Текст книги "Jessica Daniel: Think of the Children / Playing with Fire / Thicker Than Water"

Автор книги: Kerry Wilkinson

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Текущая страница: 31 (всего у книги 56 страниц)

‘We can’t,’ Jessica replied. ‘But I know someone who can.’

19

Andrew Hunter had been doing whatever he could to forget the case he didn’t want to be working on. He took on a job running a pre-marriage background check for a man on his potential wife. Quite what that said about ‘love’ and ‘trust’ between the couple before their big day, he wasn’t too sure. Either way, one of his contacts who worked for a credit rating agency had passed him some information which showed the woman in question had some debts her spouse-to-be didn’t know about. Andrew passed it on and took his fee, realising more and more each day that he had probably made the wrong career choice.

He was sitting in his comfortable chair, spinning himself around in the absence of anything meaningful to do, when his mobile phone rang. The name which flashed up filled him simultaneously with excitement and a little fear.

‘Sergeant Daniel,’ he answered, before being reminded to call her ‘Jess’.

‘How are you?’ Jessica asked, which was the first time Andrew could remember her asking him something similar. He was instantly suspicious.

‘I’m all right. You?’

‘Good, good,’ he heard Jessica reply. ‘Look, I’ve got something for you. A sort of “You scratch my back, I might be able to pass a few things discreetly your way”-type thing.’

‘Is that how the saying goes?’ Andrew asked, trying to make a joke.

‘What?’

It was clear to Andrew that Jessica worked very much with one-sided conversations which she controlled. ‘Nothing, don’t worry about it,’ he replied. ‘What are you after?’

Jessica explained the only link she knew of between the suicide of Harley’s daughter and the fire which destroyed the man’s house. It was a young man named Ryan, whose father was a convicted killer and arsonist. He had been in the photos she had taken from him. As she spoke, Andrew reloaded the images on his computer so he could familiarise himself with what the teenager looked like. From the photographs he had, Ryan was the person who had fed Sienna chips.

‘Obviously this call hasn’t happened,’ Jessica said. ‘But I was just wondering if you could perhaps keep an eye on Ryan? You’re being paid to find out information which could be relevant to him anyway and, of course, I’d be really grateful . . .’

Andrew almost laughed, wondering if the sergeant knew how fake her pleading voice sounded. She had the bollocking-angry one down to a T – but the one where she was trying to be nice needed work. He wondered if he should tell her but figured he didn’t want to risk hearing the irate voice again.

‘What am I going to get in return?’ he asked.

‘I’ve already given you information about Ryan which could help you,’ she replied.

‘Are you saying he could be the father?’

‘Maybe . . .’

‘You’re not, are you?’

The line went silent for a moment before Jessica began to speak, her voice slightly harsher. ‘No, probably not. Well, maybe. Look, do you want me to be honest?’

Andrew laughed. ‘Go on then.’

‘Basically, we don’t have a bloody clue what’s going on. We’ve got fires, attempted arsons, suicides, knobheads working at newspapers, all sorts. I suggested you might be able to help. The people I work with aren’t so keen but I think they’ll turn a blind eye as long as any shite ends up sticking to me, not them.’

Andrew couldn’t stop himself from laughing again. ‘That’s a lovely picture you’re painting.’

He heard Jessica join in and, for the first time since she phoned, Andrew felt as if she was being herself with him. ‘People tell me I have a way with words,’ she said.

Andrew suddenly realised he had missed something. ‘Hang on, “suicides”? As in more than one?’ It was the first he had heard of it.

‘That’s the other thing,’ Jessica replied. ‘Sienna’s best friend, Molly, killed herself yesterday. We’re expecting it to hit the news tomorrow. It might even be on TV tonight, I don’t know. Our press office is trying to keep things quiet for now but it’ll only stay like that for a while. That’s where my knobhead at the newspaper comes into things.’

‘Where are you from?’ Andrew asked. ‘You’re not a Manc, are you?’

‘No, why?’

‘Because if you’re going around calling people “knobheads”, you’ve definitely been working here too long.’

He heard Jessica sigh. ‘Yeah, you’re right. Anyway, we don’t know why these girls killed themselves. We don’t know why Harley’s house was burned down, or any of the other stuff I told you about. All we know is that Ryan is the only person we know who links it all together.’

‘So you want me to follow him?’

‘I can’t ask you to do that.’

Andrew was confused. ‘You don’t want me to follow him?’

