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

Автор книги: Kerry Wilkinson

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Текущая страница: 17 (всего у книги 60 страниц)

Rowlands was bringing Wayne Lapham back to the station for a follow-up interview. They weren’t expecting to get anything in relation to knowing Nigel Collins but it had to be done. For obvious reasons, Jessica wouldn’t be taking part in that interview. She didn’t know if Peter Hunt would be present. The jury had gone out in Harry’s case the day before, so it seemed unlikely as he would still be at Crown Court waiting for a verdict. Besides, Wayne Lapham wasn’t likely to be getting all the media coverage, considering the press had Nigel Collins and his four torturers to focus on now.

Jessica started to make her way back to her own office but a constable stopped her before she could reach the door. ‘The DCI wants to see you,’ he said.

Jessica went up the stairs, knocking and entering her boss’s office. Cole was still there. Usually his face was hard to read as he gave so little away but, as she looked at him sitting in the chair across the desk from Aylesbury, she thought he looked angry. There were visible worry lines across his forehead and he was shaking his head. She had never seen him like that before.

‘Sir?’ she said, looking at the chief inspector.

Aylesbury told her to sit down too, his own look stern. Her boss took no time in cutting straight to the point as his first three words made her heart sink and instantly explained Cole’s expression. ‘Serious Crime Division.’

32

It had been something that had been in the back of Jessica’s mind pretty much since they first started working on the case. The Serious Crime Division always had it in their remit to step in and take on crimes of this magnitude, especially if solving it wasn’t proving too easy, but their timing was something that was hard to take. She and her team had already done the hard work – they had found the connection between the victims and knew almost certainly who the killer was. They had even solved a case from six years ago, albeit accidentally – but that wasn’t the point.

‘Why are they talking about this now?’ Jessica kept repeating.

Aylesbury let her vent all those feelings with very little response, nodding to show he was taking everything on board. Cole didn’t add anything but even he seemed sympathetic. Aylesbury did explain the decision was going to be taken by people higher up the chain of command than him and assured her he had done his best through his dealings with DSI Davies to put her very views across. She doubted they were exactly her views, given the amount of off-the-cuff swearing she had just pulled out.

As it stood, nothing had been decided for certain but he told her things would be sorted out within the next twenty-four hours and they would most likely have a decision by the morning. Jessica would have put a lot of money on knowing precisely what the outcome would be. Given it had already been a long day and everyone was left in something of a limbo, the DCI told them both they may as well go home. He was going to be in talks for the rest of the evening, while there was still a press release he wanted to draft along with the office. The only thing Jessica had to console herself with was that, if she stuck her foot down on the drive out of the station, she might strike lucky and get a cameraman or two under the wheels.

Back at her empty flat, Jessica stomped around, slammed a few doors and generally took her aggression out on as many inanimate objects as were to hand. Or foot. At first, she’d had vague visions of somehow stumbling across Nigel Collins on the street outside her door.

It was ridiculous, of course, she didn’t even know what he looked like. But perhaps he had some sort of scar or something? Maybe he wore a big sign around his neck with his name on, or a large top hat with neon flashing lights and a giant arrow? She knew it wasn’t going to happen but thought how good it would be to find him that night before the SCD could take the case away. Then she could march in tomorrow morning, past the reporters, photographers and TV cameras and plonk Nigel Collins down in reception and give a big, collective middle finger to anyone who had doubted her. Of course, given she was the person who doubted herself the most, that middle finger would be as much for her as anyone else.

As her irrational fantasies got more and more out of hand while Jessica sat on the sofa stewing, she heard the front door go. ‘Hi?’

‘Oh hi,’ Caroline’s voice called out. ‘You’re home.’

Randall was with her too but Jessica didn’t mind. For once she actually felt like some company. After saying their hellos and some brief small talk, Caroline said she would cook for them all. Jessica hadn’t eaten all day and wasn’t particularly hungry but her friend said she didn’t mind if there were leftovers. Jessica shifted over to the recliner and they all ate off their laps, watching some soap opera on television that none of them apparently followed. Jessica would have had anything on TV that wasn’t the news. The food was good, some sort of rice dish, and they laughed together at a preposterous story twist involving a long lost uncle, while she tried to forget about events at work. It must have been clear she wasn’t in the mood to talk about it as neither Caroline nor Randall asked her how the day had gone.

