Текст книги "Cold Kill"

Автор книги: Neil White

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Текущая страница: 8 (всего у книги 25 страниц) [доступный отрывок для чтения: 10 страниц]

Chapter Twenty

Jack went to the Blackley Telegraph office first. Dolby was in his room, a large cup of coffee in front of him.

‘I should have made you buy me this,’ Dolby said, chewing on a granola bar.

‘What do you mean?’

‘Because my idea worked,’ Dolby said. ‘The phone has been ringing all morning. It seems like your article about the police failing has touched a nerve. I’ve just had the press officer on the phone to me, asking why I’m attacking rather than helping.’

‘It must give you a glow,’ Jack said. ‘But, yeah, I owe you one, for keeping my name off it. Just make sure the cheque is paid to the right person.’

Dolby tossed the granola wrapper into the bin and lifted the lid off his coffee. ‘I don’t know why I buy this crap,’ he said, grimacing as he took a sip.

‘Because it makes you feel big to talk Italian when you buy a drink?’

He pointed and winked. ‘You’re on form today, but I know you’re not here to talk about my brunch. What can I do for you?’

‘Have we been asked by the police to hold anything back?’ Jack said. ‘Are you hearing any rumours?’

Dolby shook his head. ‘The police don’t speak to me anyway, and they always hold something back.’ Then he frowned. ‘Why do you ask? You’re the one with access. The sweet nothings drying up?’

Jack smiled. ‘Laura won’t talk about stuff like that, because she knows that you’ll print anything to sell a paper.’

‘Okay, let’s cut the sexual tension in here,’ Dolby said, his hands held up in mock surrender. ‘What have you got?’

Jack reached into his pocket and pulled out the emails. ‘I’ve been getting these.’

Dolby took them and began to read, and Jack knew he had his attention when the polystyrene cup went onto the desk. Dolby looked up. ‘Who are these from?’

‘I don’t know. They came last night, and then more this morning.’

Dolby’s mouth opened as if to say something, but then closed it and sat back in his chair, tapping his lip with his finger. ‘It could just be bullshit, some crank wanting attention.’

‘Possibly,’ Jack said, nodding. ‘But there is another possibility.’

‘Go on.’

‘They could be from the killer.’

Dolby looked at Jack, and then back at the emails. ‘Murders attract attention-seekers.’

‘I know, but could you rule it out?’

Dolby handed them back to Jack. ‘I’m not going to run a story on them. If it is some crank, the publicity could backfire.’

‘I’m not asking you to run it yet.’

‘So what are you asking?’

‘I’m going to speak to Laura, and if there’s anything in it, see if they will give me exclusive access.’

‘Okay, talk to them and let’s see what we can do.’

‘Provided they will work with us,’ Jack said. ‘The poison piece you got me to write won’t make you popular.’

‘So go in as freelance. Just make sure you sell the scoop to me.’

‘It will mean that you’ll have to work with the police. Can you do that, Dolby?’

‘Jack, I will do anything that makes people buy this paper.’

‘I thought as much. I’ll get back to you,’ Jack said, and walked out of the office, emails in hand.

Chapter Twenty-One

Laura checked her notes, just to make sure that she had the right address. She needed some fresh air, to take away the mortuary smells that had locked into her nostrils, and so she headed out to speak to Adam Carter, Jane’s ex-boyfriend.

Adam’s house surprised her. Jane Roberts had been brought up by a crook, and Laura had expected her background to guide her lifestyle choices. But this was suburbia, middle class, plain and ordinary, with a driveway for two cars, an open-plan lawn, and a white garage front, which was probably filled with tools and rubbish, waiting for a tip-run rather than a car. There were mock shutters around the windows and the bricks looked new and clean.

The front door opened before Laura got there, and as Laura reached into her pocket for her identification card, the woman who answered the door said, ‘No need, we were wondering when you would call.’ She seemed almost too young to have a son old enough to be Jane’s boyfriend, with her hair flicked over her face and her figure trim in tight jeans and a T-shirt. She stood aside, and as Laura walked down the hall to the living room at the back of the house, the woman went to make a drink.

