Page 28 of The Unforgiven

“This place absorbs time quicker than Vinny absorbs a pint.” I shot Daniel a smile. He’d heard plenty about Vinny in the past.

“How is dear Vinny? Have you realised you’re in love with each other yet?”

I laughed; another line he’d said many times. “He’s the brother I’d never have chosen.”

“He isn’t your brother, which you know. And if you’re still not accepting of the fact that you’d make a perfect pairing, you wouldn’t mind introducing him to Justine.” He nodded at the incredibly pretty woman who entered the room.

She was graceful in a way that made me suspect she’d been a dancer, and had the sort of cheekbones people added in their profile pictures. Her chestnut hair looked natural, her nose and cheeks dotted with freckles that made her look younger than she probably was. She had a dressing on her hand, which she seemed to be conscious of.

“Justine, this is Mia, one of my previous assistants. Mia, Justine would like a date with your colleague. He’s very handsome, Justine.”

Justine gave a shy smile and a laugh that suggested she didn’t quite know what to say. “I’ll go and reboot the router – I think the internet’s down again. It was nice to meet you, Mia.”

“You too.” I stood up. “I have to fly – we have a briefing at seven.”

“Of course. I have a paper to review and an article to finalise before I’m meeting one of my doctorate students. I’ll be here over the Easter break if you need any more unpaid consultancy undertaking, my dear.”

“Or unpaid therapy.” Although I didn’t feel like I’d just had therapy. Usually after a chat with Daniel I came away feeling clearer.

This time I was coming away feeling raw.

Chapter Thirteen

“We finally have intel on the brothers.” Lachy came running into the office like he was about to claim a prize.

“Tell me it’s a caravan and a slow cooker.” Wrigley spun round, grinning, then resuming his usual glare. “You’re all too young to remember Bullseye, aren’t you?”

“Not quite, Mal. My auntie went on that. Didn’t do so well.” Jimmy Hibbert was one of the steadiest constables I’d worked with, also due to take retirement in the next couple of years. He had a daughter the same age as me who’d moved to Australia. I’d become a substitute in some ways, the odd cup of tea made for me here and there, and a sandwich – my favourite – left on my desk occasionally. He’d bought me flowers when I got the promotion in a non-creepy, very proud way. “TV’s got shit since, hasn’t it?”

“Agreed. Which is why I prefer cricket. Go on then, Lachy, what’ve you got?” Wrigley flicked back to Lachy who was still shifting around on his feet. It had been suggested to him that he might have ADHD, but that had only prompted a long winded partial monologue that ended up with a summary on United’s chances of not being relegated this season.

“The Kinsella brothers have an alibi for the time frame for Chelsea’s murder.” His words came out in one single breath.

We all looked up, non-plussed. Although it was a lead of sorts, in the category of clutching at straws, this was a straw that had been disintegrating from day one, so none of us had held much hope that it was going to lead us somewhere.

But we needed to rule out as well as rule in, pursue all lines of reasonable enquiry.

“Go on then, lad.” Wrigley gestured at Lachy to continue. “We’re waiting for this revelation here.”

“They were involved in an attack on two blokes in Bristol, one of them’s still in a coma and they don’t know if he’ll make it. It was a put up job – they were paid for it or had to do it, no one’s sure yet. They were caught on camera down there on the night we know Chelsea was murdered. They’ve spent the last few days on the run and were picked up this morning trying to get on a boat from Dover.” He sank down on a chair, knocking the feet and nearly ending up on his arse as the chair moved unexpectedly.

“That’ll do. Doesn’t solve the conundrum around Neil Hunt and his alibi, but we can’t have everything, so crack on with the detective work you’re all paid for and update the board.” Wrigley headed off through the door, probably to report back to the DCI.

I settle back at my computer, debating whether now was a good time to wrangle some food from somewhere.

I was staring at my screen, debating what I wanted to eat, when an email notification flew up.

One word caught my eye and kicked my pulse into a sprint.

Atlas.

I didn’t open it, however, much I wanted to. Instead I dashed from my desk, almost knocking into Jimmy, and headed to the smaller office just off the main one where Nick and the tech team were glued to their screens.

Nick was engrossed in looking at a long list of text messages on his screen and jumped off his seat when I tapped his shoulder. He slid off his headphones, forcing anyone who didn’t have earphones on to be subjected to Steven Tyler at his Aerosmith finest.

“S’up?”

“I need your help.”