Текст книги "Scarred for Life"

Автор книги: Kerry Wilkinson

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Текущая страница: 7 (всего у книги 18 страниц)

Eventually, Archie handed it back. ‘Thank you,’ he said, as James returned it to the case. ‘I wish I’d tried a bit harder at things now. I can’t even imagine the amount of work that must have gone into winning that.’

James closed the cabinet and batted Archie away with a ‘bah!’ and a grin.

‘What I think my colleague was trying to establish,’ Archie said, ‘was how much contact you have with members of the club. You said you make the odd phone call . . .’

This time, James replied instantly. ‘Sometimes a few of them need a little encouragement, especially ahead of the big races. I have a word in their ears. I don’t remember the names half the time but they just need someone to tell them they can do it. It’s always better if it’s someone who’s been there and seen things.’

Jessica couldn’t help but wonder exactly which type of things he might have seen.

‘I thought you said he must’ve fallen in if he’d only won bronze,’ Jessica said as Archie drove – a privilege she rarely allowed anyone if she was in the car too.

‘I was hardly going to say that to him.’

‘So what do you really feel? Were you actually impressed by the medal?’

Archie kept one hand on the steering wheel and glanced sideways at her, grinning. ‘You do what you have to.’

That didn’t answer her question but Jessica let it go. ‘What do you think of him?’

‘He doesn’t seem to know much. I doubt he knew Damon’s name and he barely seemed to know Holden. He’s just someone they wheel out a few times a year – literally and figuratively. He probably likes the attention but doesn’t want to admit it, while they like being able to mention his name because he’s actually done something and most of them haven’t.’

Jessica agreed: it was an uncomfortable marriage of convenience.

As they headed back to the station, Jessica called Cole. He answered on the fourth ring, then asked her to wait. The line sounded dead as he put her on hold until, eventually, he returned with: ‘How was he?’

Jessica explained that James had told them very little.

‘As expected,’ Cole replied.

‘Is anything else going on?’

‘The other members of the rowing club have had a slight change of heart. When they’ve been asked specifically to remember when they saw Mr Wyatt on the night of the party, most can only say for certain that he was there at the beginning.’

In other words, they’d all subtly changed their stories.

‘Does that mean Holden no longer has an alibi for the night Damon was killed?’

‘That’s how it seems.’

‘How can we accept that a whole group of people have changed their statements at the same time?’

‘Before, we had a lot of people to interview in a short period. Now we’re asking very specific questions about timings and who saw what and when.’

Jessica knew that was how a lawyer might dress things up but it was nonsense. The students had previously told them that Holden had been present for the whole party. Now they were saying differently.

‘Some have said they’d heard rumours that Damon was going to go public about the hazing activities,’ Cole added. ‘That would give a motive.’

Jessica couldn’t hold back: ‘More like they’ve changed their stories because they’re all worried about their own roles in the initiations and they’ll say anything that gets them off the hook.’

‘Weren’t you the one who brought Holden in for questioning because you thought he knew more about the death than he was letting on?’

‘Yes, but—’

‘But what? This is only confirming what you were speculating about. Results have started to come back from everything that was found in the bin. There’s a trace of Holden on at least two separate items.’

‘Of course there is – he was at the club, no one’s disputing his whereabouts.’

‘That may be the case but, alongside his confession earlier and the statements from other club members, it’s all painting a picture.’

‘Are you saying Holden killed Damon and dumped the body in the bin at the back of the one place where it would be linked back to him?’

Cole coughed. ‘I’m not saying anything – that’s for you to figure out.’

Jessica had to think carefully about what to say next but there was no easy way. ‘It sounds like we’re fitting him up for this.’

For a few moments, it was as if everything had stopped. Archie came to a halt at a set of traffic lights and his head flicked towards her. Jessica felt a tingle along her back in the moment of silence. The investigation into events surrounding the arrest and conviction of the Stretford Slasher twenty-five years ago was still going on, with the report due in the new year. ‘Fitted up’ were two words they simply didn’t use together.

