Текст книги "Jessica Daniel: Locked In / Vigilante / The Woman in Black"

Автор книги: Kerry Wilkinson

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Текущая страница: 14 (всего у книги 60 страниц)

27

Jessica had never been a big fan of travelling by train. For one, she hated facing backwards while the train moved forwards; there was something inherently unnatural about it. She wasn’t even too keen on the sideways-facing seats. Why was it so hard to have rows of seats that all faced the same way? They managed it on aeroplanes.

She was sitting next to Cole on their way to Leeds, facing backwards and feeling slightly sick. Travelling in a car across the Pennines was a nuisance at the best of times but during the morning rush hour on a Monday, traffic was at its peak. As much as she would never admit it to anyone, especially not Rowlands, Jessica rarely took her car on the motorway. She relied on it to get her a few miles to work and back and occasionally trusted it to complete a return journey to her parents’ house, although only on the minor roads. She definitely didn’t have faith for it to get her from one side of the country to the other. The force didn’t like paying out expenses on car journeys either so a trip on the train it was.

The scenery thundered past as they made small talk. Neither of them seemed keen to speak about the case but Cole told Jessica about his Sunday out with his wife and kids. It felt like another world to her but made her think of poor Kim Hogan and how she hadn’t had the opportunity of a proper upbringing.

Both she and Cole had seen the initial forensic test results. Claire’s neck wounds were almost identical to those of Yvonne Christensen and Martin Prince, while the instrument was again some type of steel wire or rope. With that and the way the flat was locked, they were as sure as they could be that the murders had all been carried out by the same person. Forensics had once again failed to find any trace of the killer. There were no fingerprints, no DNA, no blood and nothing under Claire Hogan’s nails. It also didn’t look as if she’d had sex the night she died.

Either the murderer was very careful indeed, or he knew how to cover his tracks.

The cash that had been left on the side had at least six different sets of fingerprints between the two notes and traces of cocaine. The labs were working on isolating anything that could be useable but Jessica wasn’t hopeful. Even if they did get something they could check, it would only rule people out unless they got a match on the National DNA Database.

At this point, Jessica would have been happy enough with someone to rule out.

She had seen Garry Ashford’s name on the front page of the Herald again that morning. The other media outlets had the story too but Jessica doubted they had spoken to the woman who lived above the victim. In a good way for him, Garry was showing himself to be a bit of a pest. He was certainly persistent but she wondered who his source was. There were plenty of possibilities. Someone on the Scene of Crime team, maybe? They were the only people who had actually been to every scene that she knew of but then somebody had told him about her interview-room incident too.

The train steadily pulled into their destination but they remained sitting until the other commuters were off, a wall of suits, smart shoes and briefcases hurrying away almost as one. When it was clear, the two stood and made their way through the station, showing their tickets to the inspectors on the gate. They got a taxi but it was only a few miles to their destination.

HMP Leeds was a massive old Victorian building for B-class prisoners. The categorisation meant the authorities thought Shaun Hogan didn’t need to be kept with the most violent offenders but he wasn’t trusted enough to be in an open prison either. Jessica had read his file and knew the GBH he had been sent down for was something that happened all too frequently. It reminded her of Tom Carpenter but without the knife; two men fighting outside of a bar after drinking too much on a Saturday night. Shaun Hogan had ended up head-butting the victim, before kicking him in the head on the ground.

He was lucky he hadn’t killed him.

Even with his guilty plea, he had been sentenced to five years in prison but he would be out in a few months because of time spent on remand and apparent good behaviour. He would have served just over half his sentence.

From the outside, the building looked like a castle with imposing cylindrical walls at the front. There was an enormous heavy set of wooden doors at the opening too, all of which added to the structure’s intimidating appearance.

The taxi dropped them off outside and they walked into the reception area. It was a smallish office off to the right of the entrance. They showed their credentials and were searched. The fact they were police officers meant they were given a lot more leeway than most but everyone was patted down and had to go through the metal detectors – regardless of who they were.

The governor himself had come down to meet them both. He was a strict-looking man in his late forties with a short, tight haircut and fierce-looking eyes. He had a voice that, even with his Yorkshire accent, was a little too high-pitched and didn’t quite fit. He introduced himself and shook both of their hands, saying he was taking them to the visitors’ centre. He told them it wasn’t visiting hours yet, so it would just be the two of them plus Shaun Hogan and the guards in the room.

He led them across the main yard, explaining that was where prisoners were first brought in and then took them through two sets of lockable doors before they emerged back outside into another yard. He told them about the facility itself and pointed them to the various wings as he did so, explaining where the old buildings ended and the new ones began. It obviously wasn’t an inspection but the governor clearly wanted to impress them.

