‘Don’t they usually bail everyone?’
‘For the most part. If you’re considered a danger to yourself or others, you might go on remand. With me, I’d be considered a flight risk because this could end my career.’
Fran opened her mouth and then closed it. For a moment Jessica thought she was going to ask the key question – ‘did you do it?’ – but she didn’t. Her gaze darted towards the main door, betraying her thoughts.
Jessica gave her the answer before the question had been asked. ‘They won’t be coming for me – not yet,’ she said.
‘How do you know?’
‘Because the main guy, Fordham, knows something’s not right. If I can realistically claim I didn’t know the police were looking for me, then I’ve done nothing wrong. I’ll say my phone died, and it’s not as if anyone could claim otherwise. I’m bailed to appear at Blackpool Police Station in five days. I wasn’t bound to stay at a certain address, so I’m free until then. If they put out a public appeal to say they’re looking for me, that doesn’t mean I’ve seen it – but if an officer tries to stop me, then I can’t run. I’ll have to give myself up.’
‘So you have five days?’
‘Four really – and tonight. But they might put my face on the front of tomorrow’s paper and that’d make it harder to stay anonymous.’
‘But you’ve got four and a bit days to either figure out what’s going on – or hope the police do?’
‘I guess.’
Fran was on a beanbag of her own. She squished herself lower and leaned forward, voice barely a whisper. ‘What if time runs out?’
Jessica knew her mug was empty but lifted it to her lips anyway, chewing on the rim. She wasn’t sure what to say but Fran was staring at her. Given that she and her girls were now a part of this, she deserved an answer.
‘I’m not sure,’ Jessica replied. ‘I’ll have to go to the station to answer bail. I’ll be arrested, interviewed. I can only tell them what I’ve said over and over – that I don’t know anything – but everyone says that.’
‘Your career?’
Jessica shook her head. For a police officer, being arrested – let alone charged – for a double or triple killing was the end.
Fran didn’t press any further, standing and offering Jessica a hand. ‘What can we do for you?’
Jessica stood and held up her phone, the cheap one that didn’t do much. ‘Have you got a charger for this?’
With a flick of her eyes, Fran had Jessica peering towards the corner of the room, where four chargers were plugged into an extension lead. ‘Probably. Ellie set the electricity up. I don’t know what she did but it doesn’t go through the meter, if you know what I mean. What else do you need? We can’t really help with money.’
Money wasn’t a concern, not yet. ‘A shower?’ she asked.
‘Our water supply works. The pressure’s awful, but we can do that. There are some spare clothes in a box upstairs, too. Something will probably fit.’
‘Somewhere to sleep?’
‘We can do that, too. There are spare beds upstairs. You won’t have a room to yourself, but—’
‘Thank you.’
Fran placed a hand around Jessica’s shoulders and led her towards the stairs. ‘What are friends for if not to shelter you from the police?’ She laughed but Jessica didn’t. She was too busy trying to figure out how her life had fallen apart so quickly.
Twenty-Nine
After her shower, Jessica’s first few hours at the Shanty were a strange affair. The back door was knocked on and opened at regular intervals, and there were around a dozen women who seemed to live there. They were a mix of ages and races, with no apparent house prejudice, other than the fact that men weren’t allowed.
Some were friendly, some not so much, preferring to find their own corner to read, use their phones, eat, or do whatever else they wanted. Some sat by themselves, saying nothing until Fran offered a motherly ‘hello’ and then left them be. Jessica expected that the women would be arriving because they wanted a bed for the night – but some of the residents left after eating and headed back into the cold. All of that was seemingly normal, with no questions being asked and little more than a smile and ‘stay safe’ from whomever was closest to the door.
