Foul Play E-Book

Fiona McIntosh

• Herausgeber: No Exit Press
• Kategorie: Krimi
• Sprache: Englisch

Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2025

Beschreibung

'From the very first page to the very last Foul Play just gave it a winning goal after goal'⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐ Real reader review 'Great book and storyline... so many twists and turns. I couldn't put it down'⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐ Real reader review Superstar footballer Luca Bruni is being blackmailed for a night of sex he swears he didn't participate in… except the photos contradict that. A media darling on and off the field, Luca has a perfect home life he'll do anything to protect, and more money than he knows what to do with. He's determined to defy the extortion racket. When Detective Superintendent Jack Hawksworth learns that the mastermind behind this crime has already swindled a dozen of the world's most highly prized male sporting stars, he knows he has to keep the situation from escalating and prevent a media frenzy. Intrigued by the creativity of the crime and the shockwaves it is creating through the global sporting fraternity, Jack begins a journey into a case that has tentacles far more wide-reaching than he could have imagined – and far more deadly.

Leseprobe

JOIN OUR COMMUNITY!

Sign up for all the latest crime and thriller

news and get free books and exclusive offers.

BEDFORDSQUAREPUBLISHERS.CO.UK

For Nathan Giaccio, whose house really did burn down while

I was writing this, and whose cat, Poppy, was nearly lost.

Both of you safe and sound now... and looking forward x

PROLOGUE

London, October 2009

Just five minutes ago – less time, even – his life had been perfect. With the slice of a letter opener, it had changed. His world had shifted… and now it was different.

It had catapulted from blessed to frightened.

No longer that glowing, star-dusted, exquisitely modelled existence that others envied and he lived. If Luca Bruni had written a script for it, his life would look just as it had before he reached for the expensive Montblanc blade – a gift for the man who had everything – to open the envelope.

He found himself reading the note for the third time, as if by focusing intently on it he could somehow change the contents.

It had come via courier. Ally had signed for it and put it in his hands as she had paused to kiss him, walking by with her satin dressing gown open to reveal the outline of her suddenly blossoming breasts and her ripe belly carrying his children.

‘Hope you didn’t greet the courier like that,’ he’d joked.

She’d turned back and smacked him playfully. ‘Like they’d be interested in a plump has-been.’

She was so far from plump, and a has-been, that he didn’t bother correcting her. He knew she was playing down just how good she looked as a mother-to-be, not fishing for a compliment. Contrary to what many might presume, Ally was modest, and a long way from the egotist that all those glamorously posed, tanned and pert celebrity snapshots might suggest.

‘What is it?’ she asked, not sounding all that interested.

‘Dunno. I wasn’t expecting anything,’ he replied, turning the envelope over. There was nothing to give away the sender.

‘I’ve put a brew on,’ she said, fingers trailing away from him but her smile lingering.

They received packages and documents all the time, so this was nothing out of the ordinary. The envelope was A5-sized and regulation post-office stock. It had been delivered by a normal courier service called Donkey Express that was hugely popular, not just for its silly name but its proven superior service on motorbikes. He knew this by the instantly recognisable rubber-stamped image of a laughing donkey.

‘Come on,’ Ally said, tapping his chest gently. ‘Tea.’

He grabbed for her, grinning. ‘Any chance of an early morning—’

She swatted his hand gently. ‘Only in your dreams, Bruni. You’ve got training anyway, haven’t you?’

‘Always time for a quickie,’ he said hopefully.

‘Hold that thought, lover boy. I need food. Besides, I’ve just showered,’ she said, pointing to her wet hair. ‘If you hurry up, I’ll still give you something hot before you go,’ she said suggestively and then added, ‘Scrambled eggs?’ She laughed as she pulled away completely.

‘Sure,’ he said, vaguely disappointed, but he was now on a promise for tonight. Something to look forward to. ‘I’ll just open this. It’s probably something to sign for Jon.’ He started wandering back towards the office.

‘Don’t be long,’ she said over her shoulder as she moved towards the kitchen. ‘I’m pouring fresh tea this minute.’

He knew Ally hated it if he let a newly poured cuppa turn cold. He walked into his private sanctum. Ally never came in here; she wasn’t curious about his behind-the-scenes stuff of sponsorship and appearances. She’d had enough of that in her own working days as a television actress in a popular soap drama. Now she was enjoying the peace of impending motherhood and the reflected glory of being his wife. She didn’t seem to mind being out of her own spotlight; magazines still wanted to feature her in the newest season’s clothes to add to their fashion pages. In fact, a top London designer who had just released a pregnancy range had sent her a pile of outfits and was paying her to be seen in them.

Luca only now realised how little Ally missed the attention that had previously followed her every move. It was as though becoming pregnant and looking forward to motherhood had made her grow up overnight – all that celebrity status, everything that used to be part and parcel of her life, no longer offered the same attraction it once had. She didn’t interfere in his business either, trusting his decisions implicitly and offering opinions only when asked. She never wavered in her support and, through hail or shine, never failed to be present at a home game for the Huxley Arrows football team. She also got to as many of the away matches as she could so he would always know she was there, cheering for him.

He loved her so much for that. Many of the other players’ partners dropped that vigilance once they had a ring on their finger or became busy with family duties. He suspected Ally, however, would still wrap up her newborn twins and bring them to the London games. The fans hadn’t missed her commitment, either, and it only made them more popular as a couple. When he scored, he’d look up to where he knew she’d be sitting and touch his heart, as though each goal was for her.

Smiling, he slit open the envelope with his ridiculously expensive letter opener and pulled out a single sheet, a polaroid dropping onto the desk below. He picked it up and stared at it, dumbfounded at its provocative content, while absently unfolding the letter.

‘I’ve poured!’ he heard her yell.

‘Coming!’ he yelled back. But his attention was riveted.

What had begun as bafflement now created deep creases in his forehead as he frowned, beginning to connect the perplexing words with the confusing photograph. A man on a bed, in repose, arms flung carelessly against the pillow, his head in the distance, blurred, turned to one side. The lens was focused lower, where his shirt had been pulled out and unbuttoned to reveal a flat belly, defined with toned muscles to the hips and a small, heart-shaped discolouration just below the man’s navel.

It was a masterful image. The angle was just right to show Luca’s birthmark; his mother had often joked through childhood that it was her farewell kiss on his body as he’d left hers. Out of focus, awkwardly lying on top of his boxers, which had been pulled only half down, he could see the post-coital flaccidness of an erection he didn’t remember. In sharp focus, though, was a hand with nails painted like red talons.

