Free The Love of the Dead by Craig Saunders Page B

address?”
    “How the hell should I know?”
    She sucked her teeth and looked at him.
    “What?”
    “You could ask him.”
    “Yeah. Okay. Hold on.”
    He picked up the phone again. “Leary? You still there?”
    “Yes, I’m still here.” He didn’t sound too happy about it.
    “What’s your email?”
    Leary read it out and Coleridge repeated it to Mandy, miming her tapping while he was doing it.
    She swore under her breath, but she brought up Coleridge’s email and typed in the address.
    “Thank you,” Coleridge whispered. Blew her a kiss. She thumped him, but she smiled a little bit, even if it was just the corners of her mouth twitching.
    “I’ve got it,” said Leary. “Hang on.”
    Coleridge waited while the nerd from the RSPB opened the file.
    “It’s got some blood on it. Did someone kill this bird? Should I open a file on this?”
    Coleridge resisted the urge to tell the nerd that he had bigger fish to fry.
    “Don’t worry about that. Can you tell me what this is?”
    “Well, the picture’s not brilliant, and there’s no scale, but yes, I can tell you.”
    Coleridge rubbed his eyes. He supposed he should give the guy a chance to shine, to show off what a genius he was, recognizing a bird’s feather, but he didn’t have the time or patience.
    “Well, please enlighten me.”
    “It’s a tail feather from the Corvus Corax...”
    “English?”
    The man sighed. Coleridge understood what it was like to be unappreciated. You got used to it, though.
    “It’s a raven’s feather. The common raven. You can tell because of the...”
    “Yes, yes. A raven? For sure?”
    “Without a doubt.”
    “Thank you.”
    “I really should open a file on this.”
    “Thanks for your time,” said Coleridge and hung up. Rude, maybe, but he had people to see yet, and the day was already half done. He had a clue, and a boss who wanted to kick his butt, but it was lunchtime and he was fucking starving.
    He looked at the picture of the feather on the PC. Picked up the evidence bag, looked at the real thing.
    A raven. It had to mean something, but he was fucked if he knew what. He didn’t think so well on an empty stomach.

     
     

Chapter Twenty-Six

     
    Beth spent the morning getting ready. She took her time about it.
    She showered, slowly. Ate a rare breakfast—only a couple of slices of toast, but enough to be going with. She did some housework, opened some windows and let the fresh air blow though. The house was musty.
    Miles’ room stank like old men’s farts.
    Feeling better for having done something and for having a full night’s sleep with no dreams, no dead son to wake her in the night, she could see clearly.
    Pretty good going, she thought, after all that had happened the day before. She should have been a wreck, holding a bottle and a smoke and crying like a baby. But this morning, she felt good.
    Ready to go. Ready to get on with it.
    She thought about it after Coleridge left, thought about all she’d been through. She’d been a victim. This man, whatever he was, was holding her hostage. She didn’t like it much, but she’d been a prisoner in her own home since he came into her life. Now she had a police car parked out front. She had her own personal saviour, Coleridge. She didn’t know if he was up to the challenge, but she suspected he might be as good as his word.
    But then what could any of them do? Seven people had been murdered, and she knew a damn sight more than any one on the police force did.
    She might not be able to fight him. She might be in line, just waiting for him to show. But she didn’t have to be a victim.
    It was time to do something about it. She had thicker skin than most people. When there were strange noises in her house she was the only one who could go and see what it was. A woman on her own, surrounded by the dead. You couldn’t be a sissy when you lived like that.
    She’d never faced a killer before, but that didn’t mean she had to just sit and wait for him to