‘Good enough,’ Vince replied. ‘The lights are staying on and last month’s bill was next to nowt. You after a reference or something?’ He sniggered to himself.
‘I do all right myself,’ Greg said. ‘I’ve done the business for a few people – they’re happy to pay me a few hundred, then only ten per cent of their electric goes through the meter. They’re happy, I’m happy, even the power companies can’t be that annoyed. They’re still getting something.’
‘I’m in the wrong business.’
Greg laughed: ‘Yeah, right. You’re raking it in yourself. Anyway, I had a look at that panel earlier and it’s just a bit of bad wiring. You get it in places like this. Probably the same stuff in the walls as when it was built. I’ve patched it and will come back later in the week.’
‘You definitely taking your lad this time? He was a right nuisance last night, in and out at all hours.’
‘He’s gotta keep his head down, but he’ll be off to Spain this time next week. I’ll have a word. Anyway, I’m off.’
Jessica heard footsteps, Greg calling ‘Peter’ and then a door closing.
‘You hear that?’ Vince growled. He sounded nastier when it was just him with his son.
‘The end of it,’ Max replied.
‘Right – so hurry up and find that fucking girl, else I’ll send you back to the streets you came from.’
‘I’m trying, Dad.’
‘Try harder. I’m going to bed. You can do the morning run tomorrow – and don’t forget what’s happening tomorrow evening.’
‘I won’t.’
There was still a lot Jessica didn’t get, but things were falling into place. Bex was likely Max’s ‘bitch girlfriend’ to whom Greg had referred – and Max was apparently looking for her.
That made two of them.
Max and Bex had matching tattoos; though, from what Jessica knew of her friend, she couldn’t believe the pair had much in common, let alone that Bex would disappear to be with him having not mentioned him at any point in the past. Vince threatened to send his son back to the streets, so they might have known each other from the time when Bex was homeless.
There were still so many unanswered questions, so much for Jessica to get her head around, but it was a start.
She still had to find Bex, though.
A door slammed somewhere below and then Max muttered the word ‘twat’. There was a series of metallic squeaks and then Jessica saw his hands clasping the rim around the attic. He heaved himself upwards, forearms bulging as he showed off the spider’s web tattoo that matched Bex’s. He swore under his breath as he twisted and sat on the ledge.
‘Prick,’ he mumbled to no one in particular, before standing, turning, and staring directly at Jessica.
Thirty-Four
Jessica’s palms were planted on the floor, ready to spring forward. Max might be bigger and stronger than her, but all she had to do was get around him and drop through the hatch. Vince had gone to bed and she should be able to get to the back door before anyone else. She more or less knew the way back to the town centre and she’d run like she’d never run before. She’d scream and be noisy, make herself noticed. Someone might call the police, but it would stop the Waverlys coming for her.
Max’s gaze flitted straight at Jessica and then past as he yawned. He was holding the end of a hose in one hand and crossed to the table that was on the far side from her, before filling up a watering can.
Jessica had no idea how he’d missed her, other than a combination of the dark and the table legs. He’d been yawning, too, and might have had watery eyes. If not that, then he could have been startled by the brightness, as she had been. Either way, Jessica didn’t dare move as he pottered around the plants closest to him, doing a distinctly half-arsed job of watering them. By the time he’d emptied the can, he’d barely covered a quarter of the floor space. He put the can down and crossed to the lockbox. As Jessica had done, he delved into the nearby planter for the key and then unlocked it, picking through the memory cards. The one with Bex’s name was in Jessica’s pocket, but he had plenty of choice.
Max continued searching through the cards, picking a couple out and pocketing them before relocking the box and returning the key to the planter. He stood with his hands on his hips, staring from side to side at the vast expanse of plants.
‘Shitting morning duty,’ he said, checking his watch. ‘Prick.’
