Текст книги "Time to Die"

Автор книги: Caroline Mitchell

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Chapter Five

Jennifer pressed her failing pen against the paper as she took notes. It felt peculiar, taking a statement from her old school mate. She had hoped to spare her blushes by racing through their discussion, but Christian Bowe’s playful mood meant he was not going to allow her off the hook that easily. Jennifer folded a victim pamphlet and shoved it under the leg of the table before returning to her paperwork. Her handwriting was bad enough, but the wonky table had made it look as if a spider had crawled all over the page.

Christian looked immaculate, even after ten hours of filming. He had come straight from the London studio, still wearing his usual black jeans and crisp white shirt, his rolled-up sleeves complementing his tanned skin. The open neck of his shirt revealed a small silver cross resting just beneath his collarbone. Jennifer inhaled the elegant scent of Paco Rabanne as it lingered in the air. It was a vast improvement on the usual smells in the poky witness interview room.

Christian tilted his blond head to one side and smiled; the same expression on the TV shows that had made him the housewife’s favourite. ‘Jenny Knight, I just can’t believe it’s you. It’s so good to see you again.’

Jennifer nodded as another wave of embarrassment washed over her. Christian had always been tactile, and had hugged her tightly when he realised who she was. She was pleased she had chosen to wear her new black suit to work. It had been an impulse buy when she was checking out the new designer store on the posh side of Haven. The strappy black heels were also crying out to be taken home, but at least now she could justify the dent in her credit card. Her adolescent crush for Christian had long since evaporated, but there was nothing worse than seeing a blast from the past when you looked like crap.

‘You haven’t changed much since our schooldays,’ she said, preferring to get back to the task in hand.

‘Thanks. And what about you? I would never have guessed you’d turn out to be a detective. I mean, you were always playing truant at school,’ Christian smiled.

Jennifer grinned at the memory. She hated high school because it separated her from Amy. She used to bunk off to watch her in the primary school playground at lunchtime, jumping the fence if anyone dared utter a cross word in her sister’s direction.

‘Yeah. I managed to sort myself out in the end. You seem to have done pretty well.’

Christian nodded. ‘I was lucky, I fell in with the right people who accepted me for who I was.’

Jennifer had heard about his engagement to Felicity Baron, newly fledged reality TV star. The publicity had rocketed his stardom even further, and a week rarely passed without the pair of them featuring in celebrity gossip magazines.

Jennifer cleared her throat, concentrating on the task in hand. The statement complete, she had one more question to go before completing the victim personal statement, a series of questions involving the impact of the crime on his personal life. Such statements were useful in court, and proved to convey the far-reaching consequences of crime.

‘I just have one more question for you, how has this made you feel, being a victim of harassment by your cousin?’

The smile slid from Christian’s face and he threaded his fingers together. ‘I feel terrible for reporting this, but I’m worried what he’s going to do next. He’s hurt people, I know he has, and I can’t help but feel responsible.’ He sighed, his eyes filled with an apology that was not his to make.

‘If you don’t mind me saying, there’s quite an age gap between you and your cousin.’

‘Bert’s mum was a lot older than mine. Auntie Grace had her twins in her teens, while I was a late in life surprise,’ Christian smiled.

Jennifer rested her pen on the desk. ‘Families come in all shapes and sizes. Well, normally harassments would be dealt with by uniformed officers, but you mentioned a premonition of a murder, and I happen to be one of the few people in Haven nick who takes these things seriously. I’m not going to include it in your statement, but I will record it in my pocket notebook. Is that OK with you?’

Christian nodded. ‘Of course. I’m just happy someone’s willing to listen to me.’

Jennifer flicked open her notebook, dating the top of the page and recording the time using the twenty-four-hour clock. The leather-bound cover bore the Op Moonlight logo, and was stamped confidential.

‘What can you tell me?’ Jennifer said.

Christian gesticulated as he spoke, his fingers composing his words. ‘Firstly I want to impart just how bad I feel about all of this. I heard the institution was releasing my cousin into the community, and I didn’t want to know. Since his release, I’ve been getting these frightening visions. He’s plotting to murder people.’

Jennifer raised an eyebrow. ‘You’ve already mentioned the strange phone calls, but they’re non-threatening. What makes you think he’s capable of murder?’

‘Like I said, he rambles on about the past when he calls me. But he’s mentally ill. I don’t care what the hospital says – they shouldn’t have released him.’ Christian looked at her pleadingly, his eyes wide with anxiety. ‘I trust my premonitions, Jennifer, it’s a warning, I know it.’