Fuck! his mind screamed. What is this?

His frown deepened and triggered an eruption of fury. He controlled it how he’d been taught, feeling its tension leak into his jaw as he clamped hard; his even, well-cared-for teeth, white enough for any toothpaste commercial, fit together neatly to grind that rage. Yes, a memory was returning to him slowly, like an old-time negative gradually revealing an image. How had he not known this, or rather, how had he buried it? Forgotten it? Dismissed it?

He recognised the fingers with their red nails, which held a used condom. It was coming back fast now, a rush of memories he didn’t know he possessed; those fingers had been all over him, undoing his clothes, caressing him, teasing him. Was it possible that he’d lost this knowledge? Surely not.

This scene related to an event that was two – no, nearly three – months back, at the launch of a new GT convertible car from Bentley. Handpicked guests, only a few likely buyers or Bentley executives, staying in luxurious rooms. Media and other celebrity guests came for the glamorous launch, adding lustre to the event. It was held in the Thames Valley at what the property’s spin doctors liked to call a six-star spa and health resort to differentiate it from an everyday five-star venue. Lark’s Hill was a grand old pile that had seen its fair share of aristocratic owners before a fire finished its life as a personal residence. The ruin, which wasn’t as bad as many had believed, was bought and renovated over several years by a top hotel group to become a relaxing play space. Its glittering gala opening had been attended by the rich and famous.

Celebrities were regularly snapped by the paparazzi on the gravel drive of the heavenly place of rejuvenation. Some stayed for a week, others for a weekend burst of cleaner living, the in-house nutritionist and chef providing sumptuous but healthy feasts. And now the wealthy, like him, held their weddings and private functions there, too.

Luca and several other London-based footballers had been invited with their wives and partners. He suspected his invitation was initiated because he’d already indicated his interest in the new two-hundred-thousand-pound convertible. Ally, sadly, couldn’t come; her morning sickness, which still seemed to last all day and night, had been so bad she’d begged off. He hadn’t wanted to go without her but their close mates Harry and Gina were attending the event itself, so he was hardly without company, and he’d agreed to check out the venue so they could go together later.

And they had. About four weeks back she’d taken full advantage of his promise to share an indulgent weekend together at Lark’s Hill and pamper her to the hilt before she got too big to enjoy it.

Ally was now just days from delivery of their twins, and huge – she’d stacked twenty kilos onto her former model-thin frame. In the early days, before she showed, she’d worried briefly about the weight gain. ‘Fans of the show aren’t going to recognise me. And what if I never get back to my body again?’

‘You’ll never fully get that body back, love,’ he remembered her mother saying. ‘It will be a new version. But you’re young and feeding twins will turn you hollow. Besides, your fans adore you – you’re the favourite character in that silly soap. They’ll write you back in if you want to return… but why would you?’ This was the moment his respect had turned into genuine admiration and even affection for Ally’s mother. She’d happily counselled her daughter, pointing at him and saying: ‘You’re going to marry one of the country’s most adored sporting heroes and you’ve got a whole life of good times ahead of you. Look where you live, look what he can give you while you raise your children. Ally, my love, if I were you, I’d make sure I asked nothing more of the universe. Focus on being pregnant and a mother to those two babies, and a good wife to Luca, who worships you.’

Even before the whirlwind romance they were already independently darlings of the media, as they each had an almost uncanny ability to woo the paparazzi and keep them kind.

Both had come from the most ordinary of backgrounds too, and that had a strong appeal for their fans. Her slight northern accent was treasured, while his Italian background gave him credibility as a battler who had made it.

Everyone thought of them as a perfect couple. No fractures – not even a hairline crack, according to friends. They were fast becoming an A-list power couple, and they knew it too. Made a promise to each other they would always protect their bond… protect their names.

There was one other promise.

Fidelity.

Ally demanded it. ‘We’re both really young, so if we’re going to do this whole marriage and kids thing, I need to know it’s real. I can marry anyone I want. So can you. But if we’re choosing each other, I want to trust you and rely on you for the rest of my life.’

‘Ally, you can. I’m not like those others.’

‘I’ve known girls going out with footballers,’ she said, shaking her head. ‘They’re treated well for a while and then cast aside like yesterday’s rubbish. My hair, my boobs, my TV show might make me seem like a bimbo, but I’m not going to be your plaything for a while. If we’re going to commit, take vows, wear each other’s rings and raise these children, then it must be for keeps… and only for each other. If you make a fool of me with another woman, I’ll make your life a misery. I’ll leave and take our kids, and then take you to the cleaner’s.’

It was a serious threat, delivered in a grave tone. He had nodded and kissed her to seal his promise. ‘I will never let you down.’

Now he stared at the photo again.

How would he ever make Ally understand? She had been very clear. No mucking about with other women was number one on her short but emphatic list of intolerances and here she was, about to give birth to these precious children, and she would soon learn he’d failed so soon into their life together; they had only married a few months ago, while Ally could still fit into her dream wedding frock.

He’d broken her golden rule.

Except… he hadn’t.

That might be him lying there with the family jewels on display and a full condom supposedly condemning him, but he had no memory of being a willing participant. He did not buy that he would forget having sex.

He read the note again.

Want to be a winner… or a loser? We all win if you pay £500,000. If you do, I’ll destroy all evidence and no one will be any the wiser about your misbehaviour. Don’t pay and we all lose, but you especially when I leak it to the press, tell your wife and sell your sperm on the dark web. Let’s face it, who wouldn’t pay to have your DNA in their child? Involve the police and you lose. Pay too late and you lose. I know that amount is small change for you.

Don’t be a loser. Details of how to pay soon. We’ll give you a week to organise the money.

Be assured. I keep my promises. Remember, if you involve the police or the club, I’ll send Ally the photo anyway. No mistaking that’s you, right? And you really don’t want Ally looking at that right now.

He hurled the photo and note onto his desk with a visceral fear that had begun deep in his belly the moment he’d opened the envelope. It curled and twisted, squeezing at his insides until he could feel the tingle of panic at his crotch and in his throat.

Yes, that was him in the photo.

But he had not broken faith with Ally. No way.

He didn’t understand how any of this was possible, but he would not capitulate without a fight.

He picked up his phone and tapped in the number. When it was answered, before the usual cheerful pleasantries could begin, he said, ‘I need to see you. Right now.’

