‘I even pulled the CCTV from the general area around Jessie’s flats. Fuck-all again. The cameras that should show the outside of her flats had been disabled. According to the company who should be monitoring them, they only noticed the next morning. Well, I put a fucking rocket up their arses, but there’s nothing we can do about it now, is there?’

Declan Costello got up from his chair reluctantly; he was comfortable. He pulled out a typist’s chair from behind the desk, and offered it to Timothy Branch.

‘Sit there. I’ll get us all a drink. Same again, Michael?’

Michael gave him his empty glass. Declan busied himself pouring out the whiskies.

Timothy Branch took his drink gratefully, and he gulped at it, enjoying the taste.

Michael sipped his drink slowly.

‘I wish I could tell you different, Michael, I really do. But I hear your blokes are getting the same reaction as mine.’

Michael nodded. ‘You’re right. No one seems to know sweet fuck-all. But I want to ask you something, Timothy, and I want you to tell me the truth. If this was a real police matter, if a girl went missing like my Jessie, how long before you would assume she was dead?’

Declan Costello had never thought he would feel sorry for DI Timothy Branch; the man was a fucking arsehole. But he did now. The man didn’t know what to say for the best.

‘The thing is, Michael, every case is different. I mean, there’s no way I can answer that.’

Sighing with annoyance, Michael said quietly, ‘Don’t fucking mug me off, I’m not an idiot. I am asking you: if a girl was abducted, like my Jessie, how long would you give her before you assumed she was fucking dead?’ He bellowed out the last word.

Timothy Branch shrugged, saying honestly, ‘A couple of days. The fact that no one can explain her disappearance is not a good sign, to be honest. But, saying that, you know she is being held by someone. Your wife had that letter, it was hand delivered. So that’s a good thing, Michael.’

Michael Flynn shook his handsome head in a gesture of denial. ‘But that’s just it, though. Anyone could have her, couldn’t they?’

Chapter One Hundred and Seventeen

Chapter One Hundred
and Seventeen

Jessie woke to see the man standing over her. Up close he looked decidedly odd; there was no emotion on his face, nothing to say he even registered her presence. It was unnerving. He had pale grey eyes, and his skin was a dirty yellow. His mouth was partly open, and she could see his teeth – which were rotten – and smell his awful breath. She felt her stomach heaving; he actually made her feel physically sick. The stench was overpowering, a sickly sweetness of old food and long-neglected cavities. It was putrid.