Binary Witness (The Amy Lane Mysteries) by Rosie Claverton Page B

him.
    He was buzzed straight up and he pushed open the door, stepping into a grubby hallway with flaking plaster and the same ugly terracotta tile that seemed to be universal in all student houses in Cardiff. Jason shut the door behind him and took the stairs two at a time until he got to the second floor and flat 9C.
    The door was open and the sound of poorly played Guitar Hero carried into the corridor. He knocked gently on the door as he stepped in, to see Teresa on the sofa with John, as Ryan murdered the lead guitar on “Killer Queen.”
    Teresa jumped up to greet him, took the bottle out of his hand and went over to the tiny kitchen area in the living room. “So glad you could make it.” She poured two generous glasses for them before pressing one into his hand.
    “I’m glad you invited me.”
    Teresa giggled, clinking her glass against his. She took his hand and led him to the sofa, from which John had tactfully moved to instruct Ryan in the finer points of wielding his digital guitar.
    “Busy day?” Teresa said, taking social refuge in idle chitchat.
    “Sunday lunch with my mam and sister. Nothing much.”
    “So you’re a local boy then,” Teresa said knowingly.
    Jason tensed, suddenly feeling defensive. He hated the way out-of-towners did that, looked down on you for sticking with your roots and your family. Sure, people could go away to uni or move to other parts, but there was nothing wrong with staying in town or coming home again. It didn’t make you dependent or fragile—it just made sense to him.
    “Born and raised” was what he said, plastering on a smile. “My dad was from Liverpool.”
    Teresa made an interested noise and Jason plastered on a polite smile, regretting coming to this thing at all. These weren’t his people, not really, and he had been stupid to think this was a good place to be just because a pretty girl had made him a cup of tea.
    “I don’t go home much,” Teresa said. “My parents live in Oxford, but I’ve never been a homebird. When my brother goes to uni next year, they’ll be lost.”
    Now it was Jason’s turn to nod appropriately, but he was saved from death by small talk when the doorbell rang. John buzzed the guest up and soon the tiny flat was filled with a gang of boys and girls, bearing party food and drinks. He lost Teresa in the crowd but made his way to the food, where a young woman was carefully arranging cupcakes with white icing and silver baubles on top.
    “They’re pretty. Did you make them?”
    The girl turned and shyly held one out to him. “No. I mean, yes, I did, but at work. We get to take home the leftovers.”
    “You work at a bakery?” Jason took the proffered cake, wondering why that sounded familiar. Was there something in the case about a bakery?
    “Just a small one in town. I...uh...I worked with Mel there.”
    Of course, Teresa had mentioned Melody had been out with folk from the bakery. Maybe this girl, even... “It must be sad, not seeing her there.”
    “It was funny, ’cause she’d only been there a few weeks, but we hit it off, y’know? I’d come round and we’d chat and have coffee. That’s how I got to know Teresa and the boys.”
    Just then, Jason’s phone buzzed and he fished it out of his jeans pocket. A text from Amy: “ woman @ uhw id down 2 7. easy. @ ” He frowned at it, trying to make sense of the numbers. What did “2 7” mean?
    “Sorry about that.” But when he looked up, the girl was gone, having ditched him for more attentive company. Jason hid his scowl. How was he meant to investigate if the woman he was gathering intel for kept distracting him via text? The life of a modern detective was difficult. Sherlock Holmes never had to deal with this shit.
    He sipped the red vinegar in his glass and scanned the room for people to talk with. These kids looked like they were sixteen—he wasn’t that old, was he? A few excited yells from the direction of the TV drew his attention, and Jason decided to play