“Sasha!”

Stephen, her superintendent, marched over to her, his expression grim. “Are you all right? What happened?”

Understanding his anger, Sasha dropped her head. “Sorry. I didn’t plan to come out here to confront anyone, it just…. happened.”

“You need to let someone know next time, even if you’re just going to scout something out,” he replied, firmly. “For goodness sake, Sasha, the man could have killed you!”

Sasha lifted her eyes and saw him still frowning at her, although she recognized that his gruffness came from his concern over her. “I’m fine, Stephen. Honestly.” She knew just how close she’d come to being Cliff’s next victim and recognized that what she’d done hadn’t been the wisest course of action.

“Still,” he muttered, shaking his head. “He seems to have beaten you up pretty badly.”

“Nothing that hasn’t happened before,” Sasha replied, grimacing as she glanced down at her arm. It had been firmly strapped up once the medic had popped her shoulder back in place. “I’m okay to carry on, Stephen.”

“Carry on?” he exclaimed, looking at her as though she’d gone mad. “Sasha, the only place you need to be is resting at home with that dog of yours.”

She shook her head, a quiet desperation beginning to fill her. “No, please Stephen. I need to see this through to the end. It’s the closure we’ve been waiting for. I’ve got to be a part of it.” She kept her gaze strong, determined to show him that she was more than capable of doing this.

He dropped his head, blowing out a frustrated breath. “Fine,” he muttered, clearly aware that she wasn’t going to sit back and let the rest of the team sort things out. “But get some food in you first, okay?”

“Okay,” Sasha agreed, relieved that he was going to let her carry on. Stephen indicated one of the baker’s shops near the scene which had opened up again, especially for the officers and other emergency services workers, even though it was past midnight. Sasha walked in, ordering a hot cup of coffee and munching on one of the sugary doughnuts on the counter.

“What a terrible thing to have happened!” the shopkeeper exclaimed, as Sasha finished the cake. “Were you the one who was hurt?” She eyed Sasha’s arm, her expression filled with concern.

“All in a day’s work,” Sasha replied, not wanting to go into detail with a veritable stranger. “Although I want to thank you for what you’re doing by opening up for us. We really appreciate it.” Picking up the coffee, she thanked the lady again before leaving the shop. Knowing that things like this spread across the county within hours, Sasha guessed that by the morning there’d be a report in every newspaper about her and what had happened – and probably the shopkeeper would have an interview about her part in it all.

The coffee was hot and sweet, burning a path down her throat and into her belly. It was just what she needed. Now that the shock was beginning to wear off, Sasha felt as though she could do what needed to be done to bring this case to a close.

“So,” she said, walking up to the rest of her team. “What information do we have?”

“Not much,” came the reply. “He’s not exactly easily identifiable. There’s nothing on him by way of identification, but Mark here thinks he recognizes him.”

“Oh?”

The constable, whom Sasha presumed to be Mark, stepped forward, clearing his throat. “I just thought, ma’am, that he looks like one of the McBain’s.”

“The McBain’s?” Sasha repeated, frowning. “Those whisky people?”

Mark nodded. “The very same. I’m a bit of a whisky connoisseur, I’ll admit, and the McBain whisky distillery is doing very well lately. I had a tour there a while ago – a gift from the missus – and met the owners. It wasn’t him that I met,” he continued, indicating the man on the ground, “but he certainly looks like the other McBain. Family resemblance, maybe?”

“Maybe,” Sasha mused, quietly. “Do you have a number or anything?”

Mark grinned, and pulled out a card from his back pocket. “I still had one in my wallet.”

Sasha frowned as she was handed a small card, recognizing the logo on the front. “Did you call it in?”

The officer shook his head. “Not yet. There’s a lot here to process and I wanted to get your opinion on the matter first.” He raised one shoulder. “I might be way off.”

Sasha realized that what the officer said was true. There was a lot going on here, and there weren’t a huge number of officers available. “I’ll call it in myself, then,” she said, pulling out her phone. Within seconds, she was connected to Donna, their technical specialist.

“Hi, Donna. I have a card here from The McBain Whisky Company. Can you pull up a list of employees?”

There was a brief pause. “Got it. Am I looking for someone in particular?”

Sasha bit her lip. She’d try employees first, just in case Mark had gotten mixed up and seen someone who worked there instead of the owner. “Someone named Cliff?” Sasha asked, wondering if the man had given her a fake name. “It might be a middle name, if it’s there at all.”

Another pause. “I can’t see anything there,” Donna said, slowly. “No one by that name, I’m afraid.”

Sasha sighed heavily, rubbing her forehead. “Okay, how about the owners? The McBain family?”

“They’re not technically employees so they won’t be on this list,” Donna murmured, the sound of her typing coming through the phone. “Okay, I have the list.”

Sasha held her breath as Donna continued to look. The last thing she wanted was to have an unidentified body on her hands.

“Ah!”

