‘Dan?’

I recognise the voice but can’t immediately place it. My brain is too muddied with CCTV images, teddy bears and things that don’t add up.

‘Touchy?’

She laughs. ‘You sound disappointed, expecting someone else?’

I was hoping it would be the unknown number returning my call.

‘You could say that, but don’t take it personally,’ I smile down the phone at her.

‘It’s been a while Dan… look, I’m sorry to call so late.’

Touchy is a journalist for the Gazette, a crime reporter. I call her Touchy because her name is Fiona Li, Fi Li, see what I did there? It’s a shame we met in the circumstances we did really; she was covering the court case, Rachel’s court case. She sent me a condolence card too if I recall, for some reason it stands out in my memory – it had Chinese writing and butterflies on the front. I never knew what the translation was in English. Anyway, I liked her.

‘So, to what do I owe the pleasure, Touchy?’ I ask, ‘is this what the youth of today call a booty call?’ I can hear her smiling.

‘I only wish it was, Dan,’ she says. ‘I need to speak to you.’

‘Well, I gathered that,’ I’m humouring her, a defence mechanism, because something tells me I’m not going to like what she’s got to say. ‘So, what is it that can’t wait till morning?’

There’s a crackle on the line and I hear her clear her throat, like there’s something lodged in it.

‘The Nigel Baxter murder…’

My heart sinks. So the press has got wind of Baxter’s suspicious death. Good times. ‘How do you know we’re looking at murder?’

‘C’mon Dan,’ she says, like I’ve insulted her intelligence, which I probably have, but I’m not about to start giving anything away, not yet, not when I’m still so in the dark. ‘The boss has put me on it… I’ve been doing a bit of digging around…’

‘I always said you should’ve been a copper, Touchy. So, should I be worried? Have you found something juicy to print that’s going to compromise my investigation?’ I scratch my head and get a waft of sourness from my armpit. I need a shower.

‘I’ve been talking to a few of Baxter’s colleagues, male colleagues and associates…’ She pauses again. ‘Seems like Baxter was having a little extra-curricular…’

‘You don’t say.’

She snorts gently. ‘So you know about the blonde?’

My ears prick up. ‘What about the blonde?’ I’m tentative. You have to watch every word you say with journos. Off-the-cuff remarks are straight-up facts to this lot.

‘The blonde Baxter was up to no good with—’

‘Care to elaborate?’

‘Dogging,’ she says, ‘Baxter and the blonde… they were identified up at a well-known spot near Hampstead Heath.’

Hampstead Heath, the geographical equivalent of a pretty girl with a slag’s reputation. Such a shame the place is synonymous with sexually deviant activity because it’s a very beautiful part of London.

‘Identified?’

‘Yes… a man fitting his description.’

Dogging. I think of Janet Baxter and close my eyes. Perhaps this unknown caller was a one of their associates, letting them know there was a meet-up.

‘This had better be legit,’ I say in my gravest tone, ‘you know Baxter has – had – a wife and kids.’ But my heart sinks because I know what’s coming. The Gazette will report his death as suspicious, which is fair enough, and factual. And now that they have a whiff of a potential sex scandal, they’ll be digging like JCBs on speed and they’ll quickly follow it up with a sensational piece exposing Baxter’s dirty secrets like they’re dishing out dolly mixtures at a kiddie’s party. They’ll use words like ‘allegedly’ and phrases such as ‘according to a well-placed source’, or maybe even convince someone to go on the record.

The press, or certain members of it, are masters at getting people to cough. Like I said, the job’s not too dissimilar. Still, it amazes me how people would rather talk to a journo than a copper, because when it comes to integrity there’s no contest really. But it’s all about the story to a lot of these editors; words on a page and how many people read them; they don’t think about the ripple effect, the broken-hearted family or the shame it could bring upon them. And that’s why I don’t have too much time for them. If Nigel Baxter’s been dogging, I can’t see it’s of any public interest. But it is of interest to me.

‘Who identified Baxter?’

‘It’s come from a good source, Dan, I wouldn’t be calling you otherwise.’

I don’t bother to ask again. She’ll never tell me. Journos protect their sources like they’re their firstborn. ‘You get an ID on the blonde he was ‘allegedly’ with?’

‘Sadly not, but I got a description.’

I stay silent. Ironically, it was a journalist who once told me that silence is the best way to get someone to speak. Whenever there is silence, people will always be compelled to fill it.

‘Platinum blonde, white, average height – 5ft 5in maybe – slim, verging on skinny, ‘striking’ is how it was put, late twenties to early thirties or thereabouts.’

Adrenaline, the sequel. Sounds like our girl. ‘Go on…’

‘My source thinks she may have been a HCB.’

‘High-class brass? What makes him think that? Is he prepared to talk – to us I mean?’

She sighs. ‘It’s a she actually and put it this way, it takes one to know one… and you know better than to ask me that Dan.’

I raise an eyebrow. ‘And you know the law,’ I gently remind her.

She sighs again. ‘It’s possible she might talk, if it really comes on top, no pun intended.’

‘Liar,’ I smile.

‘So, we’re definitely looking at homicide then?’

‘You should know better than to ask a closed question, Touchy.’

‘Ah, c’mon Dan, work with me here. We go to print in a couple of hours.’

It’s my turn to sigh. ‘Yes, we’re looking at homicide. All I can say for now.’

‘Made to look like suicide?’

I want to trust Fiona Li but I don’t, or rather I can’t afford to, not yet anyway.

‘Did she slit his wrists and then make it look like he’d done himself in? Any ideas for motive? Unpaid services perhaps?’

I shake my head. Truth is I’m as much in the dark as she is. ‘We don’t know yet, Touchy.’ I’m telling the truth. ‘I know as much as you do. But I’d like to talk to the source. Baxter could’ve been involved in a blackmail plot perhaps, maybe he saw something or someone he shouldn’t have?’

‘Maybe. The boss wants to go big on this, Dan… senses there’s more to come and it’s got scandal written all over it: well-to-do, middle-class married banker with a mistress and a double life – plus it’s been a slow week.’

‘He has a wife and two teenage children,’ I say again, not wanting to picture Janet Baxter’s face when she reads the newspaper and discovers her husband has been dogging with his mistress, but I can’t help it. And I hate to admit it, even to myself, but I suspect Fi’s boss is right and there’s more to come… much more.

She’s silent for a moment and I’m about to say my goodbyes and hang up, when she says, ‘There’s something else, Dan.’

I don’t like the tone of her voice, it’s uneasy.

‘Okaaaay.’

I hear her draw breath.

‘Can we meet?’ she asks, ‘I think this would be better in person.’

My blood runs a little cold. ‘Care to give me a clue, Touchy?’

‘The White Hart, tomorrow. I’ll be in there at lunchtime.’

‘Alright,’ I reply tentatively, ‘is this to do with Baxter?’

‘It’s important Dan,’ is all she says, and I believe her.

‘Okay,’ I say, ‘I’ll be there.’