Hurt (The Hurt Series) by D.B. Reeves

serving plates stacked high with homely food, and an old boy in shirt sleeves who looked as though he might keel over every time he pulled on one of the stiff beer pumps.
    Dressed in pressed navy chinos and an equally pressed denim shirt, Knowles returned from the bar and placed her half of lager on the table next to his Guinness and open newspaper. Taking a seat he closed the paper, in which she noted he’d managed to complete the day’s crossword and giant Sudoko puzzle. She eyed the paper’s front page, and the headline telling of the Tanya Adams murder. She thought about the statement she had written for Mason to give at this morning’s press conference. Short and just the hard facts. No details, and no mention of a possible multiple murderer. There was no point in panicking the public yet. Mason’s perpetual coolness served him well during these statements. One look from those intense dark eyes would curtail any inappropriate question poised on a hungry reporter’s slavering lips.
    ‘Cheers,’ Knowles said, holding his glass aloft.
    Jessop reciprocated her old friend’s gesture and took a long pull on her lager before slumping back in the worn leather chair. She wondered if at this moment not two miles away her daughter’s heart was being broken. ‘Christ,’ she sighed.
    ‘I know that look.’ Knowles raised a white eyebrow. ‘Chloe?’
    ‘You’re wasted in forensics, Mike. You should be on my team.’
    ‘Doesn’t take a kinesics expert to read a mother’s face. Wanna talk about it?’
    ‘She’s eighteen. What more is there to say?’
    Knowles nodded, sipped his Guinness.
    A father of two, both in their early thirties, Knowles was no stranger to the angst of the hormonal teenager, and knew as well as any parent such volatile ground should be trod carefully if unavoidable.
    Tactfully switching the subject, Knowles asked, ‘All ready for the big day?’
    ‘Nothing to do now other than to turn up.’
    ‘Ray gonna wear a suit?’
    ‘He would’ve if I’d wanted him to.’ She smiled to herself, recalling the conversation. Ray was strictly a jeans and t-shirt man, but had graciously said he’d rock a black suit jacket and black shirt for the day. No tie, though. It wasn’t like he was appearing in court.
    ‘He’s good for you, Cathy.’
    ‘He deserves more of me.’
    Knowles gave her his best conspiratorial look. ‘Thought there was something up recently.’
    She arched an eyebrow, sipped her lager. ‘You sure you don’t want a transfer to my team?’
    ‘Maybe if I was sure it’d still be
your
team in six months time.’
    Again the astuteness. This was why she loved their little meetings. They were like a confessional without the humiliation and hardship of actually confessing. ‘Forget it. It’s just the STD.’
    Knowles’ face blanched and he fidgeted in his chair.
    Realising how that must have sounded, and that Knowles may not be familiar with the acronym, she let out a laugh. ‘Short Timers Disease, Mike. Not - ’
    ‘Yeah, I get it now.’ Knowles puffed out his ruddy cheeks. ‘Anyway, you’re far too young to be thinking about chucking it all in.’
    ‘Thanks. But we all have our shelf lives.’
    Knowles nodded, took a thoughtful sip of Guinness, no doubt considering his own sixty years of age. ‘Speaking of long and illustrious careers,’ he said licking the foam from his white moustache. ‘Trawling through the forensic database brought back a few memories.’
    Jessop sat forward, attention back on the job, and hopefully, good news.
    ‘I must’ve worked with every one of those ugly mugs at some stage or another. Honestly can’t think of one who fits your profile and would turn rogue like this. Sorry, Cathy.’
    She offered a weak smile and sipped her lager, trying not to show her disappointment.
    Knowles added, ‘Your boy
is
very talented, though. There’s no disputing that. But does he have a forensic background?’
    She considered this for a moment. ‘Could be a