He rounded the first set of tables and kicked the empty watering can into the opposite wall before heading back to the ladder. He picked up the hose and flung it through, then jumped down after it. Seconds later, the stairs clamped back into place.
Jessica didn’t move. She counted to ten, then a hundred, then another hundred, before she stretched out her legs. Her hip clicked, her knee creaked, her back twinged, but she managed to stand. Jessica moved slowly across the floor, trying not to make any noise before she got to the hatch. She yawned three times in succession, each stronger than the last until there were tears rolling along her cheeks.
For the first time since arriving at the farm, Jessica slipped her phone from her pocket. It was almost one o’clock in the morning and she had one text message from Fran, sent forty-five minutes previously.
CU @ shanty. X
Jessica replied to say that she was safe – for the moment – and then sat, listening to the nothingness of the night, until her phone told her it was three o’clock. Then she lowered the attic stairs, climbed down, lifted them back up and crept out of the house and across the yard. The moment she hit the path, she started to run, not stopping until she was surrounded by street lights and houses as the encompassing glow of the town embraced her and welcomed her back to civilisation.
Thirty-Five
Jessica awoke in the same spot as she had the previous morning. This time she was racked with yawns, eyelids heavy, limbs floppy and useless. She was alone, surrounded by tidily made beds and a silence that scratched and scraped at her very being. She understood why things had to be so quiet around the Shanty, but the oblivion left her alone with her mind – and that was too dark a place in which to spend any time.
She got dressed into the same clothes as the day before, ignoring that the bottoms of her jeans were tinged with damp from the bushes and grass she’d waded through on the way back from the Waverly farm. Downstairs, there were a few more women hanging around than the previous days. Jessica couldn’t fail but notice the sideways glances and general air of bewilderment. They had become used to living in this place, supporting one another and keeping to Fran’s rules. Then, from nowhere, Jessica had arrived and there were late-night excursions and the scent of trouble. Plus, she was a police officer – at least for now.
Jessica smiled weakly towards the women in the living room and then entered the empty kitchen.
‘Hey,’ a voice called. At first Jessica couldn’t see where it was coming from, but then she saw that the door underneath the stairs was open. She poked her head around to see Fran sitting on the floor underneath two shelves lined with books. She had a paperback on her lap, its pages curled and brown, and was wearing glasses, which she immediately removed. ‘You look tired,’ Fran added.
‘Whatcha doing in there?’ Jessica asked, crouching.
‘It’s peaceful. I like it under here.’
Jessica stooped to sit in the doorway and couldn’t fight back a yawn.
‘I was worried about you,’ Fran said.
‘You weren’t the only one.’
‘What did you find?’
Jessica slipped the memory card from her pocket and passed it over. Fran twirled it in her hand and then looked up. ‘Rebecca is your friend?’
‘Maybe – that’s what “Bex” is short for. Max Waverly is apparently looking for her, too. I don’t know how they know each other.’
‘Doesn’t sound good though, does it?’
Jessica could only agree.
‘Ell!’
As Fran called the name, Jessica turned to see Ell
ie walking past the cupboard on her way to the kitchen. She ducked and smiled, though the space was already cramped with Fran and Jessica under the stairs.
‘Show her the card,’ Fran said. Jessica did, but Ellie only needed a quick glance before shaking her head.
‘You want to see what’s on that?’ she asked.
‘Hopefully,’ Jessica replied.
‘You’d need a computer or possibly a camera. It’s a bit too big for a phone. There’s nothing like that here. You might be able to try the library in town, but…’
She exchanged a glance with Fran and then Jessica knew that she’d missed something.
‘What?’ she asked, peering between the two of them.
Fran reached behind her back and pulled out a newspaper, which she passed to Jessica. As soon as the front page unfolded itself, Jessica knew why the other residents had been eyeing her with such suspicion. She didn’t blame them – her face was plastered across a third of that morning’s Gazette.
