Page 101 of The Unforgiven

I was unsurprised.

Congrats. You caught your killer. You did well.

Nothing more. I wondered how he knew, that maybe it was out online already. I didn’t reply, he’d know I’d seen the message and there was no need for anymore. I wondered if I’d hear from him again or ever find out his real identity, or why he’d picked me.

I dropped Darcy a quick message, giving her the head’s up that the killer had been caught, and it was a woman. That would be known by the morning, if not already, because journalists were often the best detectives.

Numbness began to fade, the buzz of the win filling the bar and a United game on the screen, meaning one half of my colleagues were happy.

“You okay, Mac?” Nick sat down next to me, a whisky in his hand. “Not too much bruising?”

“Nothing a bit of arnica won’t sort. My jaw’s going to be a pretty colour tomorrow. Have you pulled anything up linking Justine and Kelly-Anne?” This was the bit we needed.

“News just in – we’ve ran her fingerprints from when she was booked in, and they’re tied with ones we have on file for Kelly-Anne Marsh. She was arrested for shoplifting when she was nineteen, just before she left Leeds. I don’t think we’ll need more than that.” He looked pleased with himself. “But we have it. We’ve had her phone as well, and she had social media accounts that followed all of the Aberwyn girls apart from Sophie. She never posted anything, just lurked. Tomorrow I’ll start trying to link her to buying the knife.”

“And then we might be able to link her to Charlie Mason.”

“Exactly.” He looked me over again. “You must be happy. You were right, not fully jumping down the incel theory.”

“There are still things I want to know. But I might never find them out.”

“You might not. And maybe they’re better not being known. Another drink?” He pointed to my empty glass.

“One more.”

One more became two more, which became a taxi to the curry house near Vinny’s and a meal where I had the good sense to stop drinking alcohol and moved to lime and sodas.

Vinny lived in a three bedroomed semi-detached with a huge TV and several gaming systems. It was the dictionary definition of a bachelor pad, if that bachelor was an overgrown boy-child. It would’ve been an automatic red flag if I’d ever been one of the lucky ladies that Vinny had brought back, but thankfully, I’d only ever been there as a colleague.

And maybe a friend.

“Where shall I sleep? I’m good on the sofa.” The sofa was huge and plump, designed for falling asleep on. I’d crashed on it a couple of times in the past, and it was looking pretty inviting right now.

Exhaustion was hitting me right in my bruises, the adrenaline completely gone. Even my brain had stopped over processing, thinking about Daniel and the role he’d played in all of this.

“My bed?” Vinny wriggled his eyebrows.

“Hell no.”

“One day you’ll say yes.”

“When hell’s in its fifth ice age. I’m good with the sofa.”

“The spare bedroom’s made up. You can sleep in there. Do you want a brew?” He walked into the kitchen area, the space a large open plan living area. It was actually quite nice, I supposed.

“That would be lovely.” I sat on the sofa, sprawling out my shoes off before I came in because Vinny had strict rules around that.

I heard him fill the kettle, then the clang of a couple of mugs. “Are you okay about that dick of a boyfriend?”

I sat up, looking over at him. He was opening a tin of biscuits, just wearing a black T-shirt and sweats, having gotten changed at the speed of light when we came in.

I could see how he fooled women into hooking up with him.

“It wasn’t going anywhere. He was attractive and decent in bed.”

Vinny scoffed. Or maybe choked. “You must have low standards.”

“How would you know what he was like in bed? Have you slept with him?”