“The police will be looking for him though,” Char says. “Although he’ll probably just claim it was an accident.”
“I don’t think he meant to hurt me.” Mia exhales heavily. “He’s just a little shitweasel, nothing more.”
“I don’t care, I want them to throw the book at him.” Char huffs out an angry breath. “He’s been harassing you for years, something needs to be bloody done about him.”
Yes, yes it fucking does.
The nurse comes to with Mia’s discharge papers, a small packet of paracetamol and a script for some stronger painkillers. I help Mia into her jacket, and she links her arm through mine as we head back to the carpark.
“You alright to drive her home?” I ask Char, and she nods.
“Yeah, of course.” She frowns at me. “Are you coming?”
“I’ll be there soon.” I help Mia into her seat, and she blinks up at me.
“Where you going?” She asks.
“Just got to wrap something up, alright? I’ll be at yours in a bit, promise.” I brush a gentle kiss against her forehead, and close her door. Over the car, Char is still frowning at me. “I just need to go get something sorted.”
Char’s eyebrows lift slowly, and she nods.
“Ah, I see. Alright. Well, I’ll get her home then.” Char smiles at me, and opens the driver’s door, dropping down into the car.
I watch them leave the carpark, feeling a pang that I’m not going with them.
But Char’s absolutely right.
Something needs to be fucking done about Paulie Hardcastle.
I pull out my phone and dial a number I don’t often call, but today I need to call in a favour.
“Mr Graves,” the man’s voice answers. “It’s been a long time.”
“It has indeed. You still a PC?”
“It really has been a long time!” The man laughs. “I’m now Chief Constable Warnham, thank you very much.”
“Congratulations on the promotion.”
“Thank you. Now, what can I do for you, Mr Graves?”
I get into my car, and exhale through gritted teeth. “I understand you’re searching for a photographer by the name of Paulie Hardcastle.”
“We might be, sure. Is that of interest to you?”
“Yes.”
“Right then.” Warnham lowers his voice. “Since it’s just a search inquiry, I’d say we could call it, what, thousand quid?”
I chuckle low in my throat. “Your prices are still so reasonable, Chief Constable.”
“Well, that and maybe some tickets to your private box? My kids would love it.”
“Done.”
“Excellent.” Warnham taps away on a keyboard. “Now, obviously this isn’t going to be a pinpointed search, but Paulie Hardcastle lives in a dingy little flat in Croydon. I’ll text you the address.”
“Thank you.”
