‘They’re saying he killed two girls and raped that one you found. Rosie. But, Tommy’s only a kid. It’s crazy.’
‘Of course it is, love.’ Pete was not going to tell her about the evidence they had to the contrary and he hoped that Louise would not mention it either. He glanced across at her. She had stopped eating and was watching him, a strange light in her eyes. They had had a massive row about the forensic evidence against Tommy when it came to light. ‘But if Tommy was with Burton all that time – and Burton was a teacher, remember – there’s no telling what he could have convinced him of.’
‘So, you’ve got to un-convince him. Make him see that nobody believes he’s guilty, so he can come home,’ Annie insisted.
A swell of emotion swept over him, its intensity almost overpowering. He dropped his knife and fork, got up and stepped around the table. Taking Annie in his arms, he hugged her like he’d never let go. He felt her slender arms around his waist, smelt the shampoo in her hair as she laid her head against his chest. His grip tightened even further, eyes closing as emotion trembled in his chest. Then he felt her squirm in his grip. He opened his eyes. She was staring up at him. ‘God, I love you,’ he murmured.
Looking up at Louise, who was watching them now, he opened his arms and reached out to her, too. She hesitated.
Come on, he thought. Don’t just sit there. Please.
Finally, she left her seat and joined them on the other side of Annie. He drew her in, one arm around her waist, and sighed deeply. ‘I don’t know what I’d do without the pair of you.’
Pete switched off the engine and checked the dashboard clock: 6.28 a.m. It was still fully dark, the street lights casting a yellow glow over the houses and parked cars on either side of the steep road. All was quiet. Peaceful.
He felt emotionally drained after last night. He didn’t know why. Was he not as ready as he’d thought to come back to work? The intensity of the Rosie Whitlock case had been difficult to deal with on top of everything else. And now this one, just days later . . . It was a lot to handle with the lack of anything concrete on Tommy’s situation, the difficulties that Louise was still facing and the guilt he couldn’t help feeling over how much he had come to rely on Annie over the past few months and especially since he’d come back to work.
Much as he knew that the police shrink at Middlemoor was going to try to find one, he was aware there was no easy answer.
He shook his head.
Two cars up, on the far side, its nose pointing downhill, he could see Jane’s little green Vauxhall. Pete climbed out of his car and pressed the remote as he crossed the road towards Jane’s Corsa. The remote locking system clunked behind him.
Dave had called him at home last night, interrupting a discussion of exactly how they could let Tommy know that it was safe for him to come home, to say that he’d found out where Petrosyan was currently living.
The address he’d got was a few doors along from the next junction up the hill.
Jane’s window buzzed down as Pete approached. ‘Morning, boss.’
‘Any sign of Dave?’
Further down the hill, a car turned a corner towards them, headlights bright and dazzling in the crisp, frosty morning.
‘Not yet. Maybe this is him.’
Pete went around the little car and climbed into the passenger seat. Jane left the window down as the other car approached slowly up the hill, eventually resolving into a silver Ford Mondeo just like the one Pete was driving. As it drew level with them, its window slid down and it stopped.
‘Morning all,’ Dave said brightly from the passenger seat, beyond Dick Feeney. ‘What’s the plan then? No dark alleys round here, are there?’
‘If there are, they’re all yours,’ Pete told him. ‘Meantime, you two take the next street across. Park where you can, facing downhill like Jane has. I’ll go up onto his street and keep an eye on his doorway. When he comes out, I’ll let you know, then we’ll leapfrog him with the three cars so that one of us has got him in sight all the time. If he’s as paranoid as they reckon, that should save him spotting us until he gets where he’s going and we can take him there.’
‘Sounds like a plan.’
‘Right, let’s get into position.’
Pete climbed out of Jane’s car and crossed back to his own while Dick drove on up the street, turning right at the junction. As they went from sight, he started his engine and followed them up the hill. Their target lived three doors along to the right. Pete turned left, found a space a few cars along and backed into it, lining his side-mirror up along the pavement. Then he switched off the engine and settled in to wait.
With two of the car’s side-windows wound slightly down to avoid misting up, it did not take long for the inside of the car to get as bitterly cold as the outside. Pete was glad of the heavy police-issue coat he was wearing. His hands were clad in thick gloves, but still the cold seeped into him as he sat there, waiting for Petrosyan to emerge, not even certain that he would.
He remembered Annie, the previous morning, running from the car to meet her friends, bundled up in a thick coat, black gloves and a black wool hat with a pale, furry bobble on top, winter tights under a skirt that, even at ten years old, she was starting to wear too damn short for his liking. But at least she was warm.
He grunted. At this moment, she’d still be tucked up in bed, fast asleep.
What about her brother?
Where was he, and what was he doing? What was he wearing on this icy morning? Was he indoors somewhere? God, I hope so, Pete thought. The idea of him hunched, shivering, in some freezing corner of the city, probably with no winter coat, never mind a hat or gloves or enough to eat, no shelter except perhaps from the rain – And thank God it’s not doing that – made his stomach twist and his teeth clamp together in anguish.
Wherever the boy was, Pete hoped he was at least warm enough. Cold like this could kill a person, especially if they were undernourished and vulnerable. He sucked air in through a throat clogged by emotion.
He shook his head, refusing to allow the thought to go any further. Come on, Pete. Focus. But there was still no activity to be seen in his side-mirror. The street was quiet and still.
He caught a flicker of movement, but it was just a dark cat jumping up onto the wall of the house beyond where the Armenian – if he even was one – was living. As he watched, it jumped down onto the footpath and disappeared under a car. Pete was briefly tempted to switch his gaze to the other mirror, to see it emerge on the road, but resisted. He had to stay alert. This whole operation depended on his spotting Petrosyan as soon as he came out.
He waited a while longer, then checked his watch again. Almost seven. He shivered. Maybe he should start the car and close the windows, just for five minutes, warm himself up a bit . . .
It was incredibly tempting. But, if Petrosyan came out, heard the engine running and saw no one . . . People around here wouldn’t leave a car running unattended to defrost the windscreen. It was dodgy enough where Pete lived but here, on the rougher side of the river . . . No way.
He rubbed his gloved hands together briskly and wriggled his shoulders inside his coat.
Movement.
He stared at the side-mirror. A door swung open. A man stepped out, breath pluming, closed the door behind him and headed for the pavement. Stocky