Page 37 of Too Close To Home
“How accurate is the cell site?”
“Within approximately a hundred metres. We’re pulling CCTV from the petrol station on Moor Road now. If any vehicles slowed or stopped around that time, we should catch them.”
“Preserve everything. I want full handset download as soon as digital forensics get hold of it.” He spun. “Do we know how it was powered off?”
“Manual shutdown.”
Harrison rubbed his forehead, a headache setting in behind his eyes. Manual meant someone had pressed the power button. Not a drained battery. Or a smashed screen dying naturally. A deliberate act. Had Emily done it?
Or someone else who might not want her location known.
“Keep pushing on CCTV,” he said. “And prioritise vehicles heading southbound around 23:35 to 23:50. I want registration plates logged before lunchtime.”
“Yes, sir.”
He ended the call and slid the phone back into his pocket. The room felt suddenly smaller. Woodland entrance. 23:41. Phone dead. This had escalated from uncertainty to urgency.
He turned back to Pete. “I’ll need to know who remained here between eleven and midnight. Specifically, who exited via the rear.”
Pete swallowed. “Aye.”
“And anyone who left within five minutes of Miss Fisher.”
He didn’t look at the blond lad directly, but he was aware of him like a prickle at the edge of his peripheral vision.
“I…er, told Jake.” Brodie shifted his gaze between Harrison and Pete. “No idea if it’s of any use…?”
Harrison buttoned his coat. “Any or all information can be significant.”
The lad glanced from Pete to Harrison. “I saw Deacon flirting with Emily. At the end of their set. Before she left.”
Pete pinched the bridge of his nose. “Jesus.”
Harrison looked between them. “Who’s Deacon?”
Pete sighed. “Frontman of Static Youth. Has a habit of…collecting conquests.”
“Right.” Harrison glanced at the lad. “And you told Jake that?”
“Looked like he was about to self-combust, anyway.”
“Does anyone here have his number?”
The lad shook his head. “I’ve got Jake’s, obviously. Deacon’s a hundred percent straight for me to bother with.”
Harrison kept his expression neutral.
He already knew Jake slept with men. Jake had made that abundantly clear earlier, albeit with considerably more embarrassment than Harrison suspected was usual for him. Brodie’s charming contribution at the door had removed any remaining ambiguity. So none of this was new information. And yet, for some reason, hearing it again made something click into place that Harrison would rather hadn’t.
Jake liked men.
Harrison already knew that.
What he apparently hadn’t needed was for his brain to point out that Jake could potentially like men like him. Which was an absurd conclusion based on absolutely nothing other than that they shared the same bloody sexuality.
Christ.
Why had that even occurred to him?
