Discarded by M. Hunter (the reading list .txt) 📕

My relief is tempered with surprise as I spot the car parked beneath the light, and then see Jack emerge from the driver’s side as I near.

‘Before you say anything,’ he blurts out, stopping me in my tracks, ‘I just wanted to apologise for my behaviour back there. It was unprofessional and insensitive.’

I cross my arms. ‘It isn’t me you should be apologising to.’

Jack locks the car and comes over, wearing the face of a disciplined school child. ‘You’re right. I owe Freddie an apology too, but I’m still convinced he’s hiding something. Don’t ask me what, but my sixth sense – that tiny voice in my gut that hears what I can’t – is telling me that your friend is holding back. And I will find out what he’s hiding and why.’

This isn’t the first time Jack has met Freddie, but he hasn’t spent nearly as much time with him as I have, and I just don’t see this deception. It makes me wonder for how long Jack hasn’t trusted Freddie.

‘It’s freezing out here,’ Jack continues, glancing over to my front door. ‘Can we go inside, so I can apologise properly?’

It’s tempting to send him on his way after his performance at the shelter but I can read the sincerity in his eyes, and so I give him the benefit of the doubt. I nod for him to follow, and once we’re inside I fill the kettle with water and switch it on. It feels good to be back in the warmth with the smell of this morning’s burnt toast still hanging in the air.

‘What’s going on, Jack?’ I ask bluntly, no longer prepared to beat about the bush and wait for him to open up. ‘I know you said things have been stressful managing work with additional care for Mila, but Freddie isn’t the only one holding back, is he?’

It’s like the question has triggered a switch in Jack’s head as his eyes suddenly fill and he can’t bring himself to look at me. He shakes his head. I pass him a tissue and allow him space to compose himself as I make the tea. We move into the living room and sit on opposite ends of the sofa.

‘I bet the last thing you expected to find on your doorstep was a sobbing bobby, right?’ he says, eyes now drier, and with his gawky grin.

‘I’m worried about you, Jack. I haven’t heard from you in weeks, haven’t seen you in months, and then today you’re not the Jack I remember. Do you know what I mean? You’ve been a pent-up ball of tension all day, and then the way you went for Freddie – and in a place where he feels secure – was so unlike you. What’s going on? What’s really going on?’

Jack takes a sip of his tea before placing the mug on the carpet by his feet. ‘I thought I was keeping a lid on it all but the truth is I’ve been burying my head in the sand. Things with the investigation have all but stalled. When I started the secondment with the team at the National Crime Agency, they were all looking to me for background and context, and those first few days were spent with them interrogating me on every detail of what we – you and I – had managed to find out. I spoke to them about your history with Arthur Turgood and the St Francis Home for Wayward Boys. One or two of them had read your book, Monsters Under the Bed, and knew the history. I spoke about the hard drive recovered from Turgood’s home, and the underage pornographic material discovered on it, and how that led us to finding Freddie’s footage, that of Jemima Hooper, and of course your sister, Anna. They listened and they questioned until they understood what was required: find the other children in the videos, and use the files recovered from the Pendark Film Studios to tie culprits to the footage. In the near eight months the investigation has been in full swing, do you know how many perpetrators we’ve brought to justice?’

I shake my head. I certainly haven’t read about any in the news.

‘Zero. And do you know how many new faces we’ve managed to identify from the video footage? One! A lad called Billy Watson who went missing on his way home from school in Edinburgh in 1997. He’s still listed as a missing person, and we’ve made no progress on finding out who took him, how he ended up on film, nor where he ended up. Given Jemima Hooper’s demise, I’m not holding out much hope of finding him. You and I achieved more in less time and there were only two of us. I am working as part of a team of twenty trained detectives and we’ve still made virtually no progress in uncovering the network of monsters responsible for all this abuse and tragedy. And it’s killing me knowing that we’re failing these kids. God knows how many more missing children are out there right now suffering at the hands of these evil bastards.’

I had no idea his mental health was suffering so much as a result of this race I feel responsible for starting. ‘I’m sorry, Jack,’ I offer sincerely, choosing my words carefully. ‘I’m sure you and your team have given everything you can, and I would imagine you’ve chased down a lot of false leads, right?’

‘Every avenue of investigation feels like it ends at a brick wall.’

‘But there’s a silver lining to that cloud: it means you’re getting closer to finding the right avenue that won’t lead to a dead end. Think about how people make it out of a maze. You have to pursue wrong routes to find the way to the treasure in the middle. What feels like little progress due to the lack of success is in fact taking you closer to the truth. You shouldn’t beat yourself up