Page 91 of Glasshouses

“What’s in it for me?”

“Exclusives. When this case is fully done, I’ll come on your podcast again.”

She nodded. “Fine. Let me know when I can get that other news up.”

“Will do. Right, Lachy, let’s get you out of here.”

He turned round to look at Darcy before the door hit him on the arse.

I could’ve done without this evening. I felt like I hadn’t been home for days rather than hours, and I wanted some time away from other living beings without being asleep. Time just to stare at a newly plastered wall, or review the tiles Taz had sent me a photo of earlier, now back from wherever he’d been early.

But instead, I was in a pub that tried its hardest not to be trendy, cops and forensics spilling outside like an overflowing toilet. When I’d first become a DC, this had been the dream; being part of a tight-knit team that looked out for each other, grabbing adrenalin-fuelled results and righting the wrongs of society.

To an extent, it was right, but I’d come to realise that black and white didn’t exist and all we had were varying shades of grey and a degree of colour-blindness. I’d yet to be on a case where it was a clear-cut case of a murderer confessing and all the evidence making it irrefutable, and I wasn’t sure I’d trust that if it ever happened.

I replicated the last round, plus a coke for myself because I was driving home later, and walked into the jaws of my colleagues who were already on their way to the sort of state that only sunshine and beer could create. It didn’t matter that it was Wednesday, and most of them had work tomorrow, one of ours was leaving and custom stated that we had to send them off in an alcohol-induced coma.

Jenna and Nate were somewhere in the midst of it all, my brother sporting a pint of lemonade because he was on call, while Jenna had a glass of something fizzy. She held it up to me when she spotted me, and I headed over, a safe space away from Lachy and Vinny who seemed rowdier than normal for these things.

“Good turn out.”

She nodded. “Any excuse.”

“Always. Verity was looking for you.” She pointed to Verity, who had her arms wrapped around her new boyfriend, one of the firefighters we’d met the week before.

“She’ll find me when she’s ready.” I doubted she’d be ready any time soon. Her head – and hands – seemed full of her new bloke.

“Who’s the man I’ve seen going in and out of your house?” Jenna asked, not even trying to hide her nosiness.

“A friend. He’s helping out with some house stuff.”

“What sort of friend? I saw he stayed overnight.”

“He slept on the sofa. I know him through a case.” She wasn’t getting any more than that.

“Okay. He’s rather attractive.” Her expression was neutral. She was still fishing.

“Is he?” Someone knocked into me on the way from the bar, splashing me with beer.

“Don’t tell me you haven’t noticed.”

“I’m too tired to notice.” It was almost true. I was too tired. Maybe not to notice.

“You’re not dead. What’s he called?”

“Taz.”

“You’re being very secretive. I smell that there’s something more going on.” She was treading dangerously.

“There really isn’t. He helped out on a case earlier in the year and I sometimes see him when I’m running. He offered to help out with the bathroom while he’s between jobs.” Did I want there to be something more with Taz? He’d kissed me once, not romantically though, and I still thought about it.

“What does he do?”

That was a good question. “Something in IT.”

“Useful. Nate’s told me about Andrew Smith. Likely murder.” She swiped a seat straight after someone had walked away. I made her hutch up, so I could perch there too.

“Did Nate tell you what they used?”