Page 54 of Too Close To Home

Silence cracked through, then a local voice cut in, crisp and urgent. “—high-risk missing person investigation underway in Hartswick. Police have confirmed seventeen-year-old Emily Fisher was last seen leaving The King’s Arms at approximately eleven-twenty last night…”

Jake stilled.

“…Detective Inspector Harrison Black has appealed for anyone with information to come forward…”

He listened to the clipped excerpt of the appeal as it rolled across the radio, Harrison’s clear voice cutting through the top-of-the-range speakers. There wasn’t a tremor in it. Professional. Calm.

Nothing like the riot going on inside Jake’s skull.

That voice pressed into his chest and forced clarity into place. Slowed him. Grounded him. It was ridiculous, really. That a copper could be the one to pull him back from the edge when all they’d ever done was mishandle things before. Robyn. Him.

But here he was.

He let out a breath and turned the key. The engine caught with a low growl, and he eased the van off the verge, pulling back towards town. And as he did, it felt as though he was driving back in time with all the high-vis jackets punctuating the pavement near the woodland shortcut. And all those patrol cars sitting at angles they never usually did, blue and yellow panels breaking up the familiar stone. Officers moved with purpose instead of small-town laziness.

Exactly as they had thirteen years ago.

So getting himself firmly in the present, he headed for the school instead, where kids spilled through the gates for kicking-out time. He mounted the kerb half an inch too far, tyres nudging the white zigzags outside the entrance, then killed the engine. Silence dropped into the van like a lead weight. He didn’t want to turn the radio on again. Too many memories were bursting out of it today. So he rested his hands on the wheel and started tapping again.

Kick. Snare. Kick. Snare.

Then it built.

Kick—kick. Snare. Kick. Snare. Kick-kick-kick.

He rolled his fingers across the wheel in a tight little fill; the pattern rattling through the hollow cab.

Ba-da-da-da — crack.

He caught sight of Teddy within a tide of uniforms, earphones in, head down, thumbs flying over his phone. The kid would walk straight into traffic if no one stopped him.

Jake wound down the window. “Oi, Ted.”

Teddy glanced up, squinting against the light.

Jake jerked his head to the passenger side. “Get in.”

“You making sure I get home now and all?” Teddy shot back, already halfway across the pavement.

“Aye. Summat like that. In.”

Teddy rolled his eyes, but he rounded the bonnet and hauled himself up into the far passenger seat. Jake pulled away from the school gates, and Teddy was back on his phone before they’d hit the corner.

“How was school?” Jake asked.

“Boring.”

“It’s meant to be.”

Teddy looked up at him, wrinkling his nose. “What?”

“School. It’s meant to be boring. Teaches you how to be bored. ’Cause life in’t all video games and drama.”

Teddy scoffed and went back to his phone.

Jake chewed the inside of his cheek. Timing was everything. Say too much and he’d clam up. Say nothing, and it could fester. “Anyone talk to you at school?”

“Welfare.”