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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

She shuts the door behind him. She goes back to the kitchen and stops, looking at the computer, at the disc in its plastic case.

It isn’t too late, she tells herself. She can call Baker, tell him everything.

But Jonathan’s killer will go free. She picks up the disc and carries it up to her bedroom, hiding it in her underwear drawer.

The wheels are in motion. Robin knows everything about her, and she knows about him. There’s no way either of them can turn back now.

52

Tuesday

There’s nothing different about the incident room today, but Robin feels a disconnect from his colleagues. These are people – good people – who work hard, solve crimes. And he is one of them, but somehow, today, he recognises that he has more in common with the people they seek to put behind bars.

Since he killed Trevor Stevens, he’s done his best to leave it in his past. To try and forget the events of that day which left him limping frantically across a field, arm, shoulder, chest in agony, to get away from the fire that was burning behind him.

He heard the second explosion as the petrol tank caught fire, and for a moment he turned, watching the fireball in the distance, stark against the black night. And he listened for the sirens, waiting, debating. Should he go back – accept the punishment for what he’d done, or keep walking?

And he strode away. He made it to the nearest main road, teeth gritted, then kept going until he got back to his car. Falling through his front door, he stripped off the clothes he’d worn in the accident, putting them in a bin bag to throw away the next day. He downed paracetamol and beer and tried to sleep. Twelve hours later he was in A and E, being patched up by a patronising nurse, who told him next time be more careful when you’re going downstairs, pissed.

He nodded, accepted contritely, then spent the next few days in bed. His neck was so painful he was barely able to move. Then back to work. A bit of piss-taking from his colleagues, and it was done.

Nobody looked closely at Trevor Stevens’ death. Nobody thought it was any more than a tragic accident.

And he began to relax. Just a bit.

Freya arrives at her desk at half ten.

She clicks her computer on. ‘I’ve submitted my report to Baker,’ she says, without looking at him.

‘Thank you,’ he replies quietly. ‘You okay?’

‘Fine,’ she mutters. ‘What do you want me looking at today, Sarge?’

Back to the conventions of old. Slowly he runs through everything he knows about the case. About the unknown, taller man driving Jonathan’s car. About the DNA and fingerprints in the car and on the porn. The lack of witnesses at the party, and the fish and chip shop on the Friday night.