The Likeness

“Even if we go with the idea that one of them followed her,” I said, “and brought along a knife to scare her with for some reason, what did he think was going to happen next? Did he seriously expect to get away with it? They’re part of the same social circle. It’s tiny, and it’s intimate. There’s no reason why she shouldn’t agree to anything he wanted, then head straight home and tell the other three exactly what had happened. Cue shock, horror, and quite possibly-unless it’s Daniel-our knife-wielder getting thrown out of Whitethorn House. These are smart people, Sam. They couldn’t overlook something that obvious.”

“In fairness,” Frank said helpfully, switching sides-apparently he was getting bored-“smart people do stupid things all the time.”

“Not like that,” Sam said. He left his pen lying across his notebook and pressed two fingers into the corners of his eyes. “Stupid things, yeah, sure. Not things that make no sense at all.”

I had put that look on his face, and I felt like crap. “Do they do drugs?” I asked. “People on coke, say, don’t always think straight.”

Frank snorted smoke. “I doubt it,” said Sam, without looking up. “They’re straight arrows, this lot. They take a drink, all right, but from the looks of them I wouldn’t say they’d even be into the odd bit of hash, never mind the hard stuff. Our girl’s tox screen came back clean as a whistle, remember?”

The wind hurled itself up against the window with a bang and a rattle, fell away again. “Then, unless we’re missing something huge,” I said, “they just don’t add up.”

After a moment Sam said, “Yeah.” He closed his notebook carefully, clipped the pen onto it. “I’d better start looking for something huge, then.”

“Can I ask you a question?” Frank inquired. “Why do you have such a hard-on for these four?”

Sam rubbed his hands down his face and blinked hard, like he was trying to focus. “Because they’re there,” he said, after a moment. “And no one else is, at least not so’s you’d notice. Because if it’s not them, what’ve we got?”

“You’ve got that lovely profile,” Frank reminded him.

“I know,” Sam said, heavily. “And I appreciate it, Cassie; I do, honest. But right now I’ve got no one that matches it. I’ve plenty of local fellas-women as well-in the right age group, some of them have records and I’d say there’s a good few are smart and organized, but there’s no sign that any of them ever met our girl. I’ve plenty of acquaintances from college, and a few of them tick just about all the boxes, except as far as I can find out they’ve never so much as been to Glenskehy, never mind knowing their way around the place. There’s no one who matches right across the board.”

Frank arched an eyebrow. “Not to labor the point,” he said, “but that’s what Detective Maddox and I are going after.”

“Yeah,” Sam said, without looking at him. “And if I find him fast enough, you won’t need to.”

“Better get a move on,” Frank said. He was still lying back on the sofa, watching Sam through lazy, narrowed eyes across the curls of smoke. “I’m aiming to go in Sunday.”

There was a second of absolute silence; even the wind outside seemed to have skidded to a stop. Frank had never mentioned a definite date before. In the corner of my eye the maps and photos on the table twitched and crystallized, unfurling into sun-glossed leaves, rippled glass, smooth-worn stone; turning real.

“This Sunday?” I said.

“Don’t give me that gobsmacked look,” Frank told me. “You’ll be fine, babe. And think of it this way: you won’t have to look at my ugly mug any more.” Right at that moment, this actually did feel like a pretty big plus.

“Right,” Sam said. He drained his coffee in long gulps and winced. “I’d better head.” He stood up and patted vaguely at his pockets.

Sam lives on one of those creepy housing estates out in the middle of nowhere, he was dropping with fatigue and the wind was picking up again, ripping at the roof tiles. “Don’t drive all that way, Sam,” I said. “Not in this weather. Stay here. We’ll be working pretty late, but-”

“Yeah, stick around,” Frank said, spreading his arms and grinning up at him. “We can make it a pajama party. Toast marshmallows. Play Truth or Dare.”

Sam took his coat off the back of the futon and stared at it as if he wasn’t sure what to do with it. “Ah, no; I’m not going home, sure. I’ll head into the squad for a bit, pull a few records. I’ll be grand.”

“Fair enough,” Frank said cheerfully, waving good-bye. “Have fun. Be sure and ring us if you find a prime suspect.”

I walked Sam downstairs and kissed him good night at the front door and he headed doggedly off towards his car, hands in his pockets and head bent hard against the wind. Maybe it was just the blast that funneled back up the stairwell with me, but without him my flat felt colder, barer somehow, a thin sharp edge in the air. “He was leaving anyway, Frank,” I said. “You didn’t have to be such a wankstain about it.”