For Richer, For Poorer

by Kerry Wilkinson

  Archie’s story started to change the closer they got to his flat as he said he didn’t quite have the ‘bit of this, bit of that’ booze-wise that he’d promised. Instead, he had mainly bottles of ale and one of red wine someone had given him for Christmas.

  As his key hovered close to the lock of his flat’s door, he apologised for the mess and then swung the door inwards directly into his living room.

  Jessica stepped inside, still shivering as Archie hurried through a door to put the heating on. She sat on his sofa, taking in the room: a poster with the slogan ‘FIT’ above a bikini-clad model, another poster with a woman bending over a car wearing even fewer clothes and a third one of the Manchester United team with some trophy.

  Underneath his television was a games console and a pile of action movies, with the bin in the corner overflowing with lager cans.

  When Archie returned, he could see it in her face: ‘What’s wrong?’

  Jessica suddenly felt uncomfortable. ‘I’m . . . not sure. I suppose I wasn’t expecting this.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘It’s like a student flat. You even have jeans drying on the radiator – then there are posters of girls, action movies . . . this isn’t really my thing.’

  Jessica edged into the corner of the sofa as Archie sat next to her holding two bottles of ale and offering her one.

  ‘I’ve lived here for years. Most of that stuff’s been up since my student days.’

  Jessica took the bottle and started reading the label. ‘So why didn’t you take it down?’

  He shrugged. ‘Habit? I don’t know. I’m still the same bloke you’ve been chatting to all day.’ He nudged her bottle with his. ‘If you don’t want that, I can get you the wine in. I found a bottle of vodka under the sink too.’

  ‘That’ll do.’

  The only glasses Archie had were pint ones, so Jessica found herself drinking vodka from the bottle like a proper alcoholic. She’d been wrong about hitting nine-year-olds marking a new low – or, at the very least, this wasn’t helping her rise much further.

  Archie switched the TV on and they ended up watching the talk show repeat, ‘I was born a man but now I’m a woman – get over it’, which would have been fine morally speaking if it wasn’t for the fact that the women were accusing the men they’d married of keeping it a secret. This episode wasn’t even funny but the presenter was in his element, mouthing off at all and sundry.

  Drink, drink, drink.

  ‘You off tomorrow?’ Archie asked.

  ‘I’m supposed to be. I’ll probably go in anyway.’

  ‘I swapped days – in tomorrow, off on Sunday. I’m going to Old Trafford – lunchtime kick-off.’

  ‘Can we not talk about football?’

  ‘Sorry . . .’

  Drink, drink, drink.

  They had nothing left to say to each other: work was work, football was football and she didn’t want to talk about any of it.

  It was only when Archie checked his watch for the third time that Jessica realised this was the moment. She could kid herself all she liked but the instant she’d got into a taxi with him, she’d known it was for one reason. She put the bottle on the floor, asked Archie which room was the bedroom and then took his hand, leading the way herself, unable to even look at him.

  20

  Jane checked the clock on the wall and then her watch: the bloody things matched. This was her third night in this darned flat and nothing was happening. Ana was sleeping upstairs, like all normal people at four in the morning. Jane could only wait downstairs until the morning handover crew arrived and she could nick off home to get some sleep before doing it all again the next day.

  Whoever’s idea it was to stake out this flat needed a good boot somewhere painful.

  She turned to Andy and yawned. ‘Go on a chip run, will you?’

  ‘It’s gone four – nowhere’s open at this time.’

  ‘I think there’s a kebab shop on the main road – those places are always open.’

  ‘For a reason – they’re the absolute last resort. When everything else is closed and everybody’s gone home, they’re still serving the only people drunk or stupid enough to eat there.’

  ‘How can this be a student flat when there’s no food hidden anywhere? The cupboards are full of cleaning products – but no chocolate, no biscuits, no frozen pizzas. What’s the world come to?’

  She turned away from Andy back towards the monitors. It felt too creepy to watch a young woman sleep when she was oblivious to their presence, so both cameras were focused on the living room.

