‘Three or four.’ Mac leaned forward to point at the screen. ‘Just freeze it for a sec and I’ll show you.’
‘I wonder what goes through their minds?’ Jackson mused as he rooted for the remote under a mess of papers on the desk. ‘When they go back to the scene and see us digging about?’
Finding the remote, he pointed it at the screen, freezing the crowd. ‘You’d think their faces would give them away, wouldn’t you?’
‘They can be crafty bastards, though, can’t they?’ Mac muttered, staring hard at the crowd. ‘Look how many we catch red-handed, and they come over so innocent you end up questioning your own judgement. If you want my opinion, it’s the innocent ones who look guilty, and vice versa. There you go . . .’ He pointed at the screen. ‘That’s one of them.’
Jackson leaned forward for a closer look. Mac was pointing to a blonde girl standing off to the rear of the crowd. She was on tiptoes, peering around with big eyes. Jackson noted the counter number to get a still shot of the frame.
‘Looks very interested, doesn’t she? But I suppose that’s to be expected. Kind of reminds you of those French women knitting at the executions, doesn’t it? Who else?’
‘There’s another two standing together a bit further on,’ Mac said. ‘Just over to the right a bit, and further forward . . . Stop. There they are.’
Jackson peered at the two – another blonde, with a ponytail and black roots, and a redhead. Something about the redhead struck him as odd.
‘Funny look on her face,’ he said. ‘See how the blonde looks excited, like our French Revolution girl? Now take a look at the redhead. She looks freaked. And she’s not looking in the direction of the body like all the others. She’s watching us.’
‘A lot of them do that,’ Mac remarked. ‘It doesn’t really mean anything. I mean, come on, you were being filmed! Half of them are just there hoping to get their mugs on telly, aren’t they?’
Jackson shook his head slowly. ‘I hear what you’re saying, Mac, but I don’t think that’s her game. Let’s just run it for a sec and see what she’s up to, eh?’
They ran the film and watched the girl intently. She was indeed watching the police, furtively glancing around at them, but not, as they’d supposed, at Jackson or the film crew.
‘You know what’s making me twitchy?’ Jackson commented. ‘The way she’s watching the obvious coppers – the uniforms. It’s like she’s keeping an eye on them to see if she’s been spotted, know what I mean?’
Mac frowned. ‘What? Like she’s expecting to be?’
Jackson nodded thoughtfully. He hadn’t quite got it straight in his own head what it was exactly. Just a gut feeling. But whatever – she was definitely one to check.
‘Maybe she’s just got a thing about men in uniform?’ Mac suggested, managing to leer and grin simultaneously.
‘Or maybe she’s guilty as hell about something?’ Jackson countered.
‘Could be anything.’ Mac shrugged. ‘Unpaid leccy bill, pending court case? She might even have a warrant out on her.’
‘She wouldn’t be stupid enough to turn up there if that was the case.’
Mac pulled his head back and gave Jackson an incredulous look. ‘Oh, please!’
‘All right.’ Jackson waved a hand towards the screen. ‘Where’s your other suspect?’
‘Further back,’ Mac said. ‘Just before you do your hound-dog bit!’
The fourth likely was another blonde – extremely thin and scruffy, and sporting a pair of dark shades.
‘Junkie,’ Jackson grunted.
‘Bit early for a smack-head.’
‘Not if she’s a lifter,’ Jackson said. ‘The early worm gets all the bargains, and all that. Right, I’ve had enough of this.’
Pressing the rewind button, he waited for the tape to pop out of the machine. Then he put it back in its case and wrote across the front: JACKSON – DO NOT ERASE.
‘Here’s the counter numbers of the frames we want stills off,’ he said, handing a note and the video across to Mac. ‘Get them down to the lab and tell them what we want. Oh, and Mac, tell ’em to be quick, eh?’
‘Yes, sir!’ Mac flipped a salute and jumped to his feet. ‘Anything else, sir?’
‘Yeah!’ Jackson grinned. ‘Don’t be so disrespectful to your elders and betters!’
Even at a rush, it was a full hour before the lab technician carried out the folder and handed it to Mac.