He heard the woman give an exasperated gasp. ‘I don’t think you heard me quite right,’ she replied, annoyed. ‘I can’t ask you to do anything. If you do choose to do something along those lines and then call me regularly to tell me what’s going on, that would be up to you. Obviously if that were to happen, there may be times in the future where I might be able to call you and pass on pieces of information you might not necessarily have. As a friend, of course. If anyone were to examine certain phone records, I would just be talking to an old mate on the phone.’

Andrew laughed, feeling stupid for not picking up on her initial hint. ‘We’re friends then?’

‘Oh yeah, we go way back. You, me, my boyfriend, your girlfriend, wife, boyfriend or whatever. It’s all dinner parties and that type of shite. Old, old friends.’

‘All right but, if we’re such old pals, you would know that I don’t have a girlfriend or boyfriend.’

‘Wife?’

‘Yeah, she’s just not married to me any longer.’

‘Oh.’

Andrew heard Jessica pause. He wanted to make a joke of things to stop the conversation being uncomfortable. ‘Trust me Jess, never get married,’ he said as breezily as he could, not believing anything he was saying. ‘Only fools get married. Or “knobheads” as you might say.’ The silence from the other end started to become uncomfortable. ‘Er, Sergeant . . . ?’

‘It’s Jess.’

‘Yeah, sorry, erm . . . I was only joking. You’re not married, are you? It’s just you said boyfriend, so I . . .’

She replied far too quickly and Andrew knew he had said the wrong thing. ‘No, no, it’s fine. So, er, right. Are we all right, then? On the same page and all that?’

‘Yeah, that’s fine. I’ll call you.’

‘Thank you. Bye.’

The line went silent. Andrew stared at the screen for a few moments before it hit him. He remembered seeing the engagement ring on her finger the very first time he had met her in the service yard at the back of that electrical store.

He remembered Keira’s engagement ring, bought when he had hardly any money. It was a thin strip of white gold fitted with the smallest of diamonds. Even given its size, he had to haggle over the price because he couldn’t have afforded it otherwise. She insisted it was perfect but the look on her father’s face when he saw it – half-amusement, half-disgust – was something Andrew had never forgotten.

‘Sorry, Jess,’ he said quietly to the empty room, hoping she had more luck than he had.

Andrew was beginning to regret the first decision of his day. Jessica had told him that Ryan didn’t drive – even though he worked in a garage – and, given that, he thought it would be best if he got some exercise and used public transport. That was definitely his first mistake. Sitting in his own vehicle in traffic that hardly seemed to move each morning was a nuisance. Sitting in a vehicle with fifty or more strangers in traffic that hardly seemed to move went far beyond that.

There were the fourteen-year-old boys at the back of the bus in their ill-fitting school uniforms, swearing and scowling at anyone who dared to look in their direction. Then there were the young teenage girls in front of the boys, split into two both physically by the aisle and their attitude. A handful on one side were leaning over the backs of the seats, chatting to the lads, or applying make-up. The others were seemingly unhappy at both the other girls – and the boys.

After that, there were the people in suits on their way to work, constantly checking their watches and a few older folk looking slightly bemused. Probably thinking about how much things had changed since their day, Andrew thought before realising he had stereotyped everyone on the bus. The one thing which definitely wasn’t just in his head was that everyone seemed to have a mobile phone in their hand – even the pensioners.

When the bus finally stopped in the city centre, Andrew hurried through the streets until he reached the hotel Jessica had told him Ryan was staying in. Although she hadn’t been able to give him any specific details about the schedule the teenager kept, Jessica said he usually went to college in the mornings and worked at a garage in the afternoons. What he got up to in the evenings was anyone’s guess.

Andrew sat in the window of a coffee shop across the road, sipping on a cappuccino and watching the world pass him by. Gentle rain started to fall as the pace of everything, from the cars buzzing past, to the speed at which people were walking, seemed to increase. The glass began to mist up, so he finished his drink and left the cafe before crossing to the hotel. Although he was confident of his ability to blend into most scenes, standing in the rain was always a guaranteed way to make yourself stand out.

And you got soaked.

The investigator walked through the revolving doors of the hotel, entering the lobby. A selection of empty wide lounge chairs was dotted around. He walked quickly across the area, checking where the lifts and stairs came out, before sitting on one of the chairs and taking his phone out.

He was consistently amazed at how you could get away with hovering almost anywhere unchallenged if you looked a little bit smart. It was all about seeming as if you had authority whether you did or not. Jeans and a T-shirt were a definite no. A well-fitting suit carefully matched with a plain tie would do wonders as long as you walked around in a manner that made it appear as if you knew what you were doing.

