I blink, my cheeks hot. Does he think I’ve learned nothing from what happened at theTribune? ‘Of course,’ I mutter. ‘I don’t know why I took it, really.’
‘You could have just snapped it with your phone,’ he says, watching me carefully.
‘Yes.’
‘Can you drop it over to Bridewell? But take a photo of it first. All right?’ He pushes the card towards me, then turns his attention back to his computer screen. I slink out of the room as though I’m a naughty schoolgirl who’s been sent to the headmaster’s office.
I glare at Jack as I return to my desk. I set the card near my keyboard and quickly snap it with my phone.
‘What?’ he says, coming over as I shrug on my coat and grab my bag, opening it for my purse.
‘I shouldn’t have nicked the bloody card.’ I slip it into my purse. ‘Now I have to take it to the police station.’
Jack bites his lip, his eyes worried. ‘Shit, I’m sorry. I never thought.’
I lower my voice. ‘I need Ted to trust me.’
‘He does trust you.’
‘You don’t understand …’
Jack sighs. ‘Of course I bloody do. I’m not an idiot,Jess. I know what went on in London. I remember the scandal. It was all over the news. I wondered if you might have been caught up in it.’
How long has he known this about me? I’ve not told anyone about it since leaving London. The thought that Jack, the only friend I’ve felt a connection with since Heather, has insight into this dark, ugly part of me makes me feel sick with shame. No wonder he jokes that I’m as hard as nails. He couldn’t be more wrong.
I stare at him for a few seconds, thrown, my cheeks burning. How could he know this about me and still want to be my friend? He opens his mouth to say something but I hold up a hand, signalling for him to stop. There’s nobody else in the newsroom apart from Sue but I don’t want her to hear. I pull the strap firmly over my shoulder and gesture for him to follow. Sue’s on the phone as we stride past, but I sense her looking up at us. ‘I’ve told you,’ I can hear her saying, ‘to give him the bloody elbow. He doesn’t deserve you, Sal.’
It’s raining when we get outside so we huddle in the doorway. There’s no sign of Stan. ‘I can’t be long,’ says Jack, wrapping his arms about his thin frame. He’s wearing a trendy suit and his legs are like pipe cleaners. ‘Ted wants me to finish uploading some photos before I leave tonight.’ He clears his throat and shuffles, seeming embarrassed. ‘Look, we’ve been friends for nearly a year. You can tell me anything – you do know that, don’t you? I’m never going to think any less of you.’
To my shame, my eyes fill with tears. I touch his arm. ‘Thank you. Do you want to meet for a quick drink after work?’
He peers at his feet. His trousers are a tad too short, but they look cool on him, like a fashion statement. He’s wearing funky socks, yellow with little blue birds all over them. ‘I promised Finn we’d go out tonight. He wants to take me for a meal. He’s been working so hard lately. He’s meeting me at the Watershed at seven.’
I’ve met Finn a few times, and once the four of us went on a double date. Although he seems a lovely guy, he’s much quieter and more introverted than Jack. When we were out, Jack did the talking for both of them. He never left Jack’s side, and if Rory or I tried to engage him in conversation his eyes would search out Jack, as though willing him to intervene.
Since then Rory and I have tried to arrange another foursome but Finn always seems to have an excuse: he’s on shifts, he’s too tired, he’s ill. I worry that he doesn’t really like or approve of us. Or, rather, of me.
I pull my coat around myself. The rain is getting harder, running along the pavements and dribbling into the drains. ‘Please, Jack, just a quick one. I need someone to talk to. What about I meet you there first, straight after work? Don’t worry, I’ll make myself scarce as soon as Finn arrives.’
Jack looks up, his face softening. ‘Oh, go on, then, just a quick one.’ He winks at me. ‘You always get me into trouble.’
13
Jess
My heart falls when I walk into the police station and see DCI Ruthgow standing behind the counter. He’s talking in a low voice to the duty officer: a middle-aged woman with a severe dark brown fringe.
I’ve only met Ruthgow once, at a police conference at the end of last year, although I’ve spoken to him numerous times on the phone, but he’s as I remember him – he always looks like he’s spent the night sleeping on his face. His craggy brows are threaded with grey, and he’s smartly dressed in a crisp dark suit. I imagine he’s the type of guy who wears aftershave and changes his shirt every day – unlike Ted, who can wear the same clothes for three days on the trot. When I reach the desk, recognition flickers across his face. ‘Jessica Fox?’ he says, in his deep, croaky voice.
I smile confidently while my mind races for excuses as to why I’ve taken a potential piece of evidence from a crime scene. I reach into my pocket and hand him the card. ‘I was at the Wilsons’ house earlier.’ I notice the duty officer moves away to talk to someone who has come in behind me. ‘And I saw this attached to a bunchof flowers. It sounded threatening. Thought it might be important.’ Let him believe I’ve done him a favour.
He pushes his black-framed glasses further onto his nose and frowns down at the card. ‘Right,’ he says, glancing up at me, his eyebrow raised questioningly. ‘And you took it because …?’
‘Like I said, I thought it might be important. And I didn’t want it to blow away or get lost.’
He doesn’t say anything else but rests his finger lightly on the card, as though worried I might snatch it back. ‘Right. Anything else I can help you with?’
I stand up straighter. This could work to my advantage. ‘While I’m here, I was wondering … Do you have any more information on the victims? Like, what kind of people were they?’ I nod towards the card. ‘It sounds like they could have had enemies. Were they – Clive particularly – into anything … I don’t know …’ I lift my shoulders ‘… dodgy?’
