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‘Don’t you want me, Jack?’ Tears welled quickly in Tania’s eyes. ‘Am I ugly?’

‘You’re beautiful, Tania. But I don’t like this version of you. And I don’t think you do either.’ As Jack’s words hit a nerve, she began to struggle. Jack didn’t want to hold on to her wrists, but she was pulling away so hard that he feared if he let go, she’d fall. He steered her towards the sofa and dropped her onto the cushions. Tania curled up into a ball and started sobbing.

In her small black leather shoulder bag, Jack found a provisional driving licence with her home address. He ordered an Uber to come and collect her, then perched on the coffee table. ‘Tania, I’ll help you with your dad, if you tell me about the man who’s promising you the world.’

When Tania spoke, the Marilyn Monroe impression had gone, and her natural upper crust accent had taken over. ‘He takes care of me. He loves me.’ Tania struggled to sit up. Her hair was a mess, her make-up was smudged, and her tear-streaked cheeks and neck were blotchy.

But just as it seemed she was about to open up, Tania vanished, and Marilyn Monroe returned. She leapt up, collecting her shoes and the bottle of champagne. ‘I make mistakes...’ the breathy, whispered voice was back, ‘but if you can’t handle me at my worst, then you sure as hell don’t deserve me at my best.’

Tania moved to the front door, taking small, careful steps, so she could dial and walk at the same time. ‘Where am I? I need to tell my lift where I am.’ Jack reminded her there was an Uber on the way, which was already paid for. Tania struggled to open the front door, dropping her shoes, then the champagne. Jack handed her champagne bottle back to her then helped her get out into the street where, thankfully, the Uber was already parked up waiting. As Tania climbed into the front of the car, Jack caught part of what she said before she slammed the passenger door shut. ‘I didn’t think he was going to let me out...’ Jack got a long, disgusted look from the driver as he turned the car round and drove off.

Jack sat on the sofa, poured himself a fresh glass of wine, and waited for Maggie and Penny to come home. It was 11 p.m. when they finally staggered in, so excited about the wedding dress fitting that he chose not to mention his visit from Tania Wetlock. Penny went straight to bed, but Maggie was in the mood for talking.

When Jack next glanced at the time on his mobile, it was 2 a.m.

At 7 a.m., Jack woke on the sofa beneath a blanket. Maggie was now sitting in the armchair, swiping through her mobile, checking out novelty ideas for homemade wedding favours. She’d covered him up around 2.30 a.m. and gone to bed. Jack sat up, massaging his stiff neck. Maggie smiled across at him. ‘Whose red lipstick is on your wine glass?’

Maggie sat on the closed toilet seat listening to Jack rant about bloody Tania Wetlock as he showered for work. ‘She came on to me, I’ll tell you that up front. If I’d been a shitter person, I could have done anything I wanted.’

‘I am sorry, Jack. I’ll talk to him again.’

‘She needs help. But that’s on her dad’s shoulders, Mags, not mine. And not yours. If I had the name and address of her talent scout, I could check him out, but until then...’ Jack let out a heavy sigh. He dropped his head, closed his eyes and let the water cascade through his hair and down his face. ‘You should have seen the look the Uber guy gave me.’

Maggie stepped into the shower and wrapped her arms around him. ‘I’ll tell Mr Wetlock that you’ve done all you can.’

Jack looked thoughtful and slightly sulky. ‘Is he really short and fat?’

Maggie laughed, putting her hands around his waist and kissing him whilst confirming that Wetlock could look like Gerard Butler, and she still wouldn’t notice him.

‘Gerard Butler! Really?’ Jack laughed. ‘Should I grow a beard? Would you like that?’ Their playfulness soon turned to spontaneous passion, and they made quick, intense love in the shower before both having to race to work.

Jack expected to be last in but, in fact, Ridley crept in five minutes behind him, fuelling Anik’s immature speculation that he’d got himself a sexually demanding girlfriend. Ridley, with his mobile to his ear, didn’t acknowledge anyone, heading straight to his office as he listened intently to whoever was on the other end of the phone. Whoever it was, they were putting him in a visibly bad mood.

Eventually, he stepped back out of his office looking very serious, even for him. ‘In the early hours of this morning, Mr Bernard Warton, the next-door neighbour of Avril Jenkins, was woken by the sound of breaking glass. He saw smoke coming from her back garden, so called the fire brigade. The greenhouse and its contents were pretty much gone by the time they arrived. The fire service immediately put on face masks to protect themselves from the toxic fumes coming from the hundreds of cannabis plants that had been growing inside.’

Laura and Anik, open-mouthed, turned to Jack in stunned slow motion. He’d been to her house twice! How the hell didn’t he know she was growing enough weed to supply the whole of Kingston? Anik brought his hand to his mouth in a half-hearted attempt to hide his giggling — he was going to enjoy making sure this monumental cock-up followed Jack around for years.

Ridley continued. ‘A gas canister exploded, injuring one fire officer, but they eventually made the area safe. The sub officer called Kingston nick to check the house for occupants. In the en suite to the master bedroom, they found the body of Avril Jenkins. It wasn’t pretty.’

In that moment, all eyes turned to Anik as he desperately tried to rewind the last twenty seconds of his life. Ridley dropped the Jenkins file into the bin. ‘Needless to say, the Avril Jenkins case stays with us.’

Chapter 5

The remains of the burnt-out greenhouse were taped off by an inner cordon which started around eight feet away from the blackened brickwork. Just inside this cordon, two men in blue boiler suits and face masks were exploring every inch of the scorched garden whilst waiting to be told by the fire brigade’s sub officer that it was safe to step inside the greenhouse walls, where a knee-deep mess of rubble, ash and water awaited them. On the back of their boiler suits was DRUG SQUAD in white lettering.

Jack and Anik stood just outside the inner cordon, wearing white paper suits and face masks complete with carbon filters and air vents to protect them from the stagnant air, still heavy with the smell of cannabis. The outer perimeter for this particular crime scene was further out than normal as an extra precaution, and the immediate neighbours had been temporarily evacuated.

A familiar voice came from behind Jack. ‘It’s a pro set-up.’ Mal Kaminski’s Polish accent immediately told Jack that this case was in good hands. Malomir had come to the Met less than a year ago. He’d learnt fast and quickly surpassed other, far more experienced members of his team. He was now invaluable in trying to keep a lid on the various London drugs gangs. As well as being the world’s self-proclaimed expert in inappropriate Polish sayings, he was also an encyclopaedia of drug-growing and local dealing knowledge. ‘Drainage, water pumps, heating lamps, infrareds; all top of the range. Looks like most of it was concealed in the glass apex under tarpaulins. This was done with care. Not like the temporary units we see in the lofts of gang houses: they’re makeshift, so they can be torn down, moved or disposed of in minutes. This was set up like a permanent business premises.’