Page 123 of In Too Deep

“And Brodie.” Harrison waited until he looked at him. “If you’re frightened because you think talking to me puts you in danger, tell me that. There are things we can do.”

A humourless smile pulled at Brodie’s mouth. “You really believe that?”

“Yes.”

“Then maybe you London coppers are more fucking stupid than you look.”

“We get that a lot.” Harrison pointed at the card. “My number’s on there.”

Brodie glanced at the card, then curved his mouth into a knowing grin. “S’funny, though.”

“What is?”

“You’re the second person this week asking me about that tattoo.” He narrowed his eyes, hunting for a reaction. “I let the other one get a much closer look, though.” He dragged his tongue across his lower lip, deliberately provocative. “Proper close.”

Harrison refused to bite.

“He were very keen.” Brodie sucked on his teeth. “Spent long enough down there, on his knees, taking a look. Let him, for old times’ sake. And ’cause, well…” His smile widened. “Jake really does give great head.” He tilted his neck. “Wouldn’t you say, Detective?”

Harrison looked away.

Long enough to get his expression back under control.

He didn’t believe him. Or, more accurately, didn’t want to believe him. Brodie had been needling him from the moment he walked through the door and was perceptive enough to have worked out exactly where to stick the knife. But that didn’t stop the image arriving. Jake here. In this flat. On his knees between Brodie’s legs, close enough to see the tattoo Harrison had specifically told him to leave alone.

Christ.

Worse, Brodie seemed to know precisely what he’d managed to put in Harrison’s head.

Harrison gritted his teeth through, “Thank you for your time, Mr Simmons.”

Then he turned and left before the man could enjoy himself any further.

The air hit him hard the moment he stepped outside, and halfway down the stairs, he stopped and gripped the rusted railing, stomach turning unpleasantly as rainwater dripped steadily from the guttering overhead. A van rattled through the square. Somewhere nearby, a shop door slammed.

Normal morning. Normal sounds.

His pulse refused to take the hint.

Because Brodie had done exactly what he’d intended. He’d stopped Harrison thinking about Lauren Pike and started him thinking about Jake Whitton.

And Harrison had fucking let him.

The realisation sat unpleasantly in his stomach.

He had a dead woman. A possible trafficking route. A tattoo that might connect Hull to Hartswick. Those should have been the things occupying his thoughts. Instead, all he could hear was: I didn’t do owt with him. And Brodie contradicting that.

Harrison closed his eyes. Then he straightened his tie, released the railing and started back for the station. Back to the murder enquiry. To Lauren Pike. And all the things he was supposed to be thinking about.

And not whether Jake Whitton had lied to him.

Chapter sixteen

Strike a Chord

Jake drove through the edge of Hartswick on auto pilot.

Bit dangerous, considering he had Teddy beside him, headphones hanging loose around his neck and a maths book spread across his lap. He could blame it on how he’d already done a full shift on the roofs at the estate, then had to pick Teddy up from his mate’s house, whose mum had fed him and Jake had to pretend all was fine at home when she’d questioned how much of her shepherd’s pie he’d put away. But it was more than that. He knew it was.