They crossed a second yard and went down a concrete walkway towards a separate building as the governor told them he had informed Shaun about his mother’s death on Saturday.

‘How did he take it?’ Jessica asked as they walked side by side.

‘He didn’t even react. He nodded and asked if he could return to his cell.’

‘Seriously?’

‘He didn’t seem upset at all.’

‘How has he behaved since he’s been with you?’ Cole asked.

‘Incredibly well. He’s not been in trouble, he’s done any jobs assigned to him and worked hard in class according to the tutors.’

‘Is that normal?’ Jessica asked.

‘Sometimes you get the odd one but most people who want to cause trouble end up at Wakefield or one of the other Category A places.’

The governor led them into a building that was clearly newer than a lot of the prison, up a flight of stairs, before it opened into a large visiting area. The room was enormous, with vending machines lining the sides interspersed with posters that had words like ‘Respect’ and ‘Think’ written in large letters across them. The windows high on the walls were covered by metal bars and there were large banks of white strip lighting across the ceiling. Banks of grey and red plastic tables were bolted to the floor, with two chairs on each side. Everything looked very tidy and Jessica wondered if it had been cleaned for their benefit.

They were led to one of the tables near the front as the governor nodded to the two guards who were standing next to a separate door. One of them unclipped a radio from his belt and spoke into it as the governor said his goodbyes and left through the door they had entered through. Cole took out a notebook and pen and moments later they heard the door at the front being unlocked and a man was led in by two guards.

Prisons would often have their own interview rooms similar to a police station’s but Shaun Hogan wasn’t a suspect for any crime and they were talking to him to hopefully gain some background on his mother. Because of that, speaking to him in a more informal environment such as the visiting room, as opposed to an interview room, could perhaps get him to open up a little more.

The prisoner was wearing a grey sweatshirt and slightly darker tracksuit bottoms. He had short almost shaven dark hair but no other particularly distinguishing features. Jessica knew from experience you could look at some people and know they had spent time inside. They would have things like tattoos or scars and sometimes even the way they walked made them stand out from the rest of society. Jessica saw none of those giveaway signs in Shaun Hogan as he was ushered to sit in front of the two detectives, the four prison guards standing by the door again.

‘Are you Shaun Hogan?’ she asked.

‘Yes.’

‘My name is Detective Sergeant Daniel and this is Detective Inspector Cole.’

‘Are you here about my mum?’

‘Yes.’

‘I’m not sorry she’s gone . . .’ The prisoner looked at Jessica, not in a threatening way but fixed enough to let her know he meant it.

‘Why’s that?’

‘Do you know she never once came to visit me here?’

‘Is that why you’re not upset?’

Shaun ignored the question again, glancing away towards the bank of windows high up the walls. ‘Have you spoken to Em?’

‘Your sister? Yes we have.’

‘She’s been a few times. She even talked about helping me when I get out.’

‘That’s nice.’

‘Yeah, it is. She’s done well since she got away. I guess she told you all about Mum’s job.’

‘Yes.’

Jessica didn’t know what she expected to get from the conversation with Shaun that she hadn’t already heard from Emily and Kim, especially as he hadn’t seen his mother for over two years, but she felt she had to keep prodding him. With a lack of other leads, he was at least someone who might have an insight.

‘Why did you move out here?’ she asked.

Shaun shook his head and then rubbed his forehead with his hand. ‘I just wanted to get away. A few years ago Mum had moved out of our house ’cos she had no money and set up in that flat. She was always drinking and there was no room anyway. Em was a bit older and moved out straight away. There wasn’t much there for me, so I went too. Some kid I knew from school that I still knocked about with reckoned there was some building work out here. It’s not like I had anything better to do.’

‘How old were you?’

‘Sixteen. I ended up bunking in this disused pub for a few months. We had a great time; the work was easy and we got paid cash. No one really said anything.’

‘Was that the last time you saw your mother?’

‘Nah, I went back a few times but she was still in that flat with Kim and she had moved on from the drink . . .’

Jessica let his answer hang for a moment. ‘How did you end up in here?’

‘It was my own fault. I’d been to visit Mum earlier in the day and we ended up arguing. I was doing okay then – earning a bit of money and I had my own place out here. It was nothing special but it was good enough for me. I’d said something about her having to sort herself out for Kim’s sake. I know Emily had been saying it too.’

‘What happened?’

‘I don’t know really. When I got back here, I’d gone out for a few drinks and things just . . . happened.’

‘I mean what happened with the argument?’

Shaun looked at Jessica, then away from her again. ‘She blamed me.’

‘For what?’

