Good Girls Don't Die Read Online Free PDF

divorce!’ Grace achieved the light-hearted tone she aimed for whenever the subject arose.
    ‘Quick work,’ observed Roxanne. ‘What happened?’
    ‘Oh, the usual. Bad idea to live with a man you work with, I guess.’ Two glasses of wine were placed in front of them, and she raised hers in a toast. ‘Cheers!’
    ‘So what happened?’ repeated Roxanne with a mischievous grin. ‘You’re not getting off the hook that easily.’
    ‘Oh, we didn’t agree on stuff at work. Trev was happy to remain a constable, but I reckon he never forgave me for being fast-tracked.’
    ‘That’s a bit lame.’
    ‘Well, he was in the police national cycling team, and that was always his main priority.’ Grace knew it sounded like an excuse but, even though she could see that Roxanne was waiting to hear more, she took a swig of wine and looked away around the bar.
    ‘How long were you married?’ asked Roxanne.
    ‘Two years,’ she answered curtly. ‘So what about you? How long have you been in Colchester?’
    ‘I’ve been at the
Mercury
four years. Too long! I’m desperate to move on, but all the nationals are downsizing, buying stuff in and putting even their regular journalists on shifts. Too much is online these days.’ She reached across to touch Grace’s arm. ‘Didn’t mean to pry. Sorry. Sounds like it still hurts?’
    ‘It’s OK. It got complicated. I’ll tell you another time.’
    ‘Oh, here.’ Roxanne dug in her battered trophy handbagand drew out a folded newspaper. ‘I brought you a copy. We ran my interview with Polly Sinclair’s parents today.’
    Grace heard the pride in her friend’s voice and responded with appropriate enthusiasm. ‘Great, thanks. I’ve only seen the office copy.’
    ‘I love having my name in print that big,’ Roxanne said with shameless delight. Grace grinned, then cleared aside their glasses so she could spread the newspaper out on the bar.
    A photograph of a smiling Polly – blue-eyed with blonde curls, sweetly plump – took up nearly a third of the tabloid’s front page.
Student missing for four days
: the headline was in large, bold type. In a box at the side was a smaller image of Phil and Beverley Sinclair – the decent, apologetic couple who now haunted the police station – with the heading
Desperate parents appeal for help
. Phil, a burly man in a short-sleeved white shirt, had his hand over his wife’s clenched knuckles. Beverley must once have shared her daughter’s fair-haired prettiness, but it was clear that the lines running across her brow and down beside her mouth would now deepen into permanence. Grace had only met them briefly, a sharp reminder that, while their journey to Essex heralded an agony of uncertainty and dread, she could think herself lucky enough to have arrived just as a potentially intriguing case kicked off.
    Roxanne caught her eye and gave an awkward laugh. ‘We’re ghouls, aren’t we? Feasting off misery and misfortune. Or I am, anyway. At least you’re
doing
something.’
    ‘Not true,’ Grace said. ‘Your article’s already had a goodresponse. A lot more people who were in here last Friday night and remembered seeing her have been in touch. Gives us a far better timeline.’
    ‘Good,’ said Roxanne. ‘So what’s the theory?’
    Grace saw the glitter of a reporter’s eye, and her own heart sank. ‘You know I can’t discuss it. You have to go through Hilary Burnett, or I’m in big trouble.’
    ‘Like Hilary knows what’s really going on!’
    Grace shrugged helplessly.
    ‘I had a call from the crime reporter on the
Daily Courier
just before I came out,’ said Roxanne. ‘If this turns into a decent story, it could be my chance to get a foot in the door in London, so if there’s any way you think you can help –’
    ‘I can’t. I’d love to, but I really can’t. And you realise that if it does turn into a major inquiry, then I may not be allowed to speak to you at all.’
    ‘Yeah, I guessed as much,’ Roxanne