# Fallen Angel

Jenny O’Brien

She looked like she’d drifted off to sleep, curled up in her white dress, blonde hair floating in the breeze. They called it the Angel Murder.Eighteen-year-old Angelica Brock is found dead at a local beauty spot, dressed in a pure white nightgown, her white-blonde hair arranged around her. For years her death is a mystery, her killer the one who got away for a whole generation of police.For DS Gaby Darin, it’s not just any cold case – the victim is intimately linked to someone close to her, and emotions are high. But just as the team finds a breakthrough clue on Angelica’s nightdress, another case crashes into the station. Could they be linked? After all this time, can Gaby finally discover what really happened to Angelica?This gripping and emotional thriller will have you flying through the pages and on the edge of your seat. Perfect for fans of Angela Marsons, LJ Ross and D. S. Butler. Readers LOVE the Detective Gaby Darin series!‘Wow… Will knock your socks off… I was enthralled reading right to the end… Couldn't ask for a better read.’ NetGalley reviewer, 5 stars‘Brilliant book. Full of twists and turns.’ NetGalley reviewer, 5 stars‘Loved the story, the main characters and the places!… My first book by the author and definitely not my last one!’ NetGalley reviewer, 5 stars‘You won't be able to put this one down. Super twisty and a great ending. Amazing thriller from start to end.’ NetGalley reviewer, 5 stars‘Very satisfying… Lots of twists, turns… and an ending that I did not see coming.’ NetGalley reviewer, 5 stars‘Another fantastic book by Jenny O'Brien, this series just keeps getting better. I was hooked from the first page.’ NetGalley reviewer, 5 stars‘An excellent book… Highly recommend this.’ NetGalley reviewer, 5 stars‘A five star read, no question.’ NetGalley reviewer, 5 stars

## About the Author

Born in Dublin, JENNY O’BRIEN moved to Wales and then Guernsey, where she tries to find time to both read and write in between working as a nurse and ferrying around three teenagers.

In her spare time she can be found frowning at her wonky cakes and even wonkier breads. You’ll be pleased to note she won’t be entering Bake Off. She’s also an all-year-round sea swimmer.

## Praise for the Detective Gaby Darin series

‘Mind blowing’

‘Keeps you on the edge of your seat’

‘A great crime procedural series!’

‘An amazing thriller from beginning to end’

‘Couldn’t ask for a better read’

‘This series just keeps getting better. I was hooked from the first page’

‘A five-star read, no question’

## Also by Jenny O’Brien

The Detective Gaby Darin series

Silent Cry

Darkest Night

The Stepsister

## Fallen Angel. JENNY O’BRIEN


HQ

An imprint of HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd.

1 London Bridge Street

London SE1 9GF

First published in Great Britain by HQ in 2020

Copyright © Jenny O’Brien

Jenny O’Brien asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work.

A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library.

This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental.

All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins.

E-book Edition © November 2020 ISBN: 9780008390198

Version: 2020-10-23

Table of Contents

Cover

About the Author

Praise for the Detective Gaby Darin series

Also by Jenny O’Brien

Title Page

Copyright

Dedication

Prologue

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Chapter 29

Chapter 30

Chapter 31

Chapter 32

Chapter 33

Chapter 34

Chapter 35

Chapter 36

Chapter 37

Chapter 38

Chapter 39

Chapter 40

Chapter 41

Chapter 42

Chapter 43

Chapter 44

Chapter 45

Chapter 46

Chapter 47

Chapter 48

Chapter 49

Chapter 50

Chapter 51

Chapter 52

Chapter 53

Chapter 54

Chapter 55

Chapter 56

Chapter 57

Chapter 58

Chapter 59

Chapter 60

Chapter 61

Acknowledgements

Dear Reader …

Keep Reading …

About the Publisher

To Ady Sarchet, the Sea Donkey, who works tirelessly for Guernsey disabled swimmers.

## Prologue

She lies on her back unsure of what the delay is. After all, she’s not stupid. She’s guessed what must be next. It’s there in the gleam of his eye and the excited sheen on his forehead as he leans towards her, his hands rearranging the pale cotton around her body. She knows now that there’s no hope. No knight to rescue the damsel in distress. No future in her golden prison of green.

The light morning breeze and weak early sunshine do nothing to warm her skin or assuage her fears. If anything, her fears escalate as she wonders how much more of this glorious day she’ll manage to see. The rock underneath her shoulders and bottom is cold and hard, the musty nightdress unable to protect her tender skin or prevent the panic bubbling up underneath her fragile, pale beauty. It’s there to see in her wide-eyed stare, the black of her pupil etched against the pale grey of her iris and the pulse in her throat dancing to its own frantic beat.

With her arms and legs unbound she knows she could run. There are lots of places to hide and, having visited the Great Orme regularly since childhood, she knows most of them. But it’s not string or tape that bind her to what she suspects will be her final resting place. It’s the words she can’t forget in the dark thicket of her mind. Her throat constricts, her breath now a hollow rasp as his fingers start their inevitable journey across her flesh. If she runs someone else will die.

## Chapter 1. Gaby. Wednesday 15 July, 2.10 p.m. St Asaph Police Station

Acting DI Gaby Darin was going to suppress the yawn with the back of her hand but decided not to bother. There was little point in hiding the truth. She was in one of the most exciting careers imaginable. Almost at the top of her game, if you like, with cases being flung at her from all corners as society dug deep and threw the worst kind of humanity in her direction. Yet here she was doing a cop’s version of twiddling her thumbs: flicking through the stack of cold cases they had lurking in the storage room in the bowels of the station.

She hugged her new, grey, pin-striped jacket more firmly across her chest, bemoaning the fact that she hadn’t had the foresight to wear one of her old suits. When the station had been remodelled, no expense had been spared on the glossy new reception and interview rooms. But the same couldn’t be said for the, quite frankly, miserable storage facilities hidden from public view. Oh, there were computers, high-tech systems that could do everything from trapping a perp with only part of a number plate via the ANPR tracking system, to searching international databases using state-of-the-art face-recognition software. But for that to happen records had to be electronic and the crimes she was looking through had all happened well before a desktop meant anything other than a surface to work off.

Pushing back from the table, she stood and stretched, her tight muscles rebelling against the last two hours of enforced inactivity, her eyes raking over the list of three murder victims’ case numbers she’d scribbled down to examine in more detail. The problem was one of motivation. It was easy to be enthusiastic about a current case, a case where she’d built up a sense of rapport with the victim or, in the case of a murder, their relatives. But these … While all of them were serious cases that deserved to be solved, it was likely that there’d be few people left who remembered what had happened or even cared. She wanted something exciting. Something to get her teeth into while she still had the free time to make a difference. With summer well and truly here, who knew what crimes would claim her attention? But while things were quiet, she was determined to make inroads on the ever-growing pile of unsolved cases. For one thing it would keep her boss, Henry Sherlock, out of her hair. He was forever banging on about crime rates and how well the North Wales MIT was performing against the rest of the UK – a solved cold case would garner an additional boost to those rankings.

She returned the files to their relevant boxes and, picking up her notepad, headed for the door.

‘Thank you, Colin,’ she said, tossing the grey-haired archive officer a smile before signing out and walking up the stairs back to her office. She’d have a coffee and while she was drinking it, make a list for and against each of the cases shortlisted. It shouldn’t be too difficult to narrow it down, she thought, her mind running over each one as she entered her office and threw her pad on the desk. But before she could head back into the incident room and pour a drink from the coffee pot, Detective Owen Bates barged through the door, his hands full of newspaper cuttings which he unceremoniously spread across the desk with a flourish.

Folding her arms across her chest, she threw the tall, stocky Welshman a small smile. ‘I take it you’ve decided to add to my list of potential cold cases, Owen?’ Her gaze slid to the top article and the image of a young woman, a girl really, her hair swept back into an untidy ponytail. ‘It had better be more interesting than the poor retired bank manager you were telling me about who pitched himself under that bus last month – poor sod.’

‘There’s no comparison. This one here,’ he said, placing his hand flat against the top article, his customary smile missing, ‘is a real humdinger of a case that, if rumours are to be believed, had old Stewart Tipping running around in circles.’

Gaby frowned, managing to hide her surprise. She’d worked with Owen now for nearly six months and had always found him to be the most mild-mannered of people. Nothing fazed him and, despite the often grizzly nature of their job, he was always the one to break the tension with the most inappropriate of jokes that only other members of the force could truly appreciate. So, there was something about this case that had piqued his interest, was there? Something that had made him gather a file full of tattered newspaper articles. Something that had pulled him so far out of his comfort zone as to remove any trace of humour from his face. Now, for the first time in what seemed like ages, she was interested.

She unfolded her arms, picked up the top newspaper article and started to read, her mouth saying the words out loud.

‘The body of the missing Llandudno teenager has been found on the Great Orme. A spokesperson for the North Wales police department has said that the body has been identified as eighteen-year-old Angelica Brock, who went missing from her home in Llandudno in the early hours of Tuesday morning.’

She paused as she scanned the rest of the article, the words causing her lips to curl and her jaw to tighten. A well-known phrase streaked through her mind: Be careful what you wish for. She’d been bored out of her mind since her return from sick leave, so bored that she’d even pulled out her end-of-month report, something that was never started until the warnings from above became too threatening to ignore – usually halfway through the next month. She’d wanted a case to sink her teeth into but the disappearance of an innocent girl from her bedroom and subsequent discovery of her lifeless body in a well-known picnic spot, wasn’t what she’d envisaged. Scrolling to the top of the page, she noted the date. 1995. Twenty-five years ago, which would have made Gaby only six. Far too young for her to have taken an interest in the news. But for Owen, born and bred in Llandudno, the case obviously meant something more than the facts spread out in front of her in all their messy tabloid glory.

‘Go on then.’

‘Ma’am?’

‘Oh, cut the crap, Owen.’ Her voice was edged with more razors than the average barbershop. ‘You know very well I’m still only acting DI and, when we’re alone it’s Gaby or Gabriella. Even Miss Darin will suffice – but ma’am,’ she added, the slight twang from her Liverpudlian accent hammering the M into submission, ‘is not allowed – ever.’

‘Gaby then,’ he said, his expression still grim.

‘Why this case now after all these years?’ she said, her mind taking a walk through the other cold cases before switching back to Angelica Brock – there was no comparison. ‘And if you reply with the “Why not?” that I can see you’re about to, then you’re a lesser man than I thought.’

‘Because I knew her.’

## Chapter 2. Gaby. Wednesday 15 July, 2.25 p.m. St Asaph Police Station

‘You knew her,’ Gaby repeated, plonking herself down in her chair and gesturing for him to do the same, only to stop, her hand tapping the rim of her empty mug. ‘Coffee, please. It’s only fair if you’re going to land this in my lap that you fuel my caffeine addiction first.’

