by Alison James
‘Oh look – your date’s arrived. And it looks like it’s going to be a threesome.’
They introduced themselves as agents Flores and Henderson, and after waiting politely for her to finish eating, they drove her five miles to their regional office in Windsor Mill, shut her in an interview room and debriefed her relentlessly for four hours. They were very kind, offering frequent cups of coffee and pastries, but the sustained recounting of the past month’s events left Rachel bone-weary.
She was asked to begin with the phone call she had received at the NCA in February, and work her way through her time in Los Angeles, the side trips to San Francisco and San Diego, her return to Washington, then to North Carolina and San Francisco again (with Rob), and on to Madras and Portland, Baltimore, Florida and Baltimore again.
‘Hope you were collecting the air miles,’ joked Henderson. ‘You’ve visited more states than I have.’
‘With the greatest respect to your wonderful country –’ Rachel smiled at them wearily – ‘I don’t plan on seeing any more of it for the foreseeable future.’
* * *
Brickall was lying on his bed watching CSI: Miami when she returned to the hotel. Rachel flung the interconnecting door wide, unable to hide her excitement.
‘Guess what?’
‘You love it so much here; you’ve decided to emigrate.’
She shook her head.
‘You’re pregnant again.’
‘Don’t be a dick, Brickall.’
He grunted and turned up the volume on the TV.
‘They’ve arrested Harland Rowe.’
He muted the TV. ‘No shit!’
‘A call came in just as I was leaving the FBI building. Good old Perez found an address in Asheville, North Carolina on her website. She’d arranged to go there to meet a girl called Leila Griffin.’
Brickall sat up and switched off the TV altogether. ‘Please tell me they got to her in time.’
‘Not exactly. Rowe attacked her. Tried to strangle her. But Leila managed to fight her off and lock herself in the basement. Incredibly, when the FBI got there, Rowe was still in the house, trying on her clothes.’
Brickall gave a shudder. ‘Fucking psycho. Thank God, though. Now it’s well and truly over, we can piss off back to London.’ He stood up and stretched. ‘Start packing.’
‘Hold on.’ Rachel took her laptop to the desk and, from force of habit as much as anything, started a search for Leila Griffin. And there she was, displaying her toned abs and tiny waist on Instagram; all honey-coloured hair and caramel limbs. Posting selfies with ‘my gorgeous fiancé’ and ‘my adorable little pooch’. In some pictures dog and owner wore matching outfits. Rachel couldn’t help smiling slightly. Knowing Harland Rowe as she now did, she was sure the pictures with the dog would have enraged her. Oh yes, Leila had definitely been true to type.
And lucky. Lucky, lucky Leila. The case was closing with a perfect girl who survived, and that felt like a good thing.
‘Shall I ask for a cab to take us to the airport?’ Brickall asked, as she put her laptop back in her case and closed it.
Rachel shook her head. ‘Not yet. There’s just one more thing I need to do.’
Chapter Fifty-Nine
It was hours since breakfast, but when she arrived at the Slipstream coffee shop Rachel ordered the toast and home-made jam anyway. It seemed like the right thing to do.
‘So, here we are,’ said Rob five minutes later, kissing her swiftly on the cheek before taking the seat opposite her. ‘Right back where we started.’
It was a warm spring day, and he was wearing an open-necked white shirt and a lightweight grey jacket. And there were the familiar tan lines in the corners of his eyes, where the sun had hit his face when he was smiling.
‘Exactly,’ observed Rachel. ‘I thought you’d appreciate the symmetry.’
‘I certainly appreciate seeing you alive and well.’ Rob’s face became grim when he caught sight of her bandaged wrists. ‘I heard about what happened. Jesus, Rachel.’
‘I’m okay.’
‘Are you really? You sure? You look a little washed out.’
Rachel raised an eyebrow. ‘Thanks.’
‘No, you still look great. Of course. But you know what I mean.’ He covered her hand with his. ‘Seriously, it’s me that feels terrible. I should have known something like this could have happened to you. I should have stopped you.’
‘I wouldn’t have stopped, though.’ Rachel waited for the waitress to put coffees in front of them. ‘Not just because you’d told me to. I was like a train on a track. I couldn’t have stopped, even if I wanted to.’ She pulled her hand from under his and picked up her mug of coffee.
‘But Rachel, you nearly—’
‘If you pursue dangerous criminals, you risk being a target. I know that. It’s part of the job.’
‘Except you weren’t officially on the job.’
She shrugged. ‘Details.’
‘So when are you going back to London.’
‘This evening. There’s something I wanted to ask you first, though.’
He smiled. ‘Of course. Name it.’
‘It’s going to take the FBI a while to process Harland Rowe’s case and piece all the evidence together. Meanwhile, I doubt she’s going to make a neat little confession. That’s not her style.’
‘I guess not.’ Rob took a piece of her toast and bit into it.
‘So I want you to make sure that Matt Wyburgh is off the hook for Phoebe’s murder. Rowe’s already told me she used Phoebe’s keys to plant the doorstop in his garage. It forms part of the statement I gave to the FBI. Make sure the LAPD know that. Make sure they drop the charges.’
