I kept going, tower one pulling me like a ruddy grey homing beacon.
I was not looking for him, definitely, definitely not looking. He hadn’t even crossed my mind, not once. Definitely not the first thing I’d thought of on arriving at the office. Certainly, absolutely not a factor when considering an estate walkabout. Callum Jackson could be anywhere for all I cared. Preferably on someone else’s estate, fighting with someone else’s tenants.
My heart leapt at the sight of a grey hoodie, but it was just a youngster, fourteen at most. Blonde, skinny.
Get back with the bloody plot, Sophie Harding.
I don’t know how I found myself knocking on Hannah Jackson’s front door, but it took her an age to answer, mumbling obscenities as she went.
“Not even ten o bloody clock yet.”
I checked my watch. “Twenty past, actually.”
She peered past me, to the lifts. “Ain’t s’posed to come on your own, are ya?”
“That’s discretionary on a case by case basis,” I lied. “I thought I’d drop by again, about the security.”
“Ain’t got me new letterbox yet.” She took the chain off the door, wandered back inside where I could follow her. I shut the door behind me, adjusting my nose to the stink. Stale tobacco and damp. She brushed a space on the sofa, dumping a load of fish and chip papers onto the carpet. “Nor the bars on the windows.”
“Fifth floor isn’t deemed an intruder risk, not for the windows. That might take some time, funding’s tight.”
“Fifth floor, tenth floor, won’t bloody keep him out.”
“Has your son made any threats towards you? Been in contact since our last visit?”
“Not since he got the dog back. Don’t mean he ain’t still coming after me, mind.” She lit up a cigarette, blowing smoke in my direction. “Why d’you help him?”
Blood drained from my cheeks. “Excuse me?”
She smiled, and under her haggard appearance I got glimpse of the family resemblance. “Weren’t born yesterday, love. People talk.”
“I, um... did what I thought best for the animal.”
“Which one of ‘em?” Hannah Jackson laughed, rocking back on the sofa and blowing a fresh cloud of smoke over me. I tried to age her, placing her forty at most, although the years really hadn’t been kind. She’d have been an attractive woman, minus the pitted face and sunken eyes; she was carrying a bit of extra weight, but carrying it well. She’d her own red-flag on our system, a much lower grade than Callum, but nonetheless cause for concern, yet I didn’t feel the same intimidation in her presence. Maybe my bad, or maybe she wasn’t showing her worst on a weekday morning. “You ain’t the first and won’t be the last.”
“Sorry?”
She rolled her eyes. “Suckered by the looks. Prettiest damn thing I ever made. His dad was a pretty boy too.”
“His dad?” The question was out before I could stop myself.
“Inside. Murder. Callum’s got the same bad blood in him, too. Born nasty.”
“I don’t think violence is hereditary, Mrs Jackson.” I met her eyes, challenging her with my own belief system.
“Believe what you like, love. Like I said before, kid’s a monster, always has been. Loves that bloody dog and not much else.”
I tried to hide my distaste, pushing it back behind a veneer of professional neutrality. “I’ll submit a further request on the window security, although they may want to survey the balcony, establish any access points.”
“He’ll find a way up, if he wants in. Would scale the bloody wall in the right frame of mind.”
“I’ll do my best with the funding.”
She stared at me, her face a weird mix of disdain and fascination. “You think I’m a bitch, getting rid of that dog.”
“It’s not my job to make judgement, Mrs Jackson.”
“Think it was spite. It weren’t.” She stood, kicked her way through rubbish to the living room door. She pushed it closed, where I could see the back of it. It was clawed to shit, destroyed almost all the way through. She toed the carpet to show me the threads, torn up all along the edge. “That dog’s got no place inside, couldn’t control the thing. Ain’t never had dogs, won’t be getting one, neither. Ty was helping me by getting shot of it, though Cal won’t see it that way. Hate each other these days.”
“Tyler Jones?”
“Got his problems, I know. Good lad, though, under it all.”
I pictured the Tyler Jones I’d seen in the garages, the Tyler Jones wishing Casey dead and landing his fist on Callum’s jaw. “Again, it’s