The Wilds by Kit Tinsley

have time, I could meet you in the Nags Head this afternoon and we could discuss things a little more.’
    ‘What things?’ Karl asked, he had to admit that the reporter had a certain charm and friendliness to him that had been missing in Pearce, but he was still confused.
    ‘Your brother’s disappearance,’ Jason said. ‘The girl who went missing last night. Police cover ups, even the Bigfoot thing if you want.’
    ‘I’m not interested in giving an interview or anything,’ Karl said.
    Jason laughed.
    ‘I’m not looking for an interview,’ he said. ‘Just the truth.’
    ‘What truth?’ Karl asked.
    ‘There are over two hundred deaths on this county’s roads every year,’ Jason said. ‘Let’s just say that not all of them are accidents.’

CHAPTER SEVEN
     
     
    Pearce was in a foul mood as he drove back through Darton to the police station. He had really hoped to avoid seeing Flynn today, but like the proverbial bad penny, the reporter had a habit of always turning up. He could not believe how much he was starting to hate Flynn, especially not considering how he had once felt about him. He remembered the first time he had held him. He had been such a beautiful baby, barely a day old when Pearce had first seen him. He had sworn he would always do whatever he could to protect the little boy in his arms. It didn’t matter how much he hated the child’s father; he vowed he would never take that out on Jason. He hadn’t counted on the boy growing up to be such an insufferable prick, though.
    Now he was the bane of his existence, everywhere Pearce turned, there he was. Looking to trip him up. It had all start with that police brutality crap a few years back. Pearce knew that he had gone a bit far when questioning that pervert Lyle, but who could blame him? The man was scum. Because of what Pearce had done, the girl had been found in time. He had been a hero. His promotion to Chief Constable had seemed inevitable. Then Flynn had found out about how he had gotten the information from Lyle, and he had printed all over his local rag. Pearce had been spared any real disciplinary action. After all, Lyle was a child molester, and Pearce was the hero cop who had saved the little girl. His chances of promotion had pretty much disappeared the moment Flynn’s article went to press, though, and that Pearce could not forget.
    By the time he reached the station, Pearce had wound himself up into a really foul mood. He marched to his office, grunting at anyone who spoke to him. He was not in the mood for conversation, he was in the mood for hitting the bottle of whiskey he kept in his desk for days like this.
    He shut the door behind him and took off his jacket and tie. He slumped into the large leather swivel chair behind his desk and unlocked the draw that contained the whiskey. He didn’t bother with a glass, just took a few long gulps straight from the bottle. His stress started to fade when he felt the comforting burn of whiskey.
    There was a knock at the door, forcing him to quickly screw the top back on the bottle and dump it back in the drawer. He sat up and opened a random file on his desk to make it look like he was hard at work.
    ‘Come in,’ he shouted.
    The door opened and D.I. Booth entered the room. Pearce was glad it was her. Annoying as she was, she was one of the few people whose company he could bear on a day like that.
    ‘Sorry to bother you, sir,’ she said. He respected her professionalism. She would always call him sir, even when it was just the two of them; the other detectives who worked under him always called him Jon. ‘I just wondered if you wanted to question the girl’s boyfriend yourself?’
    ‘Yes. I’ll be down in a few minutes,’ Pearce replied, still pretending to flick through the folder.
    Booth nodded and turned to leave.
    ‘I had another run in with your friend Flynn today,’ Pearce said before she reached the door. This was the one thing he did not like about Booth, her