Page 56 of Her Last Breath

‘Sorry to hear that. I guess we all carry our ghosts with us.’

Jane compared her own traumatic life, feeling it didn’t quite measure up to DS Johnson’s. Feeling sorry for him, understanding why the promotion had meant so much, she saw a reflection of herself. Her own self-worth, not validated by her mother, was totally bound up with her job.

‘It doesn’t make sense to me. My parents were doped out of their brains and fucking useless, never had time for me. Yet staying here means I’m connected to something. To them.’

‘I get that.’

Hadn’t she swallowed back decades of resentment to return to her own mother?

‘I was eight years old when I found my parents overdosed. Both of them died from the same fucked up, contaminated mixture. I still remember running from one to the other, trying to help them, but it was no use …’

This unexpected revelation, raw as it was heartbreaking, sucker-punched Jane.

‘I’m so sorry, I had no idea.’

‘Not something I like to brag about. People like that really shouldn’t be allowed to have kids.’ A beat and then he added, ‘I thought that about Alice Rogers. When I found out she had kids, I hate to admit this, but I thought they’d be better off with her parents.’

Jane could understand his sentiments, even if she didn’t agree with them. At heart, Alice was a fierce, determined mum.

‘The Rogers remind me of the nice old white people that fostered me on occasion. Never for very long, though.’

Again, Jane couldn’t help but feel empathy for Dave Johnson as a child, all alone, facing the world. However bad her parents were, they still provided her with a home and safety net.

‘One guy was an ex-police officer. Really good bloke, a bit OCD, but he taught me a lot.’

‘Is that where you get it from?’ Jane joked, attempting to lighten the mood.

‘I guess, I don’t really see it. Others tell me I can be a bit anal about things. I’m pretty difficult to be around, I know. Friends and the occasional ex-girlfriend have told me that. But in my head this job is my calling. It gives me a sense of belonging, so I like to make sure everything is done properly. Thoroughly.’

‘You make it sound so noble,’ she said drily. ‘I think for loads of people it’s just a job. One that comes with seeing really crap stuff as part of the benefits package.’

He laughed, then asked tentatively, as if fearful of crossing a line: ‘What’s your worst experience? Case-wise, I mean.’

‘Baby at the hands of his mother and stepfather,’ she said, her voice full of the emotion she was feeling. ‘Took me years to get those images out of my head.’

‘Jesus!’

‘What about you?’ she asked, pushing her rising emotion away.

‘Young woman. It was a people trafficking incident. By the time I opened the van doors, seventeen people were already dead. Their bodies stank, the whole back of that lorry did. Everyone dead except for one woman; she must have been twenty, if that. I didn’t understand a word she was saying and I knew there was nothing I could do for her.’

Jane was quiet, to acknowledge the tragedy and loss. It was hard to describe to others how you grieved for victims that weren’t related to you. Each violent, cruel, unnecessary death felt personal. Almost like evidence of your failure, an accusation that you didn’t protect this person. Driving you on to get justice for them.

‘I held on to her hands, trying to reassure her, hoping that even though she didn’t understand my words, she got what I was saying to her. It felt like such a waste. I made sure she wasn’t alone at the end, though. That was all I could do for her.’

‘Did they catch the killers? The people smugglers?’

‘Yes, I did,’ he replied firmly.

Jane turned away, checking out a young man heading towards the pub, watching as he walked past it, following his journey down the road to give DS Johnson time to gather himself.

‘That’s him,’ Johnson said suddenly, checking his side mirror.

Jane peered into the rear-view mirror. A spindly-looking bloke, on the shorter side, as DS Johnson had told her, was heading their way. He had a cap pulled low and a dark jacket on.

‘If you get out first, he won’t know you,’ DS Johnson said.

Opening her car door as quietly as she could, Jane stepped out into the chilly evening. Looking at Matthews without looking at him, she overtook him briskly then turned around to block his path. Realising something was wrong, he spun round, but it was too late. DS Johnson had opened the car door and now barred his way.