“Oh of course,” I say. We hadn’t swapped numbers after our first encounter, but she messaged me later on Facebook Messenger. I was surprised to hear from her so soon, but I felt it was important for us to keep talking.
Emma leans in, eyes bright with an intensity that could scorch paint. “It’s nice that I didn’t have to tail you around Clifton again before you agreed to it this time.”
I nod. “Yeah, well I spent 3 hours stalking Pete outside his house last night, so in no position to judge.”
“So, you saw Pete?”
“Well, yes—”
“Is he safe?” she cuts in immediately.
“Define safe,” I say, and she deflates a millimetre. “He… talked. More than before. He told me about what it’s like with James. The years of abuse. It sounds terrifying.”
“I thought as much,” Emma says, grabbing the menu in front of her.
“I need to speak with my friend, Craig. He’s working today, I can’t get hold of him, but he’s in the Police—”
“Police?” Emma cuts in. “What kind of police?”
“Um, well, the…normal police,” I respond.
Emma frowns. “How can he help?”
“He mentioned support systems that could help Pete—”
Emma scoffs. “That won’t help! Not with someone like James around. Did Pete mention Chris?”
“Um, kind of. He said he doesn’t know what happened to Chris, just he got a text and then he disappeared.”
Emma makes a face like she’s chewed a lemon she found in a handbag. “That’s whathesays. And I like Pete, I really do, but that man could hide a cathedral under that smile. And trust me, I know smiles. I once dated a magician. He could smile while stealing your watch and your car keys. And my flat. But that’s another story.”
I blink a lot.
“Anyway,” she continues. “I’ve always had the feeling he knows more than he lets on. Especially when James’ name comes up.”
The coffees arrive. Emma immediately sugar-bombs hers with three sachets. “Don’t look at me like that. I once lived for six weeks on Haribo and full fat Coke. Perfectly fine, hallucinations aside.”
I nod and feel the need to re-calibrate the conversation. “So, you and Pete keep in touch?” I ask.
“Of course.” She stirs, clinks, stirs again. “I check in every few weeks. I ask very nice, open-ended questions; he gives me very nice, closed answers. But there are moments… tiny slips. Fear, Tom. It lives in his eyes like a tenant who won’t leave.”
“Yeah,” I say softly, thinking of bruises, the flinch that wasn’t a flinch, the way the house held its breath. “I’ve seen it.”
She studies me, radar pinging. “I think Pete knows exactly what happened to Chris. And if James were out of the picture — even temporarily — Pete would tell us what really happened.”
“‘Us’?” I repeat, which comes out like a high-pitched squeak.
She waves a hand. “Yes, you and me, Scooby and Daphne — but with better hair and trauma. Listen, in the weeks before Chris vanished, his messages got… strange. He’d text me nonsense at two in the morning — half-thoughts, like he was typing with someone breathing down his neck. He’d talk about videos, videos in the house that tell the truth.”
A chill slides under my collar. I swallow. “Like cameras?”
“Maybe, I never really knew what he was talking about.” She takes an unladylike slurp.
I breathe out slowly. “Pete showed me their CCTV.”
Emma’s eyes widen like I just admitted to owning a dragon. “He what?”
“There’s cameras around the house,” I rush. “I don’t know where exactly, but he said he had to delete them after I left yesterday, just in case James reviews them.”
