Free Cold Kill by Neil White Page B

up the short path and were about to ring the doorbell when the door opened. They were confronted by a large man with a crew cut whose scalp bore faint scars that looked like the remnants of a knife attack. He was wearing a black T-shirt and black combat pants, almost police-style, except for the thick gold chain around his neck.
    He stopped when he saw them, surprised, but then he eyed Laura up and down, before he looked back into the house.
    ‘There’s someone to see you,’ he shouted, his voice gravelly, broad and local, before he set off down the path. ‘Looks like the Mormons,’ he added, and then he flashed Laura a sneer. As she turned to watch him go, he gave her a wink.
    There was a noise behind, and as she turned back to the door, Mike Corley was there. He nodded at Joe and then turned to go back into the house.
    As they followed, Laura asked, ‘Is your wife in?’
    Mike Corley shook his head. ‘Gone to her sister’s house. She just can’t cope with all the visitors and the intrusion.’
    ‘Looks like she missed a well-wisher,’ Laura said. ‘She needs to know that people are there for her.’ When Corley looked confused, Laura pointed towards the window. ‘The man who was just here.’
    ‘Oh him,’ Corley said, and then shook his head as if the visit meant nothing. ‘Just an old friend.’
    He didn’t look like the sort of person a policeman had round for afternoon tea, Laura thought, but didn’t say anything. Instead, she sat down on the sofa, just to emphasise that it wasn’t a quick visit. Corley stayed on his feet, his eyes flicking between her and Joe.
    ‘How much have you been told today?’ Laura asked.
    ‘Not much,’ he said. ‘A reporter came here earlier, but he just told me what I already knew.’
    ‘Can you remember his name?’
    ‘Garrett,’ he said. ‘Joe or John.’
    Laura blushed, before she said, ‘Jack.’ She coughed. ‘Jack Garrett.’
    ‘So you know him?’
    Laura nodded, trying not to give anything away. ‘Yes, I know him. What did he tell you?’
    ‘Just that you didn’t catch my daughter’s killer and he has murdered someone else,’ he said. ‘That just about sum it up?’
    Laura looked at Joe, who was pursing his lips.
    ‘You know how it is,’ Joe said. ‘We don’t always catch these people straight away.’
    Mike shook his head, his hands on his hips, his tongue flicking across his lips with tension. ‘I know that you lot cruise around the station like we are supposed to be in awe of you,’ he said. ‘But how often do you get it right?’
    ‘The woman’s name was Jane Roberts,’ Laura said. ‘Do you know her, or Jane’s father, Don Roberts?’
    Corley’s anger stalled at that, and he gave a quick shake of his head. Too quick.
    ‘You seem pretty certain,’ Laura said.
    ‘I know who I know.’
    ‘What about your daughter? Did she keep any address book that you haven’t already handed over? Jane’s name might be in there. If they are connected in any way, it might help to find your daughter’s killer.’
    Again, Corley shook his head.
    ‘Have you checked?’ Laura said.
    ‘I don’t need to,’ Corley said, angrier now. ‘Deborah’s life was turned inside out by the press before she was found, and it didn’t let up after. All they wrote about was her love life, because she’d had a couple of married boyfriends, just because it made the story a little seedier. How do you think that made us feel, that we had to find out things about our daughter that we didn’t need to know, that no one needed to know?’
    ‘That was the press, not us,’ Joe said. ‘We can’t stop them from printing whatever will sell their papers, but you can use them, to keep Deborah in the public eye, make them see the real Deborah, not the one they have shown until now.’
    ‘That’s what the reporter said earlier. You must work from scripts.’ He snorted a bitter laugh. ‘Is that why you’ve come here, to get me to talk to the press?’
    ‘No,’ Joe