This was a side of Christian that was not shown on the TV screens. She had watched as his career took hold, long after they lost touch, and tried to imagine what it must have felt like to be in his shoes. He always seemed so happy in the public eye, but as Jennifer was quickly learning, people revealed a different side to themselves when the cameras were turned off.

‘Can you be a bit more specific?’ she said. ‘I want to help, but we don’t have a lot to go on. The harassment offence barely warrants me giving him a warning, and murderous thoughts aren’t a crime.’

Christian closed his eyes and drew slow, soothing breaths in through his nostrils and out through his mouth. Resting his hands on his lap, his voice became thick and drawn as he entered a trance-like state. ‘He’s in a dark space. It’s enclosed, and it’s cold. Almost like a tomb.’ Christian raised his hand and raked his nails across the back of his neck. ‘The itching. It’s driving him insane. Driving him to the point of …’

Jennifer soundlessly scribbled in her notebook, recording his comments word for word. Christian stiffened in his chair, and his voice invoked a sense of urgency. ‘He’s planning to kill … he has clear intentions. He believes he’s gaining from their deaths.’ A long pause followed and Christian’s eyes fluttered open. ‘I can’t … I can’t make anything else out. I’m sorry.’

Jennifer sighed, frustrated by the lack of information. A small part of her was glad Op Moonlight’s remit was hidden from the public, otherwise half her working day would be dealing with incidents she was unable to resolve. Haven kept her busy enough as it was. On one side were the wealthy residents who lived in luxury townhouses and commuted to their high-powered jobs. The other side was aptly nicknamed the old town. Forgotten and dilapidated, the land harboured a darkness borne from historic battles and ferocious witch hunts. Superstitious practices were passed down from one generation to another, and strangers were regarded with narrow-eyed mistrust.

‘I need details. Locations, times, method. Have you a photo of your cousin? An address?’

‘I’d describe him as a tall, thin, gaunt-looking man with grey hair. But I haven’t seen him in years. The institution said he was being released to a hostel. They asked me to take him, but I declined. I just don’t have the time to give him what he needs.’

Jennifer tapped her bottom lip thoughtfully. No doubt, his fiancée wasn’t too keen on the idea either. ‘Your cousin, does he read the tarot cards? Possess any psychic gifts?’

‘Not that I know of,’ Christian said.

‘Does he drive?’

‘He’s been sectioned for half of his life, I doubt he’d have a driver’s licence. Why?’

‘It’s just a case I’m working on. I wondered if there was a connection.’ She pulled a business card from the inside of her jacket pocket and slid it across the table. ‘If anything else comes to you, call me on this number. It doesn’t matter what time it is. I know you’re against changing your number, but I strongly advise you do.’

‘He might come to the house if he can’t get through on the phone. My kids stay weekends. I can’t risk it.’

She passed over the statement, pointing to the signature block at the end. ‘The allegation of harassment will give us an excuse to bring him in, and I’ll make enquiries with the institution as to his whereabouts.’

‘Thank you. I hope you find him soon,’ he said, signing the statement and passing it back.

‘Try not to worry. I’m sure it’s not as bad as it seems,’ she said, shuffling her papers.

Christian pushed his chair back as he stood up. ‘We should go out for coffee, talk about the old days.’

Jennifer tucked her paperwork under her arm and walked towards the door. ‘I’d like that.’

‘Oh, and Jennifer, be careful with my cousin.’ Christian’s voice became slow and deliberate. ‘He appears harmless on the outside … but he harbours something dark. I felt it during my premonition.’

Jennifer gave him a wry smile as she showed him out. ‘Congratulations. You’ve just described most of the people I deal with.’

[#]

Christian’s warning played on her mind that night as she flicked through the pages of her paperback. It was one of the rare occasions that she finished work on time, and the evening seemed to stretch on forever. The institution that dealt with his cousin was called The Rivers, and had promised to get back to her the next day. She hadn’t ruled out the possibility of him being the pub tarot card reader, but without CCTV, she didn’t have much to go on.

Despite the soft music playing in the background, Jennifer found it impossible to relax. Two hours of cleaning her immaculate kitchen had left her with wrinkled fingers and stiff limbs. Coming from a childhood entrenched in neglect and disorder, cleaning was the only way she could stay in control. Her anxiety dictated the length she spent on it, and today’s regime had managed to exhaust her. She massaged her shoulder blades, pinching her skin between forefinger and thumb in an effort to ease the tension. She thought about visiting her sister, but Amy had been very cagey lately. Jennifer’s bond with her nephew Joshua was growing even stronger, and his attachment to her got on her sister’s nerves.

