Mad busy but here's a small update.
"It can't be," Callum murmured.
"Obviously!" Harry's voice sounded hard.
"But, how…?"
"Could she have got it ready to send? Or –"
"What? Posted it three months ago," Harry snapped, "Royal Mail's not that bad, besides which Ruth wasn't really a Valentine's sort of person."
"Callum's already checked, it was sent two days ago from Cornwall," said Erin.
"A small village by the coast," he added.
Harry's eyebrows raised, surprised at his precision.
"The postmark obviously tells us it was Cornwall but the card's a specialised one, only a few stockists and fortunately only one in the southwest."
"Someone with access could have got her prints off record and replicated them on the card." Erin suggested.
"But why? Who'd be that cruel?" Callum mused.
They both looked up at Harry. His jaw was set but his eyes, as always these days, were lifeless. In his mind the images were back, the images he didn't want to see anymore, the images he thought had almost left him. But hadn't.
The sea and the sky and the long grass. And her pale white lifeless face.
He shook his head slightly. All he wanted to remember was her smile, her warmth, the pink tinge on her cheek. But all he saw was death.
"See what else you can find," he said quietly and turned for the pod doors, passing Dimitri.
"Is he okay?" he asked as he watched Harry's heavy shoulders disappear down the corridor.
Erin shook her head.
"Far from."