Back at the station and they were making gentle inquiries into Leanne’s whereabouts without definitively classing her as missing. A small team were checking number plates that had gone into the area the previous evening, with CCTV from the shops at the bottom of the road being looked at just in case Leanne had popped in. Both Joe and Leanne had a string of low-level convictions, mainly for breaches of the peace, and someone was examining their known associates too. All in all, it was quite the farce.

Jessica knew there would be a stack of paperwork waiting for her but didn’t make it to her office before Fat Pat bellowed after her that DCI Cole wanted a word.

Despite apparently requesting her presence, he once again made her wait in the corridor, holding his hand up through the glass windows and then turning his back as he spoke on the phone. If he was deliberately trying to wind her up, then he certainly knew what he was doing. Jessica couldn’t help but wonder if the person on the phone was Pomeroy.

After a few minutes of steaming in the corridor, she finally got the wave from Cole, calling her into his office. He didn’t wait for her to sit before starting to speak: ‘That was a phone call to say that the missing woman Leanne is no longer missing. Apparently she got on a train and didn’t have the money to get back. She didn’t realise anyone was looking for her. Apologies for sending you out there – but better to be safe.’

It wasn’t a complete note of regret, nor had he used the word ‘sorry’ – but it was an apology of sorts, which was more than she’d had from him in months.

‘We can’t go chasing things up every time a couple have an argument.’

‘I know, but there’s something else . . .’ Suddenly the apology didn’t seem quite so charitable. ‘I’m sending you home – it’s late notice but there are all sorts of issues with staff and I need a senior officer to keep an eye on the area Cassie Edmonds and Grace Savage went missing from after dark.’

‘You’re putting me on nights?’

‘For Friday and Saturday. Take the rest of today off and don’t come in until late tomorrow evening. Take Sunday off too and then we’ll look again at next week. I’ve checked things over with HR and Patrick, plus there’s a bit of flexibility in the overtime budget if there’s anyone in particular you want to take out with you.’

Jessica bit on her top lip, thinking of how best to reply. There was no polite way. ‘Am I being picked on?’

Cole’s face folded into a frown but his tone didn’t soften. ‘Why would you think that?’

Jessica wanted to ask him why he’d been off with her for months, plus who was putting pressure on him and why. Instead, she gave the only answer she could: ‘No reason, Sir.’

28

Jessica sat in the small waiting area of the Indian restaurant trying to keep her temper. ‘I just don’t understand why you book a seat for half seven if you’re here at half seven and all the tables are full. Doesn’t that defeat the very purpose of making a booking?’

Adam sipped his pint of Cobra and patted her infuriatingly on the knee. ‘They’re just busy – it’s fine. We’ll get to eat.’

Jessica mumbled something about him backing her up for a change, going somewhere else, not wanting to be rushed, wondering why that waiter kept leaning against the doorframe not doing much, and then realising it was because he was trying to chat up the group of women in leather trousers.

All those things annoyed her, but none so much as the fact that she knew she was being picked on. It wasn’t the first time she’d been switched to lates at short notice and likely wouldn’t be the last – but the timing was fishy. Was it because they wanted a different officer to find something to pin on Holden Wyatt while she was off during the day, or were they trying to get her out of the way for another reason? The actual shifts wouldn’t inconvenience her that much – she rarely slept for longer than a few hours at a time and being off during the day might give her a chance to get up to no good away from prying eyes. That still didn’t stop her feeling marginalised – and even though she’d never met him properly, Graham Pomeroy’s enormous frame was surely casting a shadow over her life.

In an attempt to put it all out of her mind, Jessica had told Adam she was taking him out for tea to wherever he wanted to go; the only proviso was that it had to be exactly where she wanted and if he could pretend that it was where he wanted to go as well, then she’d be really grateful.

Luckily, Adam was a good actor and a far more patient person than she was.

Jessica peered up at the clock again – quarter to eight. They should have sat down to eat fifteen minutes ago. She nudged Adam with her knee. ‘Are you going to say something?’

‘Of course I’m not.’

‘Why?’

‘Because we’re in a restaurant. Do you really think the best thing to do is piss people off before they make your food?’

Fair point.

Fifteen minutes later and Jessica was working her way through a stack of poppadoms and tray of pickles as Adam leant back in his seat and watched her. ‘It’s nice to be out.’

‘It’s nice not to have to cook.’

‘Since when do you cook?’

‘I did you Pot Noodle on toast last week.’

‘Find that one in a celebrity chef book, did you?’

Jessica dug a slice of poppadom deep into the mango chutney, not daring to look up from the food because she didn’t want to catch his eye. ‘Sorry about, well, everything. Being late, sleeping on the sofa, being on nights . . .’

Adam sounded convincing, but then he’d had a lot of practice. ‘It’s fine – I’m going to pop over to Georgia’s flat tomorrow.’

Jessica hadn’t seen Adam’s sister in months. ‘How is she?’

‘That’s what I’m going to find out.’

‘Oh, right . . .’

Adam reached forward and dipped his finger in the onion chutney. ‘We should talk about Bex.’

‘What about her?’

‘Who is she?’

‘I told you.’

‘You said she’d stolen your purse and that you weren’t sure why you invited her into our home. She’s there now – it’s fine, I trust you – but there has to be a point to all of this.’

Jessica finished off the final poppadom and drank some of her wine to give herself a few moments to think. Luckily, the waiter trotted over and began clearing the remains of the food away, giving her a few more seconds. Eventually, she gave her reply: ‘I don’t know what I’m doing.’

‘She’s seventeen, Jess.’

‘I know.’

‘Is it because of . . . ?’

Adam didn’t want to say it outright – no one except Jessica’s mother ever did – but it was clear what he meant. ‘You think I’m trying to be Bex’s mum?’

‘I didn’t say that – you’re the one who said you don’t know what you’re doing. I just want to make sure you’re not going to end up hurting yourself.’

‘Why would I do that?’

Adam started to reply but had to pause as the waiter cheerfully brought over a tray with their starters on. It was all smiles and thank yous until they were alone again, then Adam leant in and whispered: ‘You don’t know who she is, Jess. I know you want to help and it’s fine if you want her to stay at our house for a while – but you have to think about what you’re getting yourself into. Are you going to help her get a job? Go to college? Find her own place? What about clothes, food and transport?’

‘I don’t know yet.’

‘Can you at least try to think about things?’

Jessica took another mouthful of wine, holding it in her mouth, enjoying the slightly bitter taste. ‘I have thought about them, I just don’t know the answers yet.’

Adam tilted his head, smiling slightly. ‘Okay.’

‘Are you sure?’

‘I want you to be happy, Jess.’

‘What about us?’

‘I’m happy if you are.’