Page 22 of Drift

Jack offered a smile down to his feet. “I don’t need you saving me either, Doc.”

Up the stairs, someone stood next to his mother, a mass of blurred face and body, yet countering his stench with Jan’s softer, sensual scent.

Yeah, he should have known that was Vince stood next to her not Jan, all if, buts, and—

“Christ, Jack…” Gray sounded angry and let that fade into nothing. “You fuck up my world in so many ways, but only ever in every right way that matters anymore.”

“Fuck.” Jack snorted the softest smile. “You bastard, Gray. Back off for a moment or two as well, yeah?”

Every single ounce of good buried the bad so easily lately.

All pieces of the jigsaw together on the board.

But now, they were his to play with in moments like this.

“Back again, Jack?” A chuckle came from back by the lounge door. Vince stepped from behind it, or the echo of at least. “Now why keep coming to play with me, hmm?”

Jack glanced around the hall, then rested back against the wall, arms folded. He shrugged. “Making a call.”

“On Martin? He didn’t exactly help you out last time with me, though, huh?”

He looked Vince’s way. “Wasn’t just you here, though, was it? You needed drugs, friends, and a whole CCTV safety system.” A snort. “You’re no Gray.” A smile. “And I’m not drugged now.”

Vince shifted, giving a snarl, but Jack’s phone vibrated in his pocket, and he tugged it out, then cursed when it slipped from his hold as Vince whipped away with a draught blowing through the doorway.

“Fuck.” For a moment he swore a text from Gray flickered up tagged to a Nottingham notification, but the hard hit on concrete shattered the screen, burying it.

Jack snorted a smile down at the damage, at the echoes of someone always losing his phone.

Martin.

“Yeah, yeah.” He glanced around the hall again and found he stood alone. “I know, I know. You’re loving the break, you asshole. Have a beer on me. But one of these days you’ll answer me when I make calls like this, because you’re missed.” He slipped the phone into his back pocket. “Just don’t grass on me and tell anyone we were here, okay? They don’t need this shit.” He cocked half a smile. “Or come out and grass on me, be the bastard. Choice is yours.”

Only the dance of dust through the open doorway answered, and waiting just a moment longer to see if he could catch any other kind of reply, Jack headed back the way he’d come when none came.

Chapter 7

HOME SHORES

Touching eleven, morning sun filtered through the trees lining Brynmill Park, waking up the detached three-bedroomed house sat on the furthest bend of Averil Vivian Grove.

With the biting wind stirring dead leaves around a BMW and Nissan, Gray stood on Jason’s driveway, taking in the home under daylight as crime scene tape rattled behind him. A white tent leading into the home stopped neighbours from looking in, but the silence in the close called out how shock kept most away from facing the morning and the horrors found next door.

Gray had been here for a while, walking the kitchen, the lounge, bathroom, bedroom, then through to the conservatory where photos he’d taken caught a stack of schoolbooks piled on the table. As the neighbour’s car had pulled into their driveway, a security light allowed him to walk the garden, all the plants and flowers given the same grey coloured grief as if they knew they were on their own. Even the shed door rested back on a new lock as if unhappy with its part in everything. Gray had taken photos: the angle of the shovel knocked on the floor, cans knocked off the units. Whoever had searched inside had made it frantic, fast.

For all the feelings he knew he lacked, so much bled through into his skin from the scene itself.

The only street CCTV came from the park, but that faced away from the property, offering protection for families playing on there, but not much beyond that. Gray hadn’t been surprised. The Council operated the system around Swansea, but they were mostly reserved for in around the major towns. Jason’s home was too rural for that.

The soft rattle of milk bottles came from behind, calling out a late mid-morning delivery off the milk van, but Gray focused on Jason’s neighbour’s house. The Bishop’s was the only one to have CCTV, and the camera angled itself partway over Jason’s drive.

Watching the milkman make his way up Bishop’s drive, Gray gave a sniff. He already had a copy of the CCTV on his phone and had yet to watch it, but he knew the Welsh, even when it came to talking to police.

A nod came Gray’s way off the milkman as Gray slipped under the crime scene tape, and he offered a small one back as he took the walk up Bishop’s driveway.

The camera followed his movements, so was motion-sensor activated. Good.

He kept his knock on the door light, but from how the blind had shifted as he’d started his walk up the drive, someone kept a close eye on movement next door.

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