The thing that both amazed and slightly disconcerted her was how quiet everything was. At home, Jessica often left on the radio or the television as background noise. Ever since Bex had disappeared, it had become almost a ritual to turn something on first thing in the morning and the moment she returned home from work. She used to find solace in the peace, but that silence had become a deafening reminder of how alone she was. At the Shanty, some of the women used headphones to listen to music and the radio, but there was no obvious noise aside from the quiet whispers to one another. Fran said there were three rules – no drugs, men or noise – and everyone was adhering. With the windows boarded and the light hidden, the residents of the street likely had no idea who was living under their noses. To organise all of this was smart – but to maintain discipline was incredible. Fran really had something special about her.
She had left Jessica in the company of Ruth, the woman whose husband had disappeared off to Spain with their company’s money. Ruth was wearing the same large Green Bay sweatshirt from the day before and cradling the well-thumbed paperback like an infant with a teddy. She clutched it as if it were her solitary possession… which it might have been.
Ruth showed Jessica the ropes in the kitchen, barely letting go of the book as they boiled a can of soup on the stove. They shared it between them, drinking from mugs, and then Ruth opened one of the cupboards and took out a sealed plastic triangle of sandwiches.
‘They went out of date yesterday,’ she said, holding up the pack.
‘Are they okay?’
Ruth couldn’t quite allow herself a smile, but she pressed her lips together. ‘They’re always fine. One of the girls, Tina, knows this lad who works in a supermarket. They’re supposed to throw away out-of-date food for health and safety reasons – they’d get sued for poisoning people if they gave it away, I guess. Anyway, he leaves a load of food in a bin bag at the back of the shop each night and it feeds us for a day or so. It’s usually sandwiches, but there are the odd cakes.’ She ripped the seal of the front and offered the pack to Jessica. ‘Beef and mustard,’ Ruth added.
Jessica took one, sniffed it and then took a large bite. It tasted perfectly fine – better than fine, in fact. There was something deliciously enticing about eating forbidden food.
Ruth had the other sandwich herself and they moved into the living room, finding a spot underneath the lamp in the corner where it was just them. Ruth held the book on her lap, fingers stroking the curled corners of the cover.
‘How long are you going to be here?’ Ruth asked, peering at the floor.
‘I’m not sure. Maybe a few days? Not long.’
‘Fran doesn’t show many people where we live. She must’ve liked you.’
‘I guess.’
‘What’s your story?’
Jessica put the final piece of sandwich in her mouth to buy herself time. She must have failed to hide how uncomfortable she was, because Ruth added: ‘It’s okay, you don’t have to say.’
Jessica took a deep breath through her nose, still delaying. ‘Things have just gone a bit… wrong recently.’
‘They say you’re police…’ Ruth tailed off and started picking at a loose thread hanging from her sock.
There were four other people in the room, each in their own space. Jessica glanced around, suddenly feeling watched, even though none of them were paying her any attention. ‘That’s right,’ she replied.
‘Are you here to…?’
‘I’m not a threat to anyone. I only wanted to find my friend and then things spiralled out of control. I’m here because I needed help.’
Ruth nodded slowly, lowering her voice further, even though there was no chance of being overheard. ‘Everybody trusts Fr
an and if she says you’re all right, then people will take her at that.’
Jessica nodded appreciatively but knew that worked both ways. If Fran turned on her for any reason, she could cause an awful lot of trouble.
After retrieving her phone from the bank of chargers, Jessica returned to the corner, sitting next to Ruth, who had opened her book. She fiddled with the basic Internet on her phone, managing to get onto the Blackpool Police website, and the Gazette’s. Luckily there was no mention of her, although that would only be a matter of time. Jessica thought about calling Izzy, if only for someone to talk to. It would have been nice to hear a familiar voice that believed everything she was saying – but it wasn’t fair. Jessica would be doing that for her own reasons, dragging Izzy into something that could get her in trouble.