‘Wow, slow down. Is something wrong?’

‘Yes.’

‘What’s going on?’

‘Not over the phone. Come here.’

‘I promised the family—’

‘Jon, I pay you a cold fortune to have my back. So have it. I wouldn’t insist if it wasn’t urgent. In fact, it’s dangerous.’

‘Dangerous? What are you talking about?’

‘Just get here, as soon as you can. This could blow my life up… and yours!’ He rang off. He’d never spoken to his agent like that.

1

Jack hadn’t wanted to go but Kate had pleaded with him over the phone. ‘I haven’t had a birthday party since I was a child. Besides, I haven’t seen you for months,’ she grumbled. ‘And don’t say you’ve been busy. I know you’ve been in a quiet job since Australia.’

‘Neither have I,’ he countered, ignoring the jab.

‘Neither have you what?’

‘Had a birthday party since I was a child,’ he said, remembering the last one before the car crash that had killed his parents. He banished that memory quickly. ‘I don’t like parties, Kate, you know that.’

‘But this is mine!’

He laughed that hers should be the special one. ‘You’ve never invited me to a birthday gathering before.’

‘I’ve never been this close to forty before.’ She groaned.

‘You’ve still got a few years up your sleeve,’ he said to soothe her. ‘Kate, don’t ask me to—’

‘But I am. I haven’t seen you for months because you’ve been hiding away in Cold Cases and I’ve been at Anti-Corruption. Did you even know I’d moved to CIB?’

‘Yes,’ he answered, knowing full well she was in the Complaints Investigation Bureau 3, the proactive branch of that division, gathering intelligence on suspected or detected serious misconduct.

‘You brute. And you didn’t ring to congratulate me?’

‘I should have, but I’d also heard about the teacher, and I didn’t want to put my foot in it.’ He didn’t say: And I didn’t want you to get the wrong idea while you were vulnerable. There was a soft silence. The break-up obviously still hurt. ‘Sorry, I should’ve—’

Now she gave a moan of frustration. ‘Jack, yes, you’re the one person who should, because you’re the one person I don’t mind talking about it with.’

He didn’t ask why. ‘I thought he was a keeper.’

‘He is, for someone. He should have been for me, but I have a habit, as you may have noticed, of pushing nice people away. He deserved more than I was giving. My workload at the time was crushing.’

‘No chance of getting back together?’

‘Doubtful. I’m a bit of a mess, as usual, in that regard. I don’t know if it’s wise either – I couldn’t bear to hurt him again. Deep down I think I’d feel grateful if he told me he’d met someone. But in the meantime, this party will be a good distraction, I’m assuring you, though it wasn’t my idea. It was Gabriella’s. Have you met her?’

‘Not that I recall.’

‘You wouldn’t forget her if you had. I thought you might have come to her thirtieth as my plus one, but you have a marvellous way of wheedling your way out of stuff like that. And yet I know you’re not antisocial.’ She gave him a pointed moment of silence.

He didn’t want to tell her that going anywhere as her plus one was dangerous… for both of them, but especially her. ‘Kate,’ he began.

She sighed loudly. ‘Don’t take that tone.’

‘We’re colleagues. We can’t…’ He didn’t finish.

‘Jack, colleagues can be more than just fellow workers. You know, some are even lovers, but I’m talking about something innocent… just a birthday party my friends are throwing for me. And you are one of my best friends, even though I could be forgiven for thinking otherwise. I’m asking you to be a guest – not a partner, not a date, not a plus one. Just be my friend.’

He sighed. ‘Okay, okay. Send me the when and where.’ He smiled at her soft squeal of pleasure that sounded through the phone.

So now he found himself in a swanky basement bar in Soho that prided itself on serving the best gin cocktails ‘in the world’ according to those in the know.

‘You look amazing.’ He had to yell in her ear over the noise of the music and not just her gang of partygoers but the bar’s general clientele, who seemed to be in high spirits this Friday night. And it was true, Kate had never looked more attractive than she did this evening, in a black metallic party frock that was all fun, showing off toned arms and tanned, shapely legs. A teardrop black pearl hung on a long gold chain contrasting with her dress, which was the colour of mercury and flowed effortlessly around her trim figure. Her hair, normally tied up neatly for work, now flowed in soft golden waves, only adding to her beauty.

‘Thank you,’ she said, kissing him a fraction too close to his mouth but just far enough away for him to accept it might be a clumsy hello. ‘I’m so glad you came.’

‘Happy birthday,’ Jack said, holding out a small wrapped gift.

‘You really didn’t have—’

‘I wanted to,’ he said, cutting off her protest.

She held up the black pearl around her neck and waved it in front of him. ‘This will always be my favourite.’

‘From one of my Australian trips. Do you remember what I told you?’

‘Yes.’ She smiled, leaning in close. ‘That the only naturally black pearls are Tahitian. I only wear it on special occasions. You couldn’t top it.’

He shrugged. ‘You don’t have to open that now,’ he said, looking around with disguised horror at the already busy dancers and flowing alcohol.

‘We’re not on duty,’ Kate said, reading his mind as she undid the wrapping.

‘Are we ever off?’

‘Oh, Jack!’ she breathed in awe, lifting out black pearl earrings that matched the pendant.

He couldn’t help smiling. ‘I’m glad you wore that tonight.’

She was already pulling the hoops from her ears. ‘I have to put them on right now,’ she said, excitedly. ‘My gosh, this is too much. There, what do you think?’ She glanced around, and a couple of her friends leaned in and made the right noises of approval.

Jack was still holding the hoops she’d flung into his hands. ‘They’re up to the job of matching how insanely gorgeous you look this evening.’ He kept his tone just right for a friend offering a compliment.

‘Right answer, Jack!’ She laughed and gave him a huge hug, saying, ‘I love them, thank you,’ and then, without warning, she did kiss him on the mouth, very briefly, before turning away hurriedly to order a drink. She looked over her shoulder. ‘What are you having?’

‘Er…’

‘Don’t bother, let me choose.’

A few moments later she returned with an intriguing amber-coloured cocktail with a twist of burnt orange in it. Jack had watched the bartender light the spritz from the zest as he peeled off the skin from the fruit.

‘You’re going to love this, Jack. It’s called a—’

Before she could finish speaking, a raven-haired woman eased up to them. Over her skin-tight black dress, cut away in places to reveal smooth olive skin, she wore a scarlet jacket. No one could miss her in any crowd. ‘Oh my, Kate, who is this handsome fellow?’ she asked in a smoky voice.

