In Place of Death by Craig Robertson Read Free Book Online

she talked and he listened. And he held her hand. Winning small battles in a losing war.
    After he’d warily let her kiss him on the forehead and she’d closed the door behind her and left, she stood for a moment with her back to it and contemplated
bursting into tears. Any prospect of that disappeared when Jess the carer loomed into view from the other end of the corridor.
    â€˜I could have told you he wouldn’t know you tonight. He’s not had a good day.’
    Narey was torn between keeping on the right side of this girl who would be left alone with her dad or grabbing her by her hair and smashing her face against the wall. As she moved swiftly
towards the girl, she wasn’t entirely sure which option she was going to take.
    She put the brakes on just in time and stood close enough for the little bitch to feel her breath on her pinched face. She paused just long enough to see a flash of worry across the girl’s
features.
    â€˜I’m just popping in to see Mrs McBriar. I want to pay for the glass and the lampshade. You’ll make sure my father is comfortable, won’t you?’
    Jess nodded as quickly as she could.
    â€˜Good.’
    Narey looked into her eyes and nodded back. Message understood.
    She knocked briskly on the door of the woman who doubled as the home’s owner and manager and entered without waiting for a reply. McBriar looked up from behind her desk, clearly
surprised.
    â€˜Miss Narey. Is something wrong? Can I help you?’
    â€˜Yes you can. I’d like to talk to you about Jess.’

Chapter 7
    Robert Henaghan. Richard Hendry. Ravindra Hegde. Ryan Hughes. Robert Hillman. Rohak Handoo. Reggie Haynes. The seven adult male missing persons in the UK with the initials RH.
Narey already knew the names off by heart and recounted them over and over as she walked round the mortuary at the Southern General. It wasn’t the perfect place to be immediately after a
visit to the nursing home but it was where she needed to be. She needed to work.
    Henaghan. Hendry. Hegde. Hughes. Hillman. Handoo. Haynes. It became a verse in her head with a rhythm all of its own, singing to her as she worked her way through the clothing and meagre
belongings of Henaghan, Hendry, Hegde, Hughes, Hillman, Handoo or Haynes.
    The first evidence bag contained the navy-blue fleece. Size large. Department store label. Pretty cheap. It was streaked with damp and smelled of death and the tunnel. It was lined and
elasticated with a zip all the way to the neck.
    She didn’t like the new mortuary much. It was brand-spanking-new, state-of-the-art shiny, with every possible facility required to host mortuary and forensic services under one roof. But
it lacked soul. Maybe that would come with time but for now it left her as cold as the stainless-steel tables with a bank of cameras pointing at each.
    Everyone else had gone home for the night and she was alone with the evidence bags, the clothing and the seven. Henaghan. Hendry. Hegde. Hughes. Hillman. Handoo. Haynes.
    Ravindra Hegde didn’t seem a likely name for a white man with reddish hair. Neither did Rohak Handoo. She wasn’t naïve enough to rule them out on that alone but both were also
too short. The rumour was that Hegde had owed money to the wrong people and that he’d never be found. Handoo had had a bust-up with his in-laws but beyond that no one had said anything about
where he might have gone.
    Henaghan, Hendry, Hughes and Hillman. Henaghan, Hendry, Hughes and Hillman.
    The two-tone blue nylon cagoule had survived better than the fleece. It was a good make, expensive. Large. The label at the neck had been snipped off. Odd thing to do with a designer brand. The
part of the label that remained had the hint of lettering in black felt pen.
    Robert Hillman from the Western Isles would be forty-nine now. He had learning difficulties and his elderly parents had started a poster campaign that was carried across the