But twenty years of detective work had taught him that police investigations often ran aground because of a failure of imagination. Forensics told you this, a criminal profile told you that, blood spatter patterns indicated this. He was no Luddite, far from it, but that only went so far. Sometimes you had to take a risk and listen to your gut. Which is exactly what Heather was doing and why she had called him. While unsaid, both of them realized this was not a usual, routine case and it required more than a usual, routine solution.
He went over what Heather had just told him, seeking to hold it up to the light to see if it really was of no use.
Katie Drake and the person who left that hair shared some DNA and therefore an ancestor. Given that she appeared to have no past — or at least, one that was unclear — was there any relevance to that? Yes, the maternal ancestor they shared might have been a knuckle-dragger who cooked sabre-toothed tiger for Sunday lunch, but there was also a chance that it might have been someone during the past hundred years or so. The probable killer and the victim
and the missing girl shared DNA.
They shared the past.
‘Get Nigel and meet me at The National Archives asap.’
She heard the noise. Not for the first night she had to stifle her giggles to avoid waking her two sleeping sisters. Her youngest brother, Thomas, had crept in, too — wedged in amongst them all, scared to sleep on his own with his elder brothers away.
There it was again. She must tell him to change it. It sounded like no owl on God’s earth. She slipped from the covers and padded across the frozen floor, thankful for her thick woollen socks, slipping on her buckled shoes. Under her nightgown she was fully clothed; once she was outside in the woods she knew he would take off his coat and wrap it around her shoulders as always. Her heart beat quicker at the prospect of seeing him. It had been weeks since their last meeting.
She went to the window and eased it gently upwards, wincing at the gasp of cold air that blew into her midriff. She squeezed through the narrow opening and on to the wooden balcony that extended along the front of this wing of the farmhouse, closing the window behind her. Glancing upwards, she caught sight of the clear night sky, thousands of pinprick stars in the heavens. She crept slowly to the corner of the balcony, hitched her nightgown up and swung her leg over the rail. When both her legs were over the rail, her back to the house and her face towards the fields, she edged sideways along until she reached the central pillar, then holding on to the rails she lowered herself until her legs could grasp the pole. As they slipped down, so did her hands until she was low enough to jump without her landing making too much noise. Once on the floor she stopped. No sound from within that wing of the house. She turned. No sign of life in any other part either. She took a deep breath and from her right hand plucked a small splinter of wood that had become embedded on her descent. Then she cast her eyes over to the barn, behind which he was hiding.
The ground was firm, the edges of the grass tufts starting to crisp as the temperature plummeted. She hurried towards the barn. At the far end she turned the corner and there he was, on his haunches, back against the wall. He saw her and rose to stand. They embraced without a word, his arms wrapping around her, the smell of air and soil and the elements in his hair. Without a sound he took off his coat and put it around her, then took her hand in his and they half ran across the bare gracing field, to the shrouded sanctuary of the woods.
Once secluded in the dark he grabbed her waist and kissed her hard. After a few seconds, despite enjoying his warmth, she pushed him away. There was too much she wanted to say. The look in his dark-ringed eyes as she pulled apart was one of hunger. She bit her lip. What she wanted to say could wait a few more
He went over what Heather had just told him, seeking to hold it up to the light to see if it really was of no use.
Katie Drake and the person who left that hair shared some DNA and therefore an ancestor. Given that she appeared to have no past — or at least, one that was unclear — was there any relevance to that? Yes, the maternal ancestor they shared might have been a knuckle-dragger who cooked sabre-toothed tiger for Sunday lunch, but there was also a chance that it might have been someone during the past hundred years or so. The probable killer and the victim
and the missing girl shared DNA.
They shared the past.
‘Get Nigel and meet me at The National Archives asap.’
She heard the noise. Not for the first night she had to stifle her giggles to avoid waking her two sleeping sisters. Her youngest brother, Thomas, had crept in, too — wedged in amongst them all, scared to sleep on his own with his elder brothers away.
There it was again. She must tell him to change it. It sounded like no owl on God’s earth. She slipped from the covers and padded across the frozen floor, thankful for her thick woollen socks, slipping on her buckled shoes. Under her nightgown she was fully clothed; once she was outside in the woods she knew he would take off his coat and wrap it around her shoulders as always. Her heart beat quicker at the prospect of seeing him. It had been weeks since their last meeting.
She went to the window and eased it gently upwards, wincing at the gasp of cold air that blew into her midriff. She squeezed through the narrow opening and on to the wooden balcony that extended along the front of this wing of the farmhouse, closing the window behind her. Glancing upwards, she caught sight of the clear night sky, thousands of pinprick stars in the heavens. She crept slowly to the corner of the balcony, hitched her nightgown up and swung her leg over the rail. When both her legs were over the rail, her back to the house and her face towards the fields, she edged sideways along until she reached the central pillar, then holding on to the rails she lowered herself until her legs could grasp the pole. As they slipped down, so did her hands until she was low enough to jump without her landing making too much noise. Once on the floor she stopped. No sound from within that wing of the house. She turned. No sign of life in any other part either. She took a deep breath and from her right hand plucked a small splinter of wood that had become embedded on her descent. Then she cast her eyes over to the barn, behind which he was hiding.
The ground was firm, the edges of the grass tufts starting to crisp as the temperature plummeted. She hurried towards the barn. At the far end she turned the corner and there he was, on his haunches, back against the wall. He saw her and rose to stand. They embraced without a word, his arms wrapping around her, the smell of air and soil and the elements in his hair. Without a sound he took off his coat and put it around her, then took her hand in his and they half ran across the bare gracing field, to the shrouded sanctuary of the woods.
Once secluded in the dark he grabbed her waist and kissed her hard. After a few seconds, despite enjoying his warmth, she pushed him away. There was too much she wanted to say. The look in his dark-ringed eyes as she pulled apart was one of hunger. She bit her lip. What she wanted to say could wait a few more
Similar Books
