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Back The Dead Line Save as PDF
Chapters (87)
  1. Cover
  2. By the Same Author
  3. Dedication Page
  4. 1
  5. 2
  6. 3
  7. 4
  8. 5
  9. 6
  10. 7
  11. 8
  12. 9
  13. 10
  14. 11
  15. 12
  16. 13
  17. 14
  18. 15
  19. 16
  20. 17
  21. 18
  22. 19
  23. 20
  24. 21
  25. 22
  26. 23
  27. 24
  28. 25
  29. 26
  30. 27
  31. 28
  32. 29
  33. 30
  34. 31
  35. 32
  36. 33
  37. 34
  38. 35
  39. 36
  40. 37
  41. 38
  42. 39
  43. 40
  44. 41
  45. 42
  46. 43
  47. 44
  48. 45
  49. 46
  50. 47
  51. 48
  52. 49
  53. 50
  54. 51
  55. 52
  56. 53
  57. 54
  58. 55
  59. 56
  60. 57
  61. 58
  62. 59
  63. 60
  64. 61
  65. 62
  66. 63
  67. 64
  68. 65
  69. 66
  70. 67
  71. 68
  72. 69
  73. 70
  74. 71
  75. 72
  76. 73
  77. 74
  78. 75
  79. 76
  80. 77
  81. 78
  82. 79
  83. 80
  84. 81
  85. Acknowledgements
  86. Also Available by Holly Watt
  87. The Hunt and the Kill

Tillie interrupted her, voice high with excitement. ‘He’s just been arrested. Taken from the house . . . His lawyer was with him . . . He didn’t say anything. What should I—’

‘Tillie,’ Casey interrupted her. ‘Is there anyone else in the Hampstead house? Where are the wife and children?’

‘I don’t know.’ Tillie sounded deflated. ‘I can ask the guy from the Mirror . . .’

‘OK. Thanks. Talk later.’ Casey put down the phone. ‘Arthur,’ she called across the office.

The crime correspondent bounded over. ‘Yup?’

‘Can you find out whether Greystone’s wife and children are at the Hampstead house? Discreetly? He’s just been arrested.’

‘Can ask.’

‘Very subtly,’ Casey repeated. ‘Make it sound like we just want to buy up the wife’s story, so we’re trying to work out where she is, rather than anything else.’

‘Sure.’ Arthur was reaching for his phone as he turned away. He was a good crime correspondent, and had got drunk with almost every police officer in the country.

‘We have to get to Clio.’ Casey clenched her jaw. ‘Not just to front her up, but to force her to release Emily and Dominic from Tilney Cottage.’

‘We will,’ said Miranda. ‘We’ll find her.’

But Arthur was back in the office in just a few minutes. ‘There’s no one else in the Hampstead house,’ he said, palms lifted. ‘The children are AWOL too. Off the record, the police wouldn’t mind knowing where they all are.’

‘Bugger,’ said Miranda. ‘How the hell are we going to find her?’

66

66

The day ticked on. Casey was bent over her notes, nose almost touching the paper. Come on . . . Come on . . . She sat bolt upright.

‘I know what we can do.’

She had Hannah on the line within seconds. Hannah was the Post’s south-east Asia correspondent based in Bangkok, young and bright and still unjaded.

‘Hannah,’ she said. ‘Can you write a quick piece about the Bangladeshi garment industry?’

‘Course.’ Hannah was chewing something. Probably dinner, in Thailand. ‘D’you want any top line in particular? There’ll be something to write about. There always is.’

‘Doesn’t matter,’ said Casey. ‘But I need it fast. Can you file it to me when you’re done?’

‘Sure,’ Hannah sounded confused. ‘I usually send stuff through to the Foreign desk though.’

‘I’ve talked to them,’ Casey lied. ‘Just get the copy together, and then email it across.’

‘No problem.’ Hannah was always sunny. ‘It’ll be with you in an hour or so, OK?’

‘Great.’ Casey was already hurrying across to the Sport desk. It was a busy day, and all heads were down.

‘Arne?’ Casey pulled a chair up next to the Head of Sport, its wheels squealing.

‘I am busy now, Casey.’ The tall Norwegian pushed her chair away. ‘Come back tomorrow.’

‘Arne,’ Casey said again. ‘Please.’

‘What is it?’ He glanced up. ‘Is it important?’

‘Very.’