Jennifer shut the book and allowed her mind to wander. The usual whispers floated through, disembodied voices seeking an audience. Some were connected to the house she lived in, but others were there simply because they tuned into her frequencies, like a scratchy radio channel, whispering words she could barely understand. Allowing them to pass through was easier than trying to shut them off. Take the path of least resistance, she had been advised, and it was working well.

A thump from her front door jolted her from her trance and she shook the sleep from her legs as she uncurled from the warmth of the sofa. Who’s calling at this hour? she thought, flicking on the hall light. A cold breeze tickled the back of her neck as she approached the door, peering through the shadowless stained glass.

‘Who’s there?’ she asked, holding her breath for a reply. Squeezing her left eye closed, she squinted through the peephole out to the orange glow of the streets beyond. Nothing. Jennifer twisted the latch, peeping out through the slant in the door. Her senses told her to be on her guard, senses that both frustrated and guided her. If those damned whispers made any sense then maybe they would be of use, she thought, shuddering as the cool night air curled around the legs of her satin pyjamas.

‘Hello?’ she said, holding tightly to the doorframe as she opened it wider. Her eyes dropped to the cement step onto a black bundle of feathers at her feet. Crouching down, she tentatively prodded the iridescent plume, her eyes darting upwards to the car-lined street then back to the black feathered bundle before her. The raven was still and warm, but the life had left its eyes. Jennifer stood up and scratched her head. Dead creatures didn’t bother her in the slightest, having spent years in the country with her aunt Laura after her mother died. But anything deceased on her doorstep at night sent warning signals.

Scooping up the limp body into a black bin bag, she tried to make sense of its presence. It must have flown into the door, she thought, carrying it out to the bin. But why would a raven be flying in the dark? She hesitated as she lifted the dustbin lid. It didn’t seem right to put the poor dishevelled creature out with the rubbish. Sighing heavily, she tied the bag and rested it gently outside the back door. She would bury it in the garden tomorrow.

Jennifer froze as a whisper carried on a breeze, and a feeling of unreality raised goose bumps on her flesh. Bert Bishop … look no further. Jennifer peered out into the moonlit garden. Did the voice come from outside or the recesses of her mind? She didn’t know. She searched her memory for recognition of a name that would come to mean a great deal. Bert Bishop was the name of Christian Bowe’s cousin. She recalled the description of the creepy old man in the bar who had spoken to Alan Price. Stepping inside, she locked the back door as a feeling of unease crept up her spine. Staring out into the stillness of her garden, the affirmation grew stronger in her mind. She couldn’t explain it but somehow she knew. Bertram Bishop had delivered the fatal prophecy to Alan Price in the bar – and he wasn’t stopping there.

Chapter Six

Bert

A hot shower, a brandy from the minibar, the feel of carpet under bare feet. In the comfort of his room, the simple things in life were bliss. But Bert’s nightcap could not blot out the irritation from the perfumed soap seeping into the cracks in his skin. Dragging his nails over the inflammation, he groaned in short-lived gratification before blistering pain sliced through every nerve. Bert unzipped his toiletry bag and pulled out a small wrinkled tube. The steroid cream did little to ease the skin condition that fed off his tormented mind. Hypocrite, his conscience whispered, and Bert flapped his hands to the side of his head, dismissing the thoughts like a swarm of bees.

The mattress bounced gently as Bert tested the bed. He ran his hand over the crisp white duvet cover. He was looking forward to sleeping in fresh linen. It reminded him of when he was a boy. Each night mother dutifully slathered him in creams before bandaging his broken skin, humming a tune under her breath to avoid conversation. It was all done with all the love and attentiveness of someone gutting a fish.

She had little else to do, with one child in the family. But it was not always that way. The second of identical twins, Bert arrived to the world as an afterthought. His parents would have been content with Callum. His dimpled cherubic face and soft blond hair made him the perfect child. His beauty was enhanced even further by the arrival of his brother.

At half the weight, Bert came into the world a wizened creature, eyes squeezing hot tears as he rasped a starving cry. There was little known about twin-to-twin transfusion, and the doctor had explained it as simply as he could. Callum had taken the share of nutrition in the womb, leaving little for Bert, who was not expected to survive the night. His parents, who had only been expecting one baby anyway, took the sensible option of not getting attached to him. Besides, they had Callum, what more did they need?

