‘Who?’
‘Jake. I saw him at the station. When I was going up to London to spy on your Rob. Poor bloke.’
‘You never said.’
Bex raises her eyebrows at Kate. ‘I didn’t think I needed to.’
‘Where’s he going to live?’ Kate asks.
‘The pub maybe. They’ll put him up for a few days. They’re good like that. And he’s given them enough business over the years. If not, he can always stay at mine.’
‘Yours?’
Bex nods.
Kate’s shocked by the offer. Bex has never shown any inclination to be kind to Jake, even before they split up.
‘Why not? It’s just sitting empty.’
‘Thanks, Bex.’
They sit in awkward silence.
‘What is it, Katie my love?’ she asks quietly. Bex knows her too well, senses that she’s holding something back.
‘Rob thinks that my coffee might have been spiked today, before I went for a swim.’
‘Spiked? Bloody hell, Kate. Who by?’
She tells Bex about the court case, her role in it, the assurances she was given at the time that she wouldn’t be in any personal danger. Jake was convinced at the beginning that her car crash hadn’t been an accident, but Kate was just surprised it hadn’t happened before. She’d started to drink and drive, something that she’d never done before. She was a total wreck, wrung out from the work she was doing, her empty life with Jake.
‘I mean, I know it was exciting and all, but that job was so not you,’ Bex says. ‘You’re free of it now.’
Kate’s not sure she’ll ever be free of it.
20
Silas
Silas can see the stationary fire engines up ahead, their blue lights sweeping across the water meadow and reflecting off the dark canal. He’s parked as close as he can get and wonders how the units managed to get so much nearer.
‘You didn’t have to come out,’ he says to Strover, as they walk along the towpath. He’s impressed that she’s there.
‘Not so easy to ignore a text from your boss,’ she says.
‘You’ll learn.’
There’s no need for a torch. It’s a clear night. At least it was, until a column of black smoke from Jake’s boat rose up and stained the firmament. There are no casualties, but Silas wonders how the author will cope. Bets are off that he didn’t have any insurance.
‘You think it’s arson?’ Strover asks.
‘Let’s see. If he hadn’t brought in that CCTV footage today, I wouldn’t be here now. It’s the timing that worries me.’
They walk on in silence, approaching the burnt-out shell, smouldering and partly submerged like a stricken submarine. An area of the bank and towpath has been cordoned off with police tape. There’s still a crowd, but people are starting to disperse. One of the fire units is also about to leave. It feels strange to be back on the canal. Last time Silas was there, a year ago, he’d taken charge of an Armed Response incident. He would rather be tucked up in bed right now, but when he heard over the radio about a fire on a narrowboat belonging to a local author, he told a surprised Control Room that he’d take a look.
‘Thanks for coming,’ Jake says, walking over to Silas and Strover.
‘Have you given a statement?’ Silas asks, nodding in the direction of the two uniforms on site.
‘Not yet.’
‘Strover will take one.’
She pulls out her notepad and pen on cue.
‘It was deliberate,’ Jake says, turning from Silas to Strover. ‘I saw someone running away moments before.’
‘You can tell Strover everything you saw in a minute. First I want to know what you did after we met for lunch today.’
‘Me?’ Jake says, blanching like a guilty schoolboy.
Silas knows at once that he’s right. He’s had a hunch ever since this afternoon, when he paid the Bluebell pub a visit. The barman in the CCTV footage wasn’t there. According to the unhelpful landlady, he left six months ago, around the time when Kate’s drink was spiked. She also revealed, after a little persuasion, that someone had been in earlier asking questions.
‘Did you talk to anyone at the pub?’ Silas says.
‘Do you think the fire’s connected?’ Jake asks, ignoring his question.
‘Did you talk to anyone?’ Silas repeats. He’s sorry about Jake’s boat, but he’s also annoyed with him.
‘I spoke to the landlady and the barman – not the man in the video,’ Jake says.
‘And were they pleased to see you?’
‘I’ve had warmer welcomes.’ Jake stares at his feet.
Silas shakes his head, glancing across at the narrowboat behind him. It seems to have sunk lower into the water, tilting drunkenly. ‘It might not be such a cosy country pub,’ he says. ‘More into drugs than draught beer.’ He doesn’t want to say too much.
‘County lines?’ Jake asks.
Silas nods, remembering that Jake used to be a crime reporter before he became a writer. County lines is a force-wide priority for policing in Wiltshire now, as it is for the whole country. Drug networks in London and Manchester, keen to develop new heroin markets, are extending their reach to towns like Swindon, targeting surrounding villages through secondary local lines.
‘You shouldn’t have gone,’ he says. ‘Should have left it to us. Looks like you poked the wrong bear.’ He glances again at Jake’s boat.
‘So what was Kate doing there?’ Jake asks.
‘That’s what I was hoping to find out.’
Silas has a horrible feeling that she wasn’t at the Bluebell by chance. Kate had taken to her police work, became intoxicated by her ability to identify criminals. He had too. It was like investigating on steroids. But the unit had to be focused and the priority at the time was modern slavery. When Silas started to suspect that the gang they were investigating might also have links to a new heroin network operating out of Swindon, he was told by his boss to stick to his brief and leave county lines to the force’s dedicated Proactive Team. It was a frustrating time for Silas and the super-recogniser unit, particularly Kate, who was not used to being told what to do.
‘What about the trial this week?’ Jake asks. He sounds tired. Desperate. ‘Is that why I was sent the footage?’
‘We don’t know yet,’ Silas says. He wishes he did.
Jake cuts a tragic figure as he turns to the boat and then looks back at Silas. ‘You think this is related to my visit to the pub today, don’t you?’ he says. ‘You wouldn’t have come out here at midnight otherwise.’
Silas feels a pang of shame. Is he really that transparent? ‘You shouldn’t have visited the Bluebell,’ he says. And nor should Kate.
‘The jerrycan was found over there,’ Jake replies, changing the subject. He points down the towpath and pauses, struggling to keep it together. ‘If I hadn’t been awake… The fire started above where we sleep. Where I sleep.’
‘Talk to DC Strover,’ Silas says. ‘You got somewhere to stay tonight?’
Jake nods, blinking hard. It looks like it’s all suddenly caught up with him.