Andrew typed on his phone’s keypad and stopped every few minutes to check his watch, looking frustrated enough that he might be waiting for someone but not agitated enough to make a scene. As expected, no one paid him any attention.

After fifteen minutes, Andrew spotted the person he had seen with Sienna in the restaurant. Ryan slouched his way out of the lift, looking at his own phone screen and not where he was going. He scowled at a member of staff he almost walked into and left through the rotating door, shoving his shoulder hard into the glass to make it move.

Andrew moved quickly from his seat, pulling his woollen coat around him before exiting into the drizzle. He couldn’t believe his luck that Ryan was wearing bright white trainers and an almost luminous yellow coat. Losing him would be well-nigh impossible, especially because of the uninterested, slouching way the teenager walked. Andrew could see him across the road, heading towards the bus stop he had not long left himself. He walked swiftly through the foot traffic, keeping an eye on the bright yellow jacket as Ryan slowed to a stop by the bus rank. Andrew waited at the far end of the enclosed area, around twenty metres away, thinking it was going to be a long day.

By the time the daylight began to fade, Andrew was annoyed at himself firstly for allowing Jessica to talk him into the job and secondly for the crazy decision to spend the day on foot. As his thighs and legs began to ache, he kept telling himself how good it was for him to be getting so much exercise. The truth was he would have rather been in his car eating a meat and potato pie and brushing the crumbs into the foot well.

His journey had taken him to the college, where he spent the morning in the park next to the bus stop waiting for Ryan to finish. He knew there was a chance the young man could leave by a different route but, considering he knew where he worked, it wasn’t the worst of his concerns. The only reason he hadn’t gone straight to the workplace in the afternoon was because he wanted to get an idea of what Ryan’s journey was like and to keep an eye on anyone he might be hanging around with. He had already scouted the location and knew the back of the college led nowhere. The front was essentially one enormous car park. From his position it had been pretty easy to see everything except inside the building. Realistically he was never going to get access there, so, by using his telephoto lens from the safety of the bushes just inside the park, he had done as well as could be expected without descending to significantly more subterfuge than he was willing to use.

From the college, via the bus, he arrived at Ryan’s workplace. The previous evening, he had left his car parked on the side street opposite the garage, knowing he was going to end up there. Again, finding out what exactly Ryan did inside was a level up from what he felt was necessary but Andrew took photos of Ryan’s workmates and each customer who came and went. At some point, he would share the images he had from both the garage and the college with Jessica to see if she spotted anything he hadn’t.

The clouds had started to mass and with the light fading and his ability to take photos severely impeded, Andrew was almost ready to pack up for the day when he saw Ryan hurrying out of the large sliding doors speaking into his phone. At first Andrew thought he was heading for the bus stop but the teenager turned left almost immediately into a side street. Throughout the day, he had only seen his target slouch but he was now moving quickly and something didn’t seem right.

Andrew dropped the camera in his shoulder bag and stepped out of the car, pulling the lapels up on his coat to partially shield his face. He walked steadily but swiftly across the road, following Ryan’s yellow coat from a distance as the teenager crossed another road and cut across a grassy area until he came to a bridge over the main road.

There were street lights at either end but none in the middle. Andrew hung back, away from the first lamp, squinting into the distance as Ryan stopped almost exactly in the centre of the walkway. From the far end, he saw another figure approaching. It was undoubtedly a young woman, roughly Ryan’s age. She was wearing jogging bottoms and a large coat but her long blonde hair swished in the breeze.

Andrew edged as close to the bridge as he dared, not wanting to stand directly under the street light. The noise of the traffic passing underneath meant overhearing any of the conversation was impossible but the two people seemed to be having some sort of argument. The female waved her hands around and Ryan pointed an aggressive finger. The investigator peered towards them, trying to see if the girl seemed familiar from any of the photos he had taken.

As the duo’s gesturing tailed off, Ryan unzipped his jacket and reached inside. From where he was standing, Andrew couldn’t see exactly what he was holding in his hand but it looked like a folder or an envelope. He held it out towards the woman, who looked inside but didn’t take it. Andrew closed his eyes for a moment and took a deep breath, before starting to walk confidently and quickly past the lamp over the bridge. He was careful not to arouse suspicion by looking at the pair as he moved towards them but glanced up briefly as he passed.