‘You’re on very thin ice, Inspector.’

‘Sir, I—’

‘You nothing. Do not continue to question the decisions that are made around here. You’ve been on a loose chain for a very long time – something I blame myself for. If the message hasn’t yet got through then I’ll make myself very clear: this is the end of the road for not doing things properly. Now do your job and get the rest of the evidence against Holden Wyatt.’

The reply stuck in Jessica’s throat before she finally coughed it out. By the time she’d mumbled an apology she didn’t feel was deserved, he had already hung up.

Another say-nothing ride.

Back at the station, it was almost the end of shift and Jessica didn’t want to talk to anyone anyway. She mumbled a ‘see you tomorrow’ to Archie, strode through to her office, grabbed her stuff, and then marched back out again, ignoring Fat Pat complaining that she hadn’t yet signed something she was supposed to.

She turned the radio off in her car and drove home in the usual stop-start-stop-stop-stop-stop-stop-stop-stop-start traffic, alone with her thoughts. For once, the commute didn’t bother her because she didn’t feel anything. Cole had been her friend – without him she wouldn’t be at work. Now he was just another colleague. Something really had changed.

Slowly she manoeuvred her way back to Swinton as if on autopilot, remembering nothing of the journey. She pulled onto the driveway of the house she shared with Adam at the same time as the sun dipped over the horizon for the day. The area was bathed in a strange mix of daylight and night, orange street lights and white headlamps, and yet Jessica was out of the car, key in hand, reaching for the front door before she noticed Bex sitting on her doorstep, subdued smile on her face.

‘You did say you had a spare room . . .’

16

For a young woman thinner than most children, Bex really could eat. In the yellowy glow of Jessica’s kitchen, the teenager wolfed down anything put in front of her. Her black hair was balled underneath a woollen bobble hat, with only a few wisps dangling around her face. Jessica was struck by how pale the girl was, even though there were no obvious signs she was ill in any way other than being under-nourished. Bex kept her canvas rucksack underneath her feet protectively, not wanting to take her fleece off either. Jessica understood that living on the streets meant that looking after your possessions was imperative, so it was no real surprise.

‘Do you want anything else?’ Jessica asked, having already turned six slices of bread into cheese and pickle toasties, which Bex had topped off with two bags of cheesy Wotsits (Adam’s), a pork pie (Adam’s), a sausage roll (Adam’s), half a packet of sliced ham (theirs), a bowl of Coco Pops (Adam’s), a beef and tomato Pot Noodle (hers, although there were loads more), an apple (Adam’s), two nectarines (Adam’s) and half a box of fish fingers (theirs).

Jessica half-hoped Bex hadn’t spotted the Cadbury’s caramel bars (Jessica’s), chocolate biscuits (Jessica’s), non-chocolate biscuits (Jessica’s), Chunky Monkey Ben & Jerry’s (Jessica’s), or bag of doughnuts shoved to the back of the bread bin (Jessica’s), and might instead go for the low-fat, low-taste, girly yoghurts in the door of the fridge (Adam’s).

Bex fiddled with her nose ring and patted her tiny frame which had defeated all physiological laws by packing so much into it. ‘Maybe in a bit?’

She grinned and it changed everything about her, even if it didn’t seem to come entirely naturally.

‘If you’ve got any dirty clothes, I can put a wash on?’ Jessica said.

Bex glanced away from her towards the door, shaking her head. ‘I shouldn’t have come . . .’

‘I wouldn’t have given you my address if you weren’t welcome. We can get the lezzer stuff out of the way later.’

They caught each other’s gaze and Jessica dissolved into a childish fit of giggles. Bex smiled but there were delicate dimples in her cheeks, matching the one in her chin and offering a wonderful sense of fun. That was until she stopped grinning; then her eyes showed her youth and vulnerability.

‘Are you really a police officer?’ she asked.

‘Yes.’

‘You don’t seem like one.’

