COLD KILL. Neil White

alive by driving his car and blowing the fluff from the stylus.

      He turned back to Bobby, who was engrossed in his game once more. Bobby made them a proper family, but Jack knew the truth: if he parted with Laura he would just become a distant memory to Bobby, despite the years he’d put in. It would mean nothing in the end, because they were bound only by Laura.

      And there had been some rocky patches. Laura took a long time to settle in the north, and their first couple of years had seemed like a constant battle with Geoff, Bobby’s father, who was still in London and wanted Bobby nearer to him. There had been arguments, and when things had got really strained, Jack could see Laura’s uncertainty about life in the Lancashire hills.

      But they loved each other, and so far that had taken them through the difficult times. Jack hoped that their marriage would settle any doubts she might have left.

      His melancholy was interrupted by the rumble of a car engine. He sat up and looked towards the window, expecting it to be Laura. He groaned. It was Dolby, his Jaguar making Jack’s Stag look shabby and old. As he climbed out of the car, Jack felt his hackles rise. He tried to stop it, knew that it was an ego thing, because Dolby looked like he could fall into just about anything he wanted. His jeans were designer, and as he walked to the door he threw on a linen jacket. One quick run of his fingers through his long blond locks and then he knocked.

      Jack forced a smile as he opened the door. ‘It’s late, Dolby. What have I done to deserve this visit?’

      ‘Jack, don’t be like that,’ Dolby said, his hands spread. Wide grin. Perfect white teeth. Only to be expected. ‘I was in the area, and so I thought it was a good time to talk.’

      Jack stepped to one side and let him go past, until Dolby turned round and said, ‘It might be better if we spoke alone.’

      Jack bent down to ruffle Bobby’s hair and whispered in his ear that it was time to go upstairs. Once they were alone, Dolby sat down on the arm of the sofa. Jack didn’t object. It made Dolby look like he wasn’t staying long.

      ‘How’s the press conference piece?’ Jack said.

      ‘It’s good, and it’s on the website, but we need more than that now,’ Dolby said.

      Jack was confused. ‘What do you mean?’

      Dolby smiled in that condescending way that he had. ‘Jack, it’s old news now, and you know what sells newspapers? Anger, that’s what. People are dying and the police can’t catch the killer, but people can get that from the internet. What about a campaign? Make the people scared. We need to make the paper stand for something again.’

      ‘And that something is spreading fear?’ Jack said, surprised. ‘The police shouldn’t have to spend their time combating the press, they should spend it catching the killer.’

      ‘How very fucking noble of you,’ Dolby said, flicking at his hair. ‘Nobility doesn’t keep the paper afloat. The world’s changed, Jack. It’s a tough economy for local papers. You know how it is. It was hard enough before the banks sent us all down. We’re in a different news culture than the one you trained in. It’s instant now, and so we have to do something different. I want to run a campaign, getting at the police, asking why this killer is still loose.’

      Jack held back his first response, that he didn’t need a lesson in newspaper politics. Instead, he said, ‘You know it’s difficult for me. Laura’s on the murder squad, for Christ’s sake.’

      ‘So that’s a no, is it?’ Dolby said, his eyes wide, and Jack guessed the subtext, that there were plenty of eager young hacks getting ready to step in, and that it wasn’t just the one story that was up for grabs.

      Jack sighed. ‘No, it isn’t,’ he said quietly.

      Dolby slapped his legs with his hands and jumped to his feet. ‘Good man, I knew you would. Can you get something to go in tomorrow?’

      Jack pointed at the clock. ‘It’s too late.’

      Dolby shook his head. ‘I’ve held back the front page. We’ve got the headline set, with a picture of the crime scene. We need just two hundred words to go underneath.’

      ‘How soon?’

      ‘An hour.’

      Jack sighed, and then he shrugged and nodded.

      Dolby slapped him on the back and went towards the door. Just as he got there, Jack said, ‘Just one condition.’

      Dolby turned round. ‘Name it.’

      ‘Print it under a different byline. For the sake of my pending marriage, if it ever happens, I could really do with Laura not knowing.’

      Dolby flashed that grin again. ‘No problem.’

      As the door closed, the silence that descended felt heavy, because Jack knew he’d just promised to undermine Laura’s investigation.

      He went to the computer and navigated to the Telegraph’s website. The write up from the press conference had attracted some interest. Forty-eight comments. Maybe it was the Simon Cowell effect, but it seemed like a story wasn’t really a story until everyone knew what Bert from Burnley thought of it all. He flicked through them anyway.

      The first few were expressions of sadness, but then the identity of the woman must have leaked out. Jane Roberts. It meant nothing to Jack at first, but when the posts turned nasty and he saw the name of Jane’s father, Don Roberts, he wondered whether there was more to the story than a random attack. Jack was a crime reporter, and so he had heard the name Don Roberts bandied around. Don never turned up on the court lists, but there were always whispers and hints that he was the big man around town.

      Jack stopped reading when his phone buzzed in his pocket. The screen told him that it was Laura.

      ‘How’s your day going?’ Jack said.

      ‘Are you speaking as Jack the boyfriend or Jack the reporter?’

      ‘Jack the boyfriend,’ he said, laughing.

      ‘Long,’ she said, ‘and about to get a lot longer.’

      ‘What time are you coming home?’

      Jack heard the fatigue in her voice as she said, ‘I don’t know, Jack. I’m sorry. That’s why I’m calling. The post-mortem is tomorrow, and so we are going to have a briefing and then see how the night looks.’ She paused, and he heard her steel herself before she said, ‘Say goodnight to Bobby for me.’

      ‘I will,’ he said. ‘And I’ll wait up for you,’ and as they said their goodbyes, he glanced over to the kitchen and remembered the wine that had been in the fridge for a couple of days. It was no way to fill the slow hours, because the hill only ever slopes downwards, but just then, it seemed the right thing to do.

      Laura clicked off her phone and looked at Joe, who noticed the clench of her jaw and raised his eyebrows at her.

      ‘Why didn’t you just tell him that we were going for a drink?’ he said.

      Laura paused as she thought about this. She felt a blush creep into her cheeks. ‘It’s not that,’ she said. ‘It’s Bobby. I should be there for him.’

      ‘Having a career doesn’t make you a bad mother,’ Joe said.

      Laura looked at Joe. He looked thoughtful, his brown eyes soft. ‘I know that,’ she said. ‘I just feel like I don’t do enough for him.’

      ‘That’s natural, but he’ll grow up proud of you, because of what you do. It all comes good in the end.’

      She reached out and touched his hand, gave it a squeeze. ‘Thank you,’ she said, and let out a long, slow breath. She looked in the car mirror and teased out her hair, before frowning. ‘I look tired.’

      ‘You look fine,’ he said.

      ‘Fine is no good,’ she said, smiling now.

      ‘Okay,