Page 144 of In Too Deep

“You never were one for relationships. Remember that lad from the record shop?”

“Deac, I were seventeen.”

“Aye and he were head over heels for you, but you just kept him dangling.”

“Cause I were leaving, weren’t I?”

“Aye…but you didn’t though.”

“No, but I weren’t exactly boyfriend material for anyone back then.”

“And you are now?”

Raff wandered over then, preventing Jake from having to answer that, and he handed down a pint to Jake. “Davo’s gone fucking mental, by the way.”

Jake glanced up. “What d’you mean?”

“Since CID showed up.” Raff took a drink. “Been stomping round the yard screaming at everyone to keep their mouths shut. Reckons police are trying for a warrant.”

That tracked.

If Harrison pushed the anonymous tip alongside the paint fragment, and whatever the hell he’d managed to get out of Davo himself, he’d probably spent most of Friday night and Saturday building grounds for a judge to sign off a search. Wouldn’t happen instantly though. Even Jake knew that search warrants took time unless police believed evidence was at immediate risk.

At least that gave Jake a reason why Harrison hadn’t been in touch.

“Keep your eyes open,” Jake said to Raff. “Watch for anything he might be getting rid of.”

Raff stared at him. “How exactly d’you expect me to do that?”

“Try.”

“Jesus Christ, Jake.” Raff lowered his voice. “You know what happens if he even thinks I’ve spoken to police?”

Jake stood, taking his seat at the kit and picking up his sticks. “I’m not asking you to grass him up. Just keep your eyes open.”

Raff huffed. “Too late for that now anyway.”

Jake frowned. “Why?”

“Lock-up was open this morning.”

“And?”

“And now it’s fucking empty.”

The pub doors opened then, dragging his attention across the room and over the crowded tables of raised pints and the blur of Saturday night bodies packed shoulder to shoulder beneath amber lights. And Christ, his stomach did that embarrassing flipping thing.

Because there he was. Harrison.

He paused inside the entrance, warm evening air drifting in around him before the door swung shut again behind a group heading outside for cigarettes. But unlike the last few times he’d shown up at Jake’s gigs, he wasn’t dressed down tonight. No dark jeans. No fitted tee making him look younger and softer somehow. No glimpse of the man Harrison might’ve been before grief and solitude. The man who’d gone to festivals and enjoyed beer and live music. Wore Gazelles.

Tonight he was in his suit.

Straight from the station. Straight from the investigation.

Harrison glanced up through the crowd and found him. Jake watched him take a breath, visibly lifting his chest beneath the white shirt before he gave him a small smile. Jake smiled back automatically, though it felt different now. Fragile somehow. As if they both knew the scrapyard conversation still sat between them unfinished.

Then Jake watched Harrison speaking briefly to one of the barmaids, who pointed over her shoulder at Brodie working the other end of the bar. Right. Of course. Still working. Chasing something. Using the lead Jake had handed him while simultaneously warning him to stay the hell away from the investigation. Something bitter twisted low in Jake’s chest. He turned back to his drum kit before Harrison could catch him watching again and gripped his sticks