Page 83 of In Too Deep

And Harrison had been right.

Jake should leave this alone. Leave it to the police. Let Harrison do his job.

With a long exhale, Jake reached for the key in the ignition, ready to admit the whole thing had been stupid from the start. Then he spotted a woman standing alone beneath a flickering streetlamp further down the pavement. Cigarette glowing between her fingers while she watched the passing cars, she was in nothing but a short skirt and a crop top. And whilst it was heading to a warmer spring, and no one beyond the midlands wore a coat unless it snowed, she still must be fucking freezing.

But she was alone.

Jake hesitated for another full minute before swearing quietly under his breath and climbing out of the van. The dampness hit instantly. Sharp and carrying the smell of rainwater, cigarettes and old diesel.

The woman clocked him approaching and straightened. She looked wary. Tired. Older than she dressed too. Jake would reckon she was in her forties with the wrinkles and dark circles, but she could be early thirties; a hard life lived and breathed on her features.

She sucked in through her teeth. “You buying or wasting time?”

Jake stopped a few feet away, careful not to crowd her. “Neither.”

That earned him a flat look. “Then piss off, love. It’s freezing.”

Jake rubbed awkwardly at his jaw, suddenly aware of how insane this probably sounded out loud. “Just wanna ask you summat.”

The woman looked him up and down slowly under the streetlight. “Men work on the other side, love.” She jerked her cigarette vaguely further down the road.

At least she’d clocked him right.

“Thanks, but…” Jake pushed damp hair back from his forehead. “You know anything about tattoos?”

She narrowed her eyes. “You like tattoos?”

“I like girls with certain tattoos.”

“Oh, aye?” She faced him then, as if she had him wrong. “Like what?”

“Black heart,” Jake said carefully. “Stitching through the middle. Usually low here.” He gestured to his own hip. The same place Harrison’s hand had rested in bed that morning. The same place Brodie’s tattoo sat beneath faded denim in the pub corridor.

The woman went still. Small enough that most people probably wouldn’t have noticed. Jake did, though. And he tilted his neck.

But she shrugged. “What you want one of them for?”

“Just looking. Know anyone who had one?”

A quiet snort escaped her. “Not so much round here anymore.”

“No? Why’s that?”

Another shrug. Cigarette ember glowing orange between her fingers.

“That’s not really an answer.”

She gave him another slow once-over. “And you don’t exactly scream vice squad either.”

“I’m not police.”

Though Christ, lately it felt as if one particular detective had worked his way under Jake’s skin enough to live there rent-free.

“Good.” The woman glanced him up and down again. “Means if you want info, you can pay for it.”

A car slowed briefly at the kerb before continuing on. Jake glanced after it before looking back at her. Then he sighed and pulled out his wallet, counting through the notes he had in there from the job he’d done the other morning. He took out a tenner. Showed it to her.

She snorted. Looked away in relative disgust.