Bert was a shrink-wrapped version of his twin; his face thin and scrawny, with blond hair drained to a brittle white. He bunched his fists as he screamed, his scaly pink scalp visible underneath the wisps of his listless hair. It was his anger, his fury at the world that ensured his survival.

His mother hid Bert away from visitors, producing Callum for their adoration. But the benefit of having a ‘sickly child’ gave Grace the excuse she needed to stay cocooned in her three-bedroom home. She ventured only to church on a Sunday, her lips moving in silent prayer as she drove the three miles into town for the nine o’clock sermon. Praying distracted her anxious mind from open spaces, and the rosary beads swinging from the mirror of their Ford car amused Callum as he accompanied her on these visits. Bert knew all this because of the cards. These dips into the past gave him answers to questions that swarmed in his mind. And it made him feel better about what happened with mother.

Bert pushed aside the thoughts. Throwing the cushions off the bed, he slid between the sheets, reaching for the well-thumbed newspaper on the bedside table. He smiled as he re-read the headlines on the second page. ‘Celebrity Psychic’s Tragic Fiancée Crash’. Bert picked up his glasses and scanned through the article again. The young blonde woman smiled at him from the page.

A TV reality star bride to be was involved in a one-car crash on the M25 on Thursday evening when the victim’s car, 23-year-old Felicity Baron, veered off the M25 and plummeted down an embankment. After leaving the road, the vehicle dropped approximately 30ft down a steep slope and crashed into some trees on the border of a woodland reservation.

Baron, star of The Beauty Salon, was on her way to Brighton with friends to celebrate her hen party when the accident occurred. While it is believed the members of her group had been drinking, friends report that Baron had been sober when her car veered out of control. She received a head injury and was airlifted to hospital where she later died. The other four passengers escaped with minor injuries.

The accident happened one week before Baron’s planned wedding to celebrity psychic Christian Bowes. In a further twist, her stunned friends stated that Baron had been upset that morning after receiving a tarot card reading from an unknown man predicting her death.

Police say excessive speed may have been a factor in the crash. Investigators are yet to determine if faulty mechanics played a role.

‘If you go down to the woods tonight you’re in for a big surprise,’ Bert sang, dropping the paper. A guttural laugh rose from the pit of his stomach, as a sense of accomplishment surged through him. He did it again. He chuckled as he fell asleep. He couldn’t wait to give another prediction, and with the help of the cards, he had just the person in mind.

Chapter Seven

A two-bar heater warmed Jennifer’s trouser legs as she sat in her sergeant’s office. The smell of freshly brewed coffee was a welcome one, and bleary eyed from a lack of sleep, Jennifer was on her second cup.

Claire took a sip of her sugarless brew. The ‘World’s Okayest Boss’ mug was a secret Santa present she had received at Christmas, and it never failed to put a smile on her face. She turned to Jennifer, her fingers teasing her mop of hair. A tangle of curls, it suited her quirky personality. ‘I need to discuss your tarot card man. I’ve been hoping to speak to Ethan but he’s been called away to another meeting.’

Jennifer felt the coffee travel to the pit of her stomach, and relaxed into the worn leather swivel chair. ‘The DI told me to close the case. But I felt it tied in with Christian Bowe’s cousin, so I’m running it as a joint investigation unless I’m told otherwise.’

Claire nodded. ‘Good. Have you got found him yet?’

‘I’ve contacted The Rivers, but they’re running on skeleton staff due to some flu bug, and it’s taking some time to get the information.’

‘Then I need you to chase them up. I take it you haven’t seen the news.’

Jennifer’s grip tightened on the armrests of the chair. ‘No, why?’

‘The next time you speak to Christian Bowes you might want to handle him sensitively …’ Claire said, pausing as Jennifer hastily interrupted her.

‘I’m not treating him any differently just because he’s a celebrity.’

The phone emitted a shrill ring. Silencing the call, Claire turned back around. ‘It’s nothing to do with that. It’s his fiancée. She crashed her car yesterday. She’s dead.’

‘Oh,’ Jennifer said, suddenly at a loss for words. Her forehead creased in a frown as she tried to comprehend the news. ‘Was it an accident?’

‘Forensics are examining the car. But get this. Her friends stated she was read her fortune by an old man when they stopped off for a drink.’