She thought of her mother, too, who lived in a residential home on the outskirts of Manchester. She was always complaining – justifiably – that Jessica didn’t call her enough, but this was too big a burden. Jessica’s mum wasn’t exactly frail, not even particularly old in the grand scheme, but she would worry herself half to death if Jessica were to explain what had happened. She had unwavering faith in the emergency services, too, and would urge Jessica to give herself up. That was the problem, though. Jessica knew how things looked, how easy it would be for a Criminal Prosecution Service lawyer to talk about her being a flight risk. If her name came out in the media, she might think about dealing with her mother then.
Jessica was about to start looking for Fran in order to ask which bed was hers when Fran burst into the living room, accidentally kicking over a teacup. It went spinning across the room and clattered into a wall, though didn’t shatter. It was the loudest noise Jessica had heard since arriving at the house.
Fran peered around the room until she settled on Jessica. She was out of breath: ‘You free?’
Jessica’s instinct was to joke – she was hardly about to head out for a night on the town – but Fran’s wide eyes made it clear something serious was happening. ‘Yes.’
Fran turned her hand around to show her phone. ‘Alison’s just called in – that guy I told you about, the one who drives around the streets and tries to get girls to go with him – he’s back.’ She reached around the corner, grabbing a thick jacket and slipping her arms inside, then picking up another and holding it out towards Jessica. ‘If we go now, he might still be there. He normally does a couple of loops.’
Jessica felt drawn into doing as she’d been asked. Before she knew it, she was next to the back door and putting on the heavy winter coat. Fran opened the door but Jessica touched her arm. ‘I’m not sure if I’m police any longer,’ she said, checking behind to make sure nobody was listening. They weren’t – it wasn’t the way of the house. ‘There’s not a lot I can do, even if he is there.’
Fran broke into a small grin. There were wisps of her nearly grey hair poking out from her deerstalker. ‘You might not be police, honey, but you’re one of us.’ She winked. ‘Now put your hood up. Don’t want those nosy police bastards seeing your pretty face, do we?’
Fran and Jessica barely spoke during the walk, with Jessica shrinking into the coat as much as she could, hoping they didn’t run into any officers who might be looking for her. As it was, she needn’t have worried. Fran knew the side streets and back alleys as if she’d designed the town herself. She hurried from one to another without slowing until they were close to the centre. Jessica was beginning to get a feel for the area herself, spotting shops and buildings that she recognised, but Fran moved so quickly that there was no time to stop and figure out how one place linked to another.
Before Jessica knew it, they were on a crumbling street, standing underneath an archway of a bed and breakfast that had gone out of business. The windows were boarded up with cheap chipboard that was doused with poorly spelled graffiti. There was a faded sign pinned above the door advertising vacancies that were very unlikely to be honoured.
Fran sat on the step underneath the overhang and patted the spot next to her. Jessica sat, keeping her hands in the pockets of the jacket, where it was warm. The B&B was a little set back from the road and flanked on either side by takeaways. It was a few minutes after nine, not quite time for the theatres to kick out. A few people passed by, chatting and going about their business. No one paid them any attention. They were invisible.
‘This is one of our pillars,’ Fran said.
‘Sorry?’
‘There are a few places around town where the girls know to head for if there’s a problem. This is The Fell. It went out of business years ago. Because of the way it’s set back from the street, nobody notices you. You could sit here all night and not be bothered, as long as you keep the noise down. If one of the girls has a problem but they’re too far from the Shanty, they head for one of the pillars.’
‘Why do you call them that?’
‘They’re pillars of the community – our community. I can’t remember whose idea it was now.’
Jessica was becoming unnerved by the constant referrals to ‘the girls’. It wasn’t so much the idea of them sticking together, more that it came with an implication that women were good, men bad. Whenever Fran talked about things, the edge was clear in her voice. Jessica wanted to say something, but she needed Fran more than Fran needed her.