Laura didn’t sit down at first. Instead, she tried to read the family from the surroundings. The house was clean and well-furnished, with flowers on the window sill that framed the small garden outside, the space consumed by a conservatory. Laura caught a glimpse of the dining room, through an archway from the room she was in, and the formal place settings and another vase of flowers showed how the occupant wished to be viewed: on the way up.

As the woman came in with a cup of tea, Laura said, ‘Are you Adam’s mother?’

‘Yes,’ she said. ‘Call me Tracy.’

Laura took the drink from her, and as Tracy sat down, gesturing for Laura to join her, Laura saw sadness behind the politeness; a redness around the eyes, the nervous way her finger scratched at her cup, the flicking of her hair.

‘Be gentle with Adam, he is really upset about all of this,’ Tracy said.

‘Why did they split up?’

‘He didn’t tell me,’ and then she gave a small laugh. ‘I’m his mother. I’ll be the last one he’ll tell.’

‘I’ve got a little boy,’ Laura said. ‘Is that how it ends up?’

‘How old?’

‘Eight.’

‘Enjoy it,’ she said. ‘You’ll find it hard when another woman becomes more important, and the only thing you know about your son is that he won’t tell you anything.’ Then she seemed to remember who she was talking to. ‘That isn’t to say that he has done anything wrong. I mean, there’s nothing sinister or anything.’

Laura didn’t react. People who had something to hide usually revealed more when they tried to fill the gaps.

‘Has Adam got a new girlfriend?’ Laura said.

Tracy shook her head and gave a sad smile. ‘It was only Jane,’ she said. ‘She brought trouble though. And I don’t mean Jane herself. She was a sweet thing, but her family caused trouble for her and for Adam.’ She sighed. ‘He’s a good-looking boy. It would be disrespectful to Jane right now, but he won’t be single for ever.’

Before Laura could ask anything else, there was the rumble of feet on the stairs and then a tall slim young man came into the room.

Laura saw that Tracy’s description wasn’t motherly blinkers, and the camera hadn’t lied. Adam was a good-looking young man. Just over six feet with tousled dark hair and soft brown eyes, Laura guessed that he wouldn’t get lonely once the mourning period ended. Laura stole a quick glance at his hands, to see whether they showed any signs of worry, bitten fingernails or skin, but there were none.

‘Are you the police?’ he asked.

Laura nodded.

He looked down at his mother. ‘You can leave us alone,’ he said to her.

‘No, I want to stay,’ she said.

He shook his head. ‘No,’ he said, his voice firmer this time.

Tracy considered him for a moment, and then stood to leave the room. Adam waited until the door closed, and then he looked at Laura and said, ‘You’re here about Jane.’

Laura nodded. ‘Yes, and I’m sorry to intrude, but we need to find out who killed her. Can you tell me when you last saw her?’

‘We split up a month ago,’ he said, but he looked away as he said it.

‘You’ve no need to pretend, Adam,’ she said. ‘We know you were still an item. We’ve spoken to her friends.’

He looked down and nodded, and when he looked up again, Laura saw that his eyes were red.

‘I wasn’t supposed to see her anymore,’ he said.

‘Why not?’

‘Her father.’

‘What do you mean?’

Adam sat down and rested his head against the top of the sofa.

‘I’d been threatened,’ he said eventually.

‘By Jane’s father?’

He nodded. ‘He doesn’t like my career choice.’

‘Which is?’

Adam looked at Laura. ‘I’ve applied to join the police.’

Laura was surprised. ‘Good choice.’

Adam scowled. ‘Don didn’t think so.’ He sighed heavily. ‘I got my degree in law, and my mother wanted me to be a lawyer, had bragged to all her friends, but there are no jobs anymore.’

‘Law isn’t the career it once was,’ she said. ‘And you chose the police because it was better than nothing?’ When Adam didn’t respond, Laura added, ‘It’s okay, I’m not on the recruitment panel. I joined because it’s all I ever wanted to be, and I haven’t been disappointed. You’ll enjoy yourself.’ As Adam nodded to himself, she asked, ‘So how did Don Roberts take it?’

