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DS Paul sighed and leaned her elbows on the table. “It’s going to be at least tomorrow before we can get you a solicitor. Wouldn’t you rather just save us all some time and tell us everything now?”
“Not especially.”
DS Paul shook her head. “You’ve done it now, you know, Jesse. I can’t help you this time.”
“Have I asked you to?”
Anger tinged with sadness filled her tired eyes. She exchanged glances with the constable and stood. “The custody sergeant will find somewhere nice and comfy for you, until you’re willing to speak to us. I believe your usual suite is available.”
The next thing he know, Jesse was sat on a concrete bench in a whitewashed cell, shivering and cursing. He clenched his hands together and stared at the floor, mentally playing through the conversation he’d be having with his brother in between now and going to prison for another three-to-five.
“Christ, if Mum were alive to see this.”
Then he thought of Oliver, his eyes round with sadness as his dad tried to explain he wouldn’t be seeing Uncle Jesse for a while.
He kicked his heel into the bench and buried his head in his hands.
He didn’t move again until he heard the door opening.
DS Paul stood there with her arms crossed and a heavy frown on her face. “Well, young man, it appears you really do have the luck of the devil.”
“Come again?”
“You’re free to go.”
“I… What?”
“Charges have been dropped,” she said, standing back and gesturing out of the door. “You better get outta my sight before your luck runs out.”
Jesse stepped out of the cell in something like a dream, accepting his phone and belt from the grim-faced custody sergeant.
“What about Trixy?”
Paul raised an eyebrow. “She doesn’t have your luck, apparently. Now get out of here.”
Jesse stood in the slush outside Fulford Road Police Station with his mind whirling and his head pounding. A quick search of local news sites and the police Twitter feed revealed nothing. He shook his head and was turning for home when a tall woman in a dark suit and blank expression stepped into his path. Even without the goggles, he recognized the woman on the quad bike from Oswald House.
“If you wouldn’t mind coming with us, Mr. Truelove,” she said as she reached out and opened the back door of a waiting car.
Jesse blinked. “Uh, what?”
“It would very much be in your best interests to come quietly, sir.”
“Who the fuck are you?”
The woman didn’t flinch. “I represent the party responsible for your release. The condition of your charges being dropped was that you are to meet him in person.”
Jesse stopped himself from backing away with an effort. “Him?”
“Please, sir,” the woman said, gesturing to the car. “The heating’s on.”
Jesse stood shivering another moment more, then climbed in.
He watched out of the car window as they drove out of the city and into the dark, spreading countryside. Nervousness rasped over his skin like sandpaper. His companion was still and silent next to him, but Jesse didn’t think it was an accident that her jacket was unbuttoned just enough to allow Jesse to see the holster under her arm.
After an hour, Jesse was beginning to wonder whether he should be trying to call someone when they turned onto a track with tire marks in the fresh snow.
Finally he could see something ahead—lighted windows of a large building. The car pulled up, and his companion climbed out and opened his door. Jesse clutched his phone tight and got out of the car.