Ryan was shielding his body but his companion was clearly less aware of Andrew’s approach. She was now holding a white padded envelope and, although he didn’t catch the whole sentence, he heard her local accent say one line perfectly. ‘Where the fuck did you get all this money?’

20

Garry Ashford wasn’t answering his phone. Jessica first called from her mobile and then from the station’s phone. With no luck, she tried using the prefix that meant the call showed up as ‘unknown’. He obviously knew she was trying to get hold of him, which meant he was avoiding her calls. In fairness, she didn’t blame him.

Jessica tried dialling his mobile one final time, staring at the Herald’s website on her work terminal. The words ‘SUICIDE CLUB’ leapt off the screen. They were the exact ones which had also been on the front of that morning’s paper and had been picked up by national newspapers who had been calling the press office all morning. Even the television news, who had initially reported things fairly straight, were now using harder language so as not to be left behind by their print colleagues.

At first, she had thought about calling Sebastian to shout at him but held back, thinking he might enjoy it. She also knew from what Garry had previously claimed that the writer didn’t create the headlines. It sounded suspiciously made up and didn’t stop her wanting someone to shout at.

Jessica clicked the ‘contact us’ button at the bottom of the news story and dialled the number on her desk phone.

A female voice answered sweetly on the second ring. ‘Morning Herald, how can I direct your call?’

‘Garry Ashford, please.’

‘One moment.’ Generic instrumental music started playing, agitating Jessica even further. The line quickly clicked back to the woman’s voice. ‘Can I ask who is calling, please?’

‘Yes, it’s his mother.’

‘Okay, one moment.’

The music returned as Jessica re-read the top few lines of the story, allowing herself to become more annoyed by it. After a couple of minutes, the tune finally ended and Garry spoke. ‘Mum, I told you to call my mobile.’

‘I did but you’re not answering that, are you, Mr Ashford?’

There were a few moments of silence before the journalist realised he had been duped. ‘Jess?’

‘What the hell is going on with the headline?’

‘Jess, I, er . . .’

‘And since when do you ignore my calls? I’ve been dodging yours for years but that’s not the point.’

Garry stumbled over his words before finally coughing to clear his throat. ‘Sorry. I didn’t write the headline but you can’t say the story isn’t true. Two teenagers have both killed themselves with apparently no good reason. Why shouldn’t we report that?’

‘It’s not just reporting that though, is it? It’s the implication there might be a string of other young girls ready to do the same.’

‘Are you saying there’s not?’ Garry shot back.

‘Are you saying there are?’

There was a pause before the journalist replied. ‘I told you, I didn’t write the headline, or the story for that matter. If you want to take it up with someone, call the editor.’

Jessica was surprised at the annoyance in his voice. Their relationship had always been very one-sided in her favour. ‘I’m sorry, Garry,’ she said. ‘I know it’s not you.’

When the journalist replied, his tone was a lot steadier. ‘Jess, we know each other well enough that I understand you just wanted someone to shout at. But as I keep telling you, these decisions go above me.’

She felt a little silly, recognising he was right. ‘Fair enough but we have now got people going into schools and colleges today to give talks and so on.’

‘Maybe that’s a good thing? If there is a wider problem, it will get people asking for help.’

When he put it like that, Jessica realised the morning’s coverage wasn’t entirely negative. ‘You’re a slippery little fellow, aren’t you?’ she said, lightening her tone to let him know she was joking.

Garry laughed. ‘If I were you, I’d be more concerned by the morning’s other revelation?’

‘What?’

‘The fact our secretary thinks your voice sounds like a sixty-four-year-old woman’s. That can’t be a good sign.’

Jessica couldn’t stop herself from giggling, although his point did hit a little too close to home. ‘All right, laugh it up,’ she said. ‘You’ve not been breaking any speed limits recently, have you? Tax disc in date? What about the tread on your tyres? Are they the correct depth?’

‘Everything’s perfectly in order. The police are dodgy around here so you’ve got to be careful.’

‘Yeah, all right. We should go for a beer sometime. Just stop pissing me off, okay?’

‘I think me breathing pisses you off, but I’ll do my best.’

Jessica put down the receiver, feeling a little better, despite the lack of shouting. As she did, her mobile started ringing, with Andrew Hunter’s name illuminated.

‘You called at just the right time,’ Jessica answered.

Her greeting obviously confused the caller, who could only reply with a, ‘Huh?’

‘If you had phoned ten minutes ago, I would have been less than my cheery, fragrant self.’

‘Er, right . . . I’ve got something for you.’

