“Sir, no!” Edris raises her voice. “Detective Chief Inspector Blakelaw, this is my case. I am Senior Investigating Officer. I have progressed the case well, under the circumstances. We have no physical evidence, no witnesses. I simply need a little more time—”
“Time?” Harry yells. “The word ‘serial killer’ is on the front page of every newspaper from here to John O’Groats, and you’re asking fortime?”
“Sir,” Tina tries again, her voice now containing a small tremor. “Detective Inspector Hansen is on phased return. More pressure and workload could be really damaging for her. We need to speak to HR about—”
“Sam will handle it,” Harry says, staring out of his window as another news van pulls up. “I’ll handle HR. Can’t you see that all our careers, our reputations, are on the line here?” he says, not looking at either woman.
Sam stares at him, her mind whirring. His decision baffles her—why on earth would he make her joint SIO? But she tellsherself there’s no way Harry would risk her health unless he believed she could manage it. He’s always done what’s best for her, ever since she was a kid. Even when—
A new sound pulls Sam from her thoughts, and she moves to stand behind Harry at the window. Crossing the road is a small group with placards. They come to a stop beneath the iconic rotating New Scotland Yard sign. Muffled chants rise and a woman pulls out a megaphone. Sam pinches the top of her nose. She’s already struggling to keep it together, as the trip to Newcastle showed. How can Harry think she is ready for this amount of pressure and responsibility?
Sam sighs, torn. She wants to tell Harry about Friday’s panic attack. About needing time to catch up with Dr. Thomson. That she hasn’t yet been able to bring herself to look at the crime scene photographs. But she doesn’t want to let him down. She doesn’t want to let Charlotte down…
“Sir,” Tina Edris says, “I must object in the strongest terms—”
“Noted, Edris,” Harry says, then waves them out as he picks up the ringing phone. “Ah, Commissioner, I was just about to call you.”
Sam walks out of Harry’s office feeling light-headed. She tries to catch Tina’s eye, but DC Chen is hovering and insists he has something Tina needs to look at urgently. Sam makes her way through the hubbub, toward the communal TV and seating area. She’s desperate for a cup of tea and sits on the sofa as the kettle boils.
Joint SIO. Harry has made her joint SIO. That means she is now in shared command of investigating a child’s murder and a potential serial killer. It was what she thought she wanted, but now she knows it’s just too much. Sam sucks in a deep breath. The TV screen next to the sofa is filled with news headlines, the wordsFEAR MOUNTS OVER UK SERIAL KILLER ALLEGATIONSscrolling across it. Sam switches the channel, but it’sworse:MET DENIES SERIAL KILLER INVESTIGATION.Sam closes her eyes.
When she opens them a few moments later, a steaming mug of tea is on the table in front of her. Sam looks around and sees Adam Taylor across the room. She smiles at him and mouths “Thank you.” He nods gravely, holding her gaze until she looks away. It’s progress. Not an hour ago she thought he was avoiding her. The relief it brings, knowing Taylor’s still got her back, is stronger than she cares to acknowledge.
“DI Hansen,” a civilian colleague says, making her start. “Your brother called for you. He said it was urgent.” The woman holds out a Post-it note with a telephone number on it.
“I don’t have a brother,” Sam says and the woman looks at her blankly.
“Are you sure?” The woman shakes her head at her own silly question. “I’m certain he said he’s your brother. I’m sorry, I’m new here.”
“It’ll be a journalist,” Sam says. “They do it all the time. Claim to be family.”
“The little… scallywags.” The woman scowls and Sam smiles. “By the way, that bank in Cardiff came back. I’ve forwarded you the email. And, er, DC Chen asked me to tell you that Howtogetawaywithmurder.com was cloned within hours of him taking down the original site. It’s live and selling again. Sorry.”
“Oh God, no.” Sam pulls up the website on her phone. There’s a hugeSOLD OUTlabel across the button to add the physical book to the basket, and the ebook has tripled in price. Denver has even added “As Seen On TV” and a screenshot of the press conference. His audacity takes Sam’s breath away.
