‘I will.’

  ‘And you can have some too,’ she added.

  He smiled. ‘Same.’ They said their goodbyes and she was gone. For the first time in a very long time he wanted to climb into his phone and escape to the other end. To where she was. Away from here.

  He cast his eyes up and down the foaming beach. The only fools out down here in this weather seemed to be other spaniel owners. With a gnawing sensation in his gut, he turned his mind towards the day ahead. Towards the task ahead.

  He parked his Captur close to the station’s main entrance. Close enough that he’d be able to spot and hopefully intercept Okeke in the car park before she stepped inside.

  They needed to talk. Outside. Face to face and not over the phone. Perhaps he was being paranoid, perhaps not. If Hatcher had a suspicion about him, a doubt that he was on exactly the same page as her, then it wouldn’t be beyond belief that she’d have obtained access to his work phone’s call log.

  With Okeke now excluded from the Incident Room and his team, he had no legitimate reason to talk to her, unless it was in an interview room, on the record and about the whereabouts of her missing boyfriend. Any phone record of them talking together would be a huge red flag.

  And this morning one of the first things he was going to have to do was just that – interview her formally. Sutherland would be in the room with him, Hatcher no doubt listening in.

  ‘Sam, I have to make it look like I’m giving this my A game,’ he muttered. ‘I have to make it look like I’m really doing everything possible to track down Jay. You understand that, right?’

  That’s how he was would begin the conversation and she was just going to have to trust him.

  He caught sight of her Datsun pulling into the parking area. Helpfully, she parked in the space right beside his car. He watched her through his side window. Oblivious to the fact he was sitting there and that she was being observed, she settled back in her seat, closed her eyes, puffed her cheeks and blew out a deep breath.

  He let Okeke have her moment of decompression, then waved a hand. The motion caught her attention. He lowered his window, and after a moment’s hesitation she lowered her passenger side one.

  ‘All right?’ he asked.

  She nodded warily. ‘Guv.’

  ‘We need to talk,’ he said. ‘Is this okay with you?’

  ‘What? Sitting in our cars?’

  He nodded. She shuffled across, over the handbrake, until she was on the passenger seat. ‘Shit. Has it really come down to this? All cloak and daggers?’

  ‘As far as it goes with Hatcher, yes,’ he replied. ‘We have to start thinking of her as one of Them.’

  ‘You’re serious?’

  ‘She’s a nervous wreck… She’s falling apart, Sam.’

  ‘Sam? Is it?’ She raised a brow. ‘So I’m definitely not on the team?’

  He shook his head. ‘There’s no way you could be,’ he replied, ‘even if the Russians weren’t involved.’

  Her eyes locked on his. ‘So where does this put us, guv?’

  ‘On the same side. We both want a way out for Jay,’ he assured her.

  ‘I spoke with him last night. There was no gun. Hammond made that shit up.’

  Boyd nodded. ‘I can believe that.’

  ‘And there was no fight. No punches thrown. Jay said he rugby-tackled him to the ground, bound and gagged him, then gave him a talking to.’

  Boyd laughed. ‘And I can believe that too.’

  ‘And he told Hammond about him and Louie hearing him plan a murder.’

  Boyd sucked air in between his teeth. ‘That’s not so good. That’s another reason they’ll want him, Sam.’

  ‘Want him dead,’ she clarified.

  He nodded. ‘I want to find a way out for him.’ He tapped his steering wheel. ‘He saved my life.’

  ‘Yes, he did.’

  Boyd shrugged. ‘So I owe him.’

  She nodded. ‘Yes, you do.’ She looked around the car park to make sure they weren’t being observed. ‘So how are you going to do that?’

  ‘You have to trust me, Sam. If I know where Jay is hiding, I know where not to direct the search.’

  She offered him a wan smile. ‘Which is all well and good until they threaten your Emma. Then tell me… what happens at that point? Do I keep trusting you?’

  He’d wondered how quickly she’d come to that, and he didn’t have an answer.

  ‘Right.’ She nodded at his silence. ‘So, no offence intended, guv, but I can’t completely trust you, can I?’

  He couldn’t lie to her.

  ‘If they threatened Emma? Would you even tell me they had?’

