‘Please don’t shoot anyone,’ Izzy whispered to herself.

All they could hear over the radio was the doof-doof-doof as boots clattered around the property. Jessica was about to suggest they have a word with the little old lady when her eye was caught by the house next door. The front door was now open a fraction, with the unmistakeable tattooed head of Bones peering out. He took one look at the back of the tactical entry team, now standing around awkwardly, and then tiptoed out like a cartoon baddie who had just been discovered. Before Jessica could say anything, he was running away from their roadblocks towards a patch of grass.

‘Shiiiiiiiiiiiiiiite,’ Jessica shouted, opening the car door. It might not have been the most informative of instructions but Dave took the hint, half-leaping, half-falling out of the back seat and following her as she set off after their suspect.

The first few metres were definitely the worst. Jessica felt something tighten in her stomach and then the cold air hit her lungs. Was it always this hard to breathe? Her only consolation was that Bones was clearly suffering too. He had at least a hundred metres on her but glanced over his shoulder and stumbled as his hand shot up to his chest. He was wearing jeans, heavy work boots and a thick coat, which must be even worse for running in than her suit was. As he reached the green, Jessica could see Bones was heading for a dingy-looking alley. When they’d rolled in to block the ways off the estate, the overgrown hedges shielding the cut-through had looked like someone’s garden gone out of control; now there was clearly a pathway. Jessica peered over her shoulder and held an arm out, pointing Dave towards the nearby cul de sac and hoping he got the message that there was hopefully a cut-through there too. Meanwhile, she put her head down and ran.

She was definitely faster than Bones but had no idea what type of shape he was in – short bursts of speed she could just about handle; endurance, she didn’t really want to find out . . .

The grass was muddy and Jessica slid for the final metre before regaining her footing on the cracked concrete of the alley. She ducked under the overgrown hedge, batted away a dangling branch and then kicked on again, trying to ignore the building pain in her thighs, stomach, calves and back.

The alley curved right around someone’s back garden and then left again. If Bones had gone over the top of one of the fences, he’d be out of sight already but Jessica stuck to the path until she reached another small grassy area. Large heavy footprints were embedded in the muddy sludge and Jessica followed the long stride pattern into another ginnel.

Run, run, run.

As she rounded another corner, she finally saw a glimpse of Bones. He was leaning against a gatepost, puffing even more heavily than she was. At the sound of her footsteps, he glanced over his shoulder and then set off again, barrelling straight ahead without looking and sprawling over the bottom half of an overturned wheelie bin.

Dave Rowlands emerged from around the corner, looking more surprised than Jessica was. ‘It was all I could find,’ he said apologetically, kneeling and telling Bones to hold his wrists behind his back.

Jessica felt light-headed and leant against the closest fence, hands on her knees, wanting someone to take her home and put her to bed.

‘What is it with you and bloody bins?’ she gasped.

‘He’s twice the size of me! It was outside someone’s back gate and I thought it could be some sort of obstacle if he came this way.’

The only way Bones was twice the size of Rowlands was if you took his padded coat into account but Jessica had neither the breath, strength nor willpower to point it out.

Slowly, she made her way over to the crossroads where Bones was sitting on the ground, hands cuffed behind his back, blood streaming from his bottom lip. ‘Morning, Dougie,’ Jessica said, trying her best not to sound as if she felt close to a premature death.

When he realised she was the same officer he had run from previously, his eyes widened in recognition. ‘You do deals, don’t you?’

‘What?’

‘I’ve seen it on telly – they have all these lawyer blokes who get people off if they know something about something else.’

Jessica rolled her eyes. ‘You’re thinking of the Yanks. We don’t do deals here.’

‘I know something about your case.’

‘Cassie Edmonds?’

Bones licked away the blood from his lip and shook his head. ‘That Potter kid.’

21

Bones spent the best part of an hour in the basement room of Longsight Police Station with the duty solicitor, presumably being told that British police forces do not do deals. Jessica sat in her office with Izzy, trying to pretend that she wasn’t aching in places she’d forgotten existed, feeling particularly smug that this was one investigation that could be crossed off DCI Cole’s list of things that hadn’t yet been solved. The series of pickpocketings was always going to remain unsolved – from the moment the teenager had entered the cafe, Jessica had known she was never going to turn Bex in.

After an interminable wait, there was a delicate knock on Jessica’s office door and the rather defeated figure of the duty solicitor stood in the doorway. He was a familiar face around the station, often dealing with the Friday- and Saturday-night drunks who refused to believe they’d done anything wrong by puking in the street and starting a fight with a stranger. ‘It’s just a bit of bants, innit,’ was the motto of half the morons they booted out the morning after with a slap on the wrist and directions to the nearest bus stop.

Jessica couldn’t stop herself from grinning as the solicitor caught her eye. ‘You did tell him we don’t do deals, didn’t you?’ she said.

The solicitor let himself into the room and closed the door behind him, taking a seat on the edge of the empty desk. His suit was a fraction too big for him and he looked as if he could do with a good night’s sleep.

‘Are we all right to talk in here?’ he mumbled.

Jessica shrugged. ‘I’m not being bugged by MI5 if that’s what you’re asking. Well, not that I know of.’ She peered up to the corners of the room, wondering.

He glanced towards Izzy. ‘Off the record?’

‘Whatever you want,’ Jessica said. ‘Sergeant Diamond is sound. Well, she’s a bit slow at getting out of cars when there’s a chase on but she’s fine apart from that.’

Izzy scowled. ‘Hey!’

The solicitor perked up, lowering his voice and grinning in a way that didn’t suit him. ‘You really know how to find them around here, don’t you? I’ve been looking to do some work up in Lancashire because they only get half the wankers you get down here.’

‘Is that your professional legal opinion?’

‘Something like that. Anyway, Mr, er, Harrison—’

‘Bones.’

‘Yes, him. He claims to have information about the death of Damon Potter. He won’t tell me what it is, so it’s not that I can even give you a steer . . . not that I would . . .’

‘I get it,’ Jessica replied. ‘Did you tell him we don’t do deals?’

‘I told him, but he’s seen it on television.’

‘So what? Godzilla was stomping around New York City on television the other week; it doesn’t mean it’s true.’

‘You know that and I know that – but he’s insistent.’

‘Tell him to sod off – he held up four off-licences with a knife and we found the money at his house. Then he went on the run and left me doubled over like someone twice my age. Believe it or not, I don’t have that much sympathy for anyone that makes me run, especially not in this weather. I could’ve ended up on my arse – did he think of that?’

Another grin flickered across the solicitor’s face before disappearing again. ‘It doesn’t matter to me what he knows and what he doesn’t. He knows you’ve got him bang to rights and he’ll probably tell you as much. He’s hardly the shy and retiring type. I’m trying to help you – if you can give him something, anything, he’ll tell you what he knows. Either way, he knows he’s going down for this, he just wants an olive branch.’