Broken Dolls Read Online Free PDF Page B

‘You might even have got your drinks on the house.’
    I doubted that. Slattery’s smile was big but it didn’t reach his pockets. Here was someone who kept a sharp eye on the bottom line and a tight grip on the profits. That’s why he could afford the Rolex. ‘According to your statement you didn’t notice anything unusual.’
    ‘It was just a normal Monday night,’ Slattery agreed. ‘Until Graham came in with the girl, that is. Then it became anything but normal. Police, paramedics, journalists, it was a regular three-ring circus, I tell you. And what he did to that poor girl.’ Slattery shook his head and whispered a ‘Jesus, Mary and Joseph’ under his breath. ‘They say he gave her a lobotomy. That’s just sick.’
    ‘I’m interested in the parking around here,’ I said.
    Slattery shook his head in disbelief. ‘This bastard cuts into people’s brains and all you’re interested in is the parking.’
    ‘Humour me.’
    Slattery looked at me, eyes narrowed. He was staring like he was trying to decide if I was being serious. I stared back, holding his gaze until he worked out that I was.
    ‘The parking’s a bloody nightmare,’ said Slattery. ‘Particularly in the summer. I’m always getting tourists filling up my car park. Then they use the lane. Like I said, it’s a bloody nightmare.’
    ‘And that’s why you had a security camera fitted in the car park.’
    ‘There are some other reasons, but that’s the main one,’ Slattery agreed. ‘But, as you already know, that was broken on Sunday night. Originally I thought it was broken by some local kids, but obviously I know better now.’
    The police’s theory was that the unsub had broken the camera. The way they saw it, he’d come down some time on Sunday night and broken it so he would be able to use the pub’s parking lot when he dumped Patricia Maynard. I thanked Slattery for his time, finished my whisky in one, told Hatcher to drink up. We wound back through the tight low-ceilinged corridors and headed out into the cold.
    ‘I agree with the police that the unsub broke the camera,’ I said. ‘But there’s no way he parked here on Monday night. It’s too easy. Too obvious. This guy does subtle. He doesn’t do obvious.’
    ‘So what are you thinking?’ Hatcher asked.
    I stood and looked along Abbey Mill Lane. Full dark had descended and the lane glowed orange in the streetlamps. The snow was falling harder, the icy wind blowing it into swirls. It was already starting to lie, covering the road and the sidewalk.
    ‘There’s no way in hell he drove down here on Monday night,’ I said. ‘It’s too risky. This is the only way in and out.’
    ‘So how did he get the girl here? Teleportation?’
    I ignored the question, and the sarcasm, and did an about-turn and headed along Abbey Mill End. I stopped at the end of the narrow lane and tried to imagine the unsub walking along here, guiding Patricia Maynard, one hand on her shoulder, gently coaxing her along. That felt right. More right than the idea of him driving down here and parking at the Fighting Cocks.
    There was a small path straight ahead and I walked towards it. Hatcher was a few steps behind, complaining about the snow and the cold and the fact that we should be going the other way, back to the car, because he didn’t want to end up stranded in St Albans. I tuned him out and carried on walking.
    The path led to Pondwicks Close, another cul-de-sac. There was a school on my left, one for the younger kids judging by the brightly coloured play equipment. Pondwicks Close opened up onto Grove Road. Just one street away was the A5183, one of the main arteries that led in and out of the city. It was close enough to hear the rumble of traffic. I stood for a moment in the middle of Grove Road, snow settling on my head and shoulders. It pricked against my face and stuck to my eyelids, but I was oblivious. I nodded to myself then turned to Hatcher.
    ‘This is where he parked,’ I