Page 162 of Too Close To Home

“No. He’s never had one of those. Oh!” She pushed his chest. “You think he’s one of yours? You interested?”

Not likely. Jake hitched his thumb over his shoulder. “Actually, I’m gonna check summat. Keep an eye out, aye? Call me if he comes back.”

He turned fast and took the stairs two at a time, momentum carrying him straight to the ladder. It rattled under his weight as he climbed, quicker than before, needing to be back up there. Then he hauled himself into the loft again. The heat hit him harder this time, thick and close, the stale air catching in his throat. He didn’t stop to adjust. He went straight to the wall. The divide. The few inches of brick and timber separating what he knew from what he didn’t.

There, he dropped into a crouch, pressing his palm flat against the divide and held it there. Forcing his breathing to quieten, to ease, even as his pulse kept pushing.

This was mad.

He knew it.

This was him again. Hearing something that wasn’t there, turning it into something, needing it to be something. His head refusing to switch off. Always searching. Always circling back. Thirteen years and he still couldn’t let it go. Wouldn’t. Because he hadn’t seen her. Hadn’t found her. Didn’t know what had been done to her, or who had taken her from him. From his mum. Teddy.

He clenched his jaw.

He’d find nothing.

Same as Andy’s. Same as every other dead end he’d chased until it hollowed him out.

Nothing.

But the thought of walking away, of not checking, not pushing, not making sure, that sat worse. So he pressed his hand harder against the wall, eyes fixed on it. He’d never forgive himself if he didn’t look.

Then he heard something. A sound that didn’t belong to wood or tile or anything dead and fixed. Or anything he would expect to hear through a loft wall into a nothing space next door. Jake’s stomach dropped.

“…alright.” He blew out a breath. “Alright.”

He pulled back, scanning the edge of the partition. It wasn’t solid brick all the way through. Older work, patched over in places. Boarding fixed against it where someone had tried to close it up properly. Not built to be broken. But not built to be strong either. He took the hammer out of his work belt, tightening his fingers around the handle.

For a second, he hesitated.

He could be wrong. As he had been about Andy. And there’d be no second chances if he was. He’d be hauled back inside before his second cup of tea had even cooled. And that thought hit sharper this time. The fear of it. How could he leave Teddy again? The kid was older now. Watching everything. Taking it all in. Needing him in a way that cut deeper than when he’d been small and none of this had made sense. His rugby chance, like Jake’s chance with Neon Arcade, would be shattered. How could he do that to him? Send Teddy down the same spiral he’d gone. Teddy needed him. As did his mum and dad. They needed him dependable. Financially stable. There.

Then…the other thought came in unbidden. If he was arrested, anything that might have been brewing between him and the detective would be over. Done. Whatever this thing was between them…if it was anything, it wouldn’t survive that. Not another arrest, another mark against Jake’s name. It would be done and dusted before he even found out if it could be something.

But what if he were right?

What if, for once, he wasn’t wrong?

What if this were it? The one time his gut wasn’t leading him down a dead end but pulling him the right way.

“Fuck it.” He drove the claw of the hammer into the board.

The wood split with a dull crack, louder than he wanted, echoing through the tight space. Jake froze, listening hard. Nothing from below. Nothing from next door. All he could hear was his own breathing. So he worked quickly, levering the panel back, tearing through the weakened section where the boards met the wall. Splinters gave way under pressure, nails pulling free with short, sharp sounds making his shoulders tense. He fucking hoped he’d hear Eileen shouting to him if the bloke came back. Or even know to. Cause there wasn’t a chance in fuck he’d hear if a van rolled up. Like he hadn’t when Andy had found him nearing ready to climb into his loft space.

But he kept going anyway until there was enough space to see through.

There was nothing but darkness. And it was thicker than Eileen’s side. Colder, too. No heating immersion. Jake stilled, leaning in, letting his eyes adjust to the slit of darkness beyond the boards. “Hello?”

Nothing.

Silence pressed back at him, heavy and complete. Doubt surged in, sharp and immediate. He could still fix this. Push the boards back. Screw them down. Pretend he hadn’t kicked his way into something that, on paper, was another break-in. Another charge. With his record… that wasn’t a slap on the wrist. That was years.

“Shit.” He rocked back, shame hitting him.

Then he froze.

Listened.