‘I’ve managed to get them pretty clear,’ he said. ‘But with the size he wanted, I’m afraid they’re a bit on the grainy side. Now then – will that be cash, or credit?’
‘Ha, ha, very funny!’ Mac drawled. ‘See you later, and thanks for this,’ he said, waving the folder as he turned and rushed out the door.
‘Here you go, boss,’ he said when he reached Jackson’s office. He flipped the folder across the desk.
Jackson caught it and tipped the prints out, lining them up side by side on his desk. He spent a good few minutes scrutinizing them before looking up.
‘Do us a favour,’ he said, picking up the phone and tapping out an internal number. ‘Go and pick up the mug books – and make sure they give you the Rastas, too. I only mentioned that one at the last minute, they might forget if you don’t remind them.
‘Hello, yes.’ He turned his attention to the phone, waving Mac out. ‘That car I wanted, I need it in five minutes. And the lad – Dalton. Tell him to get his arse over here quick smart!’
Slamming the receiver down, he pushed his chair back and gathered the prints together, stuffing them back into the folder. He’d just locked his door when first Mac, then Paul Dalton appeared from opposite ends of the corridor.
‘Took your bloody time, didn’t you?’ he snapped as he headed for the back door. ‘Come on. We haven’t got all day!’
Paul Dalton’s nerves returned with a vengeance. DS Macintosh was an added pressure. It had been bad enough driving just DCI Jackson, but the two together – old mates, obviously – made him feel inadequate. He needn’t have worried. Mac had already decided he must be all right, or Jackson would never have picked him out to come along.
‘You know the way, don’t you?’ Jackson asked as they jumped into the car.
‘Yes, sir.’ Paul nodded. ‘Oh, by the way, I got these out of some car mags.’ Reaching into his uniform jacket, he pulled out the folded wad of magazine pages he’d assembled the night before. ‘I thought we could show them to Mrs Lilley and see if she recognizes those cars.’
‘Good lad!’ Jackson took the pictures and winked at Mac over his shoulder. He’d forgotten all about the car pictures. The lad was proving to be an asset. ‘Well, off you go, then,’ he said. ‘And don’t forget – I’m colour-blind. Red means green, right?’
‘Don’t be telling him stuff like that!’ Mac admonished from the back seat. He tapped Paul on the shoulder. ‘Don’t you be listening to him. I want to get there in one piece. You go through one red and I’ll nick you myself!’
‘Yes, sir,’ Paul said with a grin.
Jacqueline Fenton was surprised to see them – and distinctly cooler, having been ousted from their meeting the day before. Opening the door to let them in, she said, ‘I presume you’re here to see Ivy again?’
Jackson smiled. ‘If she’s available?’
‘I’m sure she is,’ Ms Fenton answered, flicking a glance at the mug books he was carrying. So they were taking old Ivy seriously, then. ‘I’ll just let her know you’re here,’ she said, and swept off down the corridor.
‘What’s eating her?’ Mac asked in a hushed voice as they followed.
‘I don’t think she was expecting us,’ Jackson hissed back. ‘She’s only got half her face pack on!’
‘Bit of all right, though,’ Mac commented. ‘Nice arse!’
‘Only ’cos it matches yours for size,’ said Jackson.
Ms Fenton didn’t even try to enter when Ivy invited the officers into her apartment this time. Turning on her heel, she rushed off to
have a gossip with the visiting hairdresser. She still hadn’t forgiven Ivy for snubbing her yesterday, but maybe she’d relent later – after the officers had gone. Find out what was going on?
‘Can I get you a coffee?’ Mrs Lilley asked when they were all seated.
‘No, thanks,’ Jackson said. ‘We don’t want to put you out. And I don’t mean to rush you, but I’d appreciate it if you could have a look at some pictures for us.’ Opening the folder, he pulled out the stills and handed them to her.
‘These were taken from a videotape of the news broadcast,’ he told her. ‘They’re not brilliant, but they’re not too bad. Now, I know you said you couldn’t be absolutely sure if the girl you saw that night was the same girl you saw the next morning. But, based on your description, we picked out four likely girls. All I ask is that you take your time to look them over. You’re under no pressure, so if you don’t see the girl, don’t worry. Just do your best.’
