Jack pointed at the clock. ‘It’s too late.’

Dolby shook his head. ‘I’ve held back the front page. We’ve got the headline set, with a picture of the crime scene. We need just two hundred words to go underneath.’

‘How soon?’

‘An hour.’

Jack sighed, and then he shrugged and nodded.

Dolby slapped him on the back and went towards the door. Just as he got there, Jack said, ‘Just one condition.’

Dolby turned round. ‘Name it.’

‘Print it under a different byline. For the sake of my pending marriage, if it ever happens, I could really do with Laura not knowing.’

Dolby flashed that grin again. ‘No problem.’

As the door closed, the silence that descended felt heavy, because Jack knew he’d just promised to undermine Laura’s investigation.

He went to the computer and navigated to the Telegraph’s website. The write up from the press conference had attracted some interest. Forty-eight comments. Maybe it was the Simon Cowell effect, but it seemed like a story wasn’t really a story until everyone knew what Bert from Burnley thought of it all. He flicked through them anyway.

The first few were expressions of sadness, but then the identity of the woman must have leaked out. Jane Roberts. It meant nothing to Jack at first, but when the posts turned nasty and he saw the name of Jane’s father, Don Roberts, he wondered whether there was more to the story than a random attack. Jack was a crime reporter, and so he had heard the name Don Roberts bandied around. Don never turned up on the court lists, but there were always whispers and hints that he was the big man around town.

Jack stopped reading when his phone buzzed in his pocket. The screen told him that it was Laura.

‘How’s your day going?’ Jack said.

‘Are you speaking as Jack the boyfriend or Jack the reporter?’

‘Jack the boyfriend,’ he said, laughing.

‘Long,’ she said, ‘and about to get a lot longer.’

‘What time are you coming home?’

Jack heard the fatigue in her voice as she said, ‘I don’t know, Jack. I’m sorry. That’s why I’m calling. The post-mortem is tomorrow, and so we are going to have a briefing and then see how the night looks.’ She paused, and he heard her steel herself before she said, ‘Say goodnight to Bobby for me.’

‘I will,’ he said. ‘And I’ll wait up for you,’ and as they said their goodbyes, he glanced over to the kitchen and remembered the wine that had been in the fridge for a couple of days. It was no way to fill the slow hours, because the hill only ever slopes downwards, but just then, it seemed the right thing to do.

Laura clicked off her phone and looked at Joe, who noticed the clench of her jaw and raised his eyebrows at her.

‘Why didn’t you just tell him that we were going for a drink?’ he said.

Laura paused as she thought about this. She felt a blush creep into her cheeks. ‘It’s not that,’ she said. ‘It’s Bobby. I should be there for him.’

‘Having a career doesn’t make you a bad mother,’ Joe said.

Laura looked at Joe. He looked thoughtful, his brown eyes soft. ‘I know that,’ she said. ‘I just feel like I don’t do enough for him.’

‘That’s natural, but he’ll grow up proud of you, because of what you do. It all comes good in the end.’

She reached out and touched his hand, gave it a squeeze. ‘Thank you,’ she said, and let out a long, slow breath. She looked in the car mirror and teased out her hair, before frowning. ‘I look tired.’

‘You look fine,’ he said.

‘Fine is no good,’ she said, smiling now.

‘Okay, more than fine,’ he said, laughing with her. ‘Attractive, sexy.’

Laura’s blush took over her face. ‘Enough about me. What about you?’ she said.

‘What do you mean?’

‘When are you going to let a lady sweep you off your feet?’

Joe smiled. ‘I analyse things too much, so nothing seems to happen naturally.’

‘What about Rachel Mason?’ she said.

‘What about her?’ Joe said, his hand paused on the door handle.

‘You know she likes you,’ Laura said. ‘She stares at me whenever I’m with you, as if I’ve trespassed into her territory or something.’

‘Come on,’ Joe said. ‘The rest of the squad will be waiting.’

‘Is that your way of avoiding the subject?’ she said.

‘Something like that,’ he said, and stepped out of the car.

Joe was still smiling as she joined him on the pavement. Laura glanced upwards, at the darkness of the sky, and took a deep breath. Getting on wasn’t just about turning up for work. There was this side too, being a squad member.

But why did she feel so reluctant?

She looked at Joe and her smile returned. ‘Your round,’ she said, and then headed for the pub door, Joe close behind.

Chapter Fifteen

He rewound the footage again, as he had done for the last ten minutes.

It was Inspector Carson on the news. A stern look to the camera. We are not ready to reveal details of her murder, but I would like to say this: that whoever carried out this barbaric act must be caught. And then the flashback from the press conference three weeks earlier, images of Corley in distress. Oh, he liked that, but when will they be ready to disclose more?

The image was back in his head. Corley’s daughter this time. Less fight than Roberts. A scream and then she was crying. She almost gave up, it had been too easy. Her choice. The wrong choice. She could have walked a different way, or put up more of a struggle, but she chose surrender, as if he was going to maul her and run. He was different. She should have realised.

He was aroused again. His breaths were fast, and he knew he had to look at Jane again, but something wasn’t right, wasn’t how he expected it.

He went to his study, really just something he had crafted from the space under his stairs, so that the slope of the steps was just in front of his face, smoothed out by plasterboard and wallpaper. It was cramped, and so his knees had worn blue marks into the wall where he turned in a tight circle on his chair. He couldn’t move back much, but it was private and felt like somewhere separate from the rest of the house.

He felt the space close in as he shut the door behind him. The light from the screen bathed his face in flickering lights and his head was filled with the soft hum of the computer fan.

Normally he liked the darkness, the confinement, but it wasn’t the same today. Jane was supposed to be the finale, the crescendo, but it didn’t feel any different from before.

He closed his eyes. He could feel the hiss of the pressure release, like a loose valve. He had tried to smother it, but it was impossible, like a song in your head that never stops going round. You can try to ignore it, but eventually the beat gets in your fucking head and you just go with it. But, oh Christ, the thoughts of her. Her look of fright, short squeals, drowned out by his hand, tight around her neck, squeezing, her skin soft, bruised. His breaths came as short gasps, loud in the confined space.

His hand went to his belt, but he stopped himself. Don’t waste it, not here.

He went to the website of the local paper and read the story. He saw the outrage in the comments, but then he read the scorn for Jane. He remembered her differently. The swish of her hair, the soft scent of her perfume as he pressed her down, the roar of his thoughts as he gripped her. The struggle. The fight.

He took a deep breath. He had to calm down. He had projects to complete, he knew that now. Jane was supposed to be the last one, but the need was still there. It didn’t feel like he was finished. He needed that final rush, to get somewhere near the intensity of his first time. And he should listen to that need.

But it was hard not to think of Jane. The young woman. Pretty. Scared. The dirt. He had seen the buzz around the station, the big shirts wheeled in, and still they didn’t know of the connection. Jane and Deborah. He had to do more.