‘Sorry,’ Fran said as Jessica read the story on the front, before turning inside. The more she read, the more Jessica felt the hand of DCI Fordham and possibly her own colleagues from Manchester. The wording of the story, and therefore the press release from which it had been rewritten, was very smart. It said that local police were searching for a ‘fellow officer’ who had gone missing and was last seen on Blackpool’s South Shore. It made it sound like she might be in trouble, asking the public to be vigilant in case she was still in the area, while also appealing for Jessica to come forward. The deaths of Peter Salisbury and Sophie Johns were mentioned but not directly linked to her.
That would be the next day’s story.
Jessica knew this was Fordham giving her one final chance to hand herself in. He knew she had run and this was putting the squeeze on, getting her face out for the public to see and having the locals look out for her. Her colleagues in Manchester would have seen it too and tried to contact her. Her mum would have seen it. People would be worrying, with good reason, and the police would be hoping Jessica caved and contacted one of them. If she didn’t know the game, hadn’t been involved in similar schemes herself, she’d give in immediately. More than anything, Jessica was horrified by the anguish her mother would be feeling as she sat by herself in the residential home reading that her daughter had gone missing. She thought about calling to say she was safe, perhaps from a phone box or a different mobile she could ditch afterwards. She wanted to do it – but knew she couldn’t. This was precisely what Fordham was after and, besides, Jessica only had a day before the full story would break anyway. When it was announced that she was a suspect in a double murder, it’d be game over. Fordham believed her – this proved it – but she could only push him so far.
‘What are you going to do?’ Fran asked.
‘There’s someone I can call – a friend.’
‘Your lot?’
Jessica shook her head and handed back the paper. ‘Not after this. They know they’ve put me in a corner.’
Ellie was now sitting in the door frame. Fran glanced at her and lowered her voice. ‘The girls are worried. This is a lot of attention.’
‘I know. I’ll leave – it’s not fair.’
‘I—’ Fran touched Jessica on the shoulder, but Jessica knew this was something she had to do. Fran might convince the others, might say she could stay for another day, but Jessica was putting them all in danger.
‘I’m going to go,’ Jessica said.
‘You don’t have to.’
‘I really do.’ Jessica started to lift herself up and Ellie shuffled backwards to let her out. She was just about to head for the stairs to retrieve her shoes when one final thing occurred to her. ‘If you could just give me half an hour with the phone charger…?’
As well as some time to charge her phone, Fran also allowed Jessica to take one of the thick jackets before they said goodbye. Jessica kept the hood up and passed through the warren of alleys past the train tracks until she was well away from the Shanty before making her phone call. She did exactly as Andrew Hunter had told her, dialling the desk number for the private investigator and then pressing ‘one’ as soon as it rang. There was a plip and then it started to ring again. Andrew answered almost immediately.
‘Hi, it’s Jess,’ she said.
‘Oh…’ he replied, stumbling. ‘I saw the stuff this morning and wondered if you might…’
‘I really need your help.’
‘Where are you?’
‘Still in Blackpool, but I need to get away from the centre. If you go north out of the town, Blackpool becomes Bispham and the Queen’s Promenade runs along the front. It’s a lot quieter there. There’s a hotel shaped like a castle – you can’t miss it. Can we meet on the benches opposite?’
‘I’m sure I’ll find it.’
‘How far away are you?’
‘Um, hang on…’ There was a rustling and Jessica could hear him talking to someone away from the phone. ‘About an hour and a half,’ he said. ‘Sorry. Do you need me to bring anything?’
Jessica told him and then hung up, staring at her phone screen as it dimmed. There had been two more calls that morning, both from unknown numbers that were probably Izzy calling from the station. She scrolled through the sparse list of contacts, hovering over her friend’s number, but didn’t call.
She kept away from anywhere busy and ambled through the back streets heading north, recrossing the railway lines but staying away from the Shanty. Jessica checked the clock on her phone regularly, but it felt like time wasn’t moving. Ninety minutes was a long time to be by herself, hoping someone would ride to her rescue.
