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Chapters (109)
  1. Cover
  2. About the Author
  3. Praise for Tim Weaver
  4. Dedication
  5. Part One
  6. 1
  7. 2
  8. 3
  9. 4
  10. 5
  11. 6
  12. Joline
  13. 7
  14. 8
  15. 9
  16. 10
  17. The Motel
  18. 11
  19. 12
  20. Part Two
  21. 13
  22. 14
  23. Caraca
  24. 15
  25. 16
  26. 17
  27. Late-Night Call
  28. 18
  29. 19
  30. 20
  31. Pioneer
  32. Part Three
  33. 21
  34. 22
  35. 23
  36. The Suicide: Part 1
  37. 24
  38. 25
  39. 26
  40. The Suicide: Part 2
  41. 27
  42. 28
  43. 29
  44. Clear: Part 1
  45. 30
  46. 31
  47. Clear: Part 2
  48. Part Four
  49. 32
  50. 33
  51. 34
  52. Monster
  53. 35
  54. 36
  55. 37
  56. Martina: Part 1
  57. Part Five
  58. 38
  59. 39
  60. 40
  61. Martina: Part 2
  62. 41
  63. 42
  64. 43
  65. Dead Ends
  66. 44
  67. Part Six
  68. 45
  69. 46
  70. 47
  71. The Photograph Album
  72. 48
  73. 49
  74. 50
  75. Empty
  76. Part Seven
  77. 51
  78. 52
  79. Retirement: Part 1
  80. 53
  81. 54
  82. 55
  83. 56
  84. Retirement: Part 2
  85. 57
  86. Part Eight
  87. 58
  88. 59
  89. 60
  90. 61
  91. 62
  92. Circle
  93. 63
  94. 64
  95. 65
  96. 66
  97. An Ending
  98. 67
  99. 68
  100. Part Nine
  101. 69
  102. Family
  103. 70
  104. Part Ten
  105. 71
  106. 72
  107. Author’s Note
  108. Acknowledgements
  109. THE BEGINNING

I went back through my original notes on Patrick, on Francesca, on their house, their life together, his PR business, even her work as a nurse at Westmorland Hospital in Kendal. I tried to link the calls from Quinn to anything the Perrys had done in the time leading up to them going missing, but every route soon hit a dead end. Neither of them had connections to London. So why was Patrick making these calls?

I checked my watch, saw that I’d been going almost three hours, and knew the car would likely be ready now – but as I started to pack up, something stopped me.

What if I’ve got this the wrong way around?

I couldn’t see the connection between Patrick and Kevin Quinn, didn’t get why Patrick would pick up the phone that first time and call a detective in a city he had no association with, let alone how that conversation would go on to last sixteen minutes.

But what if Quinn hadn’t always been based in London?

I redialled the same number for him, heard it ring the same amount of times, and then, as soon as his voicemail kicked in again, I got my answer in Quinn’s voice.

I hadn’t noticed it the first time, because his accent was so soft.

He was from Manchester.

It could have meant that, before he made the switch to London, Quinn knew Patrick; he could have been a friend, a schoolmate. It meant they could even have grown up together. But given how little they talked to one another over the two months I had records for, how long Patrick had been a journalist, and the type of crime stories he’d written during his time at the paper, something else seemed much more likely: before Quinn went to the Met, he’d been working for the Greater Manchester Police.

He was one of Patrick’s sources.

As that hit home, something else pulled into focus: if Patrick had re-established contact after Quinn’s move south, it wasn’t to catch up, or to relive old times. The sort of relationship they had didn’t work like that, however much they might have got on.

Rather, it meant Patrick needed something from Quinn.

Something only a cop could get him.

The Suicide: Part 1

1985

Los Angeles | Wednesday 24 July

Jo approached Runyon Canyon Park from Mulholland.