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Nightingale grunted as he saw the thick-set man in his thirties holding a black Met kitbag walk out of the Southampton police station and head to a nearby car park. Jenny had parked the Audi where they could get a clear view of the main entrance and they had been there for the best part of two hours. ‘That’s him, isn’t it?’
Jenny took another look at the newspaper cutting that had a photograph of Hopkins, identifying him as the hero police officer who had rescued Bella Harper. ‘Yes, I think so,’ she said.
Nightingale peered over at the photograph and back to the man with the kitbag. He nodded. It was definitely him. ‘Do you mind staying here? I want to talk to him man to man.’
‘Sexist as always.’
‘All right, cop to cop.’
‘How about former cop to cop?’
‘I knew you’d understand.’ He climbed out of the Audi and hurried after the policeman. ‘Dave Hopkins!’ he called and the policeman stopped and turned to look at him.
‘Inspector Hopkins?’ said Nightingale.
The inspector narrowed his eyes suspiciously. ‘Who wants to know?’
Nightingale handed him a business card. ‘Jack Nightingale,’ he said. ‘I used to be in the job but I’m private now.’
‘The Met?’
‘How did you know?’
‘You look like the Met,’ said Hopkins. ‘Look, the days of cops being able to talk to you guys are long gone. The fact that you’ve even spoken to me means I’ve got to enter it into the log.’
‘I just need a chat,’ said Nightingale. ‘Actually, I just need one question answering. And you’re the only one who can answer it.’
‘I can’t. Seriously. It’s more than my job’s worth.’
‘It’s important.’
‘Yeah? What are you on? A couple of hundred a day plus expenses?’
Nightingale shook his head. ‘This isn’t about money. I’m just …’ He shrugged. ‘I’m doing a favour for a friend. But it’s not a case I’m interested in. It’s a victim.’
The inspector frowned. ‘A victim?’
‘Bella Harper.’