BooksBarbecue
Back Last Place You Look
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

‘IC1, thirty-eight, single. Caution for soliciting in 2018, but nothing else,’ comes the reply. So he’s on the right track, Robin thinks.

Then the front door opens again and Frankie herself comes barrelling out. She’s moving at speed towards him, wearing a tight pink tracksuit. His hand immediately goes to the ignition key and he starts the engine as she bashes on his car door.

‘Fuck off!’ she screams, her spit showering his driver’s side window. ‘This is harassment.’

‘Okay, okay, I’m going,’ he shouts, and quickly drives away.

He leaves his car at home, and heads into town. It’s Thursday night, and the pavements are busy as he walks towards King’s Wine Bar.

It’s a nice place – small and homely, pretty art deco-style stained glass at the tops of the windows, with a chalkboard of cocktails and a decent line of local ales on tap. He finds a seat at the bar and orders a pint of Ringwood Forty Niner, happily taking a long gulp the moment it’s presented to him. As he pays, he asks about the party and the barman goes to get the manager.

The manager’s a young guy, with long hair tied back in a man bun and an impressive thick bushy beard.

‘Yeah, course,’ he says, when Robin asks if he was working. ‘Wanted to personally make sure it all went down okay.’

‘And did it?’

‘A good night was had by all,’ he says, smiling. ‘Especially me. The bar tab was huge. These London guys can drink, I’ll tell you that.’

‘Do you remember seeing this man?’ Robin asks, showing him a photo of Miller.

The manager shakes his head. ‘No, sorry. But it was heaving that night and we were rushed off our feet. Didn’t stop for a minute.’

‘CCTV?’ Robin points to the camera above his head.

‘Sorry, not from Friday. We rotate the tapes every three days. You should have come here sooner.’

Robin curses under his breath. ‘Can you check the receipts, see if our guy paid for anything?’

The manager looks apologetic. ‘Nobody paid for anything, that night.’

‘Nothing?’

‘Nope. The entire tab was picked up by the guy whose birthday it was. Kal something?’

‘Fucking hell,’ Robin says, then internally chastises himself. He is there asking questions as a police officer, after all.

But the manager doesn’t seem to mind his language, and laughs loudly. ‘Alright for some, eh?’

He leaves, but not before pouring Robin a fresh pint. Robin downs the final swig of the last one, then moves on to the full glass.