Free Bloodstream by Luca Veste

smirked and put his phone back in his pocket.
    ‘Ring the office while you’ve got that out,’ Rossi said, indicating to turn right, onto Rice Lane. ‘Find out when the PM is scheduled for.’
    ‘PMs, Laura,’ Murphy replied, trying to find DC Harris’s number on his phone. ‘Plural.’
    ‘You know what I mean.’
    Murphy called Harris as Rossi made the trip back to the station, the drab houses of Walton becoming the drab houses of Kirkdale and Everton, as County Road became Walton Road.
    ‘Not until tomorrow morning,’ Murphy said, ending the call. ‘Chloe’s mum has come over to ID her, though, so I imagine Chris Hooper won’t be far behind.’
    ‘Why the wait?’ Rossi replied.
    ‘I don’t know. Maybe Houghton is getting too old? Probably has a few in the queue ahead of them or something. Nothing can be rushed with him.’
    ‘Suppose. Would have thought with the shit storm that’s about to rain down on us he would have got the word to sort it sooner.’
    ‘I’m sure that’ll come in time.’
    They fell into an easy silence as the five mile trip back to St Anne Street passed quickly. Murphy rubbed the bridge of his nose with his thumb and forefinger, and allowed his eyes to close briefly. He opened them as he felt the car slow down and turn off, seeing the station loom into blurred view.
    ‘More of them now,’ Rossi said, waiting for the barrier to lift before driving on.
‘Parassiti.
’
    ‘Can’t argue with that,’ Murphy replied.
    The office was even busier now, a few detective constables had returned from the crime scene and were back at commandeered desks. Murphy started considering the future of the case. Although they all answered to people of higher ranks, essentially the team of detectives and officers was under his command; it would be him they would come to. To be told what to do, how to
proceed.
    If he had an ego, he would be dangerous. As it was, he was barely interested in telling himself what to do, never mind a whole load of other people.
    ‘Quiet down,’ Murphy shouted over the din of raised voices. ‘Meeting room, five minutes. I want to know everything we have so far and update you on what’s been going on here.’
    A few ‘Yes, boss’ and ‘yes, Sir’s could be heard before the conversations started up again. Murphy checked the murder board for any updates, saw only Rossi’s sloped handwriting and carried on to DCI Stephens’s office.
    ‘Back so soon, David?’ Stephens said once he was sitting down opposite her.
    ‘Yeah,’ Murphy replied, stretching his already tired legs out in front of him. ‘Father hadn’t seen the victim in a while. Wasn’t a good relationship, but we knew that anyway. I know the guy from old—’
    ‘Your days in uniform?’
    ‘Of course,’ Murphy said, accepting the interruption. ‘Low-level stuff. Alcoholic, so always fuelled by drink. Violence mostly. Pub fights and so on.’
    ‘The mother?’
    ‘Dead a couple of years. Alcohol got to her a lot sooner than it’ll get to him. Joe – the victim – moved on pretty quick by the looks of things. Still a lot to work out on that side.’
    DCI Stephens pushed a few grey strands of hair behind her ear where they had come loose from her tight bun of a hairdo. ‘Possible suspect?’
    Murphy shook his head. ‘I’m not ruling it out, but I think we need to look at their personal lives outside of family at the moment. That room in the house, all the magazine cuttings and that? That’s saying something to me.’
    DCI Stephens raised an eyebrow. ‘Enlighten me, Poirot. What’s it saying?’
    Murphy took a second, tried to work out what he wanted to say but failed. ‘Honestly, I’m not sure yet. There’s just something about it that isn’t right. It was like a shrine to them, but . . .’ Murphy struggled to find the words to describe what it was that was niggling at him.
    ‘It’s a bad one, that’s what you’re saying?’
    ‘Not just bad,’ Murphy replied. ‘Something we’ve