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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

Robin remembers their conversation from the night before. ‘You don’t go from being a reluctant participant in a threesome to full-on erotic asphyxiation a few months later.’

‘Right.’ She looks at the clock, then swears. ‘Call me a cab? I’m so late.’

She jumps up from the bed, pulling Robin’s T-shirt off and putting her dress back on. Robin does as he’s asked, the cab company confirming arrival in ten minutes. As she gets dressed he sees a flash of her nearly naked – a tattoo, a Chinese dragon, curling round her lower back – and an insight to what could have been. She picks up her bra and puts it in her pocket.

He puts on the T-shirt she’s just taken off and follows her down the stairs.

‘And Frankie? You’ll leave her alone now, won’t you?’ she asks, turning round at the front door, reaching down and putting her heels on. ‘She’s one of the good ones. Always lets you know what you’re in for. No surprises.’

Robin nods. ‘We’ll back off. Thank you,’ he adds again.

She opens the door, then leans back and gives him a slow kiss on his cheek. ‘Look after yourself, DS Butler,’ she says. Then she stops, and pauses for a second. ‘It’s a shame about Jonathan. I felt sorry for him,’ she adds quietly. ‘He seemed sweet.’

Robin watches her get into the cab, then closes the front door with a click.

A man dead from an experimental sex practice, when he’d refused a wife-sanctioned shag with a prostitute? None of this adds up. And it is certainly more than his hungover mind can compute this morning.

16

Friday

This is Steph Harper’s domain, not his. And the smell of decomposing flesh and dead bodies is not sitting well with his hangover. He’s already had a near-miss second dry-heave in the road outside the hospital as he clambered out of the taxi. However, he now dons the gloves and mask as requested, and walks up to her side.

Poor Jonathan Miller is on the slab. Naked when he died, naked for his post-mortem. Robin can see the cut running up the middle of his stomach and chest, culminating at his neck, then shooting off in the standard Y-incision on both sides. His eyes stare, open and unblinking, at the ceiling.

Freya’s back at the station, working her way through his – now their – sorely neglected caseload. Robin’s glad; he’s hardly firing on all cylinders. And it doesn’t pay for your DC to see you in such an obviously self-inflicted state.

Steph’s still got the Dictaphone in her hand, and is talking quietly, making final notes. She switches it off as Robin approaches.

‘Figured you didn’t want to wait for the report,’ she says.

‘Rather not. What did you find?’