Written In Blood

Chapter Forty-Five

Melissa was asleep, having been sent home to try and catch up on some of the rest that grief and circumstances had denied her during the night, when her phone rang, vibrating noisily on the bedside cabinet. She woke with a start, her hand groping for the phone before she even really knew what it was that had disturbed her.

"Hello," she croaked once she had the phone to her ear. She remained where she was, with her face half-buried in the pillow, hoping that the phone call would be a quick one so she could go back to sleep – she could not remember when she had ever felt as tired as she did then.

"Mel, it's Paul," Pritchard identified himself. "You're needed at the station."

"What for?" Melissa asked, hoping that she sounded more with it than she felt. With the greatest of reluctance, she pushed herself up and into a position on the edge of the bed; looking down at herself, she saw that she was still dressed in her uniform. She must have been really tired, she thought, if she had gone straight to bed without getting undressed.

"The case has been handed over to a detective inspector, he's here now, and he wants to see you," Pritchard told her.

Blinking, Melissa sought out the radio alarm clock so she could see what the time was. It surprised her to see that it was not quite half past ten; she had thought that it would take longer than four hours for Stevens to explain everything to the chief inspector and convince him to give them a detective – she hadn't expected them to get a detective inspector – let alone for one to be found who could be spared, and for that detective to get to the village. The journey to the village from town would have taken an hour, which meant it had taken less than two and a half hours to get things organised, much quicker than she would have expected.

"I'll be there as soon as I can." Melissa hung up before her fellow constable could say anything more. She didn't really want to go anywhere but back to sleep, for about twelve hours if she could manage it, but she could hardly ignore a summons from a detective inspector, especially when she was the reason for him being there, so she tiredly got to her feet.

A little over half an hour after being woken, Melissa walked through the door into the station.

"Where's the DI?" she asked as she screwed up the wrapper from the chocolate bar she had eaten on the way there and threw it in the bin. The chocolate had given her a bit of energy, but she still felt as though she needed about a gallon of coffee if she was going to make it through what remained of the morning, let alone the rest of the day.

"He's in Mitchell's office," Pritchard said. "He's been waiting for you."

"Thanks. What's he like?" Melissa asked. It was because of her that the inspector was there, but she couldn't help feeling a significant amount of nerves, which slowed her pace to a crawl as he headed down the passage.

Pritchard shrugged. "He seems alright. I've barely met him, though; he's been in the office practically since he got here," he said. "He's spoken to the inspector and to Mitchell, and he's been reading the case file; mostly, though, I think he's been waiting for you. Asking for you was just about the first thing he did after speaking to the inspector."

Melissa nerves didn't diminish with that news, if anything it made them worse. "I guess I'd better go see what he wants," she said, pleased to note that her voice didn't betray what she was feeling.

"Come in," an unfamiliar voice called out from behind the closed door of Sergeant Mitchell's office when she knocked.

Melissa stopped the moment she was through the door. "Constable Turner, reporting as ordered, sir," she told the man seated behind her superior's desk. He appeared nice enough, as Pritchard had said, but she was beginning to appreciate just how deceptive appearances could be; someone she knew was a murderer, and a brutal one, yet there was nothing about any of them that made it easy to pick him out.