‘What do you think a police officer should be like?’

‘The ones out at night are usually right twats.’

A perfectly accurate description of a select few of Jessica’s colleagues.

‘Some of us are normal people.’

Jessica took the dirty plates and moved them to the sink (Adam’s). ‘Do you want the tour?’

‘I only need a place for tonight. Last night was really cold and—’

‘Stay for as long as you want. It’s almost winter and we live in the north. The weather’s always shite anyway.’

Bex didn’t reply but she hoiked her backpack over her shoulders as Jessica led them into the living room. ‘This is where we waste our lives in front of the TV.’

‘We?’

‘My boyfriend and me. Well, fiancé. Well, sort of, it’s complicated.’

Bex’s eyes darted left to right and she took a step backwards towards the hallway. ‘I, er, didn’t realise.’

‘It’s fine, why would you?’ Bex mumbled something about not wanting to be a burden but Jessica cut across her. ‘Honestly, it’s fine. He’s called Adam. He’s cool, he’s normal. Well, he’s into sci-fi but everyone seems to be nowadays. At least it’s not slasher porn.’

Jessica tried to make a joke of it but Bex was backing further out of the room and Jessica had to stride quickly to catch her before she was at the door. She put a hand on the teenager’s shoulder but the girl flinched away.

‘Sorry,’ Jessica said.

‘It’s fine; I think I should go.’

‘You don’t have to. Honestly, Adam’s fine – no one’s going to harm you here.’

‘I know, I—’

‘Bex, I’m a police officer – do you really think I’d be living with some nutter? I’ve got enough of them at work.’

Jessica placed her hands on the girl’s shoulders again and this time Bex didn’t flinch. Slowly she tilted her head upwards until they were looking at each other. ‘Okay.’

‘Shall we have a look around upstairs?’

‘All right.’

Jessica first showed her the bedroom she shared with Adam and even got a smile as Bex asked why one half was strewn with clothes, shoes, books, a television remote control and an empty plate while the other was spotless. Jessica’s reasoning was identical to the explanation she had given her mother after being scolded.

1) The bed wasn’t quite in the centre of the room, which created a subtle optical illusion that she and Adam had equal space. The truth was that he had approximately four centimetres more space on his side of the bed, which, multiplied by the length of the room, meant that she had correspondingly less room to store her stuff.

2) Adam wore, essentially, the same clothes to work as he wore around the house, meaning he had far fewer items to pack away. She, on the other hand, needed an increasingly more complex choice of clothing to accommodate many different scenarios, meaning there was no sensible way she could be expected to neatly fold, or hang, everything she owned.

3) Adam slept on the window side of the bed, meaning there was marginally less light on her side of the room. Because of that, when she got dressed in the mornings, it was often advantageous to have clothes nearby – even if that meant them being on the floor.

4) There was a complex system of organisation on show that was far too understated for most human eyes to appreciate. Items were sorted by cleanliness, colour, appropriateness for work and by how much she liked them. That occasionally meant that a few things ended up on the floor, rather than in drawers or the wardrobe. Because of the multifaceted nature of the system, there was no way she could explain it in anything approaching a dumbed-down way that people could understand.

Jessica never got to 5) because Bex cut her off: ‘Basically, you’re a bit messy.’

‘That too – but if you ever tell Adam, then you’re out on your arse.’

Bex smiled and Jessica was laughing again too. After her day at work and the way Cole had been with her, this wasn’t at all what she’d expected.

Jessica showed Bex the smallest upstairs room, which was filled with a handful of boxes they hadn’t yet unpacked and an exercise bike she had bought, used once, and then never gone near again. In the bathroom, Jessica picked up the wet towel from the floor which she’d forgotten about that morning, telling Bex that Adam must have left it by accident, then she led the teenager into the final bedroom.

‘This is where you can sleep,’ Jessica said.

Bex stood in the doorway, peering at the space. ‘It’s really nice . . .’

