Dr Matthew West swivelled his chair round so he was facing the window, his phone held between cheek and shoulder as he waited for Daniels to pick up. His office was on the second floor of the forensic science laboratory where he’d worked as a Civil Servant for the past twenty-three years. He’d never had any other job since leaving university with a first-class Honours in Chemistry. Hadn’t wanted one either. He was happy doing exactly what he was good at: crime-scene examination and analysis. Trace evidence cases, to be more precise. He’d already worked his way up to department head and was now so respected in his field of expertise he’d even published articles and books on the subject.
He had ambitions to go further.
Matt looked round his laboratory. Colleagues in white coats, some with masks on, some not, sat pensively at their stations poring over microscopic particles of glass, paint and explosives, pausing occasionally to detail physical and chemical properties, or to consult one of several databases when identification proved difficult. The report on Matt’s computer screen was but one page long, a detailed analysis of trace evidence taken from the heel of a shoe worn by Amy Grainger on the day she died. Analysis he fully expected to present at court at a later date, to defend orally under cross-examination no doubt.
He was proud to be an expert witness.
The ringing tone ceased in Matt’s ear.
‘Daniels.’
Matt smiled. She was out of breath. ‘Someone’s busy,’ he said.
‘Sorry, Matt. It’s crazy here. Tell me you have good news.’
‘Put it this way, you owe me one.’
‘Really? I knew you wouldn’t let me down.’
Was it any wonder she sounded over the moon? Matt’s work usually began after the event, usually in cases involving sudden or violent death at the hands of another. So far as Amy Grainger was concerned, the only use for his microscopes and scientific knowledge would be in assisting the police to compile evidence that might lead to the apprehension of an offender. In other words, bring him or her to justice with good old-fashioned proof. But this current case was different: it involved a second missing girl. His identification of the sample could pinpoint a search area with accuracy. It might help Daniels find her before it was too late.
A living victim not a dead one.
He willed it to be true.
‘The mineral deposit I found on Amy Grainger’s shoe is definitely green fluorspar,’ he said. ‘There’s absolutely no doubt about it.’
‘In layman’s terms, what does that mean exactly?’
‘It means you just got lucky.’
There was an intake of breath at the other end of the line. Daniels stayed silent, waiting for him to tell her more. Despite their physical distance, he could feel her excitement down the line.
‘Green fluorspar is unique to the North Pennines area. It isn’t found anywhere else.’