He looked up. ‘Not well,’ he said. ‘He told Jane not to see me anymore.’

‘So what did you do?’

Adam blushed. ‘She was a grown woman, but her father made it difficult. She would say that she was going to a friend’s house, and then we would meet up in town. But his friends would follow her, and so she had to make really complicated journeys to get there.’ He shook his head. ‘One of his apes threatened me, told me that if I saw Jane again, Don would hurt me so that no girl would ever look at me again.’

‘Is Don that anti-police?’

‘It seemed like a gut reaction at first,’ he said, ‘but then it became about disobeying him.’

‘When was the last time you saw her?’

Adam looked down at his hands and then rubbed one palm with his thumb, as if he was wiping away a stain.

‘Last Friday, the day before she went missing,’ he said eventually, and his hand went to wipe away a tear. ‘We went to the cinema and then came back here.’ He blew out, tears running down his cheeks now. ‘Mum and Dad were out, and so we had the place to ourselves.’ He shrugged. ‘Well, you can guess what happened.’

‘Had you made any arrangements to meet up again?’

He nodded. ‘The following night.’

The night she died, thought Laura, but she didn’t say it. ‘What happened?’ she asked.

‘Nothing,’ he said. ‘We had agreed to meet in the Black Bull in town. There’s a door at the back that leads to a car park.’

Laura nodded that she knew it. She remembered it from her brief spell in uniform, when the young constables would shine torches in there after the pubs had closed, trying to frighten couples who preferred the convenience of the car park wall to the warmth of the bed.

‘She was supposed to walk straight through the pub, and then we were going to jump in a taxi and go somewhere on our own.’ He took a few seconds to compose himself. ‘I waited for more than an hour, and I tried her phone but she didn’t answer.’

‘Why didn’t you call us?’

‘What could I say,’ he said. ‘I just thought her father had caught her going out, or had followed her or something.’

‘Did you try to call her again?’

‘A few times,’ he said. ‘There was no answer, apart from just once, but no one said anything.’

That surprised Laura. ‘When was that, the answered call, I mean?’

He reached into his pocket and pulled out his phone. He pressed the screen a few times, and then he looked up. ‘Monday afternoon. Just before three.’

‘We think Jane died on the way to meet you.’

Adam paused and took a deep breath to compose himself. ‘I thought maybe she had left her phone at home and her father had answered,’ he said. ‘If he had known it was me, there would have been trouble.’

‘But what about Jane’s killer? He could have been the one who answered?’

‘Maybe the killer and Jane’s father are the same person?’

‘Do you believe that?’

He shrugged. ‘He’s capable of it.’

‘How do you know?’

‘Just stuff Jane’s told me.’

‘Like what?’

He scratched the side of his mouth with his finger, and then looked to the ceiling when he heard the vacuum cleaner start upstairs. Adam’s mother was being conspicuous despite not being in the room.

‘He likes money and he likes power,’ he said. ‘He used to turn a blind eye to drug dealing in the clubs where his boys ran the doors, because he would get a cut. The agreement was that if they got caught, they’d keep their mouth shut and take the hit from the court. Except that some of them didn’t like the idea of prison, and so they told the police all about the arrangements. Those that talked didn’t work again. There was a rumour that one didn’t walk again. Now, it’s the protection rackets he likes, except that he calls it security. He’s a big man in a small world. Those who won’t pay the money get hassle from the local idiots, just juvenile stuff, like shit through the letterbox or eggs at the window, but a couple of people have had petrol poured into their hallways.’

‘So he was worried about having a policeman’s wife as a daughter?’

‘It was worse than that,’ he said. ‘She was thinking of joining too.’

Laura was surprised. ‘Did Don know about this?’

Adam nodded. ‘Now you know why he told us to split up. He thought I was a bad influence.’ He gave a small laugh. ‘I don’t think Don got the irony.’

‘Do you have a picture of Jane that we can use?’ Laura said. ‘Her family isn’t cooperating at all.’