‘Everything.’

Jessica was clearly confused. She looked at Cole, who also seemed slightly bemused. It was the inspector who spoke next. ‘Why did she blame you?’

Shaun closed his eyes and breathed out deeply. Jessica didn’t know if he was going to say anything but then came a quiet: ‘Because it’s my fault.’

There were now tears in Shaun’s eyes but Jessica felt there was something important still left to be said. ‘Why is it your fault?’

Shaun spoke slowly and didn’t look up from a spot on the table he seemed fixated on. ‘When Dad left, we all held it together pretty well really. It was hard but Mum managed to keep us all in the house. Then . . . everything fell apart because of me.’

Jessica shifted onto the edge of her seat and leant in towards the table. ‘What did you do?’

Shaun wiped his eyes with his sleeve and looked towards her. ‘I can’t tell you.’

‘You can.’

‘I can’t. I’m about to get out. I want to sort things out with Em and have a normal life.’

‘Shaun . . .’ The prisoner looked up at Jessica, meeting her eyes. ‘Someone killed your mother last week and whatever you have to say could be the key thing in finding out who that was.’

Shaun closed his eyes and breathed out deeply before opening them and staring at Jessica. His eyes narrowed slightly and he said two words softly but clearly. ‘Nigel Collins.’

FIVE YEARS, TEN MONTHS AGO

Shaun may have been one of the oldest but he struggled to keep up with the other three boys. They laughed and whooped as they raced across the patch of wasteland, cluttered with rocks, scrap metal and open patches of grass. Before he left, Shaun’s dad had told him that this area used to be home to a few factories but they were now long gone. Scott led the way. He was the youngest but also the fastest, hurdling a displaced paving slab and willing the rest of them on.

Jon was next in line, the oldest of the four but also the quietest. He was the only one not cheering as they raced. He carefully watched his own footing, not wanting to fall and be laughed at by the others. Jamo followed, energetic and excited, aping Scott’s calls and over-exaggerating the jumps. Shaun was at the back, out-of-breath but desperate not to show it. He copied the shouts too, not wanting to be left out.

He had struggled to make friends, especially after his dad left. The other kids took the mickey at school and, even though Scott did the same, he didn’t mind Shaun hanging around with them. Shaun did his best to fit in, doing their dares and stealing chocolate bars from the local shop plus knocking on those old people’s front doors before legging it. There was even a trick they pulled where Scott lay flat on top of some guy’s porch and knocked on the door from above. The chap kept storming out the front but couldn’t see anyone and was fuming. Shaun felt a little bad watching from the trees nearby but at least his friends weren’t laughing at him.

The four of them were bonded not by age but by boredom. It didn’t matter what year you were in at school when it came to booting a football around.

In every way imaginable, Scott should have been the kid who followed the others. Outwardly he was quieter, while he was certainly smaller. Most people who saw their group probably thought that but Jon, Jamo and Shaun knew different; Scott was the cool kid. He was the one with the sharp comebacks and the one who bunked off when it was sunny. He fought their battles for them as he was the one older kids thought they could pick on first but would end up paying a price for doing so. He was vicious and scary but reassuring at the same time, the type of kid you would rather be friends with than an enemy of.

The group tore across the concrete land, watching as the older kid they were chasing ran into an abandoned building which Shaun guessed was once part of the factory. Scott had stopped running and the other three had now caught him. The building was made of huge grey bricks, while a lot of the plaster that would have once covered it lay in dusty piles around the floor. Moss had begun to cover the lower part of it, the sun bouncing from the white concrete floor, making them squint as they stared ahead. The space the other kid had run through had no actual door, the rotting wooden frame having splintered at the top.

‘We’ve got him now,’ Scott said. ‘The door at the back is blocked off.’

Shaun looked nervously at Jon next to him, neither of them wanting to say anything.

‘Niiiiiiiiigelllllllll,’ Jamo called loudly. Scott laughed as Shaun and Jon joined in half-heartedly.

Scott walked towards the entrance with the three of them behind him. Jamo was still calling Nigel’s name loudly. Inside the building, the light levels dropped significantly and Shaun found himself blinking to readjust. Outside it was bright and sunny but the only light inside came through the partially destroyed roof. Patches of the floor were illuminated, piles of rubble flanking the walls. At first Shaun couldn’t see anyone else in the room. He wondered if there was a second way out, or if they had somehow been mistaken when they thought they saw the older kid run into this building?

He hoped there was another exit but then saw a silhouette of a figure towards the back of the room crouching behind some of the rubble. He thought he heard a faint whimpering but no one else reacted. Jamo was still taunting. ‘Niiiiiiiiigelllllllll.’