‘I’m Jack,’ he answered for Kate.

‘The policeman?’

‘Detective Superintendent Jack Hawksworth,’ Kate said, pointedly.

Jack cast her a look of soft despair.

‘Aha,’ the newcomer drawled knowingly. ‘I know who you are now.’ She gave him a wink.

‘Jack, this is one of my school pals from a hundred years ago, Gabriella Ferrari. It was her idea to have this party, and at this venue.’

He could detect disapproval in Kate’s tone that perhaps her friend could not, but then she wasn’t looking at Kate but at Jack, with a sort of open hunger. ‘Ferrari?’ It was all he could think of to say under her hot gaze.

Gabriella made a growling sound, like a car engine revving. Jack obliged with a chuckle, although her overt seduction was unnerving. ‘I prefer my pet name of Bella among friends,’ she said, only a trace of her heritage perceptible in her southern English accent. ‘Kate, I had no idea the mysterious Jack you’ve spoken of was so alarmingly attractive,’ she said, leaning in to kiss him slowly on both cheeks. She smelled of alcohol and Chanel No.5 Eau Première, which was all the rage in the department stores, being sprayed on every available female wrist that passed by. ‘You should know that Kate makes you sound awfully stuffy and conservative.’

He grinned. ‘Regularly guilty of both, actually.’

‘Not with a wicked smile like that, you can’t be,’ she said with authority and took the glass he was yet to sip from. She helped herself to a swig. ‘Mmm, scrumptious, just like you,’ she said, smiling with that famished look again.

Kate clearly thought it was time to intervene. ‘As I was saying, I ordered you a—’

‘Hanky panky,’ Gabriella finished, shutting down Kate. ‘So appropriate, you tease.’

‘I’ve never indulged before,’ Jack said, instantly regretting the opening he’d given Kate’s friend.

‘Never indulged in hanky-panky?’ she replied in an arch tone. ‘We must fix that.’ Then she turned to Kate. ‘Don’t you love this bar?’

‘It’s great,’ Kate agreed but Jack knew that tight cadence in her voice meant she was telling a fib. ‘Listen, I think Annabelle was looking for you.’

‘Why?’

Kate gave her an airy look and a slight shrug. ‘Not sure. Cake stuff probably, so I’m not meant to know.’

‘I’ll find her and then I’ll come back and find you, Jack Hawksworth.’ Gabriella sashayed away, no doubt presuming they were both watching her shapely behind disappear into the crowd.

Jack blinked and Kate turned to stare at him.

‘What?’ he asked, sounding defensive.

‘Beware of Bella. She’s a man-eater.’

‘Odd that I didn’t pick that up,’ he said, lifting an eyebrow.

‘I mean it, Jack. She’ll have you twisted around her finger in a heartbeat.’ At his sigh, she continued. ‘No, really, it’s a badge of honour for her. She’s always been like this. Any new guy around and she needs to leave her mark on him. I don’t know if it’s simply because she can, or perhaps she has a missing chromosome or something.’

Jack gave a tsk. ‘That’s catty.’

Kate grinned unhappily. ‘Look, she’s an old friend, and she has a big heart, but she’s also scary when she’s in the mood she’s in tonight. She believes she can have any bloke she chooses.’

‘That’s because she probably can,’ he replied, as though that fact was obvious. Then he added, ‘Anyway, I didn’t come to meet Bella. I didn’t want to be here at all, other than for you and to wish you the happiest of birthdays.’ He picked up his drink, rotating the glass away from the lipstick half kiss that Bella had left for him. ‘Here’s to you. I hope this is a special year for you.’

‘Cheers, Jack.’

They clinked glasses. As he sipped, he gave Kate a look of awe. ‘Wow. Delicious!’

‘It’s my new favourite cocktail.’

‘Why aren’t you drinking one, then?’

‘Because champagne is slipping down easier tonight.’

‘Right, well, I think you should go off and mingle with your friends. Let them spoil you.’

‘What are you going to do?’

‘Nurse my hanky panky and—’

‘Look for your moment of escape?’ she asked.

He grinned. ‘Something like that.’

‘Don’t you dare leave without saying goodbye.’

‘I won’t.’

Kate didn’t want to leave Jack leaning against the bar, where he watched her friends erupt into song and dance, her in the middle, having to do a solo. She could see him on the fringe, laughing at the celebrations, and couldn’t help but think he’d never looked more distant or desirable at once. Tonight he was in black, like her, but something about a man in a black suit and an opennecked white shirt did funny things to her. All he needed was the undone black bow tie and he’d look like he’d walked straight off the set of Mad Men.

She knew she shouldn’t be thinking about Jack like this. He’d made that clear. But what had happened between her and Dan had been desperately sad. For just a moment their relationship had felt so grown-up and real; she had even allowed herself to imagine being his wife, coming home to his smile, their children, nagging each other about who was doing the ballet run or the football pick-up. Just a heartbeat of supreme comfort in their future, and then her career had begun to get in the way. He knew her work was demanding, with far from friendly hours, but for nearly a year she’d kept her time at the office as lean as she dared, so that had probably lulled them both into a false sense of how life might be together.

Was any job really worth losing an important relationship?

He had not been the unreasonable one. If anything, Dan had tried harder than her to find ways around the demands on her time, even getting special permission to arrange a rooftop picnic on a building she was working at when they’d barely seen one another for a month. His attempt at a romantic solution had only made it worse, though, with Kate resenting what she’d viewed as an interruption of her work.

‘Childish and embarrassing,’ she remembered hurling at him. She winced now at how viciously it must have come across when she’d suggested they were not lovelorn teens who needed to hold hands every moment that they could. So unfair. Dan had simply been trying to keep them connected around her exhausting work hours. He’d never once complained about the meals he’d cooked for her and had to throw away, the countless times he’d gone to bed alone, or the many dinners or meet-ups with friends he’d found himself stood up for. If she was being honest, his complete reasonableness, his affability in all situations and his constant forgiveness had begun to wear away at her and build a mountain of guilt.

In the end it was sweet Dan, once again being generous, who’d suggested she needed space and some time alone to work things out. She’d agreed, not even putting up a fight for him. And now there was Jack, looking highly desirable as he leaned against the bar. Perhaps he was the true source of her angst, the real reason she couldn’t settle down: the man that could change everything if only he’d permit it.

