Birthdays for the dead

She hopped out of the car, breath pluming around her head.

I ll go get him.

Five minutes later and there was still no sign of her.

I climbed out into the cold.

It took me a dozen steps to get used to the cane Alice s aunt Jan had lent me leaning on the polished mahogany handle every time my right foot touched the ground, lurching from side to side as I hobbled towards the hotel entrance.

The nerve block was great couldn t feel a thing.

I pushed through into the reception area. Scuffed carpet tiles, faded wallpaper, dusty plastic pot plants, and a bored-looking man behind the desk.

The receptionist glanced up from his copy of the Daily Mail.

You got a reservation?

Fucking thousands of them. Henry Forrester: where is he?

Room seventeen, first floor. Mr Daily Mail pointed towards a set of double doors. Lift s out of order.

Brilliant, more stairs.

I puffed and panted up to the first floor, paused for a second to catch my breath, then limped into a dingy corridor. A door at the far end lay open, the number 17 picked out in brass on the scuffed brown paint, a DO NOT DISTURB hanging from the handle.

Television noises oozed out into the hall some snooty woman s voice banging on about the interest rates.

They were watching the bloody news, as if we had all the time in the world. As if he wasn t going to kill my little girl at five.

For fuck s sake.

I lurched down the corridor. Henry Bloody Forrester, get your lazy drunken arse downstairs, now

Alice appeared in the doorway, both arms wrapped around herself, bottom lip trembling, a drip shining on the end of her nose. Ash

I stopped. Where is he?

She stared at the threadbare carpet. He s gone. A tear sparkled in the dim light, then plopped onto the toe of her red shoes.

What do you mean, he s No. I pushed past into the room.

Sheba was on the bed, on her side, completely still. Henry lay beside her, dressed in his funeral suit, an empty Macallan bottle at his fingertips, a clear plastic bag over his head the sides streaked with condensation.

He was cold to the touch, no pulse. The ancient dog was the same.

She s dead It isn t I can t.

And I d called him a useless drunken old bastard.

Alice shuffled in behind me. These were on the bedside cabinet. She held out a small white pill tub.

Fluvoxamine. The antidepressant he was taking in Shetland.

She sniffed. Cleared her throat. Rubbed a hand across her eyes. Took a big shuddering breath. He left a note.

Sodding hell: she d found her mother in the bath with slit wrists. And now this.

Henry, you stupid selfish old bastard. thoughts and prayers are with the families at this time. Both girls birthdays are today and we can only imagine how their parents are feeling.

Do you think Megan Taylor and Katie Henderson are already dead?

Well, we have no concrete evidence that the so called

Birthday Boy kills his victims on their

I switched off the car radio. Are you OK?

A shaft of sunlight broke through the clouds, making the wet road sparkle. The streets were arranged in neatly ordered rows: old-fashioned houses with four-pane windows and gardens out the front. Beech trees in cast-iron cages dotted the pavements.

Alice wiped at her eyes, smudging the black makeup even further.

I m fine.

It s OK to be

We should have called the police.

I softened my voice, put a hand on her shoulder. Henry won t mind waiting. We ve only got two and a bit hours. He d understand.

She sniffed, wiped her eyes again. Right, yes, I m being silly, I mean he s already dead We ve got a job to do. A little shudder. Then she peered out through the windscreen. Are you sure about this?

ACC Drummond s house sat back behind a beech hedge and a small granite wall two gateposts either side of a gravel driveway. But then the Wynd was that kind of neighbourhood.

Think about it: Drummond says he needs the families addresses so he can plan the work roster, but why spread the PNC searches out across so many people? Why not give the whole lot to Weber, or one of the DIs? Why divvy up the work himself? He doesn t want anyone to know what he s up to.

I opened my door.

She put a hand on my arm. Ash, you ve been shot, you ve been taking drugs, you ve lost a lot of blood, and Henry. Maybe you re not thinking all that straight, and

You got any other suspects lurking up your sleeve? Drummond s the only game in town. I got out, clunked the door shut, pointed at the house.

The cane crunched on the gravel as I hobbled up the driveway, pulling on my black leather gloves. A double garage sat off to one side, no sign of any cars. Better safe than sorry: I rang the doorbell and a high-pitched trrrrrrrrring sounded inside.

No answer.

Tried again.

Still nothing.

I looked down at my right foot, wrapped in bandages and stuffed into one of Alice s uncle s trainers no chance I was kicking the door in. Besides, this was a neighbourhood watch area. Some nosy old bat in twinset-and-pearls might hear and call the police.

Have to try around the back.

Alice scrunched up behind me. Maybe we should come back later?