SEVENTY-THREE

10.05 A.M.

‘She’s a bloody hero,’ Stacey said with her mouth hanging open.

‘What’s that now?’ Penn asked, ending his call. A call she suspected would make the boss happy, as it meant she would finally be able to request the records from Seekers.

She didn’t like to be jaded, but she guessed things would move a whole lot quicker now and not just because it was a Monday morning. Once Penn had updated the request with the details of the second missing person, the warrant had been issued immediately.

‘Nazeera Khan. The lives she’s saved,’ Stacey continued. ‘And she put herself through medical school. No trust fund, no wealthy parents. She studied and worked hard, and now she saves the lives of young kids.’

Stacey knew she sounded in awe of the surgeon because she was. She liked to think that her own work meant something, that she made a difference, but she couldn’t even imagine having the skill to save a child’s life.

Stacey clicked on a link to a video shot at the hospital just a couple of weeks earlier. The image hit her in a part of her body she hadn’t known existed. It was between her ribs but beneath her heart. She felt a surge as her gaze went straight to the little girl sitting between her mum and Nazeera.

The video was a plea for people to register as donors and, although Nazeera was speaking professionally and eloquently, the almost unconscious snaking of her arm around the back of Jessica’s chair demonstrated a personal attachment had clearly developed between doctor and patient.

Jessica’s mum stared into the lens, but the tension around her jaw and the redness around her eyes from keeping her tears in check told the story of a mother trying not to show what she knew to be true. Her daughter was going to die.

The strange feeling intensified as she watched the little girl sitting between the two women who obviously cared about her a great deal.

Jessica looked ill. The dark circles around her eyes were emphasised by the paleness of her skin. Spindly thin arms protruded from the three-quarter-length sleeves of her yellow blouse. Her slender neck gave her head the appearance of a lollipop.

For the most part, she looked into the camera, but occasional furtive glances at both the surgeon and at her mother showed that she knew just how serious the situation was.

Stacey felt sure her heart was about to break. Jessica was just a child. She should have been out playing, getting dirty, running around, not pleading with the public for the chance of a new life.

It hit her hard.

That little girl was going to die if they didn’t find Nazeera in time.

‘Penn, we really have to get Nazeera back,’ Stacey breathed, closing the clip.

‘Just gotta work out this damn clue,’ Penn said.

Penn loved a puzzle, but this guy was really testing him.

‘Very tall but almost little,’ Stacey said, both to refresh her own mind and remove the image of poor Jessica from it.

The boss had instructed them to continue with the names, the CCTV, trying to solve the clue, and now she wanted information on some guy from Sunrise News too.

‘What’s very tall around here?’ Stacey asked, offering Penn a little bit of help.

‘The radio masts on Turners Hill in Rowley Regis? It’s the highest hill in the West Midlands.’

‘That the one that can be seen from Kinver?’ she asked.

‘Yeah, but there’s nothing almost little about it.’

Stacey’s brief hope faded. They both knew that every word meant something.

‘Penn, I worry this is one we’re not going to get.’

He was saved from answering as her phone rang.

It was a number she didn’t recognise.

‘DC Wood,’ she answered.

‘DS Jones, West Mercia. You left a message,’ said a female voice.

‘Thanks for calling back. I’m ringing about a sexual assault that happened about six months ago, just outside Stourport. Victim’s name was Melissa Keene.’

‘How do you know that?’ the woman asked suspiciously.

‘We think this rape might be linked to a case we’re working.’

‘Another rape?’ she asked.

‘Not really, but it’s linked to the puzzle websites,’ Stacey answered, hoping she wasn’t going to put two and two together.

The woman laughed. ‘You think it’s to do with the guy that’s got you lot running around the Black Country?’

Damn, this woman could do her maths. Stacey felt the heat flood her cheeks and wondered if they were ever going to live this down.

Her lack of response was answer enough.

‘I hope this isn’t your best lead because we couldn’t even prove that she was following any kind of trail. If it was there, the trail was removed fast and the website shut down completely once we started asking questions.’

‘Do you doubt that she was raped?’ Stacey asked.

‘Of course not. I believe that one hundred per cent, but she was in the middle of a field and couldn’t give us any kind of description.’

‘So nothing was done?’ Stacey asked.

‘Everything that could be done was done, but you know how it is with these cases. Our chances of finding the person who did this are slim to none.’

Stacey hated having to admit that she was probably right.

‘Okay, thanks for the?—’

‘Listen, I probably shouldn’t tell you this, but you’re getting enough shit right now. We didn’t get any matches, but we do have DNA.’

Stacey thanked her and, after getting Melissa’s address, ended the call deflated, having learned virtually nothing. What was the point of DNA if you had no suspect to match it to?