He wouldn’t, though. They’d had this conversation time and time again. So she would take friendship as a consolation prize, because at least it meant they could remain close.

Kate’s gaze narrowed as she watched Bella make a new advance, and she gasped as Bella draped herself over Jack, who, gracious as always, tried to disentangle himself gently instead of rebuffing her straight out.

Kate should rescue him. But she moved too late, hesitating just a fraction too long. Bella had heard a favourite song belting out and by the time Kate got to them her friend was beep-beeping and toot-tooting seductively to Donna Summers’ famous disco track.

‘Come on and join the bad girls, Jack,’ Bella suggested, tugging on his hand.

He politely declined; no doubt Jack could see that Bella was already well on her way to being drunk.

‘Oh, here’s the sad girl,’ Bella said to Kate, playing on the song’s lyrics.

‘Hey, Bel, I didn’t invite Jack to my party so you could hog him.’

‘Oink-oink!’ Bella said in perfect time over the beep-beeps in the lyrics and gave a hog snort. ‘Green isn’t your colour, Kate… or is it? I was simply asking him to dance. And I must say, I think it would be rude if he rejected me,’ she said, eyeing Jack, daring him to turn her down.

He sighed. ‘Right, ladies. I don’t want to be the party pooper. One quick turn and then I’ll leave you to it.’

Kate was staggered. No, deep down she was feeling venomous, watching Bella lead Jack to the small dance floor suggestively, holding his hand dangerously close to her half-exposed and beautifully pert breast. Once she’d reached the centre of the dance floor and thus the centre of attention, Bella twisted around and began gyrating her body in that ‘come to bed’ way of hers. It didn’t matter that the song had a disco beat – she’d managed to slow her movements to half its pace. Kate wanted to scream.

Meanwhile, Jack surprised her by showing rhythm she’d never thought he possessed. She couldn’t tell if he was enjoying himself or not; she couldn’t see past her own despair. Kate needed the song to end.

‘What’s with the long face on your birthday?’ It was another schoolmate.

She shook her head. ‘Nothing.’

‘It’s Bella, right?’ They were both watching her dance. ‘Is he your date?’

‘No,’ she fired back a bit too smartly. ‘Er, I mean, he’s a really good friend.’

‘Single?’

‘Yes.’ Kate nodded.

‘Then what are you worried about? So’s she. Two consenting adults and all that. Come on, we’re going to do the cake and shots soon.’

*

Jack didn’t stay for the cake. His phone began to vibrate inside his jacket pocket just as Bella decided to link her long, olive-skinned arms around his neck and curl herself closer than he’d prefer. He pulled out the phone, glanced at the screen and killed the call because, as he expected, Bella had all but passed out in his arms.

He helped her off the dance floor. ‘You’ve had enough for one night.’

‘Take me home, handsome Jack,’ she slurred and in a split second he decided to do just that, walking her from the club and helping her up the stairs into the cool of the evening.

Some passing merrymakers whistled and cheered. ‘You’re on tonight, matey,’ one encouraged him.

‘Take in some big breaths,’ Jack urged Bella.

‘Did you say you like my big breasts, Jack?’ she teased with glazed eyes.

He sighed, looked around and walked her unsteadily to a taxi rank.

The guy behind the wheel looked dubious. ‘She going to vomit in my cab, mate?’

Jack wasn’t in the habit of flashing his warrant card under anything but formal circumstances, but the situation was becoming urgent. ‘Listen, I need to get her home safely. I have to be somewhere.’

‘Hop in,’ the cabbie said wearily. Jack bundled a mercifully cooperative and very flexible Bella into the back seat, where she collapsed like a fold-up toy. She suddenly looked small and fragile.

‘She all right?’ the taxi driver asked.

‘Too much champagne,’ Jack said as a throwaway line.

‘Where to then, boss?’

‘Oh,’ Jack said, crestfallen. ‘Good question. Er…’ He found Bella’s handbag on the floor of the car and rummaged around in it, finding only a single credit card, phone, lipstick and other paraphernalia that a woman can’t leave the house without. ‘Hold on,’ he said, with a smile and a finger in the air. He called Kate; as she answered, he could hear the music had gone up a notch and was thumping away in the background.

‘Where are you?’ she asked flatly.

‘I had to go. Can you give me Bella’s address, please?’

‘Why?’

‘Kate, just tell me.’

Something in his tone persuaded her to not hedge any longer. She reeled it off. ‘It’s an art deco block just south of Clapham Common.’ Her own tone was blunt and humourless, and he could tell she was angry with him. ‘Have fun, you two,’ she snapped. ‘She’s wearing a bodycon dress, Jack. It takes two to get it off!’ The line went dead.

Jack stared at the screen with astonishment, murmuring ‘bodycon’ to himself in puzzlement before giving the cabbie the address in Balham. ‘It’s flat four.’

‘Well, I’m not carrying her up the stairs, mate. That’s your problem.’

‘Yes, of course,’ he said, feeling stupid for saying it. ‘Can you wait while I take her up?’

‘How long?’

‘I’m just going to get her inside her flat with a bucket nearby and make sure she’s safe. Ten minutes tops.’

‘It’s your money,’ the cabbie said, not unfriendly but firm.

They travelled south of Charing Cross for approximately four miles, entering the borough of Wandsworth. At her flats in Balham, a low 1930s deco block, Jack again asked the cabbie to be patient. He took Bella to the main door and saw a panel of bells that included Ferrari and Barclay on one. He rang it and waited with his cargo, who was slumped over, kissing his neck.

‘You smell so nice,’ she slurred.

‘You smell of liquor,’ he countered. ‘Who is Barclay?’

‘Hmm?’ she said from his collar. He repeated his question. ‘Loulou.’

‘Hello?’ came a dislocated voice.

‘Er, is that, um, Ms Barclay?’

‘It is, who is this?’

‘Loulou, darling, it’s me,’ Bella cooed.

‘Bella, oh dear, you sound untidy.’ She buzzed the door open and Jack hauled his load over the threshold. Above him a woman’s voice called down. ‘Need help?’

‘Please.’

The flatmate arrived in stripy pyjama bottoms and a T-shirt, skipping down the centre carpet barefoot. Her hair was casually clipped up and she had a pencil stuck behind one ear. Jack had to look away from the nicely rounded breasts beneath her T-shirt. ‘Hi, I’m Louise… Lou,’ she said with a smile.