‘I thought that was chocolate, Gabriella?’ he said, casting her a wink before backing out of the room, his hands raised as if to ward off the inevitable snappy reply.

Gaby shook her head, her mind already on the case in front of her, her hands skimming through the articles for the most reliable report. After a morning of dealing with facts, the lurid headlines almost had her wishing she’d passed on the coffee, the smell of Asda’s cheapest dry roast wafting through the door causing her nose to wrinkle and her stomach to flip.

‘There you go. Extra strong, just the way you like it,’ Owen said, making room for both mugs on the desk and pulling up a chair.

‘So, tell me about Angelica Brock then. How did you know her?’ She pushed her mug to one side. ‘You’d have only been about …’

‘Twelve, and I didn’t know her, not well.’

She leant forward, propping her elbows on the desk, her chin balanced in her hands. ‘Explain.’

‘Well, we went to the same school but she was miles out of my league. She made head girl so we all knew of her.’ Gaby watched him blink rapidly, before continuing. ‘She was quiet. Studious even. You know the sort. Heading for a posh degree in some English university to study medicine, but nice with it. Her sister was in my class, not that I had much to do with her then being as she was only a girl,’ he finished, managing a smirk of sorts.

‘Of course you wouldn’t.’ Gaby returned his stare head on, well aware that his blasé attitude was only a ruse. There was more going on under the slight blush trailing a path underneath his cheeks, only partially covered by his beard. She had a pair of older brothers back in Liverpool. She knew what it was like with boys especially when the girls looked like Angelica Brock. Dropping her gaze, she examined the top photo. Angelica had that near white-blonde hair that always ratcheted up male heartbeats. But there was also an innocence about her, an innocence that would have been bound to attract the worst kind of individual. And with that thought, something curled deep inside, dragging Gaby straight to the dark place that resided in the corner of her mind.

All coppers had such a place. If they didn’t, they wouldn’t be able to survive even a week in the force. They certainly wouldn’t have a home life and as for even considering having children … They had to compartmentalise the day-to-day horrors they came up against or face drowning in their poison of choice, be that alcohol, drugs or, in Gaby’s case, chocolate.

‘So, what can you add?’ she said, pushing the pile of cuttings in his direction.

‘What do you mean?’

‘Come on, Owen. Give me more. Stewart Tipping is one of the best coppers around. If the case nearly broke him, what’s to say it isn’t going to be a complete dead end or, indeed, break me?’

He didn’t answer at once, the flooring covering her office taking up more of his attention than the wood-effect laminate deserved.

‘I don’t know what else there is. Llandudno changed after that. It grew up if you like and yanked us kids along with it. Almost overnight, we weren’t allowed out at night without being interrogated about where we were going and who with. Yes, Llandudno became a little safer, but it also became a little sadder. With her death, we lost a whole lot more than her, if that makes sense?’ He lifted his head and, if Gaby didn’t know any better, she’d think that his eyes were moist. ‘I don’t know what else to say.’ He spread his hands again before twisting them and reaching for the now empty mugs. ‘I was just a lad. It was only later, when I decided to go into the force that I searched up her case file or should that be files – there’s boxes of them.’ He tilted his head, aiming a smile in her direction. ‘We all know what a stickler Stewart is for recordkeeping. She seemed so sweet and innocent when they found her, that beautiful hair billowing out like a pillow. Her pure white nightdress didn’t help. It looked like she’d dropped off to sleep. I could see then why the press hit on the tagline of The Angel Murder. The force even adopted the moniker in the case title – Operation Angel.’

Operation Angel. Gaby let the phrase roll around her mind, her hands shuffling through the photos. This Angelica Brock wouldn’t be the first pretty schoolgirl to meet a grizzly end and, sadly, she wouldn’t be the last. Wherever beauty lay there was always ugliness lurking in the shadows. So, what made this different and, more importantly, what made her think that this might be a case she could solve? She’d be arrogant in thinking she was even half as good a detective as Stewart Tipping. Before going off sick, he’d had thirty years in the force and a conviction rate that was renowned throughout the North Wales network. If he couldn’t find the clue that would break the case wide open then there probably wasn’t one to be found.

Pulling out her notepad, she scrolled through the list of the other crimes she’d jotted down earlier, before shutting it with a snap. She wanted to sink her teeth into a case that would occupy her mind and distract her thoughts. After the craziness of recent months, the idea of a cold case appealed. If truth be known, not that she’d admit it to anyone, she still suffered from exhaustion following her near-fatal stabbing during the previous case. A nice quiet mystery to work through while she continued to convalesce from her injuries would suit her nicely.

‘Okay, Owen. Let’s do this. Pop down to Colin in Archives and give him the heads up as to what files we’ll need and, on the way back, you can make some fresh coffee. That one tasted as if a mouse had thrown up in it. And after, I’ll treat you to lunch. Your usual sandwich from the canteen do?’

## Chapter 3. Gaby. Thursday 16 July, 5 p.m. Old Colwyn

Stewart Tipping had once been a large, imposing figure. But the cancer had ripped through his body, stripping away the covering and leaving only the inner man under the disease-ravished flesh. His body was now skin attached to bone, his face shrunken to almost a death mask and his upright bearing now an old man’s stoop. The changes wrought since Gaby had last seen him had her hiding her feelings behind her habitual bland countenance: Stewart wouldn’t take kindly to even a flicker of compassion. After a brief smile for Sheila, his long-suffering wife, Gaby took the seat offered and got right down to business.

‘I’m sorry it’s been so long but …’

He waved her comment away, the veins standing proud on the back of his hand. ‘While you’re always welcome, I wouldn’t expect you to keep popping in,’ he said, reaching for his mug and cradling the pottery between his fingers. ‘What can I help you with? I do take it that there is something?’

‘How do you know that I haven’t popped around for a chat?’ she fired back, with an answering beam.

‘Well, have you?’

She glanced down at her hands before replying, taking the time to choose her words carefully. She’d spent all day reading up on Operation Angel but examining dry-as-dust witness statements and file notes had done little to bring the case to life. The reason she’d swung past Stewart’s bungalow in Old Colwyn was to get a first-hand feel for the crime, all those little thoughts and nuances that would need a truck-load of notebooks to fill, and she needed to do it in such a way as to not offend the man in front of her. Now she was here it was the sense of guilt that would keep her long past her original motive for visiting.

‘No.’ She raised her head, meeting his gaze square on. ‘The reason I’m here is because of Angelica Brock.’

‘Ah.’

There was a wealth of feeling in that one meaningless syllable. Stewart’s expression remained unchanged but his tightening knuckles told their own story. She’d upset him – the very last thing she wanted but it couldn’t be helped. Owen’s knowledge of the case was coloured by the viewpoint of a twelve-year-old boy. He couldn’t be the impartial partner she needed and everyone else had either retired or moved to other teams round the country. Dropping in on Stewart and Sheila on her way home was meant to be the easy option, But, by the sudden tension in the room, it felt like the wrong decision.

‘My one big failure.’

What could she say that wasn’t going to upset him any more than she was doing? After all, he was only stating the truth. All coppers had their fair share of failures. It was never just one that got away these days. With manpower pressures, they were hard pressed to keep on top of whatever came through the door let alone have the time to invest any energy into unsolved cases. Gaby sighed, thinking back to her own failings over the years. The successes never featured. The families she’d helped. The lives she’d saved. No … She sighed again. She shouldn’t have come but, now she was here, she owed this man complete honesty.

‘I can’t promise to have more success than you had, Stewart. But I’ve been reading over the files with Owen and I think it’s something that deserves our attention.’

He ran his hand over his bald head, his gaze avoiding hers. ‘Of all the cases I’ve ever worked on, it’s the one that baffled the most. We did everything we could. Followed all the angles we could think of. Interviewed half of Llandudno in the process, but nothing. It had more blind ends than Hampton Court Maze. She disappeared from a first-floor bedroom and yet there were no clues. We didn’t know if she had a secret assignation or if she’d been abducted. But if it was the latter, how was it managed without an accomplice or two? But there were no fingerprints left at the scene. No DNA on the body. The post-mortem was inconclusive as to the method of her death. All they could come up with was that her heart had stopped.’ He leant forward in his chair, his hands gripped together. ‘The truth is, all we had was the body of an eighteen-year-old. There were no indications of sexual activity and no evidence of force or bruising. Her blood alcohol level was pretty much zero as was the drugs screen. It’s as if she climbed out of the window and made her way to the Great Orme before curling up and drifting off into a sleep that resulted in her death.’

Gaby took a deep sip of tea, made the way she liked it. She was hoping that he’d give her additional information. All the little extras that on their own didn’t add up to squat but together might just have the makings of a case. But he wasn’t telling her anything she didn’t already know.

‘What about the boyfriend? He had an alibi, I believe?’ she said, placing her now empty mug back on the table.

‘Yes, and, as the most obvious candidate, one we looked to break. But there was no evidence that he wasn’t exactly what he seemed, completely heartbroken,’ he said with a sigh. ‘Also that scenario would mean that she’d climbed out of the window to meet him without leaving any evidence, which is unlikely at best. There was no other way out of the house.’

‘No other way.’ Gaby frowned, her mind stepping back into the reports she’d read. Obviously, there were still a fair few box files to go through but … ‘What about the front door, or indeed the back?’

‘Not a chance. Their younger daughter, Katherine, suffered from an extreme form of sleepwalking – it’s well documented in one of the files. The house was locked down at night, the keys kept under the mother’s pillow. The only answer is that Angelica unbolted the window from the inside. Therefore, it follows that she must have known her murderer.’ He rested his head against the blue fabric of his chair, his voice whisper soft. ‘Believe me when I say that we examined this from every angle and came up with nothing. If it wasn’t for her wearing that nightdress, we’d have been happy to pass it off as one of those things but …’

Gaby pulled out her notebook and, flicking through the pages, quickly found what she wanted. ‘A long-sleeved, Victorian, pin-tucked nightdress? It did strike me as odd at the time.’

‘Indeed.’ He sent her a long glance before delivering his punchline. ‘Her mother insisted during interview that Angelica only ever wore pyjamas to bed and that she’d never seen the garment before in her life. And …’ He paused, taking a deep swallow. ‘Before you ask, yes, we did do a thorough search. But we quickly realised that the nightdress was handmade. We didn’t have a chance.’