“Chen said it’s now being hosted abroad and it’ll take him at least a week—”
“Ugh,” Sam groans, resting her forehead in her hands. When she looks up again, the woman has decided to deploy thatquintessentially British strategy universally implemented during times of crisis: she’s put the kettle on for more tea.
Sam smiles her thanks, then opens her email. There are more new messages than she can count, and she scans down until she spots the one she’s looking for. As the Cardiff bank statement loads, she twirls the little netball in her hand and sips the tea. It’s not good—far too much milk, and the cup is chipped beyond salvation. She takes another sip anyway.
As soon as the document comes into view, she knows it’s another mule account, this time owned by a Mrs. Gladys Bryn. It receives the money each Monday from Drew Mackay’s Scottish student account and empties every Tuesday into a third. Sam winces when she sees how the revenue from the website has shot up to five figures since the press conference. She takes a long drink.
“Oh no,” she moans to no one, as she spots that the money going out of Gladys Bryn’s account is being sent to a “KY” international bank. A quick internet search confirms her suspicion—it’s an offshore account in the Cayman Islands. A dead end, unless they can identify the UK bank account receiving the sums back from offshore, which would be like finding a needle in an ocean-sized haystack. Sam rubs her forehead and emails South Wales Police, asking them to visit Gladys Bryn. It’s slim, but there’s a chance the woman could know something useful.
Sighing, Sam pulls the book that’s causing this whole nightmare from her bag, trying to find the place she left off. Just as she picks up from the sentence she last read, she sees Tina Edris marching straight for her. Sam tenses and rises to her feet. She looks around for Taylor, but he’s left the room, probably to interview another Denver wannabe.
Tina barely comes up to Sam’s neck, but she’s formidable and she’s not happy. The upshot of her long rant is that she’s deduced that Sam has not yet looked at the crime scene photographs norfinished reading the book at the center of their now-joint case, and is demanding that Sam marches upstairs to HR and tells them she can’t handle being SIO.
So much of Sam knows that Tina is right—wasn’t she just thinking the same?—but, hearing it from someone else, her old defiance stirs. “I think Harry really believes I can do this,” she replies, with much more conviction than she feels.
Tina stares at her. “I’m sorry, Detective Inspector Hansen, but DCI Blakelaw has only made you joint SIO because he needs plenty of heads in line to roll before his own. He’s lining us up like Henry the Eighth did with his wives. I bet this isn’t the first time he’s—”
Before Sam has time to process her thoughts, anger spews from her mouth. “You’re lucky I only joined you as SIO and didn’t replace you, Tina. You’ve made no progress for Charlotte. No suspects. Maybe your headshouldroll!” she hisses.
Tina’s nostrils flare. “Seeing and saying the truth requires courage, which is what I—at least—have,” she growls. “This DCI isn’t on our side, or Charlotte’s. He’s only out for himself, whether you’re brave enough to face it or not.” She turns on her heel and storms away.
Sam curses under her breath, moving to stand by the window. She watches as the brown water of the Thames churns, the London Eye turns and the red double-decker buses shuttle tourists around the city. On the pavement below, the journalists swarm as Tina Edris rushes past and into a waiting car—Sam knows they’ll stop at nothing to get a quote or a photo. She scans the faces in the crowd, wondering if the killer could be among them. Watching. Waiting. Getting some sick thrill from the chaos he’s caused. Just biding his time until the urge takes him once again. Sam shudders and steps away, pulling out her phone and texting Tina to apologize for her harsh words. What Tina said about Harry has struck a nerve, hard. Could she be right about him? Couldhe really care more about himself than Tina, Sam and Charlotte combined? She doesn’t want to believe it, but she’s never been one to bury her head in the sand. Is it possible that she doesn’t have the courage to face reality? Harry’s all the family she has left and she’s needed to believe in him. Has that blinded her to who he truly is?
