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‘You can’t, guv. You know that.’
Her conscience had spoken. But still…
‘Guv, go to the car,’ he said, throwing her the keys. ‘I’ll put these back up.’
She hesitated but knew she had no choice.
She headed down the stairs without needing to check anywhere else. Her worst fears had been realised, and Stacey was front and centre.
She got into the car and sighed, wondering how well she’d be able to protect Stacey once her name was plastered all over the press in connection with a dead man.
The ringing of her phone startled her from her thoughts. She experienced that immediate stab of relief when the caller was anyone other than Keats.
‘Go ahead, Penn.’
‘Got him, boss.’
‘Who?’ she asked, giving her brain time to catch up.
‘The Sentinel. Got his address. Managed to get a direct chat with a Twitter—’
‘Where are we going?’ she interrupted, not needing the details.
‘It’s thirty-two Sandy Lane, Wollescote.’
‘Got it,’ she said, ending the call as Bryant got in the car.
‘Sandy Lane, Wollescote,’ she repeated to her colleague. ‘We have the address for the Sentinel.’
‘That was quick,’ he said as he put the details into the satnav to find the quickest route.
She took one look back at the house.
‘They’re coming, aren’t they?’ she asked, knowing the traffic investigation team would have to search Birch’s house for clues.
‘Oh yeah.’
‘What the hell are we going to do?’ she asked, more of herself than him.
‘We’ll cross that bridge when we come to it,’ he said, pulling the car away from the kerb.
TWENTY-FOUR
The bad feeling already forming in Kim’s stomach worsened as Bryant pulled up outside a row of bungalows at the end of a road in Wollescote.
The one they wanted was last but one. A walking frame that doubled as a seat was beside the front door with a carrier bag attached.
As they got out of the car, a man in his seventies appeared and locked the door behind him.
It was clear that this man was not the Sentinel.
‘Excuse me, may we have a word?’ Kim asked, intercepting him at the end of the path.
‘Of course, young lady, but I ain’t buying anything.’
‘We’re not selling. Can you tell us your name?’
‘Hey, hang on a minute. You came to me. What’s this about? I’ve been told by the folks at Age Concern not to give out any personal information. Just one snippet and the crooks can do all sorts.’
