Perfect Kill. Helen Fields

keep Malcolm’s body at the mortuary until the matter is resolved. We can transfer him back to the UK if you’d feel more comfortable having him in Edinburgh. We’re not going to rest until we get answers for you.’

      ‘He’d met someone,’ Mr Reilly announced, at little more than a whisper.

      His wife whipped her head round, the fastest Ava had seen her move since arriving.

      ‘What are you talking about?’ Mrs Reilly asked.

      Her husband rubbed a hand across his forehead.

      ‘He asked me not to tell you. I don’t know much about it myself. Just that he’d met a woman he rather liked a few times, but that he wasn’t sure it was going anywhere.’

      ‘Why not?’ Ava asked.

      ‘Why was I not to be told?’ Malcolm’s mother followed up.

      ‘I gather she was married, or engaged, or something. Malc was vague about it. He wouldn’t tell me her name. I got the impression she’d asked him not to talk about her.’

      ‘Why exactly?’ Ava pressed.

      ‘He said something about how she wouldn’t like him talking about her. I overheard him on the phone one day. Malcolm had sounded excited, younger than normal. He was quite reserved usually, so I asked who it was. I think he wanted to tell me more but was torn.’

      ‘You should have told me anyway,’ Mrs Reilly said. It was an accusation.

      ‘Malcolm knew you’d disapprove. He didn’t want to upset you. Neither did I.’

      ‘And what if she had something to do with all of this? If I’d known, if you’d told me …’

      ‘How could some woman he liked have taken him to France? His passport’s still in his drawer. And why would she do that? It makes no sense. That’s why I didn’t say anything before. It’s ridiculous,’ he declared, banging his fist against his leg.

      Ava gave them both a moment to calm down.

      ‘Which phone did you hear Malcolm talking to this woman on, and when?’ she asked.

      ‘His mobile. It was never found after he disappeared. As for when, that would have been about ten weeks ago. It was a Sunday afternoon,’ Mr Reilly said.

      ‘So two weeks before he disappeared, then. I’ll check his mobile call logs with his telecom provider. I don’t suppose you know where he met this woman?’

      ‘I don’t, but he was keen on her, and he obviously thought she felt the same or I don’t think he’d have mentioned her to me at all. It couldn’t have been her, could it?’ He stared into Ava’s eyes, looking for more than information. Wanting affirmation, reassurance, perhaps forgiveness.

      ‘We have to cover all angles when we investigate. I’ll do my best to locate this woman. Until then, it’s best not to torture yourselves with hypotheticals. I’ll leave you to it. If you think of anything else, please do get in touch.’

      ‘How could you keep that from me?’ Mrs Reilly hissed at her husband. ‘He was my son, I had a right to know.’

      ‘It was nothing, please, Anne, don’t upset yourself …’

      ‘Don’t upset myself?’ she raged, looking around the room before choosing the nearest object to seize. It was a vase. Her husband looked on in silence as it smashed in the fireplace. ‘My boy was gutted like a fish, and you’re asking me not to upset myself? What is it that you want me to do? Sit in bed quietly and cry into a hankie? What if this woman’s husband found out about them and decided to get rid of Malcolm? Did you think of that?’

      ‘No … no, I’m sure Malcolm wouldn’t have let it get that far.’

      ‘Mrs Reilly,’ Ava said. ‘I understand—’

      ‘No you don’t,’ Malcolm Reilly’s mother screamed. On the final word she aimed an open palm at Ava’s face, slapping hard enough for Ava’s neck to crack as her head whirled round. ‘Oh my God. I’m sorry. Oh my God,’ she gasped, falling to her knees.

      Ava took to the floor beside her, taking Malcolm’s mother’s hands in her own, gently stroking the hand that had slapped her.

      ‘You’re right,’ Ava said. ‘I don’t understand. It’s okay. The worst thing is, I know that I never want to have to understand, not fully. I never want to be feeling what you’re feeling now. That’s why I do this job. I want to make sure that as few people as possible have to go through what you’re experiencing. All I can promise is that I’ll do my best, and that I’ll make everyone else do their best, and I won’t stop until I can give you answers.’

      Mrs Reilly drew herself into a ball, rocking back and forth, eventually letting her husband kneel next to her and wrap her in his arms. Ava suspected they would be there, on that cold wooden floor, for an awfully long time. She let herself out.

      An hour later Ava was at home changing out of her uniform. In spite of the Major Investigation Team’s non-uniform policy, she had always felt more comfortable treating visits to the recently bereaved with the utmost formality. That mark of respect was the least she could offer. The rest of the day was going to be briefings and normal graft, though, and her jeans were beckoning. She was almost ready to leave for the station when her doorbell rang. Ava sighed. Her cheek was still raw from the monumental slap dealt by a grieving mother. The blow had been well delivered, and while Ava didn’t resent it at all, it had left fingermarks that would be like carrying a physical part of Malcolm Reilly with her for the rest of the day. Fitting perhaps, given that so much of him was actually missing. She wandered towards the door, feeling less than charitable towards whoever was out there, ringing her doorbell so persistently.

      ‘Hey you,’ a voice said, as Ava began to open the door. ‘I was hoping you might be here.’

      ‘Natasha,’ Ava said, stepping back to let her best friend in, grinning at the unexpected visit. They didn’t see each other often enough, and exchanging texts hardly did justice to the number of years they’d had each other’s backs. It couldn’t be helped. Natasha was Head of Philosophy at Edinburgh University, not to mention chairing numerous panels and writing articles. The two of them almost never managed to make their free evenings coincide. ‘You just caught me,’ she checked her watch, ‘but I’ve got time to put the kettle on. God, it’s good to see you.’

      Natasha turned, shrugging off her coat slowly and putting it carefully on a hook before following Ava into the kitchen.

      ‘You mean you’ve actually got milk in your fridge that’s in date?’ Natasha smiled.

      ‘You’re so rude. I’m pretty sure I have.’ She opened her fridge door and peered at the label on a milk carton. ‘Aha, see, still good until tomorrow. Now you’ll have to apologise!’

      ‘Apologise my arse,’ Natasha said, sitting down. ‘Ava, I need to talk to you.’

      ‘Yes, please, anything. I’ve had a bloody awful morning so far. Seriously, probing grieving parents for details of their child’s life at the worst possible moment. You know it’s going to be bad, but nothing prepares you for the sense of devastation.’ She stretched her arms waiting for the kettle to boil. ‘Want some toast?’

      ‘No, thanks. I’m not hungry. Sit down with me.’

      ‘No time.’ Ava grabbed a hairband from her pocket and tied her long, curly brown hair up high on her head. ‘I’ve got two different teams working up cases, one here and one in France. Thank God Luc was already there or I’d have lost two officers to liaison posts.’

      ‘Ava,’ Natasha said firmly. ‘I have cancer.’

      Ava looked at her, frowned as she half smiled, shook her head.

      ‘What are you talking about?’

      ‘I found a lump in my left breast a month ago. The doctor was great, referred me straight