Her Last Secret

‘Matt … DC Newcomb was just trying to help,’ offered Jake. ‘I needed—’

‘I don’t care what you needed,’ snapped Channing, face turning crimson. Then he saw Jake’s mournful expression and relented. ‘I’m sorry, I didn’t mean that.’ Matt couldn’t tell whether it was because the DS was genuinely sorry, or he was just frightened of the repercussions; of what he’d said getting back to his superiors. ‘Of course I care, but you might just have ruined everything. We’re readying to nail that guy to the wall, but now he could bring charges himself for assault – and all while under our noses! All because of you, Newcomb.’ He rounded on Matt, jabbing a finger in his direction. ‘All because of some misplaced sense of loyalty to a friend.’

‘I’m … I’m sorry, sir.’

‘This could mean your job, you know.’

‘I know.’ It was what he’d told Jake when he’d been trying to persuade Matt; there was always a chance this could go south. That the ramifications would include his job, his career. Christ, how was he going to explain this to Katherine?

‘And it happened on my watch, so it could mean my neck as well. Okay, damage control … damage control,’ muttered Channing, concentrating. Then he stood up straight, leaning back. ‘What if … what if none of this had ever happened, eh?’

It sounded like he was asking their advice, like he had a time machine or a way to wipe out the last twenty minutes, and was sounding them out about whether they should use it or not.

‘I’m assuming there’s no footage of what took place back there. You’re definitely not that stupid, Newcomb.’

Matt said nothing, he didn’t want to get Sharpe into more trouble than he clearly already was.

‘So, it’s just the kid’s word against ours, right? Wouldn’t be the first time. It’s not like you were able to do any real harm … He’s been screaming the place down about his innocence since he got here, has had hardly any sleep, probably imagined the whole thing – wanting to apologise to the father or whatever. Only natural, right? Maybe he even heard you were in the building, Mr Radcliffe.’

Again, Matt didn’t say a thing; neither of them said a word.

‘Yeah, didn’t happen.’ Channing clapped his hands together. ‘And all is right with the world.’ He saw Jake’s expression once more, realised that his world would never be right again. ‘That is … Look, Mr Radcliffe, can I give you some advice?’

Jake remained silent.

‘I get where you’re coming from, I really do. But I’ve seen this kind of thing before. I’ve seen that look you had in your eye before, and it never ends well. It ends with people waiting outside law courts with guns to shoot the person they want punished. Ends with those people in jail instead of the ones who should be, the bad guys. Let things take their course, let us do our jobs. Punk kid like that won’t last long inside, particularly when they get wind of what he did. Killing a young girl? That’s a big no-no.’ Channing allowed his words to settle. ‘Let us do our jobs, Mr Radcliffe. We might not be known here for dealing with fancy high-profile cases, but we do get things done. What I’m saying to you is do us all a favour and leave it alone, okay? Please.’

Still no response.

‘Or the next time I might not be so understanding, you see. Now, I think maybe it might be best if you leave to have a think about things. I’ll have one of our uniforms drop you off where you’re staying. I assume you’re remaining here for the time being?’

Jake gave a slow nod.

‘And as for you,’ Channing continued, directing his attention towards Matt again, ‘I’ll be keeping a closer eye on you from now on.’

Matt swallowed, and also nodded, knowing he’d dodged the bullet … this time. As Channing opened the door again and called for a uniform to escort Jake, his friend looked back at Matt, still seated.

His eyes said he was sorry, that he hadn’t meant for him to get into trouble. But they also said something else. They still held that same look, the anger, the need to understand. A desire for revenge.

It told Matt all he needed to know. That there was no way he was going to just drop this, as Channing had told him to. Not that easily.

And Matt knew something else as well, that Jake, that all of this, was going to be on his own mind for some time to come.

Chapter 6 (#ulink_855627ac-8acf-595b-9b53-4e5b4329f4b6)

He just couldn’t stop thinking about it. Thinking about everything.

He’d let them drop him off back at the hotel, the couple of uniformed officers Channing had ordered to escort him ‘home’. But Jake hadn’t stayed there. Couldn’t face going back to that room he’d woken up in, feeling rougher than he’d ever felt in his life. Half-dead …

Better than totally dead.

Though it was also the place he’d decided enough was enough. That it was time to concentrate on his mission, on what he had to do – which was dig out Matt’s card and ring him. There were no two ways about it, he’d needed to see the boyfriend. He hadn’t meant to cause problems at the station – or thought about the consequences for Matt if they were caught – but when the guy had got in his face, Jake had just seen red.

It was almost like he was watching a movie again, someone else reaching out and grabbing the boy by the collar, dragging him to the door. Jake wasn’t a violent person, or at least he hadn’t thought he was … until that moment. He’d assumed that once he saw the guy, this Bobby Bannister, he’d know one way or the other about Jordan. Had wanted to look him in the eyes, he’d told Matt, but even just seeing him would be enough to know … But it hadn’t really worked out like that, had it?

