Page 32 of Killing Mind

She let out a long breath trying to expel some of the tension in her body.

She had the feeling that Myles Brown had been telling the truth but not the whole truth. The man was still hiding something.

Twenty-Seven

Myles closed the front door on the police officers and stood in the middle of the hallway. He considered heading straight back to his study and closing the door on the wall of animosity that was building between himself and his wife. Ever since they’d returned from the morgue Kate had been unable to tolerate being in the same room with him for more than a couple of minutes.

He began to climb the stairs, recalling the quiet sobs that had escaped from the lips of his wife throughout the night as she’d tossed and turned beside him. His efforts to offer comfort had been rebuffed as she had moved closer to the edge of the bed.

His own tears threatened to break free every waking moment for the loss of his daughter and only the need to be strong for the rest of his family kept them at bay.

He stood for a moment in the doorway to Sophie’s room watching his wife shake the quilt into the quilt cover decorated with a New York skyline print: Sophie’s favourite.

Sensing his presence she stiffened but didn’t turn.

‘Did you tell her the truth?’ Kate asked, forcing a plump pillow into a fresh, crisp pillow case.

‘No,’ he answered, leaning against the door frame.

She paused, mid-plump. ‘I think you’re making a mistake.’

‘We can’t risk it, sweetheart. It’s too dangerous. We don’t know what could happen if we involve the police now.’

Finally, she turned to look at him. ‘I think we can trust her. She seems to know what she’s doing.’

Myles hesitated, torn between wanting to bridge the gap between them and the gut instinct that told him he was doing the right thing.

‘We can’t trust that she’d understand how these things need to be handled.’

‘And we’ve done a fantastic job so far, haven’t we?’ she accused, her eyes blazing.

He swallowed the emotion back down. He knew what this was costing his marriage, but the silence and distance lengthened between them because he couldn’t tell her what she wanted to hear.

‘You know, Myles, mistakes have been made and contrary to your belief I don’t blame you for all of them.’

This admission tore at his heart. He stepped towards her, aching to take her into his arms.

She moved to the side, deftly avoiding his touch.

Her eyes were now cold and empty.

‘But this mistake is completely yours and if it all goes wrong be sure you’ll be facing it alone.’

Twenty-Eight

Stacey ended her call to Dudley College with no more information than she’d had before. It had taken Sammy’s psychology professor a good few minutes to remember her former student, and even then had given her stock responses as though she was writing an end of year school report. She hadn’t even noticed the change in the girl after her break-up with Callum. Tyler’s mechanical engineering tutor had barely recalled him at all, leaving her hanging for ten minutes while he searched his records rather than his memory for the name.

Stacey reminded herself that these people saw thousands of students every year and couldn’t be expected to remember everything about every one of them, but still there was a sense that they would be more noticeable for their deaths than their lives. Their names would now travel the halls of the facility on the lips of people who hadn’t even known them.

Her search of missing persons had turned up two mentions of Dudley College but both teenage boys had returned home safe and sound and neither case had been reported in the years since Sammy and Tyler had been there. So far she had found no link to the college other than they had both attended at the same time.

She sighed heavily and fought the urge to nip down to the canteen for a double chocolate muffin.

Rosie often put one aside for her at the beginning of the day, so sure was she that Stacey would find her way down at some stage for her favourite treat. She’d resisted for two days now but it felt much longer.

By her reckoning she had twelve weeks to lose the stone in weight that she’d like to shed before the wedding. Given that it had taken almost a month to lose two pounds the odds were not on her side.

She’d never been a dieter and had always felt that all was well in moderation. If she had a few days where she felt she’d eaten plenty, she’d spend a couple of days just cutting back, which worked well for the odd pound or two that crept on while watching a bit of late-night TV with a chocolate bar, or two. But for shifting a chunk of weight she’d had to resort to more desperate measures.