Chapter Twelve Exposed Rafters #3
Jake exhaled, rubbing his temple. “I admit I weren’t thinking straight.
But a year had passed. A whole fucking year.
She was still gone. The police were talking about the case going cold.
Saying she’d probably left. Mum was falling apart.
Dad barely spoke. I’d missed the biggest chance of my life.
So I couldn’t just sit there not doing owt. ”
“So you went to Mitchell’s flat.”
Jake nodded. “To confront him. He weren’t in, so I broke in.
Thought I’d find summat. Not necessarily hers.
But summat. A plan. A notebook. Summat that proved he knew more than he was saying.
I know it’d been a year, but don’t they say these people like to keep things?
Keepsakes, whatever? And you lot never got permission to search his place. So I did.”
“Did you find anything?”
Jake shook his head. “He came home.”
“What happened then?”
“I asked him again. Same questions I’d asked a hundred times. And he kept saying the same thing. That he’d been at work. That he didn’t know owt.” Jake swallowed. “But then he said summat else.”
Harrison waited.
Jake took a breath to calm his erratic pulse. “He said she’d brought it on herself. That he’d tried to warn her.” He looked away. “That she were a whore, and that’s what whores got. I lost it. Hit him. More than once.” He let out a breath. “Took the police arriving to pull me off him.”
Harrison glanced down at his notes, as if giving himself a moment before looking back up. “Who called the police?”
“His next-door neighbour.”
“And you believe there was no truth in what he said?”
“Truth in what?”
“That she was…” Harrison paused, as if choosing his words carefully. “Promiscuous?”
“No! Aye, my sister got knocked up young. But she’s not the first around here. This is small-town Yorkshire; there ain’t much else to do but have sex. She was a good mum, and she didn’t deserve him talking shit about her.”
Harrison nodded. “Thank you. I can imagine that wasn’t easy to relive.”
Jake frowned. “That it?”
“For now.” Harrison closed the notebook and slipped it back into his coat pocket. He turned to leave, taking two steps towards the door before stopping and turning back. “You said you were leaving town back then.”
Jake nodded. “Aye.”
“Where were you going?”
Jake let out a quiet, almost disbelieving laugh. “I was the original drummer in Neon Arcade.”
Harrison’s brows lifted. Even without following music, he’d know the name.
Everyone did. The Leeds four-piece who’d gone from small venues to arenas in what felt like a heartbeat.
Jake had been sixteen when he auditioned.
Got in on the spot. Then he’d quit school, split his time between them and Static Youth, keeping one foot in Hartswick, while one foot stepped into something bigger.
Neon wrote their own stuff. Took risks. Even gave a few of Jake’s songs a shot while they found their sound.
Then came the deal. The first proper tour after a festival circuit. Supporting the bloody Arctic Monkeys. And that gig at the King’s Arms? That should’ve been it.
His last night in Hartswick.
But everything changed.
Jake folded his arms, staring down at the kitchen floor.
“If Robyn hadn’t vanished, I’d be playing my own shit at Manchester Arena tomorrow night instead of a bunch of covers at the Kings Arms.” He looked up, catching Harrison’s gaze.
“But I’m here.” He blew out a dejected laugh.
“An ex-con fixing roofs for nowt more than a brew and playing dad to a kid I should’ve only ever been the fun guncle for. ”
Harrison held Jake’s gaze. Not the quick, polite look of a detective finishing an interview.
But steadier. As if he were still turning over everything Jake had said in his mind.
Measuring what he should and shouldn’t say next.
Where the line sat between professional distance and maybe something else.
Then Harrison drew a breath, about to speak—
“Sir?” PC Murray stepped into the kitchen doorway.
Harrison blinked, as if being pulled back into the room. “Yes, Murray?”
“Emily Fisher’s mum just landed at Leeds Bradford.”
“Right.” Harrison straightened, the professional mask settling back into place as he adjusted his coat. “Thank you.”
Murray nodded and stepped back out again.
Harrison turned to Jake. “You’ve been helpful. Thank you.”
Jake gave a small shrug. “Anytime.”
Harrison moved towards the door. But before Jake could stop himself, he stepped forward and caught Harrison lightly by the arm.
The contact lasted barely a second. Still, Harrison stopped.
And he looked down at the hand, then back up at Jake.
Confusion shimmering in his eyes, parting his lips as if waiting for an explanation.
Jake let go immediately.
Stupid. Fucking stupid.
“Sorry.” He closed his eyes. “But is there a reason you asked me about Andy?”
“I’m following all lines of inquiry.”
Jake frowned. “Was he there the night the girl disappeared?”
“I can’t tell you that.”
Jake stepped back, folding his arms. “You just did.”
Harrison gave a stern look. “Then I won’t need to remind you to leave the investigation to us. Let me do my job.”
Jake held his gaze. Maybe a challenge. Or something else. Then he dipped his head. “Then go do your job, Detective. Hope you can do it as well as I do mine.”
Because he was good at finding the weak spots. The places where something didn’t sit right. Then fixing it.
He hoped DI Harrison Black was good at that too.