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“We believe so, yes.”
“Oh God.” She crumples again, her head in her hands. The older woman comes back into the room, the two small boys in tow, silenced by the sight of their mother in tears. Adam takes it as his cue to leave.
* * *
They walk out to Jamie’s car and get in.
“Two kids,” Jamie says, fastening his seat belt. “Did you see them? Two beautiful little boys who are going to grow up without a father.” Adam watches as he sniffs, then wipes his nose with the sleeve of his jacket.
“At least use a tissue,” Adam says. Jamie digs in his pocket and pulls one out an old, balled-up mess.
“I’m sorry,” Jamie mutters. “It’s so fucking sad. I don’t know how you do it. Stay so calm.”
Adam smiles grimly. “Hard as nails.”
“Well, I wish some of it would rub off on me. You’d think that, after over fifteen years in the force, I could deliver a death notice without wanting to cry.” Jamie looks through the windshield to the house of the dead man. “I just can’t stop imagining how that would feel. To have cops show up on your doorstep.”
“Fucking awful,” Adam agrees. Jamie sniffs again and Adam chuckles quietly. “Never change, mate,” he says with a pat on his arm.
“Stop taking the piss.”
“I’m not! I promise,” he repeats when Jamie looks at him disbelievingly. “You’re my conscience. You’re the guy that keeps me human. If I didn’t have you, where would I be?”
“Fine. Absolutely fine,” Jamie replies. “With your confidence. And arrogance. Not a care in the world.”
“Thanks a lot,” Adam laughs, and Jamie looks at him, unabashed. “But seriously, Jamie,” Adam continues, “you’re a good man. And a good cop as a result. If blubbing at a few death notifications is the price you have to pay for that, then so be it.”
Jamie stares at him for a moment. “You’re a good bloke too, Adam,” he replies, but Adam scowls, the words feeling dissonant in Adam’s mind.
“Can we go?” he says instead, and Jamie starts the engine.
* * *
They drive back in silence, the radio filling the gap, Adam’s thoughts full of the case.
He pulls the man’s missing person’s file out of his bag and looks at the photos again. He flicks through. A head shot, handsome and smiling. One of him with his boys. Two others of him at the end of running a 10K, fit and strong. Jamie was right. He wouldn’t have been easy to overpower and drag away. Alive or dead.
“Do you think he was being stalked?” Adam asks. Jamie glances away from the road for a moment. “Following him, working out his routine. Taking advantage of an open back door to have a look around.”
“Could be. That way the killer would know exactly when to abduct him without witnesses. But why? What makes him so special?”
“Well. That’s exactly what we need to figure out.”
Was Stephen Carey deliberately targeted? Adam wonders in silence. He knows the most common serial murder victims are those who are most vulnerable: sex workers, gay men, children and infants, runaways, and the elderly. Stephen Carey didn’t fall into any of those categories. Or maybe he did? Maybe he had secrets? He wouldn’t be the first married man who was gay.
His phone rings, interrupting his musing. It’s the DC from the mortuary.
“He’s closing up,” he blurts out. “Get down here now, Boss, or he’ll bugger off without telling you anything.”
Adam gestures wildly to Jamie and he turns the car fast, heading to the hospital.
CHAPTER
7
WHEN ADAM AND Jamie arrive, Ross is still there, but only just: his coat is on, and his briefcase is in his hand.
Ross sighs when he sees Adam.
