Shallow Ground (Detective Ford) by Andy Maslen (to read list txt) 📕

point I am unable to speculate as to the killer’s identity,’ he said, fighting the urge to get up and leave. ‘The cause of death in both cases was exsanguination, which matches that of Angela Halpern.’

‘So it is the same killer?’ a journalist shouted. ‘Is there a serial killer in Salisbury?’

Sandy pressed her leg against Ford’s, her signal for him to let her take over.

‘There isn’t enough evidence at this stage of the investigation to draw such a conclusion,’ she said. ‘We’re asking the public for two things. One, to be vigilant. Think twice before letting a stranger into your home. And two, to inform the police by calling Bourne Hill Police Station, or Crimestoppers, if they see or hear anything suspicious.’

‘What, like someone turning into a bat?’ the same journalist shouted, prompting more laughter.

Sandy kept a fixed smile plastered on to her face, and waited them out. The room fell silent under her glare.

‘If anyone has a sensible question, now would be the moment,’ she said.

‘Do you have any suspects yet?’ a young woman with a FREELANCE badge pinned to her top called out. Several of the older male journalists craned their necks to take a better look at her.

‘At the moment, we are pursuing several lines of enquiry. We have identified a number of persons of interest, and DI Ford and his team are working flat out to interview them all for elimination purposes.’

‘So, that’s a no, then?’

Sandy smiled again. ‘I have full confidence in DI Ford and his team. They will identify a suspect, and when they do, I can assure you, we will communicate that fact to you.’ She stood. ‘Thank you all.’ Then, under her breath, as the noise levels soared, ‘Come on, Henry, let’s grab a quick drink at the Wyndham Arms.’

Sitting with their drinks, a large vodka and tonic for her and an orange juice and soda for him, Sandy combed her fingers through her hair.

‘Who was that loudmouth making the wisecracks?’

‘I couldn’t see. To be honest, I haven’t done many of these, boss. I’m not sure I’d know him by sight anyway.’

‘How about the girl? The one with the tight top the blokes couldn’t keep their eyes off. Have you seen her before?’

Ford shook his head. ‘I had someone called Kerry Battle on the phone from Sky a couple of days back. Maybe the girl was her stringer.’

Sandy grunted. ‘Huh! I’d like to string her up. Impertinent little cow.’

Ford grinned. ‘And there was me thinking you looked like butter wouldn’t melt.’

‘That’s the magic power of Chanel for you. Seriously, though, what are your thoughts so far?’

He sipped his drink. ‘Despite your nice deflection of that journalist’s question, we do have a serial killer on our patch,’ he said. ‘And he’s working fast. I mean, Christ, three adults and a kid in, what, a month?’

‘I know. He’s going to keep on going, isn’t he?’

‘Until he’s caught, or we put too much heat on him and he leaves the area, yes.’

‘What do we know about him?’

‘Taking the cases as a whole, there are two interesting features. The adult victims were all using the food bank. And I have this feeling there’s also a link to the hospital.’

‘This isn’t about Mr Abbott, again?’

Yes. It is. Ford shook his head. ‘Angie Halpern worked there. Paul Eadon was treated for a blood infection up there. And the killer has shown more than a rudimentary knowledge of anatomy and medical procedures for drawing blood.’

‘You think it’s a doctor?’

‘Yeah, or a nurse. Or a care assistant. Or the chief executive, for all I know. Just, they’ve got some sort of connection. I’m sure of it.’

‘I know you’re doing your best. So forgive me for what I’m about to say,’ said Sandy, looking him straight in the eye. ‘But, just try, you know? To catch him before he does another one.’

‘That’s the plan,’ he said.

They finished their drinks and walked back down College Street towards Bourne Hill and their respective offices.

After catching up on witness statements, interview transcripts and reports from the different investigating teams, Ford checked his watch, and swore.

It was 6.15 p.m. He still had a mountain of paperwork to get through, and he’d promised to drive Sam to a friend’s house out in the sticks for a paintball party.

He called Miles. ‘Any chance you could run Sam out to Broad Chalke? He’s due at a party at seven and I’m going to be stuck at work for another couple of hours.’

‘Sorry, mate. Eleanor and I are just leaving for a charity do. It’s in the opposite direction. I’m really sorry.’

‘It’s fine. I ask too much of you guys as it is. I’ll leave now. Take the work with me.’

Fifteen minutes later, stomach clenched with tension from fighting to get through the rush-hour traffic, Ford swerved off Rainhill Road and scrunched to a sliding stop on the gravel. His phone had been pinging incessantly. He looked down, hoping it was Jools with a breakthrough in the case.

Where are you? Lift to Max’s, remember?

Where are you? Party starts @ 7

Not cool, Dad

Where are u?

Don’t make me late

u knew about this for weeks

WHERE ARE YOU?

WHERE ARE YOU?

WHERE ARE YOU?

WHERE ARE YOU?

Sam was sitting on the front doorstep, staring at his phone. He looked up as Ford peered out at him. His face was dark, those deep-brown eyes black with fury.

‘I’m sorry, Sam,’ Ford said. ‘You ready?’

Wordlessly, Sam got to his feet and climbed into the rear of the Discovery.

The drive took them deep into the countryside, down single-track lanes beneath ivy-throttled trees leaning towards each other like drunks walking home from a country pub.

Ford tried again. ‘Sam, I’m sorry I had to keep you waiting. It’s the case. It’s—’

‘—obviously more important than I am.’

‘No! Of course not. Nothing in this world is more precious to me than you. You know that.’

‘Do I? Oh, thanks for updating me on what I know. Because sometimes I wonder if I even have a dad,’ Sam said. ‘I spend more time with