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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 curls up, her legs tucked tight into her stomach. The room lurches slightly from the alcohol, her stomach empty, her body a shell. And at last, she falls asleep.

8

Wednesday

Amy Miller seems thinner than he remembers, shrunken in on herself since learning of her husband’s death. She cradles a large takeaway Costa coffee; Robin can smell the tempting aroma, desperate for one himself.

But her hair is brushed and styled, her smart black trousers and shirt expensive-looking and clean. She arrived on time, which is more than he can say for West. Freya texted an excuse this morning claiming she’d been throwing up all night. Something she ate, sleeping it off, hopefully in later.

Robin could do with a nap himself. Steph prodded him awake much too early this morning, already dressed in her running gear. She told him to let himself out, she was going for a long one. Ten miles, she said, and he squinted at her in the morning half-light, vibrant and already bouncing on the balls of her feet. He rolled over in bed, feeling tired and old.

But she texted as he arrived at the station and confirmed that the coroner had given their plans the okay. She’d been in contact with the undertakers, making arrangements for Jonathan Miller to be transferred to her mortuary.

While they sit in the family room in the police station, he explains this to the wife.

‘I thought you said he wouldn’t need a post-mortem,’ she asks him.

‘Sometimes the coroner asks for one if the cause of death is uncertain,’ he replies, and she looks confused.

‘But you said it was an accident,’ she says.

He gives her his best reassuring smile. ‘We just need to be sure.’

They’ve moved on to easier ground, and Amy Miller is now telling him about the weekend before. Her speech is quiet and hesitant, her eyes downcast.

‘We were at a party Friday night, Kal’s fortieth,’ she says.

‘Kal?’

‘Khalid Riaz, Jonathan’s best friend.’ Robin writes down the name as she spells it out. ‘Works for Sterling and Blake, a hedge fund in London. Saturday we didn’t do much, just went for a walk in the morning, takeaway Saturday night.’

‘Sunday?’

‘I went for a run, Jonathan went to the tip.’ She makes an apologetic face. ‘Sorry, our lives aren’t that interesting.’

‘When was the last time you saw him?’

‘Monday morning. I left about eight for work.’

‘What did Jonathan do?’ Robin realises the past tense of his question, but there’s no avoiding the stark reality.

‘He was a procurement manager. Negotiating contracts, finding suppliers, stuff like that.’

No obvious motives for murder, Robin thinks. Except maybe accepting bribes for contracts? Backhanders in brown envelopes? She looks like she’s going to cry again, so Robin asks another question quickly to distract her. ‘And where were you on Monday and Tuesday?’