‘Loulou.’ Bella suddenly stirred, more alert now. ‘This is handsome Jack.’

‘Hello, Jack.’ Lou grinned. ‘Um…?’

Jack cleared his throat. ‘Just bringing her home safely from Kate Carter’s party.’

‘Ah, the birthday bash. Is it over already?’

‘Just warming up, but I had to leave – I have something to attend to. Bella here was looking a little frayed, so I thought it best to get her home.’ He looked over his shoulder. ‘I’ve got a cab waiting.’

‘I can take her from here.’

‘Are you sure?’ he asked, looking up the flights of stairs.

‘Oh, we’ve done this a few times.’ Lou laughed. ‘Leave her with me.’

‘She’s, um, well, a lot of champagne and no food, to my knowledge, so a bucket is probably in order.’

Lou gave him a salute. ‘Got it.’

He paused a moment, meeting her eye. ‘Why didn’t you come to the party?’

She grinned. ‘I’m not part of that set. I know Bella and a couple of the others, but not the birthday girl very well.’

‘Well, it’s nice to meet you,’ Jack said.

‘I’ll be better dressed next time,’ she promised.

He grinned. ‘I think you look perfect. Sleep it off, Bella,’ he said close to the other woman’s ear. She tried to grab him, but he gently shifted his balance to avoid being wrestled into a smooch of any kind. ‘Sorry to leave her like this.’

‘Go,’ Lou said. ‘He’ll charge you heaps otherwise.’

‘Night.’ He nodded.

She smiled again and he turned, reaching for the heavy front door.

‘Jack?’

He twisted back, raising his brows in query.

‘Thanks for doing the right thing by her.’

‘You’re welcome.’

‘Come for coffee, or drinks, or even a meal sometime. We should thank you properly.’

He raised a hand in a friendly wave. ‘Sounds nice.’

And then he was gone, ducking back into the cab.

‘Where to, sir?’

‘Scotland Yard.’

‘Might’ve guessed. Here we go…’ the guy said, swinging the black cab around effortlessly and heading back towards Westminster.

Jack rang his boss on her after-hours number.

‘Hawksworth?’

‘Ma’am.’

‘Tell me you didn’t cut me off an hour or so ago.’

‘I was in a nightclub and couldn’t hear a thing. I thought it best to get to a quieter spot.’

‘You were in a nightclub?’

He couldn’t tell if she might be smiling. Likely not. ‘Er, a night out for a friend’s birthday. I didn’t have anything to do with choosing the venue. I managed to steal away early, anyway. Just arriving home now,’ he lied. ‘Has something come up?’

‘It has. I realise you’re off duty, so forgive me calling you.’

‘No problem. Do you want me to come in now?’

‘No, it can wait, but I’ll see you at the office in the morning. Just before nine, all right? I’ve got someone else coming in, but I want to talk to you first. I’m sending you some stuff you can look over.’

‘Right.’ The line went dead. Women were ringing off on him too often tonight. ‘Change of plan,’ Jack said to the cabbie. ‘Can you take me to Kew?’

‘Station or street?’

‘Head for Burlington Riverside,’ Jack said, giving the neighbourhood where he’d bought his townhouse six months prior. ‘Do you know that area?’

‘Course,’ the fellow said, only just hiding his disdain. ‘Very nice it is too. Pricey.’

Jack didn’t comment.

Just over half an hour later, he was glad to close the door on an altogether unsatisfactory evening, although he felt glad that he’d shown his face at the party and not let Kate down. Still, he had apparently let her down in another way by taking her exceedingly drunk friend home to the safety of her flatmate and pillow. He was reminded of the cheerful disposition of Lou Barclay and how entirely at ease she seemed, confident in herself. He found that deeply attractive and tried not to think of her cute PJs and T-shirt. It had words on it that said: Don’t even think about it.

That made him smile. He was thinking about it.

The pencil behind her ear. What did that mean?

Distantly he heard the familiar ping of his email and sighed. He’d better get to it. Carol Rowland would expect him to be up to speed by the time he walked in tomorrow morning.

2

Luca Bruni was the one.

The cheer as the Huxley Arrows ran out roared through his body. He could feel the adoration, along with the presence of his childhood coach, speaking while they had stood shivering on the pitch when he was around nine years old.

‘Of the one and a half million children playing organised football up and down England at any one time, fewer than two hundred will enjoy a career in the sport. And of that tiny figure, only a handful might go all the way to the Premier League with one of the top clubs. Do you know what that means, boys?’

‘No, sir,’ they mumbled in chorus.

‘It means that only one of you clowns charging around the pitch this afternoon might have a shot at the bigger stage.’

Some of the bigger, lippier lads joshed that it would be one of them. They didn’t understand. It might not be any of them; it was just a statistic. Luca was smarter than most gave him credit for, but school didn’t interest him. He wanted to use his smart mind to become one of the best footballers in the country.

It wasn’t always natural talent, the coach told them often enough. ‘It’s up here, lads,’ he’d say, tapping his temple. ‘This is where a lot of the training should go. Training your brain to make smart decisions during a match. You have a dream? Start in here,’ the coach said, gently tapping the heads of various boys crowded around him.

And Luca’s dream? That was easy; leading his national team to victory in the World Cup was his ultimate aim… had been since he was seven and his parents first enrolled him in football training. It hadn’t been cheap; even so young he’d known they were making sacrifices for him to capitalise on what his father believed were ‘silky skills’.

‘And what about his sister, Corey?’ Luca knew his English mum only called his dad by his proper name, Corrado, when she was anxious or angry; otherwise, he was Corey.

‘Sofia can be anything she wants, Deb, you know that. If there’s something she wants to specialise in and we can help her to achieve it, then it’s the same deal. But she’s tried everything, surely?’

Luca’s mother had nodded, then said dryly, ‘Yeah, well, she wants to be a hairdresser,’ and grinned.

Sofia had become just that but in Australia. Luca hadn’t seen that coming. First it was a holiday to meet their Italian family, all of whom – bar his grandfather – had taken the ship to the other side of the world, settling in Adelaide. Luca hadn’t expected to love Australia as much as he had and his sister, Sofia – a few years older – had fallen for the hot summers and beach parties. He couldn’t even recall how the decision had been made but suddenly their family was packing up life in overcast England and heading ‘down under’ too.