Jake still didn’t know one way or the other whether this boy had actually committed the crime, although everything was pointing in that direction in spite of his claims of innocence. Claims that were actually pretty convincing. He should have felt something, sensed whether this was his child’s murderer, surely? Instead, he’d just felt an overwhelming hatred towards him. But Jake wasn’t just seeing his face, he was seeing all the faces of all the guys who – in his mind – had corrupted his daughter. Had turned her into something she really wasn’t, something she shouldn’t have been. Something that had got her killed.

And he’d snapped.

The rest, like a lot of things since he’d got that phone call the previous morning, was a bit of a haze. Matt trying to pull him away, Channing, the interview room. Jake was aware then of how much trouble he’d got his friend into, was sorry, but at the same time glad he’d got the opportunity – however brief it had been – to confront Bannister. It was only afterwards he’d thought about what that might have cost Matt: his job, his family … He hadn’t needed to stick his neck out for Jake, but had anyway. That was true friendship.

Luckily, Jake’s actions hadn’t landed him in too much hot water – Channing was more concerned about his own neck than anything. More than willing to cover things up.

Wouldn’t be the first time …

Which didn’t exactly inspire confidence, made you wonder what else they’d swept under the carpet in this town. Jake guessed he’d probably never know.

It would be awkward probably at work for a while, but things would calm down. Jake would make it up to Matt, somehow. He wasn’t sure how.

What if … what if none of this had ever happened, eh?

If only.

But it left him right back at square one in figuring this all out. Figuring out why it had happened. The cops didn’t seem that interested in the reason, they had their man (caught red-handed … yes, red as in Jordan’s blood). It was like Channing had said to him, they were so close to nailing him now.

What had really happened, though, that night? Why had Bannister done it, if he even had? If he never admitted he’d killed Jordan, then none of them would find peace. She would never find peace.

Jails were full of convicts claiming they hadn’t done it, swearing just like Bannister had sworn it.

I-I found her like that, I swear!

Nobody ever got to the bottom of those cases, nobody punished the truly guilty party or parties. Nobody really cared. There were people who cared about this one, though. Who had cared about Jordan. Who would find the truth, whatever that was.

Where to start, though? He had no idea. Where would Dave Harris have started? His old colleague from The Gazette … ‘A story starts at the beginning,’ Dave used to say. And even as he thought that, Jake saw a flash of Jordan as the happy little girl he’d known and loved (still loved, in spite of everything, but this was different). Before the world had swallowed her up, before social media, friends who led her down the wrong paths, boys. Back then, back at the beginning, things had been simple.

They probably hadn’t been, Jake knew that – people always looked back with rose-tinted glasses. But they’d seemed it. Easier, happier. Happier than later on. Happier than now, that was for damned sure! There had been hope, anyway – for the future. That everything would turn out okay.

When he’d set off from the hotel, Jake hadn’t really known where he was heading. He had some vague notion about buying a change of clothing, actually getting that toothbrush he’d told Matt he was after when whiskey was the only thing on his mind; plus a charger for his phone, as he’d left without one. And he’d done all that, found somewhere and purchased what he’d needed for now – had carried them around with him in plastic bags like somebody who’d just been to the sales. Or been made homeless.

But still he hadn’t returned to the hotel, he’d carried on wandering. Realised at some point that he probably should eat; again, he’d be no use to anyone – especially Jordan – if he simply collapsed. How would he get to the bottom of anything then?

It wasn’t the healthiest, but he grabbed a burger and some fries at a fast food place. Jake sat for a while just staring at the meal in front of him, felt like doing anything else in the world but this. The body was a machine, though, and like any other machine it needed fuel. So he picked up the burger, something he would have relished before, enjoyed on the hop between shooting gigs, and he forced himself to bite into it. Jake chewed mechanically, swallowing, fighting the sensations when he thought he was going to throw up again.

In the end, he wolfed the whole meal – he’d underestimated just how hungry he was – and washed it down with diet coke this time, alcohol the furthest thing from his mind.

Then he wandered once more, up and down streets so familiar to him but which now seemed alien and hostile. He barely noticed when the sun began to set; more darkness, which he could embrace. His feet hurt, but he kept going. Maybe if he walked long enough, far enough, he really could turn back time. Make it so this whole thing hadn’t happened.

Had it been the noise that attracted him, he wondered afterwards. Redmarket coming to life and doing what it did best, welcoming the lost souls to bars and clubs. The one thing it was known for now, legendary nights out – bucking the trend of other towns and cities that found their streets virtually empty since the recession started to bite. Instead, Redmarket had blossomed; he’d seen that start to happen even before he left the area. A reinvention for this former market town that had once been known for its meat more than anything else, hence its name.