me.’
He looked into her face, the face he adored. ‘I love you, Kate. Remember that, whatever happens.’
‘I love you too, Pat. Are you all right?’
He placed her gently on her feet. Her face was so serious it reminded him of the night they’d first met, when his daughter had been attacked and raped by George Markham, the serial killer. Even to this day they didn’t discuss the case. It was taboo between them.
Kate loved Pat but loathed his lifestyle. Now she was going to find out a whole lot more about it and Patrick was frightened of the consequences. Terrified, in fact, because she would walk out on him - he knew that as well as he knew his own name. He should be the one to tell her, but he couldn’t. He could not bear to see the bitter disappointment in her eyes.
Leila Cadman was pretty, very pretty, and Kate had always liked her. Since she had come to Grantley as the new forensic pathologist the two women had become firm friends. Today Kate could see the strain of tiredness under Leila’s eyes as she outlined her findings.
‘It’s a young male, about two years old. Been there maybe a week. I can be more accurate after some tests. He’s Caucasian, well-nourished . . .’
‘Hang on a minute, did you say white?’
Leila nodded.
‘Not mixed race?’
‘No way.’
Leila could see the confusion on Kate’s face.
‘And you think the body has been there about a week?’
‘I can’t say for certain the body parts were on the dump itself for that time, but the injuries on the limbs we have recovered were, in my opinion, caused at least seven days ago. As I said, I will know more after further tests.’
‘Jesus Christ, we’re looking for a little boy of mixed race. If this child is white, then who is he and why has no one reported him missing?’
Leila looked sad. ‘Sign of the times.’
Kate nodded unhappily. ‘So it would seem.’
Chief Inspector Ratchette was seething with anger. His eyes were darting around his office, taking in all the trappings of success. Would they be enough to get him out of the large and rather deep hole he seemed to have dug himself into? He didn’t hold out too much hope. Even his award for bravery seemed to be mocking him.
Ratchette sighed and sipped at his coffee. It was lukewarm and a skin had formed on the top. He felt it adhere to his lip and grimaced at the disgusting feel of it.
Kate came through the door as he was wiping his face. She smiled at him and he motioned for her to take a chair. As she seated herself he decided she really was a good-looking woman. Her hair looked different; it was glossy and thick, longer lately than she had worn it before, and her eyes, though worried, were clear and bright. The deep red lipstick she wore looked sexy on her. All in all, he thought she looked well. The perfect advertisement for a good sex-life. He had a strong suspicion that was what put the spring in her step and the wiggle in her arse.
Feminism never was Ratchette’s strong point.
He knew Patrick Kelly well and had been amazed when he had not heard any gossip concerning him and nubile young women since the start of the relationship with Kate. Patrick had been the slag extraordinaire of their mutual lodge, a byword among the other Masons in the getting of young crumpet and keeping of it. But since taking up with Kate he had turned over a new leaf and against his will Ratchette was impressed by the woman before him. She was keeping Kelly on the straight and narrow. Sexually anyway. If only the same could be said for his business dealings.
‘How’s it going, Kate?’
‘Frankly, sir, it’s a mess. We have a dead child who is apparently unknown. I have one of the team liaising with other nicks, to see if the body was brought here from another part of the country and dumped. We have another little boy still missing, though his brother was found. I have two perps, both of whom are the mothers and both of whom were placed at the scene yet each one denies
He looked into her face, the face he adored. ‘I love you, Kate. Remember that, whatever happens.’
‘I love you too, Pat. Are you all right?’
He placed her gently on her feet. Her face was so serious it reminded him of the night they’d first met, when his daughter had been attacked and raped by George Markham, the serial killer. Even to this day they didn’t discuss the case. It was taboo between them.
Kate loved Pat but loathed his lifestyle. Now she was going to find out a whole lot more about it and Patrick was frightened of the consequences. Terrified, in fact, because she would walk out on him - he knew that as well as he knew his own name. He should be the one to tell her, but he couldn’t. He could not bear to see the bitter disappointment in her eyes.
Leila Cadman was pretty, very pretty, and Kate had always liked her. Since she had come to Grantley as the new forensic pathologist the two women had become firm friends. Today Kate could see the strain of tiredness under Leila’s eyes as she outlined her findings.
‘It’s a young male, about two years old. Been there maybe a week. I can be more accurate after some tests. He’s Caucasian, well-nourished . . .’
‘Hang on a minute, did you say white?’
Leila nodded.
‘Not mixed race?’
‘No way.’
Leila could see the confusion on Kate’s face.
‘And you think the body has been there about a week?’
‘I can’t say for certain the body parts were on the dump itself for that time, but the injuries on the limbs we have recovered were, in my opinion, caused at least seven days ago. As I said, I will know more after further tests.’
‘Jesus Christ, we’re looking for a little boy of mixed race. If this child is white, then who is he and why has no one reported him missing?’
Leila looked sad. ‘Sign of the times.’
Kate nodded unhappily. ‘So it would seem.’
Chief Inspector Ratchette was seething with anger. His eyes were darting around his office, taking in all the trappings of success. Would they be enough to get him out of the large and rather deep hole he seemed to have dug himself into? He didn’t hold out too much hope. Even his award for bravery seemed to be mocking him.
Ratchette sighed and sipped at his coffee. It was lukewarm and a skin had formed on the top. He felt it adhere to his lip and grimaced at the disgusting feel of it.
Kate came through the door as he was wiping his face. She smiled at him and he motioned for her to take a chair. As she seated herself he decided she really was a good-looking woman. Her hair looked different; it was glossy and thick, longer lately than she had worn it before, and her eyes, though worried, were clear and bright. The deep red lipstick she wore looked sexy on her. All in all, he thought she looked well. The perfect advertisement for a good sex-life. He had a strong suspicion that was what put the spring in her step and the wiggle in her arse.
Feminism never was Ratchette’s strong point.
He knew Patrick Kelly well and had been amazed when he had not heard any gossip concerning him and nubile young women since the start of the relationship with Kate. Patrick had been the slag extraordinaire of their mutual lodge, a byword among the other Masons in the getting of young crumpet and keeping of it. But since taking up with Kate he had turned over a new leaf and against his will Ratchette was impressed by the woman before him. She was keeping Kelly on the straight and narrow. Sexually anyway. If only the same could be said for his business dealings.
‘How’s it going, Kate?’
‘Frankly, sir, it’s a mess. We have a dead child who is apparently unknown. I have one of the team liaising with other nicks, to see if the body was brought here from another part of the country and dumped. We have another little boy still missing, though his brother was found. I have two perps, both of whom are the mothers and both of whom were placed at the scene yet each one denies
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