11
Jack could feel the blood pulsing in his temples as he made his way down the stairs from the Chief Constable’s office. His rough, jagged fingernails cut into the palms of his hands as he clenched his fists, his thoughts making a whirring, buzzing noise as they bounced around inside his skull.
He jammed his hand down on the handle of the incident room’s door and flung it open, listening to it crash against the wall, the handle embedding in the plasterboard, wedging it in place.
The room fell silent.
‘Go on, then,’ he said quietly, almost whispered. ‘Who was it?’
Some pairs of eyes looked at him with concern, others were averted towards the floor.
‘Who was it?’ he yelled, the volume making at least two other officers jump before his voice returned back to its whisper. ‘The only reas
