The Faceless by Simon Bestwick Read Free Book Online Page B

Renwick’s age, but dressed ten or twenty years older, Crosbie wore grimy spectacles and an old suit jacket with dandruff on the shoulders. “She was seeing a laddie called Usman Khan, but he dumped her a fortnight after starting Uni. Nae-one since.”
    “What about the family itself?”
    “Parents, grandmother, four brothers, two sisters – all crammed into one semi-detached house, Christ knows how. Plus an older sister, married and moved out.”
    “Any problems at home, that we know of?”
    “None we could discover,” Crosbie said. “Spoke to DS Ashraf over at the Dunwich – he came in, helped translate. The granny didnae have great English.”
    “They only do when it bloody suits them.”
    “Something to share, Janson?”
    “No mum.”
    “Good. Alastair...?”
    “There’d been talk of marriage.”
    “Arranged?”
    “Aye.”
    “And was she happy with that?”
    “She wasnae bothered. That’s what they all said. Whole family, even the kid sisters. All said the same. Lad she’d been seeing had upped and left her. Seems she thought an arranged marriage might be less painful – bit less chancy.”
    “Not bein’ funny, mum, but they’re not gonna just come out and say it, are they? Course they’re gonna say she were up for it.”
    “Some girls do enter into arranged marriages of their own volition, Janson,” Renwick said. Not that Janson was necessarily wrong, but how she’d crow if she were right. “Let’s not jump to conclusions.”
    “Yeah, but–”
    “Yes?”
    Janson shifted her bulk in her chair. “Just saying, can’t just take their word for it, can we?”
    “Which is why,” said McAdams, “we interviewed both neighbours and Tahira’s friends.” He glanced up at Janson. “Some of whom were actually white. All said the same thing. She weren’t bothered. Took things as they came. Away with the fairies. Lived in a world of her own.”
    “Any suspicious persons reported round the time she went missing?” asked DC Wayland, who’d arranged himself into a casual slouch most likely copied from a cop film. He was actually good at his job when he wasn’t posing.
    “Nothing.”
    “Any other questions? OK. Mike?”
    Stakowski relayed much the same information he’d given her the night before. He was thorough, as always; if he’d left it out of the report, it hadn’t been there to begin with. No questions afterward, not even from Tranter, and no gobbing off from Janson; toddlers didn’t run away from home.
    “OK, then,” Renwick said. “DS Stakowski will handle the Roseanne Trevor case – DS McAdams, Tahira Khalid. Janson, you’re with Dave – Tranter, Wayland, you’re with Mike. We’ll be running them both in tandem out of here.” She hated the idea of Janson going near the Khalid case, but better there than Roseanne Trevor. And she knew she’d put her best two officers on the Trevor case. She should be trying to weight both investigations equally. Could she live with it if they found Tahira Khalid dead? She didn’t know, but she couldn’t live with finding Roseanne Trevor that way.
    “What about me, boss?”
    “Hadn’t forgotten you, Crosbie. We’re short on bodies, so we’ll all be out in the field a lot – Mike, Dave and myself included. We need a point of contact here in the office. That’s you.”
    “Nae hassle, ma’am. Fine by me.”
    Wayland grinned. “Trust you to get the cushy detail, you Jock git.”
    Crosbie flicked a ball of paper at him. “You hear that, ma’am? Outright racial abuse, that is. Ah should make a formal complaint.”
    “So should I,” called Wayland. “You all saw him cob that at me. That’s assault, that is.”
    “You hurt ma tender feelings, ye bloody Sassenach.”
    “Alright, children, settle down.” Even McAdams couldn’t keep a straight face.
    Stakowski chuckled. “Kids, eh? Who’d have ’em?”
    “They grow up so fast,” said McAdams. “It’s when they become teenagers you’ve got to worry.”
    “One more