‘Of course,’ said Mrs Lilley.
The first print was the junkie in shades. Mrs Lilley looked closely at her, then shook her head. ‘I’ve seen this girl around, but she’s not the one.’
She took longer with the second print. This was the one with the two girls standing together. As she peered long and hard, her face creased into a thoughtful frown. Jackson and Mac exchanged a glance. This could be it.
‘I wouldn’t like to say I was one hundred per cent certain,’ she said at last. ‘But I’m almost sure this is the girl.’
Jackson felt his heart jump in his chest. He pushed himself to the edge of his seat. ‘Which one?’ he asked, knowing in his heart that she was going to say the redhead.
‘That one.’ She pointed at the redhead and Jackson almost cheered. ‘I’m pretty confident she’s the one I saw on the night, and again the next morning. But I’d hesitate to swear under oath that I was certain. It could just be her familiarity.’
Jackson’s heart slowed to normal. ‘Are you saying you already know her?’
‘Not know her, exactly,’ Mrs Lilley explained almost apologetically. ‘But I’ve certainly seen her going to and from the shops. It’s hard not to notice the regulars when my window overlooks the only route from the main road. I would venture to say I’m ninety-nine per cent certain, but I don’t know if that’s good enough?’
Jackson smiled reassuringly. ‘It’s good enough for us to find out who she is and have her questioned. If she is our girl, we’ll soon work it out. Please don’t think you’ve let us down. You’ve been very helpful.’
‘Oh dear,’ Mrs Lilley sighed almost regretfully. ‘I hope I’m wrong. She seems such a pleasant girl. Whereas I’m afraid the same can’t be said for her friend!’
‘Oh?’ said Jackson. ‘You mean the blonde?’
‘Mmmm,’ Mrs Lilley murmured, pursing her lips. ‘Unpleasant girl. Spends a lot of time hanging about at the back of the shops with a very unruly mob. Until recently, that is. Probably all the police activity has chased them away for the time being.’
‘And you’re quite sure she’s not the girl you saw there that night?’ Jackson asked.
‘Not at that time.’ Mrs Lilley shook her head. ‘Earlier, yes. She was sitting on the wall at the side with her friends. They were drinking and smoking and making a racket, as usual. In fact, there was an altercation between them and Mr Singh.’
‘An altercation?’
‘Oh yes, quite noisy too. Lots of shouting, some pushing and shoving. As I said, they’re very unpleasant characters, and that was certainly not the first time they’d been aggressive towards Mr Singh.’
‘What time would that have been?’ Jackson asked.
‘Ten o’clock,’ she told him confidently. ‘The news was just coming on and I missed the first ten minutes because of all the shouting. I’m sure if you ask Mr Singh’s nephews they’ll be able to give you more details.’
‘They were there?’
‘Oh yes. They came out and chased them away. They’d probably know who they are, because, as I said, it wasn’t the first time.’
Jackson made a mental note to visit the supermarket on the way back to the station. It was a bit of a coincidence that these two girls were together the morning after the murder, when one had been involved in a scuffle with the dead man the night before and the other was supposedly spotted going into the yard very late on the same night. This was starting to take shape, and he wanted to be sure he’d covered every possibility.
‘I wonder if you’d look at some cars now?’ he asked Mrs Lilley when he’d finished jotting his notes. ‘With luck, there should be one that’s similar to the one you saw that night.’
Mrs Lilley pored over each of the pages Paul Dalton had ripped from his magazines, then pointed out two cars that she thought were very like the silver one.
Jackson tipped Paul a wink. They were both BMWs, as he’d suggested. One was a 325, the other a 318. So similar that it was understandable she couldn’t pinpoint exactly which model she’d seen. As for the darker car, she wasn’t certain, but thought it looked like a Ford Escort. The only problem she had was that the ones in the pictures looked much plainer than the one she’d seen. Jackson was delighted. Even without knowing the exact makes, it narrowed the range down considerably. It would make their work so much easier.
Next he showed her the mug books, but this didn’t go quite so well. Page after page of photos of criminals, but none that Mrs Lilley felt sure enough about identifying to be significant. All she could say about the three men she had seen running away from the supermarket after the shots had been fired was that one was very broad and tall, another was shorter but still quite well built, and the third a fair deal shorter. And she was pretty sure they were white, whereas the man in the silver car was black.
