When the Evil Waits by M Lee (i want to read a book .txt) 📗

were only three or four people, all of whom worked in the park’s cafe and restaurants.

The footage from inside the trams had been just as bad. The early images had a few travellers looking like zombies going to a wake and then, after seven, the carriages began to fill up, and despite the necessity for social distancing, becoming as packed as cattle cars when the suburban herds began their daily trek to the feeding grounds of the city. She stopped viewing after ten a.m., reasoning the boy’s body had been found by then.

The footage from the front of the tram mostly showed the track stretching in two parallel iron lines into the distance. As the first tram moved away from Sale Water Park station, however, she caught a glimpse of a white car going the other way, from Jackson’s Boat to the M60.

‘Can you get any tighter on that car, Phil?’

She leant across him to prod the screen on the left.

‘I’ll have a try but these cameras are for road traffic accident use, not anything else.’

She heard him click the keys of a keyboard. The image of the car appeared bigger on the screen. ‘I’ll try and enhance it.’

More clicks and the car became slightly sharper.

Emily stood up and leant closer to the screen, staring at it. As if moving her body closer would make it bigger. Instead, all she saw was the lines on the screen becoming clearer.

‘It’s actually better to step back and look from further back.’

She did as she was told. Phil Reynolds was right. The car was clearer.

‘Can you discover the make of the car?’

‘You remember my little box of tricks?’ On a third screen, he brought up side views of a range of cars, each one rapidly changing as the computer scanned them against the image it had.

Finally it stopped.

‘We don’t have a lot to work with, I’m afraid. But the computer says it’s either a Hyundai i20 or a Vauxhall Corsa.’

‘How correct is that?’

‘With the image we’ve got? My guess is 80 per cent correct.’

Was it a white Hyundai or a white Vauxhall? Or something else? She stared intently at the screen. There was a distinct shadow on the image. A single man behind the steering wheel?

‘I suppose there’s no chance of making it even clearer.’

‘I could have a go, but it’ll take a while. Is that what you’re looking for. A white car?’

‘It might be. Before you clean up this footage, could we take a look at the images from the ATM on 21 July?’

‘Your wish is my command. Abracadabra…’

Emily realised that Reynolds was probably a big movie buff – even worse, he was possibly a Disney movie buff. She could imagine him singing along to the music from Frozen. Let it go, she thought, laughing to herself.

The footage from the cash machine appeared on the screen.

‘It’s not great. I think the last time they cleaned the lens was the Ice Age, but we’ll be able to see the images at least.’

‘Can you fast forward to between one p.m. and two p.m.’

‘Will do, milady.’

The time clock on the footage accelerated for a minute, then slowed.

13.00.01.

13.00.02.

13.00.03.

The street in front of the ATM showed cars going down the road and the occasional pedestrian walking in front of it.

‘Can you go at double speed? We should still be able to see everything.’

The pictures began to move faster but no little boys walked in front of the ATM. They stopped three times for white cars, but it was easy enough to see they were different makes.

They carried until the counter reached two p.m., then stopped.

‘Nothing so far, what do you want to do?’

‘Let’s start much earlier, around eleven a.m.’

Reynolds glanced at the clock on the wall. ‘It’s already eleven thirty on a Friday night.’

She put her hand on his shoulder and looked him in the eye. ‘You wouldn’t leave me here on my own, would you?’

He checked his watch. ‘I can give you one more hour. I have to go home and feed the goldfish.’

There was no answer to that so she didn’t bother.

Phil ran the footage at double speed. She watched as bodies crossed in front of the camera, and the tyres and bottom of cars raced along the street.

Her eyes were closing and she was about to give up and go home herself when he said, ‘What’s that?’

‘What?’

‘See, a boy in front of the camera on the pavement.’

He stopped and rewound the footage, playing it at normal speed. A young boy stopped in front of the shop. He stood there looking around, walked one way and then another. A white car drove past, reversed back, the door opened and the boy said something, shaking his head. Then the boy got into the car, the door closed and the white car drove away.

‘Is that David?’ shouted Emily. ‘Play it again.’

He rewound the ATM footage and they both watched it closely. ‘It must be David Carsley, the description of the clothes matches.’ She pointed to the screen. ‘See, the boy is wearing a United shirt. Play it again.’

On the third viewing, she noticed something new, her hand going to her mouth.

‘It can’t be,’ she whispered.

Chapter 49

Molly Wright stared at the empty bottle of Rioja in front of her and thought about opening another.

The interview with Claire Trent had been particularly successful. It had been an easy sell to one of the editors. An in-depth look at the woman in charge of the search for David Carsley’s killer. The fact it was a woman was the key selling point – they wouldn’t have been interested in another bloated, middle-aged man.

She thought at one time she’d over-egged the pudding with her effusive compliments about the woman and her job. But the editor had been happy with the angle while GMP’s PR person, Sarah something-or-other, had rung her to say how pleased they were and could they just change the photo.

She pretended to try and then rang back saying the newspaper was looking for a better shot.

Vanity, vanity, thy