After they had eaten, the two women did the dishes while Randall joked he was exempt from kitchen duties. ‘A woman’s place . . .’ was all he said with a grin. Caroline bashed him around the head with her hand and told him that, in that case, he should be out skinning a bear or something similar to provide for them.

They shared a bottle of wine as they lounged in the living room when everything had been tidied away.

‘Jess, can we talk for a minute?’ Caroline said softly.

Jessica knew from the tone it would be something serious but she wasn’t ready to listen to things straight away. ‘You’re not pregnant, are you?’

Jessica and Randall laughed but Caroline peered down and started stroking her belly. ‘No, why, have I put on weight?’

‘Well, I didn’t want to say anything . . .’ Jessica said.

‘Oi! Cheeky.’

They all laughed but, when the mood had settled, Caroline tried again. ‘Seriously, can we talk for a minute?’ The two girls looked at each other and Jessica knew what was coming. ‘Randall quit his job today. He’s been offered an apprenticeship with a design company in the city.’

‘That’s great, congratulations,’ Jessica said, looking across to the man on their sofa. He had a small grin on his face.

‘That’s not all though. We had been talking about it but, when he got the news, he went out and put a deposit down on a flat we’re going to rent while we look to buy somewhere. We want to know we can live together before we make too big a splash.’

Jessica had known it was coming but still felt something in her stomach. It was an odd feeling. She was delighted for her friend but there was a part of her that selfishly wanted them to stay living together until Jessica herself had found someone.

‘I’m so pleased for you both,’ Jessica said, getting up from her seat to hug the pair of them. ‘You make a great couple.’

‘Is it really okay?’ Caroline asked.

‘Of course.’ As she finished hugging Randall, Jessica also gave him a playful smack on the head. ‘But none of this “Get in the kitchen” malarkey, yeah?’

They all laughed again but Jessica had to force it as she sat back down.

‘We’re not going straight away,’ Caroline said. ‘We’ve got a month so we are going to move things in bit by bit.’

‘So I’ve got to put up with your dodgy cooking for another four weeks?’

‘I’m afraid so, yes.’

‘So it’s all marriage, kids, the works then?’

‘Get out of it. Not yet.’

Caroline and Randall snuggled closer on the sofa and Jessica strongly suspected the ‘not yet’ part was critical. Looking at them, she didn’t think it would take long. ‘The big question is what does his mum make of you?’ Jessica said. ‘There’s got to be a bit of competition there now for his attention. You’re going to be the tart who stole her precious little boy away.’

‘Mum and Dad live abroad,’ Randall said. ‘I reckon they’d be big fans though.’

The wine bottle was empty so Caroline sent her boyfriend off to the kitchen to get another. ‘And get used to waiting on me hand and foot,’ she called after him. They heard the toilet door go while they were waiting.

‘Are you sure you’re going to be okay?’ Caroline asked.

‘Of course. I’m a big girl and all that.’

‘Are you going to stay here?’

‘I don’t know. Probably. I can afford the rent on my own. It’s close to work, which helps.’

‘Maybe you can get some fish for company?’ Caroline had a mischievous look on her face.

‘Yeah, right. I don’t think I’d trust myself to look after some other living creature.’ She remembered the stuffed chicken from Hugo’s house, thinking that was just about her limit.

‘Is everything okay with . . . the case?’

Jessica didn’t want to get into things, so just nodded. ‘Yeah, it’s fine.’

Jessica felt like a condemned woman on the drive to work the next morning. Rain was lashing down which at least meant the full press pack wouldn’t be outside the station’s gates in such force. ‘Journalists,’ she said to no one in particular while driving, ‘a group of people on a never-ending quest for the truth . . . unless it’s pissing down and then the truth can go bugger itself.’

There were a few people outside the gates but nothing like the day before. She weaved in between a couple of television cameras and made sure that the car shielded her from any unwanted long camera shots when she parked up. Even though she felt sure the case was going to be taken from her, she had still spent the morning watching the news. The tragic story of Nigel Collins was everywhere, while the link had obviously been made to the three young men who were going to be in court that morning and the one who was already in jail. Jessica realised that was probably why the throngs outside the gate had thinned so much – everyone was at the magistrates’ court instead.

