Free Good Girls Don't Die by Isabelle Grey

reiterate, we have made a thorough search of the surrounding area near to where Polly Sinclair was last seen, and we remain gravely concerned about her disappearance.’
    ‘Polly was last seen after she left the Blue Bar, is that correct?’ Ivo allowed his pen to hover innocently over his notebook. ‘Where was Rachel Moston last seen?’
    ‘My officers are continuing their enquiries to establish the circumstances surrounding Rachel’s tragic death, and we will of course keep you all informed. We urge anyone with any information to come forward as soon as they can.’ Keith nodded briskly to Hilary and rose to his feet.
    ‘Thank you, everybody,’ Hilary called over the immediate buzz of voices. She waved a folder above her head. ‘I have spare media packs if anyone wants one.’
    Ivo leaned over to speak in Roxanne’s ear. ‘Who’s the Ice Maiden?’
    She turned to look at him and then followed his gaze. ‘Old friend of mine,’ she whispered eagerly. ‘Grace Fisher. Only arrived this week.’
    ‘Where was she before?’ he asked casually, as they edged out together along the row of chairs.
    ‘Major Investigation Team at Maidstone.’
    ‘And how come you know her?’ he asked, prompting her to go ahead of him towards the exit.
    ‘We were at uni together. Sussex.’
    ‘Why did she make the move here?’ Ivo expected Roxanne to get wise and clam up, but she was either greedier or greener than he thought. Or both.
    ‘Her marriage broke up, I think,’ she told him. ‘She was married to another copper.’
    They paused at the street entrance. ‘Don’t suppose you can recommend the best place to stay?’
    ‘Sure. The Queen’s is central, and it’s just been modernised.’
    ‘Look,’ Ivo gave his most disarming smile, ‘I really could do with some help. Makes all the difference, working with someone local. Don’t suppose there’s the slightest chance I could buy you dinner?’
    This time she at least attempted to dissemble. ‘Sure,’ she said nonchalantly. ‘I don’t think I’ve anything much else on tonight. Nothing I can’t shift.’
    ‘Great. Thanks so much.’ He hoped he wasn’t laying it on too thick. ‘See you in the bar at the Queen’s about seven?’
    ‘Perfect.’ She walked away, a spring in her step, already scrolling down the screen of her mobile.
    By the time he’d checked in, rearranged his room the way he liked it and connected his laptop to the hotel wi-fi, tomorrow’s story was already written in his head.
Six days in hell … Parents’ anguish as police sources deny that a manhunt has begun for a serial killer who may already have slain blonde-haired Polly Sinclair …
He still had plenty of time to file his copy. He’d rather not have to run with the photos of Rachel and Polly available on the police media website; it would be better to get exclusive pictures. He could probably scrape something off Rachel’s social media pages, but he’d head out later to see what else he could pick up. Meanwhile he’ddo a little digging into Hilary Burnett, discover the best way to curry favour there. Later on he could set Roxanne the task of extracting exclusive material out of Polly’s parents.
    He thought back to when he’d first started in Fleet Street, back in the days when it really
was
Fleet Street; he’d had a night editor who insisted that any journalist worth his salt always carried a letter of resignation in his back pocket. Times had changed, and these days Ivo preferred simply to make sure he always had some kind of advantage over anyone even remotely connected with a story, or enough anyway to give him an edge over any opposition.
    He poured himself some fizzy water from the minibar. If he was going to stay in town for more than a few days, he might track down a local meeting: you never knew who you might run into in the fellowship. Then he kicked off his shoes and settled himself comfortably on his bed with his laptop. Everybody knew that Keith Stalgood kept a