‘Is that how the saying goes?’ Andrew asked, trying to make a joke.

‘What?’

It was clear to Andrew that Jessica worked very much with one-sided conversations which she controlled. ‘Nothing, don’t worry about it,’ he replied. ‘What are you after?’

Jessica explained the only link she knew of between the suicide of Harley’s daughter and the fire which destroyed the man’s house. It was a young man named Ryan, whose father was a convicted killer and arsonist. He had been in the photos she had taken from him. As she spoke, Andrew reloaded the images on his computer so he could familiarise himself with what the teenager looked like. From the photographs he had, Ryan was the person who had fed Sienna chips.

‘Obviously this call hasn’t happened,’ Jessica said. ‘But I was just wondering if you could perhaps keep an eye on Ryan? You’re being paid to find out information which could be relevant to him anyway and, of course, I’d be really grateful . . .’

Andrew almost laughed, wondering if the sergeant knew how fake her pleading voice sounded. She had the bollocking-angry one down to a T – but the one where she was trying to be nice needed work. He wondered if he should tell her but figured he didn’t want to risk hearing the irate voice again.

‘What am I going to get in return?’ he asked.

‘I’ve already given you information about Ryan which could help you,’ she replied.

‘Are you saying he could be the father?’

‘Maybe . . .’

‘You’re not, are you?’

The line went silent for a moment before Jessica began to speak, her voice slightly harsher. ‘No, probably not. Well, maybe. Look, do you want me to be honest?’

Andrew laughed. ‘Go on then.’

‘Basically, we don’t have a bloody clue what’s going on. We’ve got fires, attempted arsons, suicides, knobheads working at newspapers, all sorts. I suggested you might be able to help. The people I work with aren’t so keen but I think they’ll turn a blind eye as long as any shite ends up sticking to me, not them.’

Andrew couldn’t stop himself from laughing again. ‘That’s a lovely picture you’re painting.’

He heard Jessica join in and, for the first time since she phoned, Andrew felt as if she was being herself with him. ‘People tell me I have a way with words,’ she said.

Andrew suddenly realised he had missed something. ‘Hang on, “suicides”? As in more than one?’ It was the first he had heard of it.

‘That’s the other thing,’ Jessica replied. ‘Sienna’s best friend, Molly, killed herself yesterday. We’re expecting it to hit the news tomorrow. It might even be on TV tonight, I don’t know. Our press office is trying to keep things quiet for now but it’ll only stay like that for a while. That’s where my knobhead at the newspaper comes into things.’

‘Where are you from?’ Andrew asked. ‘You’re not a Manc, are you?’

‘No, why?’

‘Because if you’re going around calling people “knobheads”, you’ve definitely been working here too long.’

He heard Jessica sigh. ‘Yeah, you’re right. Anyway, we don’t know why these girls killed themselves. We don’t know why Harley’s house was burned down, or any of the other stuff I told you about. All we know is that Ryan is the only person we know who links it all together.’

‘So you want me to follow him?’

‘I can’t ask you to do that.’

Andrew was confused. ‘You don’t want me to follow him?’

He heard the woman give an exasperated gasp. ‘I don’t think you heard me quite right,’ she replied, annoyed. ‘I can’t ask you to do anything. If you do choose to do something along those lines and then call me regularly to tell me what’s going on, that would be up to you. Obviously if that were to happen, there may be times in the future where I might be able to call you and pass on pieces of information you might not necessarily have. As a friend, of course. If anyone were to examine certain phone records, I would just be talking to an old mate on the phone.’

Andrew laughed, feeling stupid for not picking up on her initial hint. ‘We’re friends then?’

‘Oh yeah, we go way back. You, me, my boyfriend, your girlfriend, wife, boyfriend or whatever. It’s all dinner parties and that type of shite. Old, old friends.’

‘All right but, if we’re such old pals, you would know that I don’t have a girlfriend or boyfriend.’

‘Wife?’

‘Yeah, she’s just not married to me any longer.’

‘Oh.’

Andrew heard Jessica pause. He wanted to make a joke of things to stop the conversation being uncomfortable. ‘Trust me Jess, never get married,’ he said as breezily as he could, not believing anything he was saying. ‘Only fools get married. Or “knobheads” as you might say.’ The silence from the other end started to become uncomfortable. ‘Er, Sergeant . . . ?’

‘It’s Jess.’

‘Yeah, sorry, erm . . . I was only joking. You’re not married, are you? It’s just you said boyfriend, so I . . .’

She replied far too quickly and Andrew knew he had said the wrong thing. ‘No, no, it’s fine. So, er, right. Are we all right, then? On the same page and all that?’

‘Yeah, that’s fine. I’ll call you.’

‘Thank you. Bye.’

The line went silent. Andrew stared at the screen for a few moments before it hit him. He remembered seeing the engagement ring on her finger the very first time he had met her in the service yard at the back of that electrical store.

He remembered Keira’s engagement ring, bought when he had hardly any money. It was a thin strip of white gold fitted with the smallest of diamonds. Even given its size, he had to haggle over the price because he couldn’t have afforded it otherwise. She insisted it was perfect but the look on her father’s face when he saw it – half-amusement, half-disgust – was something Andrew had never forgotten.

‘Sorry, Jess,’ he said quietly to the empty room, hoping she had more luck than he had.

Andrew was beginning to regret the first decision of his day. Jessica had told him that Ryan didn’t drive – even though he worked in a garage – and, given that, he thought it would be best if he got some exercise and used public transport. That was definitely his first mistake. Sitting in his own vehicle in traffic that hardly seemed to move each morning was a nuisance. Sitting in a vehicle with fifty or more strangers in traffic that hardly seemed to move went far beyond that.

There were the fourteen-year-old boys at the back of the bus in their ill-fitting school uniforms, swearing and scowling at anyone who dared to look in their direction. Then there were the young teenage girls in front of the boys, split into two both physically by the aisle and their attitude. A handful on one side were leaning over the backs of the seats, chatting to the lads, or applying make-up. The others were seemingly unhappy at both the other girls – and the boys.

After that, there were the people in suits on their way to work, constantly checking their watches and a few older folk looking slightly bemused. Probably thinking about how much things had changed since their day, Andrew thought before realising he had stereotyped everyone on the bus. The one thing which definitely wasn’t just in his head was that everyone seemed to have a mobile phone in their hand – even the pensioners.

When the bus finally stopped in the city centre, Andrew hurried through the streets until he reached the hotel Jessica had told him Ryan was staying in. Although she hadn’t been able to give him any specific details about the schedule the teenager kept, Jessica said he usually went to college in the mornings and worked at a garage in the afternoons. What he got up to in the evenings was anyone’s guess.

Andrew sat in the window of a coffee shop across the road, sipping on a cappuccino and watching the world pass him by. Gentle rain started to fall as the pace of everything, from the cars buzzing past, to the speed at which people were walking, seemed to increase. The glass began to mist up, so he finished his drink and left the cafe before crossing to the hotel. Although he was confident of his ability to blend into most scenes, standing in the rain was always a guaranteed way to make yourself stand out.