Page 90 of Too Close To Home

The woman on the stool beside him slid away, so Jake pulled it closer, dropping onto it so he faced Harrison fully. Long legs stretched out in tight denim, T-shirt riding up his stomach, boots braced against the floor.

Harrison cleared his throat into his fist and looked back at his drink.

“So you weren’t here to check me out?” Jake cocked his head, then suddenly snapped it back. “Meaning the band.”

“Let’s call it two birds, one stone.” Harrison smiled, taking a drink. “You were good, though.”

Jake huffed a small laugh. “Aye. Cheers.” He drummed his fingers idly on the bar. “What’s the latest?”

“Nothing new.” Harrison took another drink. “We’re approaching the seventy-two-hour mark.”

“When it changes, right?” Jake chewed his lip. “When you stop looking for someone alive and start looking for a body.”

Harrison exhaled. Jake clearly knew that line of thinking too well.

“We keep every line of inquiry open.”

The door to the back corridor swung open then, and Brodie returned, tossing the keys back behind the bar before glancing between the two of them. Then he exchanged a brief look with Jake that Harrison couldn’t quite read.

“Pete says he’ll send the footage from Wednesday over,” Brodie said to Harrison. “He’s sorting it now.”

“Thank you.”

Brodie nodded once and drifted away to clear empty glasses.

Jake watched Brodie walk away before turning back. “How come you’re here for more CCTV?”

“A new lead came up.”

Jake tilted his head. “Which is?”

Harrison finished the last of his pint, set the glass on the beer mat, and turned on the stool. “You know I can’t discuss an active investigation with you.”

Jake held his gaze. “Andy Mitchell.”

Of course.

Harrison could refuse to engage. Probably should. Instead, he told himself there was some value in seeing what Jake made of the discrepancy.

“He claims he was here Wednesday evening. One pint, sometime before six.” Harrison nodded towards the other end of the bar, where Brodie was stacking glasses. “Says your barman served him. Your barman says he doesn’t remember him. Apparently doesn’t even know who he is.”

Jake followed his gaze. “He ain’t my barman.”

“Turn of phrase.”

Jake looked back at him. “He should know Andy.”

“So why say he doesn’t?”

Jake worried on his bottom lip for a moment. “Brodie likes stirring shit. Mouthy little fucker.”

“Would he have any reason to protect Mitchell?”

“No.” The answer came quickly. “Can’t see why.”

“Then why lie about knowing him?”

Jake was quiet for a second, then he shrugged. “Maybe because of me.”