She first went upstairs but Aylesbury saw her through his office window and waved her away. He was on the phone and most likely deciding her future. She returned to reception and spent a few moments watching the rolling news on the mounted television. There were some outside shots of the courts but nothing much was happening. There was still some presenter talking frantically as the drizzle poured in shot behind him. ‘Just go indoors,’ she said quietly.

Jessica grabbed a copy of the Herald from the reception desk and disappeared off to her office. Reynolds wasn’t around, so she took off her shoes and leant back into her chair to read it. The front page was a given so she flicked straight past that but inside Garry Ashford had another background piece, this time with Paul Keegan.

It was labelled as an exclusive and Jessica couldn’t help but be impressed that the journalist had managed to get both Kim Hogan and Paul Keegan to speak to him in successive days. He hadn’t phoned her since she’d told him not to and, in some ways, she felt a bit sorry about that. As annoying as he was, his phone call after each find had almost been the proverbial kick she needed to get things moving properly. It also allowed her to blow off some steam with some choice words too, of course.

The article itself was mainly a tribute to Paul Keegan’s wife. It skirted around the details of Scott’s involvement, which had been written about elsewhere, but included things about charity work she had done and how many years she had given to the nursing profession. It was nicely written and Jessica couldn’t help but feel her emotions stirring, thinking what a waste of life it was.

She flicked through the pages and thought how odd it was that one news story could be about something so dark, yet overleaf was a light-hearted article about some world record cross-stitching attempt; it was bizarre.

There was a knock at the door. ‘Yep. Come in.’

Aylesbury entered and Jessica quickly wheeled around in an attempt to not look quite so casual. She put the newspaper down over her keyboard. ‘Sir.’

Her superior sat in Reynolds’ seat across the desk from her. He looked around the room, clearly taking in Jessica’s messy half, but said nothing.

‘I’ve just been to see Detective Inspector Cole,’ he began. Jessica knew where the rest of the conversation would go. She stared at a spot on her desk, refusing to meet his eye. ‘After speaking to Superintendent Davies this morning following various discussions last night, it has been decided that the Serious Crime Division will be taking over responsibility for finding Nigel Collins.’

Jessica said nothing, continuing to focus on her desk. ‘I’m sorry. Everyone appreciates the work you and the team have put into this investigation.’ He paused as if to give her an opening to reply. She didn’t trust what she might blurt out, though. ‘Jessica?’

He had never once called her by her first name, always ‘Detective’ or ‘DS Daniel’. She looked at him and, perhaps for the first time, saw him as a man, rather than a policeman who was her superior. He was staring at her with his head slightly tilted to one side. ‘I’m proud of you. I don’t think anyone could have expected more.’

Jessica felt a lump in her throat. She wanted to speak, if only to tell him to leave so he wouldn’t see her burst into tears but no words would come out. Surely, she couldn’t cry again? Not in front of her boss. She blinked hard and fought not to lose it. ‘Thank you, Sir,’ she managed to croak out.

He must have seen how close to tears she was but didn’t react. She knew it was highly unprofessional. ‘There will be other cases. You have proven to everyone you can handle serious matters.’

Jessica nodded but still couldn’t speak.

‘Okay. I’ve got to go and speak to a few more people and then arrange for exactly how things are going to work. Feel free to finish up any paperwork you have outstanding and liaise with Detective Inspector Cole.’

He swiftly stood up and turned around, exiting the room and closing the door behind him. Jessica didn’t move but could hear the hum of people working outside. She blew her nose and then closed her eyes and breathed in deeply. She didn’t know if she was angry or upset. Another knock came on the door shortly after and, thinking it was Aylesbury back for some reason, she again composed herself. ‘Come in.’

The door opened and it was Rowlands.

‘All right?’ she said.

‘Yes, come on. The verdict’s due.’

He dashed back out of the room, presumably expecting Jessica to follow. She was confused at first, thinking Scott Keegan and co had only just appeared for their first appearance that morning, then she clocked it was Harry’s case at the Crown Court. The jury had been out for two days and must have returned.

She quickly put her shoes back on and followed after Rowlands into the reception area. It seemed ridiculous that members of a modern police force were waiting in their own entrance foyer watching a small portable TV screen high on a wall. There were other televisions around the station but none specifically hooked up. There were various health and safety guidelines about setting up electrical items and, even if there weren’t, Jessica suspected a lot of the crew wouldn’t have been able to figure out where all the leads went anyway. Rather than mess around everyone had dashed to the nearest working screen.