Gaby felt a tension headache start to build. Headaches weren’t her thing, unless they were self-inflicted and, apart from the odd glass of wine with her evening meal, she rarely drank anymore. Since coming out of hospital she hadn’t touched a drop. She blinked down at her pad, trying to work out what else to ask, her mind weaving back through the key points, even as she silently cursed Owen to hell and back for plonking this onto her lap. The problem was that he knew her too well. As soon as she got excited about a case, she wouldn’t let it rest until she’d exhausted every lead. But what would she be able to do when there were no leads? Operation Angel wasn’t so much cold as absolutely polar.

‘So we have an eighteen-year-old girl climbing out of a window to meet person or persons unknown, only to lie down in a ball and die of natural causes in borrowed nightwear. I don’t get it!’

‘Join the club. Like I said, if it wasn’t for the nightwear side of things, we’d have passed it off as death by misadventure.’ He threw his hands up in the air, letting them fall down on his thighs with a dull slap. ‘It’s as if the killer wanted us to know what he’d done.’

Gaby’s eyes narrowed. ‘What – like a serial killer?’

‘Apart from there being no other murders either before or since carried out with anything like the same pattern. Believe me when I say that up until my illness, I continued to carry out a search where cause of death was unclear. There’s been plenty of those but none where the medical examiner couldn’t eventually come up with a reasonable explanation, and none of the women found were wearing someone else’s nightie.’

‘That’s useful, thanks.’

She’d have to leave soon. She could see it in the way Stewart’s shoulders had sunk further into his chest and in the shadows bruising his skin.

‘I’ll pop these into the kitchen and say hi to Sheila before I head off.’ She collected the mugs, her mind still running over the case. ‘I don’t know what Bates is trying to do. There’s no way I can bring anything more to the table apart from modern science but there’s no DNA to throw at it.’

She watched him jerk forward, suddenly wide awake when seconds before she’d thought he was dropping off to sleep.

‘I can’t believe that he wouldn’t have told you.’

‘Told me what?’

‘About Katherine, the sister. It’s his wife, Gaby. It’s Kate.’

## Chapter 4. Gaby. Thursday 16 July, 7.15 p.m. St Asaph

‘Why the hell didn’t you tell me, Owen? I felt like a right wally,’ Gaby said, as soon as the door had closed behind Kate’s back.

She’d gone straight from Stewart’s house to Owen’s end-of-terrace situated around the corner from St Asaph’s Town Hall. The neat two-bedroomed property might not have either the sea views or the gardens of her cottage but Kate’s flair for design had turned it into a cosy retreat, perfect to come home to. It was little Pip’s bedtime when she’d arrived, so she’d had to wait until Owen had gone to tuck him up for the night before coming out with the reason for her visit.

‘Sorry about that but I wanted you to make the decision based on the worthiness of the case and not because of Kate,’ he replied, sitting down in the chair opposite and stroking his beard, a clear sign that he was anxious or worried – quite possibly both.

‘The one thing I don’t understand,’ Gaby continued, as if he hadn’t spoken, ‘is why you’ve never said a word. Not a peep in all the time we’ve been working together. For your wife’s sister to be murdered is quite a big thing, or isn’t it that important?’ She watched him open his mouth, only to snap it closed when he caught her look. ‘No, don’t speak. I don’t think I could bear to hear an explanation now. It’s all a bit too late.’

Gaby felt her anger build. As a child she’d had an explosive temper, which she’d learnt to manage. Now the pot was boiling to overflowing, pushing the lid aside and releasing a lava of emotion – she didn’t know why. Owen wasn’t just a colleague. He was a friend and, next to Amy, probably her best friend but that didn’t mean that they lived in each other’s pockets. She rarely saw him if it wasn’t to do with a case and, while she’d met Kate a few times, she couldn’t say she knew her that well. They were entitled to their secrets in the same way she was. So why did she feel as if he’d let her down?

Her attention shifted to the coffee table and the bowl full of assorted pebbles, all topped off with three featured stones emblazoned with the words love, hope and finally trust. The bowl was typical of Kate’s sense of style, the beach theme running throughout the open-plan ground floor with its grey oak laminate flooring. The white walls were plain except for the large black-and-white photos of Pip, carefully displayed in driftwood frames. She frowned, her gaze shifting back to one stone in particular. She remembered Kate telling her the story of the pebbles the first time she’d visited on some work-related matter that had necessitated her dropping off some files. In the same way people collected champagne corks, Owen and Kate collected stones. Every time they went to the beach, they chose one to add to the bowl and, after a relationship that spanned over twenty years, they had many such bowls dotted along the windowsills.

She stood and, reaching for her keys, turned to face him. ‘I’m not sure if I’m the right person to look into Angelica’s disappearance. There needs to be complete trust between colleagues and the way I’m feeling—’

‘It’s not Owen’s fault. It’s mine.’

Gaby twisted her head to the door, colour staining her cheeks. The last thing she wanted was to upset Owen’s wife, not least because she was eight months pregnant. Her eyes dropped to Kate’s belly, straining against the pretty, pink, floral top. Where seconds before there was anger, now there was guilt – lots and lots of gut-curdling guilt.

‘I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to …’

‘I’m sure you didn’t,’ Kate said, her tone taking the sting from her words. Turning to Owen, she added, ‘Why not pop the kettle on, love, while Gaby and I have a little chat?’

Owen had jumped to his feet as soon as Kate had appeared. ‘Are you sure you don’t want me to stay?’

‘There’s no need. Why don’t you nip up and check on Pip while you’re at it? We’ll be fine.’

As soon as Owen had pulled the door closed behind him, Kate walked to a hard-backed chair close to the fireplace, placing a hand on her lower back before sitting down.

‘I wouldn’t wish my body on anyone currently, including my worst enemy,’ she said, frowning down at her swollen feet that she’d stretched out in front of her.

‘I hope I don’t fall into that category?’

‘As if! If Owen is to be believed, there lies the heart of a pussycat under that front you put up.’

Gaby offered her a cautious smile, well aware that most of the team thought her a tough cookie and long might it continue. Having to suffer fools wasn’t in her repertoire, and one way of ensuring the very best from the team was to keep them guessing as to what she was thinking. Only with Owen and Amy had she felt comfortable in revealing her soft centre – a decision she hoped she wasn’t about to regret.

‘All lies.’ She returned her keys back to the coffee table, her attention now on Kate’s white-blonde hair. She wondered why she hadn’t spotted the similarities between the two women, but then again she’d had no reason to suspect that Owen would have withheld such an important part of his life. ‘I know this must be difficult for you—’

‘Not as difficult as not knowing what happened that night. You don’t have children yet, Gaby. When you do, you’ll suddenly realise how precious they are. Oh, Pip can be the most maddening brat imaginable. He’s mastered the skill of knowing when and how to be at his most annoying. But we wouldn’t harm a hair on his head – he’s part of us. Some piece of magic that’s a reaffirmation of our life together. If something was to happen to him, I don’t know what we’d do.’ She placed her hand flat on her stomach, her jaw hardening. ‘Angelica’s death broke my parents in every way possible. They were never the same. It was as if someone took a shredder to their happiness. My dad couldn’t take it in the end. He walked out leaving my mum to try and hold the fragments together – there isn’t a glue invented that can mend a broken heart. The day Angelica disappeared was the day sadness invaded Mum’s body and mind, leaving no room for any other emotion. She didn’t even shed a tear when my dad died. The only time I ever see her happy is when she’s with Pip, and then it’s only fleeting.’

Gaby leant forward, her elbows resting on her knees. ‘But finding out what happened to your sister won’t change how she feels. In fact, dragging up the past might even make it worse.’

‘Please believe me when I say that nothing could make it worse. We lost a lot more than my sister all those years ago,’ she said, lifting her chin, her expression glacial. ‘Now it’s time to claw some of that back. Most people talk about the need for closure when something like this happens but that’s not what I want. I’m not hoping for an ending here but a beginning – a beginning for Owen, Pip, my mother, the baby and me. My husband has faith in you, Gaby. He says that you’re the very best of detectives. If anyone can help us it’s you.’

The sound of Owen’s heavy tread outside had her dragging her hand across her face and pasting a smile on her lips. ‘He doesn’t like seeing me upset. So, it’s only a few days until Amy and Tim’s party,’ she said, neatly changing the subject. ‘I was amazed when I heard that they were getting engaged so soon.’

Taking her cue, Gaby sat back in her chair and crossed her legs, watching Owen enter with a handful of mugs.

‘I have to say so were we,’ she said, noting Owen’s look of concern. Dropping her gaze, her attention focused again on the bowl of pebbles and that one pebble in particular – any last trace of annoyance disappearing under the heavy weight of remorse. She knew more than most the devastation the loss of a child could bring to a family and for Kate to trust her with trying to find out the truth was something she should have considered. ‘I don’t know how Amy has managed to arrange it all so quickly. I only heard a few days ago that he’d popped the question.’

‘I’m only pleased he did,’ Kate said, patting her bump. ‘Otherwise I probably wouldn’t have been able to attend. At least no one will miss me in the photos – it’s not often you get to see a whale at a party.’ She put her hand up, pushing the heavy weight of her hair away from her forehead. ‘Owen has it easy. All he has to do is pop on a pair of clean jeans and one of his trendier shirts.’

‘Don’t I know it,’ Gaby moaned. ‘Amy’s insisting on me wearing a dress to the dance. There isn’t even time to diet.’

‘There’s a lot worse things than worrying about your weight.’ Kate glanced at her. ‘Have you decided yet whether you’ll reopen the case?’

‘It’s never been closed, Kate. Serious crimes just get shifted down the pile as newer cases get dumped on top. As long as you realise the damage that opening old wounds can cause?’

‘There’s only so much healing that can occur without knowing what happened. All I ask is that you go easy on Mum. She’s lost far more than you can ever imagine.’

## Chapter 5. Gaby. Friday 17 July, 9 a.m. St Asaph Police Station

‘Right then, ladies. The enforced holiday’s well and truly over.’

Gaby threw a thick file down on the table, trying to hide a grin at the state of her team. Jax Williams was still knotting his tie while Malachy Devine’s tie hadn’t even got that far. It was draped around his neck, the red and pink stripes complementing the bleary look he was rocking this morning. She scrolled down to his freshly shaved cheeks before turning to Owen, who looked, for once, every day of his thirty-seven years. While he’d brought it upon himself with his eagerness to bring Angelica’s murder to her attention, she could still spare some sympathy for what he must be going through right now. He’d never said anything outright, but Gaby had long suspected that his wife wasn’t happy with the long hours he put in. Reopening her sister’s case would only increase that pressure. Whether she would have acted the same way as Owen had, if their positions had been reversed, was a difficult question and one she wasn’t prepared to dwell on. Being a matter-of-fact sort of person, she always relegated such introspections to the same drawer as crystal balls. But a part of her, quite a large part, knew that she’d never have given up until she’d found out what had happened.