  Andy shuffled on the seat, dropping his pile of comics on the floor. ‘What did the day lot say?’

  ‘I told you earlier – if you’d been here on time, you could’ve asked them yourself. And aren’t you too old to be reading things like that?’

  ‘You’d be surprised how adult they can be. Anyway, you’re not my mum.’

  ‘I’m ten years too young, you cheeky sod.’

  ‘Just tell me.’

  Jane couldn’t be bothered stifling any more yawns, so she let rip in full jaw-dislocating glory. ‘Fine – what’s the name of that PC who wears trousers that are too tight?’

  ‘PC Prince.’

  ‘Aye, that dirty git was here all day, probably perving. You’ve got to have something wrong with you to be wearing trousers that tight. I mean, where does it all go? Do you tuck it between your legs or something?’

  ‘Don’t ask me.’

  ‘He was here all day with that Poonam girl.’

  ‘What did he say?’

  ‘Mind your own business – get here on time.’

  Jane directed her attention back towards the television, where the twenty-four-hour news was on loop. Something had blown up somewhere that wasn’t Britain but Jane had no idea what was going on, even though she’d watched the same thing half-a-dozen times now. She was waiting for the entertainment news again.

  She was about to start flicking through the channels when Andy held a hand up.

  She turned to him, confused: ‘What?’

  ‘Did you hear that?’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Listen.’

  Jane put the television remote control down and picked up the one for the monitoring system. She scrolled through the six cameras fitted into the flat above, but everything looked green because of the night vision, the lights off, Ana apparently sleeping.

  Andy still had his hand in the air, squinting as if that could make him hear better.

  Tap-tap-tap-tap.

  Jane and Andy locked eyes. ‘Did you hear that?’ he whispered.

  ‘Obviously – I’m not deaf.’

  ‘What was it?’

  ‘I’m not psychic either. Christ’s sake, where did you do your training?’

  Tap-tap-tap-tap.

  Andy crept towards the front of the flat. ‘I think there’s someone at the door.’

  Jane scrolled through the cameras again, even though she knew there wasn’t one pointing at the outside door. She tiptoed across to join him.

  ‘We could try peeping through the window,’ he suggested.

  ‘What if it’s that Pavel bloke we’re supposed to be waiting for?’

  ‘Why would he be knocking here?’

  ‘I have no idea – why would you go to all of this expense and not point a camera at the door? This is bloody typical of our lot. Half of them couldn’t police a christening.’

  Tap-tap-tap-tap.

  Andy put a hand on the door: ‘Shall I open it?’

  ‘Two ticks.’

  Jane dashed off to the kitchen, returning with a frying pan.

  ‘Seriously?’ he said.

  ‘You get the pepper spray ready and I’ll batter whoever it is.’

  ‘What if it’s one of ours?’

  ‘Come off it – which of our bunch is going to be prowling the streets at four in the morning? Well, except Franks – Christ knows what he gets up to.’

  Andy pulled his pepper
spray from his pocket and took a step backwards as Jane rested a hand on the door. ‘Count of three, right? You spray ’im, I twat ’im.’

  Andy nodded.

  ‘One, two, three . . .’

  21

  Tap-tap-tap-tap.

  Jessica patted gently on the glass part of the front door. After sneaking out of Archie’s, she had walked for half a mile or so in the direction of what she thought was the main road until she stumbled across a twenty-four-hour taxi office. She’d thought about going home and then, for whatever reason, had given Sam’s address instead. She was tired but wondering if Pavel had shown up. It would be really nice, just for once, if things came together without her having to lose her mind. It would help to get Topper off her back too; especially now Pavel was potentially tied up in the robbery case. How she’d gone from doing Bex a favour to this, she wasn’t entirely sure.

  And why weren’t Joy Bag and Andy Whatshisface answering the door? She couldn’t tap any louder, else she might disturb Ana and whoever else was upstairs – which would really go down well with Topper.