  He could see she knew the answer to that already.

  ‘I know you want to find a way out for Jay… but I also know if they come knocking on your door, guv…’

  ‘You’re right,’ he said, nodding. ‘Then how about this? I make every effort. I pull the stops out to find him, but as long as he stays one step ahead of me...’

  ‘It’s Jason Turner we’re talking about, guv.’ She couldn’t help smiling. ‘Not Jason Bourne.’

  Boyd returned a muted smile. ‘So long as I’m seen to be leaving no stone unturned… I can throw you a steer or two.’

  ‘Until at some point, they say find him now… or you’re dead. Then what?’ She shrugged.

  ‘If it comes to that… I suppose me and Emma would have to do a runner as well,’ he replied.

  ‘You say that…’

  Boyd glanced at his watch. ‘Look, we’d better head in before we attract attention. And separately.’

  She nodded. ‘Right.’

  ‘Once I’ve set up my team this morning, I’m going to be interviewing you, Sam. Get your head together. Get your story straight. You have no idea where he is. He’s vanished.’

  26

  Jay was impressed with himself for deftly switching vehicles. He’d spent last night on the sofa at Howler’s place. Greg Howler wasn’t one of Sam’s favourites when it came to his gym mates. In her words, he was an ‘offensively sexist knuckle-dragger’ who could barely manage a sentence without relying on the ‘C-word. He was known by the lads as Howler the Prowler because, above getting trashed, he was always on the lookout for an opportunity to ‘pull’.

  Howler was well up for the idea of swapping Jay’s Transit for his Bedford van for a ‘try-out week’. Jay had dangled the prospect of a straight swap if they were both happy with each other’s vehicles and Howler had leapt on the idea.

  So, until the police caught up with that switcheroo, he was ANPR-proof.

  Sam had drawn out £300 from her bank account and given Jay the cash, instructing him that the first thing he was going to do with that money was buy a cheap pre-paid dumb phone. His beloved iPhone was no doubt now sitting on someone’s desk in Hastings police station, and they’d probably already gone through his photo roll. He hadn’t dared mention to Sam there were still some candid pictures on there from when they’d first got together. She was going to hand him his arse for that once this situation was over.

  He focused back on the present, and Karl. His half-brother was based in Brighton, down near the front, in Kemptown. Kemptown was, of course, the coolest part of Brighton, the LGBT, rainbow-hued, everything-is-awesome hub for the city of Brighton and Hove. The last address he had for Karl was Unit 17, Hamble House, Eastern Terrace Mews, which sounded like a workplace rather than a home address.

  Without his iPhone to hand, he was going to have to figure his way there old-school-style: a paperback A–Z and a lot of asking of random strangers, each giving him a string of directions that he was going to forget thirty seconds later.

  ‘Honey,’ Sam had whispered to him as they’d parted. ‘Please… please… please, be careful. These people are fucking dangerous. Stay low. Stay hidden.’

  ‘Got it,’ he assured her.

  ‘And for God’s sake be super nice to Karl. He doesn’t have to help you out, you know?’

  He was pretty sure Karl would. They might not have much, if anything, in common, but they had the same blood – well, a fifty-per-cent diluted version of blood – running through their veins.

  Jay pulled off the A27 into the Lewes service station, primarily for a pee, but also to buy himself a Brighton and Hove A–Z – if such an antiquated thing was still sold in petrol stations. He parked the van away from the shop entrance. He’d watched enough episodes of 24 Hours in Police Custody to know that there was always a camera deployed just inside and outside the glass doors. He grabbed the baseball cap that Okeke had insisted he take with him and pulled it down onto his head. He felt like a complete muppet wearing the damned thing, but she was absolutely right: he needed something to disguise his face. He pulled the peak down low and got out.

  27

  ‘Now listen, Sam…’ began Sutherland.

  Okay, so everyone’s calling me Sam all of a sudden, huh? She wondered what that inferred – that she was now being treated as a civvy? That she was no longer one of them?

  ‘This is off the record. It’s just you, me and Boyd, all right?’

  She nodded. ‘Yes, sir.’

  He steepled his fingers, then lightly rested his chin on them. ‘Jason Turner… where is he?’

