The Dead (The Saxon & Fitzgerald Mysteries Book 1) Read Online Free

It’s not Fagan, but it’s someone who wants us to think he’s Fagan, and that means he’ll take on Fagan’s mission, Fagan’s handiwork. Can’t you at least get the original from Elliott, have it analysed for fingerprints, DNA, whatever? It must have come in an envelope. You could maybe get something that way. Also, start tracking down people who used to know Fagan, friends, colleagues, anyone like that, and see what they’re up to.’
    She sighed. ‘Want me to solve the Lindbergh baby mystery whilst I’m at it?’
    ‘I’m being pushy again,’ I said.
    ‘Not pushy, just unrealistic. I’ll not get authorisation to do anything, not today, and definitely not if the Assistant Commissioner thinks I’ve got nothing but some nut’s word to go on – and before you say anything, I meant the letter, not you. There’s no way I can siphon off resources to follow this up.’
    ‘So we just wait until some woman gets killed?’
    ‘I’ll tell you what,’ she said. ‘I’ll pass the word around, see if anyone has any idea what this is all about. Will that do? And you know something?’ she added. ‘I can probably spare Boland for an hour or two. I’ll get him to make some enquiries.’
    ‘Boland?’
    ‘Detective Sergeant Niall Boland. He’s just joined us from Serious Crime. He’s following me round, getting the hang of things, settling in. I’ll have him go down to records and dig out the file on Sally Tyrrell. Then maybe send him over to the Post to try and get his hands on the original, see where it was posted at least. You think Elliott will let us have it without a warrant?’
    ‘Not a chance. You didn’t see the excitement on his face this morning. He thinks this is his big break. He’s probably got plans for a second edition of his book, co-written by the subject. He’s not going to let this one go,’ I said, ‘even if you do put the fear of God into him.’
    ‘Let’s put it into him anyway, just for the heck of it.’ She was about to sign off when an idea suddenly came to her. ‘By the way, Saxon, when is the feast day of St Agericus?’
    ‘I looked that up,’ I said. ‘It’s today.’
    Afterwards, I stood and stared at my reflection in the glass for what felt like an age. ‘Thumbelina with attitude’ my mother used to call me when I was a kid. Now the rain had made my short hair spikier and darker than usual – it needed cutting; my corduroy jacket hung off my shoulders like I’d shrunk somehow without noticing; and my face had thinned out till I’d swear I could see the shadow of my bones. I didn’t look after myself enough at the best of times; Fitzgerald kept telling me, so it must be true. But now it was like I was disappearing, almost like I’d known what was coming and my body had huddled in on itself to escape.
    I had to pull myself together. Whatever Fitzgerald said, this Thumbelina was going to need all the attitude she could muster in the coming days.
     
    *****************
    For the rest of the day it rained on and off and I stayed indoors, in hiding was how it felt, trying to get some take on the questions that sang crazily through me.
    No matter how many times I read it, the letter refused to make sense. Why would someone suddenly want to blame Fagan for the disappearance of Sally Tyrrell? It was absurd. And even if he had been responsible, how could the author of the letter know it, given that Fagan wasn’t in a position to be telling anyone his secrets any more? Could he have confessed at one time to whoever wrote this letter?
    Could he have had an accomplice?
    I shook my head to stop myself. Fagan had nothing to do with Sally’s disappearance, I felt sure of that. I’d looked into her case when I was writing my book and quickly discounted any connection. Fagan always left his dead to be found; why would he have changed his MO that one time? Sally wasn’t a prostitute either, but a former secretary with the police. No. The most likely explanation was that it was