Page 95 of No Safe Place

Sunday | Evening

Field

Wilson hung up. ‘Lily Stewart’s boyfriend said she left his flat this afternoon, and he hasn’t seen her since.’

They didn’t have a suspect in custody, they had another victim. Their perpetrator hadn’t broken from the schedule for the first three nights – one a night – even if they had botched it with Andrew Levey.

That meant someone else on their list was in danger.

Callum Mulligan. Lily Stewart. Penny Moore.

‘Callum was in hospital on Thursday night,’ Riley said, a defeated note in his voice. ‘He can’t have been wielding a knife on Blackheath common, and he doesn’t fit the description.’

This was a make-or-break moment. Field could either give in to the pressure and crack up, or she could go back to basics.

Motive.

‘ Why ?’ she asked, her voice steady. ‘Why, all these years later, is someone picking them off?’

Her eyes darted from Riley to Wilson.

‘Why?’ Field asked again.

They stared back at her, eyes blank.

‘The paper,’ Wilson said, finally. ‘It’s got to go back to David Moore’s paper, his write-up of the trial.’

The paper that told semi-famous writer Callum Mulligan’s teenage story and earned Dr Moore his career. The paper left at all three of the stabbings.

Unless it wasn’t about the paper itself. Unless – it was about something that happened at the Maudsley.

What had Penny said?

He had closer relationships with some of his patients than with me .

He loved being their doctor more than he loved being married.

‘They’re panicking,’ Wilson said, quietly. ‘They fell and got injured when they attacked Sam, then they botched it with Andrew.’

‘But there was no break for three nights.’ Riley was staring at the floor. ‘It’s like they didn’t want to keep going, but—’

‘But maybe they had to,’ Wilson finished. ‘Like it’s a compulsion.’

Three stabbings in three days. Then nothing in the early hours of Saturday or Sunday.

Lily safely locked away at her boyfriend’s house. Callum in hospital.

The adrenaline was leaving her, now. The analytical part of Field’s brain was taking over, method and logic. Field had grown up on Sherlock Holmes and Poirot, knew that the only way through the confusion was cold reason.

She held up a hand. ‘Andy was sure it was a girl who attacked him.’

The room was stifling, the boards of half-baked information mocking her from the walls.

She should never have let Maxwell release Callum.

‘Let’s go with his theory, and say our perpetrator is a woman. She must have been involved in the trial, or linked to it in some way.’

Riley and Wilson shot a glance at each other, knowing Field was building up to her big rhetorical question.

‘Who would be most likely to put off attacking Callum Mulligan? Who would leave him until last?’

‘Lily Stewart,’ they answered, in unison.

Field swore and raked her hands through her hair.

Was that right? Was it Lily?

She’d sat in on Callum’s interview. Lily had no alibi for Sam, and Callum was an unreliable alibi for David.

But it didn’t feel right. Something was still nagging at her.

Wilson and Riley were speaking in low, urgent voices. Field tuned out their conversation and stared at the board, eyes moving from photograph to photograph.

Her gaze lingered on a name, towards the bottom of the board—

Something slotted into place.

‘Boss?’ Riley prompted.

‘She knew where Andrew lived.’ Field breathed. ‘How did we miss that? She said it – Blackheath. No social media profiles and it took us a day to trace him, so how would she know?’

They stared back at her.

‘She knew them, when they were teenagers. She visited the hospital. Ruby – the sister. She knew them all.’