Ben glanced at Morgan. ‘I’m not sure being in work is going to be good for you.’
‘Can’t you give me something to do to keep me busy? I can’t sit around, or should I go out and have a drive around, see if I can spot her car?’
‘Maybe me and you could have a drive around, I’ll do the driving. Is that okay, Ben?’
Ben shook his head. ‘I’ll drive. Do you want to check through the book?’
Cain stood up. ‘I’m okay to drive myself.’
‘I know you are, but you can look better whilst I’m driving. I don’t know what Angela’s car looks like.’
‘You can’t miss it, silver Mini Cooper with glittery pink stripes.’
Morgan smiled. ‘I love that car, Angela has such good taste.’
‘Come on.’ Ben stood up and Cain followed him outside, leaving Morgan alone in the house.
She began scanning the pages of the journal. An old, faded colour Polaroid slipped out of the pages, landing on the floor. She picked it up. It was of a woman, holding a newborn baby. Squinting, Morgan held it closer and realised it was a much younger version of Angela without the pastel pink hair. Her eyes wide, shoulder-length brown hair, unwashed and unkempt, she looked both terrified and exhausted, holding the baby in a pale blue sleepsuit close to her chest as if she wasn’t quite sure what to do with it.
FORTY-FOUR
Something wasn’t right and Morgan knew she was close to figuring it out but not close enough.
She couldn’t stop staring at the photo of Angela. She looked so young, just a child herself. The Polaroid must have been taken over thirty years ago; it was faded and the edges were frayed. If she didn’t know better, she would have struggled to place her, as the Angela she knew was confident, kind, self-assured, amazing at her job. The woman in the photograph looked way out of her league, terrified of the child in her arms. As far as Morgan was aware, Angela had no children, but would she look so unhappy if she was only holding a niece, nephew or a friend’s baby for a quick snap before being able to hand it back to its parents? Morgan didn’t think so and she would stake her life on it that the baby was Angela’s.
How did she ask Cain though? It had never been mentioned and what if Angela didn’t want him to know she had a child? Morgan hadn’t even considered Angela old enough to have a grown-up child, though she was retired; but she knew Cain was in his forties, and she supposed it did make sense. It was too much of a coincidence. Was Angela related to the Williams sisters somehow? And if she was, did that mean that their killerwas…She studied the Polaroid. Could she have given up her baby for adoption? It might have been her searching for her lost baby and not a friend at all. For whatever reason her baby got placed with the Williams family. Did something happen to make him want to kill them? And was he seeking revenge on Angela for placing him there?
Morgan hadn’t realised she was crying until a tear splotched onto the notebook and the black ink on the page began to spread out like a tiny flower. Pushing it away from her so as not to ruin any more of Angela’s beautiful, cursive script she stood up and tore a piece of kitchen towel off the roll to dab her eyes with. Of course, this was all her opinion, and she could be wrong, so wrong that it was impossible. But deep down, in the depths of her heart though, call it her instinct or whatever, she knew she was right. Angela was connected to this killer, and she didn’t think she would ever see her again. Was she about to break Cain’s heart? How the hell did she convey this to Cain and Ben?
Her radio crackled to life, but she had it turned low and couldn’t make out what was being said over it. Diving for it she turned it up.
‘Control, we have found the mispers car. Near to The Coffee Pot on Rydal Road. Can I get a full forensic lift, please, and a PCSO to wait with it until recovery can get here.’
Morgan pressed the button in. ‘Ben, check inside the café for CCTV. It’s possible she was meeting her friend there.’
‘Thanks, Morgan, I’m on it.’
‘Should I come help?’
‘That would be appreciated.’
‘Control, are there any patrols near my location that can pick me up?’
‘I can, Morgan.’
Scotty’s voice startled her. She hadn’t been expecting him to be in the area and once again those tiny alarm bells began toring inside of her mind. Was it another coincidence that he just happened to be near to a crime scene? Was she being paranoid or did she have good reason to believe that he was involved in everything? If so, he could be Angela’s estranged son and her initial instincts about him might just be right. He was probably in the right age bracket.
‘Cheers, Scotty, I’m at Cain’s house. Do you need the address?’
‘No, I know where it is.’
That sliver of ice inside of her heart made every single nerve tingle with a combination of dread and fear. She had nothing to be worried about, even if he was the killer he had no reason to hurt her unless he thought she had figured it all out. If he was, the fact that he was one of them stung; they were supposed to protect the public not kill them viciously and take away their lives because of his crappy childhood.Stop it, Morgan, you don’t know if any of that is true.
She picked up Angela’s journal, but she had nothing to put it in to keep it safe.
‘Outside, Morgan.’
Scotty’s voice boomed down the radio. She took one last look around the beautiful pink kitchen and whispered, ‘I hope I’m wrong about all of this, Angela, and you’re safe.’ Then she left the house, taking the keys from the lock and depositing them into her pocket.