She could see a presenter standing outside a different court to the one from that morning. He was being shielded by an umbrella as the wind blew his hair around. Across the bottom of the screen scrolled the words: ‘Tom Carpenter verdict due’. The sound was up but Jessica couldn’t hear what was being said over the expectant chatter. A library photo of Peter Hunt appeared on the screen to enormous boos and various insults that rhymed with ‘Hunt’ around the room.

Jessica knew that if the jury believed Tom Carpenter had been attacked first or thought he might be, they could decide he was allowed to use ‘reasonable force’ to defend himself. In most cases a knife would not be reasonable but, given the way Harry had been portrayed as out of control, they might just be swayed.

There was no doubt Carpenter had stabbed Harry but, according to the desk sergeant, Carpenter had claimed on oath that Harry had come at him with a glass. The knife was in his pocket and he had acted instinctively. Jessica knew that didn’t sound like Harry to her but, with all the witnesses conveniently being in the toilets at the time and no one to say any differently, it was Harry’s word against Carpenter’s. That meant it would come down to the jury but Harry certainly hadn’t helped himself. If they believed the force Carpenter had used was reasonable, they would find him not guilty.

Jessica thought of the two female jurors on the front row and the man she thought would be the foreman. She wondered if any of them had been swayed by her. Had the man on the end been pushing for a guilty verdict or did he believe Harry had been a threat?

Suddenly the scrolling text at the bottom stopped and it was as if everyone held their breath collectively. The room was silent as the presenter frantically looked behind him. The breaking news ribbon began to move along the bottom of the screen again, the words scrolling in slow motion.

‘Tom Carpenter found not guilty.’

As soon as the words had been revealed, the room erupted with shouts of derision and cries of unfairness. Jessica thought she swore a lot but some of the language shocked even her and that was nothing compared to the outrage as Peter Hunt emerged from court side by side with Tom Carpenter.

Jessica tried to shush everyone as the camera dashed towards the two people in the court’s entrance. Microphones appeared in front of them from all directions and finally everyone in the station quietened down.

Hunt was beaming even wider than his client. He had clearly made a special effort with his appearance that morning just in case this moment came. He looked more polished than ever and had some unnamed aide holding an umbrella over him. Jessica thought she wanted to listen to it but as soon as Hunt’s first words came, ‘This is justification . . .’, she drifted away from the pack back towards her office.

Poor Harry.

33

For the rest of the week, the papers and news bulletins had been full of both Tom Carpenter’s acquittal and the force’s failure to find Nigel Collins. Peter Hunt had a field day, appearing on a breakfast news programme, both of the major twenty-four-hour news channels and at least two national newspapers. He had been the main guest for a radio phone-in where the question was: ‘Are Britain’s police incompetent?’ As she listened to the broadcast on her drive to work, Jessica wondered what kind of lonely lunatic rang these types of show, spouting ill-informed mindless nonsense. She reckoned they would be on the phone pretty sharpish if they needed the police’s assistance. The presenter’s smug annoying tone, ‘So are Britain’s police a total bag of useless shits,’ he might as well have been saying, drove her crazy. She made a mental note that if she ever came across an emergency call from someone called ‘Sue from Bromsgrove’ she would quite happily ignore it.

‘We’ll see who’s incompetent then, you old hag,’ Jessica told the radio.

If that wasn’t bad enough, Tom Carpenter had sold his story to a red-top tabloid. ‘CRAZED COP GLASS TERROR’ put across his version of events in all its made-up glory. Harry had been painted as an out-of-control drink-fuelled corrupt officer. She had tried calling Harry half-a-dozen times since the verdict but his phone wasn’t on.

It summed up Jessica’s week. Even though the SCD had taken their case, her department was still getting hammered on two fronts. She had been forced to brief one of the SCD officers the day after handing the files over, talking them through her notes and letting them know where everything was on the computer system. The smug git spent the entire two hours with a ‘We’re cleaning up your mess’ look on his face that Jessica had felt desperate to wipe off.

She had been put on the case of a man who robbed an off-licence with a weapon. The shop’s owner had been smashed in the face with a claw hammer and had his week’s takings ransacked from the safe. Jessica had spoken to the distraught victim who kept repeating he was pleased his wife hadn’t been present as she often worked that shift. Jessica did her best to work as she usually would, gathering the CCTV footage and so on, but could feel her heart wasn’t in it. Every time she was driving, whenever she went to bed at night or had a quiet moment, her thoughts drifted back to Nigel Collins. She felt bad for not focusing fully on her job but had invested so much energy in the ‘Houdini’ case, it was hard to forget.