‘It was going to be a nursery but then . . . well, it didn’t happen. We did it up as a guest bedroom.’

‘It’s got a double bed.’

‘I know.’

Bex sat on it, bouncing gently, dropping her bag behind her. ‘I’ve never slept in a double bed before.’

‘Make the most of it. I sleep in a double bed but I’ve got some skinny string bean next to me who spreads out like a drunken spider. Half the time I wake up with an elbow in my eye.’

From below, the sound of the door opening and a loud ‘I’m home’ echoed through the house. Bex froze again but Jessica touched her gently on the arm. ‘It’s just Adam – let’s go and meet him.’

Bex instinctively reached for her bag but Jessica gripped her delicately. ‘It’ll be fine here. No one will touch it.’ Bex hesitated for a moment and then nodded. ‘As long as you stay here, I won’t even come into this room if you don’t want me to,’ Jessica added.

‘You don’t have to do that. It’s your house – it’s only one night.’

Jessica led Bex down the stairs into the kitchen, where Adam was standing at the sink. His hair was messier than usual at the back, blown all ways by the wind on his walk from the bus stop to the house. He didn’t look around. ‘Christ, Jess, how much did you bloody eat?’ He turned to see the two women standing in the doorway. ‘Oh, er, sorry, I didn’t realise . . . I’m Adam.’

He stretched out a hand for Bex to shake but ended up holding it there uncomfortably as Bex almost hid behind Jessica.

‘Look at the state of you,’ Jessica said breezily, ‘she doesn’t want to shake your hand – you bloody stink. Go and have a shower and then maybe she’ll go within three feet of you.’

She caught Adam’s eye, telling him without words to let it pass. He sniffed his own armpits, grinned and apologised with a smile.

He really was good.

After pecking Jessica on the cheek, he was away, running up the stairs like a child on Christmas morning.

‘He seems nice,’ Bex said, emerging from behind Jessica.

‘He is. There are a lot of wankers out there but he’s all right. I don’t hang around with dickheads. Well, except the ones at work.’

‘I shouldn’t have been rude to him.’

‘It’s fine – if we’re really lucky, he might cook for us when he’s had a shower. That’s if you’re hungry yet.’

Bex grinned again.

In the living room, she asked where she was allowed to sit but Jessica said she could have her pick. She opted against the sofa (Jessica’s), instead choosing the recliner (Adam’s). Jessica even showed her where the catch was to make the seat slide backwards and footrest pop out. Suddenly, Bex’s dimples and grin were fixed.

‘It’s really nice in here,’ Bex said.

‘We were in a fire. A lot of our stuff was lost, so we had to replace it all. Almost everything is new – or newish. It’s nice but it takes more than that to make it a home.’ Jessica stood and crossed to the shelf underneath the television, picking up a pair of silver candlesticks. ‘Look at these – they belonged to Adam’s grandmother and survived the fire. We keep them on display to remind us that all this stuff might look nice but, ultimately, it only takes one stray match, one burst pipe, and it’s all gone. For whatever reason, these survived the fire – and so did Adam and I.’

Bex nodded, understanding.

Jessica persuaded Adam to make them tea by whispering in his ear that she’d do something for him that she hadn’t done in months. He then spent ten minutes telling them over lasagne and homemade chips exactly who the ThunderCats were because Bex had never heard of them. Jessica had listened to it all before and spent the entire lecture thinking he was inadvertently doing his best to talk himself out of partaking in that particular act after all. Somehow, after all that, Bex still managed to eat her way through a bagel (Adam’s) and, thankfully, a yoghurt (Adam’s).

The three of them spent the rest of the evening in front of the television watching a soap that Jessica definitely wasn’t secretly into and definitely didn’t know anything about, a documentary about animals, a quiz show and the news. Bex didn’t say a word throughout, she simply watched, knees to her chest, arms wrapped around herself. Once or twice, Jessica caught her eye and they exchanged a half-smile. There were so many questions she should ask – the girl was a stranger – and yet this wasn’t the time.

