Page 39 of The Guilty Girl

‘Make and colour?’ he prompted.

‘Fiat Punto. Blue. You don’t honestly think Jake had something to do with this murder, do you?’

‘I just need to talk to him. Which boxing club is he affiliated to?’

‘Ragmullin Goldstars. They use a gym in the old squash club. Jake goes there three times a week to train.’

‘He’s good, too,’ Shaz said.

‘Who runs the club?’

‘I’m not sure, but I can find out,’ Liz said, frowning, as if suddenly realising there was a lot about her son she didn’t know.

‘Leave it to us.’

‘You know Lucy’s dad is an agent for professional boxers?’

Lottie glanced at Kirby, who shrugged a shoulder. ‘Okay. We’ll put out an alert for your car and for Jake. I need a photograph of him.’

Sharon took a battered iPhone with a cracked screen from her jeans pocket. ‘I can send you one.’

Lottie handed over a card with her details. She glanced at the photo of Jake that the girl had opened on her phone. His front teeth overlapped slightly and his skin was pale against his dark hair, which was shaved on one side. Sad but sweet. Not the image you’d have of a young drug dealer, or even a murderer. But Lottie knew murderers often didn’t fit the perceived mould.

She followed Kirby out of the kitchen, Liz and Sharon close behind.

‘When Jake comes home,’ she said, ‘contact me immediately.’

She closed the door on the silence.

* * *

The boy sheltered in the gloom of the alley, hands on the brakes, ready to pedal off if he needed to make a quick exit.

He’d seen the two detectives go into the house. He’d taken a piss against the wall but still hadn’t had time to eat, and he was fucking starving.

They’d been in there a long time and he wondered if Sharon had opened her big mouth. There was no way you could trust kids. They’d say anything. He didn’t think of himself as a kid. He was fifteen, same as Jake, but Sharon was only ten. And she was a girl. Ugh!

As the detectives came out of the house, he watched the leggy one with the scuffed handbag talk to the small fat guy across the roof of the car before they got in and drove off.

With his mobile phone in his hand, he tapped another text and sent it. Jake was in big trouble now. When his phone pinged with the reply, he pedalled away to his next mission.

* * *

Jake felt the blood seep from his side. It had happened so fast, he’d hardly had time to react, except to try and hide. It proved how much of a coward he was outside the ring.

He thought of Shaz waiting all night for her chips and nuggets. A strangled screech caught in his throat. Here he was, tied up, not knowing whether he would live or die, and he was thinking about his little sister not getting her food. He groaned and the pain increased. He had no idea where he was, but the ground beneath him was cold concrete.

How long had he been knocked out? A good few hours, he thought, because he could see a little daylight through the jamb of the door. The ache in his back was excruciating, the wound in his side unbearable, and his mind magnified his fear a thousand times.

A door creaked inwards and the space filled with brightness, blinding him. He raised his bound hands to shield his eyes. A human shape loomed towards him. Jake’s eyes were badly bruised and almost closed, but he was able to make out a chain wrapped around a hand.

‘Please don’t kill me,’ he whimpered. He realised then that he was gagged and the sound was smothered by the rag.

His captor flicked the chain. Jake wondered why he had been so stupid. The toxic people he’d warned Shaz about had got him. He curled his body as best he could despite his restraints as the first lash cut through his skin.

‘I’m sorry,’ he said, knowing that no one who mattered could hear him.

He feared no one would hear his voice ever again.