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

life out there for anybody to see. Relationship status: single. Favourite movie: Sleepless in Seattle. She’d provide her blood group if the Yanks put a field in the form for it. Stupid cow! Stupid, worthless cow!

Next time I see you at the food bank, I’ll be sure to be at my most helpful. Seems the least I can do, given what I’ve got planned for you.

He spins round in his executive computer chair, bought online and delivered by some immigrant from Eastern Europe. Consults his chart with the victims’ food-bank membership cards he took neatly taped beneath their names. The first four photos have been crossed through with a black marker. But it’s all wrong, isn’t it? Because Lisa Moore didn’t donate.

He’d killed them when he could. That was down to circumstances. What mattered – what really mattered – was the order in which he’d used their blood. Alphabetical, just like dear old Dad would have liked.

But now Moore had ruined everything. Too late to stop, though, when he was so close to purifying himself. So close to that tantalising goal: purging himself of his blood for ever.

You’ve no other option, then, have you? Track Young and, when she next comes in, it’ll have to be a ‘buy one, get one free’ deal at the food bank.

The thought makes him laugh. He swivels round and looks up at the photos. Smiles with satisfaction. Soon, Pops, very soon.

DAY SEVENTEEN, 10.45 A.M.

Jools hurried into Ford’s office. He looked up from his screen, grateful for a break from the growing number of documents he needed to read.

‘Guv, you’re going to want to see this.’

Curious, and with a flicker of excitement igniting in his gut, he followed the ambitious young DC out of his office and across the incident room to her desk. She dropped into her chair and jiggled her mouse to wake up her screen.

‘What have you got?’ he asked.

‘It was when I took Lisa Moore’s statement yesterday,’ Jools said with a grin. ‘She said she’d been to the food bank that same morning.’

‘Don’t keep me in suspense, Jools.’

‘I got to thinking. What if he’s picking them on the day they go there? I don’t know, watching and waiting. Like a hunter.’

‘Plausible. How does this help us?’

She jabbed a finger at the screen where she’d typed the list of adult victims, plus dates.

‘I checked with the Purcell Foundation. They keep records of who comes in and what they buy – I mean, take. But they give them a sort of pretend credit card to scan. It’s about preserving their dignity.’

‘You did well to get that out of the food bank. You didn’t get any of that GDPR crap, then?’

‘I explained to the manager, Leonie Breakspear, that legally, dead people don’t have rights. To property, or privacy.’

Ford nodded. ‘Smart. You know your law.’

Jools’s grin widened. ‘Thanks, guv. But there’s more. First of all, Angie and Paul visited the food bank on the days they were murdered,’ she said, indicating the table of dates and names. ‘It was harder with Marcus, on account of the wider time-frame, but it looks good.’

‘Excellent. We can cross-check with the food bank to see who was working on those days.’

‘Already asked. Leonie said she’d get back to me later today.’

‘Jools, this is great. We’ll have a much narrower pool of persons of interest, and I hope to God our Mr Abbott is on it.’

She frowned. ‘You still like him for it, don’t you?’

He thought of the profile he and Hannah had drafted. ‘In the absence of anyone else, yes, I do. And we need to think about getting a DNA sample from him for cross-reference when the samples come back from Lisa’s fingernails. Anything else?’

She shook her head.

‘Briefing at noon. Keep on it till then. And check whether any of our victims had their card on them.’

The conference room was packed, once more. Just as Ford was about to speak, the door banged back on itself, making everyone jump. Sandy stood in the doorway, her face unreadable. Ford saw a face behind her and scowled reflexively.

‘Morning, all,’ she said, in a jovial tone that Ford recognised as her fake-jolly voice. ‘We have a guest for this meeting. Someone make space for our police and crime commissioner.’

Peterson squeezed past Sandra and took the chair pulled out for him by Mick Tanner.

‘Don’t mind me, everyone,’ he called out. ‘Just here in an overwatch capacity. Pretend I’m not here.’

Ford bit back the obvious comment he saw written on the faces of the investigators in the room. He began by running through the leads they had, the forensics and the progress of each of the lines of enquiry.

‘Excuse me, DI Ford?’

Ford turned to face Peterson. ‘Yes, Martin. You have a question?’

‘This is your first murder investigation as a DI, isn’t it?’

‘Yes,’ he answered, cautiously. ‘Although I ran plenty as a DS.’

‘But they were Cat Cs, for the most part, I think I’m right in saying. Straightforward domestic killings, and the odd brawl-gone-wrong between drunken squaddies?’

Ford knew where Peterson was going, and didn’t like it. ‘Sorry, Martin. Not following you.’

Peterson looked round the room, his smile as out of place as a giggle at a funeral. ‘This is a complex serial-killer investigation. I’m just wondering whether you’ve made any real progress. I’ve seen a name double-underlined on your board out there.’ He gestured at the wall separating them from the incident room. ‘Abbott. Is he your prime suspect?’

Sensing Peterson would love to get his hands on the crucial line of enquiry – and leak it, too, you bastard – Ford downplayed its significance. ‘He’s a person of interest.’

‘As I said, a suspect.’

Ford failed to stifle his sigh. ‘Someone tell Martin why Mr Abbott isn’t a suspect, please.’

Hannah beat all the assembled detectives and PSIs to the punch. ‘A person identified as a suspect must be arrested as soon as is practicable. Although it gives us extra tools in terms of surveillance, search and interview, it