Jessica was resting on Adam’s shoulder feeling tired, when she felt her head being jarred and realised she had drifted off. ‘Jess,’ Adam whispered.

‘Uhnf, sorry.’ Jessica sat herself up, blinking, trying to wake up.

‘Bex is asleep.’ Jessica glanced across to the recliner where Bex had curled herself up like a cat and was wedged into the seat. ‘Shall I wake her?’ he added.

Jessica grabbed his arm as he started to move. ‘Not you. Go to bed and I’ll see you there.’ She kissed him on the forehead and waited until his footsteps finished clumping on the stairs, then she gently stroked Bex’s hair away from her face. The girl awoke with a jolt, a hand flashing out and grabbing Jessica’s wrist roughly.

‘Ow,’ Jessica said, grimacing.

Bex took a second to release her, eyes half-open. ‘Sorry, I thought . . .’

‘It’s bedtime.’

Bex uncurled herself, stretching her legs and stifling a yawn. ‘I can’t believe I fell asleep here.’

‘It’s comfy.’

‘I know but I’m usually so careful. You’ve got to be when—’

‘I get it.’

‘Are you going to be here in the morning?’

‘It depends what time you wake up.’ Jessica stood and crossed towards the shelf where the candlesticks were. She picked up a monkey ornament and turned it upside down, emptying a key into her hand. She gave it to Bex. ‘If you only want to stay one night, that’s up to you – but please don’t sleep on the streets again. That room is yours as long as you want it. Eat what you want, have a shower when you want. Adam and I have jobs so we won’t be here all the time but you’re a sensible girl – I know you are. If you know how to use a washer, then you can sort your clothes out. If not, there’s a basket in our bedroom. Just drop your things in there.’

Bex stared at the key in her palm for a couple of seconds before squeezing it into her pocket. ‘What do you want from me?’

Jessica shrugged, not having an answer.

They said goodnight at the top of the stairs and went their separate ways, Jessica sliding under the covers next to Adam and then fighting for what she claimed was her share of them – roughly two-thirds, according to him.

‘What’s her real name?’ Adam whispered, cradling an arm around her.

‘I don’t know; I assume Rebecca.’

‘Who is she?’

Jessica pushed herself up until she was sitting, messing the covers up again. ‘I know I shouldn’t just invite people here – it’s your house too – but . . .’

‘I trust you.’

‘. . . when we were at Piccadilly last week and you were busy moaning, I had my purse nicked.’

‘I remember.’

‘I wasn’t exactly honest with you. I was hoping to be robbed and left a note for the pickpocket.’

‘That was her?’

‘Yes – she’s homeless and that’s all she had to live on. Everyone assumes this kind of crime is done by gangs but the type of people they use would usually stand out in a train station. I figured it was somebody else doing it for a reason. I suppose I—’

‘You wanted to help.’

‘I guess.’

‘Do you know what you’re doing?’

‘No.’

Adam snorted and reached out to pull Jessica towards him again. Together they slid back down underneath the covers. ‘How old is she?’

‘She says seventeen – I don’t know.’

‘Is there someone you should call – social services or someone?’

‘If I do that, she’ll run. She’s not technically a child anyway.’

‘What do you want to happen?’

Jessica breathed deeply, cradling her head into his chest. ‘I really don’t know . . . sometimes it’s just nice not to be a bitch for a day.’

17

Jessica was awoken by Manchester’s usual soundtrack: it was pissing down. The rain clattered against the glass of their bedroom window, thundering off the roof, the pavement, driveway, car, everything – a melody that might as well be trademarked by the north-west of England. Adam’s sister, Georgia, had moved up from the south not too long ago. After a month, she’d asked Jessica if the weather was always this bad. That was during a particularly mild spell. If God truly had attempted to wipe humans from the face of the earth after giving Noah a cheeky tip-off, then it was as if he was still trying with Manchester.

