Just 15 years old, brutalized, dumped in a park, throat slashed. A schoolgirl prostitute died in agony and terror. The sight breaks the heart of DS Bev Morriss and a cold fury consumes her. Plunging herself into the seedy heart of Birmingham's vice-land she struggles to infiltrate the deadly jung...
“Why leave daffodils at the crime scenes?” It was the guv’s question but Bev had been asking herself the same thing. She’d kept tabs on the inquiry over the weekend via calls to the incident room. Not difficult, nothing had shifted. “Could it be a r...
Rusty iron railings separated the litter-strewn sites; a Tesco carrier bag snagged on a spike, flapping desultorily in a light breeze. Through the gaps a straggly row of motley shoppers gawked at the crime scene. A podgy bleached blonde in a pink shell suit shovelled popcorn like she was watching...
Bev was speechless. As in goldfish. “Don’t be under any illusion,” Byford said, “she’s this close to slapping in an official complaint.” Bev glanced at the guv’s finger and thumb – they were butt-joined. Post-brief, she’d tailed the big man to his office expecting a dressi...
Probably. The number was different every time Detective Sergeant Bev Morriss counted and she’d lost track of how often she’d started. She curled a lip. Tarting up the grim surroundings with primary prints and pot plants didn’t change the ambience. Pain and shame lingered here, almost tangibly. Be...
At least there was a bit of nightlife in the city centre. OK, lowlife. Binge drinkers, blokes on the pull, birds on the pill, clubbers on whatever they could grab before hitting the pavement. Kept you on your toes. Not like being on traffic, especially in the not-particularly-mean streets of Birm...
Wilde was throwing accusations as well as punches, swearing the chief had used Hunt’s absence to launch an unprovoked attack. From what she’d heard, it was just conceivable the youth’s injuries were self-inflicted: the split lip, bruised cheek, scratches near the eye were superficial. The medical...
On the desk between them lay a copy of the kidnapper’s message. The original and the lock of baby hair were with forensics. Establishing if the hair was Evie’s was a priority. There was an outside chance they were dealing with a hoaxer. Christ, Sarah thought, she wouldn’t put it past King to have...
The plot had housed five Edwardian villas until a few months back when they reached their dwell-by date and were demolished to make way for starter homes. Developers had second thoughts or faltering cash flow. Either way, the site was now an urban eyesore: weed-infested, fly-tipped, dog-shat. Amo...
Morning had broken, not. Just gone six, damson trails streaked an indigo sky, silver light glimmered on the smooth dark surface of the canal. Still waters. Chief Sitting Bull Shit. Really. What was that about? Shaking her head, she gave a thin smile, padded barefoot to the kitchen. Like the rest ...
Say again.’ Sarah’s biro stalled mid-hover over an almost full page of notes: name, age, address, alibis that would have to be checked, yada yada, then: wham. Had she heard him right? A quick glance to her left suggested Harries was experiencing a credibility gap too – he seemed to be having trou...