Jack looked closer, just an excuse to avoid Carson’s glare. It was his article under Dolby’s byline and photograph.

Jack pointed at the picture. ‘It doesn’t look like me,’ he said. ‘And aren’t you more interested in why I’m here?’

Carson scowled. ‘Go on, tell me what you’ve got.’

Laura appeared with coffees on a tray, and Jack delayed his answer as he took a sip from his cup.

‘Just what I said on the phone to Laura,’ Jack replied, ‘that I was curious about what had been in the dead woman’s mouth when she was found.’

‘Who told you about that?’ Carson said.

Jack took another sip and considered Carson over the lip of the cup. Carson was frowning.

‘I have something to show you,’ Jack said, and he reached into his pocket and handed Carson the emails he had printed off.

Carson looked down at the pieces of paper. ‘What are these?’

‘I received them last night. My email address was at the top of the story I did yesterday.’

As Carson took in the words on the page, Jack turned to Laura and whispered, ‘Early start.’ His hand drifted towards her leg.

‘I know, I’m sorry,’ she said, quietly, blushing slightly. ‘It will settle down soon, don’t worry.’

‘Fuck!’ Carson said, and he slammed the papers down on the table, spilling his coffee.

Laura looked surprised, and then she picked up the papers and began to read. When her eyes widened, Jack knew she had reached the poem.

He’ll stuff your jaws till you can’t talk,

He’ll bind your legs till you can’t walk,

He’ll tie your hands till you can’t claw,

And he’ll close your eyes so you see no more.

She put the papers back on the table. ‘So this is how you know.’

‘So what do you think?’ Jack said. ‘Could they be from the killer? Who else knows the details of the murder scene? Your squad and the killer, that’s who.’

‘And every one in uniform who was guarding the scene, and their families when they got home and spilled the news, and then their neighbours,’ Carson said. ‘These things don’t stay secret for long, so don’t get too excited.’

‘What about this one then?’ Jack said, and handed over the email that simply said Ask them about Emma.

Jack watched Carson as he read it. He looked confused now.

‘Emma?’ Carson said.

‘Are you sure they’re not from the killer now?’

Carson looked at Jack. ‘What do you mean?’

‘He is telling me that he knows something about why Deborah and Jane were killed, but my guess is that you have no clue what he’s talking about, which means that he knows something you don’t.’

Carson thought about that for a moment, and then said, ‘It could just be an attention seeker. We get them all the time in murder cases.’

‘So you’re discounting the possibility that they’re from the killer?’

‘No, I’m not, but I’ve got to use my resources carefully. Do you remember that idiot who sent in the Yorkshire Ripper tape, Wearside Jack? And what do people remember about it? That more women died because the police wasted their time chasing him.’

‘And if you write him off as some nutter and it turns out that they are from the killer?’

Carson didn’t answer that, as the reality sunk in that whatever he did, it could be the wrong thing, and more women could die if he got it wrong.

‘Could it be a leak from within the station?’ Laura said.

Carson picked up the papers again and read through them carefully. ‘It’s pretty mean about Deborah Corley, and so if it is, someone has just got themselves a fucking problem.’

‘I’ve got a different idea then,’ Jack said, drinking his coffee. ‘Whoever he is, he’s said that he’ll write to other reporters, so the information will get out there. So why don’t you use me and take control?’

Carson scowled. ‘What do you mean?’

‘What do you gain now by keeping the facts back?’ Jack said. ‘Because that is what you are doing, keeping it back. If you go public, then at least you’re back in control of the information, rather than leaving it to the internet.’

‘If I need press advice, I’ll speak to the press officer,’ Carson said.

Laura turned to Jack. ‘You’re not thinking of writing this up, are you?’

He tilted his head as he thought about it. ‘The local paper will want it,’ he said. ‘You know that they’ve run a few anti-police stories, and they haven’t got many friends left to lose.’ When Carson’s lips tightened, he added, ‘I’m not the guilty one here. There could be someone in this station blurting out secrets. The email said that he would know if I spoke to you.’

Carson put his head back and looked at the ceiling. He sighed and then looked back to Jack. ‘So what are you proposing?’

‘Go at him head on, turn him into a villain, spoiling murder investigations,’ Jack said. ‘Give more details about the murder and out him, whoever he is. Let him know that he’s gone too far, and see if someone will give him up – a disgruntled ex-girlfriend or colleague.’

‘But then he’s dictating the investigation,’ Carson said.

‘He already is, because he’s spilling what you’re keeping back,’ Jack said. ‘You won’t be in control of it.’

‘What, make him the main figure?’ Carson said.

‘As a hate figure, not a hero,’ Jack replied. ‘Everyone likes a whistleblower, but not if it costs lives. This just gives you the initiative. If the local paper doesn’t want it like that, then I reckon I can get one of the nationals interested. Make it about how he is risking lives, forcing you into giving more details.’

‘You could always choose not to write anything,’ Carson snapped. ‘I thought you were freelance.’

‘I am, but I have major customers, and the local paper is one. Think about it. It might make someone give him up, so you win both ways: if there’s a leak, you get it plugged, and you get your revenge. If it’s the killer, someone might know something from his letters, or even the email address.’

Carson nodded, although he was still scowling.

‘Pitch it that way, as a leak,’ he agreed quietly. ‘Will you let me approve what you send in?’

Jack shook his head. ‘It needs to be my story, not yours, but if you think I’ve fouled it up, fine, shut me out of the press conferences.’

That brought a smile from Carson. ‘That would be a pleasure,’ and then he sighed. ‘If you want to know what was in their mouths, follow me,’ and he got to his feet. Jack did as he was asked, Laura and Joe with him, and they made their way to the Incident Room. When they got inside, Carson pointed Jack to the wall at the front.

When Jack saw the photographs of Jane Roberts and Deborah Corley, his eyes widened and his mouth opened, but no words came out. Gorged on the floor. That’s what it meant.

Jack turned to Carson with fresh resolve. Now it seemed like more than just a story. He just had to make Dolby stick to his promise.

The noise around him was like an echo, the movement just a blur. Case-builders and detectives moving around with papers in their hands, or sitting in huddles, whispers over lunch, gripes about Carson, the lead detective working them hard.

He glanced over to where Carson was sitting with Laura McGanity. She had queued for drinks next to him. She had touched him, just accidentally, a light brush, the soft swish of her trousers, her thigh against his thigh, a hint of perfume as her dark hair flicked past. Why had she done that? She could have stood further away, but she had invaded his space, as if she hadn’t seen him.

And he remembered how she used to be. Her accent had been filled with the south when she’d first moved to Blackley, all those rounded vowels, although it wasn’t quite that London sound. It was more cultured, educated even, and now she was back in the suits, hanging around with the headquarters crew. She would have noticed him before, but not now.