Through the slit in between the door and the frame of their spare room, Jessica could see Bex folded up like origami on top of the covers, breathing deeply. Thank goodness she hadn’t been out in this overnight. Jessica was interrupted, jumping when Adam delicately touched the base of her back.

‘How is she?’ he whispered.

‘Sleeping.’

‘Good.’

Downstairs, they went about their business slightly more quietly than they did usually. Jessica clicked the toaster on and then checked the news on her phone.

First the BBC: some bollocks about London, as if everyone in the UK lived there; an article about the weather, because looking out of the window didn’t suffice; a yawn-fest about why people are living for longer. Is this what she paid a licence fee for?

The Guardian: something about politics; more about politics; something about America; more about America; a celebrity banging on about some cause. Boring.

The Daily Mail: a girl barely eighteen with her top off; an overweight woman berated for being too fat; someone else having the piss taken for being too thin; a photo of a monkey – isn’t that cute?; the royal family leeching their way around some colony Britain had once owned, grinning as the locals wondered who they were; something about why women hate themselves. Probably because they’re constantly having people point out that they’re too fat or thin, or having long-lens photographs of themselves without a top on being printed. Too depressing for this time of the morning.

The Manchester Morning Herald: oh shite.

Jessica sat in the supermarket cafe sipping orange juice and thinking about how soulless the place was. The clientele was a mixture of pensioners picking up their four-quid full-English breakfasts and single mums catching a quiet cappuccino before the chaos of their day kicked in again. The staff bustled between the tables, cleaning up and taking orders in their uncomfortable-looking uniforms. It wasn’t the people themselves Jessica found depressing, it was the fact that nobody really wanted to be there.

Or perhaps she was simply in a bad mood.

Garry Ashford slid into the seat across the table from her and plopped a copy of the Manchester Morning Herald in between them. ‘You buying?’ he asked.

‘You probably earn more than me.’

He grinned. ‘Shall we have an argument about whether journalists or police officers are paid the worst?’

Jessica stood and gave him an awkward half-hug. Were they mates? People who knew each other? Enemies? To a degree they were all three. She was a detective inspector, he was the Herald’s news editor. They shouldn’t really know, or like, each other – but they frequently seemed to be inexorably drawn to each other. If she was ever pinned down and waterboarded, Jessica might even admit that she liked him. Sort of.

‘Every time I see you, you’ve got different hair,’ Jessica said. On the last occasion she’d seen him, he’d been unshaven and his hair had grown scraggily to his ears. Now it was short again, sensible. He was even dressed quite smartly in a suit that almost fitted him, not the retro cords he usually wore. ‘Oh, I get it,’ Jessica added. ‘Mrs Ashford’s been on your case, hasn’t she? The wedding’s coming up and she doesn’t want you looking as scruffy as you usually do. Sensible woman; she’s growing on me.’

‘It was my choice actually – and as I keep telling you, she’s not Mrs Ashford. Well, not yet.’ He paused, before adding: ‘Come on then, let’s have it.’

‘What?’

‘The usual cracks – something about her having cataracts or a mental disorder because that’s the only reason she would be interested in me.’

‘Pfft, as if I’d still be recycling all the same jokes. Who do you think you’re talking to?’

Garry raised his eyebrows and nodded at the newspaper between them. ‘I know who I’m talking to.’

‘Fine – but I hope you appreciate this one, I spent the entire car journey here thinking of it.’

‘Let’s hear it then.’

‘You told me before you’ve invited over a hundred people to the wedding, but how are you going to fit them all into the venue?’

‘What do you mean?’

‘Well, if you’ve got her chained in the basement, there can’t be much room . . .’

Garry rolled his eyes. ‘Your jokes are getting worse – and I use the word “jokes” loosely.’ He paused to pick through the menu and then went to the counter to order himself a sausage sandwich.

When he sat again, he opened out the paper, showing the large ‘AUTUMN HAZE’ headline.

‘You do know it’s winter, don’t you?’ Jessica said, pointing at it.