‘And you think it’s the same man that prophesied Alan Price’s death?’

‘It’s too much of a coincidence not to be. Lexton CID have got a hold of the case and are refusing to relinquish it to us as it’s on their patch …’

‘But … No, they can’t …’ Jennifer said, the words tumbling out of her mouth.

Claire ignored her protest and carried on. ‘We’ve come to a compromise and it’s been agreed you can work together on the case. Obviously if there is any paranormal element you keep that information within our team. It’s very early days, but if Christian Bowe’s cousin is responsible then you need to liaise with them so they can effect an arrest early doors.’

Jennifer felt like she was twelve years old again, back at school being cheated out of an award by Sydney Jenkins, the headmaster’s son. ‘But it’s my case. I don’t want to hand it over.’

‘You have no choice. If this turns out to be a murder, we won’t have the manpower to investigate it by ourselves. Does it matter who does the nicking as long as the case is solved?’

It did to Jennifer. It mattered a lot. Dark thoughts clambered over each other, bumping shoulders as she figured out her next move. The Raven. The words clicked in her mind, slotting in like a piece of the puzzle with so many more pieces to find. The clipping with the black feather and the dead raven at her door: Christian’s cousin was goading her into action. The afterglow of her coffee dissipated into thin air, and Jennifer licked her lips, keeping a lid on the simmering frustration within. She felt let down by her sergeant, who should have fought harder to keep the case.

‘You’re right,’ Jennifer lied. She would attend briefing and do as she was told. But if the Raven wanted her, then he would get her – and nothing would stand in her way.

[#]

Given the mood she was in, Jennifer preferred to spend her shift with Will than some idiot from Lexton MIT. Her opinions of Lexton’s Murder Investigation Team were forged from rumours and entirely justified in her mind. She abhorred bullying, and up until recently, the sharks in the MIT had made a meal out of anyone who deviated from the norm. Her sergeant was a prime example, and the memory of their treatment was most likely the reason for her backing down on the case. Claire had reported the team for bullying when she worked there as a DC, and being offered the role of sergeant over Operation Moonlight must have seemed like a good way of shutting her up. Her words rang in Jennifer’s ears as she entered the office. We have to integrate well with the other teams if we’ve any hope of surviving. Don’t rock the boat. The words sent a shiver down Jennifer’s spine. Their team was new, she had never considered they could be disbanded. But like every team, they had to produce results to justify their existence.

Heads popped up from computers like meerkats in the gloomy office, and Jennifer scanned the room to see an overweight thirty-something man click his fingers in her direction. The office was half the size of theirs but appeared to have double the amount of officers. Overstuffed bins, dirty cups, and the stale aroma of body odour hung in the room. She was not going to outstay her welcome.

‘DC Knight, I take it? Over here,’ he said in a nasally voice.

What does he think I am? A dog? Jennifer steadied her breathing as she strode to the corner of the room.

‘I’m DC Hardwick. I take it you’re here to cast your eyes over my case,’ the man said.

How precious, Jennifer thought, looking down her nose at the officer, now picking the remnants of his bacon baguette from between his teeth.

‘I’m here to liaise with you over the Felicity Baron case, and I’ve been told you’re happy to cooperate.’

He pulled over a swivel chair, his fingers leaving grease marks in their wake. ‘Why don’t you sit down? I’m always happy to help your little team,’ he said, spitting specks of bread. ‘So how is your sergeant, still as wibble as ever?’

A sharp intake of breath was heard as fingers froze on keyboards. Jennifer gave the officer a cramped smile. ‘She sends her love, wanted to know if you’re still as obnoxious as ever.’

Despite Claire’s warning, Jennifer had only been in the office for five minutes and already insulted the one person willing to work with her. But she couldn’t let him get away with calling her sergeant mad. A chorus of laughter ensued.

‘You deserved that, Hardwick,’ a middle-aged man said, his sleeves rolled up to the elbow. His loosened grey tie swung around his neck like a noose. ‘This officer has come here to help. It’ll be good to have another pair of eyes on the case.’ He turned to Jennifer with an apologetic smile. ‘If this reprobate gives you any more trouble you just let me know. I’m Sergeant Duncan, by the way.’

A firm handshake passed between them. Jennifer noted the camaraderie between the pair and decided to behave herself from thereon.

