BY THE TIME TANNAHILL CATCHES up with Laughton, she’s almost made it down to the third floor.
“I can’t do this,” she says, half leaning, half sliding down the wall of the stairwell. “It’s . . . I just can’t do it.” She trips on a step and stumbles.
“Whoa there.” Tannahill grabs her arm to steady her and she catches his scent, like fabric softener and leather. “Sit down for a sec. Take a breath.” Laughton slump-slides down onto a step and puts her head in her hands. “I should never have asked you to be part of the investigation,” Tannahill says, sitting next to her on the step.
“It’s not your fault. I didn’t have to say yes, and it wouldn’t have made any difference anyway. You saw those headlines: the killer pulled me into this, not you. I never had any choice.” She takes a deep breath and blows it out slowly, feeling a little calmer now. “Sorry I freaked out back there.”
“Hey, don’t worry, I think anyone would freak out if they found a stack of newspapers filled with stories about them next to a corpse. I also don’t necessarily think it’s personal.”
“Feels pretty personal to me.”
“I’m sure it does, but look, we already know from the Kate Miller murder that our killer wants to draw maximum attention to his acts and also to embarrass the police in the process. Leaving your book behind in a forensically cleansed scene was a middle finger to us more than you, given who your father is. And sending photos directly to the press to coincide with your dad’s press conference made sure it became a big story where both he and we look like idiots, but again, not you.”
“Don’t call him that.”
“What?”
“‘Dad.’ Don’t call him ‘dad,’ it makes him sound like he’s some benign figure in a jumper pottering around the garden with a cup of tea. That’s not who he is.”
Tannahill takes a deep breath and lets it out slowly. “Look,” he says softly. “I know what happened to you, about your mum and everything, and I’m not going to even attempt to try and imagine what that was like or how it affected you. But I do know John Rees, and he’s without question one of the smartest, hardest-working people I’ve ever met. There are plenty of other people in the force, people in high positions, I don’t have much respect for, but he is not one of them. No one has more integrity or uncompromising commitment to the job than he does, and he’s made plenty of enemies because of it, on both sides of the criminal divide, many of whom are quite capable of killing people to get what they want. So without wanting to bash your ego or anything, I think this is far less likely to be about you, and way more likely to be about him. He is also much higher profile than you are, and though those newspapers back there are about you, they’re about him too. And you said it yourself, this is all about justice. Maybe whoever did this feels the police generally, possibly even your father specifically, failed to deliver justice and let them down in some way, so they’re settling scores for themselves and making us look stupid in the process.”
Laughton feels her usual nameless anger expanding within her at any mention of her father. But Tannahill’s right, it is much more likely to be about him than it is about her.
“You should draw up a list of people who hate my father,” she says. “But whoever did this hated Kate and Mike Miller just as much. Both of these murders are far too violent and rage filled to not be personal, and clearly the intention here was not just to kill Mike Miller but to make sure he suffered too. So if you find someone who had reason to hate both Kate and Mike Miller enough to do this to them, and also someone who was let down by the police generally or my father specifically, then you’ll have your killer.”
“Agreed.” Tannahill arches his back to stretch some of the tension out. “Only problem is that at the moment we still have no idea who Kate and Mike Miller actually are.”
The sound of a door banging open and hurrying feet makes them both look up the stairs to see the anxious face of the uniformed officer who’d met Laughton when she stepped out of the lift.
“Sir,” he says, holding up his phone. “A story just appeared on The Daily website.”
Tannahill nods wearily. “I guess we should have expected this. The killer must have let the press know already that Mike Miller’s been found.”
“Yes, sir, but that’s not all,” the officer says, hurrying down the stairs and handing his phone to Tannahill. “The story also identifies who Mike Miller really is.”