approached she saw the aftermath of Michael Davis’ attempt
to evade justice that morning.
The teen’s Land Rover, and the police car she
had rammed it with in an effort to stop him getting away, remained in the
middle of the road. Beyond those two vehicles, the village’s second police car
was visible where it had crashed through the wall and into the ditch. No effort
had been made to move any of the crashed vehicles, and she couldn’t help
wondering how long it would be before one was.
Donna parked in her grandmother’s drive,
empty because she didn’t own a car, and got out. She was surprised when her
grandmother didn’t come out to greet her, but wasn’t bothered. Just then she
was more interested in talking to Jason.
She was sure her grandmother would have lots
of very sound advice for her, she just wasn’t certain how much of it she would
be able to put into use. Jason on the other hand, as a former detective
inspector, was likely to have advice that she could actually make use of. At
least she hoped that was going to prove the case.
With a glance at the living room window, to
see if her grandmother had seen her arrival, Donna made her way down the drive.
Quick steps led her to the house next door, where she knocked loudly.
“Donna,” Jason greeted the constable when he
saw who was at the door. “Are you here to see how Lucy is doing?” he asked as
he stepped back to let her enter.
Donna shook her head. “I’ll check on her
while I’m here, but actually I’m here to talk to you.”
“Privately?” he asked, shutting the door
behind the constable once she was through.
“Not necessarily, but it might be best if
Lucy doesn’t hear what’s going on,” Donna said, her voice low so her words
wouldn’t carry into the living room, just a short distance away.
“Fair enough, come into the kitchen, I’ll
make you a drink while we talk, you look as though you could do with one.”
A smile appeared on Donna’s lips. “Thanks, it
feels like hours since I last had something to drink. I think it has been
hours,” she said as she thought about it. The last time she could remember
having something to drink was that morning, before she left Jason’s house to go
to the station.
FIFTEEN
Justin Over knocked loudly and then stepped
back to wait for an answer.
He hadn’t had much luck with the Nelsons when
he tried to speak to them about the death of their daughter. He hadn’t even
made it through the door, let alone managed to ask them any questions; the
moment they heard he was a journalist they had slammed the door in his face.
He was used to that kind of reaction from
people, he had suffered it before. Crossing the Nelsons off the list on his
notepad he had moved on to the next name, the Pales.
“Good afternoon,” Justin stepped forward, his
hand outstretched, the moment the front door opened. “Donald Pale?” He queried,
in response to which he received a curt nod.
The man in the doorway was thirty-eight,
according to the information he had found on the internet but, like Patricia
Water and Kelly Nelson, he appeared years older than his physical age. The
strain of what he was going through was clearly wearing on him.
“Justin Over, I’m with the Evening Herald.”
It wasn’t exactly a lie; he worked primarily as a freelance journalist, but the
Herald was who he sold most of his stories to.
“What can I do for you?” Donald asked, his
tone hovering on the edge of politeness, though it held a strong note of
suspicion. He took the proffered hand automatically.
“I apologise for intruding on you during such
a painful time, Mr Pale, but I’d like to ask you and your wife some questions,
if you don’t mind.”
“Why? What do you want to talk to us for?”
Donald wanted to know.
Though the eyes of Danielle Pale’s father
were on him, Justin could tell that he wasn’t really seeing him. Donald Pale’s
eyes didn’t seem to be focused on much of anything. That didn’t surprise
to evade justice that morning.
The teen’s Land Rover, and the police car she
had rammed it with in an effort to stop him getting away, remained in the
middle of the road. Beyond those two vehicles, the village’s second police car
was visible where it had crashed through the wall and into the ditch. No effort
had been made to move any of the crashed vehicles, and she couldn’t help
wondering how long it would be before one was.
Donna parked in her grandmother’s drive,
empty because she didn’t own a car, and got out. She was surprised when her
grandmother didn’t come out to greet her, but wasn’t bothered. Just then she
was more interested in talking to Jason.
She was sure her grandmother would have lots
of very sound advice for her, she just wasn’t certain how much of it she would
be able to put into use. Jason on the other hand, as a former detective
inspector, was likely to have advice that she could actually make use of. At
least she hoped that was going to prove the case.
With a glance at the living room window, to
see if her grandmother had seen her arrival, Donna made her way down the drive.
Quick steps led her to the house next door, where she knocked loudly.
“Donna,” Jason greeted the constable when he
saw who was at the door. “Are you here to see how Lucy is doing?” he asked as
he stepped back to let her enter.
Donna shook her head. “I’ll check on her
while I’m here, but actually I’m here to talk to you.”
“Privately?” he asked, shutting the door
behind the constable once she was through.
“Not necessarily, but it might be best if
Lucy doesn’t hear what’s going on,” Donna said, her voice low so her words
wouldn’t carry into the living room, just a short distance away.
“Fair enough, come into the kitchen, I’ll
make you a drink while we talk, you look as though you could do with one.”
A smile appeared on Donna’s lips. “Thanks, it
feels like hours since I last had something to drink. I think it has been
hours,” she said as she thought about it. The last time she could remember
having something to drink was that morning, before she left Jason’s house to go
to the station.
FIFTEEN
Justin Over knocked loudly and then stepped
back to wait for an answer.
He hadn’t had much luck with the Nelsons when
he tried to speak to them about the death of their daughter. He hadn’t even
made it through the door, let alone managed to ask them any questions; the
moment they heard he was a journalist they had slammed the door in his face.
He was used to that kind of reaction from
people, he had suffered it before. Crossing the Nelsons off the list on his
notepad he had moved on to the next name, the Pales.
“Good afternoon,” Justin stepped forward, his
hand outstretched, the moment the front door opened. “Donald Pale?” He queried,
in response to which he received a curt nod.
The man in the doorway was thirty-eight,
according to the information he had found on the internet but, like Patricia
Water and Kelly Nelson, he appeared years older than his physical age. The
strain of what he was going through was clearly wearing on him.
“Justin Over, I’m with the Evening Herald.”
It wasn’t exactly a lie; he worked primarily as a freelance journalist, but the
Herald was who he sold most of his stories to.
“What can I do for you?” Donald asked, his
tone hovering on the edge of politeness, though it held a strong note of
suspicion. He took the proffered hand automatically.
“I apologise for intruding on you during such
a painful time, Mr Pale, but I’d like to ask you and your wife some questions,
if you don’t mind.”
“Why? What do you want to talk to us for?”
Donald wanted to know.
Though the eyes of Danielle Pale’s father
were on him, Justin could tell that he wasn’t really seeing him. Donald Pale’s
eyes didn’t seem to be focused on much of anything. That didn’t surprise
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