 [#]

Armed with a copy of the case file, she returned to Haven to continue her investigations. Zoe’s clipped tones echoed through the room as she took a call from a very disgruntled father. Jennifer threw Zoe a sympathetic glance as she tried to deflect the complaint coming her way.

‘Mr Lynch, if you would let me speak … yes I know your daughter’s upset … but it’s very difficult for us to charge her partner if she refuses to provide us with a statement … if you would stop swearing at me and listen …’ A bright pink rash spread from Zoe’s pale chest up to her neck, reminding Jennifer of a kettle about to boil over.

‘Oh dear,’ Jennifer whispered as she sat beside Will, ‘has she been like that for long?’

Will shook his head. ‘About five minutes. How was the lion’s den?’

‘Full of testosterone. I was the only woman in briefing. Normally I wouldn’t notice, but it was like they were just humouring me, when they eventually let me speak.’

Will shook his head. ‘Yeah. I heard they were a bunch of dicks.’

‘Dicks or not, they’re flavour of the month with the command team,’ Jennifer said. ‘The tarot card reader that spoke to James Price matches the description of the one that forecast Felicity Baron’s death. I’ve given them the clipping and the feather that was sent to me, but they’re determined that Christian’s ex-wife is the suspect.’

‘Fill me in, I’d like to know a bit more in case I get roped in to help.’

‘We believe he uses the name Raven. He’s a person of interest, but their focus is on Christian’s ex-wife. She was unhappy about the divorce settlement apparently.’

‘A woman scorned,’ Will said.

‘Yeah, I know. As soon as the divorce came through, the younger model was announcing the wedding.’

‘That’s a kick in the gut. So what makes you think this Raven bloke has anything to do with it?’

‘Felicity’s friends said she lost her keys. They were in her bag in the pub, and after her reading, they were found near the car. They announced in briefing that tests show the car’s been tampered with. Somebody opened the boot, took out the wheel nut thingy, and loosened the tyres. Not enough to notice straight away. Ex-wife has no alibi, and tarot guy has no motivation. But it’s worth having a chat with him, don’t you think?’

‘Lug wrench,’ Will said, taking a green file from his in-tray and opening it.

‘What?’

‘The thing for loosening wheel nuts, it’s called a lug wrench. An obvious question but have they checked for fingerprints?’

Jennifer stifled a yawn with the back of her hand. ‘Yeah, they’ve been wiped clean. No forensics.’

Will shook his head as he flicked through the paperwork before him. ‘Y’know, I don’t get this filing system. Don’t you think it would be better if green meant important, yellow meant non-priority, and brown meant …’

‘I can guess what brown means, and I can’t see the DI going for it,’ Jennifer said.

‘All the same, I think it might be worthy of another entry into the suggestion box,’ Will grinned. ‘Is there any previous police history on Raven?’

Jennifer shrugged. ‘I can’t tell you that because we don’t know who he is. Raven could be his name or just a calling card. But if I’m proved right and Raven is Bertram Bishop, there’s nothing on the system apart from a life in and out of mental institutions.’

Will frowned as he speed-read the contents of his file, closed it, then swapped it for a different one. ‘At least you’ve got a quality job to get your teeth into. What’s your next plan of action?’

‘I’ve spoken to The Rivers mental health unit where Bert’s been an in-patient. They’ve reported him as missing because he’s no longer at the hostel. I’m not sure he ever stayed there. There’s a psychic fair on in the town hall tomorrow. I’m driving over there for a look.’

Will groaned. He had two bail backs and a statement to take that day. ‘I don’t like you going single-crewed, what if you bump into this guy?’

‘That’s the whole point, isn’t it?’ Jennifer laughed. ‘Don’t look so worried. What’s he going to do, batter me with his crystal ball?’

Will squeezed her hand, his brown eyes searching hers. ‘Don’t underestimate him. This sort of work is different than normal police work, nothing is what it seems.’

The warmth in his eyes followed by the sudden contact took Jennifer by surprise, and her face flushed in response.

‘Fancy coming around to mine some night for a meal?’ Will said. ‘It gets a bit boring, going home to an empty flat every night.’

‘I’m not sure if I’m brave enough. For the meal that is, I’ve seen your kitchen,’ Jennifer said. As soon as the words were out she wanted to kick herself.

Will harrumphed. ‘I’ve redecorated the flat, but if it’s not good enough for you …’

‘I’m joking. Why don’t I bring over a takeaway, save you having to cook. You can show me around.’

Will opened his mouth to reply, but was interrupted by Ethan, as he walked into the office.