Perfect Silence. Helen Fields

they really couldn’t bear to be reminded of it every minute of the day,’ Callanach suggested.

      ‘How could you forget, flowers or not? I wonder if throwing it all out was Christopher’s idea or Mrs Myers’?’ Tripp replied.

      ‘They’ll present it as a united decision, whatever the truth of the matter. Let’s go back down. I have a couple more questions then we can get back to the station. I’d like to confirm with the army about Zoey’s brother, too,’ Callanach said.

      Back downstairs they found Elsa making a pot of tea and Christopher washing up. ‘Best to keep busy, we’ve found,’ Christopher said. ‘If you let yourself sit and think about it for too long, you just can’t get up again.’

      ‘We understand,’ Callanach said. ‘For our records, as you’re obviously related parties, could you tell us what you were doing last Sunday? We know where Zoey was until 11 a.m., then she went out and was noted as missing at 4 p.m.’

      ‘We were at an autumn fete,’ Elsa said, pouring milk into a teacup. ‘A community event over at Kirknewton.’

      ‘I’ll write down the names of a few friends we were there with, plus there are photos. You know how it is these days. Everything’s all over social media before you know it. We got there to help set up in the morning at about ten. I was running the bouncy castle.’ Christopher gave a sad smile. ‘Elsa was on the cake stall. It was a charity fundraiser. We were there all day. Got home about six in the evening.’

      ‘And you didn’t leave at any stage?’ Tripp asked.

      ‘Not at all. There was a bit of rain so we were huddled together under shelters for quite a lot of it. Didn’t stop the children wanting to run around outside though,’ Christopher said. ‘Are you sure about that tea?’

      ‘We’ll be off, thanks. If you could just write down those names …’

      ‘Of course.’ Christopher busied himself with a sheet ripped off a notepad as Elsa poured tea for the two of them. When he handed his alibi list over, there were no fewer than a dozen names on it.

      Callanach and Tripp made their way out of the front door.

      ‘Is that your garage?’ Callanach asked.

      ‘It is. Feel free to go inside. Just pull it shut when you’re finished,’ Christopher said, shutting the front door.

      Tripp pulled up the garage door. The floor had been recently brushed. No dirt or leaves remained. A few tools hung in neat rows and old kitchen cupboards had been rehung to house half-used tins of paint and essentials like WD40.

      ‘This is the tidiest garage I’ve ever seen,’ Tripp said.

      ‘Check the cupboards.’

      ‘Are we looking for anything in particular?’

      ‘Green rope or string,’ Callanach said. ‘Blades, gloves, duct tape, needles. Anything you wouldn’t want to see if you were kidnapped and woke up trapped in here.’

       Chapter Seven

      ‘Wait for me,’ Ava said. ‘I’m not making it that easy for you. If Overbeck’s going to storm into my office and bollock you, I’m overseeing whatever steps you take to remedy it.’

      ‘Don’t sweat it, ma’am. If the Evil Overlord wants to use me as a whipping boy for a while, that’s fine with me,’ Lively said.

      ‘And that’s supposed to reassure me how …?’ Ava asked.

      ‘You’re coming to the cells with me, are you then?’ He ignored her question and responded with his own.

      ‘I am, so no cutting corners. Write up a detailed statement afterwards, and so we’re clear, you’re to avoid sarcasm, aggression and all forms of fiction,’ Ava said.

      ‘I think you’re being a bit harsh, to be honest,’ Lively said, getting out his notebook which gave Ava a vague sense of hope that the proper processes might be complied with.

      ‘Do you? I think I’m a goddamned angel,’ Ava said. ‘Come on then. Down to the cells.’

      A few floors below, and a few locked doors into the heart of the building, Mikey Parsons’ face was grim. Even Lively had the decency to let out a whistle of sick appreciation at the extent of the damage.

      ‘How’re you doing there, Mikey?’ he asked.

      ‘Hurts,’ Parsons muttered.

      ‘Aye, that was always going to happen when you could actually feel your face again. This here is Detective Chief Inspector Turner. She’s come to ask you about what happened,’ Lively said.

      ‘Am I under arrest? Did I do something?’ Parsons muttered, his speech slurred either from years of addiction or the wound across his cheek; it was hard to tell.

      Ava unlocked his door and walked into the cell, leaning against the wall opposite the bed Parsons was laid out on. He didn’t attempt to sit up.

      ‘You’re not under arrest, Mr Parsons. You’re here for your own protection because you refused medical assistance and you were deemed too vulnerable to remain outside. Is there anything at all you can tell us about how you got that injury?’

      Parsons raised a shaking hand to his face, investigating the extent of his injury. His fingertips came away bloody as he attempted to plaster the loose flaps of skin back down onto the structure of his cheeks.

      ‘Don’t remember anything,’ Parsons said, turning his head away from her to stare at the wall.

      ‘Perhaps the sergeant would get you a cup of tea,’ Ava said. ‘He’s good at making hot drinks for people.’

      ‘Oh, for crying out loud,’ Lively said, scuffing his feet as he walked away. ‘Give an inch and they take a bloody mile.’

      Ava ignored him. ‘Mr Parsons, whatever happened, you’re in no trouble. I understand that drugs were involved, but I’m not interested in prosecuting individual users. Life is tough and you’ve got your reasons. What I want is to find the person who assaulted you. You could have died. Just because you’re homeless doesn’t mean you’re worth less than anyone else. It’s not okay to pretend this doesn’t matter.’

      ‘I’ll heal,’ Parsons said.

      ‘If you don’t get medical help, those scars will be more painful than they need to be and liable to infection. Would you mind if I took a closer look at the injury?’ She crossed the cell to stand nearer to him.

      Slowly, he rolled his head to the left for Ava to get a better understanding of the extent of the injuries. The slashes were clean, and there was no mistaking the fact that they had been designed to form a Z. This had been no chance encounter. The perpetrator had gone looking for a semi-conscious Spice user to mark. Edinburgh’s so-called zombies were becoming a feature of city life, and apparently attracting the wrong kind of attention.

      ‘It needs stitching. Not even glue will help with that and it’s beyond our first-aid capabilities. Where did you buy the Spice, Mikey?’ she asked.

      ‘Traded it for half a bottle of vodka,’ Mikey said. ‘Don’t remember who with.’

      ‘Did you feel any pain when you were attacked?’

      ‘Was asleep. Or unconscious. I had a dream there was something biting me. It wouldn’t let go. I thought it was all just part of the trip. I woke up here. Do I get food?’ he asked.

      ‘I’ll see what the custody sergeant can rustle up,’ Ava said. ‘I need you to give a statement, though. Someone else will write it out for you and you’ll just have to sign it. Also, I’d like to take photos of your injury. Do you consent to that?’

      ‘Am I under arrest?’