It’s a nice evening, Simon thought as he made his way upstairs. Home after a work gathering to welcome the new interns. Any excuse for drinks, really.

This time it had been on the deck of a riverside pub and the weather had been perfect. He liked the start of the summer as the evenings began to lengthen. There was a serenity to the sky at twilight that he found particularly restful.

Simon reached the top floor, stepped out of the stairwell and froze. A figure in a dark hoodie lay slumped against his door. He couldn’t move, he couldn’t breathe. What the hell was this?

Shit, it was a woman! Simon felt the shakes start as he forced himself to approach the figure. Should he call the cops?

It was best not to touch her, right? What if she was dead? What did he do then? For Christ’s sake, why did these things keep happening to him lately?

He stopped just out of reach of the body and crouched down, praying that it was just a passed out vagrant or a teenager who’d gone too far on a binge. Safe enough to call an ambulance for someone like that, right?

It was definitely a woman. She had shapely legs in tight jeans and even the hoodie was fitted and zipped all the way up. Her hands were slipped into the front pockets with a black plastic bag, full, by the looks of things, wrapped around one wrist. Long hair fell forward, obscuring her face.

‘Um… excuse me?’

‘Humph,’ the woman muttered and gave a little jerk.

Alive, thank god.

‘Look, you can’t pass out here.’ Simon was trying to work out why she felt familiar. Was she a neighbour? He thought they were all older. Maybe one of their kids. ‘You need to go home.’ Simon shuffled closer, weighing up whether it was safe to give the girl a shake.

The woman suddenly lifted her head, blowing extravagantly to get rid of the hair. As it fell away from her face, Simon realised with deepening dismay why she felt so familiar.

‘Detective Burnham?’

‘Simon!’ Jaq smiled beatifically at him. ‘Simon me old mucker. We solved the case and found the boy, all thanks to you. And I… I owe you an apology. I’d have texted you to let you know but I couldn’t.’ Jaq let go an impressive burp. ‘Can’t use police information for personal matters. So I thought I’d come tell you in person. Brought some fried chicken and chips, and a couple of beers by way of apology and ’cus you need fattening up.’

‘Shhh, keep your voice down,’ Simon said, wondering how to get this drunk woman home. It would be next to impossible to get her safely back to ground level in her current state. He was convinced she must have crawled up the stairs.

‘Let’s eat.’ Jaq scrabbled at the door in an ineffectual attempt to get back onto her feet.

Simon stared down at her, trying to work out what he did.

‘Where’s your partner?’

‘Drunk as a skunk. Got him a cab and sent him home.’

‘I see.’

Simon looked up and down the balcony, trying to think of other options. He doubted an ambulance would come and pick her up. They were more likely to tell him off for wasting their time.

Likewise, calling the local station would also get him a ticking off and D.I Burnham probably wouldn’t want to look bad in front of her colleagues. But if that was the case, why get this blind drunk?

‘I shouldn’t have yelled at you,’ Jaq said. ‘I’m really, really, really sorry. I’m usually better than that but tiredness and… Nope, no, all just an excuse. I’m just sorry.’

Weirdly enough, getting an apology, even from somebody who was so drunk she probably wouldn’t remember doing it the next day, still made him feel better. He’d seen the news, of course. He knew the boy had been found and rushed to the hospital. So Simon hadn’t needed more.

He wondered what he’d have done if they hadn’t gone to the scout hut. Would he have gone back to the station and told them? He shrugged the thought away. It was irrelevant now, and he had a more pressing problem.

There really only seemed to be one option. He unlocked his door and eased it open. Jaq slipped down it onto her back, half in and half out of the house. Then he stepped over her, took a deep breath to prepare himself both mentally and physically, grabbed the detective under her arms and pulled her inside.

Fortunately, there was very little friction over the wooden floor. It was just when he reached the living room carpet that he struggled.

‘Are we not going to eat?’ Jaq asked, waving her plastic bag.

The smell of chicken and chips was surprisingly appealing, even though Simon had eaten a reasonable burger at the pub.

‘You are going to sleep.’

Simon rolled the detective onto the carpet and decided that was far enough. He fetched a cushion, put it under her head, eased the bag of food off her wrist, and covered her with a green fleecy blanket.

‘Sleep,’ Jaq muttered, her eyes already shut. ‘I remember that. I like sleep.’

‘Yeah, good.’ Simon gave the woman a reassuring pat on her shoulder. ‘Sweet dreams then.’

All the exercise left him breathless and he dropped onto a dining chair, still huffing as he watched the detective. She was out cold, which was confirmed a few seconds later by a snort, and then a rhythmic, light snoring.

