The Blissfully Dead Read Online Free

different they were. At school, Gareth would have been one of the popular kids, the football team captain, head boy material, the kind of guy that Patrick avoided, hanging out with his Goth mates, going out with girls who only chose him because they knew their parents would disapprove. There was something of the Peter Perfects about Gareth Batey and Patrick didn’t know if he wanted to protect him or encourage him to stop being such a . . . swot and get himself an attitude.
    ‘Boss. I think we’ve got an ID,’ he said in his crisp Scottish accent. ‘A teenager whose mum reported her missing this morning.’
    He held up his iPhone. On the screen was a picture of a frowning girl. A selfie, as they called it. He thought the frown was meant to be a pout but had gone wrong.
    ‘Once I got the name I looked her up. I couldn’t find her on Facebook , but she’s on Twitter and Tumblr. Calls herself MissTargetHeart .’
    She had a soft face, dotted with freckles, and light brown hair. The photo looked like it had been taken in her bedroom, sitting on her bed with a teddy bear propped on the pillow behind her. She had drawn a crude target on her cheek in eyeliner, three concentric circles, with an arrow through. It was definitely her – the girl upstairs in room 365.
    ‘Her name’s Rose Sharp and she lives about ten minutes fro m here.’
    Patrick looked at him.
    Gareth’s cheeks coloured faintly. ‘Lived, I mean. Lived.’

    Rose Sharp’s mum, Mrs Sally Sharp, lived in a terraced house in a backstreet of Teddington, the kind of place that a decade ago would have been considered moderately desirable but was now worth the kind of money that would make anyone north of the M25 gasp and shake their head. Close to a good school, low crime, a couple of organic delis nearby. A whole generation of Londoners had become property millionaires simply by buying at the right time. Patrick knew he could sell his house and move to Thailand and live like a prince. Sometimes, when confronted with this kind of task, he was tempted to pack up and go.
    Patrick rang the bell, Carmella standing beside him. Gareth had wanted to come, but Patrick had instructed him to go back to the station and start checking the list that the hotel had finally produced. They were looking for known offenders, anyone with a record of violence or sexual offences. Even though they didn’t know yet if Rose had been raped, the fact that she was underage and had been found naked meant there was almost certainly a sexual element to the crime.
    ‘Call me the second you find anyone who looks like a good hit. Don’t go off on your own, OK? It won’t impress me,’ Patrick had told Gareth.
    Sally Sharp opened the door almost instantly, and it was clear that she had been hoping to see her daughter standing there.
    Sally looked over Patrick’s shoulder, peered around Carmella. Realisation entered her eyes then, and her face crumpled. But there was still hope – for a few more moments.
    ‘Mrs Sharp?’ Patrick said. ‘Rose Sharp’s mother?’
    She nodded, inspecting Patrick’s badge as he introduced himself and Carmella. Her hands were trembling visibly as she held on to the front door.
    ‘Can we come in, please?’
    She led them into the living room. It was an ordinary room: medium-sized TV, saggy sofa, a bookcase filled with DVDs and framed photographs. There they were – the pictures of Rose as she grew up, from a bald-headed baby with dribble on her chin to a teenager in a school blazer. There was a framed photo on the wall of Sally, Rose and a man Patrick assumed was Rose’s dad. Sally was blonde with green eyes, and in the family portrait she sparkled with life and happiness. Now, standing before them, she looked squashed, as if a giant boot had stamped on her.
    ‘Are you here on your own?’ Carmella asked.
    Sally’s eyes followed the two detectives’ towards the portrait.
    ‘Yes.’ She sounded like she had no saliva in her mouth.
    ‘Is your husband