Lost Souls by Jenny O'Brien (android e book reader txt) 📕

held it out to her. ‘You should see yourself – you look as if someone has died.’

‘That will be you, if that’s what I think it is?’ she said, eyeing the sheet with an expression that was all too easy to read.

‘Ha, as if.’ He gave a deep chuckle before letting the paper float down between them. ‘I don’t change my mind that easily. I’m here to stay, for the time being anyway. No. Sherlock collared me as soon as I came through the door. He’s disappointed not to have received your application for DI and, with the interviews arranged for tomorrow, he’s pretty livid that you haven’t bothered to apply.’

‘Ah. Yes. Well. I um haven’t quite made my mind up about—’

‘Perhaps this will help.’ He scooped up the sheet and held it out a second time. ‘Apparently there was a lot of interest in the position but only one candidate shortlisted.’

She glanced up from where she’d been toying with her pen, the inflection in his voice the only indication that he was about to tell her something she wasn’t going to like.

‘He also said that, as he’s out of the office later, he’d like you to take his place and show the candidate around.’

‘And?’

Owen picked up his empty mug and dangled it from one finger.

‘It’s that tosser you were telling me about back in Swansea. DS Bill Davis. If Sherlock doesn’t have your application in by midnight there’s a very good chance that Davis will be our new boss.’

Chapter 8

Owen

Monday 3 August, 10 a.m. St Asaph

Owen and Gaby didn’t waste any time. They were soon striding down the corridor and towards the main entrance, only to stop at the sound of the desk sergeant’s urgent tone.

‘I was about to phone, ma’am.’

‘Yes, what is it?’

He lowered his voice to such a level that they both had to lean forward across the desk to hear him.

‘There’s a problem that I can’t deal with,’ Clancy said, shifting his attention briefly to the other side of the room. ‘It looks as if a serious crime may have been committed.’

Owen’s attention flickered to the man sitting next to the fire extinguisher, a plastic bag resting across his knees. They got all sorts through the door and the man occupying the chair was only a variation. Dressed in stained jeans and a chequered shirt, he was obviously someone who worked with his hands, his fingernails blunt-cut and ingrained with dirt. The weather-beaten hue of his skin had Owen immediately jump to gardener, his curiosity piqued at the thought of what the man might have to tell them.

‘I think you’d be better to get the story first-hand,’ Clancy continued, his next words pulling him back into the conversation with a jolt. ‘I don’t think I’ve ever heard the like.’

Owen drew his brows into a frown, trying to imagine what could have popped through the door in the few minutes he’d been hiding away in Gaby’s office, but it was impossible. There was only one way to find out.

He walked across the floor, a ready smile on his lips. ‘Good morning, sir. I believe you have something to show us?’

As an experienced officer, Owen would never dream of shirking his duty but if he could find something to keep him away from thoughts of that missing girl, he’d grab it. He’d also worked with Gaby long enough to know that she’d let him. The interview at the school only needed one detective, which meant that she must be concerned as to how he’d cope. He wasn’t about to confirm those fears.

The man stood, his fingers curled around what appeared to be a sandwich bag, the crumbs clinging to the sides a clear indication of what it used to contain.

‘Yes. Although it would probably be best if I showed you in private?’

Owen took a moment to sum up the level of the problem, his gaze lingering on the dark shapes visible through the plastic as he tried to guess what they might be and knowing full well that the reception area wasn’t the place in which to discuss it. Coming to a snap decision, he turned to Gaby.

‘I think I should probably deal with this, ma’am. I’ll try and follow on in a few minutes.’ He didn’t wait for her frown. Instead he gestured for the man to follow him into interview room four, which he’d walked past on his way down the corridor and knew to be empty.

‘Right then. What can I help you with, Mr … er …?’ Owen asked as soon as they’d settled in their chairs.

‘Penrose. Martin Penrose. I work over at the Welsh Hills Memorial Gardens in Colwyn Bay.’ He placed the bag on the table, starting to pull at the neck. ‘I’d like to show you something.’

‘Wait a minute. If it’s evidence in there we need to …’ Owen dug around in his pocket and pulled out a pair of disposable gloves.

Martin grinned, revealing a mouthful of yellow teeth. ‘What, try and preserve it? I’ve watched a fair few crime dramas in my time but there’s no way you’re going to get any clues from this lot. The cremator can reach temperatures of 1,800 degrees Fahrenheit so any evidence is dust by now.’ He paused a moment, waiting for permission to continue. ‘Right then, just in case you don’t know what these are … prosthetic hips,’ he said, placing the three long objects on the table, quickly followed by three marble-sized balls, before tapping each one with a grubby fingertip. ‘Looks like something from an alien spaceship, doesn’t it? This here ball fits into the hip while the pointed bit is rammed into the top of the leg bone. Sometimes the long bone is still attached but not in this case.’

Owen sat there, wishing he hadn’t accepted that coffee from Gaby, the rush of hot acid up the back of his throat almost making him gag at the sight of the blackened lumps of metal. He reached out a hand