Part 23 (2/2)

Maggie debated how much to tell Suzy and in the end decided it had to be as little as possible. If she and Duncan were to have a future, those closest to them should never be in the same impossible position that she was now.

'I can't tell you, Suze. Not yet. It's honestly better if you don't know anything. He hasn't left me for another woman, though. At least that's one thing less to worry about.' Although, Maggie thought, that would have been a whole lot easier to deal with than this.

'Don't you think it would help you to talk to somebody? If that's not me, is there somebody at work you could talk to?'

'I don't know, but thanks for understanding. It's not that I don't trust you. It's just that when this is all over I don't want anything I tell you to colour your opinion of Duncan. I need to go to work, though. I need to keep this job.'

'Go and get yourself ready, then. I'll make you a bacon b.u.t.ty. The perfect start to the day. And then I'll see to the kids get them to school and pick them up again. You take it easy.'

Nodding her thanks to her sister and picking up her coffee cup, Maggie made for the stairs. The thought of having to spend her day working on defences for other criminals when she should be thinking of her own husband made her feet drag, and it was only when she was halfway up the stairs that the key word in that thought struck her.

Criminal.

51.

After less than five hours' sleep, Tom felt surprisingly alert that morning. Tiny, slender threads were starting to link some of the suspects and victims together. He had the feeling they were getting close, and adrenaline was driving him Becky too, by the look of her when he found her in the incident room, poring over the wall chart covered with pictures of victims and suspects. A young detective had seen Tom come in and had raced over to the coffee machine to fill cups for both senior officers aiming to please. Tom was glad of it. Caffeine was going to have to see him through the day.

The previous night he had thought of pretty much nothing other than tracking down Michael Alexander. He had known there was something not right with the lad, even though his alibis proved he couldn't have killed either of the girls. But now there was a link a highly tenuous one it had to be said but it was enough for Tom to get him back in for questioning, even if it was twelve years too late.

'What do we know about this counsellor, Becky?' he asked without preamble. 'We need to talk to him or her if possible.'

'We're checking it out. The practice has been closed for years. Their patient lists were handed over to a new practice that took over some of their cases. I think at least one of the counsellors has retired. Another doesn't practise anymore. But we're doing what we can.'

'Okay, but it's even more important that we find out where the h.e.l.l Michael Alexander is now.'

'I've been back through the relevant files of the original case, and you were right about his alibi, Tom.' Becky indicated a pile of papers on her desk. 'I printed this lot off, but there was nothing to implicate any of these three guys twelve years ago. Michael Alexander had a rather pathetic motive for one killing but couldn't have done it, so I don't think we can point the finger at anybody for missing this. No apparent motive for either Ben or Adam, and no evidence. It must have been a b.a.s.t.a.r.d of a case to work with nothing to go on.'

Tom still didn't know whether to be glad he had been taken off the investigation, or to wish he'd kept plugging away at the things that had niggled him. Or whether, in fact, the case hadn't had his full attention.

'So where's Michael Alexander now, then.'

Becky looked at him and raised her eyebrows. 'You're not going to like this, but he's disappeared. He's off the grid.'

'b.o.l.l.o.c.ks!' Tom banged his coffee cup down on the nearest desk. 'Nothing at all?'

Becky shook her head.

Tom knew without a doubt that he should have followed his instincts all those years ago. But he had run out of time.

12 years ago late June Exhausted as he was, nothing could wipe the smile off Tom's face that June morning as he walked into the incident room. He had a daughter, a beautiful little girl. No-one knew of his concerns or doubts, and n.o.body was going to. Ever.

Lucy that's what they had decided to call her. He hadn't wanted to leave her only hours after she had been born, but both she and Kate were sleeping, and if he was to be any use looking after them over the next few weeks, he was going to have to hand over all his investigations to somebody else.

'Douglas!' The shout came from Victor Elliott's office, and Tom grunted with irritation. He hoped and prayed that he wasn't going to get bogged down for hours in a useless debate that would delay his escape.

He popped his head round the door. 'Sir?'

'Come in, sit down and congratulations. A baby girl, I'm told. They're the best, you know.'

Tom was more than a little surprised to see a slightly faraway look in Victor's eyes, and remembered hearing that he had a grown-up daughter but understood she was living in Canada. Victor never spoke about her or his wife, come to that.

'Thank you, sir. I'm sorry to be ducking out right at this point. I was hoping we would have had the case sewn up before I had to leave, but Lucy was early, and I need to be at home for a week or so to help Kate.'

'Yes, yes. We'll get somebody to cover. Let's have your final take on the suspects, then.'

'We don't actually have any suspects, sir, I'm sorry to say. Anybody with half a motive has been cleared.'

'Still chasing your tail over Alexander, are you?'

'No, sir. He's not going to be able to get thirty people to lie and say he was in Keswick when he wasn't, and some of his cycle race was filmed by the university. I know he didn't kill Tamsin Grainger.'

'I sense a ”but” in there, Douglas. What are you thinking?'

Tom nodded. There was a 'but' in there, but it didn't make any sense. 'He's a bit smug about his alibi. I don't like it.'

'Could he have paid somebody to kill her?'

Tom shook his head. One thing he had discovered about Michael Alexander was that he was permanently skint.

'And the other suspects?'

Tom gave a rundown of the so-called suspects none of whom in his mind was at all suspicious and waited impatiently while Victor did some thinking. He was about to ask if he could get on with clearing his paperwork when his boss spoke.

'The third girl. She said she would recognise the guy even though he had a stocking mask on. Did we run all these suspects past her?'

Tom sighed. This had been his biggest hope that she would at least give him somebody to focus on. But it had been a disaster. She had been shown photos of all the suspects along with others from their rogue's gallery. She hadn't identified anybody. She had stated categorically that she had never seen any of these people before, so either her powers of observation weren't as good as she had said, or none of their suspects was involved. Tom was inclined to believe it was the latter. They had no idea who the killer was.

'Okay. I'll let you get on then. But one thing, Douglas. If you were running this investigation from here, what would you focus on?'

Tom paused. He knew what he would do, but equally he knew that Victor Elliott wouldn't agree.

'I would search the warehouses and old mills even those with locks on the doors for evidence. Those girls were killed somewhere and transported, probably by more than one person.'

'Yes, well you've had that particular bee in your bonnet for a couple of weeks now, but it's a hunch, Douglas, and we checked it out.' Victor reached for his phone as if to signify the meeting was at an end.

'Okay, you can go, Douglas. See you when you're sick of changing nappies.'

Tom didn't move.

'What? Was there something else?'

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