Shaun wondered if he was the only person who had seen the shadow at the end. He said nothing as the four of them scanned their surroundings. Scott’s screwed-up face snarled as he looked from corner to corner, his features only half-visible because of the light from the doorway.

‘Anyone see him?’

Shaun said nothing and Scott signalled for he and Jon to head towards the far end, the darker part where Shaun had seen the shape. ‘You two look down there, me and Jamo will check around here and make sure he doesn’t get back out the door,’ Scott said.

The room was large but seemed so much smaller because of the rubble and wreckage. You could just about make out twisted pieces of metal and plastic that would have been tables at some point. Where there were holes in the roof, there were also patches of damp visible on the floor below. Shaun could hear the two boys behind them overturning pieces of junk and looking under things. He heard Scott cursing and making threats. Jamo was still calling but the word was getting longer and longer.

‘Niiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiigellllllllllllllllllllllllllll.’

Shaun found it intimidating and it wasn’t even his name being called. He felt his heart pounding and looked at the shape of Jon next to him. He couldn’t make out his friend’s features but could almost feel the fear there too.

‘You go that way,’ Shaun said, pointing towards the back left of the building. ‘I’ll go over there.’

He was sending Jon away from the silhouette towards the other corner. Shaun continued to walk towards where he had seen the shadow. He kicked a few random pieces of concrete to keep up the illusion he was looking and saw another small flash of movement. Nigel was less than ten feet from him. His eyes flicked towards the older boy and he could see the faint outline of a figure behind a mangled table. He thought he saw the person shiver but said nothing. They either hadn’t seen or hadn’t acknowledged him.

‘See anything, Jon?’ he called.

‘No.’

Shaun could still hear the calls echoing around the room.

‘Niiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiigellllllllllllllllllllllllllll.’

He could definitely hear a slight sobbing coming from the person hiding by the table. Shaun realised he had been holding his breath and stopped to risk another look. This time the faint stream of light coming through the roof caught the two of them. Shaun looked at Nigel and the panic-stricken elder boy stared directly back.

Shaun tried to motion him to stay calm, to stay hidden where he was because he wasn’t going to say anything but Nigel’s eyes darted from side to side and he leapt up from his position. The thin boy’s frame charged into Shaun, the pair of them stumbling backwards into a smashed-up cabinet. Shaun stayed still as Nigel clambered to his feet. The noise had alerted the others but, as Shaun peered across, he could see Jon rooted to the spot.

‘Get him then,’ Scott yelled from the other end but Jon didn’t move and Shaun was on the floor. Nigel ran towards the door. Jamo had been taken by surprise and was still engulfed in darkness. Shaun could hear him struggling with something in the distance but couldn’t see him. Scott was clambering over some old wreckage but Nigel was sprinting, head down in a straight line. Through the flashes of light that partially illuminated the room, Shaun saw Nigel’s frame bolting. He was going to make it outside surely?

Suddenly Shaun heard the crunch, everyone must have done. Scott had cut across from his position and rugby-tackled Nigel to the ground feet from the door. The sickening sound of a bone snapping was instantly drowned out by Nigel’s scream of pain. Shaun pulled himself to his feet and made his way towards the front of the building. He felt Jon close by as Jamo’s laughing drowned out Nigel’s agony.

Shaun felt sick. As he reached Nigel, he could see the older boy prone on the floor. His once-green T-shirt was covered in dust and ripped by the arm, his jeans bent out at an unnatural angle covering a leg which must surely have made the sickening crunching noise. The boy looked dazed and was crying. ‘Please . . .’

Scott crouched down next to the boy and punched him hard across the face. ‘Shut. Up,’ he ordered. ‘Stop crying.’

Nigel had his eyes shut, head to one side reeling from the blow. He was trying to catch his breath, trying to stop the tears. ‘Do you know why we chased you, Nigel?’

The boy shook his head and whimpered. ‘No.’

‘You shouldn’t have looked at my girlfriend like that, should you?’

Nigel was shaking his head, desperately holding back the tears. ‘I . . . I . . . wasn’t.’

Scott punched him in the face a second time, the sound echoing. Jamo gave a ‘yeah’. Shaun continued staring at the angle of Nigel’s leg.

‘Don’t lie to me, freak.’

Jon spoke. ‘Scott . . .’

Scott turned around sharply, standing rigidly to his full height. He was shorter than Jon but stepped up to within an inch or two of him. ‘What?’

The light from the doorway left them each half in shadow, the only noise a faint whimper coming from Nigel. This was the moment for Shaun to say something too. If he and Jon stuck together, they could stop this now. He just had to open his mouth and say something . . .