Moving on, she pulled a frown at the empty chair beside him. It was unusual for Marie Morgan to be late for anything and she hadn’t mentioned a word about an appointment yesterday. She was probably held up by something unavoidable. But, even so, Gaby made a mental note to have a chat with her later. It didn’t matter that Gaby was still only acting DI. Her job was important. The most important thing. It was the rest of her life that was falling around her ears, along with her cottage. She grimaced at the thought of the house she’d bought within weeks of joining the North Wales MIT. While the fabric of the building was sound, the Seventies-style décor and antiquated plumbing was something she was learning to live with. She certainly didn’t have the money to do much about it.

She shook her head and the image disappeared, her fingers now reaching for the file. Work was the one part that she was succeeding in. Having staff she could trust in the pressure-filled field of crime fighting was essential to that success. Her colleagues mattered even if it meant she’d probably have to fit in a one-to-one with Marie around the other one hundred things she’d already planned for her day. With a sigh, she opened the cardboard wallet and pulled out the first item – a post-mortem shot. It was the next photo that she couldn’t bear to focus on, the one where Angelica was still alive and about to embark on the rest of her life.

Her words came easily but she still took a moment to send a compassionate smile in Owen’s direction before sharing them.

‘As you’re all aware, the place has been quieter than a morgue since my return, so Bates and I felt that we should liven it up a bit.’

She watched in amusement at the sight of Malachy rolling his eyes in the direction of Jax and paused a moment for some pithy response. But, for once, they both remained silent. Managing the two of them was a little like overseeing a kindergarten. They both had a lot to learn, something made more difficult by their failing to realise how much. Of the two, Malachy was by far the cockier. He pushed the boundaries of their relationship most days and it was only by counting to ten that she managed to rein in her temper. She just hoped that when the time came for him to crawl up the ladder, he’d have an arrogant so-and-so slouching against the bottom rung ready to trip him up.

‘I know having a bit of a breather to catch up on paperwork is great but only up to a point and sitting on my bum isn’t how I want to spend my day.’ She placed a photo on each of their desks. ‘I don’t know whether either of you have heard of Operation Angel but, while we have time on our hands, I’d like us to see what we can turn up.’

Returning to the table, she picked up the next photo along with a single sheet of paper. ‘I’ve put together the main points of the investigation. But, in short, twenty-five years ago, Angelica, aged eighteen, disappeared from her first-floor bedroom, via the window, only later to be found halfway up the Great Orme. We have no method of murder and no motive but she ended up dead all the same. This wasn’t a rape gone wrong. There was no sign of sexual intercourse having taken place and, with her hymen still intact, Miss Brock was a virgin. The crux is the white nightdress she was wearing,’ she added, picking up the post-mortem photo and holding it up. ‘Where did it come from? Not as easy as it looks, lads, because the original team quickly discovered that it’s handmade.’ She glanced across at Jax, her lips twitching. ‘Being the nice boss that I am, I’m going to leave the nightie trek to Marie. Instead I’d like you to go through the files with a fine-toothed comb and see what gives – a nice little desk job for you this time, Jax, instead of all that dog walking in the last investigation.’

‘Yes, ma’am.’

She flicked her head towards Malachy. ‘I’d like you to track down the boyfriend, Mal. A Leo Hazeldine. He shouldn’t be that difficult to trace. I hear he had a bulletproof alibi. He’s obviously still going to be in the frame so see what you can do.’ She checked her watch. ‘We’ll meet back here at four to discuss what’s next.’

A noise from the back of the room had her lifting her head. But her smile of welcome froze at the sight of Marie Morgan’s tentative approach.

Marie was one of the most confident women she knew. Tall and with sweeping blonde locks, she’d look equally good walking down a catwalk as she would in an old sack and Gaby wasn’t the only person to ask what had attracted her to a career in law enforcement. But the woman slipping behind her desk wasn’t the Marie Morgan she knew. Instead of hair draping her shoulders, she’d pulled it back into a greasy ponytail, the style emphasising the thin slash of her cheekbones. Gaby was used to seeing her with a light dusting of make-up, nothing heavy but enough to make her eyes seem bluer and her lips brighter. Today she’d left her skin bare, which only accentuated the tiny lines radiating from her lips. The clothes were the same; the suit was one Gaby had seen her wear many times but today it appeared different, crumpled – almost as if she’d slept in it. There was something wrong with Marie – something very wrong – and the plans she’d made for her day suddenly disappeared as a more important concern pushed them down today’s to-do list.

‘Good to see you, Marie. I’ll fill you in on our next case in a moment.’

Turning her back, she deliberately focused on Owen, conscious that all three men had equal looks of concern stamped across their faces, something that shouldn’t have surprised her but did. It also pleased her, not that they’d have noticed from the set of her mouth.

‘The only bit left in our search and find operation, Owen, is the autopsy results. I’ve tracked down the pathologist, a Dr Herbert Tomlinson, but he passed away last year. So, I’d like you to catch up with Dr Mulholland ASAP and ask him to review the case notes.’

Owen’s expression switched from serious to cheeky in an instant. ‘I’m not sure I’m the right person for the job, if you don’t mind me saying … ma’am. I’m sure Dr Mulholland would much prefer to discuss it with you rather than me.’

Gaby should have been expecting that, and her anger flared at the oversight. She’d been waiting for him to mention Rusty Mulholland for days now, ever since the large bunch of flowers that had been left for her on her return to work following her six weeks’ enforced sick leave.

‘I’ll be happy to ram that “ma’am” down your neck, if you’re not careful,’ she said, her hands now entrenched on her hips.

But Owen, who was used to her mercurial moods, simply shrugged his shoulders before strolling to the door with his hands in his pockets as if he didn’t have a care in the world. Pausing, he tilted his head towards Malachy and Jax. ‘Come on, you two, let’s grab a coffee and leave the girlies to their chit-chat.’

Gaby watched them go, well aware that Owen was doing her a favour in emptying the room and yet still livid at the way he’d undermined her with that dig about Dr Mulholland. Okay, so Rusty wasn’t a problem that appeared to be going away anytime soon, the only saving grace being the lack of cases requiring the skills of North Wales’ top forensic pathologist. She’d bump into him one of these days and she still had no idea as to how she was going to play it, her mind skipping across to Amy and her engagement party later. For her to invite him was bad enough but to then proceed to tell her that the only reason that she had was to bang both their heads together was both unwarranted and devious. She hoped that she’d be able to use her recent injury as a good enough excuse for sloping off early.

Settling back in her chair, she rested both elbows on the desk, mindful that Marie was doing a fair job at avoiding her gaze.

‘Sorry I’m late. The traffic was terrible.’

If Marie had told the truth, whatever that might have been, Gaby would have been happy to let it go with a silent promise to keep a closer eye on how she was doing. But to lie so blatantly had her sitting up and concentrating on what she’d thought was going to be a pretty routine conversation.

One of the first things she’d done on accepting the temporary post of acting DI was to go through her team’s staff files. For instance, she knew that Jax Williams still lived with his parents although the gossip around the office was that he was hoping to move in with his new girlfriend. Malachy was more of a mystery. He lived by himself and, certainly at work, kept to himself. If she’d had to guess at a member of her team telling her porkies, she’d have guessed at it being him.

Marie was different again. Newly separated, she’d only moved out of the marital home a few weeks ago and was now living in a room in Glascoed Road, only a ten-minute walk from the station. Amy, the font of all things gossipy, had told her that Marie’s husband had moved some bimbo into the house and, as he’d owned it previously, she didn’t have a leg to stand on. Rumour had it that she was finding it difficult to manage on her income and was trying to cut every corner imaginable, which included selling her car.

‘Indeed, especially Rhos-on-Sea way,’ Gaby said, the implication that she’d still managed to get to the station on time clearly hitting the mark by the colour flooding across Marie’s cheeks. ‘You look a little flustered, if you don’t mind me saying. Everything okay with the job? None of the men annoying you?’

‘As if. Owen is a pussycat as is Jax. While Mal … well, he’s fine too. A little different but certainly not a threat.’

Gaby raised her brows at her unusual choice of words. If Mal wasn’t a threat did that mean someone else was?

‘Well, if it’s not work?’

‘I’m fine, really. I promise I won’t be late again if that’s what’s worrying you.’ Marie raised her hand to her head, grimacing at the feel of her hair. ‘The truth is I overslept.’

She didn’t look as if she’d overslept. If Gaby had to guess, she’d say she hadn’t slept in weeks. But it wasn’t up to her to question Marie further unless it was affecting her performance and, up until this morning, she’d always been the first one in the office, and the last one to leave. More questions could be viewed as harassment. All Gaby could do was keep her eyes and ears open as well as her office door.

‘Right, back to work then but, you do know that if you ever need my help with anything, either inside or outside of the job, all you have to do is ask?’ She waited for the sight of her nod before continuing, stretching out a hand and placing the photo of Angelica on the desk between them. ‘You see this nightdress—?’

## Chapter 6. Owen. Friday 17 July, 11.30 a.m. St Asaph Hospital

Owen bounded through the doors of the pathology department, a locked document wallet under one arm. After a quick coffee with Malachy and Jax, where he heard more than necessary about Jax’s new girlfriend and little or nothing about Mal, he’d headed back to his desk to make an appointment with Rusty. He had no idea what forensic pathologists actually did when they weren’t either on the scene of a crime or performing autopsies. But after finally managing to wheedle an appointment out of his frosty PA, he now knew that whatever Rusty did, it certainly took up most of his time.

‘Good to see you, Owen.’ Rusty rose to his feet and shook hands before placing his balled-up fist in the small of his back and bracing his shoulders. ‘If I have to read another report, I’ll go mad,’ he said, inclining his head in the direction of his laptop and the open Excel programme with an array of columns packed with figures. ‘So, tea or coffee?’

‘Coffee, if it’s not too much bother?’

‘No bother at all. I’m delighted that you’ve decided to lighten my day with your presence.’

‘Well, I’m not sure about that.’ Owen broke the grey, plastic security tag on the case, removed a red file and placed it on the desk, the photo of Angelica plonked dead centre.

Kettle on and mugs assembled, Rusty joined him.

‘May I?’

‘That’s why I’m here.’ Owen stepped back, wandered over to the window and pulled back the vertical blinds to glance out at the bright, cloudless sky before turning back to him. ‘Her name was Angelica Brock. I don’t know whether you’ve ever heard of Operation Angel, or The Angel Murder, as it was coined? It was quite a while ago – 1995 to be exact.’

‘The Angel Murder? Hmm.’ Rusty squinted down at the photo, his eyes alert behind his black-framed glasses. ‘1995. I would have been sixteen and going into my Leaving Cert year in Dublin but there’s something … something to do with a nightdress?’

