When the alarm went off, Pete lay very still for a moment, letting it ring on the bedside table. Something was wrong and he needed to prepare himself. Then there was a burst of panic as he remembered the events of yesterday evening. The sight of Neil Spencer’s body on the waste ground. The almost frantic race to get home afterward. And the reassuring weight of the bottle in his hand.
The clicks as he’d broken the seal.
And then …
Finally, he opened his eyes. The early morning sun was already strong, streaming through the thin blue curtains and falling in a wedge over the covers bunched up over his knees. Sometime in the night, sweating with heat, he must have thrown them off his upper body, and the tangle of material felt ridiculously heavy now, wrapped tightly around his knees.
He turned his head and looked at the bedside table.
The bottle was there. The seal was broken.
But the contents remained, full to the top.
He remembered how long he’d deliberated last night, battling the urge again and again as it came back at him from different angles, both he and the voice refusing to relent or retreat. He’d even brought the bottle and a tumbler up here to bed with him. Still fighting, even then.
And in the end, he had won.
Relief rushed through him. He glanced at the tumbler now. Before going to sleep, he had put the photograph of Sally on top of it. Even after everything that had happened—the horrors of the evening—that photograph and those memories had still been enough to keep him clean.
He tried not to think about the day ahead of him or the evenings to come.
Enough for now.
He showered and ate breakfast. Even without drinking, he felt so worn down that he contemplated not going to the gym. A briefing had been scheduled for first thing, and he needed to be prepared for it, to be filled in on the case. But he already felt soaked to the skin in it. As dispassionate as he’d tried to be when viewing Neil Spencer’s body, it was like pointing a camera without looking through the viewfinder; your mind took the photograph regardless. If anything, if he was going to be competent and professional in a couple of hours, he needed to empty some of that horror out.
He drove to the department and went to the gym.
Afterward, feeling calmer, he went upstairs. For a moment, he stared at the blissful piles of safe, innocuous paperwork in his office, then found the old, malignant bundle of notes he was going to need and headed to the operations room one floor above.
His calm faded slightly as he opened the door. It was still ten minutes before the briefing was due to begin, but the room was already heaving with officers. Nobody was talking; every face he could see looked somber. Most of these men and women would have worked this case from the beginning, and whatever the odds, each of them would have clung on to hope. By now they all knew what had been found last night. Before today, a child had been missing. Now a child was dead.
He leaned against a wall at the back of the room, aware as he did that gazes were falling on him. It was understandable. While his initial involvement in the case had come to nothing, all of them must know that his presence here now was not a coincidence. He spotted DCI Lyons sitting near the front, looking back at him. Pete met his eyes for a moment, trying to read the expression on the man’s face. Like last night at the waste ground, it was blank, which only left Pete free to imagine. Was the man feeling an odd sense of triumph? It seemed unfair to contemplate such an idea, but it was certainly possible. Despite the disparity in their career trajectories since, Pete knew that Lyons had always resented him on some level for being the one to catch Frank Carter. This recent development meant the case never really had been closed. And here was Lyons, presiding over what might turn out to be the endgame, with Pete reduced now to the status of a pawn.
He folded his arms, stared at the floor, and waited.
Amanda arrived a minute later, stalking quickly through the assembled throng toward the front of the room. Even from the brief side view he got of her, it was obvious she was harried and tired. Same clothes as last night, he noticed. She’d slept in one of the overnight suites or, more likely, hadn’t slept at all. As she took to the small stage, there was a subdued, defeated look about her.
“Right, everyone,” she said. “You’ve all heard the news. Yesterday evening we had a report that a child’s body had been found on the waste ground off Gair Lane. Officers attended and secured the scene. The identity of the victim has yet to be confirmed, but we believe this to be Neil Spencer.”
They had all known it already, but still: Pete watched the slump travel around the room. The emotional temperature of the room dropped. The silence among the assembled officers, already absolute, somehow seemed to intensify.
“We also believe it to be a case of third-party involvement. There are significant injuries to the body.”
Amanda’s voice almost broke at that and he saw her wince slightly. Too hard on herself. Under different circumstances, it might have been perceived as weakness, but Pete didn’t think it would be in this room right now. He watched as she gathered herself.
“Details of which are obviously not going to be released to the press at this time. We have a cordon in place, but the media know we’ve found a body. That is all they are going to know until we get a handle on what’s happening here.”
A woman by the wall was nodding to herself. Pete recognized it as the kind of action he had made in the deepest throes of his addiction, pining for a drink and riding out the pain.
“The body has been removed from the scene and a postmortem will take place this morning. We have an estimated time of death somewhere between three and five P.M. yesterday. Assuming this is Neil Spencer, he was found in roughly the same place he went missing, which may be significant. We also believe Neil was killed at a different location, presumably wherever he had been held. Fingers crossed that forensics will give us some clue as to where that might be. In the meantime, we’ll be going over all the CCTV in the area. We’ll be knocking on every door in the vicinity. Because I am simply not having this monster wandering around Featherbank undetected. I’m not having it.”
She looked up. Despite the obvious tiredness and upset, there was fire in her eyes now.
“All of us here—we’ve all worked on this investigation. And even if we’d steeled ourselves, this is not the result any of us were hoping for. So let me be absolutely clear. It will not be allowed to stand. Do we agree?”
Pete glanced around again. A few nods here and there; the room coming back to life. He admired the sentiment and acknowledged the need for it right now, but he also remembered giving equally angry speeches twenty years ago, and while he had believed them at the time, he knew now that things not only stood whether you wanted them to or not, but that sometimes they followed you forever.
“We did everything we could,” Amanda told the room. “We didn’t find Neil Spencer in time. But make no mistake, we are going to find the person that did this to him.”
And Pete could tell that she believed what she was saying just as passionately as he had all those years ago. Because you had to. Something awful had happened on your watch, and the only way to ease the pain was to do everything you could to put it right. To catch whoever was responsible before they hurt anybody else. Or at least try.
We are going to find the person that did this.
He hoped that was true.