Page 161 of In Too Deep

Wonderful.

The briefing room then filled with the usual Monday morning atmosphere of stale coffee, paperwork, and detectives pretending they weren’t exhausted. Fans hummed uselessly in the corners while whiteboards crowded with timelines, maps, and Lauren Pike’s photographs looming over the room.

Harrison brought the team to order and ran through weekend developments. “Right. Updates.”

The familiar rhythm took over. Officers worked their way through actions completed over the weekend, new statements, forensic submissions, CCTV enquiries, and outstanding tasks. Harrison listened, questioned where necessary, and added notes to the case board in front of him, gradually catching up on the twenty-four hours he hadn’t spent in this room.

No, he’d spent them in Jake’s bed.

The thought arrived uninvited.

His body still carried the pleasant ache of it. Every shift reminded him of Jake’s hands, Jake’s mouth, Jake’s…other parts inside him. But there was Jake sprawled across him too, eating crap, talking crap while Harrison ran his fingers through those ridiculous curls, perfectly content to be nowhere else.

He took a sip of coffee before anyone could notice the brief glint of distraction crossing his face.

Focus.

Lauren Pike was still dead.

The room carried on around him. Chairs creaked. Pages turned. Someone swore quietly at a laptop refusing to cooperate.

Then Calder shuffled forward in his seat. “We got the warrant through for Blackridge Autos.”

That pulled Harrison’s attention. “Signed?”

“Aye.” Calder nodded. “Duty judge authorised it late Saturday after CPS reviewed the supporting intel.”

“And you sat on it?”

“Waited for you.”

Right. Well. Fine. He hadn’t been contactable yesterday, had he? But at least that meant the anonymous tip, the inconsistencies in Davo’s statement, the suspicious lock-up, and the forensic link had been enough to justify a Section 8 PACE warrant. Not huge. But enough.

“And CSI?” Harrison asked.

Calder scratched his moustache. “Forensics came back on the paint fragment you recovered.” He slid a report across the table. “Layer composition, manufacturer code, and metallic finish all consistent with a silver Ford Fiesta.”

That sent a low murmur around the room. It wasn’t definitive proof yet. Silver Fiestas weren’t few and far between. But it was a link. Strong enough. Especially combined with the timeline.

“Right,” Harrison said, mentally moving three steps ahead. “Search team?”

“Uniforms and CSI are meeting us there at oh-eight-thirty,” Murray said. “Vehicle examiners too.”

Good. Because if Davo had missed even one thing during cleanup, proper forensic vehicle recovery officers would find it. Harrison doubted the yard had remained untouched since his visit Friday. People panicked when the police started getting warrants. But panicked people made mistakes.

“One thing,” Calder added.

Harrison looked over. “Hm?”

“The print lifted from the paint fragment came back to Jake Whitton.”

Harrison felt every eye land on him instantly, but he kept his expression neutral as he closed the file. “That would be expected. Mr Whitton handed the fragment to me personally.”

No one spoke. But the silence itself said enough. Harrison knew exactly what some of them were thinking: too involved. Too close. Conflict of interest. And how Jake Whitton kept popping up in the periphery of their investigations lately.

Maybe they weren’t entirely wrong.

But right now, he didn’t particularly care.