Page 63 of The Unforgiven

“Vinny, you know I can floor you if you tried to attack me?”

“No, you couldn’t. I know you do Thai boxing and all that, but I’m a foot taller than you and probably five stone heavier.”

“That doesn’t matter. Try it. Try and take me down when I’m not suspecting it and then you don’t have to worry about me.” He’d never admit that he did, but there’d been countless times when he’d pushed in front of me if he thought a situation could be in the slightest bit dangerous.

Vinny stood up, trying to make himself two inches taller. “You’re on. But I still want to know why he’s picked you.”

I opened my mouth, almost ready to tell him about Stan, and then closed it again. “Maybe one day we’ll find out, but I need to at least look at what he’s saying.”

“Fair enough. Are you going to give Cavan the head’s up about Jordan Calvert?”

I remember the scent of his aftershave on the towel in the bathroom. “No. It’s your line, and that’s probably for the best.”

He nodded. “Have you gone off the incel theory?”

“No. But I think it’s someone who’s not necessary an incel, but is getting off on those discussions, probably because he knows he’s actually doing something about it, and those who are mouthing off aren’t getting off their arses.”

“What about more than one killer?”

“No, because I think he’s playing us. This is a really organised killer. Someone who’s planned this, and I reckon the email’s right – this has been going on a lot longer than the timeline we’re looking at.” I showed Vinny the email on my phone.

“We’ll see if there’s anything in it.”

I saw Nick waving me over, probably to discuss the email. “Good luck with Calvert.”

I exited, getting ten paces across the office when I felt arms grab round my shoulders, too high to do much to stop me. I bent down, using Vinny’s weight and his own momentum to land him on his back, and carried on walking before the rest of the office knew what was going on.

“Jesus, Mia.” I offered him a hand to help pull him up. “Where did you learn that?”

“Group gymnastics and a bit of cheerleading.”

“Cheerleading?” His eyebrows went straight up. “You were a cheerleader?”

“Down boy. I was thirteen.”

“Not in my head you weren't. In my head you’re still a cheerleader now.” He gave me a wink that had me pretending to throw up as I walked away, ready to contact Leeds social care to track down someone who had more to tell me about Charlie Mason.

Chapter Twenty-Eight

I was on my way to Leeds the following morning when my phone rang, a number with a foreign code flashing on the screen.

I didn’t recognise it, which was nothing new. My work’s number had belonged to someone else once, and I often got calls for that person – they’d since transferred to a different area.

“Detective Sergeant McAllister,” I introduced myself, wondering again why anyone still lived in the farm in the middle of the M62.

“Mia.”

I recognised the voice. Atlas.

“How did you get my number?” I didn’t know why I was asking; Atlas could clearly find out whatever he wanted.

“Anything’s easy to find if you know where to look. Are you going to Leeds?” He sounded like he was in a good mood, and definitely walking. The line was clear enough to hear birdsong in the background.

“On my way there now.” Although the way there was coming to a halt, the traffic in front slowing down, emergency lights coming on. Probably a crash.

“Good. The investigation’s fixing on incels, isn’t it? You don’t need to confirm it; it doesn’t matter because I’m not seeking information from you.”

“Why are you trying to help? It’d make more sense if you told me what interest you have in it.” Given that the number he was calling from was technically abroad, and I was pretty certain that he was in England, there was likely to be zero chance I could call him back.