‘November’s one of those months – a bit of autumn, a bit of winter. Besides, I think the “haze” word is the more important one.’

Jessica had read it on her phone before asking Garry out for breakfast. The article was chapter and verse on Holden Wyatt – how he had initiated the new members, the things he’d admitted to in the interview with her, insinuations that the death of Damon Potter could be linked to hell week, as could the hypothermia case from the previous year.

‘You said you had new information,’ Garry added.

‘You could say that . . .’

‘Oh . . . you’ve not brought me here to try to bollock me again, have you? It’s a solid story.’

‘You must know it’s going to prejudice his trial?’

‘The lawyers said it was fine – he’s not been charged yet.’

Initially, Jessica had thought Holden would be in court this morning, charged with the assaults. Cole had even told her as much – but the decision had been made by someone to keep him in custody and continue questioning him about Damon’s death, then they could talk to the CPS about what to charge him with. Jessica was out of the loop either way.

‘Oh, well, that’s all right then,’ Jessica shot back. ‘A prick in a suit signs it off and some lad ends up going down for something he’s not done.’

‘Are you saying he didn’t take part in any of those initiation rituals?’

Jessica didn’t have time to reply before the waitress came over with Garry’s sandwich. He squeezed three packets’ worth of brown sauce – good choice – onto it and took a bite.

‘I’m going to tell you something here I shouldn’t,’ Jessica said, watching him eat. ‘Everything you’ve printed is true.’

Garry’s eyes widened – he hadn’t expected that. ‘Are you praising something we did?’ he asked.

‘Let’s not go that far. My point isn’t that any of it is wrong; it’s that people are going to put two and two together and get five. Yes, he admitted to those initiations – although I’m not confirming that on the record – but that doesn’t mean he had anything to do with Damon’s death. Maybe he did, maybe he didn’t – that’s what we’re going to spend our time trying to figure out. You’ve put the two side by side and made it look like they’re connected – he’s not been charged with the assaults yet, let alone anything else.’

‘A story’s a story, Jess. This is what we do. You said it yourself: everything we’ve written is true.’

‘Someone’s trying to stitch him up.’

‘Are you on the record?’

‘Of course I’m bloody not.’

‘Why are we here then?’

Jessica looked around the setting again; it certainly wasn’t the type of place they’d been to together before, nor was it the type of place she’d usually go to. All the more reason for it to be here.

‘If anyone bothered to notice where I was going, they’d think I was doing the weekly shop.’

‘Why would anyone be watching where you were going?’

Jessica suddenly felt a little silly, exposed in front of someone she didn’t even know if she was friends with. ‘It’s complicated – things are different at work. Everything moved really quickly yesterday with this Potter case. One minute we had found Cassie Edmonds’ body and were looking into that, the next it was all systems go on nailing Holden.’

Garry finished chewing his next mouthful, leaving a smear of brown sauce on his chin. ‘Why are you telling me this?’

‘Because there’s something going on at the station that I can’t figure out.’

‘You said that.’

Jessica sighed, knowing she wasn’t getting herself across very well, largely because she wasn’t entirely sure what she was doing either. She finished the rest of the orange juice in her near-empty cup. ‘Your story was written by a name I didn’t recognise.’

‘He’s one of the newer guys – we’ve hardly got any staff nowadays but he’s not long out of uni.’

‘Did he tell you who he got the story from?’

‘Yes. I’m news editor – I wouldn’t have run it otherwise.’

‘Who was it?’

Garry took another bite of his sandwich and shook his head. ‘You know a reporter’s source is protected.’

‘Perhaps I’m asking because there’s something bigger going on?’

‘Is there?’

‘I don’t know.’

‘I can’t tell you anyway.’

‘Did whoever leaked it tell you that a lot of the other club members altered their stories? At first they said they’d seen Holden all evening on the night Damon died, then they changed their minds. That’s why you were able to link the initiation ceremonies to the actual death.’