Page 89 of The Unforgiven

“I debated arresting them, but they stopped with the rowing.” He slurped his extra-large coffee, double strength. He’d bought the same for me, clearly too tired to try to wind me up by getting me a smaller size.

“So you did get some sleep then?”

“No, because then they made up, and that was worse. She was loud, Mac, really, weirdly loud.”

“I don’t feel like I need any more information on this. Let’s speak to Sophie and tell her to keep her wits about her.” The dread hanging around the pit of my stomach was negating the need to nab one of Vinny’s cinnamon rolls. “And see if she knows anything about who Kelly-Anne Marsh turned out to be.

Sophie Linwood, nee Davies, lived in a pretty semi-detached on a new estate in Chadderton. The garden was neatly tended, the car on the drive four years old but looking a lot cleaner than mine, and the curtains at the window looked neat and almost traditional.

We knocked on the door, confident that we weren’t waking anyone, and that someone was in.

A man wearing painter’s overalls answered, clean socks standing out against paint splattered whites. He looked closer to forty than thirty, his face ruddy and rough with stubble and marked skin.

“Hello?”

I showed him my ID. “I’m Detective Sergeant McAllister and this is DS Vinny Leigh. Is Sophie Linwood home?”

“No. She left for work a couple of hours ago. Why? Is she in trouble?” He looked alarmed, which was understandable.

“Not as far as we know, but we do need to speak to her.”

He nodded, opening the door wider. “Do you want to come in?”

I nodded, following him through the door, Vinny behind me, into a neat, tidy living room with a medium sized TV, comfy looking sofa with plumped cushions and no sign of any children.

“Are you her husband?” Vinny asked, also taking in the room.

“I am. We’ve been married six years. She probably deserves a medal.” He didn’t sit down, which wasn’t surprising as his overalls did not match the cleanliness of the house.

“Where does she work?” I asked. “We believe she’s a nurse.”

“She is. Northern Acute Care Trust – the old North Manchester Unit, if you know it. She works in the operating theatre for cardiac patients.” The pride he had was evident. “She’s brilliant.”

I nodded, managing a genuine smile. “Has she reported hearing from an old friend recently, do you know? And sorry, what’s your name?”

“I’m Mike Linwood. I haven’t heard her mention anyone – she did say she knew those women who’ve been killed though. That’s freaked her out.” He rubbed his hands against his thighs as if he was drying them off.

“Was she in touch with any of them, do you know?” Vinny asked, looking at the photos on the fireplace. They were all of Mike with a woman, who I was going to assume was Sophie. Wedding photos, then one of them on holiday, another a selfie that looked like they were lost in each other.

I thought about my most recent failed relationship and wondered whether I’d ever have a selfie taken with a man who looked at me like that.

“No. I don’t think she was. I’m pretty sure she’d have mentioned it.” He shifted his weight from foot to foot. He was a big bloke, easily six three or four, and broad with it, but he looked like a timid teenager right now. “I’m older than Soph, andI’m definitely punching well above my weight, so you might not believe me, but Soph’s my best friend and I tell her pretty much everything, and I think she does the same with me. She told me she knew them as girls when they were twelve or thirteen and they were on holiday in Wales somewhere.”

“Did she mention a girl called Kelly-Anne?” Those threads were being pulled again.

Mike nodded. “She did. She felt bad about Kelly-Anne because they all picked on her. Soph said she was overweight and awkward, and a couple of girls were really mean to her. Soph said she felt guilty because she didn’t stop it and kind of joined in, mainly because she was scared they’d turn on her if she didn’t. She felt bad about that.” Mike shrugged. “Girls can be bloody awful though, can’t they? They have enough with men being arseholes, but then they stir it between themselves. I’ve got two daughters and they can be right little devils to each other.”

“The girls don’t live with you?” There was no sign of them, even in photos.

“They stay every weekend, pretty much. Their mum lives in Knutsford – her husband’s loaded – so they go to school there. They’re doing well and we get on with their mum and their step-dad. No point not doing, is there?” He stuffed his hands in his pockets and looked even more awkward. “Sophie can tell you more though. She’ll be in work now though, and if she’s in surgery, you might not be able to get her till she’s out.”

I braced myself for how I was going to phrase this and opted for bluntness. “We think someone’s targeting that group of girls, and Sophie could be in danger.”

He looked puzzled, as if he was struggling to process it.

There was also the chance that Sophie was our killer, although that wasn’t the way the threads were pulling.

“How long have you thought this?” He tapped his foot. “Why’re you only here now?”