Page 34 of Too Close To Home

Whatever hesitations he carried about his own readiness were irrelevant.

He straightened on the stool, the subtle adjustment enough to pull himself fully back into the room. “Right. Let’s begin.”

Pete rubbed his forehead. “I take it she’s not bunking off at one of her mates’ houses?”

“Not as far as we can establish.”

“Shit.”

Harrison had read the door-to-door reports coming through. The list of friends Emily’s father had provided, a list the man had already exhausted in calling himself before calling the police. Desperate, methodical, hopeful. Of course, Emily was seventeen. She could have friends her father didn’t know of. People he hadn’t met. Someone new in her life, perhaps.

Someone who might have been here last night.

He flipped open his notebook. “I need a clear account of Miss Fisher’s movements from half past ten onwards. Who she spoke to. Who approached her. Whether she appeared to be waiting for someone specific. And whether anything, however minor, felt out of place.”

Pete leaned his forearms on the bar, expression tightening as he replayed the night. “She was meant to finish at ten thirty. Stayed on.”

“Voluntarily?”

“Aye.”

“Did anyone ask her to?”

“No.”

Harrison made a small notation. “Did she receive any calls? Text messages?”

Pete frowned. “She checked her phone a couple of times. But that’s normal, isn’t it? They’re glued to the things. I can’t ban it, and I don’t track when they look at them.”

“Of course.” Harrison made a note. “When you noticed her checking it, did her demeanour change?”

Pete glanced up the ceiling. “I don’t know,” he said slowly. “Maybe… distracted. But she was new. First proper job. I put it down to nerves. And it being a heavy male crowd in. Static Youth draw that sort.”

“Static Youth?”

“Local indie band.” Pete jerked his thumb at the back of the pub. “Jake’s their drummer. They pull numbers. Mostly blokes. Loud blokes. Who drink hard.”

Harrison made another note. “Had Miss Fisher worked a band night before?”

“No. She’s only been here a week. Asked for a job after I took her mate on. I try to keep it local where I can.” Pete shrugged. “She couldn’t serve alcohol till eighteen, but on band nights, the crowd don’t exactly return their empties. So I had her clearing tables.”

“And how would she normally have got home?”

“With her mate. Claire. Claire’s eighteen. Behind the bar. Her mum picked them up the last couple of shifts.”

“But she didn’t leave with Claire’s mother last night.”

“No.” Pete shook his head. “She stayed on.”

Harrison paused.

Officers had already spoken to Claire. Emily’s father had, too, before he’d even called it in. Claire said Emily had wanted to stay the last hour. Pick up a bit of extra money. Her choice. But Pete had been clear—no one had asked her. No extra shift. No pressure. She’d chosen to stay. It was a small distinction. Barely anything on paper.

In practice, though?

It counted.

Why stay if she wasn’t being paid? If no one needed her? If her lift had been there, as it always was, and she let it go anyway, leaving her to walk home alone? People didn’t do that without a reason.