Discarded M. Hunter (the snowy day read aloud TXT) 📖

‘Good, you’re back. I trust, by your faces, you found a match?’

‘Not close enough to say categorically it’s them,’ Jack confirms, ‘but close enough that it’s worth pursuing.’

‘How close is enough, Jack?’

‘86 and 65 respectively. That’s a better start than we had when we were reviewing Jemima Hooper’s case.’

Rawani narrows his eyes. ‘Very well, that is what you are to report back to DCI Dainton. File a report on the photographs that Miss Hunter received, but for now do not mention the picture received today. I note you’ve sealed it in an evidence bag, presumably because you were planning to have it forensically examined? I would urge you against such a measure, as we don’t want others to know the former commissioner is under investigation.’

I can’t help smiling through my fatigue at the mention of we.

‘For now, re-investigate the disappearances of Faye McKenna and Cormack Fitzpatrick as you did with Jemima Hooper with Tomlinson always in the back of your mind, but never mentioned in public. As soon as anyone gets a sniff that we are actively pursuing the former commissioner, we will come under huge scrutiny. For the time being we need to keep those dogs at bay.’

Jack is nodding along, jotting notes as Rawani continues to suggest directions the investigation can take.

‘And that brings me back to you, Miss Hunter. Are you prepared to make a formal statement to Jack about how you came to receive the pictures of Faye and Cormack, but leaving out reference to the latest photograph?’ He narrows his eyes, awaiting my response.

He is asking me to lie in a statement. No, okay, it’s not exactly lying, but he wants me to omit part of the truth, and now that he’s asking, I don’t know how I feel about that. Jack says he trusts DCS Rawani, and until this point I have had no reason to doubt his credentials. However, what happens if we’re wrong about him and his offer of help is solely to take control of the investigation and bury any reference to Tomlinson? My omission would make me complicit in such an act, and that’s not something I’m prepared to do.

‘Miss Hunter?’ Rawani presses when I haven’t responded. ‘I understand your reluctance and I believe you are right to have reservations. To that end, I would also like you to make a second statement in the presence of Jack and myself, where you do share what was received today. That way, each of us can hold a copy of that statement offline, so that if firm links to Tomlinson are discovered, it can be resurrected as required. Would you be in agreement with that approach?’

‘Absolutely.’ I beam, grateful that he doesn’t resent my reticence.

‘Good, then I suggest we do that next, and then you can be on your way, Miss Hunter. Might I also suggest you use your journalistic instinct to make discreet enquiries into Tomlinson’s background? It would certainly put a protective barrier around Jack and me – like tackling the problem from opposite ends and hoping to meet somewhere in the middle.’

‘Sounds like a plan,’ I concur.

‘And you really have no idea who is sending you these pictures?’

‘None whatsoever.’

Chapter Forty Then

Basingstoke, Hampshire

The caravan was warm and musty as Joanna sat, head buried in her hands, awaiting the return of Precious. She’d cried all the way home until the tears had run dry, and as much as she wanted to make Grey feel guilty for his part in their separation, her eyes remained dry. He hadn’t left her since they’d returned, maybe still conscious of her escape attempt last year. He needn’t have worried; it was black as death outside and it had started raining when they’d arrived back, and she wasn’t stupid enough to run off in such conditions. Not again. The pitter-patter on the roof confirmed it was raining hard outside now.

‘You want something to drink?’ Grey asked now, watching her from his seat across the small room.

She raised her head and shook it.

‘Sure? I make a mean hot chocolate. You should try it.’

She shook her head again; she had no appetite for something hot and sweet. The alcohol she’d consumed at the party hadn’t settled well with the wine they’d drunk before they left and she couldn’t tell if it was that or the frantic ball of worry in her gut that was making her feel so nauseous. She hadn’t eaten anything since lunch, but her appetite was long gone.

Precious had warned her what would happen if they ever crossed Mr Brown, and Joanna had seen the look of pure hatred in his eyes as he’d removed his belt and closed that door. He was going to make her suffer, and it was all Joanna’s fault. Had she not kicked up a fuss and gone with Bill and his bushy beard, they wouldn’t be in this situation now. In fact, they would probably have finished their assignments and be on the way back with handfuls of cash each. Instead, she was trapped here with only the lascivious letch Grey for company.

She started as Grey slapped his hands on his thighs and stood. ‘Well, I’m going to fix myself a drink while we wait.’ He opened the fridge and peered around inside, then slammed it shut with dissatisfaction. ‘What happened to that wine I bought you two? You can’t have drunk it all already. Have you got any other booze in here?’

‘No,’ Joanna replied quietly.

Grey sighed, settling for filling the kettle from the tap and putting it on to boil. He looked so unkempt: his suit jacket hanging from the chair was creased, his shirt only half tucked in, and his tie pulled into a tight ball of a knot. He was a far cry from the man she’d met at the newsagent’s eighteen months before – a lifetime ago. Precious had warned her at the party that she should consign that part of her life to