Adam nodded and left the room. As she listened to the thumps of his feet on the stairs, Laura wondered whether everything she’d heard made Don Roberts more of a suspect. She glanced up when she heard movement in the hall, and saw that Tracy was watching her.

Adam bounded back into the room, holding a photograph. ‘Is this okay?’ he said, as he passed it over.

Laura looked down, and the corpse from an hour earlier was brought to life. She was laughing in this photograph, her hair thrown back, full of zest and life. It looked like a holiday shot, Ibiza or somewhere, her arms tanned in a pink vest, the sky bright blue behind her.

‘Perfect,’ Laura said, and for a moment she felt some of Adam’s sadness, that someone so young and beautiful could end up like she did, abused and dumped in the woods. She tried to look convincing when she said, ‘We’ll find her killer. I promise.’

Chapter Twenty-Two

Jack was outside the court when he managed to speak to Laura. Her phone had been switched off, because he had been trying to get hold of her since his conversation with Dolby, and so he had gone to court, looking out for sidebar scraps. The clock had moved onto twelve and the court had emptied, so he tried again. When Laura answered, it sounded like she was outside.

‘Jack? Look, I’m sorry I wasn’t there this morning. How was Bobby?’

‘He’s fine,’ Jack said, ‘but I’m not calling about that. It’s about the murder.’

‘I can’t tell you much.’

‘At least answer this then: what did Jane Roberts have in her mouth, and Deborah Corley?’

There was a pause, and then, ‘What do you mean?’

‘It’s okay, I’m not looking for a quote,’ he said. ‘Just call me curious.’

‘Come on, Jack,’ she said. ‘Curious with you means more than just that. So tell me why you think there was something in her mouth?’

‘If you’ll give me a couple of minutes of your time, I’ll come and show you,’ he said.

‘Okay,’ she said, more softly now. ‘It would be good to see you anyway. It seems like ages since we talked.’

‘I know, but just business for now,’ he said, and then hung up.

As the hum of the street took over, he felt that excitement again, something he hadn’t felt in a while. Maybe he was finally going to write the story he wanted.

He headed for his car.

Laura looked at her phone.

She was outside the station, fresh from her trip to see Jane’s boyfriend. How did Jack know that there had been something crammed into Jane’s mouth?

She knew she needed to speak with Carson, as Jack would be gaining special access. At some point they might need to ask journalists to hold something back, but if they find out that someone is getting the inside track, they won’t agree.

She walked quickly into the station, and when she went into the canteen she saw that Carson was sitting at a table. Joe was queuing for food.

‘How did you get on with the ex-boyfriend?’ Carson asked, as she sat down opposite.

‘He wasn’t so ex,’ Laura said.

Carson looked interested at that.

‘He had applied to become one of us, and Jane was thinking of joining too,’ Laura said. ‘Daddy didn’t like that and so tried to split them up.’

‘Jane was an adult,’ Carson said.

‘Yes, but he could make it difficult for them, and Jane still lived at home.’

‘So Don is back in the frame?’

‘He was never really out of it.’

‘How does the boyfriend rate as a suspect?’

Laura thought about that. ‘He can’t be ruled out, but I believed him. We’ve got something else to think about now though.’

‘Go on.’

‘Jack has just called,’ she said. ‘He knows that there was something jammed into Jane’s mouth.’

Carson looked surprised. ‘How does he know?’

‘He didn’t say, but he’ll tell me when he gets here.’

‘He’s not thinking of interfering, is he?’

‘I don’t know what he’s doing,’ she said.

‘You know the force has never been comfortable with this.’

‘I know, I know,’ she said, her voice weary. ‘But Jack must know something worth listening to. Hear him out.’

Carson’s response was interrupted by the clatter of a tray onto the table. Joe passed three plates around with limp white bread and crispy tongues of bacon, and then scattered some sauce sachets onto the table.

‘I saw you and thought you looked hungry,’ Joe said to Laura. ‘I heard you mention Jack.’

‘He knows about the mud jammed into Jane’s mouth,’ Laura said.

