Page 95

Harrison caught up with the night staff first. Statements logged overnight. ANPR requests submitted. Humberside notified formally regarding Lauren’s identification and missing persons history. A fast-time request sent for any known associates, vice contacts, prior addresses and recent arrests linked to her name.

Then at eight sharp, Calder pulled the team into briefing.

Harrison stood near the board, coffee untouched beside him while photographs of Lauren Pike appeared on the screen behind him. Cleaner photos. Custody image. Passport image. Alive. Real.

“Victim has been formally identified as Lauren Pike, twenty-six, Hull address.” Harrison pointed to the picture of Lauren taken from Humberside file. “Known to Humberside. History of street sex work, drug possession, low-level soliciting offences. Missing person report logged approximately three weeks ago by an associate named Kayleigh Brennan.”

Murmurs moved briefly around the room before stopping again.

“Next of kin notification is being handled jointly with Humberside this morning. Until that’s complete, no media release regarding identification. Understood?”

A round of nods.

Then the delegation started. Phones and financials to digital forensics. Vehicle enquiries expanded. CCTV trawls widened around estate roads and motorway access points. Pathology updates circulated. Lauren’s known associates prioritised for statements. Harrison moved methodically through it all. Calm voice. Controlled pacing. Questions fielded and redirected where needed.

“We need to establish movements inside the seventy-two-hour window before disappearance. Who she met. How she travelled. Why Hartswick.”

“Any signs she was trafficked?” someone asked from the back.

“Too early.” Harrison pointed the tip of his pen at him. “Don’t jump to conclusions. Victimology first. Evidence second. Speculation helps no one.”

Calder took over after that, assigning door-to-doors and liaising tasks while Harrison listened with folded arms and growing certainty settling unpleasantly low in his stomach. By the time briefing ended, officers dispersed back into motion while Calder remained near the board reviewing task allocations.

PC Murray approached Harrison with a notebook tucked beneath one arm. “You look knackered, guv.”

“I feel worse.” Harrison gathered the loose files into order. “You free?”

“For?”

“Hull.”

That got Calder’s attention. “You’re going yourself?”

Harrison clipped the file shut. “I want to speak to Kayleigh Brennan myself before local uniforms trample all over it. She reported Lauren missing, and if she’s close to Lauren socially, there’s a good chance she’s working the streets too. She’ll respond better to a woman than a squad car full of blokes asking questions. Or the locals she might not trust from years of encounters.”

PC Murray nodded. “Fair point.” She pointed her pen at Harrison’s hand wrapped around his coffee. “And a married man comes across less threatening.”

“Widowed,” Harrison got that out far quicker than he ever had before, then he set the coffee down and headed for the door.

Outside, the morning air carried the damp bite of rain on tarmac being soaked up by the warming sun. Harrison unlocked one of the pool cars and slid behind the wheel. He twirled his wedding band between his thumb and finger while Murray climbed into the passenger seat beside him, sturdy and warm-faced beneath her waterproof jacket, and snapped him back to himself. He then started the engine as she clipped her seatbelt in.

Murray cleared her throat. “Sorry, sir.”

“Hm?” Harrison pulled Kayleigh Brennan’s last known address from the system and fed it into the sat nav then reversed out of the station car park.

“About the married comment. Weren’t trying to upset you.” She offered a small shrug. “Only meant that women in that line of work clock details fast. Wedding ring reads safer.”

Harrison looked back to the road ahead. “I imagine she encounters plenty of married men and is fully aware they’re not foolproof.”

Murray winced. “Right. Of course.”

Harrison felt the guilt instantly, so he softened his tone. “Though you’re not wrong. A woman and a widowed gay man are probably fairly low scoring on her risk assessment.”

Murray offered a faint smile. “Yes, sir.”

His wedding ring suddenly felt heavier than usual, tapping against the steering wheel like a drum. Noticeable. Intrusive. Was that because of Nigella’s call? Because London and Chris and the Falcon operation were clawing their way back open again after months of Harrison keeping the lid firmly screwed down?

Or was it because of Jake?