Read Crossing the Line (Kerry Wilkinson) for Free Online Page B

want to be late. I really don’t remember
    anything about Anarky.’
    Tony slurped down his tea in one go as Jessica finished the dregs of hers and then helped him carry
    everything into the kitchen. ‘It’s good to see you’ve sorted yourself out. Given the number of man-
    hours you’ve cost us over the years, we’ll probably throw a going-away party for you if you do go.’
    Tony took it in the spirit it was meant, laughing and picking up a denim jacket. ‘What happened to
    your old coat?’ she added.
    ‘That giant thing with the yellow foam spilling out?’
    ‘It was how we identified you on CCTV a few times – like your calling card.’
    As he unlatched the door to the flat, Tony pointed towards a cupboard built into the wall. ‘In there
    – I wanted to throw it away with everything else but it’s like an old mate.’
    He led her down the stairs and out of the front door. ‘Do you need a lift?’ Jessica asked.
    ‘It’s only around the corner. I—’ Tony stopped himself, peering across the road where a man in a
    sharp suit and long expensive-looking overcoat was leaning against a lamppost, staring at the front
    door. He had a shaven head and was wearing a pair of leather gloves. Jessica saw the man’s eyes
    flicker from Tony to her and then back again. He tapped his wrist as if to indicate a watch and then
    removed a phone from his pocket and turned his back.
    ‘Who’s that?’ Jessica asked.
    ‘No one.’
    ‘It looked like he knew you.’
    ‘Never seen him before.’
    Before she could reply, Tony began hurrying along the pavement, hands in his pockets, nervously
    glancing towards the other side of the road where the bald man still had his back turned, phone
    pressed to his ear. Jessica had no idea who he was but even from a distance, she could smell
    something distinctive: trouble.
    5
    Izzy stuck a small pile of Post-it notes on Jessica’s computer monitor and stepped backwards,
    narrowly avoiding tripping over a haphazard stack of cardboard folders and collapsing into a chair.
    ‘Are you ever going to move office?’
    Jessica skimmed the top note. ‘I don’t want to cause all that upheaval for everyone.’
    ‘You mean you don’t want to move all your crap?’
    Jessica peered over her glasses at the constable, nodding towards the back corner where a grubby
    pile of cardboard document boxes were stacked. ‘That too, Christ knows what’s back there.’ She
    paused, before adding: ‘You know, you’ve become a lot more cynical since you let your hair go back
    to its natural colour. When you were red or purple, you were nice happy-go-lucky Izzy, now you’re
    all “isn’t everything shite”.’
    Izzy started tugging at her hair. ‘Perhaps it’s just that my level of cynicism is directly related to how long I’ve worked with you? Either that, or it’s since I had Amber.’
    ‘How old is she now?’
    ‘Twenty-five months.’
    Jessica counted on her fingers. ‘Two then?’
    ‘Pretty much.’
    ‘I’ve never got that with parents – ask them how old their kid is and it’s like: “Ooh, little Billy’s
    thirty-eight months now”. You don’t get that off adults, do you? Take your first boyfriend home and
    you tell your dad he’s one hundred and seventy-nine months, or whatever.’
    Izzy let her strand of hair go. ‘Fancy a tea before I talk you through everything?’
    ‘No chance – my body’s about forty per cent Earl Grey at the moment. Before I started here, I never
    drank the stuff, now I can’t get through to lunch without ten cups.’
    In the other half of the room, a phone started ringing. Izzy started to stretch towards it but Jessica
    told her to leave it. ‘They’ve not managed to redirect Louise’s calls to the sergeant station yet, so
    everything comes through here.’
    ‘Doesn’t that mean we should answer it?’
    Jessica took off her glasses and rubbed her eyes. ‘How long have you worked here?’
    ‘Three, four years?’
    ‘Lesson number three is never