‘Any news?’ I ask as soon as I step inside.
We all ask it. Every. Single. Day.
Dario shakes his head. ‘A few leads we’re chasing, but I wouldn’t hold your breath.’
He’s been kind lately, bringing me coffee and making sure I eat. We’re all under pressure with the Joanna Neal case. It’s been too long.
Most kidnap victims are either released by this stage, or found.
‘I was thinking last night,’ Dario says. ‘If you were going to keep someone, where would you hide them? Not in a suburban house, right? Too risky. What about a derelict farmhouse? We’ve got loads around here.’
‘Good point,’ Roy says. ‘Make a list. Let’s start checking them.’
I pour myself a coffee, still feeling off. I say, ‘You ever get that feeling in your gut? Like something awful’s about to happen?’
Dario gives me a sideways look. ‘No. Should I?’
‘Joanna did. The day she vanished. She said her life felt too good.’
He shrugs. ‘Sounds like superstition.’ He scrolls down his phone, clearly unimpressed.
Just then, Louise walks in with the post. She’s in her mid-twenties, efficient and smiley. I wonder, for a second, how old Geoff’s admin is.
‘Special delivery,’ she says, handing me a thick envelope. ‘MarkedAttention: DS Blackford only.’
Great. Is Geoff filing for divorce already?
I pull off my jacket, sink into my chair, and tear it open.
Dario starts talking again. ‘Here are a few properties we could look at. This one—’
My horrified gasp cuts him off.
***
Gil looks around her flat and sighs. She is on an afternoon shift. Part of her feels she should vacuum before heading out. She’s let the place go since Jo’s kidnapping.
With a groan, she drags the vacuum out of the cupboard and starts cleaning.
Her gaze falls on a pile of unopened post on the hallway floor. Mostly bills and junk, but one lone envelope with her name scrawled across the front stands out like a flare.
She rips it open, heart pounding. Her vision blurs. Tears swell, spilling down her cheeks and into her mouth.
A sound tears from her throat. It’s raw, unfiltered, like something wounded and wild.
Chapter Thirty-Eight
Josie
Our eyes lock onto the photograph: a haunting image of Joanna Neal’s lifeless form. Her face, once captured in happier moments within the frames of family photos, now bears the weight of tragedy. Even in death, her beauty remains.
Crimson stains mar the scene, pooling around her head and matting her hair. The brutality is palpable. Someone has unleashed their fury upon her, leaving behind a shattered existence. Joanna’s eyes remain closed, as though seeking refuge from the horrors she endured in those final moments.
Dario’s guttural groan reverberates throughout the room, laden with shock and sorrow. The air thickens, heavy with the weight of loss and unanswered questions. We stand there, mere spectators of this tragedy, unable to tear our gaze away from the frozen frame that encapsulates Joanna Neal’s final breath.
Her arms bear the cruel marks of violence. Bruises that paint her skin in shades of blue. I can barely bring myself to look at the photo.
‘Damn it,’ curses Roy, breaking the silence, his frustration palpable. Like the rest of us, he knows that the storm of blame will soon descend upon us. We’ll bear the brunt of this investigation, the fallout from a crime we failed to solve.