As silence hung between them, Jessica took in what she could of the street. There was a betting shop directly opposite, with a bakery on one side and a newsagent-cum-seaside tat shop on the other. The windows of the betting shop were plastered with posters advertising special offers, with only a narrow shaft of light spilling through the door. Once inside, its punters had no view of the outside world. The newsagent and bakery were both closed, with thick steel shutters clamped onto the pavement. Jessica was watching a couple walk hand in hand on the other side of the road when a figure darted around the entrance to the B&B and plopped herself next to Fran. It had happened so quickly that Jessica had almost missed it. The figure was a waif of a girl who Jessica hadn’t seen around the Shanty. She was wearing a leather jacket over leggings that hung loosely because she was so slim. Her blonde hair was bright, even in the dimness in which they were sitting, and she had hooped earrings that were so big, Jessica was surprised she could keep her head lifted.
‘You okay, Ally?’ Fran whispered.
The girl burrowed her head on Fran’s shoulder in much the same way that Ruth had done at the Shanty. She was probably still a teenager, but the sunken nature of her eyes and jutting cheekbones made it hard to tell.
‘He’s still around,’ she replied.
Fran put an arm around her and gestured towards Jessica. ‘Jess, this is Alison; Ally, Jess.’
They whispered ‘hi’ to one another and then Fran continued: ‘What was he doing?’
‘Driving around like usual,’ Alison replied. ‘It’s the first time I’ve seen him in about a week.’
‘Did any girls go with him?’
‘No – he was over by that bingo place near the multistorey. He pulled in and talked to this girl I didn’t recognise. I think she’d just popped out for a fag because she didn’t say much and then he drove off. I hid in this alley opposite and that’s when I called you. When I was coming here, I saw him again, driving past that blue hotel near the school.’
Fran patted Alison on the back, subliminally encouraging her to stop resting on her shoulder. Alison sat up and started to suck her thumb. ‘Good girl,’ Fran said, climbing to her feet. Jessica found herself doing the same without being asked.
‘Is that far away?’ she asked.
‘Five minutes,’ Fran replied. ‘You coming?’
‘What do you want me to do?’
‘Get a look at the guy and his car, see what you think. You must have instincts. Is he someone we should worry about, or a bit of a loser?’
Jessica wasn’t convinced she could offer any help, but there was little point in refusing. Besides, the reason she’d come to Blackpool in the first place was to lo
ok for Bex. If this man was enticing young women into his car and driving off, there could be something there.
The three of them crossed the road and followed the line of a wall until they were at the back of a pub. There were people inside, lights, music and chatter leaking onto the patio. Fran barely seemed to notice, keeping her head down and passing through a gate at the back into a deserted lane that ran along the rear of the shops and businesses. Without pausing, she hurried towards the end, quickly crossing the street in the darkest part between the street lights, and then headed down a ramp onto the lower level of a multistorey car park. She hugged the wall, sticking to the shadows until they reached the far side, where she ducked underneath a half-drawn metal shutter and led them into a delivery yard with four vans parked along the side.
Everything she did was designed to stay out of sight, to remain ignored and get from one place to another in the shortest time possible. Fran knew the streets with such perfect instinct that they were almost an extension of herself. She didn’t even need to think about what she was doing.
Via a boost over a low wall, they eventually reached a yard at the back of a mini supermarket. The delivery door shutter was down, with a CCTV camera pointing in their general direction. There was a pile of folded-down cardboard boxes wedged between two wheelie bins, plus a small circle of cigarette ends drowning next to a drain.
Fran glanced towards the camera and said: ‘It doesn’t work,’ before Jessica could query it. She headed for the bins, lifting one of the lids and reaching inside to remove a carrier bag that had the handles tied together. She undid them and peered inside, grinning as she passed a bag of bakery cookies to Alison.
‘Hungry?’
Alison’s eyes lit up. She tore the seal at the top and took out a chocolate chip cookie, taking a large bite before passing the bag to Jessica. It felt impolite to say no, but Jessica wasn’t hungry and handed them to Fran, who retied the carrier bag and returned it – carefully – to the bin.
Silent Suspect: A completely gripping crime thriller with edge-of-your-seat suspense (Detective Jessica Daniel thriller series Book 13) Page 17
