He returned to the table, found the word Bike, and scored a thick line to a name that so far had been circled and linked to less than most. He’d been putting it off, perhaps hoping that something else would surface from all the information. But it hadn’t. Armed with a fresh glass of wine, he moved across to the sofa and opened the final bundle of printed documents: Christine Saunders.

It didn’t take an hour. But by the time he’d read the report a couple of times the wine was gone and his face was shiny with tears, his lips quivering like a baby’s.

He set the papers down and concentrated on his breathing, willing it to slow down, to become smooth and regular. He tried not to think, just gather up the loose ends of his emotions and wait for them to settle.

Then he phoned her.

‘Rita, I need to see you.’

‘I’m ready for bed. I’m friggin’ exhausted. Gwyn’s still at HQ if…’

‘Tomorrow, then. First thing.’

Tuesday

39

They met at Broadyards Country Park. It was eight in the morning and it was cold. There was a picnic bench close to some trees, a fair distance from where Shaw’s burnt-out Toyota had been found. But they could see the ghostly shadow of the car on the ground, the four scorch marks of the tyres, a patch of darkened earth where the engine had dripped its molten oil.

‘OK,’ she said, settling down on the bench and zipping up her leather jacket against the wind. ‘Turner was released last night. We just didn’t have enough to hold him. And he knew it. Him and his bloody lawyer.’

Joe nodded.

‘What about the rest?’ she asked. ‘Are you managing to keep up with it all?’

‘Just popped into Elland Road. Saw all the stuff on the system. How many officers you got on it?’

‘Loads.’

They looked out across the car park. There were a few vehicles, a handful of dog-walkers, one of whom stopped as he got to the darkened earth, peered down at the ground for a moment, then took a couple of shots on his phone.

‘Popular spot,’ he said.

‘It is now. Makes you think, eh? Two bodies in four days.’ She watched Joe, noting the strain in his eyes, the way in which his face seemed to have lost all colour and animation. This is a weird one, Joe.’

Still she watched.

‘Yeah,’ he said, finally. ‘I reckon it is.’

She gave him more time. It wasn’t a Romano pause, silence as a means of cajoling the truth from someone. She sensed that now he needed time just to breathe. His whole body seemed to be heavy with a deep, unremitting lethargy.

‘Joe, there doesn’t need to be another kill. We can stop this now.’