Page 154 of Too Close To Home

Jake lifted his arse off the seat to tug it from his back pocket and checked the screen. “Fuck.”

Ron and Eileen. Again. He shouldn’t ignore it. He’d told them to call if there were any issues. But right now, the last thing he wanted was to deal with loft insulation and creaky roofs. He wanted to be here. See this through.

The phone kept ringing.

Jake exhaled hard and swiped to answer. “Y’alright, Ron?”

“Eh up, Jake, love, it’s Eileen. Ron’s at golf.”

He softened his tone. “Hey, love. What’s up?”

He kept focused on the pub. Then checked the road behind him. No blue lights.

“That banging. It’s not getting any better.”

Jake frowned. “Banging?”

“In the roof, love. You insulated it the other day, but it’s still there. And I can’t sleep. I’m all over the place, love. Ron says you said it were birds or summat, but…well, he can’t hear nowt without his aid in so…could you come and have another look? Fill a gap, maybe? I’m so flipping tired.”

Jake dragged his thumb over his teeth, thinking. “I can come by later tonight?”

“I’ve got bingo later. Was hoping you could pop in now? Tell me I’m not daft.”

Jake glanced at the pub again. Still nothing. No movement. No cars pulling up. No sign Harrison had acted on anything he’d said.

“You’re not daft, Eileen.”

“But you’ll come check?”

Jake closed his eyes, then sighed. “Put the kettle on, love. Would kill for a brew.”

“Oh, thanks, love. You really are a gem.”

Jake ended the call and tossed the phone onto the dash. He sat there a moment longer. Watching. Waiting. But nothing happened. Maybe Harrison hadn’t taken him seriously. Maybe he was like the rest of them. Another copper who’d made up his mind about Jake Whitton and who he was.

Or maybe—

Jake huffed out a breath. Maybe this was him again. Sticking his nose where it didn’t belong. Seeing things that weren’t there. If he weren’t careful, he could end up back inside. He gripped the wheel. Then, with one last look at the pub, he started the engine.

And drove away.

Leaving Harrison to do his job.

While he stopped this nonsense to go do his.

* * * *

It didn’t take long for the intelligence return on Brodie Simmons. Almost as if it had been waiting there for him.

Harrison read it once. Then again.

Not clean. Not even close.

And, as Jake had suggested, a completely different surname to the one he’d given Harrison on first asking. Different to the one his boss, Pete, Kings Arm’s landlord, had for him.

He didn’t have any direct links to abduction or anything that put him immediately in Emily Fisher’s orbit though, but enough to warrant attention. Jake hadn’t been wrong. Brodie had form. Stalking. Fixation. A non-molestation order out of Hull after a relationship spiralled into something obsessive and sustained. Harrison made the call to Humberside himself, pushed for background, and what came back filled in the gaps.

Runaway as a kid. Survival sex. Controlled by a pimp for a time. Then attachment. Misplaced, intense, and dangerous. He’d fixated on a client, pursued him relentlessly until the man had no option but to go legal. Pattern there. Attachment. Obsession. Escalation. Then Hartswick. Fresh start on paper. Same man underneath.