Carson took a bite of his sandwich. ‘Do you talk in your sleep?’ he said, mumbling through his food, and when Laura responded with an arched eyebrow, he added, ‘the whispers were always going to start. And maybe it’s no real secret. There’s more than just us who know about it. There are the kids who found her, the uniforms who combed the scene. Someone will always talk. If we think that the rumours will end up in print, we’ll ask the press for an embargo, which means that Jack doesn’t get any special favours.’

‘I think there’s more to it than it seems,’ Laura said.

Carson stopped chewing at that. ‘How do you mean?’

‘Because he’s on his way here. He would have told me if it was just press rumours.’

Carson looked like he had lost his appetite. He put his sandwich back on the plate. ‘I just hope he isn’t using you to get closer than everyone else.’

‘I wouldn’t let him,’ Laura said, but from the scowl that Carson flashed across the table, Laura realised that she would be frozen out of the case if he tried it.

Chapter Twenty-Three

Jack had texted Laura to let her know that he’d arrived, and as he walked through the station doors he checked his pockets for his tools: a voice recorder, paper pad and pen. He was in the glass-fronted reception area, the windows like ticket kiosks, the seats opposite filled with bored customers waiting to be seen, some holding vehicle documents, one or two looking like they were waiting for a relative to emerge from the cells. As he glanced along the chairs, Jack saw a grinning face at the end. It was David Hoyle, the brash young defence lawyer from the court.

‘Mr Journo,’ he shouted over, and then leaned back in his chair and put his hands behind his head, his legs outstretched, expensive-looking brown brogues on his feet, a fawn-coloured suit and pink shirt making up the ensemble. Hoyle looked a step up from the sale-rack suits and gelled hair of the police station runners who seemed to do most of the defence work.

‘Whose life are you exposing today?’ Hoyle said, his eyebrows raised.

‘Oh, you know, sometimes it’s good to get away from the routine,’ Jack said, and grinned back at him. ‘Like writing up your speeches.’

Hoyle’s smile twitched, and then he waved away the dig. ‘I know you don’t mean that,’ he said. ‘I’m the best thing to happen to that courtroom in years.’

‘The world is full of undiscovered geniuses, Mr Hoyle,’ Jack said. ‘It’s good to finally meet one.’

Hoyle’s smile waned. ‘You know that none of this matters,’ he muttered, leaning forward, so that Jack had to get closer to hear him properly.

‘This is people’s lives,’ Jack said.

‘But we’re only passing through them,’ Hoyle said, waving his hand dismissively. ‘I talk like I make a difference, but I know that I don’t, not really. When I’ve finished, and you’ve written it up, will anything have changed?’ He shook his head. ‘No, not one thing. They go back to their messy little lives and I see them the next time they fuck it up.’

Jack was surprised. ‘You seem down today. A bad morning in court?’

Hoyle shrugged. ‘Sitting around here makes me like that. So what brings you to this neck of the woods?’

‘Just the usual journalist stuff. And how about you? Another cursed young innocent?’

‘None of us are innocent, Mr Garrett.’

‘Maybe so,’ Jack said, ‘but some are a lot more guilty. And the problem with lawyers is that guilt is just a verdict, and not a moral point.’

Hoyle smiled at that. ‘If I worried about morals, I would be a bad criminal lawyer.’

‘I’ll save the ovation for later,’ Jack said. ‘So what have you got?’

‘Just kids, doing what kids from the shitty part of Blackley do,’ Hoyle said.

Jack was rescued from the conversation by a door opening behind him. It was Laura. She tilted her head to tell him to follow her.

‘Enjoy yourself,’ Jack said to Hoyle, and then followed Laura further into the police station.

‘What did he want?’ Laura asked.

‘To impress me with his greatness,’ Jack said, and then he slowed as he saw Carson waiting for him.

‘What kind of mood is he in?’ Jack asked Laura in a whisper, nodding towards Carson.

‘The usual.’

‘Tetchy, then,’ he said, watching as Carson turned around and walked away. Jack took it as a sign to follow.

