SEVENTY-EIGHT

12.15 P.M.

‘Hey, Fred,’ Kim said when the litter-picker answered the phone.

‘Sorry, I was just giving Dad his meds.’

‘No probs,’ she answered, feeling a bit bad for disturbing him. ‘Listen, if it’s a bad time…’

‘No, no, it’s fine. Is there something I can help with?’

She knew he had a lot on his plate, but he had offered, and Kim had to wonder if assisting them afforded a welcome distraction from his troubles.

‘Probably a long shot, but I don’t suppose you know any of the registration numbers for the people at the litter-pick yesterday?’

Stacey’s work on tracking down a potential suspect was nothing short of miraculous. And Kim had to consider whether she’d walked right past their killer yesterday morning.

There was a pause.

‘Fred, you okay?’

‘Oh dear, I must admit that in all the excitement yesterday, I forgot to carry out our normal security checks with registration numbers.’

‘You list them all?’ Kim asked, surprised. That was more than she could have hoped for.

‘I don’t have to. I choose to. Not everyone is a volunteer. Some are here doing community service. You can’t organise these things irresponsibly, you know. We have to be so careful cos sometimes folks bring their kids, but in all the excitement, I forgot to do it yesterday. I can ring round everyone and get them, or?—’

He stopped speaking as though he’d had an idea. She hoped so because as much as she appreciated the offer, it would take too much time.

‘I have the list of licence plates from the last one six months ago, and it was pretty much the same people. I could send you that with the names of yesterday’s non-attendees crossed out. You can have that in the next ten minutes.’

Even that might be some help to her if most of the people had the same vehicles.

She accepted the offer, thanked him and ended the call only for her phone to ring immediately with a number she didn’t recognise.

‘Stone,’ she answered.

‘Okay, where is she?’ asked a gruff, impatient male voice.

‘Excuse me?’ Kim snapped back.

‘It’s Hamish Fitzroy, Frost’s boss. Where is she?’

‘Not a clue,’ Kim answered honestly.

‘Oh, and I didn’t appreciate your shout-out at the press conference. You think I won’t sack her because of that?’

‘If you had an ounce of decency, you wouldn’t,’ Kim shot back.

‘Well, luckily it’s not your call to make. If she turns up, let me know. I need to see her to fire her.’

‘Hang on, is that it?’ Kim asked.

‘She’s not answering her phone or emails and hasn’t logged on. To be honest, she doesn’t need me to fire her cos she’s kinda doing it to herself right now. So, as my dear old mom used to say about our cat, she’ll either turn up or she won’t.’

And with that little gem, the line went dead.

Kim liked to think that if she suddenly went dark, her boss and colleagues would put more effort than a couple of phone calls into finding her before they wrote her off.

She’d put more time into trying to find something in the laundry basket.

Not that it would be out of character for Frost to take off and have a good sulk.

Jesus, like she hadn’t got enough to do.

She scrolled to the number in her contact list and pressed call.

The number rang until eventually voicemail kicked in.

Oh, she could be stubborn sometimes, Kim thought, trying the number again.

Voicemail for the second time.

Kim checked her watch. It was around six hours since Frost had stormed out of the station, and it appeared no one had heard from her or spoken to her since.

Kim tried to push it out of her mind. Frost wasn’t her responsibility, and she was likely catching up on some much-needed sleep.

Yes, that was it.

But what if it wasn’t? Their sicko had made his instructions clear from the outset. He had wanted Frost involved, and he had wanted those regular updates. He had told them there would be consequences if the rules weren’t followed.

Kim wanted to give herself a slap as she turned to her colleague.

‘Bryant, head for Quarry Bank.’