Sitting up, he turned to stare at the blood-soaked ground behind him. The length of his body patterned the cold earth, with dark wings either side. A beautiful blood angel. Sober thoughts returned in aid of self-preservation. He would take himself home and hide his clothes. He would have a bath and wait for his parents to return. He would cry all night if he had to, so he didn’t get the blame. None of that mattered right now because he had passed his initiation. Dark grey clouds rolled overhead, laden with rain. The downpour would wash the blood away, but he was an honorary raven, bold and wild and free, with no need to answer to anyone.

Chapter Twenty-One

It was a common occurrence to be called into work on your days off, have them cancelled, or sometimes, be forcibly ordered to work overtime. Members of the police were not allowed to join a union for a reason, but spending more time at work than at home didn’t bother Jennifer, because for her, work was her home, and her colleagues were her family. She would lay her life on the line to protect them, and the people of Haven, whom she served. She always maintained a professional distance with her cases, and never came close to compromising an investigation. So why was she holding onto a dead girl’s phone? The high tech crime unit could examine the handset at an advanced level, tracking phone calls, texts, pictures, emails, and even maps and GPS location. In the case of a murder investigation, they could even recover deleted items. Jennifer consoled herself that all she was doing was looking through the evidence bag and pressing a few buttons. She already knew the password, having watched Emily type in four zeros to access her texts the last time they spoke.

With one percent of battery left, Jennifer accessed Emily’s call history. It did not turn up the treasure trove of evidence she had hoped for. Emily appeared to have been deleting her texts and pictures as she went along. Jennifer chewed the inside of her lip as she trawled through the phone. No internet history, no call history, and no pictures … she threw her head back in exasperation.

‘Everything all right?’ Zoe said, bobbing her head up over her computer screen.

Jennifer’s palm clasped her chest. ‘Oh! You frightened the life out of me.’

Zoe stood, looking a lot more comfortable in her casual clothes of baggy jeans and vest top. ‘I left my phone charger in my desk. You look guilty, whatcha up to?’

Jennifer trusted her new colleague enough to confess, and Zoe’s eyes lit up with interest as she relayed the series of events.

‘Flipping hell, girl, if delaying booking in evidence is the most dishonest thing you’ve done in your career then you’ve nothing to worry about. Now give it here.’

Jennifer handed the phone over. ‘The battery’s almost dead. I may as well book it in for the tech team.’

Zoe checked the bottom of the phone and gave Jennifer a knowing smile. ‘This …’ she said, walking over to a plug ‘… may just be your lucky day.’

Jennifer was about to point out that it was unlikely, given a young girl had been murdered, but silenced her words as Zoe plugged in her charger and pierced the other end through the bottom of the bag. It clicked neatly into the phone socket. ‘Look at that, fits perfectly. Now, let’s have a little lookie …’

‘I didn’t know you were a technical whizz,’ Jennifer said, watching Zoe’s fingers run nimbly through the various apps on the phone. ‘What department did you work on before you came here?’

‘I was a TP for six years for another force. Great job.’

‘Oh I see,’ Jennifer said. Suddenly it all made sense. Zoe’s discomfort in formal wear, her habit of swearing, and her discomfort at being in the limelight; test purchasers were used to go deep undercover, integrating themselves in communities of drug users and pushers. Chameleons of sorts, they had to think on their feet and have the ability to reinvent themselves to suit any situation. Invaluable to the drug squad, their covert cameras delivered damning footage at court, which secured major convictions. Jennifer was about to ask why she had left, when Zoe exclaimed.

‘Bingo! We’re in.’

Jennifer looked over her shoulder to see Zoe trawling Facebook, scrolling through the pictures of Emily during various nights out with what looked like a string of random men. None of them matched the description of the Raven, but she hadn’t expected to see him there anyway. She flicked to the side setting, finding the groups. They consisted of the usual free ads groups such as Things For Sale in Haven and Second Hand Goods. Then she caught sight of it, nestled among the other titles. Second Chance Group. Jennifer’s gasp caught in her throat. No wonder her internet searches had drawn a blank. She had been searching for every variation of The Reborners online. Unlike the other groups, access to the Second Chance Group was by invitation only.

Jennifer stood with her hands on her hips, painfully conscious of the time. ‘What do we do now? I have to go to Lexton for briefing. What will I tell them?’

Zoe tapped a black polished nail against her teeth. ‘Say nothing. We’ll book it in later.’

‘But what value is keeping it if you can’t get into the group?’ Jennifer said.

‘There’s always a way. I have a fake Facebook account from my old TP days. I’ll friend Emily through her account, then she’ll invite me in. I’m not saying they’ll give it up straight away, but leave it with me.’

‘But won’t the time of the request show up? Word will soon get around that she’s dead.’

Zoe’s eyes flicked up from the screen, alight with devilry. ‘Ways and means, babe … ways and means.’

Jennifer mulled it over. The Facebook account would have been authorised by the police and been above board, and if anything, their involvement may speed things along. ‘I’ll book it in as seized property and tell them I’ll drop it over to the tech team when briefing is over. Will that give you enough time?’

‘Yeah, for sure,’ Zoe said, logging onto the computer to open her corresponding Facebook account.

[#]

Jennifer was a small spoke in a very big wheel of officers investigating the murder, but she was grateful to be at briefing at all. Op Moonlight was limited and could not facilitate a complete murder investigation, but they provided invaluable advice and leads when it came to the investigative element of the case. She had access to the investigation without the burden of all the paperwork – or at least that’s what Jennifer told herself as she entered the briefing room. The truth was, she wanted everything. Her need for control had always been there, but she managed it by keeping a professional distance. Now all of that was forgotten, as the Raven crept under her skin. The briefing location was a stifling windowless room without the luxury of air conditioning, but the whiteboard that took up one full wall left Jennifer in no doubt that no stone would be left unturned in the hunt for Bert Bishop.

Those who could not find a seat had to stand, and Jennifer was pleased to see a seat reserved in her name. Her position in the team had been elevated, and for once, people were interested in what she had to say. Officers hastily scribbled notes, as tasks and handouts were passed among them. Lexton’s DCI Jamieson talked through the investigation to date. He was a thickset Scottish man, who took no bullshit but had a reputation for being fair. Jennifer was relieved to hear him announce that Christian Bowe’s ex-wife was off the hook. As outlined on the board, their prime suspect was now a killer who created self-fulfilling death prophecies. Jennifer may have been tempted to shoot a smug grin across to DC Hardwick, if she had not been furious at the needless deaths of Emily Clarke and her predecessors. Her anger was fuelled by the discovery of a scrunched-up flyer from a recent psychic fair, found in the bin in Emily Clarke’s bedroom. Jennifer’s eyes widened as the evidence bag was passed around the room.