‘That was some speech,’ Zoe said, in a strong Essex accent. ‘I hope I can live up to his expectations.’

‘He wouldn’t have picked you if you couldn’t,’ Jennifer replied, catching sight of a scar running from the top of Zoe’s cheekbone, to the edge of her jaw. It was camouflaged in the palest of foundation, and Jennifer felt a rush of inexplicable sorrow. She drew her glance away and swept a hand towards her desk. ‘I’ve got a load of work to get through, you’re welcome to join me.’

Zoe’s eyes darted towards her sergeant’s office. ‘I’ve got some admin to go through with Claire, computer access, lockers, boring stuff like that. Thanks for the offer though.’

‘Can I get you a coffee?’ Will said, as Jennifer introduced him.

‘Nah, I don’t touch the stuff. It’s great to meet you both, Ethan’s told me a lot about you.’

Will raised an eyebrow in response. ‘Don’t believe a word. What about you? What’s brought you to Haven?’

Zoe glanced around before speaking. Jennifer recognised the habit; it was something she used to do when discussing anything out of the ordinary. It would take a while for Zoe to accept she was in a safe environment in the Op Moonlight office.

‘I’m a demonologist,’ Zoe said, her voice a whisper.

‘Blimey,’ Will said, ‘like on those Most Haunted programmes?’

Jennifer rolled her eyes. ‘I’m sorry, my colleague isn’t renowned for his sensitivity.’

Zoe’s face lit up as she laughed, and her shoulders dropped as she visibly relaxed in their company. ‘Nothing as glamorous as that. It just means I’m trained to conduct exorcisms. I can also recognise when someone’s faking it, or has been possessed in the past.’

‘I could have done with you a few months ago, when I dealt with a bad possession,’ Jennifer said.

‘Ah. That explains it then.’

Jennifer shot Zoe a puzzled look, feeling Will’s body tense beside her. ‘Explains what?’

‘I picked up that you’d been possessed in the past. I’m glad you got it sorted.’ Zoe swivelled her head to respond to Claire beckoning her into her office. ‘Looks like I’ve been summoned. I’ll chat to you later, yeah?’

Jennifer frowned as she returned to her desk. What did Zoe mean, she’d been possessed in the past? It was news to her. She looked to Will, waiting for him to crack a joke, but instead caught a flicker of uncertainty in his eyes.

‘What was that about?’ Jennifer said, as a trickle of dread seeped into her consciousness. It was as if something far away had been left unresolved, like leaving the gas on, but much, much worse.

‘Mmmm?’ Will replied, engrossed in his paperwork for the first time that day.

She leaned in, her words slow and deliberate. It was the voice she used with suspects, when she wasn’t to be messed with. ‘You heard me.’

‘Oh, that? Demonology isn’t an exact science. But I wouldn’t say anything, you don’t want to dent her confidence on her first day.’

Putting her reservations behind her, she returned her attention to her paperwork as Will answered the phone. It seemed heavy in his hand as he hung up the call.

‘It’s bad news, I’m afraid,’ he said.

‘Don’t tell me, the eighties called. George Michael wants his beard back.’ Jennifer smiled.

‘You won’t be laughing when you hear your star witness for your Reborners case has pulled out.’

‘Who, Emily? You’re joking.’

‘As if I’d joke about that.’ Will said. ‘She said she felt pressured into agreeing to help, and she’s changed her mind. I’ve told her there’ll be implications but she said she’s not talking and that’s it.’

‘Whoever’s behind this must have got to her. Witness intimidation, that’s what it is,’ Jennifer said, pulling out her files for the number.

‘Calm down, she’s gone out now. I think she was scared of telling you herself.’

Jennifer snapped her file shut. ‘She promised she’d give me a statement tonight. It took me weeks to trace her to that cult, and now it’s all gone down the pan.’ What had been her crowning moment was now falling apart.

‘She seemed to believe that if she gave names, she would prevent herself getting time. I soon put her straight. As if things work that way,’ Will said.

Jennifer flushed as she recalled her advice: the more helpful you are, the better chance you have of a suspended sentence. It was often true, but she had leaned on Emily too hard. She ground her teeth in annoyance. She had really messed up this time.

Will was still talking. ‘Looks like we’re back to square one.’

Jennifer drummed her fingers on the table. Deep inside she knew he was right, but it was too soon for I told you so.

A bar of chocolate was shoved under her nose, and she nodded in thanks as she broke off a square of fruit and nut. ‘How’s your workload?’ she said, swirling the chocolate in her mouth. It really did make everything feel better.

Will took a seat beside her. ‘I’m living the dream. I have a burglar who blames his crimes on an organ transplant, a grave robber who hears the voice of God, and a woman who says it’s OK for her husband to beat her up because he’s possessed. If he is, it must be by the spirit of Stella Artois as he’s raving drunk every bleeding time he does it.’

[#]

Jennifer pushed away the gnawing doubt as she pressed the doorbell of Emily Clarke’s front door. She couldn’t end her working day without knowing why she had changed her mind about providing a statement against the group leader. She pressed down on the doorbell, wishing Emily would hurry up. Located on the deprived side of Haven, Crescent Avenue always seemed dank and depressing. Perhaps it was the combined energies of the residents within that made it that way. It was the children that Jennifer felt the most sorry for, and their faces haunted her long after she’d left. Most of the time they stood with palms pressed against the windows as they stared down at a world that had long since forgotten them. Once a retirement village for the elderly, its residents had relocated to the other side of the bridge where the more affluent homes offered them the protection that the more deprived end of Haven could not.

The door opened suddenly, and Emily’s face fell. ‘Oh. I thought you were someone else.’

‘Clearly,’ Jennifer said, nudging forward. ‘Can I come in?’

Emily chewed the candy pink lipstick from her bottom lip. ‘Am I in trouble?’

‘No, not at all. I just want to ask you about your statement.’

‘OK,’ she said, sliding a phone from her tracksuit bottoms and quickly speeding through a text.

‘Where’s your little boy?’

Emily’s finger froze mid-text. ‘Asleep. Why?’

‘No reason,’ Jennifer said, as she was hit with the stale smell of cigarette smoke, which hung in the air. One glance around the dank room was enough to justify her assumptions about Emily’s chaotic lifestyle. Faded tie-dye material hung from curtain wire on the window, more to block out the gaze of unwanted visitors rather than the light that cast a stream onto the linoleum floor. An old tea towel hung over a shabby porcelain lamp and the fringed throw on the sofa had seen better days. Jennifer navigated her feet among the broken toys and sticky plates of uneaten food. Every inch of space seemed to be covered with something. Her eyes fell on the empty wine bottles on the coffee table next to a one-legged Action Man.

‘I haven’t had a chance to clean up yet,’ Emily said, her arms folded tightly across her chest.

Jennifer shrugged. There was no law against it, but her visit would be followed up by a social services referral. Emily had often cropped up as a victim of domestic abuse, hooking up with unsuitable men in the hope of finding someone who would save her from her miserable existence. Jennifer wondered how long it would be before social services took her child into care.

Jennifer moved a half-eaten jam sandwich from the sofa to the coffee table. ‘Mind if I sit down? I’m dead on my feet today.’