Deadlight by Graham Hurley Page B

probably nicked. She went through the pockets one by one, then fetched a chair and took a good look at the top edge of the door. Even kids knew how to use a router, hollowing out a little cavity to stash gear, but she could see no trace of interference on the scuffed MDF. Finally, she got down on her hands and knees and felt around in the tiny space beneath the bottom of the wardrobe. It took her a full minute to confirm that there was nothing there.
    ‘You’re sure?’ Winter was frowning.
    Ellis tried again, lying full length on the threadbare carpet.
    ‘Nothing,’ she confirmed. ‘Clean as a whistle.’
    ‘Try inside again.’
    She did so, pulling the clothes out this time, checking the seams as well as the pockets. Geech watched her, kicking out against the weight of Winter’s body. Geech’s mother, meanwhile, had wandered back to the kitchen.
    At last, Ellis abandoned the search and put the clothes back in the wardrobe. She’d found nothing.
    ‘OK?’ Geech spat the word out. ‘Happy now, are you?’
    Winter looked reproachful for a moment, then stood up. The warrant gave him the authority to search the rest of the flat but he knew it wouldn’t be worth the effort. For whatever reason, Rookie had got it wrong.
    Outraged, and still half-naked, Geech followed them to the front door, screaming abuse. Most of it went over Winter’s head but the word ‘cunt’ brought him to a halt. He turned on Geech and told him to shut his mouth. Any more crap like that and he’d turn the place over. Then he bent quickly and grabbed the dog. There was a collar round its neck, with a little silver ID disc. Ellis’s eyes were better than Winter’s. The dog peered up at her through a fringe of hair. He could feel it shivering with excitement.
    ‘His name’s Charlie,’ Ellis said. ‘There’s a local number. 92851933.’
    Winter shouted for Shelley Geech. She appeared from the kitchen.
    ‘Who’s dog is this?’
    She peered at the little terrier as if she’d never seen it in her life before.
    ‘Darren’s,’ she said at last. ‘Never lets it out of his sight.’
    ‘Had it from the off, has he? Got it as a puppy?’
    ‘Fuck knows.’ She shrugged. ‘Where’s your phone?’
    ‘They cut it off.’
    ‘What was the number?’
    ‘92874 …’ She frowned. ‘Can’t remember.’
    ‘Excellent.’ He beamed down at Geech. ‘This dog’s nicked. Stolen property. I’m seizing it.’
    Geech tried to snatch at the dog. Winter stepped backwards on to the walkway, letting Ellis slip herself between them. The dog was getting even more lively, struggling against Winter’s chest. With Winter halfwaydown the stairs, Geech’s thin face appeared over the parapet above, scarlet with rage. He watched them as they crossed the patch of yellowing grass outside the flats and made for Ellis’s car.
    ‘You tell that bastard I’ll get him,’ he screamed. ‘Tell that cunt he’s a dead man.’

Five
    WEDNESDAY , 5 JUNE , 2002,
14.00
    Bev Yates was back at Kingston Crescent by early afternoon. The car park behind the police station was packed with vehicles he didn’t recognise, a sure sign of a Major Crimes special event, but he managed to find a space for his Golf before taking a moment to check his mobile for calls in his voice-mail.
    Amongst the half-dozen waiting messages was an SOS from Melanie. Her Citroen was on the blink again. Freya had thrown a wobbler about not going over to her friend Kate’s and there was nothing in the fridge for supper. Could Bev sort out a couple of readiwarm meals from the supermarket on the way home? And maybe pick up some Ostermilk supplement while he was about it? Any more breast-feeding, and she wouldn’t have any bloody nipples left.
    She ended the message with a half-hearted attempt at laughter but Yates wasn’t fooled. Married life with two young kids wasn’t working out at all the way they’d both expected. Living in the country was a pain: no shops, one pub, and few neighbours under