lead, ‘Colin is from Lindsey’s old school … The kids were putting out posters, with her picture and, well …’ He lost all enthusiasm for his explanation, exhaled slowly, turned to his wife. Mrs Sloan’s lower lip trembled, her husband guided her to a chair, eased her into it. He watched her for a moment, ran a palm over her back and then went to the window ledge and removed a packet of cigarettes. ‘Do you mind if I smoke?’
Brennan shook his head.
‘It’s a terrible business,’ said Mr Crawley. He continued rubbing his hands, seemed suddenly conscious of the action, then stopped abruptly and placed them in the pockets of his tracksuit. ‘She was never one of my pupils but the school is a small community and when we heard, well, the kids wanted to do something.’ He turned to the couch, leaned over and picked up one of the small posters the pupils had been sticking up in the neighbourhood. ‘They designed them themselves.’ He held it out.
Brennan looked at the man for a moment then reached out a hand to take the poster. He was from Edinburgh High; Brennan knew the school well – his daughter went there – the thought brought the Sloans’ grief even closer to home. ‘Thank you.’
Mr Crawley smiled and nodded, made his way to the door, said, ‘I’ll see myself out, Mrs Sloan. God bless.’
Brennan watched him leave the room, thought about questioning him but knew this wasn’t the time or place; he waited for the sound of the front door closing, the room seemed to bristle with energy. The Sloans focused on the DI as he spoke, ‘I’m afraid I have some very distressing news for you.’
The woman cried out, ‘Oh, no.’
The man watched her lower her head into her hands and sob. ‘Is it … Lindsey?’
Brennan nodded, ‘We found the body of a young woman that we believe to be your daughter this morning.’
The woman started to rock gently on her chair, the man approached her, placed a hand on her head. She buried her face in his side and gripped him round the waist. He continued to pat the back of her head. ‘What happened?’
Brennan caught McGuire’s gaze shifting to meet his, he turned back to the man. ‘We’re still trying to ascertain that; there will be a postmortem later today, or tomorrow.’
The word seemed to pass a bolt through the woman, she sobbed uncontrollably.
The man raised his cigarette to his lips, his face was firm, stoic. ‘I don’t understand. Why?’ He shook his head, ‘I mean, who would want to …’ He looked down towards his sobbing wife, started to rub her back again. His eyes grew red and moist.
Brennan knew they needed time to take in the information. ‘Is there anything we can do … Someone we can call maybe?’
‘No. We’re all that’s left.’
Brennan rose, ‘When you feel ready, I’d appreciate it if you’d get in touch,’ he removed a card from his pocket, passed it to the man, ‘there are one or two formalities.’
He took the card, stared at it. ‘I just don’t understand.’
Brennan stepped back, ‘When you’re ready, just give me a call. I can have you collected.’ He motioned McGuire to the door. ‘Please, we’ll see ourselves out.’ He stalled for a moment as McGuire passed through the door; the man was still holding out his card, staring at him. ‘I’m just so very sorry for your loss, Mr Sloan.’
Outside Brennan removed a packet of Embassy Regal, lit up. He walked to the end of the garden path, closed the gate delicately behind him and peered back into the Sloans’ little home. He knew their lives would never be the same, he felt a hollowness open up inside him as though he’d been presented with all his sins. As he walked back to the car he began to feel queasy, the whole situation weighed on his heart.
‘Everything OK, boss?’ said McGuire.
Brennan closed the car door, inhaled deep on his cigarette. ‘I want everything there is to know about Lindsey Sloan.’
Chapter 9
DI ROB BRENNAN chose to remain
Brennan shook his head.
‘It’s a terrible business,’ said Mr Crawley. He continued rubbing his hands, seemed suddenly conscious of the action, then stopped abruptly and placed them in the pockets of his tracksuit. ‘She was never one of my pupils but the school is a small community and when we heard, well, the kids wanted to do something.’ He turned to the couch, leaned over and picked up one of the small posters the pupils had been sticking up in the neighbourhood. ‘They designed them themselves.’ He held it out.
Brennan looked at the man for a moment then reached out a hand to take the poster. He was from Edinburgh High; Brennan knew the school well – his daughter went there – the thought brought the Sloans’ grief even closer to home. ‘Thank you.’
Mr Crawley smiled and nodded, made his way to the door, said, ‘I’ll see myself out, Mrs Sloan. God bless.’
Brennan watched him leave the room, thought about questioning him but knew this wasn’t the time or place; he waited for the sound of the front door closing, the room seemed to bristle with energy. The Sloans focused on the DI as he spoke, ‘I’m afraid I have some very distressing news for you.’
The woman cried out, ‘Oh, no.’
The man watched her lower her head into her hands and sob. ‘Is it … Lindsey?’
Brennan nodded, ‘We found the body of a young woman that we believe to be your daughter this morning.’
The woman started to rock gently on her chair, the man approached her, placed a hand on her head. She buried her face in his side and gripped him round the waist. He continued to pat the back of her head. ‘What happened?’
Brennan caught McGuire’s gaze shifting to meet his, he turned back to the man. ‘We’re still trying to ascertain that; there will be a postmortem later today, or tomorrow.’
The word seemed to pass a bolt through the woman, she sobbed uncontrollably.
The man raised his cigarette to his lips, his face was firm, stoic. ‘I don’t understand. Why?’ He shook his head, ‘I mean, who would want to …’ He looked down towards his sobbing wife, started to rub her back again. His eyes grew red and moist.
Brennan knew they needed time to take in the information. ‘Is there anything we can do … Someone we can call maybe?’
‘No. We’re all that’s left.’
Brennan rose, ‘When you feel ready, I’d appreciate it if you’d get in touch,’ he removed a card from his pocket, passed it to the man, ‘there are one or two formalities.’
He took the card, stared at it. ‘I just don’t understand.’
Brennan stepped back, ‘When you’re ready, just give me a call. I can have you collected.’ He motioned McGuire to the door. ‘Please, we’ll see ourselves out.’ He stalled for a moment as McGuire passed through the door; the man was still holding out his card, staring at him. ‘I’m just so very sorry for your loss, Mr Sloan.’
Outside Brennan removed a packet of Embassy Regal, lit up. He walked to the end of the garden path, closed the gate delicately behind him and peered back into the Sloans’ little home. He knew their lives would never be the same, he felt a hollowness open up inside him as though he’d been presented with all his sins. As he walked back to the car he began to feel queasy, the whole situation weighed on his heart.
‘Everything OK, boss?’ said McGuire.
Brennan closed the car door, inhaled deep on his cigarette. ‘I want everything there is to know about Lindsey Sloan.’
Chapter 9
DI ROB BRENNAN chose to remain
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