Tell No Tales by Eva Dolan Page A

short statement, then we’ll take your questions. Dushan?’
    ‘Thank you. The inquiry into this morning’s hit-and-run on Lincoln Road is now a murder investigation . . .’
    The cameras snapped and he kept reading, hearing his voice coming out stronger than he expected, detailing the vehicle involved and the number of deaths and injuries. The statement was all padding and as he spoke he became aware of how many questions it left to be asked and that in few minutes those questions would be fired at him.
    ‘Somebody out there holds vital information which can help us find the person responsible for this callous act,’ Zigic said, lifting his eyes from the statement. ‘And I would urge anyone who has any information about this crime to come forward and contact us. Thank you.’
    Hands went up then across the room and the questions started.
    ‘Why is this investigation being carried out by the Hate Crimes Department?’
    Riggott jumped on that one. ‘We do not currently believe this to be a racially motivated crime. DI Zigic’s team is handling the investigation because they’re familiar with the area and the particular challenges of carrying out an investigation there.’
    ‘Do you believe the nationality of the victims may have motivated the driver?’
    Riggott again, his voice hardening. ‘There is absolutely no evidence to suggest that this was a racist attack.’
    ‘Can you confirm that Jelena Krasic’s boyfriend has been hospitalised with an overdose?’
    How did they know that?
    Zigic waited a beat, no answer from Riggott so he took it.
    ‘A man we believe to have been involved with Ms Krasic is currently being treated for a suspected overdose, yes.’
    ‘Is he a suspect?’
    ‘At this stage in the investigation, I’m keeping an open mind,’ Zigic said.
    A young man with horn-rimmed glasses and folk singer’s beard put his hand up.
    Zigic pointed to him. ‘Yes?’
    ‘Alistair Whitman, Independent . Are you investigating potential links between today’s hit-and-run and the recent murders in the area of Ali Manouf and the young Somali man known as Didi?’
    A murmur passed around the room. Apparently the rest of them hadn’t done their jobs quite so well as the young man now smirking at Zigic from the second row.
    ‘There is absolutely no evidence to suggest a link between the crimes you’ve mentioned.’
    ‘Have you made any progress at all with those murders, Detective Inspector Zigic?’
    ‘We are here to discuss this morning’s hit-and-run. If you have questions pertaining to any other investigations I suggest you direct them to our press officer, Ms Gilraye, at a more appropriate moment.’
    Riggott intervened then, unable to fully smother the anger in his voice as he proceeded with the usual niceties.
    ‘Thank you for coming this afternoon, ladies and gentlemen. If we have any further developments to report you will be informed through the usual channels. Thank you.’

DAY TWO

13
    NICOLA GILRAYE WAS waiting for him when Zigic got into Hate Crimes, sitting on an empty desk with her feet on a chair, looking at the whiteboards where the murders of Ali Manouf and Didi had spread to their eventual dead ends, witness statements which added nothing, suspects identified and swiftly eliminated through unbreakable alibis or DNA.
    There was a copy of the Independent on the table next to her. He knew she read the papers online, so it was just a prop brought along for effect.
    She was big on effect and Zigic imagined that as a press officer style would always be more important than substance, which was why her suits were always precisely tailored and her make-up so well applied that you could only see the old acne scars along her jawline when you were a few inches away from her. At a distance she was television perfect, petite and blonde and very slightly plastic.
    ‘I take it you’ve seen the Independent this morning.’
    ‘Shame they’re not as malleable as the locals.’
    ‘Not quite as easy