Free The Murder Wall by Mari Hannah Page B

perhaps?’
    ‘Sure.’ Daniels thanked him and quickly made her way out of the building, practically breaking into a run down a flight of stairs. She caught up with Bright as he hurried to leave
the morgue via the back door. ‘Guv? A quick word, if I may.’
    Bright stopped walking and turned to face her. ‘The PM gave us nothing we didn’t know already?’
    ‘That about sums it up,’ Daniels said.
    ‘Professional hit?’
    ‘Possibly.’
    ‘Time of death?’
    ‘Between eleven and midnight, maybe a little after, just as we thought . . .’ Daniels paused. ‘Oh, and he’d recently had sex.’
    ‘Lucky bastard.’
    Daniels didn’t react to his retort. She knew the poor bugger hadn’t shared intimacy with Stella since the crash. Their relationship would never again resemble married life. He was
now Stella’s carer, not her husband, an insufferable situation for them both. Stepping to one side, they watched an undertaker’s van arriving at a speed in the car park with less
respect for its occupant than seemed proper. It parked near the back door of the morgue. Two men got out, unloaded a body, then disappeared inside with it.
    Bright’s car was nowhere to be seen.
    ‘Can I drop you anywhere, guv? We can talk on the way.’
    Bright shook his head, pointing at a second car approaching. He acknowledged his driver with a wave as he pulled into a vacant space beside the undertaker’s van.
    ‘Anything on the house-to-house?’ he asked.
    Daniels shook her head. ‘Don’t fret, guv. I have everything under control.’
    ‘As I knew you would,’ he said, a look of pride spreading over his face.
    She wanted to ask him outright why he was shadowing her and tell him how his interference made her feel. Then a better question entered her head. ‘You going to tell me why the ACC wants me
on this case when he can’t stand the sight of me?’
    Bright moved towards his car, an avoidance tactic if ever there was one. Daniels followed him, hell-bent on getting an answer. As she arrived at the side of the car, he got in and wound down the
window. She glanced at his driver, knowing she couldn’t backchat in front of him.
    ‘Then at least let me work both incidents, guv. Sarah’s killer is still out there. We both know he’ll kill again . . .’

17
    H e stared at the scissors he’d used to cut out the faces of the dead ones and thought about how easy it had been.
    His mother had told him never to answer the door to strangers. If her mother had done the same, she clearly hadn’t listened. Jenny’s expression had turned from mild curiosity to
terror when he produced the gun. Though why she was so surprised, he couldn’t quite imagine. Hadn’t she known it was coming? Hadn’t he made her feel it? Watching her. Following
her. Scaring her half to death.
    He liked it best when they were women.
    Liked it even better when she began to beg . . .
    Like a dog.
    Eyes like saucers as she inched away from him, screaming at first, then begging for mercy, pleading with him – tears running down her cheeks. She’d aged considerably from the image
he’d been staring at for as long as he could remember; brown hair faded to washed-out grey, lines around her mouth like a cat’s bum, ugly thin lips no longer smiling at him as they had
done for so very long.
    And then?
    Then she began to calm herself, tried talking to him, pleading with him to stop and think about what he was doing – appealing to his better nature.
    Ooops! Problem there . . .
    So he lifted the gun and put her right back in her box. And, give her her due, she wound her neck in like a good little victim – just as he knew she would – until he mentioned his
mother’s name and the realization dawned.
    Poor, dear, Jenny.
    That’ll teach her to choose her friends more carefully.
    In his mind’s eye, he still sees her as she used to be. Not as she was when he left her, covered in her own blood – the card sticking out of her cat’s bum – dead eyes