Page 157 of Good Girl, Bad Blood

‘I need you to find him,’ Nat said, and there was quiver to her lip now that wasn’t there before, a sheen to her dried-out eyes. ‘Jamie, he . . . he’s really important to me. And I-I just need him to be OK.’

It was Pip who reached across the table now, taking Nat’s hand in hers, her thumb hovering above the sharp ridges and falls of Nat’s knuckles. ‘I’m trying,’ she said.

Thirty-Five

Ravi was jittery, moving too much, disturbing the air beside her as they walked.

‘How scary did you say this guy is again?’ he asked, his fingers finding their way into the pocket of Pip’s jacket, hooking on.

‘Pretty scary,’ she said.

‘And he’s a drug dealer.’

‘Think he’s higher up than that,’ she said as they turned on to Beacon Close.

‘Oh good,’ Ravi said. ‘Howie’s boss. Are we going to blackmail this one too?’

Pip shrugged, pulled a face at him. ‘Whatever works.’

‘Great. Cool,’ Ravi said. ‘Really love that new motto, covers all bases. Yep. Cool. This is all fine. Which house is he?’

‘Number thirteen.’ Pip pointed out the house with the white BMW parked outside.

‘Thirteen?’ Ravi squinted at her. ‘Oh fabulous. Another good sign, that is.’

‘Come on,’ Pip said, suppressing a smile, patting him twice on the backside as they walked up the path alongside the car, the one they’d chased on Wednesday night. Pip glanced at it, and back at Ravi, then she pressed her finger into the doorbell. The sound was shrill and piercing.

‘I bet everyone dreads the day they get a knock at the door from Pip Fitz-Amobi,’ Ravi whispered.

The door pulled open sharply, and Luke Eaton stood before them, wearing the same black basketball shorts and a grey T-shirt which clashed with the colour of the tattoos scaling the pale skin of his neck.

‘Hello. Again,’ he added gruffly. ‘What is it this time?’

‘We need to ask you some questions, about Jamie Reynolds,’ Pip said, standing as tall as she could.

‘Shame,’ Luke said, itching one leg with the foot of the other. ‘I really don’t like questions.’

He slapped his hand forcefully against the door.

‘No, I –’ Pip said, but it was too late. The door slammed shut before her words could make it through the gap. ‘Fuck,’ she said loudly, an urge to hit the door with her fist.

‘I didn’t think he’d talk . . .’ But Ravi’s voice trailed off as he watched Pip crouch by the front door, pushing her fingers against the letterbox to hold it open. ‘What are you doing?’

She drew her face close and shouted through the small rectangular opening: ‘I know Jamie owed you money when he went missing. If you talk to us, I’ll give you the nine hundred pounds he owes you!’

She straightened up, the letterbox closing with a metallic clang. Ravi narrowed his eyes angrily at her, mouthing, ‘What?’

But Pip didn’t have time to offer an answer, because Luke was pulling the door open again, his jawbone protruding and retreating as he chewed on an answer.

‘All of it?’ he said with a click of his tongue.

‘Yes.’ The word rushed out of her, breathy but firm. ‘All nine hundred. I’ll get it to you next week.’

‘In cash,’ he said, eyes alighting on hers.

‘Yes, OK,’ she nodded, ‘by the end of next week.’

‘Alright.’ He pulled the door fully open on its hinge. ‘You’ve got a deal there, Sherlock.’