They settled in some low chairs along the edge of the canteen, the air heavy with the smells of lunch. Laura went to get some drinks.

Carson eyed Jack with suspicion. ‘Laura tells me that you’re not really pursuing this story.’

‘Like she said, not really.’

‘But you were at the press conference, and it was your name by the story on the website.’

‘It was just to give the local angle if the nationals became interested, and the local rag wanted to use it,’ Jack said. ‘I still need to put food on the table.’

Carson placed a newspaper in front of Jack, who looked down and saw the headline How Many More?

‘Does this have anything to do with you?’ he said.

Jack looked closer, just an excuse to avoid Carson’s glare. It was his article under Dolby’s byline and photograph.

Jack pointed at the picture. ‘It doesn’t look like me,’ he said. ‘And aren’t you more interested in why I’m here?’

Carson scowled. ‘Go on, tell me what you’ve got.’

Laura appeared with coffees on a tray, and Jack delayed his answer as he took a sip from his cup.

‘Just what I said on the phone to Laura,’ Jack replied, ‘that I was curious about what had been in the dead woman’s mouth when she was found.’

‘Who told you about that?’ Carson said.

Jack took another sip and considered Carson over the lip of the cup. Carson was frowning.

‘I have something to show you,’ Jack said, and he reached into his pocket and handed Carson the emails he had printed off.

Carson looked down at the pieces of paper. ‘What are these?’

‘I received them last night. My email address was at the top of the story I did yesterday.’

As Carson took in the words on the page, Jack turned to Laura and whispered, ‘Early start.’ His hand drifted towards her leg.

‘I know, I’m sorry,’ she said, quietly, blushing slightly. ‘It will settle down soon, don’t worry.’

‘Fuck!’ Carson said, and he slammed the papers down on the table, spilling his coffee.

Laura looked surprised, and then she picked up the papers and began to read. When her eyes widened, Jack knew she had reached the poem.

He’ll stuff your jaws till you can’t talk,

He’ll bind your legs till you can’t walk,

He’ll tie your hands till you can’t claw,

And he’ll close your eyes so you see no more.

She put the papers back on the table. ‘So this is how you know.’

‘So what do you think?’ Jack said. ‘Could they be from the killer? Who else knows the details of the murder scene? Your squad and the killer, that’s who.’

‘And every one in uniform who was guarding the scene, and their families when they got home and spilled the news, and then their neighbours,’ Carson said. ‘These things don’t stay secret for long, so don’t get too excited.’

‘What about this one then?’ Jack said, and handed over the email that simply said Ask them about Emma.

Jack watched Carson as he read it. He looked confused now.

‘Emma?’ Carson said.

‘Are you sure they’re not from the killer now?’

Carson looked at Jack. ‘What do you mean?’

‘He is telling me that he knows something about why Deborah and Jane were killed, but my guess is that you have no clue what he’s talking about, which means that he knows something you don’t.’

Carson thought about that for a moment, and then said, ‘It could just be an attention seeker. We get them all the time in murder cases.’

‘So you’re discounting the possibility that they’re from the killer?’

‘No, I’m not, but I’ve got to use my resources carefully. Do you remember that idiot who sent in the Yorkshire Ripper tape, Wearside Jack? And what do people remember about it? That more women died because the police wasted their time chasing him.’

‘And if you write him off as some nutter and it turns out that they are from the killer?’

Carson didn’t answer that, as the reality sunk in that whatever he did, it could be the wrong thing, and more women could die if he got it wrong.

‘Could it be a leak from within the station?’ Laura said.

Carson picked up the papers again and read through them carefully. ‘It’s pretty mean about Deborah Corley, and so if it is, someone has just got themselves a fucking problem.’

‘I’ve got a different idea then,’ Jack said, drinking his coffee. ‘Whoever he is, he’s said that he’ll write to other reporters, so the information will get out there. So why don’t you use me and take control?’

Carson scowled. ‘What do you mean?’

‘What do you gain now by keeping the facts back?’ Jack said. ‘Because that is what you are doing, keeping it back. If you go public, then at least you’re back in control of the information, rather than leaving it to the internet.’