  ‘I honestly don’t know.’ She shrugged. ‘If I knew, obviously, I’d tell you, sir.’

  Sutherland nodded sympathetically. ‘You see, Sam, I’d like to have complete confidence in that answer but…’

  ‘The problem, sir, is that Hammond was lying about Jay. He hasn’t done anything. He’s made that crap up.’

  Sutherland tried to look understanding. ‘Maybe not, Sam, but we have to take those allegations seriously and we also have to accept that Jason had a strong motive to harm Mr Hammond. Revenge. Righting an injustice… as he perceived it.’

  ‘I get what you’re saying, sir, and I’m also well aware that his going on the run doesn’t look good.’

  ‘No,’ replied Sutherland. ‘It really doesn’t look good.’

  ‘Look, he genuinely believes Hammond is Louie Collins’ murderer. He was emotionally impacted by that. Louie and Jay go way back.’

  Sutherland looked down at his notes. ‘They were childhood friends, yes?’

  ‘Exactly. Louie was the closest thing he had to family.’

  Sutherland nodded. ‘I understand. And he was very hurt. He was very angry –’

  ‘Because we’d just let Roland Hammond walk free!’

  Sutherland frowned. ‘How did he know that, out of interest?’

  She sighed. ‘I might have mentioned something about our suspect walking free.’

  The detective superintendent tutted and shook his head. ‘Christ, Okeke.’

  ‘But I didn’t give him the suspect’s name!’ She turned to Boyd, hoping for a bit of support – even though she knew he couldn’t give it. He had to appear to be on the same page as Sutherland.

  ‘If you didn’t tell him, then Jay must have gone and done some detective work,’ Boyd said sternly. ‘Identified him somehow and worked out where he was staying? Are you sure you didn’t feed that information to him? Perhaps accidentally?’

  ‘No. Absolutely not!’ She genuinely didn’t know how he’d found out. But somehow he’d managed. Maybe he was more savvy than he let on?

  Jay studied himself in the grubby toilet mirror. Actually, with the baseball cap on and the peak pulled down low, he didn’t look too bad. In fact, it kind of suited him. Made him look a bit like a hitman or, better still, Jack Reacher.

  He washed his hands, wiped them on his jeans, pushed the gents’ door open and stepped back into the petrol station’s shop. He scanned the shelves near the till and finally found what he was looking for – a faded Brighton A–Z, which must have been shelf-squatting for years. He also picked up a Yorkie and a can of Red Bull.

  Gotta keep the ol’ senses sharp.

  ‘Any fuel?’ the girl at the counter asked.

  ‘No gas, ma’am,’ he replied, and realized for some daft reason he’d slipped into some kind of transatlantic accent. The girl gave him a second look. ‘Hey. Are you American?’

  The question jerked him out of his foolish role play. He was supposed to be incognito, attracting zero attention. He dipped his head and let the peak drop to cover his face. ‘Uh. no… just… errr… from up north.’

  ‘Oh, okay. Anyway, that’s… seven pounds sixty please.’

  He gave her a tenner, grabbed the change, turned and hastened back to the van.

  ‘Okay, so… let’s put your minor indiscretion aside,’ continued Sutherland. ‘Let’s talk about where Jason could have gone. Any thoughts on that? Any other close friends? Family?’

  Okeke sat back in her chair and made a big show of racking her brains. ‘I… Jay and I’ve only been cohabiting for a bit, sir. It’s not like we’re, you know, a fully entangled couple.’

  ‘So how much do you know about his past?’ pressed Sutherland. ‘Does he have a history of violence?’

  ‘Jay?’ She laughed at the idea of that. ‘No. He’s soft as anything.’

  ‘But you’ve met his family?’ asked Boyd.

  ‘No.’ She shook her head. ‘Not really.’

  ‘Not really?’ Boyd pushed.

  ‘He doesn’t really have family. I mean, he’s got a string of temporary foster parents from a while back… but he hasn’t stayed in contact with any of them.’

  That much she knew was true. Jay had been a care-home kid.

  ‘Siblings?’ asked Sutherland.

  ‘One half-brother… I think.’

  Sutherland glanced at Boyd with a hopeful look on his face. ‘What’s his name?’