  Tap-tap-tap-tap.

  ‘Come on,’ she muttered under her breath, wondering if she should try knocking on the window. Just as she stepped to the side, the door was wrenched open and the shape of a frying pan came careering down into the spot where her head had been moments before. Jessica ducked instinctively.

  There was a blur of motion as she slipped backwards onto her arse and two heads popped out of the door at the same time, pepper spray and frying pan on hand.

  Just as Joy Bag Jane looked as if she was about to take another swing at Jessica, realisation dawned on her face and she pulled out.

  ‘Oh, it’s you,’ she said.

  ‘You nearly bloody killed me!’

  Joy Bag Jane shrugged. ‘It’s only a frying pan – it’d have been a glancing blow.’

  Jessica gingerly got to her feet, trying to keep her voice low but pointing an accusing finger. ‘You two lunatics have gone mad with cabin fever.’

  She pushed past them into the house, taking a seat on the sofa and waiting for Andy and Joy Bag to join her – frying pan and pepper spray now conspicuous by their absence.

  ‘We thought you were that Pavel guy,’ Andy said.

  He was one of the younger constables Jessica vaguely recognised: all sandy hair and enthusiasm. That’d soon drain away once he’d been on a few death knocks. As for Jane, she was looking more sour-faced than usual. She’d had it in for Jessica ever she’d been christened ‘Joy Bag’, even though it wasn’t Jessica’s fault. Well, it was a little seeing as she’d sent her out on the search but that was perhaps ten per cent of the responsibility at most.

  ‘Why would Pavel be knocking on your door?’ Jessica asked.

  ‘I don’t know – there’s no camera or peephole and we couldn’t exactly check through the letterbox, could we?’

  Jessica turned her attention to Jane: ‘What’s with the frying pan?’

  She shrugged. ‘We didn’t have much time to think – we thought we might be attacked!’

  ‘All right, keep your voice down.’ Jessica took in the surroundings – Sam must have had a proper tidy-up before she went to Jessica’s house because there was no way a bunch of coppers would keep anything this clean. ‘Where are the leftover chips?’ Jessica asked.

  Jane picked up a remote from the sofa and started changing channels on the television. ‘What chips?’ She waved the remote in Andy’s direction. ‘Everywhere’s closed and he won’t go down the kebab house.’

  Jessica shook her head in utter disdain. ‘Call yourself police officers – this is day one of training.’ She pointed a finger towards Andy, making him shy away. ‘Whoever’s the most junior goes on the chip run – quarter to ten at the latest. Get double what you need and then you’ve got plenty left for second helpings. Don’t they teach you anything nowadays?’

  Jane threw both hands up. ‘I told him that.’

  Andy frowned. ‘They told us to keep two people here at all times.’

  Jessica shook her head. ‘Pfft – they always say that. It’s not as if you’re going to the toilet together, is it? Nipping out to the chippy is exactly the same – but twice as important. Honestly, this is basic stuff. How did you ever pass anything?’

  ‘Surprisingly, we didn’t do a module on chip runs.’

  ‘And look where it got you – hungry at four in the morning with no chips.’

  ‘What are you doing here anyway?’ Andy had clearly responded more harshly than he meant to because he cowered away slightly, lowering his voice for the final word.

  Jessica could feel Jane watching her too, wondering the same thing. She looked from one officer to the other. ‘I’m here because I’m a professional and I was wondering how things were going.’

  She was definitely getting worse at lying – that was convincing no one. Trying to dig herself out of the hole, she kept talking: ‘I’ve been in London all day, well, yesterday – how’s it gone?’

  Jane exchanged a glance with Andy that Jessica couldn’t read but it looked like she was annoyed: ‘The daytime crew reckon Ana spent the whole time in the flat watching television.’

  ‘Any phone calls?’

  ‘Nothing.’

  ‘No visitors?’