By the Friday night, she was sick of the week as a whole and pledged to curl up at home with her old friend: the local supermarket’s own-brand cheap rosé wine. Caroline and Randall had gone off to set a few things up in their new flat, ready to start moving, and she had the place to herself. She was halfway through watching a repeat of some talent show she had no interest in when a thought dropped into her head. She had gone through two-thirds of the bottle by herself, which she was pretty sure was influencing her decision-making. She picked her phone up from the coffee table, scrolled through her list of contacts, and pressed the ‘call’ button when it reached Garry Ashford’s name.

It rang twice before being picked up. ‘Hello?’

‘Garry, it’s Jess Daniel.’

‘DS Daniel?’

‘Yeah, call me Jess.’

‘Okay . . . Are you all right?’

‘Wanna come keep me company?’

‘Sorry?’

‘One-time only offer.’

‘Er, yeah, I guess . . .’

The poor guy sounded scared stiff. Jessica gave him her address. ‘Oh and Garry,’ she added. ‘Don’t wear the tweed. Do bring your notes about Houdini and do bring wine.’

She hung up.

Garry Ashford arrived forty-five minutes later with a carrier bag full of notebooks and two bottles of wine; one red, one white. ‘I didn’t know which you preferred, so bought one of each,’ he said.

‘Actually I usually go for rosé,’ Jessica replied with a wink, taking the bottles from him.

In the time before him arriving, she had phoned up the takeaway a few streets over to order some curries. The first bottle of wine had begun to kick in and she really fancied something hot to go with it but they hadn’t arrived.

As Garry walked in, Jessica thought he was actually dressed like a functioning member of the human race that evening. He was wearing a pair of regular blue jeans with a red T-shirt. She let him into the flat and led him into the living room, before leaving one of the bottles of wine off in the kitchen and opening the other. She took an extra glass into the living room and handed it to her guest, before filling both his and her own.

He was sitting on the sofa and had started taking his notebooks out from the carrier bag. Jessica sat next to him. ‘Christ, Garry, did you make all this effort for me? Your hair looks as if you’ve only been dragged through a hedge once tonight instead of the usual three or four times.’

Garry smiled. ‘I feel privileged now I’ve finally achieved the Holy Trinity of insults.’

‘Huh?’

‘You’ve now taken the piss out of my name, dress sense and looks.’

Jessica did actually feel a bit bad, realising not everyone would get her sense of humour. ‘Sorry, I was only joking.’

Garry looked at her. ‘It’s all right. At least I don’t look as bad as that photo we used of you on the front page. I mean what kind of crazed woman grins underneath a headline about a murder?’

Jessica playfully punched him in the shoulder. ‘Oi.’

They both laughed and then Garry asked the obvious question: ‘Why am I here?’

Jessica downed the rest of her glass in one and looked at him. ‘To be honest, I’m not sure. You know they’ve taken the case away, don’t you?’

‘Yes.’

‘I’ve looked over my notes and the files and it’s been in the back of my mind the whole time that I’ve missed something obvious. I guess I just thought . . . I guess it’s because you’re not police. Before I’m ready to let it go completely I suppose I wondered if you might have picked up something I missed.’

‘I doubt it. I’ve only been following where you lot have been, talking to the same people and so on.’

‘Maybe . . .’

Garry took out his first notebook but as he did the doorbell went.

‘Curry,’ Jessica said.

‘Oh, right.’

‘Don’t worry, I got you something mild and wimpy. I thought it seemed your style.’

Garry shook his head slightly but then answered. ‘Yeah, you’re probably right.’

After Jessica returned with a grease-soaked paper bag and some forks from the kitchen, Garry opened his first notebook. Jessica had a peek at the contents just in case she could make out a name that could be his source.

The journalist clocked her doing so. ‘Their name isn’t written here, y’know.’

‘Whose?’ Jessica replied with a half-smile.

Garry nodded and started to talk her through some of the people he had spoken to and what they had said. Jessica knew she probably shouldn’t but, given she was now off the case, she filled in some of the blanks for him. He asked if he could make new notes on what she had told him.

‘Okay, fine,’ she replied. ‘But only because you brought wine.’