‘If I need press advice, I’ll speak to the press officer,’ Carson said.

Laura turned to Jack. ‘You’re not thinking of writing this up, are you?’

He tilted his head as he thought about it. ‘The local paper will want it,’ he said. ‘You know that they’ve run a few anti-police stories, and they haven’t got many friends left to lose.’ When Carson’s lips tightened, he added, ‘I’m not the guilty one here. There could be someone in this station blurting out secrets. The email said that he would know if I spoke to you.’

Carson put his head back and looked at the ceiling. He sighed and then looked back to Jack. ‘So what are you proposing?’

‘Go at him head on, turn him into a villain, spoiling murder investigations,’ Jack said. ‘Give more details about the murder and out him, whoever he is. Let him know that he’s gone too far, and see if someone will give him up – a disgruntled ex-girlfriend or colleague.’

‘But then he’s dictating the investigation,’ Carson said.

‘He already is, because he’s spilling what you’re keeping back,’ Jack said. ‘You won’t be in control of it.’

‘What, make him the main figure?’ Carson said.

‘As a hate figure, not a hero,’ Jack replied. ‘Everyone likes a whistleblower, but not if it costs lives. This just gives you the initiative. If the local paper doesn’t want it like that, then I reckon I can get one of the nationals interested. Make it about how he is risking lives, forcing you into giving more details.’

‘You could always choose not to write anything,’ Carson snapped. ‘I thought you were freelance.’

‘I am, but I have major customers, and the local paper is one. Think about it. It might make someone give him up, so you win both ways: if there’s a leak, you get it plugged, and you get your revenge. If it’s the killer, someone might know something from his letters, or even the email address.’

Carson nodded, although he was still scowling.

‘Pitch it that way, as a leak,’ he agreed quietly. ‘Will you let me approve what you send in?’

Jack shook his head. ‘It needs to be my story, not yours, but if you think I’ve fouled it up, fine, shut me out of the press conferences.’

That brought a smile from Carson. ‘That would be a pleasure,’ and then he sighed. ‘If you want to know what was in their mouths, follow me,’ and he got to his feet. Jack did as he was asked, Laura and Joe with him, and they made their way to the Incident Room. When they got inside, Carson pointed Jack to the wall at the front.

When Jack saw the photographs of Jane Roberts and Deborah Corley, his eyes widened and his mouth opened, but no words came out. Gorged on the floor. That’s what it meant.

Jack turned to Carson with fresh resolve. Now it seemed like more than just a story. He just had to make Dolby stick to his promise.

The noise around him was like an echo, the movement just a blur. Case-builders and detectives moving around with papers in their hands, or sitting in huddles, whispers over lunch, gripes about Carson, the lead detective working them hard.

He glanced over to where Carson was sitting with Laura McGanity. She had queued for drinks next to him. She had touched him, just accidentally, a light brush, the soft swish of her trousers, her thigh against his thigh, a hint of perfume as her dark hair flicked past. Why had she done that? She could have stood further away, but she had invaded his space, as if she hadn’t seen him.

And he remembered how she used to be. Her accent had been filled with the south when she’d first moved to Blackley, all those rounded vowels, although it wasn’t quite that London sound. It was more cultured, educated even, and now she was back in the suits, hanging around with the headquarters crew. She would have noticed him before, but not now.

He closed his eyes as the memory of her perfume returned. It was so hard to recapture a scent. He could recall Laura’s smell though. There was the staleness of no sleep mixed in with the fabric conditioner on her clothes, fake and flowery, all lying underneath the musk of the perfume sprayed onto her neck. He could smell coffee on her, and just a hint of sweat from the morning’s work. He swallowed as he thought of how she would smell at the end of the day, at home, intimate.

He opened his eyes and looked away. People would stare at the flush in his cheeks, at the shortness of his breaths.

His smile faded as he thought of the woman behind the counter. He had smiled at her when she’d asked him what he wanted. She hadn’t smiled back. Just served him his food and saved her beam for the inspector standing behind him.