‘Yes, that’s it exactly. It could have been all very innocent excepting she went to bed in her PJs and was found wearing that,’ Owen said, nodding at the photo and swallowing hard. ‘The thing is, with the North Wales MIT being so quiet, we’ve decided to look into one of the old ones gathering dust.’ He sat down on the spare chair and lifted his chin. ‘I knew her, you see. She was my wife’s sister.’

‘Ah.’

Owen watched him place the photo back on the desk and continue with the drinks, the silence in the room only broken by the sound of metal chinking against pottery. Rusty only spoke again when he’d placed the mugs down and eased himself into the swivel chair opposite, the frame creaking slightly under his six-foot-two frame.

‘So, why do you think it wasn’t solved then? I take it that it’s something you’d have investigated when you joined the force? It’s certainly something I’d have done in your position.’

Owen felt his cheeks heat under the weight of Rusty’s blue-eyed stare because, of course, he was right. Almost the first thing he’d done when he joined was to run a search on the Police National Computer, or PNC, only to learn that electronic crime records didn’t stretch back as far as the 1990s. It was all very well working for the police but checking out records he didn’t have clearance for wasn’t as easy as all that. He’d quickly discovered that the subject of Angelica’s death was something that wasn’t discussed and it wasn’t a topic of conversation he’d ever start for fear that he wouldn’t know how to finish it. Kate, for all her serene exterior and practical approach, had never gotten over the loss of her big sister. It lingered in the far corner of her mind, always slightly out of reach. But when the opportunity came for him to suggest revisiting the murder, initially he didn’t jump at the chance. There were too many things to consider, top of the list being what it would do to Kate if they were unsuccessful. To broach the subject had been difficult. One of the most difficult things he’d had to do and something he’d been regretting ever since. He had no idea what would happen to them as a couple if they failed to find her sister’s murderer second time round.

‘The force takes a dim view of coppers going off piste,’ he finally said, avoiding the question. ‘Apart from the nightdress, there was no evidence that she was even murdered. No witnesses and no DNA to speak of. Also no evidence of sexual intercourse, consensual or otherwise.’

‘Mmm. People seem hung up on DNA these days, don’t you think? They tend to forget that we still managed to solve crimes before all these profiling techniques kicked in. Oh, I agree that it’s vital in modern-day policing but not if it’s at the expense of the other elements in a crime fighter’s toolbox like our eyes, ears, touch and smell.’ He picked up the top folder and started removing the photographs, setting them out on the desk in a snowstorm of gore. ‘Detective work has always been 95 per cent common sense and we ignore that at our peril. So there weren’t any obvious clues. So what? Your colleagues still identified that a crime had been committed?’

‘Yes but lack of evidence means that I’m not sure why I’m here. Yes, I want it solved but for very selfish reasons. If I’m honest, I think far too much time has passed and if it wasn’t for Gaby sending me to you—’

‘How is Gabriella, Owen?’ Rusty interrupted, pulling out the autopsy report and quickly scanning to the conclusion.

‘Good. She still gets the odd twinge but, apart from that, raring to go. The office is far too quiet for her liking.’

‘Well, it will be. Provides too much time for thought. She was very lucky, very lucky indeed.’ He raised his head, changing the subject. ‘So, explain the crime scene to me.’

‘Angelica was found in the Happy Valley, which is …’

‘I know where it is. The place with the bandstand, halfway up the Great Orme. Carry on, I’m listening,’ he said, now holding a sketch of the crime scene.

‘There’s a stone circle. It looks old, ancient even, but it’s a relatively recent addition, placed there sometime in the 1960s. She was found on the slab in the middle by a dog walker. She couldn’t have been there long. Only a few hours or so. Her parents had barely raised the alarm before she was discovered.’

‘And she was positioned like this?’ He tapped the edge of the photo with his finger.

‘Yes, curled up into a ball, one hand under her cheek as if she’d dropped off to sleep.’

‘Mmm, I would suggest that’s relevant. She didn’t just drop off to sleep, did she? She was placed in the foetal position post-mortem. The question you need to ask is why?’

It was Owen’s turn to say, ‘Go on,’ his notebook open on his knee. The notebook was more of a prop than anything but he added a line about her position all the same.

‘I’m afraid at this juncture that I don’t have a huge lot to add,’ Rusty said, leafing through the report from the CSI team. ‘Her toxicology screen showed no traces of drugs or alcohol.’ He paused, studying the list of samples they’d collected. ‘I take it you’ll be sending the nightdress and any other articles of clothing or jewellery found on the victim back to the CSIs for further analysis? With advances in touch DNA techniques, if the killer has left any skin traces, they should be able to find them. The absence of any physical evidence makes it unlikely but you never know.’ He shuffled the papers into a neat pile. ‘I’ll revisit the samples collected at the time and, if they haven’t degraded, I’ll see if I can run some additional tests. I’d like to keep these, if I may?’ He picked up the photo again. ‘Pretty girl. Distinctive hair.’

‘Yes. Very. Kate’s very like her,’ Owen said, careful not to stare at the picture. It brought back a host of memories, most of them unhappy. He couldn’t remember the time now before Angelica’s death. He’d give anything for it not to have happened. The next best thing would be ensuring that her killer was caught.

## Chapter 7. Gaby. Friday 17 July, 11.30 a.m. St Asaph

‘You’ve got to be kidding me!’

Meeting up with Amy at St Asaph’s bridal shop was as good enough a reason as any for Gaby slipping out of the office after the briefing and taking what must be the earliest lunch break in living memory. Now, faced with the reality of Amy’s quirky dress sense, she wished she hadn’t bothered. Okay so it wasn’t the pink meringue she’d feared but it was still pink, an old-rose shade that was apparently an excellent colour-choice with her second-generation Italian complexion. Gaby turned sideways but it wasn’t any better, her gaze fixed on her balloon-glass silhouette instead of the hourglass figure she craved. If she’d had to conjure up the worst possible thing to wear, ever, it would be this … this disaster in front of her.

The dress was lovely, beautiful even. The fragile lace bodice was intricate and finished with wide chiffon sleeves that fastened at the wrist with little pearl buttons. The skirt, in the same pink chiffon, was a dream. No, it wasn’t the dress that was the disaster – far from it. There was no getting over the fact that she was a big girl. She was always on a diet and therefore always hungry. In the last six months she’d managed to shed the couple of stone she’d put on in South Wales but she still had a good stone and a half before she reached her goal weight.

Amy stood from where she’d been grovelling on the floor helping the saleswoman to pin up the hem. ‘I think you’re beautiful, Gaby. That colour brings out the warmth of your skin and as for your figure – so you’re not skinny. You’re not even thin but who’s to say what the perfect body must look like? You’re fit and healthy and there’s nothing wrong with your figure that isn’t in your mind. It’s like one of those voluptuous Rubenesque paintings. And anyway, with the wedding not until the end of August you’ll have plenty of time to lose a few pounds if you want.’

In Gaby’s book, voluptuous was another word for fat. But one glance at Amy’s expression and she decided there and then to go along with any and all of her fairy-tale plans. No one knew more than her just how close Amy had come to never walking down the aisle and the terror they’d shared in that isolated farmhouse, situated on the very edge of Snowdonia. She’d swallow any ideas of a tailored dark dress in perhaps a dark blue or even navy and go along with every romantic notion in her best friend’s head. It was only for one day, half a day considering that the wedding wasn’t until noon.

‘And your hair,’ Amy continued. ‘I think down, with a few tiny flowers weaved through the top to complement your bouquet.’ She threw her a grin, which transformed her features. ‘Now, as for shoes. I was thinking of …’

Gaby zoned out, her mind drifting back to the case. She had no worries as to how Mal and Jax were getting on, and determinedly avoided any thoughts of Rusty. It was Marie she was worried about. For Angelica’s murder to be solved required total commitment from all the team. To expect the sustained period of quiet to carry on for longer than a few days would be foolhardy. Their workload could escalate in a heartbeat and there was no way that their DCI, Henry Sherlock, would allow them to waste precious resources on something that, on paper, looked like a dead end. No, they had to come up with something new pretty smartish or he’d pull rank and direct their skills elsewhere. It was all about crime stats. Numbers and not names. It didn’t matter that there was still a family struggling with the aftermath of the hand dealt them. Gaby scowled. If she ever started to think of her job solely in terms of success rates, she’d know it was time to hang up her badge. There was Owen, too, to consider, she remembered, her scowl deepening. With Kate so heavily pregnant he’d be torn between the case and his home life. She’d have to make sure that she found the time from somewhere to support him …

‘You’re not listening to a word I’ve been saying,’ Amy interrupted, holding up a pair of delightful pink courts with copper flowers pinned along the side. ‘I thought these would be perfect but if you’re not interested …?’

‘It’s not that,’ Gaby said, forcing herself to focus on the flimsy shoes. ‘They’re lovely. Perfect even.’ She slid off her plain flat black pumps before sliding her feet into them, trying not to grimace at the pull on the back of her calves. She loved shoes with a passion but long days on her feet and a non-existent social life meant she could hardly remember a time when she’d worn anything with more than a one-inch heel.

She glanced behind her to make sure that the shop assistant was out of hearing range. ‘I’m a little worried about Marie. What were you saying again about her husband?’

She watched Amy relax. Arranging a wedding was stressful at the best of times but to plan it from start to finish in less than six weeks must be viewed as herculean. Marrying someone whose parents owned a hotel with a garden big enough for a marquee helped. It was the other million things left to organise that had caused her friend to lose her normally sunny demeanour. She hoped the engagement party tonight would go some way to wiping away the trauma of the last few weeks.

‘I thought I’d upset you with me wanting everything to be perfect.’ Amy hugged her briefly. ‘I’m really not surprised Marie’s gone off the rails. Her husband did the dirty on her in the worst way possible. You’re not to share this, all right, but she confided that they’d been trying for a baby. There apparently was some difficulty. She didn’t go into any details but I suspect that’s only out of loyalty to her husband. Within weeks of receiving the test results he told her he’d found someone else.’ She bent down, picked up the shoes and returned them to their box, placing it beside the slim-heeled trifles she’d chosen to compliment her dress. ‘I think what broke her was that the new woman has kids already. A couple of toddlers – a readymade family if you like. After ten years of being together, five of them married, Marie got to walk out of her home with pretty much the clothes on her back and little else.’

‘The absolute bastard!’

