Page 14 of A Very Happy Easter

“I want to see if anyone at work has a police contact in this area. You witnessed the assault. The laws around domestic abuse mean Jazzi’s testimony isn’t needed for a prosecution.”

I was already shaking my head. “No, no, no. If she found out I’d come here, she’d never trust me again.”

“Okay, let’s try something different. I’m going to pick you up again, and this time, you’re going to video.”

“Heath, the police won’t do anything. You’re fond of research—it’s common knowledge that I was raped, and the man who did it got off scot-free until I sued him. Well, almost. My brother broke his face, but Eisen was the one who ended up in prison.”

“And I’m so fucking sorry that happened to you, Edie. If you want his face broken again, you just let me know.”

“I don’t want you to go to prison.”

He gave a one-shouldered shrug. “There are ways. But back to tonight—when you spoke to Jazzi, did she sound ready to leave the relationship?”

“Yes. We were discussing the logistics, but she was terrified he’d catch her.”

“So we don’t need Jazzi’s abuser to be prosecuted; we just need enough time to get her out of the house and squirrelled away someplace safe. Her phone isn’t dead. If he’s out of the way, the first thing she’s going to do is call you for help.”

“What if we make him angry?”

“He’s already angry.”

“Okay, angrier.”

“He won’t stop. Not unless somebody stops him.”

Heath was right about that. I could count the number of abusers who’d realised the error of their ways and changed on one hand, and not one had ever managed it without willingly attending an intervention programme. This would only get worse.

“Okay. Okay, I’ll do it.”

“Ready to play David Bailey?”

“I think, technically, he was a photographer rather than a videographer.”

“So, I don’t know the names of any videographers offhand, but you need to start recording.”

Once again, Heath held me up, and he was stronger than he looked. The guy was still yelling at Jazzi, but another minute passed before he punched her. Hard.

“Oh, hell.” My hands began shaking, and I almost dropped Heath’s phone. “Her nose is bleeding.”

“Did he hit her again?”

“I think I got it.”

I’d never crack Hollywood, but the footage was clear enough. My eyes prickled as Jazzi’s head snapped back, and Heath cursed under his breath.

“Let’s move away from here. I need to make a couple of calls.”

“To the police?”

“Give me a minute.”

A graffiti-covered children’s playground stood nearby, swings creaking in the breeze. I sat on one and waited. Two minutes ticked by, and Heath was still tapping away on his phone.

“What are you doing?”

He put the phone to his ear and a finger to his lips. “Is this Sam Whitley? … My name’s Heath, and I’m with Blackwood Security. Zander Graves gave me your number. I’m on a job in your area, and I heard a bit of a commotion from a nearby home. Took a look over the fence, and some asshole’s smacking his old lady around. Zander said you’re the sort of man who might be able to act on the information.” A pause. “Yeah, a video. Sure, I’ll send it through. The address too.”

“What’s happening?” I asked the instant Heath hung up.

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