Within thirty, she was at the bench she’d mentioned to Andrew. The promenade was almost deserted, with only a dog-walker and a jogger passing by on the path. Neither paid her any attention and the beach below was empty. Even the cars passing behind her on the road had stopped.
Jessica sat with the coat wrapped tightly around herself, staring out at the choppy grey sea. She checked her phone again, but there was still an hour until Andrew said he’d be there – and that was if he was on time. There could be traffic, roadworks, or any number of other hold-ups. Jessica glanced at the phone again, but not even a minute had passed. It was going to be a long, long wait.
Thirty-Six
One moment the man was about to stride past her, the next he had slotted onto the bench next to Jessica in one swift movement. It happened so quickly that Jessica turned to look at him, making sure it was the person she was waiting for.
It had been a few years since she’d first met Andrew Hunter, yet he’d not changed much. He had sandy-gingery hair with a sprinkling of stubble that was the same colour and blended in with his skin. He was now in his mid- to late-thirties, with a friendly, unassuming face that worked in his favour considering his job. He was so normal, so forgettable. No scars or tattoos, no lazy eye or one nostril that bulged bigger than the other. He was far from ugly, but neither was he particularly attractive.
‘Having a good morning?’ Andrew asked.
‘I’ve had better.’
‘I’ve been keeping an eye out for your name since we last spoke. Got a bit of a shock when I saw it online this morning.’
‘Am I everywhere?’
‘Not really – the local Gazette and a small story on the BBC website. You’re small-time, I’m afraid.’ He smiled, but Jessica couldn’t return it. Small-time was fine – Fordham only needed local coverage for now. It’d be a hell of a lot bigger if she were linked to a pair of murders. Then she’d be dreaming of small-time.
‘I’m not really missing,’ she said, turning back to the ocean.
‘So I can see.’
‘I mean that’s not why the police want me. I’m on bail and they want to arrest me. That picture of me they gave to the Gazette is them being nice. They want me to hand myself in before they bury me.’
‘What have you done?’
Jessica didn’t reply straight away. It had taken her l
ong enough, but she’d finally figured out that the tide was going out. Some idiot in a wetsuit was trying to windsurf close to the North Pier and she willed him to fall in.
‘They think I might have killed some people. It’s complicated.’
‘Oh.’
‘I didn’t.’
‘It never crossed my mind.’
She turned to him, eyebrow raised. ‘C’mon, if any of my friends were accused of killing someone, the first thing I’d wonder was whether they did it. I might dismiss it straight away, but I’d think about it and it would definitely cross my mind. I’m just honest enough to admit it.’
His half-smile was fixed. ‘You’ve not changed,’ he said.
‘Maybe.’
‘They think I might’ve been involved with killing this bloke, Peter, but he’s alive. I saw him on a farm last night. I don’t know where he’s gone now, otherwise I’d call the police and tell them. His father identified someone else’s body and then I think Peter went out and killed this girl, Sophie, who had a crush on him. I’m connected to that, too.’
‘That’s a nice alibi he’s given himself. No one pegs a dead guy as a potential murderer.’
‘That’s what I thought.’
‘Who’s the body they identified as Peter?’
‘No idea.’
Neither of them spoke for a few moments. Jessica was still watching the windsurfer, who, much to her annoyance, was expertly skimming along the tops of the waves. He was bounced into the air but landed perfectly and continued being carried by the breeze. The cocky bastard.
‘Can I ask a question?’ Andrew said.
‘Go on.’
‘Why don’t you hand yourself in? You say the photo in the paper was their way of being nice, of giving you a chance, so why not take it? They must believe at least some of what you’ve told them, else they’d let the dogs loose.’
Silent Suspect: A completely gripping crime thriller with edge-of-your-seat suspense (Detective Jessica Daniel thriller series Book 13) Page 21
