Read Online Dark Flight by Lin Anderson - Free Book Online Page B

replace him. She would search out a cat rescue home and find one as soon as possible. A flat without a cat wasn’t a home.
    She opened the wine to let it breathe and went to shower. The heavy drumming water left her breathless. She bent her head, letting the needles beat her shoulders, easing the tenseness that sent cramps up her neck. Had Sean been there, he would have noticed her raised shoulders and massaged them. His strong thumbs stroking the muscles into relaxation.
    From the kitchen window she contemplated the statue of the Virgin Mary in the convent garden behind. Forever serene, bathed in her spotlight.
    I am the way, the truth and the light, Jesus said.
    Religion wasn’t part of her life, but she understood what all detectives knew. A man who could rape and kill had invented an evil narrative for his life where empathy played no part. The more ferocious the assault, the greater the likelihood of a pre-existing relationship between the victim and their attacker. The viciousness of the assault on Carole Devlin suggested she knew her murderer.
    The physical evidence didn’t lie. That’s what she had been taught. But the way the criminal embraced the crime and the way he chose to commit it was also evidence. The murderer had left psychological traces, ambiguous and subtle, but important none the less.
    After eating she set up her laptop and located as much information as she could on the Metropolitan Police’s investigation into the death of the boy they’d called Adam. What was available online was confined to newspaper reports. Interesting but sketchy. She would have to rely on Bill to give the relevant aspects of the story tomorrow, at the next strategy meeting.
    The wine sent her to sleep in front of the gas fire, her dreams haunted by the vision of a child weeping in a dark cold place. The doorbell shattered the nightmare and she sat up startled, unsure where she was and what had woken her. The doorbell rang again, more insistent this time. She stood up stupid with sleep and went to the door.
    ‘Rhona. It’s me. Take off the bolt.’ Sean’s voice was urgent.
    He stood with the small holdall beside him, his eyes smudged with fatigue, bristle darkening his chin.
    He gave her a relieved half smile. ‘Can I come in?’
    She stood to one side and let him pass.
    ‘I’m sorry. I should have called, but there hasn’t been a minute.’
    ‘Your father . . .’ she began.
    He pushed the door shut and slid the bolt. The muscles on the back of his neck were bunched as though the action needed great effort. ‘Come here.’
    He pulled her to him, his mouth fastening on hers, his body crushed against her. He smelt of whisky and sweat.
    He groaned and a shudder passed through his body.
    She reached down and clasped him, urging him into action.
    His movements were swift and frantic as though he were fighting for his life. She met each thrust with her own, exorcising her own inner demons.
    Afterwards he mumbled an apology into her hair. ‘I was desperate.’
    She cradled his head in her hands and touched his lips lightly with her own. ‘So was I.’
    They looked down at the discarded clothes and laughed.
    ‘Come on.’
    He fetched the duvet and they sat cuddled beneath it in front of the fire. His skin glistened in the light. She licked a trickle of sweat that ran down the hollow in his chest.

    Later, in bed, he talked about his father’s death.
    ‘The funeral’s on Friday. I have to go back.’
    ‘I’ll come with you.’
    He looked puzzled as though the thought had never occurred to him. ‘I don’t know. It would be hard for you. The family . . .’
    ‘Don’t know about me?’
    ‘Oh they know about you. It’s just they’d have you for breakfast along with the bacon and soda bread.’
    ‘That bad?’
    ‘The Irish are a breed apart,’ he said ruefully.
    ‘You don’t have to tell me that.’
    He acknowledged her attempt at humour.
    ‘Me mam’s heartbroken.’ He shook his head as if in