Page 48 of The Twenty (Major Crimes)

“I’ve got to go, Phil,” she says. “I need to check on Jamie.”

She hangs up the phone, then takes the envelope and pushes it back into her pocket. She has an overwhelming urge to burn it, to get rid of it permanently, but she knows she’ll never do that.

It has a hold on her, a tight grip. In the same way that he’s always had.

CHAPTER

27

THE FINGERPRINT IS back. Adam is pulled away from conversation as Maggie Clarke enters the room. Out of her crime scene gear, her clothes are bright, gawdy, floral. Lurid colors and clashing prints, as if she’s outwardly rebelling from the conformity and structure her work requires.

“Tell me something good,” Adam says. Around them the room has calmed to a whisper. Detectives still working but waiting for news, the anticipation of a firm lead.

Maggie frowns. “No good, I’m sorry, Adam. Nothing we can work with.”

“And the Hoxton residence?”

“The same. Nothing useable. Although Ross has confirmed the bottle is most likely the murder weapon. Plus, more news on the rope fibers.” She hands Adam a single piece of paper, and he scans it quickly while she continues. “We’ve analyzed the composition—it’s Dacron.”

“And that is?” Adam asks, dispirited. He feels the frustration. That fingerprint could have taken them straight to the killer’s door. To Pippa.

“That’s the trade name, the people that make it.” She looks apologetic. “But it doesn’t help you much. We couldn’t tell what thickness rope it was. So while you can probably theorize he used it to tie up his victim, we can’t say where it might have originated from.”

Adam looks at the report again. He runs his finger down the list: “Climbing, rigging, boating, netting, rope ladders …”

“Don’t forget the film and theater industries.”

“Fuck, Mags. Is there any base you haven’t covered?” He sighs, putting the page down. “Any DNA? Blood, saliva? Anything found on the dog?”

“Dog?” She looks blank. “I’ll check it out. Nothing we’ve found on the rest, although we’re waiting for the samples to come through from the body from Dr. Ross. Sorry, Bishop.”

She puts a hand on his arm, her silver bangles jangling, and he takes a moment of reassurance from her contact, albeit brief. But he doesn’t want to encourage anything between them. Not again, he thinks, and he pulls away.

“Sorry it couldn’t have been better news,” Maggie finishes, and she makes her escape.

Adam envies her ability to leave. To have done her job—this part at least—and be moving on to the next.

The detectives continue to work as night closes in and the lights flicker on. Pizzas are ordered, caffeine is plentiful. Cars looking like the VW Transporter pop up at the edges of CCTV. Witness statements from the neighbors come in and Adam reads every one. But nothing. Time trickles away.

Jamie calls, and Adam answers. Although Jamie has a family liaison officer with him, someone trained to handle relatives in situations like this, Jamie would rather speak to Adam directly.

“No progress, I’m sorry,” Adam says. He’s letting Jamie down; he’d like to be able to tell him anything but that.

“It’s okay, mate. It’s okay,” Jamie replies, his voice monotone.

“Maggie said they’ve released the … your house.” Adam stops himself from saying crime scene. “You can go home.”

There’s a long pause. “I don’t know if I want to.” Jamie’s voice breaks at the end. “It won’t be home if she’s not there,” he adds quietly.

There’s nothing Adam can say. And to his shame, he feels a release when Marsh stands in the doorway of the incident room.

“I need to go,” he says, “Marsh is here.”

But as Adam hangs up, he feels his mouth go dry. He recognizes the look, the heavy movement as his detective chief superintendent walks across the incident room, as if every step is causing him pain. Adam gets up from behind his desk, but his legs are solid blocks. He can’t move.

“Guv?”

“I’m sorry, Adam,” Marsh says. His expression is grim. “They’ve found a body. And it’s a woman.”

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