‘I will do my very best. If I can’t get out there myself, I’ll speak to our liaison at the LA County Sheriff’s Office and get him to pursue it.’
‘Thanks, Agent McConnell.’ She bestowed a beaming smile on him.
‘Rachel, about the other stuff…’
‘What other stuff?’
‘You know – the personal stuff. Between you and me.’
‘Ah. But there wasn’t any. Not really.’
He coloured slightly, glancing around the café to make sure no one was listening to them. ‘But I did come on to you. And I shouldn’t have done.’
Rachel gave a little shrug. ‘Yes, you did, and not just the once. I managed to resist you though… so no harm done.’
‘I know. But I still feel bad.’
‘There’s really no need. And it’s not like I wasn’t tempted. I almost gave in.’
‘Really?’
‘Really. But professionalism prevailed.’ For once, she thought. She reached across the table, touched his fingers lightly. ‘Maybe if things had been different.’
‘Another time, another place?’ Rob’s ironic smile acknowledged the cliché. ‘But we did good.’ He became wistful. ‘In fact we did great. We pretty much cracked the case.’
‘I think you’ll find I cracked the case. It was me that tracked down Harland Rowe.’
‘But it was me that put you onto Ethan Rowe’s DNA profile.’
‘True.’
‘We were a team.’
‘Like Bonnie and Clyde,’ Rachel reminded him.
‘And we had fun, didn’t we?’
She nodded, smiling broadly now. ‘Until you hung me out to dry.’
‘Ouch.’ Rob examined his fingernails. ‘I’m really sorry I wasn’t there. I don’t know what else I can say, except sorry.’
‘You can stop apologising. It’s water under the bridge. That’s why I came here today. To make peace.’
Rob waved a crust. ‘To eat the toast of peace.’
The waitress cleared the table and brought the bill. Rob held up a hand and reached for his wallet. ‘I’m really glad we did this—’
Rachel put a finger to her lips, to indicate that he had said enough. They went outside onto 14th Street and Rob wrapped his arms round her, kissing her gently but firmly on the
mouth, before walking away. He turned briefly, and held up a hand in a salute, then strode off towards P Street, his tall figure gradually being absorbed into the moving diorama of passing pedestrians. She watched until he was gone.
Epilogue
TRAGIC PHOEBE STILES IN SERIAL KILLER SHOCK.
Rachel smoothed out the newspaper on the table in front of her and read the article. The facts were more or less correct. There were large, flattering photos of Tiffany Kovak and Melissa Downey, and a smaller one of Clayton Hill. Harland Rowe had been dubbed ‘The CasaMia Killer’. That was inevitable, however much Paulie Greenaway would hate it.
The prosecution in Phoebe and Tiffany’s murders would be brought by the State of California, which had abandoned use of the death penalty in recent years. So had North Carolina, where Melissa Downey and Clayton hill died. Rachel couldn’t help thinking of the syringe full of potassium chloride that almost ended her own life. And yet she would not have wanted Harland to be put to death. She pictured her locked up in prison with hundreds of other female inmates. Would she still be trying to plot revenge on that community’s mean girls? Possibly. Or maybe, just maybe, there was some hope for her rehabilitation. But in the meantime Rachel wanted her safely locked away where she could no longer harm other people.
She checked her phone. She had texted Brickall and asked him to join her in the Pin and Needle, but he had not replied. There had been plenty of non-replies from him since their return from the USA three weeks ago. Her two weeks of mandatory medical leave were over, and she had been offered a date on the next round of DCI boards. Easter had been and gone, along with Lindsay’s chicken versus lamb debate and all the attendant family reproaches. Joe had joined them for the family meal this year, along with Sophie. And all the while her attempts to communicate with Brickall had met with a wall of silence, just as they had when she had taken the leave she was owed and returned to the States. But enough was enough. Now that she was set to return to normal duties, they needed to have it out. Whether his behaviour was to do with the release of Shaun Rawlings, or something else, she needed to find out what was going on.
She had finished reading the ‘CasaMia Murders’ article and was skim-reading the rest of the paper while making inroads into a bottle of Zinfandel when the door was slammed open and Brickall walked in. He slapped his phone and wallet on the table before plonking himself into the seat opposite her.
‘All right?’ He glowered.
‘Hello stranger.’ Rachel’s smile was more benign than she felt. ‘Can I get you a drink?’
‘I’m not stopping.’
‘Look, Detective Sergeant—’
Brickall glanced at the newspaper. ‘Still obsessing about that fucking case?’
Rachel folded it up and put it in her bag.
‘I know you’re annoyed with me. I’ve been away from the office a long time. A lot longer than I would like. But I’m back on Monday—’
‘If you can even remember where the place is.’
‘Look, I know you’ve had a difficult couple of months. I’m also aware my actions have had consequences for you, and I’m sorry. Your workload must have been hellish for the last month or so, and I promise as soon as I’m back, I’m going to work all the hours God gives to take over my share again and get things back to normal.’
