Suzanne nodded. ‘He just rang Adrian to say that he’s sure it was the same kind—’

She was going to continue, but Winkler jumped in and interrupted. Patrick was childishly glad to see an expression of irritation flicker across Suzanne’s features.

‘So we need to figure out what could possibly be the link between an eighty-three-year-old widow in Wimbledon and a fifteen-year-old boy-band fan in Kingston. If indeed there is one. Just because it’s the same sort of knife doesn’t mean it’s the same perp. Lots of lowlifes will have the same sort of knife.’

He wondered, why was it that everything coming out of Winkler’s mouth made Pat want to punch him?

Suzanne put a hand up before Patrick could respond. ‘Pat, Adrian is already up to speed with Rose Sharp’s murder. So I want you two to sit down together and work through the similarities, see if there’s any other connection. You can jointly head up the operation.’

Both men gaped at her.

‘You’re kidding,’ Patrick managed, furious with himself that he was unable to prevent his voice momentarily turning into an adolescent squeak. He was furious with her too. She knew there was no love lost between him and Winkler – what was she thinking?

Adrian had gathered himself and was now nodding sagely, as if him being involved with the case would give it the only possible chance of getting solved. Patrick jumped to his feet.

‘I’m sorry, but I have to object. As Adrian here so rightly says’ – at this he bared his teeth in a fake grin to indicate that he was being sarcastic rather than deferential – ‘any old scumbag could be carrying a knife like that used on both of these victims. It’s worth investigating, of course, but surely it won’t mean both of us have to run the case?’

‘That’s as may be, regarding the knife,’ said Suzanne. ‘But you know we’re low on numbers at the moment, what with Connolly still on sick leave and Regan retiring, and Adrian never got a perp for the Marr case, so if you work together you could end up killing two birds with one stone. I’m relying on you both to put aside any personal differences. You’re big boys, so don’t behave like kids in the playground. Sit down, Patrick.’

Chastened, Patrick thought how ironic it was for her to say that, after his earlier image of them in front of the Head. She was right, though. At all costs, he must not allow himself to sink to Winkler’s level. They were professionals, with a job to do.

He believed his face would confirm this, but instead Suzanne looked concerned. She turned to Winkler. ‘That’s all for now, Adrian. I just want a quick word with Patrick.’

Winkler left the office without a backwards glance at Pat. Suzanne took a sip of her coffee and grimaced.

‘What’s the problem, Suzanne?’

‘This coffee is not only disgusting, it’s stone cold.’

‘I didn’t mean with the coffee. You look worried.’

Suzanne leaned towards him over the desk, as if she wanted to take his hand. ‘Yes. Well, I have to say, I am quite worried. I know you and Adrian don’t particularly see eye to eye’ – Patrick just about managed to prevent a snort – ‘but I need you two to pull together on this one. Unless . . . and forgive me, Pat, but I know things are tough for you at the moment, what with getting ready to move back home . . . and I’m trusting you here to be honest with me – would you like to take a bit of leave, get yourself settled again and have some time with Gill and Bonnie? It can’t be easy juggling all those logistics, let alone the emotions, alongside a high-pressure case like this . . . I could let Winkler lead the investigation.’

‘No way!’ Patrick leapt to his feet again. He was livid. ‘Are you serious?’

‘Oh for God’s sake, Patrick, you’re like a bloody jack-in-a-box! This is precisely why I’m worried about you! It’s just not like you to be so sensitive. You can handle Winkler. He’s an arse and we all know it.’

Patrick couldn’t resist a grin. He knew she would never have said that to anybody else in the station. He saluted her in sardonic acquiescence and took his seat again, glad that Suzanne had twisted the blinds closed when he’d first come in, so that the rest of the open-plan office hadn’t been privy to him jumping up and down like a maniac.

‘You’re right. And not just about the bit where you said Winkler’s an arse. I’m sorry, Suzanne. Not that it’s any excuse, but I had a toddler sleeping on my head all night, so I’m not exactly raring to go today. But I swear to you I’m going to crack this investigation, and although it would be so much easier to do it without Winkler’s opinions, you’re the boss. If you think it’s the right thing to do, then I will work with him, and I promise I will do my utmost not to let him rile me. Bonnie and I are moving back in tomorrow, so that’s absolutely going to help – Gill will be able to take over the childcare full-time since she’s not going back to work for another few months at least – and Bonnie will be back in her own room again. Plus, I won’t be living with my folks anymore. It will all be a massive improvement.’

‘Good man,’ said Suzanne, and for a moment their eyes met. ‘If you’re sure you can take the pressure.’

Patrick laughed drily. ‘I handled it during the Child Catcher operation, didn’t I? And that was even more of a nightmare, domestically.’

‘True. OK. Don’t let me down.’ She swivelled in her chair to face her computer screen, indicating that the meeting was over. Patrick caught the faintest whiff of her scent as she turned.

As he left the office, he caught sight of Winkler at his desk, smirking at him. He marched straight past him, unable to face him at the moment, and headed over to Carmella.

‘Come on,’ he said, loudly enough for Winkler to hear, wanting to make him paranoid about what Suzanne had said and not caring if he was being childish. ‘Let’s go. We’ve got two murders to solve now.’

Chapter 10

Day 3 – Patrick

Patrick and Carmella sat in the McDonald’s round the corner from the Travel Inn, a pair of steaming coffees between them. Patrick had resisted the urge to buy a Big Mac and Carmella had surveyed the menu as if it listed a variety of poisons. Just across from them a toddler was munching chicken dippers and rattling the toy from her Happy Meal. So far, Bonnie was barely aware that McDonald’s existed, but he knew this place drew children like a mermaid luring sailors to the rocks. It wouldn’t be long, he suspected, before he was feeding her chicken McNuggets and fries.

The manager hadn’t recognised Rose from the photograph they’d shown him, nor did any of the almost exclusively teenage staff, though their eyes had widened and a whisper of excitement had whipped through the restaurant. The girl who was murdered! They all so desperately wanted to recognise her, to have something to tell their friends. But it looked like the burger Rose had enjoyed as her last meal had come from somewhere else.

‘Going round every fast-food place in Kingston,’ Carmella said, wincing at her coffee. ‘We should have given this job to Gareth. He’d love it.’

‘Maybe I will,’ Patrick said. ‘Or Winkler.’

‘Uh-uh. He doesn’t eat junk food, does he? Only the finest organic produce passes his lips.’

Hearing this made Patrick reconsider ordering that Big Mac.

They walked round to the Travel Inn, dodging puddles and warily eyeing the sky, with its battalion of black rain clouds. Before leaving the station, Patrick had spoken to the senior SOCO on the investigation, Marie Branson, who had confirmed what he already knew. The killer had left no DNA at the scene – no stray hairs, blood or semen. No fingerprints. All the hotel staff had been interviewed, CCTV tapes had been reviewed, including those from the streets surrounding the hotel, and the names of all the guests had been run through the system. Nobody had seen anything. The cameras had captured nothing. And no-one who’d been staying in the hotel had anything more on their record than a parking ticket or some other minor misdemeanour.