Free What She Knew by Gilly Macmillan

one thing.
    “I let him run ahead of me,” I said. “This is my fault. If somebody hurts him, it’s because of me.”

JIM
    I was quite pleased with how the interview with Rachel Jenner had gone, but it did shake me up a bit when she took my hand, grabbed it like she was never going to let go. You don’t want that. When you’re working a case you’re always well aware that the victims of crime are real people, but it’s important to keep your distance from them to an extent. If you live every emotion with them, you can’t do your job. For a moment or two, for me, Rachel Jenner had jeopardized that rule.
    I took a close look at the photo she’d given me. It was one of those school pictures that everybody has, taken in front of a dappled background. Ben looked like a sweet kid: blue eyes, very clear and bright. Fine-boned. He had tufty light brown hair and a half-smile. He was looking straight into the camera. Ben Finch was a very appealing-looking child, there was no doubt, and I was pleased because I knew that would help.
    I handed the photo over to the team.
    “How’s the mother?” Fraser asked.
    Rachel Jenner had been a ball of nerves, understandably, her eyes darting, flinching at shadows, talking quickly, clearly intelligent, but awash with shock.
    “Shocked,” I said. “And a bit guarded.”
    “Guarded?” Fraser looked at me over the top of her glasses.
    “Just a feeling,” I said.
    “OK. Worth watching. Talk to Emma, see what her impressions are. I’m going to go and introduce myself shortly, and we’ve called the press in at midday to film an appeal. Are you happy to talk to Dad now?”
    I nodded.
    “On your way then.”
    I met Emma in the corridor. It was the first chance we’d had to talk.
    “Good interview,” she said.
    “Thanks.”
    We moved to the side of the corridor to let somebody pass. Emma’s hand grazed mine discreetly, lingered there.
    “Did you tell Fraser to take me on as FLO?” she asked.
    “I might have.”
    “Thank you.” She gave my hand a little squeeze, then let it go, and stepped away to leave a more respectable distance between us.
    “What did you think of the mother?” I asked. “I just said to Fraser I thought she was a bit guarded.”
    “I agree, but I think it’s understandable. I felt as though it was hard for her to talk about her private life, but I didn’t think she was being obstructive.”
    “No, I didn’t think that either.”
    “She’s grief-stricken. And she feels guilty too because she let him run ahead of her.”
    “That’s not a crime.”
    “Of course it’s not, but she’s going to beat herself up about that forever, isn’t she?”
    “Unless we find him quickly.”
    “Even if we find him quickly, I’d say.”
    “Do you think she’s guilty of anything more?”
    Emma considered that, but shook her head. “Gut instinct: no. But I wouldn’t swear on that one hundred percent.”
    “You need to keep a very close eye on her. Detailed reports of what you observe, please.”
    “Of course.”
    “I’ve got to go. I’m interviewing Dad now.”
    “Good luck.” She turned to go.
    “Emma!”
    “What?”
    “You will do the best job you can, won’t you? This is a big one. We have to be extremely sensitive.”
    “Of course I will.”
    She didn’t look openly hurt, that wasn’t her style, but something in her expression made me regret what I’d said immediately. She was one of the most emotionally intelligent people I knew, perfect for the role, and it was wrong of me to display even the tiniest bit of doubt about her abilities. I was too psyched up myself to be measured in what I said to her; I could have kicked myself.
    “Sorry. I’m sorry. That was out of order. I didn’t mean it to come out like that. I’m just… this is such a big one.”
    “It’s fine, and I’m absolutely on it, don’t worry about that.”
    She cracked a big smile, making it OK, and her fingers made contact with mine again briefly. “Good luck with