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door in the middle of the night. You can take a look at the graffiti too, while you’re there. Jim can
update you on anything else we cover tonight.’
I nodded, kept my eyes on my own notepad.
‘And, Emma,’ Fraser added.
‘Yes, boss.’
‘Keep up the good work. Your role is to observe, but also to support the family, so remember to be
careful what you say.’
‘Got it, boss. I’m really sorry. I didn’t mean to—’
‘I understand,’ Fraser cut her off. ‘Go on, get out of here now.’
As she left I noticed that Emma’s cheeks were still flushed.
There wasn’t much else. We discussed re-interviewing the parents but decided to hold on that for a
day. In spite of everything, Fraser was still working up a head of steam about Edward Fount. She
wanted further background checks on him, and she ordered actions galore: our team of DCs was
tasked with talking to anyone that they could dig up who was associated with him.
When all was done, Martyn reared up out of his seat and gave us a short speech about teamwork
and dedication and how important this case was and how the eyes of the nation were on us, and then
put on his cap and left to attend the event for the great and the good at the Marriott.
One by one the team left the room, packing up papers wearily, some just moving a few yards to
their desks, planning to burn the midnight oil. We were at that stage in a case where it’s taken over:
it’s exhausting, it’s addictive, and you can’t get enough of it. Your nerves are frayed and you’re
running on adrenalin and caffeine. It’s hard to do anything normal because the case is always in your
thoughts. It’s like a drug.
Fraser and I were the last to leave. She looked tired, and thoughtful.
‘You OK, boss?’ I said.
‘I’m OK,’ she said. ‘Go home, Jim. Get some sleep.’