‘Exactly. I’ve told Tim if they ever come into the restaurant to refuse to serve them.’ She waited for Gaby to hand her the dress before placing it back on the hanger and hanging it up beside her wedding dress. ‘Do you think it would be wrong of me to whisper something into the ears of the “boys in blue”? I’m sure there’s any number of traffic violations …’

‘Amy Potter, I can’t believe you’re even thinking such a thing,’ Gaby said, her grin belying her words. ‘While retribution might be gratifying, it also might backfire if he suspects that she’s involved.’

‘What else can he do? He’s stolen everything from her. Her past, her present and now her future. She’s mid-thirties and desperate to start a family.’ Amy walked towards the next rail and started removing evening dresses by the handful.

‘But if I’m reading between the lines, he’s not a man that can give them to her,’ Gaby said, her fingers now on her buttons.

‘You can stop right there,’ Amy tut-tutted, pointing to the pile of clothes now draped over the back of the gilt-framed chair. ‘If you think I’m letting you wear trousers to my engagement party, you’re sorely mistaken. Now, what about this?’ She held up a long navy-blue dress with a full skirt and beaded neckline. ‘It’s your size and you won’t be showing even a smidgeon of leg, much to the disappointment of Dr Mulholland I might add.’

Gaby ignored the dig, instead starting to unbutton her blouse again. She’d first seen that determined look of Amy’s when they’d worked together in Swansea and had learnt the hard way that it was best to give in to her vagaries. It made life a whole lot easier.

## Chapter 8. Gaby. Friday 17 July, 2.30 p.m. St Asaph Police Station

Gaby spent the next few hours with Jax in the archives, trying to piece together the investigation. It helped that she’d had the benefit of working alongside Stewart Tipping before he’d been forced to take sick leave. He was meticulous in his recordkeeping, every piece of evidence methodically referenced and cross-referenced. Every interview transcript annotated with further questions and additional leads to follow. Every thought he’d had, he’d recorded for posterity in one of the many notebooks that were kept alongside the reams of information. And these notebooks were where she started, leaving Jax to plough through the family and friend interviews.

There were fifteen books in total, spanning the initial six months following the discovery of Angelica’s body. Each one was numbered, each entry timed, dated and initialled with Stewart’s lazy scrawl. She could imagine his expression, the frown punctuating his brow as the puzzle changed from something solvable to the Rubik’s Cube of all cases. Just like the infuriating cube, stuffed in the back of her sideboard, the case was easy to solve if only she knew how. But there was no YouTube channel dedicated to guiding each twist and turn. She was on her own with only her smarts and her team keeping her from the fear of failure. But in this instance, she wouldn’t only be letting Angelica’s family down, she remembered, her mind switching to Owen and how hard it must be for him.

‘Fancy a top-up, ma’am?’ Jax asked, starting to collect the mugs.

‘No. You stay there – you got the last lot.’ She stood and flexed her shoulders, feeling every one of her thirty-one years. While painstaking research was all part and parcel of her day-to-day job, she’d much prefer being out and about than stuck in the same position for hours on end. With the mugs in her hand, she made her way to the door, shooting a smile at the archive officer on the way. ‘Fancy a coffee, Colin?’

‘Two sugars,’ he replied with a toothy grin. ‘How’s it going?’

‘It’s not. Too many trees and not a chainsaw in sight.’

‘I know that feeling.’ He scratched his head and, into the suddenly awkward silence, said, ‘If you don’t mind me saying, the lads never knew why they didn’t pin it on the boyfriend. It seemed obvious to almost everyone except Tipping.’

‘Really?’ She eyed him briefly before picking up his mug and dangling it between her fingers. She didn’t know Colin Wynne well, but rumour had it that he was soon to retire. ‘I take it you were based here back then?’

‘Sure was. Started in 1985. I was on the beat those days and part of the team scouring the Happy Valley after she’d been found. Poor dwt. It upset us all to see her like that. To think that someone could steal her from right under the nose of her parents.’

Gaby rested her hip against the edge of his desk. She couldn’t stay standing for long without a sharp twinge in her side to remind her of her recent injury. ‘So, you all thought they should have fingered the boyfriend for the murder?’

‘Yup. He was clever. Didn’t leave any clues or anything but then he was heading off to veterinary college – he’d have known about stuff like that.’

‘But apart from suspecting him, there was no real evidence, was there and he did have a bulletproof alibi?’

‘Hmm. We never gave any credence to that. As we all know, alibis can be bought.’

‘Indeed they can. Any idea why he’d risk it though?’

‘Perhaps he couldn’t help himself.’ He paused, all trace of his grin long gone. ‘The way she was positioned, I’d forgotten all about that until that young lad there reminded me earlier,’ he said, his attention now on Jax. ‘Perhaps he went on to kill again. There’s something here, something I’ve read and recently too …’ He tapped the side of his head with his index finger. ‘It’ll come back to me. When it does, I’ll give you a bell.’

Gaby nodded before heading to the door. There were a fair few detectives she knew that would discount the views of their uniformed colleagues but she wasn’t one of them. Just because they’d decided on a different career path didn’t mean that they didn’t have a wealth of information and experience to offer. They were the detectives’ eyes and ears and as such they had much more of a feel for what was going on than a detective ever could. He’d given her lots to think about. One of the first things she was going to do on her return was to check out how far Jax had got with the interview transcripts. It all seemed a little too convenient for the boyfriend to still be in the frame but stranger things had happened.

## Chapter 9. Gaby. Friday 17 July, 4 p.m. St Asaph Police Station

‘Right, quiet, everyone. We have a lot to get through and I want to leave on time for once what with Amy’s party later.’

Once she’d secured their attention, Gaby strolled across to the whiteboard, taking a moment to stare at the photo of Angelica that she’d pinned dead centre. It was her way of connecting with a case. Her way of hardwiring her brain to remember why she’d undertaken a career in law enforcement. Through the killer’s actions, Angelica Brock had missed out on what most people took for granted. A career. A secure home and future. A partner and possibly even kids. A chance to make mistakes and learn by them. It was up to Gaby to restore the balance. It was twenty-five years too late for Angelica but not for her family. Justice needed to be done. She only hoped that she was the right person to serve it.

Alongside the photo, she’d bullet-pointed some key information – top of the list being their main piece of evidence: the nightdress.

‘Right, Marie, what have you got for us?’

‘I managed to track the garment down in the evidence room, ma’am,’ she said, passing around some photos. ‘I also decided to take numerous pictures before sending it up to the CSIs as it’s unlikely we’ll be getting it back anytime soon. But I’m afraid this isn’t going to be as easy as it looks. If I’m honest I don’t think it’s going to help us unless there’s some previously undiscovered DNA that turns up.’ She paused, picking up the top photo and holding the image up for the team to see. ‘The main problem is that the nightdress is handmade so it’s impossible to trace it back to the manufacturer. Not only that but the style is based on a very common design. You see the pin-tucking around the yoke in the centre and here, the tiny mother-of-pearl buttons down the front,’ she said, tapping on the photo with her fingernail. ‘I could show you a hundred websites now selling nearly the exact garment. Oh, the fabric wouldn’t be the percale cotton I suspect this one is made of, probably some polyester mix, but the style is so common that I wouldn’t be surprised to see it being sold in branches of Primark. The fabric isn’t going to help us either. I’m guessing that, like the nightdress, it’s sold by the hundred-weight in material shops the length and breadth of the UK. I could probably track down the pattern used in the design but I think that it would be a complete waste of time. The thread used to sew it together is going to be mass produced. The sewing machine one of thousands. The stitching is regular so it’s not as if we could trace it back to the machine used if it still existed after all this time.’

‘I’m pleased DI Darin chose you instead of me,’ Jax said in amazement. ‘I wouldn’t know where to start. I thought a yoke was something only found inside an egg?’

‘It’s the thingamabob that sits over the shoulders and falls to the front. At least I know that!’ Gaby said, silently congratulating herself on dragging up that little piece of information from her school sewing lessons. She also congratulated herself on her choice of Marie for the job. She’d known instinctively that, with her fashion sense, she’d be the ideal person to move this forward but that wasn’t the main driver behind her decision. Marie needed something in her life, something to sink herself into that wasn’t related to her marriage. However, it looked like she’d need a lot more than luck on her side to remove the nightdress from where it was currently lurking – on the very top of the dead-end pile.

‘So, there’s nothing to investigate apart from what Jason and the rest of the CSIs might find under their microscope? That’s disappointing.’

‘Well, I wouldn’t go as far as to say that. The buttons interest me. I’m not sure how much you know about buttons but some are quite unique. The mother-of-pearl ones used are of a particularly high quality. These days many are made of resin but, in this case, I think that they’re the real McCoy. Having said that, to high-end shirt makers, they’re two a penny so probably not that unusual. Jason might be lucky and find some DNA for us. It’s also possible that the killer removed his gloves to fasten them being as they’re small and quite fiddly.’ She leant back in her chair, crossing one leg over the other. ‘I’m not done yet though. There’s a button company that might be able to help. With your permission I’d like to get a few high-resolution photos from the CSIs and email them over?’

‘By all means. Thank you, Marie. Right then, Jax and I have spent most of the day with Colin in the archives. We’re not here to criticise DI Tipping’s investigation but certain things have come to the forefront that need looking into.’ Picking up a red marker, she proceeded to write the name Leo Hazeldine in capital letters. ‘As you can see, Angelica’s boyfriend is top of the list just as he was all those years ago.’ She recapped the pen, placing it on the desk before raising her head and scanning the room, her gaze resting on each of them in turn. ‘The picture I’m getting of Angelica is that she was a diligent straight-A student who had to work for everything she got. Her father was unemployed. Her mother, a childminder, managed to hold the family together by the skin of her teeth. There wasn’t the time or the money for much fun in Angelica’s life. That was all meant to come later until some bastard got there first. She had a summer job behind the bar at the Penrhyn Yacht Club and that’s where she met Leo.’ She walked to the nearest chair and took a seat, waving a hand for Jax to take over.

‘Leo Hazeldine, aged nineteen at the time.’ Jax stood and turned to survey the rest of the team. ‘He was interviewed on numerous occasions by DI Tipping and on each one managed to convince everyone that he was the distraught boyfriend. They’d been dating six months, ever since she’d turned eighteen and got the job behind the bar.’ He dropped back into his chair before saying, ‘He acted the way one would expect even down to being adamant that they hadn’t had intercourse, but honest enough to admit that they’d come close a couple of times.’

‘And the bulletproof alibi?’ Owen interrupted. ‘Exactly how bulletproof is it?’

‘Pretty much K-K-Kevlar,’ he stuttered. ‘He’d travelled early that morning to a residential placement on a farm in Blaenau Ffestiniog. Although he’d passed his test, he didn’t have a car so instead he took the train. The people he was with all supported his statement that he’d gone to bed at midnight and was up at the crack of dawn in the milking shed.’

