Page 107 of In Too Deep

That had hit hard too.

Harrison knew Jake wasn’t Chris. Knew it rationally, deeply, completely. Jake was louder, where Chris had retreated inward. Angry, where Chris had gone quiet. Jake climbed directly into Harrison’s space as if distance physically pained him, whereas Chris had spent the last months of his life drifting further and further beyond reach.

But fear didn’t care about logic.

Fear only recognised patterns.

One man he loved had drowned beneath his own damage while Harrison stood helplessly on the shore. And now another was throwing himself headfirst into murder investigations and dangerous men while Harrison watched history circling him all over again.

When he reached Hartswick CID, the station was well into the evening chaos. Phones rang constantly behind the front desk. Uniformed officers moved briskly through corridors, carrying statements and exhibit bags. The incident room itself buzzed with low conversation and the relentless clatter of keyboards as analysts updated timelines and actions from across two counties. Lauren Pike’s face stared out from the centre of the board. Young. Pretty. Alive in every photograph. Harrison hated that part most sometimes. The way investigations slowly reduced people into evidence categories while their smiles still lingered in photographs around the room.

Calder intercepted him near the MIR doorway, carrying two coffees and looking as though he’d been awake for three days straight. “Press office are hunting you.”

“They can get in line.”

Calder snorted. “They want confirmation on the vehicle release tonight.” He handed him a coffee. “And Humberside CID rang. They’ve completed the door to door.”

Harrison took the coffee, though he barely tasted it when he drank it. “Anything useful?”

“Neighbour heard someone outside her flat around midnight two nights before she vanished. Didn’t look. Thought nowt of it.” Calder shrugged. “Search team found designer handbags, expensive makeup, cash hidden inside kitchen pipes. Doesn’t tally with her bank statements.”

No. It didn’t.

Nor did it lend itself to the theory that she was trying to flee. She wouldn’t have left her cash.

Harrison walked deeper into the incident room, loosening his tie as officers looked up from desks. The whiteboard timeline had expanded again while he’d been gone. Lauren’s movements stretched across several days instead of hours. Hull. Hartswick. Missing vehicle. Private booking. And somewhere inside all that sat the stitched black heart tattoo Harrison still hadn’t officially released beyond essential circulation.

He moved over to the HOLMES terminal and scanned the newest updates while the media officer hurried towards him, clutching papers.

“Sir, local news wants a filmed statement before six if possible.”

Harrison closed his eyes.

The public stage of an investigation always arrived far too quickly. One body from the river and suddenly everyone wanted certainty police rarely possessed yet.

“What’s the wording?” he asked.

The media officer read from her notes. “Detectives investigating the death of sex worker Lauren Pike from Hull are appealing for information regarding her movements between Hull and Hartswick in the days prior to her death—”

“Take out ‘sex worker’.”

The media officer looked up. “Sir, if we’re trying to reach anyone who booked her—”

“Then we ask for them.” Harrison scrubbed a hand across his forehead. “I’m not saying conceal it. I’m saying don’t make it the first thing we tell people about her.”

“Some outlets are already implying she was involved in prostitution.”

“I know exactly what they’re implying.” His voice sharpened before he caught it. “Lauren Pike was twenty-six years old, and she was murdered. That’s the story. If her work helps us establish who she met or how she got to Hartswick, then we include what’s necessary for the appeal.”

The media officer nodded and made a note.

Harrison pressed his fingers to his temple. “Say we’re particularly interested in speaking to anyone who met Lauren through private bookings, anyone who arranged or paid for her services, or anyone who transported her between Hull and Hartswick. Make it clear they can contact us in confidence.”

“Got it.”

“And no ‘lifestyle’.”

She glanced up.