Page 97 of In Too Deep

Behind it stood a woman so thin her oversized tracksuit seemed to hang from her bones. Harrison guessed late thirties, maybe forties, at first glance, but experience told him not to trust that. Hard living had a way of adding years. She could just as easily have been twenty-eight. With dark hair, dry and frizzing at the ends, dragged into a haphazard bun that looked as though she’d done it days ago and never bothered fixing it. The skin beneath her eyes was bruised with exhaustion. Fine lines cut through old makeup she hadn’t quite managed to scrub away.

Everything about her spoke of survival rather than living.

Murray offered her most reassuring smile. “Could we come in, love?”

Kayleigh glanced between them before eventually stepping aside.

The flat was filled with stale smoke and dampness beneath an overpowering vanilla spray. She’d tried hard to brighten the place once. Fairy lights hung dead around the curtain rail, but the mould creeping along the ceiling corners won out. Kayleigh headed straight for the living room and lit a cigarette with shaking hands. Harrison and Murray remained standing.

“Been nicked again, has she?” Kayleigh dragged hard on the cigarette, smoke curling from her nostrils as she leaned back into the sofa.

Harrison kept his voice calm. “Kayleigh… Lauren Pike has been found dead.”

She halted the cigarette halfway to her mouth and looked up. Almost checking if this was a joke. If they were serious. Then she scoffed. “Right.” She took a drag. “That’ll be why she stopped answering me then.”

Murray stepped in gently. “You reported her missing?”

“I did.”

“What made you do that?”

Kayleigh blew out smoke. “She owed me hundred quid.” The sarcasm was thin. Forced. “And she took my car.” She sighed as if that was more inconvenient than anything else. “How’d she die?”

“We’re still establishing that,” Harrison said. “She was recovered from the River Hart.”

“The river?”

“In Hartswick.”

That got her attention properly. “Hartswick?”

Harrison watched her closely then. The restless bounce of her knee. Scratching her fingernails absently at the frayed cuff of her sleeve. Exhaustion lived in every inch of her, buried beneath bravado and nicotine, and defensive humour.

Harrison tilted his neck. “You know it?”

“Course I know it.”

“Do you know if she knew anyone in Hartswick?”

Kayleigh snorted. “Depends what you mean by know.”

Murray chipped in then. “What does that mean?”

Kayleigh flicked ash into an overflowing tray on the coffee table. “Means girls in Lauren’s line of work know and don’t know a lot of people. From a lot of places.”

“What line of work was she in?” Harrison probed. Not because he didn’t know already; the Humberside report had confirmed it. But reports weren’t evidence. Not really. Evidence came from people. From the living. And those who shared the footsteps of the victim.

Kayleigh looked away.

Murray stepped in before the silence could harden. “Kayleigh, we’re not here to judge her. Nor are we here to judge you. We’re trying to understand what happened to Lauren.”

Kayleigh turned back to her. “She was on the game.”

“Street work?” Harrison asked.

“At first.” Kayleigh shrugged. “Then she got picked up for better jobs.”

“What sort of jobs?”