Jessica realised the man hadn’t had time to adjust to her sense of humour. ‘Go on.’

‘I was going to call last night but it got late and then your line was busy this morning. Yesterday I followed your Ryan lad. I wanted to see what his routine was. Anyway, I ended up following him to this bridge out by his work where he met this girl.’

Jessica couldn’t stop herself from interrupting. She took a pen from her top drawer and turned over a scrap of paper. ‘Did you recognise her?’

‘I don’t think so.’

‘Did you get any pictures?’

‘No, it was way too dark. Ryan gave her this large envelope. I didn’t want to be too conspicuous but I heard her ask him where he got the money from.’

For a moment, Jessica didn’t know what to say, before replying with a simple: ‘Money?’

‘Yes. I don’t know how much. The envelope didn’t seem particularly stuffed but I only saw it for a second.’ Andrew went on to describe the girl.

‘So she’s about his age?’ Jessica confirmed. ‘Why would he be giving her cash?’

‘I don’t know. I was hoping you might.’

Jessica tried to think. If the woman was a similar age to Ryan, that meant she was also close to Sienna and Molly. Could that mean anything?

‘Did you follow her?’ she asked.

‘I tried to but she walked off on her own and got in a car after separating from Ryan. I’ve got the number plate.’ Jessica noted it down and said she would contact him if she managed to find anything out.

Because of the way rules had been tightened in recent years to prevent officers using various databases to check up on people they knew, Jessica wasn’t sure if she should look into the number plate. Everything was traceable back to the person who made the request and, considering the information had come from Andrew – who was only working in an unofficial capacity – Jessica was even more wary. Her concern lasted less than twenty seconds as she figured she would deal with any disciplinary problems if they arose at a later date. She doubted they would.

She was in the process of noting down the car owner’s name and address when Rowlands knocked and entered her office. ‘Have you got a minute, Jess?’

‘That depends who it’s for.’

The constable laughed. ‘Having a good day, are we?’

‘I’m as much a bundle of joy as always,’ Jessica replied, spreading her arms wide and offering him an over-the-top grin.

‘Are we still on for later?’

‘Yes but Iz told me to tell you to bring a balaclava.’

‘Why?’

‘Because if she’s going to introduce you to Amber, she doesn’t want the poor girl tortured by that face of yours.’

Jessica had always been a little scared of babies. The first fear was that she would somehow manage to break them. One time when she was in uniform, she had been sent to a property to interview a potential suspect. The furious mother had asked the two officers if they could keep an eye on her ‘child’ while she went out to drag her wayward son back into the house. What she hadn’t said was that the ‘child’ was actually a seven-month-old baby. With her colleague flatly refusing to touch it, Jessica was left cradling the little girl.

The second fear was based on a far more irrational feeling that a child’s head was simply too big. She had read somewhere that you had the same size eyes as a baby as you did as a fully grown adult. It sounded suspiciously made-up but, ever since, Jessica had been slightly creeped out by how large their heads were in comparison to the rest of their bodies.

As Izzy stood up from the reclining seat and offered Amber to Jessica, both of the fears jumped to the front of her mind at the same time.

‘It’s just a baby,’ Izzy said with a smile as she practically forced the child into Jessica’s arms.

Jessica cupped the child’s head with her elbow and awkwardly sat on the nearby sofa, thinking it would at least be less of a fall if she dropped the baby.

Rowlands was next to her, struggling to contain his laughter. ‘It’s just a kid, Jess, what do you think is going to happen?’

Izzy returned to her recliner, sighing loudly but grinning at the same time. ‘If you want to keep her for a day or two, feel free. I’ll just sleep.’

Jessica almost swore but had visions of Amber’s first word having four letters in it. ‘They’re pretty small, aren’t they?’

Both constables laughed. ‘What, babies?’ Izzy said. ‘What did you expect?’

‘I know they’re small, but not this small. Look at the fingers. They’re like real fingers just . . . littler.’

‘They’re still real fingers,’ Izzy pointed out. ‘They’re not glued on.’

Jessica realised she couldn’t think of a sensible way of putting it. She had seen babies before but rarely like this. ‘So what do they do when they’re this young?’ she asked, thinking it was a reasonable question. She looked up to see Izzy staring at her, eyebrows arched, as if she were the child. ‘What?’ Jessica asked.

‘She’s a baby. She eats, she sleeps, she poos. She absorbs everything that’s going on around her. Then one day, she’ll be in her thirties and be able to ask stupid questions about other babies.’

