Gareth nodded thoughtfully, clearly thinking about his own legacy.

‘The really sad thing is that the person who Nancy Marr made the biggest impression on was the person who murdered her.’

After finding nothing among the paperwork, Gareth went through the keepsakes and then the personal items – framed family photographs, an engraved Bible, some very unattractive brooches. George had obviously appropriated any jewellery of value.

‘This is a waste of time,’ Gareth said, sitting back and rubbing his knees, which were dusty from the floor of the storage room.

‘I agree. But we might as well have a look through the last box, eh?’

Gareth pulled the lid off the large box marked ‘Misc.’. This one contained stuff that, as far as Winkler could see, should have been sent straight to the tip. A tatty-looking cuddly rabbit; a children’s book called Chips the Magic Hamster; an old hat; an ancient golliwog; and a teddy bear. Gareth pulled an A4 folder out of the box and some loose photos fluttered to the floor. Winkler picked one up. It had a date on the back: July 1967. Mrs Marr had her arms around a bloke with long hair and a big grin on his face. She’d been quite a looker in her day. Nice boobs.

He admired the photo as Gareth continued to look through the folder. He was lost in a reverie about the sixties, free love and hippie chicks when he heard Gareth saying, ‘Boss? Boss? Look at this.’

He held up a photograph, A4 sized. It was signed, ‘To Nancy. With all my best wishes, Mervyn Hammond xx’.

Winkler jumped off his seat and snatched the photo out of Gareth’s hand.

‘Bloody hell,’ he said.

Gareth’s eyes shone with excitement. ‘This is a connection to the other case. At last.’

‘Mervyn bloody Hammond. What’s she doing with a signed photo of him? Hey, what are you doing?’

‘Phoning DI Lennon.’

Winkler snatched the phone out of Gareth’s hand. ‘Wait a minute. Let’s think about this. Mervyn Hammond probably sends out hundreds of signed photos every year. I bet most of the people who like him are old ladies like Nancy.’ He tapped the photo. ‘I reckon this is a coincidence. It will just cause a distraction. And then who’ll get the blame if Lennon wastes days looking at Hammond, eh? It won’t be Patrick, and it sure as hell won’t be me.’

Gareth’s brow creased with doubt.

‘On the other hand, if Hammond has got something to do with it, who’ll get all the credit? Lennon. And while Suzanne and the press are – literally and metaphorically – sucking him off for being the big hero, do you think he’ll say, “Actually, it was all down to a bright young officer called Gareth Batey”? Will he hell.’

Gareth cringed at Winkler’s choice of words, but nodded. He was clearly torn. ‘So what do you think we should do?’

Winkler put his arm around Gareth’s shoulder. ‘Tell you what, why don’t you and me look into it, discreetly, and if we find any more evidence that points to Hammond, we’ll hand it over to Lennon; officially tie the two operations together, but make sure everyone knows it was your hard work that gave us a break. And if we don’t find anything, we won’t have wasted anyone’s time but our own. I mean, it’s not like we have any other hot leads to pursue on this side of the investigation. Make sense?’

Gareth hesitated. ‘I guess. It probably is just a coincidence.’

‘I’m sure it is. But if it isn’t, think how good you’ll look. Solving a multiple murder while you’re still a sergeant? A case involving one of the most powerful men in Britain? You’ll be famous, Gareth. And there won’t be anything Lennon can do to take the credit.’

Chapter 30

Day 9 – Patrick

Patrick beckoned for Carmella to follow him into the major incident room and walked up to the boards where Rose’s and Jessica’s pictures were displayed. He took a whiteboard eraser and rubbed out Shawn’s name from the list of suspects, adding it to the column containing the names of potential witnesses.

Carmella perched on the edge of a desk. ‘So his alibi checks out?’ She sounded disappointed.

Patrick nodded. ‘I just got off the phone with Lana Vincent. She confirms that she and Shawn spent the night together on the seventh and she also gave him an alibi for the fourth – said they were on the phone for hours that evening, when Shawn said he was home playing Minecraft. She was extremely nervous, kept asking me to reassure her about confidentiality. She’s terrified of the press and her boyfriend finding out.’

Carmella rolled her eyes. ‘If you can’t do the time, don’t do the crime.’

‘They should put that in big letters on the front of the station.’

Their laughter was disproportionate to the quality of the joke, but shit, Patrick thought, he needed a laugh. His whole body was taut with tension. After the meeting with Shawn, and the realisation that their only suspect was innocent, he’d come back to the station, hiding at his desk until he felt duty-bound to go home.

He didn’t want another discussion with Gill about their feelings. Even more than that, he didn’t want another awkward conversation in which they didn’t talk about their marriage. Fortunately, Gill had been asleep, and he’d slipped out early this morning before she or Bonnie woke up. He’d crept into his daughter’s room, kissing her warm head, aching with guilt as he’d barely seen her since they’d moved home last weekend.

At least when they were living with his parents he’d seen a lot of Bonnie. Now, though, it was too easy to be like so many other male cops: married to the job, their kids growing up without them. He was determined not to let that happen. He just needed to crack this investigation first.

Although, of course, then there would be another. And another. And . . .

He sighed heavily and Carmella came over and rubbed his upper arm.

‘So what next?’ she asked.

Patrick produced his Moleskine from his pocket and opened it to the page of notes he’d made when interviewing Shawn.

‘I was thinking, Shawn and Lana Vincent communicated using Snapchat. Wendy – DC Franklin – tells me that most teenagers use it. And we already know that Rose consumed data on her phone on the evening of her death, as did Jess’ – this was one of the first things they had checked after Jess’s murder – ‘maybe they were using Snapchat.’

‘To communicate with their killer?’

‘Seems the perfect method for a murderer, doesn’t it? A way of communicating without leaving any trace. Second only to actually chatting face to face.’

‘Technology. Friend of serial killers everywhere.’

Patrick smiled faintly, wondering what police work must have been like in the days before DNA and the Internet and CCTV. He would have quite liked to have operated in a Columbo-style world. Maybe, he mused, he should get himself a grubby raincoat like the TV detective.

‘Are you still with us?’ Carmella asked.

‘Just thinking about buying a mac.’

‘I thought you preferred Windows?’

He laughed so loudly that he worried Suzanne would hear him in her office and wonder what he found so amusing. That reminded him he needed to report to her and, as much as he enjoyed seeing her, he suddenly didn’t feel like laughing anymore.

Looking at him curiously, Carmella asked, ‘Are Snapchat pictures actually stored anywhere?’

‘Let’s find out.’

He called Peter Bell on the internal phone and, a few minutes later, the cyber-crime expert joined them in the incident room.

‘Before I start, any progress with our hotel key card?’

The older man smoothed down a wisp of flyaway hair. ‘I emailed a list of potential hackers to Gareth Batey earlier. Apologies. I’ve been under the cosh.’