They ate as they worked. Jessica had gone for the hottest chicken dish on the menu but Garry struggled with his mild lamb meal. Jessica laughed at him while he told her she stank. It seemed like a childish insult but was probably true.

The journalist spoke about Stephanie and Ray Wilson and how Stephanie hadn’t had too much to say but had genuinely seemed disturbed by the loss of her friend. He said the husband had phoned the paper every day for the week afterwards to remind them he and his wife were available for photographs if the paper needed them.

As he got to his notes about the meeting with Jessica herself, he veered off to tell her about the pressures he was under and how his career hadn’t turned out the way he had hoped. He talked about his editor and how sales were affecting all of the staff. Until the last few weeks, he had been thinking of quitting and would have done already if it wasn’t for the money.

‘What else would you do?’ Jessica asked.

‘I don’t know really. Write? I have no idea. It’s not easy to just drop everything. You don’t want to end up going back to your parents to admit you’ve made a right mess, do you?’

Jessica couldn’t disagree with that.

Garry told her about his meeting with Marie Hall and the way he had been bullied into buying a host of drinks to get any details about Wayne Lapham. Jessica admitted she hadn’t known who the woman was before but laughed at Garry’s pub story. Then they both dissolved into giggles when he spoke about the dressing gown the woman had been wearing.

‘Was it peach?’ Jessica asked.

‘Eew, yes. She hadn’t fastened it completely either.’

‘Oh God, you couldn’t see . . .’ Garry didn’t answer but the look on his face made Jessica explode with laughter. She went to put the empty food cartons in the kitchen and get the other bottle of wine Garry had brought. By now she was feeling decidedly tipsy but refilled both of their glasses and let the journalist continue.

‘Then I finally ended up speaking to you,’ he said, flicking through pages and pages of notes. ‘You were very, erm . . . revealing.’

Jessica felt a bit embarrassed remembering her phone confessions to him. ‘You took advantage of a distressed young woman, Garry. You should feel ashamed of yourself.’

‘Young?’

‘Oi, you cheeky . . .’ For the second time that evening Jessica playfully punched her guest in the shoulder. ‘How did you end up talking to Kim Hogan?’ she asked as Garry opened another notebook.

‘It was an accident. I was at the house talking to the neighbour who was spilling everything. The other girl stormed up and started swearing at the both of us.’ Jessica thought that sounded familiar. ‘Anyway, I said that she could put her own version across if she wanted. She asked if there was money involved . . .’

‘Really?’ Jessica interrupted.

‘Yeah. Sometimes people are like that, no matter what the circumstances.’

‘Did you pay her?’

‘I gave her twenty quid. It was all I had on me. I ended up walking back to the office because I didn’t have anything left for the bus.’

‘Doesn’t the paper pay for things like that?’

‘You must be joking. You’re lucky if they pay for notebooks and pens.’

‘What was she like?’

‘I’ve had worse interviews but not many. She was okay really but it was hard for her. There was just lots of swearing. She hates your lot and kept going on about kids bugging her mum and how you never did anything.’

‘What about Paul Keegan?’

Garry let out a massive sigh. ‘It was horrible. I didn’t want to knock on his door but the editor basically told me to do it. I thought the guy would tell me to get lost but instead he invited me in and went to put the kettle on. It was surreal.’

Jessica had thought that the whole time she had spoken to Paul Keegan. She could see that inside his heart was broken but outside he was almost normal. Some people in the force would see that type of behaviour as how guilty people acted. She just thought everyone was different but did wonder how he was really coping behind closed doors, especially with what had happened regarding his stepson.

‘He talked and talked,’ Garry added. ‘He said they had only been married a few years ago. He showed me all the photos and told me everything that ended up in the article. He was a really nice guy and told me to call back if I wanted to check anything, He phoned on the day of the article to say “thanks”. He said he was going to keep the paper and reckoned it was a perfect tribute to her.’

‘Poor guy.’

‘I know. I felt so sorry for him. You don’t know what to say, do you? He said they’d had problems with kids in the area but he thought your lot had done your best. Bit of a difference to Kim and Marie.’

Garry gave a small laugh but Jessica didn’t. ‘Hmmm,’ she said.

‘You all right?’

‘Yeah, just too much of this,’ she said holding up an empty glass. ‘Shall we call it a night? I’ll even pay for your taxi.’