“What?” Sasha exclaimed, her heart thumping wildly. “Did you find him?”

“I have a Thomas Clifford McBain,” Donna replied, making Sasha breathe out a sigh of relief. “Do you want me to send you his photo?”

“Yes please,” Sasha replied. “And whatever other information you can get on him too, including his address. Thanks Donna.”

In only a few seconds, the picture came through and Sasha recognized the perpetrator at once. This was the guy. The killer. The one who had come close to ending her life. Her skin prickled as she remembered the way his eyes had seemed to glow yellow, frowning at the picture of the brown eyed man. Perhaps it had been a trick of the light.

“We’ve got him!” she called, striding towards Stephen who turned to her at once. “A Thomas Clifford McBain, one of the owners up at McBain Whisky.”

Stephen looked at the photo, and slapped her on the shoulder. “Well done, Sasha,” he said, grinning. “You’ve done it. Right, let’s get this mess cleared up and then dig into Thomas Clifford McBain a little more.”

Later that day, Sasha was exhausted. She’d headed up the team that had raided Thomas McBain’s home, and what they’d found was both awful and satisfying. It had given her the evidence she needed to prove that the man she’d shot was their murderer.

There had been small fragments of clothing with the victim’s blood spattered on them, although, no matter how hard they’d searched, they’d been unable to find any larger items of clothing with blood stains on them. Sasha came to the conclusion that he must have torn his clothes to shreds in the hope of getting rid of any kind of evidence, although he hadn’t been particularly careful.

Walking along the tables filled with evidence, Sasha looked at each piece in turn, a growing satisfaction in her chest. It wasn’t as though she was happy that she’d had to kill him, and certainly not that there had been so many victims before he’d been brought to justice, but she was glad that it was over. There were still a few things she had to do, like file paperwork on the use of her gun, talk to various members of the investigation team about exactly what had happened, write her witness statement and, the worst part, find the murderer’s family. She didn’t particularly want to be the one to go up there and break the news, but it was going to have to be done.

Sighing heavily, Sasha sat down at her computer and typed Thomas McBain’s name into the database. His face appeared on the left-hand side of the screen, and a shudder went through her almost at once. She didn’t want to remember what had happened, even though Stephen, her superintendent, would probably insist on some kind of counselling. Evidently, Thomas had been in trouble with the police before, although, from what she could see, it was all minor incidents. Shaking her head to herself, Sasha focused on the details on the right-hand side of her screen. Pulling out a notepad, she jotted down the name of Thomas’ brother, his age and address. Apparently, he lived within the whisky distillery site, in a little cottage behind the main plant. It was a remote location, which meant that someone was going to have to take a few hours out of their day to go up to visit him.

Curious as to what this ‘Torin McBain’ might look like, Sasha typed his name into the database, but nothing came up. No unpaid parking tickets, nothing. He was as clean as they came. Shrugging to herself, Sasha pushed back her chair and wandered over to Stephen’s office.

“I’ve got Torin McBain’s address,” she said, seeing him look up. “Want me to go up there?”

Stephen shook his head, looking as exhausted as she felt. “Sasha, you’ve got a bad arm, and you’ve been attacked. The only thing you’re going to do is go home and get some rest.”

“I can’t!” Sasha protested. “I’ve got work to do!”

“Go home and do it tomorrow…. or later today,” he chuckled, shaking his head. Getting up, he took the notebook from her hand. “I’m serious, Sasha. You’ve been through something huge and I want you to get some rest.”

Sasha sighed, even though waves of exhaustion were sweeping through her. “How about if I kip on the sofa for a while?”

He sighed, rolling his eyes at her.

“And then I’ll go home,” she promised, practically begging him to let her stay. “In fact, I’ve got some holidays I need to take – so I’ll even take a few days off! How does that sound?” She saw the considering look in his eyes and decided to press her advantage. “Come on, Stephen. Let me finish up everything that I need to do on this case and then I swear you won’t see me for a week or two.”

A long breath of air left his mouth as his eyes narrowed. “Two weeks.”

She chuckled, knowing she’d won. “Fine, two weeks off. Does that mean I can stay?”

“Only if you take a nap on your sofa like you said,” he warned, although his eyes twinkled. “You can’t keep pushing yourself like this, Sasha.”

Pushing herself away from the door, Sasha grinned back at him. “I won’t have to any longer, not now that we’ve caught him.” Eyeing the notebook in his hand, she nodded towards it. “Do you want me to go visit him?”

After a moment of considering, Stephen shook his head. “No, I don’t think that’ll work. This is going to come as a big shock and I don’t think that seeing the woman his brother tried to kill is a good idea. I’ll go up myself with another officer.”

Sasha nodded, a jolt of sympathy for Torin going through her. “I know, I can’t imagine what it’s going to be like to hear that your brother is a murderer.”

Stephen grimaced, but waved her away. “On you go now,” he ordered, firmly. “Go and get some sleep. And don’t let me see you up and about for a good few hours!”