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Despite it being a weekend, detectives crowd the incident room. Adam had already made the call: get whoever you can in.
There is no grumbling about being summoned on a Sunday. Most have seen the news, and the speculation from reporters is rife. Bodies found. Unidentified. Details to follow. No detective likes to miss out on the juicy cases, and all of them know this could be one of those.
Adam stands at the front and begins the briefing.
A hastily pulled together map of the wasteland fills the screen behind him as he updates them on everything they know. Five bodies, differing stages of decomposition, both male and female. The PMs are due to begin that morning, and Adam picks the next detective from the rota to attend the mortuary. The DC departs amid cheers and catcalls.
“So,” Adam concludes, once the noise has subsided, “let’s crack on with the basics. There is no CCTV in that area, but locate the closest cameras, especially the ones for the roads in and out. Let’s get the ANPR, if it exists. Tim”—one of his DCs nods in acknowledgment—“catch up with Ellie Quinn and liaise with the uniforms doing the house-to-house. I want a statement from anyone who has so much as looked toward that patch of wasteland over the last few months. Log everything, even if it seems irrelevant, and report back to me if you see something of particular interest.”
He allocates a team to identify the victims, sets Jamie up to coordinate the efforts. Voices chatter, eager to get moving.
But Adam calms them with a wave of his hand. He holds their attention, all waiting for the final go.
“Scour all possible avenues,” he continues. “You all know how crucial the first twenty-four hours of a murder case can be. People forget, evidence is washed away, files deleted from surveillance systems. Clearly, we are at a disadvantage. Some of these bodies have been buried a while. But if it’s still there, I want it.” Despite the horrific nature of the crimes, Adam feels electrified as he surveys his team. “And I want it now.”
With a final nod, they’re off. Adam makes his way over to Jamie and stands next to his second-in-command.
“Too much?” Adam whispers with a smile.
Jamie chuckles quietly. “Just right,” he mutters back.
Adam pauses, watching the team swarm. The bustle, the energy, the drive. But despite enjoying the theater of the occasion, he feels a swell of unease. A foreboding. Like he’s caught up, entangled in something he can’t control. He feels it drag him forward.
Into the mouth of hell.
CHAPTER
5
JAMIE SITS AT his computer, his head slowly dropping, eyes closing. He’s not had any proper rest for over twenty-four hours now.
He thinks about where he should be. The last day of his holiday. Lying on the sofa with Pippa, watching a box set. Or maybe they’d have gone for Sunday lunch and a walk after, strolling hand in hand through the forest.
He shakes his head, trying to focus on the job. People are dead. Murdered. He needs to find out who they are.
He flicks to the next missing person on the screen. He’s put in search parameters but there are so many mispers. And with such limited information at this stage, few he can rule out.
He glances around. His DCs are hard at work. Bishop is talking on the phone in his office, no doubt trying to arrange more resource, more budget, more overtime. Jamie watches him, feeling the familiar mix of admiration and respect.
Adam’s a machine. There is no trace of tiredness in his demeanor, no sign of the numb apathy that years in a murder team can bring. Jamie wishes he could be a bit more like him. That determination and resilience.
But enthusiasm fades; monotony intervenes. Jamie needs a break. He senses an opportunity and makes his escape.
He grabs his coat, walking quickly through the double doors and out to the car park. He needs some space. A bit of silence for five minutes.
The cars are well spread out, reminding him that it’s Sunday. Wind rushes through the open walls of the concrete multistory, and he takes his car keys out of his pocket, sitting inside and slamming the door shut. It smells of cigarettes; he curses Bishop. He opens a window despite the cold, then phones his wife.
Pippa answers on the first ring. “Here you are,” she says, her voice tender. He can’t help but smile.
“Here I am,” he replies.
“Are you still at work?”
“Yeah. Going to be a long one,” he adds, but doesn’t say any more. She doesn’t need to know the details, what he’s dealing with today. The violence and blood and murder.
He loves his job. The challenge of piecing together the teeming mess at the beginning, of finding order in the chaos. Even the relentlessness of data and routine inquiries have never bothered him as it does others. He knows he is doing good, but some days he wishes it wouldn’t make him feel so bad.
Pippa is the purity in his life, the shining ray of sunshine when he gets home. He imagines his wife sitting in their living room, feet tucked up, blanket over her knees, music playing in the background.