‘I’m so sorry I can’t be more helpful,’ she apologized. ‘I’m much surer of the girl because she was alone, and she stood right outside my window. I wouldn’t even like to hazard a guess if one of the men in your books was one of the men I saw. I’m sorry.’
‘Don’t be,’ Jackson said quickly. ‘You’ve been a tremendous help. I only wish all of our witnesses were as astute as you. You’ve given us a lot more than we expected.’
‘Canny old bird,’ Mac said as they left the home. ‘Shame she has to spend the last days of her life stuck in that rat-hole. Must be hell when your mind’s as sharp as a pin. Still, a few days in court will give her something to occupy her.’
‘Mmmm.’ Jackson nodded towards Paul. ‘But as me laddo here was only too quick to point out – only if she lasts as long as it takes us to catch these scummy little shits and get them to court! I don’t know,’ he went on, sighing long and hard. ‘Eighty-nine. And we’re not that far behind, Mac. Will you visit me when I’m stuck in a place like that?’
‘No way!’ Mac retorted. ‘I’ll be long gone. But you’re the Dragon Master. Don’t you possess the secret of eternal life or something?’
Paul’s foot pressed down harder on the accelerator with shock when he heard them joking about the nickname the lads had given Jackson. He felt the blush suffuse his face in a burning wave.
Jackson nudged him. ‘Like I said . . . I know everything! Now, pull in round the front of the supermarket.’
Guptar Singh felt a stirring of panic in his gut when the three officers walked in. He was dreading the day they discovered the other business his uncle had been running. And even though he knew he had scoured every inch of the shop and found no leftover drugs, he could almost feel the handcuffs snapping into place as Jackson approached him.
‘Good afternoon, Mr Singh. I wonder if we could have a quick word?’
Guptar glanced at a couple of customers who had stopped shopping to blatantly gawp at the scene. ‘Just let me call my brother and we can go through to the stockroom,’ he said, adding pointedly, ‘It’ll be more private back there.’
He went to the door off to the side of the counter and called through. Seconds later, Raj appeared and took over. Guptar led them through to
the back of the store.
‘Business good?’ Jackson asked on the way, more out of politeness than any real interest.
‘Been a bit slow, actually,’ Guptar said. ‘But it’s the recession, isn’t it? Businesses are closing up all over the place.’
Jackson raised an eyebrow. ‘Can’t be that bad,’ he said, looking pointedly at the expensive colour monitor and recording machine showing a crystal-clear image of the shop floor.
And then there was the new jeep Guptar’s uncle had recently acquired. Not to mention the brand new Mercedes van. Or the luxury detached house with all mod cons Jackson had visited after the murder.
Walking slowly around the stockroom, peering nonchalantly into cartons, he said, ‘Is this your only business, Mr Singh?’
Guptar was visibly agitated by the questioning, which Jackson thought suspicious in itself.
‘No. We’ve another shop in Moss Side.’
‘Same as this?’
‘Smaller,’ said Guptar, glancing nervously at Mac and Paul Dalton standing in the doorway. ‘Look, what is this, Inspector? Why are you asking these questions? I hoped you’d come to tell us you’d caught whoever murdered my uncle.’
‘Unfortunately not,’ Jackson replied, sitting on the edge of the desk beside the monitor. ‘But I do have some questions regarding the night of the murder.’
‘I’ll be glad to tell you what I know,’ Guptar said. ‘But I’m afraid I don’t have too long to spare. I’ve dragged my brother away from his work to cover for me as it is.’
‘Oh, it won’t take long,’ Jackson drawled. ‘Now then, on the night in question, at approximately ten p.m., I believe there was a confrontation between your uncle and a gang of local youths?’
Guptar nodded, folding his arms. ‘That’s right. But it wasn’t anything, really. Just some kids getting lippy. We got rid of them easily enough.’
Jackson made a note on his pad. ‘Could you be a bit more specific, sir? What exactly do you mean by “lippy” for example? Were they threatening your uncle?’
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