  ‘Marcus,’ she replied. ‘Or Mark.’

  That’s it, Sam… you’ve now officially lied. She’d stepped over that invisible line and, however this situation panned out, it was going to come back and bite her arse; she was sure of it. They would definitely uncover it – but it would hopefully take them a while.

  ‘What about a surname?’ asked Boyd. ‘Turner as well?’

  She shook her head. ‘No. Not Turner. I don’t know what it is, though.’

  Sutherland looked over his glasses at her. ‘You don’t know the name of your boyfriend’s only blood relative?’

  She looked at him defiantly. ‘No, sir.’

  Boyd turned to Sutherland. ‘We can probably dig that out of the system.’ Then he leant forward, across the table and gave her his firm, no-messing-around-here face. ‘Sam, we need to find him quickly. I don’t want Jay to get himself into any deeper trouble.’

  ‘That makes two of us,’ she replied.

  ‘So what about any friends, then?’ asked Boyd. ‘Any other mates he might have turned to for help?’

  He should be in Brighton by now. With Karl. She decided a bum steer might slow them down a bit. ‘The gym. He’s got some work-out buddies at the gym.’

  ‘Which gym?’ asked Boyd.

  She knew he knew. He was putting on a show for Sutherland. She hoped.

  ‘The White Rock Gym. The same one Minter goes to, guv.’

  ‘Any names for these friends?’ Boyd asked.

  She shook her head. ‘Not proper ones. They’ve all got macho nicknames there.’

  Sutherland shook his head. ‘Of course they do.’

  Again, she made a show of trying to remember. ‘I dunno. Boff, I think. There’s a Rocky.’

  ‘Rocky? Does he box, by any chance?’ tried Sutherland.

  ‘No,’ Okeke said. ‘He’s a regular there. White Rock – Rocky? See?’

  ‘Ahhh… I see,’ Sutherland said.

  ‘There’s a Blow-Joe… Growler… Jimbo…’ She shook her head. ‘That’s all I’ve got.’

  Boyd noted those down. ‘All right. That’s something for us to get cracking on.’ He turned to Sutherland, glancing briefly at the camera and knowing Her Madge was almost certainly watching this interview in the other room.

  ‘I suggest we get a team put together, asap.’

  Sutherland nodded.

  ‘And get an APB on Turner’s van.’ He looked at Okeke for the details.

  ‘FP19 JHT,’ she responded. ‘It’s a white Ford Transit.’

  Jay finally found the bloody place – it was one of a row of cream-coloured townhouses that sported peeling paint and screamed ‘faded grandeur’, looking out across the seafront road onto Brighton Marina. What would once have been a row of rear gardens that regularly hosted tea parties and games of bridge was now a grubby parking area for the business premises that they’d become.

  The parking was tight. Very tight. Jay found a spare spot marked for visitors but with no indication as to which business laid claim to it. He pulled the handbrake on, turned the engine off and climbed out. He walked along the row of townhouses looking for a plaque or a sign that would tell him which building was Unit 17.

  He spotted a couple of gawky lads smoking on the step of one of the properties. Both were wearing slim-fitting jeans that made their skinny legs look comically thin and they were both on their phones.

  ‘Hey, you two,’ he called, approaching them. ‘I’m looking for Unit Seventeen. But I can’t see any bloody numbers along here.’

  One of them looked up, doing an almost comical double-take at Jay’s bulky body. ‘Uh, bro… you found us. We’re Unit Seventeen.’

  ‘As in –’ the other one looked up and did the exact same double take – ‘as in, that’s what the software company’s called. Unit Seventeen. It’s not a house number.’

  ‘Ahhh.’ Jay nodded slowly. ‘Right. I got you.’ He looked up at the building they were smoking outside. It was the grubbiest and least-loved town house in the row. ‘Karl works with you, right?’

  ‘Karl?’ asked the first one. ‘Yeah, he works here. You wanna see him?’

  ‘Yeah,’ Jay said.

  The guy pinched his roll-up out and tucked what was left of it into the pocket of his hoodie. ‘I’ll see if he’s in. Who’re you, dude?’

  ‘I’m his brother,’ Jay said.