‘Mmm. And how far is Blaenau from here? A little less than an hour so not out of the realms of possibility,’ Owen added, answering his own question, his mouth twisting.

‘But not without transport and he didn’t have any. And, before you ask, the train doesn’t run overnight now – it certainly didn’t then. I-I-I have already checked.’

‘Thank you, Jax. Good work,’ Gaby said, firing Owen a quick glare that said cool it in all the languages possible. She was protective of all her officers but particularly Jax. She’d spent the last few months nurturing him so that putting voice to his thoughts wasn’t the nail-biting experience it had been when she’d first met him. It would only take a few more interruptions like that for his stutter to return. ‘So, in effect, unless we can find an accomplice that ferried him to and from Llandudno, he can’t be in the frame.’ She transferred her attention back to the whiteboard and the photo of a narrow-faced young man with pale blonde hair and an intense expression. He was good-looking in a Hollywood leading-man sort of way, not her type but she could imagine what other women might see in him. Angelica, with her fresh innocent beauty, complemented if anything by the starched white of her nightdress, seemed the type to be taken in by his dreamboat looks … although it wasn’t her nightdress, was it?

‘I still have some problems with how she managed to get from a first-floor window to halfway up the Great Orme without even a scratch or a bruise. Willing suspension of belief isn’t something, as a crime officer, I can sign up to so we have to try and find an alternative scenario that fits.’ Raising her head, she was met by a sea of blank faces. ‘Okay we’ll leave that part for now but if anyone has any bright ideas, they know which door to come knocking on.’ She flicked her eyes towards Malachy. ‘Last but not least, Mal. You were tasked with locating Hazeldine. How did you get on?’

‘I didn’t, ma’am,’ he said, tightening the knot of his tie, his long fingers lingering on the smooth silk fabric before dropping to rest on his solid thighs. ‘I assumed that as a vet he’d be relatively easy to trace. They all belong to professional bodies and what have you but in Hazeldine’s case it’s all a bit of a disaster. He went to university as planned but, after failing his first year, he dropped out. Picking up the odd job here and there, he wasn’t exactly on the breadline but not far off. I followed him via his social security contributions across to Australia but, at some point he went completely off radar – I’m not sure what happened. No job. No passport records. A complete blank. We don’t know who his father is, that part of the birth certificate was left blank, but I’ve managed to locate his mother. She’s living in Wrexham. As an only child, there’s not really anyone else to talk to now. I’m going to have to do a bit more digging before I come up with anything conclusive. The Penrhyn Yacht Club might be somewhere to start as it’s where he met Angelica. There might be a steward or something that remembers them both.’

‘Okay, good plan. Remember we only have a finite time on this so let’s target the easy wins. The nightdress. The boyfriend. I don’t really want to harass Angelica’s family yet.’

‘I’m afraid it’s too late for that,’ Owen interrupted.

‘Too late? I don’t get you.’

Owen stood, his hands in his pockets, in a stance that she recognised. For all his laidback demeanour and jokey ways, Owen was a deeply complex individual. There’d been that time a few months ago at the start of their last investigation when she’d thought he was going to give up the police force altogether. Now she knew about his background, she wasn’t a bit surprised. She’d have been more surprised if he’d come out of his childhood unscathed by the events of twenty-five years ago. Twelve was a difficult age at the best of times and she suspected, by the way he’d talked about Angelica that his feelings were still mixed up. She’d been such a beautiful girl that quite a few hearts would have fluttered in her presence. Gaby watched him square his shoulders and launch into what felt like a pre-prepared speech.

‘I need to say that it’s no coincidence that we’re now investigating this murder. I asked the DI if it was something that we could focus on.’ He coughed into his hand, his voice so low Gaby had to lean forward to catch his words. ‘My wife, Kate, and Angelica were sisters. Her abduction and subsequent death have coloured most of our lives – it’s time to draw a line under all that. Last night Kate decided that her mother had to know about us reopening the investigation.’ He spread his hands. ‘There was nothing I could do to stop her but actually I think that it was the right thing. If she’d heard from anyone else, like the media for instance – and we all know how news seems to leak out of this place like a dripping tap – anyway it’s done. We went round and spoke to her mother about what it might mean with regards to press interest and to reinforce that opening the case was no guarantee of success.’

Gaby was pleased that Malachy, Jax and Marie remained silent. It was probably more due to having no idea of what to say but, whatever the reason, she welcomed their restraint. There weren’t enough words in the world to comfort the suddenly stern-looking Welshman. While she wouldn’t go so far as to admit that coppers were blasé about crime, it was something that rarely touched them personally. It wasn’t their partner, parents, children, their loved ones affected. Most days they could still brush off the trials and tribulations of the job as soon as their front door closed behind them and, by the time their dinner was in the oven, their mind had closed to all but the minutiae of life.

‘No problem, Owen, and, as you say, probably wise under the circumstances. Did Mrs Brock have anything to say that we should know about?’

He ran his finger under his collar, unbuttoning the top button as if the neck was suddenly too tight. ‘Not a great deal. We didn’t talk about the investigation as such but …’

‘But?’ she prompted, aware of his sudden discomfort.

‘She did say that Hazeldine had visited her sometime after. She couldn’t remember when exactly.’

‘And?’

‘And she didn’t think that he could be guilty.’

‘And that would be because …?’ she said, her voice now tinged with frustration.

‘That would be because she was pretty sure he was gay, ma’am.’

The silence extended a beat. ‘Unless I’m missing something, and please tell me if I am,’ Gaby said, staring around the room, ‘Hazeldine’s sexual orientation has no relation to whether he’s guilty or not.’

## Chapter 10. Gaby. Friday 17 July, 8 p.m. The Imperial Hotel, Llandudno

‘Would you like to dance?’

Gaby glanced up at Dr Rusty Mulholland, an automatic ‘no’ forming on her lips. She’d spent the last hour being twirled and sometimes dragged around the room. An hour didn’t seem that long in the scheme of things, but she’d only returned to work a couple of weeks ago after an extended period of sick leave. An hour was more than enough for her still recovering body. Twisting her head, she could see Amy and Tim wrapped around each other on the dancefloor. Amy, her best friend and someone she felt very close to throttling. She’d forced Gaby to truss herself up like a chicken in the frock from hell and as for her shoes … While the four-inch courts matched her navy sparkly dress to perfection, they were the worst form of torture known to man. Long gone were the days when she could slip on a pair of her favourite heels and dance until dawn. The only good thing about it was that she wouldn’t have to put up with the pain for much longer. She’d already pre-warned Amy and Tim that she was planning on sloping off early and, with the way the dancefloor was filling up, no one was going to miss her …

Her thoughts froze, her focus shifting from Amy and back to Rusty and the red-haired boy standing behind him. His son. She’d heard rumours that his ex-wife had dumped him with full custody but the station overflowed with grapevine gossip, most of which was from dubious sources. She’d ignored it all in a half-hearted attempt to deflect her team’s unwarranted interest in her love life but the one thing she couldn’t ignore was the woe-begotten expression etched onto the boy’s face. He wanted to be here just as much as she did and, by the looks of things, his dad was determined to drag out the evening right to the end.

Hiding her annoyance, she slipped her feet back into her shoes, and stood, her attention flickering between man and boy. She wasn’t in the mood for social niceties but there was something about the downturn of the boy’s lips and the droop of his head that struck a chord. She remembered, like it was yesterday, how it had felt growing up in Liverpool to parents that spoke English in a funny accent. Being different was a red flag to the bullies and some sixth sense told her that this child’s life was full of such flags, her eyes once again drawn to his hair.

‘Hello there,’ she said, ignoring Rusty’s question as if he’d never voiced it. ‘I’m Gaby, one of your dad’s colleagues.’

‘This is Conor,’ Rusty interrupted, guiding the boy forward.

She crouched, hoping and praying that the seams of her dress were up to it. ‘Well, Conor, what do you think of parties then? At your age I’d have been bored to tears.’

‘It’s okay,’ he said, dropping his gaze.

‘Only okay?’

‘Well, a bit boring if I’m honest but …’

‘No buts. I can imagine there’s a computer game with your name on it. What is it these days, Minecraft? Fortnite?’

‘Rocket League.’

‘Rocket League,’ she said, her brow furrowing. ‘That’s a new one on me but, I’m sure it’s much more exciting than being stuck with a pile of adults. So, how long do you think your dad will make you stay, do you reckon?’ she continued, struggling to ignore the sudden glare sent in her direction.

‘Oh, not long, Gabriella. I promised him we’d leave straight after the last duty dance so, the sooner you agree the better,’ Rusty answered, holding out his hand, his lips a thin line. ‘Five minutes, Conor,’ he added, tilting his head in the direction of her recently vacated chair.

Gaby found herself being led onto the dancefloor and manoeuvred into his arms before she could even start working on a suitably cutting response. She didn’t want to dance with Rusty and, obviously he felt the same way if his comment about duty dances was anything to go by. She ground her teeth at the way he’d managed to outsmart her. It was almost as difficult to bear as the feel of his arms around her back and the warmth of his breath against her ear. She didn’t want this with him or indeed with any man, she told herself, despite the slight hitch in her breathing and a feeling akin to liquid silver hijacking her veins. After the disastrous experience she’d had with Leigh Clark back in Cardiff, she couldn’t afford to drop her guard; one slip and Rusty would crawl through the narrow space between her ribs and set up basecamp.

She stiffened her spine in an act of self-preservation. It had taken her months and a transfer to a different part of Wales to recover from the damage Leigh had wrought. She couldn’t allow herself to go through all that again no matter what her body was telling her.

Lifting her head, she stared up at him, aware of the way he towered over her. ‘Look, Rusty, there’s nowhere in either of our contracts that says we have to be anything other than professional and duty dances went out with the last century.’

‘When did I say that this was a duty?’

She opened her mouth only to close it with a snap. ‘Just now when you …’

He shook his head. ‘I was talking about Sherlock’s wife. Dancing with you is a pleasure.’

‘Oh please!’ She tried to pull away but he only strengthened his hold, his muscles bunching under her fingertips. ‘Everyone’s staring.’

‘No, they’re not and even if they are, so what? It’s not as if we’re doing anything we shouldn’t. It’s only a dance, Gabriella, and I wouldn’t have been forced to take such a drastic step if you hadn’t been avoiding me.’

‘Avoiding you? What do you mean avoiding you? There’s been no reason to be in touch. Our patch has been the quietest I’ve ever known. No unexplained deaths. Nothing that needs your particular skillset. We’ve even had time to delve into some of the old cold cases that never get a look-in. Thank you, by the way, for meeting up with Owen. He found your comments very useful. As soon as you have any—’

‘You know that’s not what I meant,’ he interrupted. ‘There’s a time to talk about work and this isn’t it. So, when are you going to relent and agree to go out for a drink?’