He recalled it vividly. It had felt enormous when he was nine, leaving his friends, his school, his neighbourhood and especially his local club at Hove. He swore Coach Patton had become misty-eyed saying goodbye, and he remembered him shaking his father’s hand, sounding reluctant as he said, ‘I have to say it – I reckon you’re stealing his future, Mr Bruni.’

‘They play football over there,’ his father had assured the other man.

‘It’s religion here, though. Over there it’s just another sport. They have their own code full of jumping and catching the ball… using their hands!’ Coach Patton spat the final word as though it burned his mouth to say it. And then he gave a mirthless chuckle. ‘No, I’m wrong. That lot worship at the altar of the crease wearing baggy green hats. It’s all cricket for them.’

His father had smiled tightly but Luca knew he was just being polite. ‘I promise you, I’ll enrol him in a club straight away. I know the boy’s got potential, and they’ll see it.’

‘Potential?’ Coach Patton shook his head. ‘You have no idea what you’re walking away from.’

Did the coach really think Luca’s father was going to change all their plans just because Luca was showing some talent with a football?

‘Mr Bruni, it’s so much more than potential. Look, kids like Luca come along now and then. Remember Georgie Best?’

Luca’s father had nodded.

‘I know I’m old-school, but his name didn’t lie… He was the best of his era. Even Pelé called him the greatest footballer he ever saw. These guys like Best, Messi or Ronaldo.’ He shook his head helplessly. ‘They arrive on the scene and we don’t see their equal for years and years. Mark my words, if your lad keeps going on the trajectory he is, he won’t need a second name. He’ll be known simply as Bruni and the world will be at his feet.’

‘Are you saying he can’t do that from Australia?’

Coach Patton shrugged, looking suddenly defeated. ‘We’ll see. He’ll be missed,’ he said, ruffling Luca’s hair and surprising him because the coach had never shown that kind of affection before. ‘Come back soon for a visit, eh?’

‘I have to do what’s right for my family,’ his father had said. ‘For all of us. This is a great opportunity for the kids to know their family. All of my wife’s relatives are gone – we’ve been a tight foursome here for all their childhood but now there’s a chance for them to be part of something larger, and to know something of their Italian heritage.’ He grinned. ‘Australia does Italy quite well,’ he quipped, hoping to lighten the mood, but the coach didn’t respond in kind. And so his father had shrugged, a hand finding its way protectively onto Luca’s shoulder. ‘Besides, these kids will have some great opportunities in Australia that they won’t get here.’

‘We’ll agree to disagree,’ Coach Patton said in a tight tone. ‘Good luck, Luca. You keep practising that cross with both feet, okay? You’re a bit of a magician already, so make sure you follow through on all your promise.’

‘I will,’ Luca had said, embarrassed and a little sad, but he couldn’t tell his coach that he was also excited and really did want to go to Australia.

By eighteen, he had the experience to understand that the coach’s statistics were all up the creek but that hadn’t mattered – it probably did all boil down to the one kid who got a chance. Coach Patton had made his point.

And Luca had made his; not through words, but with stellar ability and his naturally ambidextrous feet. This skill had been fully honed over the previous decade through Adelaide United’s Youth system, and Luca could play one wing as comfortably as the other. That would be enough for any rising soccer talent, but Luca had so much more to offer. In his heart he was a striker… every schoolboy player’s dream but also well within his reach. His ability to kick the ball hard and powerfully low, with a dead-eye aim, so far from the goal that even the goalkeeper had to shield his eyes and hope to stop the bomb coming at him, was breathtaking, or so the pundits were saying.

‘His free kicks close to goal are just sublime,’ one had said after Luca’s first few opening games for Adelaide United’s A-team. ‘I would hate to be a defender against this kid, and that’s all he is. Still wet behind the ears. Imagine him in five years when he’s put on some muscle and fully develops his football brain. He’s a new Thierry Henry, in my opinion.’

‘Why do you say that?’ the other commentator asked, purely for the audience’s sake. Luca had already demonstrated why.

‘Listen, this kid is fast and powerful. He can score from anywhere, any angle if he sees the opening. He doesn’t have a trademark goal, so you can’t see it coming. He can bend around a wall of players or on the run. You can’t get a feel for when his brain is thinking “strike”. He’s like a wizard when the ball’s at his feet. But add to that, Mike, he’s an assist machine. Watch him carefully. He sets up as many opportunities for others as he takes for himself. He’s every kind of striker you could want all rolled into one, and off either foot. He’s going to be devastating, and I hope the Reds take full advantage of the kid, because he is going to be hunted the moment his contract is up for grabs. And I don’t just mean from Australian clubs.’

‘All the way, eh?’

‘Oh, yeah, no doubt at all. Listen, I’ll put down money that the kid has his own chant within a year. He’ll score so often they’ll be singing his name loud enough to lift the grandstand roof.’

The commentators had liked that and shared a chuckle. So had Luca.

‘Don’t get cocky listening to this drivel,’ his father warned, coming in from the garden.

Luca had shaken his head. ‘No chance, Dad. I’ve seen it happen to others. When they do, they become targets.’

‘Well, I note the leaf basket hasn’t been cleared in the pool. If you want to swim in a few weeks, you’d better get to it. If that one breaks, it’s coming out of your wages, not mine.’

‘Corey, don’t make threats,’ his mother said in a tone that suggested everyone knew they were empty. ‘Anyway, son, you’ll be targeted in new ways soon.’ She kissed his head. ‘Here’s your gear for school,’ she said, handing him a freshly ironed uniform for the week. ‘Go hang it up.’

‘What do you mean, targeted in new ways?’

‘Don’t think I don’t hear that phone pinging all the time. Boys don’t talk like that. That’s the ping of a girl on the other end.’

Luca had blushed, and noticing, Sofia joined in the teasing. ‘All the teenagers who come to the salon ask for me simply so they can see if I can hook them up with my brother! It’s very annoying, Lukey.’

He’d put his head down and passed his Year 12 with higher than-average scores that qualified him immediately to take an engineering course he’d applied for at Adelaide Uni, but he’d instead signed on for two years with Adelaide United. University would have to wait.

At twenty, he was known by various affectionate nicknames from Golden Sprigs to Mafiaboy to simply Bruni, just as Coach Patton had predicted. He’d grown broad rather than especially tall, but his five foot ten was more than enough height for a footballer. His wide, strong shoulders had put on muscle in the gym over the years, and he moved like a panther, low to the ground. At times he seemed impossible to nudge off the ball because he had such a firm grip on the pitch. But when he made a dash, thigh muscles pumping like well-oiled pistons, even the commentators would yell because he would light up the stadium with his speed.

