Blood Loss by Kerena Swan (good beach reads .txt) 📕

Mum takes it from me. ‘Sorry you didn’t get a bike, Sarah. I tried to persuade him but he wouldn’t listen.’ She puts it down and takes more photos from the box then continues to sweep them from side to side.

‘Here,’ she announces, holding one aloft. ‘Proof that I’m your mum. That’s me with you in the hospital after you were born.’ She passes me the photo eagerly.

‘How old was I here?’

‘What do you mean? New-born, of course.’ Mum tucks her hair behind her ear as she leans forward and pulls another photo from the pile.

I haven’t seen her this animated for years.

‘You looked so cute in your little nightdress with the row of yellow ducks across the front.’

‘How many days old?’ I peer at the photo. Mum certainly looks like she’s recently given birth. Her face is pale and her eyes are dark underneath, but she’s got a radiant smile and she’s holding me close.

‘A day or two, I think. It’s hard to remember because I was so tired that I felt spaced out. They made us stay in hospital longer in those days and you were jaundiced so the student midwife kept taking you off to go in one of those special incubator thingies. Here.’ She hands me another photo triumphantly. ‘This is you straight after the birth. My friend Ruth took these pictures because I didn’t see your dad much while I was in hospital. He was working overtime. Ruth was always so good to me. I missed her dreadfully when she moved to Australia.’

I barely listen to Mum rambling on. From what I can see, Mum did give birth to me so maybe the test result isn’t actually reliable. The more I think about it, the more I wonder if Mum’s saliva sample might have been tainted by her drinking or if I contaminated it, carrying it around when I helped her up to bed. It must have been five minutes or so before I sealed it in the bag. Or maybe there’s been a mix-up at the lab. One digit entered incorrectly on a system and the results could have been sent to the wrong person. There could be someone else out there with my result thinking they’re not related to their family either. Mum must be right. I am her daughter. But am I John Butcher’s?

I clamber to my feet and brush my trousers down. ‘I think I’ll go to work after all.’

‘Good girl. I know this has been upsetting but you mustn’t let the kebab man down.’

I don’t tell her that as soon as I’ve been there I’m going to the library to check the internet and see if other people receive wrong results. Damn it, I still don’t know who my father is.

Chapter 31

March | DI Paton

‘Found anything?’ Paton pulled up a chair beside Mitchell and peered at the screen.

The phone records from Nash’s PAYG phone showed it was only used to call one number but that phone hadn’t been used since the call was made to it on the day Nash was picked up from Paisley. Paton hoped Mitchell could give him better news.

‘Look at this.’ Mitchell consulted his notepad then entered a reference number into his computer. A photograph of a silver Fiesta joining the motorway appeared. ‘This is from the next junction along from the crime scene. It’s the first of four matching cars seen on the day of the murder.’ He zoomed in on the number plate. ‘I checked their registrations and the registered owner of this one died two years before the murder.’

Paton worked out what he was saying. ‘So, whoever was driving this car had no tax or insurance?’

‘Nope.’

This was interesting. ‘I’m surprised they weren’t picked up before now. They can’t have used the car very much.’ Paton’s mind raced ahead. ‘I need you to check the cause of death for the previous owner.’

‘Already done it, Boss. He died in a hospice from secondary lung cancer. There were no suspicious circumstances.’

Paton looked at him with admiration. ‘Good work, son. Ever thought of a career as a detective?’

Mitchell grinned, and couldn’t hide his smile of pleasure at Paton’s warm praise.

Paton felt a rush of warmth for him then couldn’t stop the pang of loss he felt because Tommy would never get an opportunity to be a policeman or detective. If enthusiasm were the most important quality, then Tommy would be fantastic, but, sadly, his level of intelligence precluded him from this career. ‘Anything else?’ Paton asked. It would be a big leap from driving offences to murder but Paton’s instincts were stirring. Not that he intended to jump to any conclusions. ‘What about the other three Fiestas? Traced the owners yet?’

‘Two are local to the crime scene. Here are their addresses.’ Mitchell tore a page from his notebook and gave it to Paton. ‘Do you want me to e-mail them to you as well?’

‘Just put them in your daily report and put it in the incident room to be logged on HOLMES. I’ll get the report from there. I want you to check the ANPR cameras to see where the other two left the motorway. What’s the location of the fourth owner?’

‘Manchester.’

Paton’s stomach flipped with excitement. Was this the one? ‘I’ll take that address now too.’

Mitchell scribbled it down then rubbed his eyes.

‘Take a half-hour break,’ Paton said. ‘Give your eyes a rest.’

On his way back across the office he stopped at Cheryl’s desk and gave her the first piece of paper. ‘I’d like you to visit these two people and check where they were going and why, on the day of the murder. Ask for any evidence and alibis.’

Cheryl nodded.

‘Take another DC with you,’ Paton said. ‘I doubt these people have anything to do with the murder but we can’t be sure and I don’t want you walking into a risky situation on your own.’

Next, Paton knocked on the SIO’s door and entered at the barked command. He updated his boss,