Gardners, Ditchers, and Gravemakers (A DCI Thatcher Yorkshire Crimes Book 4) by Oliver Davies (best black authors txt) 📗

That was true. It opened some doors, meant we could question people properly, meant that we didn’t have to tiptoe around them without a solid reason to.

“SOCO?” I asked.

“Still down there. Doesn’t look like they’ve got much to work with, though, Thatcher. Oh, I got a call from the lab about your blood samples.” I turned to her hopefully. “Most of them are a match for Abbie Whelan,” she told me, and my stomach dropped, “but they did find another person. No match, but we might your killer’s DNA to work with.”

I let out a breath and a slow nod. That was something, a small little blessing that meant we could at least nail the bugger down when we found them.

“Look at us,” I mumbled. “Looking for a silver lining in the murder of a woman. What does that make us?”

“Professional,” Crowe answered succinctly. “Seasoned. Maybe in need of therapy.” I chuckled softly.

“Maybe just a little.” I looked down at Lena to find her smiling up at me with sad eyes, and I wrapped an arm around her shoulder. “Let’s get back to the station. You’ve got work to do,” I told her. She swatted my hand.

“As do you, you toe rag. Here,” she nudged me with her elbow as we stepped back inside. “How are you doing?”

“With this?”

“It’s nearly August,” she said softly. “How are you doing?”

“Too busy,” I told her after sucking in a long breath. “Suppose it’s good not to dwell though.”

“Therapy,” she patted me on the chest before ducking away and re-joining her team. “Consider it.”

I nodded as Mills stood beside me, his face fatigued.

“What now?”

Thirteen

Thatcher

I stood in the open doorway of the old house, watching as Dr Crowe and SOCO made their way back to the station. To the benefit of the researchers in the gardens, all the tight security measures meant that they were all accounted for. Card swipes from the readers upstairs, glimpses of faces on the security feeds. No sign of Sonia in any of them, save for one blurred image of her passing through the orangery. In the several hour window that Dr Crowe would place the time of Sonia’s murder, all of her colleagues were present and accounted for. Our killer had slipped in and vanished, just like they had with Abbie Whelan. Dr Quaid had got a hold of the security footage from Tuesday, and it was much the same. Abbie had gone in, then come out. Time trickled by, and then Dr Quaid went outside and came charging in a few moments later, the phone pressed to his ear until we arrived. Mills and I looked the footage over on his ancient computer as Smith and the other uniformed officers finished taking statements and securing alibis.

Mills joined me at the door now, where the rain fell in slanting sheets, bouncing off the car roofs with metallic pings.

“Dr Quaid gave me this,” he said, holding up a piece of folded paper. “Sonia’s details. Her address, her parent’s phone number.”

“They’re only down the road,” I remembered rightly. “We should go in person. No use in calling them out to the station.” I kept my eyes on the sky as I spoke, kicking myself internally. We should have come up sooner.

“We wouldn’t have made it in time,” Mills murmured. “Lena said as much.”

“We should have come earlier,” I muttered darkly.

“Paige and Grace needed us,” he reminded me sternly. “Children are the first priority, and we had no reason to believe Sonia was in any danger. We’re good, but we’re not miracle workers.”

I nodded, knowing full well that he was right, and also knowing full well that he was likely kicking himself for it all the same.

“Let’s clear everyone out and make sure the scene is closed off,” my voice lifted and got clearer as I gave out the familiar order. Mills nodded, a half-smile on his face and walked off to where the constables had gathered, effectively kicking them all back to the station. Smith gave me a pained smile as she passed with the rest of them, and most of the researchers followed suit, having stood around now with their coats slung over their arms, dangling car keys from their fingers. I watched them all peel off to their cars, grim-faced and stumped.

“Inspector,” Dr Quaid appeared by my side, a large wax coat smothering his huddled figure, a set of keys in his hands. “We’ll be closed for a little while. I’ll pay them all for time off. Feel free to come and go. I have a spare key.” He unhooked one from the chain and handed it over. “We are at your disposal, Inspector.”

I took the key and then his hand, squeezing it before letting go. “Thank you, Dr Quaid. You’ve been a big help.”

“I wish I could do more,” he said with a sigh. “Any sign of Abbie pulling through?”

“We haven’t heard anything yet, but they’ve figured out what was used to drug her.”

Dr Quaid nodded, looking thoughtful. “Is it likely that they’ve used the same thing on Sonia?”

“It’s a possibility. We’ll update you when we know more,” I assured him. “We should be getting on.” I said as Mills joined me again, still holding the piece of paper with Sonia’s details on. Dr Quaid looked at it and then nodded hurriedly, his face pale.

“Of course, yes.” He stood aside, letting Mills join me on the step, and I gave the doctor one last wave before we strode over to the car, sealing ourselves in from the rain and feeling of death that had washed over the place.

“You drive,” I told him, opening the sheet of paper and finding the address to check on the maps. “I’ll talk.”

Mills nodded appreciatively. It was times like these where I thought he really looked his age. Times when a horrible conversation loomed, and there was little comfort we could offer but our assistance and support. His blue eyes were wider, his clean-shaven face stricken, and he looked every bit