‘All right, forget it,’ Jessica said as Rowlands continued to laugh. She wanted to ask how long it would be before Amber would be walking but decided against it.

‘You’re thinking about the size of her eyes, aren’t you?’ Izzy said with a grin.

Jessica looked at the baby and then her friend. ‘I’ve told you about that?’

‘Lots of times. Apparently you reckoned one of your friends’ babies looked like an alien. And said it out loud.’

‘Er, yeah. That was a while ago.’ Jessica didn’t remember telling that story.

‘So what do you think?’ Izzy added.

‘Very nice. Very baby-like. Pretty much what I’d expected,’ Jessica said.

Izzy laughed. ‘I’m glad you said that. Everyone keeps saying she’s gorgeous and looks just like me and all that. She is gorgeous of course but I know people have to say that.’

‘So how are you, Iz?’ Rowlands asked.

‘I’m all right. I thought I’d have Amber and want to be back at work straight away but I’m getting used to it now. It’s a full-time job with more poo and less money. If you’re not directly looking after her, then you’re dealing with her clothes, or her food, or people are coming around to see her and so on.’

Amber gurgled slightly and Jessica peeked down at her, hoping she wasn’t going to be sick. Instead, the child continued to sleep peacefully. ‘How’s Mal?’ Jessica asked, referring to Izzy’s husband.

Izzy smiled widely. Her long hair was usually dyed a bright red. It clearly hadn’t been done in a while as the sharp crimson colour was now more of a faded auburn. ‘Ha! I think you’re the first person to ask about him in ages – and he’s not even here to appreciate it. He was half-moaning, half-joking about it last night. Even when his own mum came around, all she wanted to do was fuss over Amber. I think he’s feeling a bit left out because everyone asks about me and the baby. He’s stuck making tea.’

Jessica looked at Rowlands and raised her eyebrows, being careful to support Amber’s head. ‘Are you taking notes? You’re the tea-maker.’

‘I don’t know why you’re telling me,’ he replied. ‘You’re going to be up the duff long before Chloe.’

‘Get out.’

‘You’re engaged and everything. What do you think is going to happen after that? One minute it’s church bells, the next it’s cribs and pushchairs. That’s the way it goes.’

Jessica looked at Izzy, who shrugged. ‘I didn’t think I’d want kids. It was all Mal, my parents, his mum and so on who kept going on about it. But it’s nice . . .’

Jessica thought about how things were going with Adam and her own unspoken concerns about marriage. Was her real worry not about getting married, but more about everything that would come after?

She looked up to see Izzy staring at her with a small smile on her face, almost as if the constable had read her mind. ‘It’s all right, Jess,’ she said. ‘I’m sure you’ll do your own thing. You always do.’

The new mother crouched next to Jessica and took Amber back before returning to her recliner. ‘So how are things at the station without me? I’ve noticed that society hasn’t collapsed yet, which is slightly disappointing.’

Jessica was somewhat relieved to not be holding the baby any longer. She loosened her shoulders. ‘Dave spent two days moaning last week because I gave him a list of names to compile and cross-check, so he’s definitely missing you.’

Rowlands was scowling. ‘I knew you two would gang up on me if I came along. I wasn’t moaning – it’s just that you do it so much . . . better, Iz.’

Izzy gently rocked her child, nodding in acknowledgement. ‘At least me being here means you actually have to do something, you lazy sod.’

‘Is bullying really something you want to be teaching Amber?’ he replied.

‘If she grows up to pick on you, then yes,’ Izzy said with a grin. After a moment, she turned to face Jessica. ‘I’ve seen bits and pieces on the news and so on. Is there really a suicide ring out there?’

Jessica rolled her eyes. ‘Of course there’s not. We’re looking into it all but there’s nothing to suggest it.’

‘What about the fires? Are you on that too?’

‘Sort of. Jason has been dealing with it really. I just float around annoying him. I don’t know how much you’ve been following it but everything has come so quick. I was escorting Martin Chadwick out of prison one minute and now we have had two fires and a close call.’

Izzy looked down at Amber. ‘Where was the attempted one?’

‘Anthony Thompson’s – the guy whose son died. Everything seems to be connected to everything else but I can’t figure out exactly how.’

‘Do you think Martin’s involved then?’

Jessica sighed. ‘I wish I knew. Jason says there’s something in Chadwick’s past where his old school burned down but we don’t have anything to suggest it might be him. It was years ago but it all builds a picture. I guess we’re just watching and waiting for something else to happen.’