LAST RITES

‘Except that not everyone leaves,’ I responded. ‘So did she talk of anywhere else?’

Katie shook her head. ‘She's nearby.’

‘How do you know?’

Katie looked round, seemed worried that someone might be listening, and then whispered, ‘She has written to me.’

I was shocked. ‘What do you mean?’

She gave me a knowing smile. ‘Just that,’ she said. ‘I've been getting letters from Sarah.’

‘There's been nothing in the papers about that,’ I said.

‘The police are keeping them quiet, and they told me not to say anything about them,’ she replied.

I knew that sounded right. It was the sort of thing that the police would keep back, they had done ever since the Yorkshire Ripper tapes misled everyone and allowed Peter Sutcliffe to kill more women.

‘What do they say?’ I asked.

Katie shook her head at me. ‘Give me a call, Jack Garrett, and you might just find out,’ she said, and then she walked away, her bag swinging in her hand.

I jumped out of the car and shouted, ‘Wait!’, but Katie just kept on walking.

I watched her go, intrigued. I wanted to know more, I knew that, but I wondered what risks came with that, from the story and from Katie.

Chapter Fourteen (#ulink_050388d4-ac81-5953-9475-4fcace93e523)

Blackley police station was on the edge of the town centre, in an old Victorian building next to the court, with steps to the front door and Roman arches over the windows. The interior showed its age, as paint flaked from the walls and cold draughts blew along the corridors. That would all be changing soon. The police were moving to a new-build station on the edge of Blackley, so the station was filled with boxes and crates as officers packed up exhibits and personal effects.

Laura was at the custody desk in its basement, a high wooden counter with dingy lighting and posters advertising prisoners' rights. The sergeant was hovering over a clipboard, watching Laura's prisoner count his change, making sure that he couldn't accuse anyone of stealing from him, before he got him to sign the custody record. An end to another fruitless day, thought Laura.

‘There'll always be another time,’ growled Pete.

‘You said that last time,’ came the reply, the prisoner smirking as he threaded his belt around his waist.

Laura placed her hand on Pete's arm as she saw him tense, but then she saw someone through the glass in the custody door. DCI Karl Carson.

He was hard to miss, a large man in a lilac shirt and navy trousers, his tie bright purple, knotted large, like he had lost count when doing the final loop. His bald dome glowed bright pink, more scrubbed than shaved, his face just the same, with not even the trace of eyebrows to break up the shine. Laura knew his name, and his reputation had been whispered around the station when the murder squad moved in. Ruthless and rule-bending, sometimes arrogant, but he had a squad of eager young men devoted to him, knowing that Carson got results, either through sheer persistence, or often by persuading witnesses to talk to him when they had resisted the polite way, his squad happy to swap their social lives for long hours of overtime and the occasional glimpse of the spotlight.

Laura thought about her meeting with Jack, and she felt her anger bubble to the surface again, that he was interfering in a live case, and that it could affect her; she hadn't been in Blackley long enough to fall back on too much goodwill. But she realised that he was right about one thing: that it would look worse for both of them if it appeared that he was secretly helping Sarah Goode.

She mumbled to Pete that she would be back in a moment and buzzed herself out of the custody office with the swipe card that hung around her neck whenever she was in the station. Carson was moving quickly along the corridor, heading for the Incident Room. Laura caught up with him just as he was about to step inside.

‘Can I have a word, sir?’

He stopped and looked at her, and then gave a quick smile.

‘How can I help?’

Laura paused for a moment as she saw those in the Incident Room stop what they were doing and look at her. The scene was as it had been since their move from headquarters, a temporary stop-over from their normal base on the outskirts of Preston, just in Blackley for the Sarah Goode case: paperwork and coffee, fingers tapping on keyboards, eyes concentrated on computer monitors, pastel shirts and bright ties. But now the activity had stopped, and all eyes were on Laura.

‘Can I have a word about the Sarah Goode case?’ Laura asked.

She noticed Carson tuck in his stomach and puff out his chest. The trips to the gym didn't keep off the weight, but it turned his bulk into something solid. He looked to his colleagues before he answered, a smirk on his face. ‘Fire away, sweetheart.’

Laura looked into the Incident Room again and wished she had waited. Most of the faces were smiling, but they weren't friendly. They were waiting for the show – and Laura knew that it was too late to back out.

‘My boyfriend is a reporter,’ she said, ‘and he's been approached by Sarah Goode's parents.’

Carson blinked, the information registered, but then he started to grin. ‘Boyfriend?’ he said, turning to his team. ‘How old is he? Sixteen?’

Laura went red, but from anger, not embarrassment. She didn't respond, knowing that she would say something she would later regret.

‘Tell me more,’ he said, smiling. ‘What's your name?’

‘DC McGanity,’ replied Laura. ‘On the CRT.’

‘First name?’ he said.

‘Laura.’

‘Okay, Laura, what did Sarah's parents want with your boyfriend?’

‘They want him to find Sarah,’ she replied. ‘They went to their solicitor first, and he set up the meeting.’

‘So it's coming through a lawyer?’ Carson queried, sounding sceptical. ‘And if he finds her?’

‘He's got to tell her to hand herself in.’

‘Why are you telling me?’

‘Because he asked me to,’ she replied.

‘And what if he tells you more but doesn't ask you to repeat the favour? Will you still come and speak to me?’ Before Laura had the time to respond, he said aggressively, ‘Because pillow talk is not confidential. You hear anything, little lady, come down here and tell me. Understand?’

‘I just thought you ought to know,’ Laura replied, feeling humiliated, her heart pounding with anger. When she turned to leave the room, someone spluttered a laugh behind Carson, and he started to grin.

As she walked quickly back down the corridor, she was aware of a pause, and then she heard the noise of Carson's team laughing. She guessed that Carson was leading the chorus.

When Laura burst back into the custody office, she saw her prisoner's arrogant grin.

‘If you hit him because he was messing around with your girlfriend,’ she said to him, her stare hard and direct, ‘you might have chosen the wrong tactic.’

The grin wavered. ‘Why?’

‘Us girls don't like to get lonely,’ she said, stepping closer. ‘I can bet who she spent last night with.’ Laura looked at her watch theatrically. ‘Do you want me to call her, to give him time to leave?’

The prisoner's face turned into an angry flush before the custody sergeant buzzed open the exit door. Laura stomped away quickly, slowing down only when Pete caught up with her.