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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

He climbs into his car and starts the engine. Every time he takes a breath he feels a sharp ache in his ribs. He can feel something warm running down his cheek, and pulls down the visor, looking in the tiny mirror at his face. Sure enough, there’s a cut just below his eyebrow. His eye is a mass of purple and red. He finds an old tissue and holds it there for a second, wincing at the fresh sting.

Then he puts the car into gear and drives to the police station.

67

Friday

At two in the morning, the police station runs on a skeleton staff, close to deserted. But it’s a good thing, Robin thinks, as he staggers through the empty corridors, blood running down his face. He walks into the empty incident room and takes the first aid kit from the wall, then carries it into the men’s toilets.

The overhead light is hard and bleaching, but he knows even without it he looks a state. His jeans are muddy from the alleyway, his hands dirty and grazed, black under his fingernails. He washes them, the water turning grey and pink from the blood, then he leans forward and peers at the mess the bouncer has made of his face.

He knows he should register it as a crime, get the guy formally charged. But there’s a whole load of questions he doesn’t want to answer if he does. He can only imagine the look on Baker’s face when he starts to explain why he was in a strip club in the early hours of the morning interviewing the sister of a key murder suspect, while having a lap dance. Oh, and she’s the one that he got the complaint about, the one he’d got drunk with before and she’d stayed the night at his place? And has he mentioned that she’s a hooker, too?

Hell, no. He’s going to stay quiet about this one.

He takes a large handful of toilet paper, soaks it in water, then dabs at his eyebrow. He cleans up the worst of the blood, noting with grim satisfaction that it’ll probably scar. But it’s stopped bleeding, and he doesn’t think it’ll need stitches. He should get some ice for his eye though, the swelling already causing him a problem, and settles for a wad of cold, wet toilet paper. Then he goes along to the rooms where all the rubbish from the Miller house is being kept.

The sooner he gets this lot sorted, the better.

‘Robin, what the hell?’

Even before he opens his eyes and looks at Freya, he knows the expression on her face. Disbelief, mixed with pure horror at what she’s seeing.