Page 45 of The Unforgiven

I nodded, but didn’t say anything. It had been a big case, a child murdered, then a second went missing. I’d followed my gut, pursuing a hunch even though Wrigley hadn’t thought much of it, but it’d been right.

I’d found the boy in a bad way, chained up, tortured, but alive. We’d brought him home and a small detail that’d gotten under my skin had saved his life. A random person I’d spoken to who’d mentioned the vaguest butterfly of a detail that he shouldn’t have known.

The boy had been in the care system too, living in a children’s home. Easy pickings for a predator who made friends with him, sold him trust like it was sweets from a discount shop. Been interested in him.

It shouldn’t have happened but it did, and it wouldn’t be the last time.

“Jenna never said anything. About you.”

He looked sullen for a second. “I asked her not to. I wanted to tell you first but we were seen last night by one of the techs and you know how they talk.”

“It’s okay. Jenna’s nice. I can see why you like her. Is it serious then? I mean, it must be if you’ve moved to Manchester to be with her.” I could hear a touch of sharpness in my voice.

I hoped he wasn’t cut by it.

“It might be serious. We need to spend more time together, see what the bad days are like. But I came here because it’s part of my identity too, Mia. You’re here, and maybe it’s because I’ve finally grown up a bit, but I want more ties and you’re one.”

I nodded, understanding but not wanting to admit it. “So what are the plans for the house?”

“I’ve got a team of builders starting Monday. The kitchen and main bathroom are fine and don’t need anything. All the other rooms are relics from the seventies and eighties. The top floor has two bedrooms and a bathroom, so I might rent them out, have a housemate if someone from the lab needs somewhere to stay. Or I might rattle round here by myself while I see how things go with Jenna.” He looked around the room until he got to the oven. “Dinner should be ready. Hungry?”

“Famished.”

The easiest thing for us to discuss without saying anything was work, the other detectives on the case, and the rest of the team. I caught Nate up on the drama between Vinny and Dr Miz, and what the potential fallouts might be when Dr Miz returned. The food was good – I’d forgotten that Nate was a decent cook – and the kitchen was cosy even if the rest of the house could’ve been a museum for the last century.

It was quiet here, but a sort of peace you could snuggle into and I understood why Nate had bought the house.

“Is it the same weapon?” I knew enough about knives to understand that they all had their own signature, minute, microscopic details about the blade that meant you could tell whether it was highly likely that the same one had been used. Not as easy or as reliable as determining whether the same gun was used to fire different bullets, but still.

“I think so. I’d stand up in court and say it was. The injuries show identical serration impact. If you can get hold of the weapon, I could be even more certain, and I know a specialist who would have even more impact with a jury.” He brought the strawberries over to the kitchen island and then fished a jug of cream from the fridge. “I have ice cream, if you want?”

“Cream’s fine. Thank you.”

“What’s you’re take on it? I know there’s no one strong lead at the moment.” He sat back down, waiting for me to finish with the cream before pouring it on his.

“The theory – the main one – is that it’s more than one killer. The murders are slightly different. Nick’s been looking at incel forums online and right-wing extremists who hate women, so there’s the hate crime angle.”

“But you’re not sure?”

“I’m not. I think there’s a link with the victims that we haven’t found yet. They’re all the same age or thereabouts. The two we’ve identified didn’t go to the same school or college, and they aren’t linked on social media, but it feels like there’s something there we just aren’t seeing.” Something I was trying to grasp for but it kept pulling out of reach, and I couldn’t quite see what it was.

“What about the stones?”

“They’re personal. I spoke to Daniel – you remember my old professor – about them today, and he thought it might be to do with the stoning of a woman, punishment for a sin, and I cansee how that’ll go down well with the team tomorrow, but I don’t think it’s that.”

“Daniel Fletcher? The man you thought was God when you were at university?”

“Yeah, him. I go and see him occasionally. The police sometimes use him as a consultant.”

“I always thought he was a wanker.”

“I can see why. He lives at the top of an ivory tower, but he can be insightful sometimes.” I wasn’t sure why I often came to his defence. Vinny thought he was a wanker too, but then Vinny’s judgement wasn’t always reliable. “I should head home.” There were no strawberries left and tomorrow was an early start.

“Sure? I’d offer you to stay over but you’d have to sleep in here, unless you fancied taking your chances with a night on the bedroom carpet of a fifteen-year-old in nineteen-ninety-two,” he grinned, picking up my drained bowl.

I smiled because it’d been a pleasant evening and nowhere near as awkward or angsty as I thought I was going to make it. “I’ll pass. Besides, Jenna’s probably waiting for you to phone her and give her a rundown on everything we said.”

“She is. She felt bad that you heard about us through the grapevine.” He shrugged, usual, steady, calm Nathaniel. “Will you come round again at the weekend?”