‘Normal!’ he scoffed. ‘Are you sure you even know what that is, Prince?’
‘Detective Inspector to you.’
‘Fuck’s sake.’
‘Mark, give me a break. I’ve had a bollocking for acting without authorisation, and been made to take enforced sick leave. I’ve still probably got to go back to the States to give evidence in both of Harland’s trials, unless she decides to cave and plead guilty. I’ve said I’m going to pull my weight in the meantime. What more do you want from me? Blood?’
Brickall was staring at her, and his expression was still hostile.
‘You really don’t get it, do you?’
‘Get what? Explain it to me.’
‘You nearly died. I know – I was there. If it weren’t for me being there, you would have done.’
‘I told you. I told you over and over. I’m grateful.’
‘It’s not that. It’s not about gratitude. I was scared. So scared. After being in the force for ten years there isn’t much that frightens me, but I really thought I’d lost you.’ His face coloured as he spoke, and his hand went reflexively to his phone, tapping it on the table.
Rachel waited.
‘That’s why I’m so angry with you. Because every second I was on that fucking plane to Baltimore, I thought you were going to show up in a body bag.’
He’s like a parent whose child takes off without permission, thought Rachel. The minute they’re found, the relief makes them furious. It was her turn to feel her face going pink.
‘I’m sorry.’ She looked down at her hands. ‘I’m really sorry I put you through that.’ Rachel stood up and went to the bar, coming back with a second wine glass, which she filled for him.
‘I just don’t get it, Prince,’ Brickall’s tone was stern, but she could tell that the storm of his anger was blowing over. ‘Can’t you see how you were acting? You just became obsessed. It wasn’t normal. It wasn’t professional.’
Rachel sighed. ‘I can see now that I was a little… taken over by Phoebe’s case.’
‘You think?’ His voice dripped with sarcasm.
‘But I did try to get you involved. I took you up to Birmingham with me. And if you’d been able to join me in the States, that would have been brilliant. There was hardly a day out there that I didn’t wish you were there too. Swear to God.’
Brickall swallowed several mouthfuls of wine, so as not to have to appear mollified. ‘I doubt that, Prince. Would have cramped your style while you were shagging your hunky Interpol agent.’
‘Nothing happened between us. Scout’s honour.’
She held up her middle three fingers in the Scout salute, and they both laughed. ‘You must be losing your touch, Prince.’ Brickall said, but she could tell that he was pleased. ‘So is that completely over, then?’
‘It never even started.’ She scrutinised his face, running a mental check. ‘How about you? What’s the latest on Rawlings?’
Brickall grimaced. ‘Still enjoying his freedom.’
‘He’ll slip up again; his type always do.’
‘Oh, for sure. And don’t worry, when he does, I’ll make sure I’m there to see the bastard banged up again.’
Rachel nodded her approval. ‘So…’ she said, after taking a large gulp of wine. ‘Am I forgiven?’
Brickall curled his lip. ‘Possibly. Depends how you behave.’
Again, the once-frightened-now-gruff parent speaking. His face became serious. ‘But I want you to promise me something.’
‘Of course.’
‘Don’t ever do anything like that again. Don’t ever get a bee in your bonnet about a bloody case and go rogue. Not without taking me along too.’
Rachel grinned. ‘I think I can manage that. If you think you’re man enough.’
‘Cut the crap, Prince, and go and get us another bottle of wine.’
Rachel’s left leg became stuck under the table and she knocked her glass over, splashing the dregs over Brickall’s wallet in a crimson stain.
‘Some things will never change, Prince,’ he laughed. ‘Strike One.’
Want more from Detective Rachel Prince? Read Lola is Missing – another heart-pounding crime thriller by Alison James. Get it here.
Lola is Missing
Detective Rachel Prince Book 1
‘I was hooked from page one and couldn’t put it down until I’d reached the end. The twists and turns just keep coming… will have you gasping in surprise.’ Goodreads Reviewer, 5 stars
* * *
ORDER NOW!
* * *
The little girl stirred and opened her eyes. A light from the landing played a shadow across her toy cupboard. It was then she r
ealised… There was someone else in the room.
* * *
Michelle Harper’s world is shattered when six-year-old Lola Jade is stolen from the safety of her own bedroom. She says her ex-husband has taken their daughter. Lola’s father denies it was him.
* * *
Family, friends and neighbours all say they didn’t see a thing. But someone must know where the little girl is. Who is lying? And who is telling the truth?
* * *
Detective Rachel Prince knows the longer a child is missing, the less likely they are to be found alive.
* * *
Can Rachel find Lola Jade, before it’s too late?
* * *
Truly addictive from start to finish, Lola Is Missing is a nail-biting crime thriller that will shock you with the final heart-stopping twist. Perfect for fans of Angela Marsons, Peter James and Karin Slaughter.
* * *
ORDER NOW!
Alison’s Email Sign-Up
Want to keep up to date with Alison’s latest releases? Sign up here!
* * *
We promise to never share your email with anyone else, and we’ll only contact you when there’s a new book out.