Page 38 of Compulsion

“Drop it,” he said firmly but not unkindly. “Move on.”

“The thing about running away when Stewart was killed….”

Jack nodded. “Okay, yes, we’ll deal with that, I promise you. But we’ll talk about the best way first.”

I stared at him. I wasn’t going to cry, you know? “Thanks, Jack. To you and Louis.”

“Your life’s good now. You’re sound. In fact, you always were. We’ve just come different routes, Max. And we’ll watch over each other, okay?”

“…but not in the shower!” came a mournful wail from the living room, and with a rueful grin, Jack turned to go back down.

AFTER I’d demolished the ribs with a—not unsurprisingly—healthy appetite, I took the plates out to the kitchen. Jack followed me while Louis darted off to their bedroom to struggle with the eternally thorny question of what to wear for an afternoon in a darkened cinema. Jack picked out some fruit from the bowl on the table, lingering by the counter as I ran hot water to wash up.

“I asked at work about Stewart,” he said. He looked wary, as if he weren’t sure if it would upset me.

“What do you mean?”

“About his death.”

“His murder, you mean.”

“Yes.”

“You didn’t…?” It was an instinctive response, and I flushed with shame.

Jack put his hand on my arm. “It’s okay, I understand. And no, I didn’t let anyone know why I was asking. Never mentioned you.”

“What did you find out?” Jack had a bunch of contacts through work, in the police and occasionally the military too. He respected and looked after his sources, and in return, they sometimes helped him out with information.

“Not much. It’s still an open case. I couldn’t get many details because it’s in the Met’s jurisdiction and the police down here have limited access. They’ve been alerted, though, mainly because of the possible connection between the London club and Compulsion opening up down here. It seems the Met are looking for a young kid someone saw loitering in the vicinity on that night, but no luck in finding him so far.”

Baz…. “Do they know about Peck? Is he implicated?”

Jack shook his head. “No one would tell me any more. I didn’t like to mention his name in case someone asked how I knew him. There was less of a problem mentioning Stewart because the attack had been in the national papers, albeit briefly. They did let slip the Met suspects the attack was connected to their investigation into the drug trade around Soho.”

I felt cold, though the flat was warm enough. “But Stewart was nothing to do with the drug trade.”

“No, I know, Max. And no one said he was. But they think he probably got in the way. Apparently he was talking to the police about the situation with the kids. Perhaps someone reckoned he was meddling.”

Was that what they called it? Saving some kids from tire-track arms and cold, sad little deaths? Meddling? “So maybe not just a mugging.” I kept my voice very low. Was this really news to me? Hadn’t I always suspected it myself?

“No, maybe not.” Jack’s voice was tentative. “You okay?”

“I don’t know.” And wasn’t that the truth. “You say they’re investigating the drug trade?”

“Yes.” Jack bit his lower lip. “Look, I know you think the people in charge of the clubs—”

“The Medina family.”

“Okay, yes, I know you think the Medinas are getting away with it, but the police aren’t stupid. They’ll have a watch on the clubs, and they probably have suspicions where it’s all coming from.”

“But Peck’s still on the loose. No one’s been caught for Stewart’s murder.”

“Max, give them a chance. Perhaps they don’t have enough evidence yet to arrest anyone.”

“You said they were looking into the connection between the clubs—”

“Only a possible connection. You don’t know that the same’s happening here—or that Seve’s involved.”