He had become the consummate footballer, and everyone wanted Luca signed to their team. The bids when his contract was up were eye-watering. The European teams offered money that his family could and would never have dreamed of. Perhaps Coach Patton had, but not the Brunis. Bayern Munich offered a staggering amount that equated to nearly a million Australian dollars per month.

‘Per month!’ his father had exclaimed repeatedly, looking at Luca’s mother. ‘You and me and Sofia combined won’t earn his month’s salary in our lifetimes.’

Luca had kept his head through all the negotiations and the outrageous pitches from clubs with their gargantuan promises. There were loyalty bonuses, sponsorship deals and even something called ‘objectives’ payments. He’d wisely parted company with his local agent and signed on with a new group in London, who were experienced with brokering such enormous sporting deals. Luca just wanted to play football and privately his heart was set on playing back in England. When an offer came through from the recent sensation – the Huxley Arrows – it wasn’t a hard decision. The tipping point had been the Australian connection through the club’s new billionaire owner, Roger Tallis.

The Tallis family had made its fortune through mining, beginning with Roger’s grandfather and gold mining in Kalgoorlie. Roger’s father had then diversified the company interests into diamonds as well as bauxite and coal. Roger, the only heir, had added lucrative iron ore to the company’s projects. He’d attended university in England and developed a passion for the World Game, as it was known. In 2006 he’d taken that passion to a new level, acquiring his own English football team and replenishing their ‘stock’ with some top players and a new coach with a fine track record in Europe. Now he was about to cut the ribbon on a new stadium and home base for the Arrows. His latest project, however, had been to recruit Luca Bruni at any cost.

‘They’re matching the Bayern Munich deal and then some,’ Luca’s agent, Jon Mason, had said over a new system they used for face-to-face calls. Skype was apparently old hat. Jon had smiled, moving his gaze to take in the family – Luca had wanted his parents to be present for this conversation. ‘They really want your boy.’

‘The Arrows.’ Luca’s father had given a low whistle. ‘Bloody hell. Their rise has been spectacular.’

‘Yep, they’ve moved out of Division One and into the Premier League, touted to win the FA Cup this year. Luca would be the cherry on top of an amazing five years for the club with Tallis in charge. You know how much he likes your lad, and he wants an Aussie spearheading his team. Luca, you’ll be playing in the World Cup for Oz before you know it.’

His mother couldn’t speak, holding back happy sobs.

Mason smiled. ‘What do you think, Luca? Tallis is clearly impressed. Apparently the technical gurus at the club reckon you’ve got the ideal composure and sense of commitment. You’re a perfect fit for them. He says he’ll build the club’s list around you.’

‘Yeah, I like their ambition. I want to be part of it. Huxley it is,’ Luca had said with conviction.

His agent had nodded. ‘Good decision.’

Luca’s parents had accompanied him to England to set him up in a flat with a slightly older, more experienced player, also Italian, who was part of the buddy system.

‘I promise you, we’ll take very good care of your boy,’ the Arrows’ player-care manager had repeated to Luca’s anxious parents.

And they had. Meanwhile, Luca had rewarded them with an astonishing golden goal in his first game. It had been an upward, enviable trajectory from there over subsequent years until it was now almost expected that the likely scorer in any meet would be Luca Bruni. He was dependable, he was modest, he trained hard and he continued to assist goals for his fellow strikers. He was popular with the media, happy to give interviews and his self-effacing style was appreciated. He was liked by his fellow players for being fair and unselfish when he had the ball. And he was generous towards and thus adored by fans; Luca would pause to sign their scarves, their shirts and sometimes their bare skin.

Soon enough, one had snared him properly. Ally Gold had caught his eye at a nightclub and by the time he was twenty-two and about to negotiate one of the biggest football contracts known in the sport, Ally was pregnant with twins and busy setting up the nursery in their vast flat at Kew, though they were planning a move in the near future.

‘We’ve found a huge old pile at Highgate that Luca’s going to renovate,’ Ally had gushed to her parents, who lived in a tiny house in Barnet, North London.

When they saw it, their eyes had grown wide with disbelief. ‘Blimey, luv, you can take a walk around your garden with the babies. You won’t need a park!’

She’d giggled. ‘I know, Luca’s hired a gardener. What do I know about gardening?’ She rubbed her huge belly and kissed Luca’s cheek.

Luca had smiled, enjoying knowing he made his wife happy and impressed her parents. Although she was as young as Luca, she seemed to be relishing the idea of motherhood and never having to struggle again financially. Luca had thrown some money her brother’s way to help out with a business he was setting up, and her parents were all-round thrilled with how Luca had given their two children security. He’d also set Sofia up in her own salon back in Adelaide, which she’d named after him.

‘It’s leverage,’ she’d said, laughing. ‘I’ll take all the reflected glory I can.’

He’d also been able to pay off his parents’ home in Prospect on the outskirts of Adelaide’s city and, despite their protests, buy them a holiday home in Victor Harbor.

‘You love the beach, Mum. Now you can spend the summer walking along it and enjoying the sea,’ he’d said on a visit.

He liked what his money could do – especially for others – and his latest plan was to build a new clubhouse for his old childhood team. Coach Patton was still there barking orders at them and had shed a few tears to see his star student turn up, much to the delight of the squad.

But money wasn’t as important to Luca as it appeared to others. It was nice, sure, but he simply loved the thrill of the match, the roar of the crowd, the tension of the Premier League. He couldn’t have been happier in his life until the moment he’d opened the letter.

Through his sporting life he’d been tagged, fouled, bullied and pushed around, but he’d expected and been coached to cope with all of that. What he hadn’t expected or been coached for was the dilemma he was facing right now. Blackmail.

A stranger was threatening his whole way of life; his career was at stake, and certainly his relationship might not survive. He pressed his fist into his brow now as he tried to make sense of it all.

‘I’m told an elite senior officer is being briefed tomorrow,’ Jon Mason had assured him in a tense phone call the previous night.

‘This is killing me. The Arrows are gearing up for the treble, and my head’s all over the place with this. What am I going to do?’

‘Luca, I know it’s easy for me to say, but you have to dig deep and focus on your work. Let others clear up this mess. The officer’s name is Jack Hawksworth and he’s a detective superintendent. They’re not messing about. He’s one of the best.’