Simon rummaged in the bag, removing the two cans of lager that were oily and gritty with the salt from the chips that had spilled out of their box. He opened a can with a satisfying hiss and hastily sucked up the frothing foam. Then he fished a chicken leg out of the other box and bit into it, all while watching D.I. Burnham.

Why had she come? Was it really just to apologise? He’d never been alone with anyone in his house before and certainly not a woman, an unconscious woman. That thought made his hand shake so violently he dropped the chicken and looked around, checking his cameras.

Then he looked back at Jaq Burnham. She was very attractive. She’d also been impressive at the police station. Very no-nonsense, including to him, but he brushed that aside.

It was sheer madness to have her here. A woman passed out on the floor was all too familiar and terrifying. It reminded him of other women, dead women, and his father. He ran to his room and locked the door, taking deep breaths to try to calm himself.

Once he could breathe more evenly, he went to bed. He was used to staring up at a darkened ceiling for hours at a time, and tonight was no different. But he couldn’t stay there. Not with an unconscious woman in the other room. What if she threw up and then choked to death?

So he got up and went back to the sitting room and watched the slow rise and fall of Jaq’s chest. It was so disturbing he decided it would be better if he left. He grabbed his house keys and headed outside.

He could walk around the block where the CCTV would pick him up. That way, if anything happened, he’d at least be recorded as outside. But how long would he do that for? Wouldn’t it look suspicious if he was on camera going round and round for hours on end when he knew Jaq was in his house?

He was halfway down the stairs when he decided that wasn’t a viable option, either. So he trudged back up. The best thing to do was to keep his distance, but make sure his home camera filmed everything.

He sat with his back to Jaq and tried to ignore her presence by watching a Netflix show on his iPad, but he couldn’t focus. It was going to be a very long night.

***

A truly dreadful headache, accompanied by a furry, foul tasting tongue, woke Jaq. She forced herself to open her eyes and stared at a collection of legs of the table and chair variety. She rolled over and bumped into a coffee table, then lay staring at a sunny ceiling. Tilting her head over to the other side, she noted a white chiffon curtain billowing in a light breeze coming from the open windows above her.

‘Shit,’ Jaq said out loud, and sat bolt upright. ‘Shit, shit, shit,’ she added as the sudden movement ten times-ed her headache.

She was at Simon White’s house! On the floor, but fully clothed, thank God, and covered with an olive green fleece. How drunk had she got?

Sure, they’d all been elated when Brad Davis had finally woken up and identified his two kidnappers and they’d hauled the two boys in now with plenty of evidence against them. They’d drunk too much in celebration and the rest was a hazy mess.

But to turn up here? She’d meant to apologise to Simon, of course. He’d played a crucial part. But she’d meant to turn up at a civilised hour and be suitably humble. She wasn’t even sure what she’d said to him.

How stupid to pass out in the house of a man who’d been involved with a serial killer, too. Jaq shuddered at the very idea. It was stupid to get so drunk in the first place, but that was the police for you. They never did anything in half measures and finding a missing boy alive… well. But this, passing out in the house of a man she didn’t trust. What had possessed her?

‘Arg, water,’ she muttered and clambered to her feet, blinking as the headache throbbed.

She put her mouth to the tap and chugged all she could, then she looked around again. Her bag was in the middle of the dining room table, a yellow post-it on top, a box of paracetamol next to it.

‘Bless you!’ Jaq said to the house in general. Then she swooped on the painkillers, popped a pair of pills and this time got out a glass for the water.

Then she read the note.

I hope you feel okay. Thanks for the chicken, beer and apology.

The washing machine does a half load in thirty minutes, plus another 30 to dry. There’s a spare toothbrush in the bathroom. Use the towel with the yellow border in the bathroom. It is also the only place in the house without a camera. Please leave the keys in the letterbox when you go.

Cameras all around. Yeah, she’d forgotten about that. Thanks for the warning. Jaq wondered, yet again, what the surveillance was about. And she wondered about the note. Short and to the point, no signature or anything to indicate he’d like to see her again.

Funny thought. Did she want to see him again? He was too thin, too highly strung and with an unpleasant past that a copper couldn’t like. All the same, a hi and a signed off name wouldn’t have been too much to ask, would it?

Her phone gave a discreet buzz. A text from Darren: Where are you?

On my way, she typed as she flicked the kettle on. Be there in about an hour.

That would give her sufficient time for a shower, to wash her clothes, and have a decent cuppa. Thank God there was milk in the fridge, that, a half tub of butter and last night’s chicken, mostly untouched. The man definitely wasn’t eating enough.

Now for the washing machine. Jaq wondered whether she smelled and that was why Simon had mentioned it. She sniffed an armpit. Yep, a shower was in order.