Free Cold Kill by David Lawrence

husband.’
    â€˜There’s a thought,’ Harriman agreed.
    â€˜But we think it might be for Duncan Palmer, don’t we?’
    â€˜We’re thinking along those lines.’
    â€˜Did you get her name?’
    â€˜They took her number and said they’d call her. Lauren Buchanan.’
    â€˜What were you supposed to be doing?’
    â€˜Browsing. The place was pretty full: it’s Christmas. She didn’t notice me, don’t worry.’ He paused a moment, then added, ‘Listen, he was in America. The appointments check out. A few cancellations, but nothing that would give him time to get back to England.’
    â€˜I know,’ Stella said. Then, ‘Men can be bastards, can’t they?’
    â€˜I don’t know,’ Harriman said. ‘Why ask me?’
    The DNA reports from the scene of crime and from the post-mortem were still backed up in Forensics. Stella called the lab and asked for a cross-check on Kimber’s mouth swab. She was told it was going to take time. The guy on the phone sounded weary.
    â€˜How much time?’ Stella asked.
    â€˜Difficult to say.’
    â€˜How difficult?’
    â€˜It’s a process, you know? A process. Also it stands in line.’
    â€˜What’s your name?’
    â€˜Davison.’
    â€˜Okay, Davison. This is a murder case and I’ve got a suspect – good suspect, really handy – but there’s a problem. He’s confessed.’
    â€˜That’s lousy luck.’
    â€˜Yes, it is. I’ve got some promising circumstantial evidence but nothing to nail it down with. You’ve got the DNA reports from the scene of crime and you’ve got the suspect’s DNA.’
    â€˜Which scene of crime?’
    â€˜Valerie Blake.’
    â€˜That wasn’t me.’
    â€˜What?’
    â€˜I didn’t do the work on that. Might have been processed, might not.’
    â€˜But it’s there. Someone’s got it. I mean, it’s in the lab, isn’t it?’
    â€˜Oh, yes. But it’s not me.’
    â€˜In about three hours, I’m going to have to ask for a superintendent’s custody extension on the guy; after that, I’ll have to go to a magistrate and I might not get what I want. If I release him without charge and you come back some time later with the information that his DNA’s all over the victim and all over the scene of crime, I’m going to be unhappy.’
    â€˜And you are–’
    â€˜Detective Sergeant Mooney.’
    â€˜Tom.’
    â€˜What?’
    â€˜My first name: Tom. What’s yours?’
    â€˜Are you flirting with me, Davison?’
    â€˜I don’t know. What colour underwear have you got on?’
    â€˜Black,’ Stella said. ‘Lacy thong. Silk panels.’
    â€˜Phone me in the morning.’
    When Stella looked up, Sue Chapman was standing a few feet away and smiling. She said, ‘Don’t you find they ride up?’
    â€˜I’m wearing M & S. There’s a “process”, it seems, and I want a quick result. Forensics should get out more.’
    â€˜We’ve been in touch with the teams handling the other attacks. No matches that we can find. We’ve covered attacks further afield, too, and murders of women going back five years. If the faces are among Kimber’s photos, we can’t see them. No luck with missing persons either, not so far; but that’s a much bigger job. You asked me to update you.’
    â€˜Keep them looking.’
    â€˜About two hundred and ten thousand people are reported missing each year,’ Sue said. ‘Most return within seventy-two hours, but that still leaves twenty thousand. A lot of those are kids; some are men. Bring it down to women under thirty-five living in London and the south-east and, okay, you’re only talking about three thousand but he had a couple of hundred photos in that flat. Trying to make a match–’
    â€˜I