  ‘Not a peep – lucky girl. I’d love a day alone without people bothering me all the time. Every time I’m on a day off, I’ve got the kids needing this, that and the other. My other half’s useless too. Then you nip into the garden for two minutes and the postman chooses that moment to try to deliver something and you have to go trekking off to the sorting office. It’s a bloody nightmare.’

  Jessica suspected Ana had probably had a marginally worse time of it given what she’d been through with the multitude of men passing through her flat. Although she hadn’t expected the surveillance to be an immediate success, Jessica had thought something might happen.

  She yawned, wondering if there was any coffee in the house. ‘This is quickly turning into a monumental balls-up – even by our standards. We can’t find his wife either and she’s English.’

  Jane at least knew what she was talking about: ‘Is that Rosemary something?’

  ‘Adamek or Dean – we don’t really know. There’s no one by that name working or claiming benefits. She’s disappeared into thin air and, given who her husband is, that can’t be a good thing. The last thing we need is a body showing up when we’ve got a warrant out for him.’

  ‘If it’s any consolation, her upstairs was acting a bit odd tonight.’

  ‘What was she doing?’

  ‘Nothing – that was the point. Just sitting and watching the clock – like she was waiting for something.’

  Or someone . . .

  22

  Jessica hung around at Sam’s flat for as long as she thought she could get away with while not seeming weirder than either Andy Whatshisface or Joy Bag thought she already was. A little after half six, she walked to the main road and dropped into a small grimy-looking café. She sent Bex another message to let her know she was safe and then tucked into a full English with double toast and three coffees. Her clothes felt itchy and uncomfortable seeing as she’d spent the whole of the previous day in them, with the late-night detour to Archie’s seeming like more of a dream than something she’d actually done.

  After debating whether she should go home for a wash, Jessica caught the bus to Longsight and did something she always hated doing – she used the staff shower. The water was never hot, the pressure was always a dribble, and she was forever in fear that someone – probably DI Franks – would wander into the women’s changing rooms ‘by accident’.

  Despite that and her general sense of feeling partially hungover, there was some good news waiting in her email. The geeks at Bradford Park had pulled themselves away from watching Star Trek marathons for long enough to recover a deleted text message from Pavel’s phone that had been found in Ana’s flat.

  ‘C&A at 11. Wk Weds.’
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  They had found the phone on a Tuesday, so it didn’t take much to figure out that something was happening on the coming Wednesday at eleven – perhaps in the morning but probably at night.

  That just meant they had to find out what ‘C&A’ referred to.

  Jessica was supposed to be on a day off but reckoned it couldn’t do any harm to try to work out what the note meant. She grabbed half-a-dozen constables, Izzy, a laptop, eight teas, half a packet of Pat’s Hobnobs that he hadn’t hidden well enough behind reception, and held a low-key morning briefing in the far corner of the canteen.

  The Hobnobs barely lasted three minutes.

  Aside from crumbs, the only thing they produced between them was that there used to be a large C&A department store in Manchester’s Arndale shopping centre before the chain closed down. One of the constables checked the Internet to show that there had actually been two, with a second one on Oldham Street around five minutes away. They went through the maps and the handful of old photographs available but there was nothing that seemed relevant. If someone wanted to meet Pavel in the Arndale, why wouldn’t he just say? As for Oldham Street, most of that area had been extensively renovated in the years since the store had closed, so how would they even know?

  There was a chance that the initials could refer to something in a foreign language, even though the rest of the message was in English. Jessica said she’d give Katerina a call to see if she had any idea.

  With the meeting still four days away, they at least had a little time to try to draw things together. Coupled with the surveillance of Ana, it gave them two strands in their pursuit of Pavel – but potentially a worry that whatever was planned for Wednesday was something they had no other intelligence on at all. He was a man wanted on a murder charge, with a missing wife, a young woman he was apparently pimping out, and a criminal record for burglaries that had striking similarities to the ones they were investigating. Not only that but – according to DCI Topper at least – it was Jessica’s fault he had escaped. All in all, making sure they were at Wednesday’s meeting, if only to nab Pavel, was an absolute necessity.