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doing whatever it took to stay near Liam. To give him the support he needed. She’d come to terms with that – right up to the point where Salter had dangled this assignment in front of her.
    She pushed herself up from her chair, determinedly looking Salter in the eye. ‘Okay,’ she said. ‘I’ll think about it. And I’ll tell you tomorrow.’
    Salter smiled back at her, his expression unrevealing. ‘That’s all I can ask of you, sis. All I can ask.’

2
    â€˜Just about there,’ the DI said, pointing to an apparently unremarkable point on the hard shoulder. He gestured off towards the steady stream of traffic heading along the dual carriageway. ‘Cool bastard. It was well out in full view. Wouldn’t have been much traffic at that time of night, but even so…’ His tone sounded almost admiring.
    â€˜You reckon a professional job?’ Brennan asked. It was a miserable day for early autumn. Not raining yet, but leaden skies low over the horizon. Pity any poor bugger who’d just arrived here on holiday. They were standing in a gateway to a field beyond the road. A bleak landscape. Flat grassland, windblown hedges. The tang of the grey sea in the air.
    Sheep were munching unheedingly behind them, and Brennan was growing conscious of the layer of mud caking his expensive shoes. Should have changed into an old pair before setting off, but he hadn’t reckoned on getting brought on a field trip quite so quickly. Clearly, they were keen for him to see what he wanted and get out of their hair as speedily as possible.
    â€˜Not much doubt,’ the DI said. ‘All very efficient. Clean as a whistle. Nothing much for forensics.’ Not a Welshman, Brennan thought. Maybe a hint of Scouser there. Come over the border to do missionary work.
    â€˜What about the victims?’ Brennan had read the files and, in his usual way, had memorised most of the salient points. But it was always useful to hear it from the horse’s mouth. Sometimes you heard stuff that they didn’t want to write down. ‘Known?’
    â€˜One of them. Mo Tallent. Small time freelance: runs errands for anyone with a bob or two. The pride of Rhyl. No Talent, we called him.’
    â€˜Very droll.’ Brennan moved to stand next to the DI, who was staring at the grass before him as if the two bodies were still lying there. ‘What about the other?’
    â€˜No record. But one of the immigration officers at the port remembered him driving a car with Tallent in the passenger seat. False passports, so the names don’t tally. False plates on the car, but a match with Tallent’s passport and with the car type and colour if anyone did a cursory check.’
    Brennan nodded. ‘So they were on business.’
    â€˜Seems like it. Someone else’s business. Tallent wasn’t connected enough to set up those kind of arrangements on his own.’
    â€˜But we’ve an idea what the business was?’ Brannan straightened up and looked at the DI. Like getting blood from a sodding pebble, he thought, even though we both know I’ve read the bloody file.
    The DI nodded. ‘Four of them in the car, according to the border records. Tallent. Mr X. And two women. Working girls, we’re assuming. Probably illegals, being taken to a nice new home in the big city – Liverpool or Manchester. That’s where Tallent did most of his bigger business.’
    Brennan turned and surveyed the flat, unenticing landscape. There was some fine country in North Wales. This wasn’t it. ‘What about Tallent’s associates?’
    The DI shrugged. ‘We’re pursuing that, of course. But everyone’s clammed up, as you’d expect.’
    â€˜And the women?’ Brennan had already begun to walk back towards the road and their parked car. He couldn’t imagine that he was likely to learn much more from being out here. Other than never to