‘Out for a drink?’ she repeated, unable to break away from the intensity of his stare. She must have missed something – huge swathes of conversation – because, as far as she was concerned, he hadn’t even broached the subject of a date apart from that one time … She squeezed her lids together, forcing her mind not to explore the recent past. She’d be lying to herself if she didn’t realise that on some level he wanted to progress their relationship from professional into something more meaningful just as she was determined not to let him. She slammed the door on any thoughts of a happy ever after. Her brain for some reason was determined to ignore all the preliminaries of the dating ritual, instead jumping straight in at a couple of kids and maybe an animal or two, even as she tried not to relish in the feel of his fingers playing with the ends of her hair. He was clever, this Dr Rusty Mulholland, but she was far from stupid …

An hour later found them sitting around a table in McDonald’s.

‘When I invited you out for a drink, I was thinking of a little country pub,’ Rusty said, handing out bags of chips and cups of Coke, his gaze roaming over her navy chiffon dress. ‘You do realise that we’re the only ones here not wearing jeans, don’t you?’

‘Well, it did seem like an ideal opportunity and Conor’s happy, aren’t you?’ she replied, trying to hide a laugh at the way his son was tucking into his burger. ‘Didn’t he eat before coming out then?’

‘He ate everything on his plate and half of mine. A growth spurt, or so he tells me.’ Rusty ruffled his son’s hair, much to his annoyance. ‘Are you sure you don’t want anything?’ he added, gesturing to the chips in front of him.

‘No, I’m good. I can’t breathe as it is, any more food and I’m likely to have an indecency order slapped on me which, apart from scaring the children, wouldn’t do anything for my CV,’ she said on a laugh.

‘If it’s any consolation I think you look great, well worth the effort. I especially like your hair; I’ve never seen it any way other than tied back off your face.’

She resisted the temptation to put her hand to the carefully blow-dried style that Amy had insisted on helping her with, suddenly at a loss. If Rusty Mulholland stayed like this, she wouldn’t be able to come up with one solitary reason for not accepting if he asked her out again. But she knew deep down that he wouldn’t. As soon as they were back on a case, he’d return to the rudest, most arrogant man she’d ever had the misfortune to meet and the very last man she’d ever agree to date. She damped down a sigh, silently bemoaning that he couldn’t be more like Owen. Despite everything going on in their lives, Owen and Kate had one of the strongest marriages and, with the birth of their daughter imminent, he’d hurried away after only one dance, his arm firmly around his wife. That’s what she wanted from a relationship and if she couldn’t have it then she’d go without.

‘Thank you, not the most practical of hairstyles when out on a case …’ she started, only to stop at the sound of her mobile. It took a few seconds of searching in her evening bag before finding it. One glance and she pushed away from the table, hurrying to the door, the phone held to her ear.

‘Darin speaking.’

## Chapter 11. Gaby. Friday 17 July, 9 p.m. McDonald’s

Heading back inside, Gaby was surprised to find Rusty looking incongruous with her beaded bag clutched in his hand, encouraging Conor to hurry up.

‘There’s no need for you to rush. I can always grab a taxi.’ She took her bag, dropped her phone inside and snapped it closed.

‘Not dressed like that you can’t. I’ll drop you off home to get changed and then … I take it there’s a case?’ he said, immediately taking charge of the situation. He picked up the tray and deposited the empty cartons in the bin. ‘I didn’t think you’d be on call?’

‘I’m not, but with half the station at Amy’s do I told them to contact me if anything unusual turned up,’ she said, walking to the door. ‘After all, I’m the one who’s had the last six weeks off.’

‘Off sick following a serious injury, or had you forgotten?’

Reaching the car, she tilted her head, throwing a speaking glance at his son.

‘Oh, don’t mind Conor, he can’t hear a thing with his earphones in,’ he said, opening the door for her and waiting while she swivelled her legs in before slamming it shut and walking around to the driver’s side.

‘Okay then. Actually it’s not a bad idea you coming along. There’s a good possibility you’ll be needed unless you’ve managed to get someone to cover your shift?’

‘Ha, as if. They never manage to cover my shifts, Gabriella, unless I’m on holiday and even then they still sometimes contact me. What about Owen? Surely he could have stepped in?’

‘Owen had to prop up the MIT team in my absence and is therefore well overdue the long weekend he’s currently on. He’s off until Tuesday and I don’t expect to see him one second before then.’ She fastened her seatbelt and, turning in her seat, decided to take him at his word about Conor. ‘There’s been a gas explosion. One fatality. Probably routine but who knows at this stage.’

Ardwyn House must have once been a glorious property. Situated at the foot of the Little Orme, almost opposite the Craigside Inn in what was viewed to be one of the most sought-after areas in Llandudno, it was glorious no longer. Its windows were blown. Its once butter-cream exterior coated in ash. Its roof and one wall partially collapsed. A glimmer of rose-patterned wallpaper was partly visible in the stream of light cast by industrial floodlights.

Rusty slid his car to a halt on a yellow line behind the second fire engine, turned off the ignition and twisted in his seat. ‘You okay to stay in the car, Conor? We won’t be long.’

They walked to the CSI van in silence, which changed as soon as they reached the back door – open to reveal neatly stacked clear plastic boxes full of equipment.

‘Let’s get one thing clear, Gabriella. You’re not going inside. It’s far too dangerous.’ Rusty grabbed her arm, his look fierce.

She stepped back, pulling out of his grasp. While she’d been happy for him to take the lead in McDonald’s and more than thankful that he’d offered to drop her home so that she could get changed out of her fancy clothes, enough was enough. It had taken her a long while to earn the respect of her team and being prepared to go into any situation without any obvious qualms was all part of that. The fact that the blackened building filled her with a dread that stretched from her hastily bundled-up hair right down to the tips of her Reeboks was not the point.

‘The structural engineer has declared it safe and, as this is my gig—’

‘—and, as I keep having to remind you, you’re only just back to work after what was a pretty horrendous injury. You might as well save your breath because there is no way I or any of the team, and that includes Craig, over there,’ he said, nodding in the direction of the fire scene investigator, ‘will let you set foot anywhere near. And anyway, what good will it do, hmm? I have to go in to see where the body is and then, believe me, I’m out of there too.’

Gaby shifted her gaze to the partially demolished house. She knew he was right but that didn’t make it any easier to accept. It was attitudes like his that could easily have them whispering about how she was losing her touch.

‘If you’re doing this because of some sense of misplaced chivalry because I’m a woman …?’

He flung his head back with a crack of laughter. ‘You never give up, do you? I’d act the same way with man, woman or child,’ he said, climbing into the bio-hazard suit handed to him and adding overshoes, gloves and mask. ‘Why put yourself in unnecessary danger when you don’t have to? I, on the other hand do need to see what happened. It will make trying to piece the puzzle together a whole lot easier when I have the body back in the lab. Why don’t you go and speak to Craig to find out the background? I promise I won’t be any longer than I have to be.’ He turned his back and went to talk to one of the firemen, laughing again when he was handed a hard hat to wear, which he rammed down on top of his head. Within seconds he was being led inside.

Gaby watched until he was out of sight before slowly making her way across to the first of the fire engines and where Craig was holding on to the lead of the latest addition to the team, Penny, a gorgeous, chocolate-brown Labrador.

‘How’s she settling in?’ Gaby crouched down, putting her fist out for the dog to sniff.

‘Worth her weight in gold, Gaby.’ He crossed his arms across his chest, the lead dangling from between his fingers. ‘If I’m truthful I didn’t think using a dog to detect things like fire accelerants would work but she led me straight to what remained of the wall in the kitchen and where the cooker should have been.’

‘What? An electrical fire?’

‘Nope. A gas explosion. Probably forgotten that she’d turned the oven on.’

‘Is it safe … for the men?’

‘Safe enough. Don’t you be worrying about the doc. He’s a man with nine lives – the luck of the Irish.’

Ignoring his smirk, she said, ‘So, what can you tell me about what happened?’

‘Called in at seven o’clock or thereabouts by the next-door neighbour. Thought it was a bomb at first.’ He lifted his hand to scratch the side of his nose, leaving a trail of soot across his cheek. ‘The funny thing is that the deceased, a Mary Butterworth, shouldn’t have been left alone. She had some sort of brain cancer. The neighbour says that it’s a huge tragedy. Needs constant supervision. Can’t even wash and dress herself anymore. The daughter’s been pulling her hair out since her dad died, trying to find some home to take her. She’s been coping with the help of a live-in carer until the finances for a home are sorted, but for some reason she gave the woman the night off. That’s the daughter there.’ He tilted his head in the direction of a thin, blonde woman huddled in a black padded jacket. ‘Avril Eustace. She says she only popped out for half an hour to pick up some milk. But half an hour is all it took.’

Gaby’s eyes narrowed, trying to remember where she’d seen the woman before. ‘You say she recently lost her dad?’

‘That’s right. Remember that bloke that fell under the bus outside Marks and Spencer last month?’

‘Of course.’

All unexplained deaths had to be investigated much to the annoyance of the team. In the normal run of events they usually had more work than they could cope with without the added annoyance of having to trail around nursing homes and the like to probe into deaths that were clearly either expected or accidental, as in the case of Tony Butterworth. She’d still been on sick leave when it had happened, which was probably the reason she’d had difficulty in remembering the daughter, Avril. She’d only caught a fleeting glimpse in reception when she’d popped in to see DCI Sherlock a couple of weeks ago to confirm her return date; not enough for her to have left more than a passing impression of the woman.

Turning away, she looked around the sea of faces, searching. ‘Is her husband here?’

‘Away on business. Due back tomorrow. There’s a neighbour who’s taken her under her wing.’

‘Thank you.’ She offered him a brief smile, concentrating now on the building ahead and any sign of Rusty. She’d have to meet with the daughter at some point but that could wait. The evening, which had started out on such a high note, was quickly turning into a disaster. If only he’d …

‘All done.’ Rusty placed a hand on her shoulder, almost causing her to jump out of her skin. ‘Can you leave or …? I’d like to follow the ambulance but firstly I need to sort out Conor.’

‘You can drop us both off at mine, that is if he won’t object? It’s on your way.’

‘Far from objecting, he’ll be over the moon. It’s that or the childminder and she’s got four of her own already.’ He squeezed her shoulder before removing his hand and tucking it back in his pocket. ‘It’s really very good of you.’

‘Don’t read anything into it,’ she said, stepping away and walking back to the car. ‘It’s the sensible solution.’

‘Of course it is.’