‘Bev Boland.’
‘Hey, Bev, it’s me, Morgan.’
‘Hey back, what can I do for you?’
‘Do you know if the electronics from the Beth Montgomery case have been looked at yet?’
‘Hang on, I think Dave was on with that. Dave.’
She yelled so loud Morgan had to hold the receiver away from her ear.
‘Montgomery’s stuff, did you do the report yet?’
‘Who’s asking?’A muffled voice replied in the background.
‘What the fuck does that matter? Did you do it or not?’
‘Almost.’
Bev lowered her voice.‘Honestly, he’s slower than a sloth but thorough.’She shouted again.‘What does almost mean, Dave? I need the report ASAP.’
‘Christ, Bev, give me a chance. I’ll get it sent out now. Who wants it?’
‘Morgan Brookes is asking for it.’
‘Well, I’ll get it sent over in ten minutes but don’t get too excited.’
Morgan sighed. ‘I guess he didn’t find anything of interest then?’
‘To him probably not because he has no idea what he’s doing. I mean he’s great with tech and could probably hack into any computer, but he’s not a detective. I’ll make sure he gets it sent across for you, Morgan, good luck.’
‘Thanks, Bev, I appreciate your help.’
The line went dead, and Morgan put the receiver down. She began to search for the log about the Williams’ car crash. Even though they lived in Lancaster, the detective there had told her it had happened on Lindale Hill, which was a busy dual carriageway that led to the Lake District. They had been on their way to spend the weekend in Bowness, so the log would be on their system.
Morgan typed in their surname and began to search for the accident log, and finally it appeared and the first thing she did was check who was the responding officer. She did a double take – 1053 – Scotty’s collar number was on the log. To make sure she hadn’t messed up and wasn’t getting it confused with anyone else, she opened her emails and typed the number in, and it brought up his email address:Darren Scott, response officer.
Morgan shuddered; a chill enveloped her. She pushed herself away from the desk and stood up, walking to the window to stare down onto the car park. How come he hadn’t mentioned that he’d been the one to attend the fatal car accident that had takenboth of their lives? It had been three years ago, but still it was relevant, wasn’t it?
She began to pace up and down. Scotty was the laziest, most laid-back officer in the station. Everyone knew that he dodged most of the calls that came in if he could get away with it. But there was no denying that he had a close connection to the deaths that surrounded the Williams family. Why? Did he have some involvement or was he very unlucky and just happened to be on shift when they were killed?
Morgan sat down again. She had been on shift and attended a few of her friends’ untimely deaths, being first at their crime scenes. It happened in a rural area. They didn’t have the number of police officers needed to cover the expanded landscape of the town and surrounding fells, so it had to be a coincidence, didn’t it? Scotty wasn’t a killer; he didn’t have the get up and go in him to do anything so complicated – unless he had a very good reason.
She picked up the coffee cup and took a huge gulp, wishing it was neat vodka instead. God, she hoped she was wrong about all of this. I mean, she thought, it was crazy, wasn’t it? She was thinking that the laziest guy she knew in the world was hiding a dark secret and he was in fact a clever, manipulative serial killer who had wiped out an entire family. That also meant he’d killed Jack who, despite his difficult relationship with Amy, was still a colleague, and what was even worse was that he was supposed to be one of the good guys, one of them.
TWENTY-FOUR
1988
Angela got a taxi home from the hospital the next day when she was discharged. Jonathan was at work and had not called her to see if she was coming home. She paid the driver, and he’d stared at her in the rear-view mirror.
‘Are you okay, love, do you need a hand to get inside?’
She looked at him with wide, empty eyes, nothing behind them except for the lingering shame and horror of what she’d done.
‘No, thank you, I’m fine.’
He shrugged as if he didn’t believe her, and she didn’t believe herself. She wasn’t fine at all; she was far from it, but who cared about that?
