The Moor (DCI Ryan Mysteries, #11)(27)

“I’ll put a call through to the media liaison,” Ryan said, as they left the moor for the second time that day. “We can’t put it off any longer. In the meantime, you might as well go home with MacKenzie. You look dead on your feet.”

Phillips didn’t bother to argue, because he felt wrung out. It was odd that emotional turmoil could be more taxing on the body than a good spar in the boxing ring.

“If you need me—”

“I’ll call,” Ryan finished for him. “Go and get some sleep. I’ve got all the local street charities watching out for her around town, in case she decides to sleep rough.”

Phillips looked out at the passing skyline of the city.

“She’s out there, somewhere beneath the same sky,” he said. “I hope to God she’s alright.”

“Me too, Frank,” Ryan said softly. “Me too.”

*

Beneath that same sky, another person thought of Samantha and wished they knew where to find her.

It would be so easy, they thought. So simple to break her neck, then throw her in the river. Or, maybe one good whack around the back of the head would do it. They could drive out somewhere remote and bury the body—or, better yet, stage things to make it look like the kid had been attacked by some passing nonce.

It would be so much simpler than getting rid of her bitch of a mother.

The thought was so tantalising; maybe they’d just take a little drive and see what they found.





CHAPTER 16


Phillips and MacKenzie said little as they made their way home, both occupied with the unspoken task of scanning the streets for a red-haired little girl in a baseball cap.

But there was no sign of Samantha.

“I let her down,” MacKenzie said huskily, as Phillips turned off the car engine a short while later. “I should have known this might happen. I tried to warn Morrison—”

“Hey, hey,” he said, as he reached across to grasp her hand. “You did what was right, we all did. You can’t blame yourself.”

“Well I do,” MacKenzie said, in a rare show of emotion. “If anything’s happened to her, Frank, I’ll have Samantha on my conscience until the day I die.”

Alongside all the others she carried around like ghostly talismans, just as Ryan did; as they all did.

“Ryan said he’d call, the moment there was any news,” Phillips said, as they stepped out of the car. “He’s a man of his word.”

“Right enough, he’s probably still at the office or searching the streets himself,” MacKenzie agreed. “He cares about that wee girl as much as we do.”

Phillips fished around his pockets for his house keys.

“He puts on a good show,” he said. “But underneath, he’s all mushy peas.”

MacKenzie found herself laughing despite it all and turned to him, right there on the doorstep.

“Never change, Frank Phillips.”

She tugged him forward to bestow a lingering kiss.

“What was that for?” he managed, once he could think clearly again.

“For being wonderful,” she said, and stepped inside the house.

*

As soon as she entered the hallway, MacKenzie’s body went on full alert.

She threw out an arm to warn her husband, who opened his mouth to protest and then clamped it shut again when he saw what she had seen.

The coats they kept neatly on a rack against the wall had fallen to the floor in a heap, bearing an uncomfortable resemblance to a body. Faint muddy footprints trailed across the carpet in the direction of the kitchen, where a light burned.

“I turned off all the lights when we left this morning,” MacKenzie whispered. “I think there’s an intruder. Call for back-up, Frank.”

Phillips thought of calling the Control Room but, in times of crisis, there was only one person that came to mind.

He pressed the speed-dial number for Ryan, who answered after the first ring.

“Son, we’ve got a situation here,” he said in an urgent undertone. “An intruder may still be in the house. I need a squad car, soon as possible.”

“Consider it done,” Ryan said. “I’m on my way, too. Get out of there, Frank.”

But MacKenzie had already toed off her boots and was taking the first slow, silent footsteps towards the hypnotic glare of the kitchen light.

“Denise,” he whispered.

MacKenzie held up a hand in a signal for quiet, while she listened for any small movements to indicate they were not alone. Sweat prickled the skin on the back of her neck as she remembered another hallway, at another time, when she’d been taken unawares.

She’d sworn it would never happen again.

All the same, fear made her body tremble and, even though Frank was with her, she fought the urge to run.

Phillips followed behind, his eyes scanning the empty living room as they passed by the open doorway. His natural inclination was to go ahead of MacKenzie, so he would take the brunt of any attack that might befall them, but he knew his wife would not thank him for the chivalry. She was a strong, capable woman who had her own demons to slay; if he persisted in trying to fight them for her, she’d never be able to rid herself, once and for all.

And so, he followed her lead.

As they rounded the corner of the stairs and the kitchen doorway came into view, they saw that their intruder had really gone to town in there. Milk, jam and toast crumbs littered the countertop, and cupboard doors stood ajar, as if somebody had been searching for hidden treasure. And they’d found it.