Hold My Hand: The addictive new crime thriller that you won’t be able to put down in 2018

‘Niall had it,’ said Art. ‘In his sock.’

A knock on the door, and Carrick stuck his head in. ‘Parents are on the way to the station,’ he said. ‘Ten minutes out.’

Stratton picked up his coat from the back of the chair and Jo went with him to the door. Outside, they spoke in low voices.

‘Andy, go back to the station. I’ll stay here and co-ordinate. Jo, good work in there. See if you can get anything else out of them. Anything relevant, keep in touch.’

‘Yes, boss,’ said Carrick.

‘Sure thing,’ said Jo.

Carrick stalked off towards the exit, past the snaking queue of cars. The vehicle searches would take hours.

‘First impressions?’ asked Stratton.

‘Drug deal went south,’ said Jo. ‘They know the perp, and they owe money. They didn’t call the police straight away because they were scared. Can you dig around and find out who might be dealing here?’

‘I’ll get Heidi Tan on it,’ said Stratton. ‘That’s her world. Can you stick around? Till this is done, we could do with all hands on deck.’

Jo wondered what she could really do. She had the Thompson gang intelligence to sift through back in Bath. Plus, she wanted to be close to the Dylan Jones investigation, even if not formally involved, and she was sure this wasn’t connected, despite the surface similarity.

‘Not sure what my gaffer will say,’ she said.

‘It’s Rob Bridges, right? Let me talk to him – we got some history.’

‘Yes, sir. I might take a look at the boatyard, if that’s all right? Take the kid with me?’

‘Go ahead.’

Stratton went back towards the main gates and Jo put her head back in the door of the office.

‘Can I borrow Art?’ she asked the paramedic.

‘He’s taken a knock,’ replied the young man, slightly disdainfully. ‘We can’t rule out—’

‘Up you get,’ said Jo, beckoning Art over. ‘I need you to go over exactly what happened.’

Art pushed himself to his feet and followed her.

They crossed the site towards the river and the bridge. Jo flicked on her pocket torch.

‘Have you known Niall long?’ said Jo, keeping the tone light.

‘He’s my mate’s little brother,’ said Art. ‘Our parents are friends.’

‘And this sort of thing is out of character?’

‘Getting kidnapped?’ deadpanned Art. ‘Yeah, I reckon.’

‘The drugs, smart-arse,’ said Jo.

‘Dunno.’ They crossed a bridge, passed a couple more uniformed officers with torches, and Art pointed right along a path. ‘That way.’

‘I don’t really care what you were up to,’ said Jo. ‘I just need to know what’s really going on here.’

‘I’ve told you,’ said Art sulkily.

‘I hope for your sake you have.’

The boatyard was cast in deep shadow as she ran the torch over it. A dilapidated chain-link fence was leaning in sections, and inside were several dinghies covered with tarps, as well as a rack of canoes, plus an ancient Land Rover with a trailer attached. Two large sheds at the back, shuttered with metal grilles.

‘Show me where it happened,’ said Jo.

Art led her past the side of the fence, along a narrow path of caked mud under the shelter of overhanging trees. It was all perfectly hidden from view. At the far side, a tarmac single track led to the boathouse between hedges. Jo calculated the track would emerge in the Marston area. Beyond that, the bypass. Open road.

Art stopped. ‘Right here,’ he said.

There was no light here, and Jo took out her torch, shining it across the ground. Not so much as a scrap of litter. The grassy verge by the road was worn down, presumably where cars turned in front of the boathouse gate.

‘Tell me again what happened.’

Art rubbed the back of his neck. ‘We were walking ahead. He hit me. I fell – here.’ He pointed at the ground.

She looked up the lane. ‘And he took Niall this way?’

Art nodded.

‘Did you hear a car?’

‘I don’t think so.’

‘And you couldn’t get up – why?’

‘I told you. He hit me.’

‘So how long were you on the ground?’

Art shrugged. ‘I don’t know. Twenty seconds.’

‘And then?’

‘I got up. I went back.’

‘You didn’t go after Niall?’

Art stared at her, hard. ‘No.’

Jo frowned. ‘Why?’