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But knowing it and being able to use it were two very different things. He couldn’t walk into the incident room and announce the connection without someone asking the obvious question: how did he know Brodie had the tattoo?

And the answer led straight to Jake.

To information Harrison had disclosed when he shouldn’t have. To Jake taking that information to Hull. To a potential witness being approached outside the investigation. One question would become another, and before long Harrison wouldn’t simply have compromised himself; he risked contaminating whatever evidential value the connection to Brodie might eventually have.

No. If Brodie Simmons belonged anywhere near this investigation, Harrison needed to get there properly.

Independently.

He needed the evidence to lead them to Brodie, not Jake Whitton.

So Harrison had to be clever.

“I also want ANPR expanded on her vehicle. Petrol stations, retail parks, industrial routes, motorway exits. Everything between Hull and Hartswick.”

“Right.”

“And chase Humberside regarding the flat.”

That had become another problem. Lauren Pike’s address in Hull had been entered by local officers earlier that afternoon after next of kin confirmation, but the timing had been poor. Neighbours had gathered outside. Press circulated. Uniforms trying to preserve scene integrity in a cramped block of council flats while half the corridor watched through barely opened doors.

“What’ve they found so far?” Harrison asked.

Murray shuffled papers somewhere down the line. “Initial scene preservation only at the moment. Humberside CID are conducting the search now. Early indications are that there are no obvious signs of forced entry or struggle.”

“Phones?”

“One smartphone recovered smashed in the kitchen bin. Digital are attempting extraction. No sign of the missing vehicle keys yet.”

“Anything suggesting she left expecting to come back?”

“Flat was lived in. Food in the fridge. Washing half done. Bed slept in.”

Nothing to suggest Lauren hadn’t expected to return. But Harrison knew better than most how little that proved. People imagined there would be signs when someone intended to disappear from their life. Drawers emptied. Clothes packed. Notes left behind. Some visible indication that an ordinary day had stopped being ordinary.

Sometimes there was nothing.

Sometimes the washing remained unfinished. Food went out of date in the fridge. Keys stayed where they’d always been left. A bed waited to be slept in again. Because whether someone intended to run, disappear, or end their life, they didn’t necessarily dismantle it first. Sometimes they left everything exactly where it was. Especially if they didn’t want anyone stopping them. Why leave anything behind that might give them away?

I’m sorry, Harry, baby. You would have tried to stop me.

Chris’s ghost slipped through before Harrison could stop it and he swallowed, pushing him back into whatever corner of himself it had crawled from.

Not now.

So Lauren’s flat couldn’t tell him what she’d intended when she walked out of it. Only that she hadn’t taken much with her when she left.

“Any diaries? Client lists?”

“Not yet.”

Which meant one of two things. Either Lauren had been careful, or someone else already had been.

Traffic slowed as Harrison reached the edge of town. Grey evening light spread across Hartswick in washed-out layers, the moors hazy beyond the rooftops. Normally, he liked this stretch of road. The breathing space before the station. Tonight, it only gave him too much time to think.

Too much time to replay Jake saying I ain’t him.

Christ.