Chapter Nineteen No Procedure #3
Harrison let the silence sit. Watched him. The hesitation before the correction. The way the answer had altered once he’d committed to it. Something didn’t quite sit.
He lowered the notebook. “Andy’s a regular fixture in here.”
“I suppose.”
“And he helped you with your car?” Harrison kept his tone mild. “You thanked him with a free drink. Yet when I showed you his photo, you said you didn’t recognise him.”
Brodie sighed. “Right. Okay. I’ll level with you. Aye, Andy was in here. Aye, I served him. Gave him a pint on the house because I thought it’d get him out quicker. Bloke were hanging around.”
The story changed.
“And you chose not to mention that before?”
Brodie met his gaze. “Had to. Because of Jake.”
Harrison kept his expression neutral. “Go on.”
“He wouldn’t have liked it.” Brodie chewed on his fingernail. “Me serving Andy. Letting him in here at all. I couldn’t upset Jake, not when we’d just got back together.”
Harrison peered up, widening his eyes. “Back together?”
Something cold slipped beneath Harrison’s ribs.
Ridiculous.
He’d been in Jake’s flat less than an hour ago. Jake had held Harrison’s hand against his bare chest and told him, in terms that hadn’t left a great deal of room for ambiguity, that he still wanted him.
And yet—
Jake had also made it perfectly clear that sex and emotion didn’t always occupy the same space for him.
Harrison suddenly wished they did.
“So now we’re together,” Brodie continued. “Properly. He’s my boyfriend.”
Harrison dropped his gaze to the notebook, giving himself precisely one second to get his expression under control. It still bloody pinched. Even though he didn’t believe it.
Not entirely.
“You saw me earlier,” Brodie added. “At his place.”
“I did.”
“We’d just made it official.”
Harrison looked up again. Brodie was watching him. Not casually either. Watching for something. A reaction? Or to see if Harrison believed him.
Harrison clicked his pen. “So you lied about recognising Andy because you were concerned Jake might discover you’d served him?”
“Didn’t want to stir everything up again.”
“If you’re frightened of upsetting Jake, why allow Andy in here in the first place?”
Brodie paused.
Only briefly, but Harrison saw it. Saw him reaching for the next piece.
“Like I said, bloke helped me with the car. Didn’t realise who he were straight away. It were only after, when everything kicked off, that I put it together.” He rubbed the back of his neck. “And by then… Jake had enough going on. He needs me when he gets like that.”
Harrison said nothing.
“I’m the one he talks to,” Brodie continued. “The one he comes to. Always has been, really.”
That wasn’t what Jake had said.
“We’ve known each other ages.” Brodie’s fingers worried at his thumbnail again. “I know what he’s like. People think they know him, but they don’t. Not like I do.”
There was something almost possessive in the way he said it.
“He trusts me.”
“I see.”
“He loves me.”
The words came too quickly. Too emphatically. And this time Harrison didn’t feel the same sharp pinch. He felt something else. Brodie wanted him to believe this.
Why?
“I see.” Harrison glanced down at his notes. “And when did Andy help you with the car?”
“Earlier that day.” Brodie then gasped, covering a hand over his mouth. “You don’t think he had something to do with Emily going missing, do you? God… that’d be awful, wouldn’t it? That Jake were right all along.”
“Hm.” Harrison closed his notebook with a quiet snap. “Thank you, Brodie. If you could think about what you spoke about, anything else you remember, let me know.”
“Actually…” Brodie scrubbed a hand over his head, frowning as if something had clicked. “He was asking about the bar staff. What time do we finish. I thought he meant the band, you know? Didn’t think…” He trailed off, swallowing. “Jesus. You don’t think…?”
Harrison’s phone rang, and for once the interruption felt welcome.
Then Brodie called out behind him. “Is there going to be a reward for information?”
Harrison glanced back at him, then fished out his phone from his pocket and turned away to answer. “DI Black. Go on.”
“Sir, it’s Calder.”
Harrison pushed out of the pub, the cooler air hitting him as the door swung shut behind him. “Yep, go on.”
“Search team’s come back from Andy Mitchell’s flat. You’ll want to get down here. We’ve got something we could use for a charge.”
Harrison frowned. “Seriously?” He rubbed his temples. He should feel something. Relief, maybe. Progress. Instead, a dull unease settled in. “What did they find?”
“A folder. Photos, a map, and a notebook,” Calder said. “Reads like something out of a horror film, sir.”
“All relating to Emily?”
“No, sir. Robyn Whitton. But it’s detailed. Enough to give us a location, and something to push him with in interview.”
Harrison stared out at the wet street. “We’ll need an extension. We’re not charging on that alone.”
“Aye, sir. I’ll get it moving.”
“I’m on my way.”
He killed the call and headed straight for the car, rain catching on his coat as he moved. This should’ve been it. The turn. The moment it all lined up. But it felt wrong.
And he couldn’t tell if that was instinct, or Jake Whitton getting under his skin.