A cheer went up from the crowd as the counsellor took Janet Monroe’s hand and pulled her away from the edge. Uniformed police officers surrounded her, then there was nothing left to see at all.

Ava thrust herself between the bodies, heading for the back of the crowd. The laughing man hadn’t got what he’d wanted again today and she doubted he’d hang around to watch the crowd’s delight at the averted crisis.

Bursting through the rear line of spectators, Ava knew she was already too late. People were drifting away in all directions. Short of ordering that every one of them be detained pending details being taken, there was little she could do, and then there would be no chance at all of their murderer coming for Monroe and walking into their arms.

‘You were here,’ Ava whispered to the shifting crowd.

As the laughing man walked away, just ten feet from where DCI Ava Turner was standing, nails jammed into her palms, he sent a single line of text.

‘Thanks for the heads-up.’

Chapter Twenty-Eight

15 March

Callanach had spent more time at his gym than in his own apartment since Ava had decided it would be better for him to stay away from MIT. He’d run, walked, worked out and eaten at the gym, spent time in the sauna and the pool, then hung around the bar until it was finally time to escape to Lance Proudfoot’s for dinner. The next day was a repeat of the same. It was only when he started to attract attention from women that he had to forego the gym and retreat home. He usually managed to avoid talking to anyone when he was working out. He’d learned not to make eye contact, not to engage in conversation. Better to appear rude than to look like he was open to socialising, and the very last thing on his agenda at the moment was hooking up with another female.

His key slipped smoothly into the lock and he let himself into his apartment. The air smelled floral and sweet. His neighbour, Bunny, regularly flooded their floor with the scents of perfume and beauty products when her clients came to have parts of themselves waxed, sprayed or dyed. He didn’t mind, but all he wanted at the moment was the sense that he was entirely alone. It seemed there were women all around him, except the one he really wanted.

Logging into his emails, he realised he was both dreading and longing for contact from Ava. He knew better than to get in touch with her first. If he pushed too hard, it would only take longer to work things out. There was nothing. No emails at all. He checked his Wi-Fi connection then restarted his machine, finally making sure his email provider wasn’t experiencing difficulties. Apparently, no one at all wanted to get in touch with him.