SIXTY-EIGHT

7.40 A.M.

Frost dropped her laptop case to the floor before collapsing onto the sofa.

She knew she must have appeared childish storming out of the squad room, but at that particular moment, it had felt like the only thing she could do.

There were consequences to the job that she did. She took abuse and insults; she spent hours, days, weeks working a story that didn’t go anywhere. She had doors slammed in her face, and she wasn’t a part of anyone’s team. She faced complaints, a hard-assed editor and competition from other reporters. But at no time did anyone die.

Contrary to what the police team believed, she had been listening and learning about Hiccup and his solitary life out on the streets. Yes, she was lucky enough to have a home and a job, she hoped, but she could still identify with the loneliness. Not that she would ever admit that to another living soul.

In truth, she envied the camaraderie of the team she’d witnessed, even Stone’s place within it. There were no hearts or flowers with that woman, and she often forgot the basics of please and thank you, but food had continually arrived to fuel her colleagues, and Frost had caught the welfare checks. She had handled the minor breakdown of one of her team members with professionalism, firmness and genuine compassion that Frost had never seen out in the field. Despite the inspector’s brusque manner, her team both liked and respected her.

There was no such sense of team in her own working environment. Everyone wanted the next big story, the most column inches, the most prominent byline.

She’d never admit it to Stone, but she’d enjoyed the brief spell of being part of a team, working together for a common goal.

What she hadn’t told them was that their guy was blowing up her phone with text messages demanding the next update. He had expected to read her report on the brutal and tragic death of Hiccup. It was an article she just couldn’t write, and that was what had driven her to abandon the case.

Before pulling out of the station car park, she’d told the Jester to fuck off – twice. Her phone had been silent ever since. She’d had the ridiculous notion to go to her mother’s house. She needed to talk, vent. She needed comfort, reassurance, understanding. She still lived in hope that one day her mother would provide such things.

Despite banging on the door for twenty minutes and attracting the attention of most of the neighbours, her mother still hadn’t answered the door.

Instead, Frost had driven to the nearest Costa and tried to corral her feelings over a comforting latte.

What she needed now more than anything was sleep. Not only because she was exhausted but because she needed a break from her own thoughts. She needed to reset and wake up her normal self.

As her eyelids began to droop, she realised she should ring someone at the station and apologise for running out on them when she had been the one to bring the case to them in the first place. Maybe later, once all the thoughts had stopped swirling around her head, when she could think clearly and the fatigue fog had cleared.

Yes, that’s what she’d do. She’d call Stone and apologise.

Content with her plan, she rested her head back on the sofa.

Within seconds, sleep had claimed her.

She never even heard the unlocking of the back door.