your house.’

‘That’s… Fuck.’

‘So that part is true?’ Baker asks, but doesn’t wait for Robin to reply. He leans forward across the desk. ‘Listen, Rob, and I say this to you as a friend, not your boss. Get your shit together. I have no choice but to pass this to Professional Standards, but to tell the truth, they’ll have a hard time making sense of this collection of—’ he glances down at the paper again ‘—ramblings. She sounds mental. So get your story straight. Fast. And for crying out loud, conclude all you can on her husband’s supposed murder before PSD close it down. You hear me?’