DS Jessica Daniel series: Locked In/Vigilante/The Woman in Black - Books 1-3 (70 page)

The pub was as empty as she could have wished. Aside from a couple of people serving at the bar and a few customers watching football on the other side, there wasn’t anyone else present.
It was the type of place that had been done up nicely around a decade ago but hadn’t had anything renovated since. A thin layer of dust came off on her hands from the rail as she continued
walking and she wiped it on her trousers until she finally saw Dennis sitting in a booth at the very back of the pub. He was cradling a pint of bitter and stood as he spotted her.

Jessica walked up the three steps to the raised area and slid herself into the booth opposite him. He followed her lead and sat back down. She had only ever seen him before in the standard
uniform of heavy boots, dark trousers and a navy-blue jumper but he definitely must have thought she’d consented to some sort of date given the way he was dressed. As he sat down, the lights
caught his black shoes which were either brand new or had been recently shined. He was wearing dark suit-type trousers with a light blue shirt, with the top few buttons undone.

Jessica felt slightly sick at the amount of wiry greying chest hair that was poking out of the top. She tried not to look but the way the hairs spiralled was almost hypnotic. ‘I’ve
got to be quick, Dennis,’ Jessica said. ‘I’ve got quite a lot on at the moment so only have a few minutes.’

‘Are you sure you don’t want a drink?’

‘Sorry, I’m driving. I never drink on duty anyway.’

It was a little white lie. She didn’t drink when she was driving but pretty much every officer she had ever met wasn’t averse to a quiet drink, even if their shift wasn’t quite
over. Dennis’s face fell slightly and his scar seemed even more prominent, illuminated by the small spotlights overhead. It really did run the entire length of his face from his mouth to the
bottom part of his ear. She almost wanted to ask where he got it but the idea of getting into a full conversation wasn’t too appealing.

‘Are you sure you don’t fancy a soft drink?’ he asked.

‘Sorry, I’m really in a rush. You said you had some news about the photo?’

Dennis dug into his trouser pocket and took out the newspaper clipping she had given him. Jessica could see instantly it was slightly torn and a lot grubbier than when she had handed it over. He
put the photo on the table between them and pushed it towards her. ‘Who is this guy anyway?’

Jessica had known it was a gamble to pass on a photo from a newspaper because it would indicate it was of someone semi-important. Aside from printing out something from the force’s website
where Farraday would have been in uniform, she had no other option. She didn’t know if either Dennis or someone else he showed it to would have recognised the image as being of her boss
– he was involved in TV appeals – but, at the same time, if you didn’t know what you were looking for, he was just another face.

‘I can’t really tell you that, Dennis.’

The man shuffled in his seat. ‘I thought he looked familiar but didn’t recognise him directly. I showed him to a couple of the other office guys but they had no idea. One of the late
girls reckons he was definitely a regular visitor a few months back.’

From being sceptical about why he had asked to meet, Jessica was suddenly hanging on Dennis’s every word. ‘What do you mean by “late girls”?’

‘Oh, right. Nothing really, just that she does the late shift which is why I don’t always see her. I waited around especially though because you asked me . . .’

He was waiting for a compliment but Jessica was feeling too impatient to indulge him. ‘What did she say?’

‘She used to work on days up until about three or four months back. Everyone’s shifts got bumped around and I moved from earlies to days and she moved from days to nights. But she
reckoned, when she was on days, he was a regular visitor. She said he looked a bit different, like he had a beard or something, but that he used to come all the time.’

‘Why haven’t you seen him then?’

‘She reckons he just stopped suddenly. He went from visiting a couple of times a week to not coming at all. Not long after that we all swapped shifts which is why I didn’t know
him.’

‘Doesn’t everyone have to sign in with ID when they come to the prison?’

‘Yeah, if you don’t have your driving licence or whatever, you’re not allowed through reception.’

‘Did you ask her if she remembered the name?’

‘Funny you should say that. I never remember anyone but, as soon as she saw the picture, she knew exactly who it was.’

Jessica could feel her heart pounding in her chest, knowing all the paranoia she had shown was about to be proved correct, that all the sleepless nights weren’t in vain. ‘What was
his name?’

‘Somebody Farraday.’

Jessica had to fight showing any emotion. She wanted to yell out, ‘I was right’ as vindication for all the things she had found herself doing over the past couple
of weeks. She knew she couldn’t do any of that in front of Dennis though.

She pulled the scrap towards her and pocketed it, desperately trying not to react to what he had said. ‘You’ve been really helpful, Dennis, thank you.’

‘No worries, shame you couldn’t stay longer. Still I’ve got your number, maybe we can try another night?’ She gave him a half-smile and said something utterly
noncommittal, walking out of the pub before he could say any more.

Jessica couldn’t sum up the way she was feeling. There was some sort of elation that she hadn’t just been paranoid, but sadness she hadn’t figured any of it out before Carrie
had died. Then there was the realisation she still didn’t have the proof she needed. She had a broken phone under her bed and the second-hand word of someone who worked at the prison. She
still had to figure out how it happened too. Farraday could have met Donald McKenna in prison and somehow smuggled blood and hairs back out again but it wouldn’t have been easy.

Then another idea struck her, something she should have thought about when she was on the train earlier. Adam told her a twin had to be identical to share DNA but what if one of them changed
their appearance? Could it be possible that somewhere along the line her boss and McKenna were direct relations but one of them had altered the way he looked? It was unlikely but surely more of a
possibility than tunnelling out of a maximum-security prison? The more Jessica thought about it, the more she was convinced. They were around the same age, same height and same build. As she
reached her car, she took out the piece of newspaper from her pocket and stopped under a nearby street light to look at the photo of the DCI. She tried to remember what McKenna looked like. Surely
it was like this? Surely?

She could feel the itch in the back of her head again. ‘
It’s him. You’re right. You were always right
.’ Jessica knew she wasn’t heading home. She drove to
the estate Farraday lived on and parked where she had done in the previous days, a couple of streets away. She hadn’t changed her clothes all day and was still wearing the suit she’d
had on at the women’s prison and for the train journeys. The nights were beginning to get cooler but Jessica didn’t want to miss anything, shivering as she got out of the car and
walking the short distance to sit on the wall opposite the chief inspector’s house. Behind the low row of bricks was a large hedge which meant no one from the house behind could see her and
she could push back into the greenery to avoid being seen easily from the front. On a night like this, it also offered a small amount of protection from the cold.

She sat on the wall, leaning backwards, eyes fixed on the house in front of her. She eyed the gate she had jumped over and hurt her ankle. It was as imposing as ever and, as she squinted into
the darkness, Jessica could see a car parked on the driveway. She let her mind run away with her.

‘
The garage is being used for something sinister. Just go and look
.’

There were lights on downstairs and Jessica fixed her eyes on the illuminated rooms, looking for silhouettes or clues of anything that might be untoward.

How could she prove it was him?

A light breeze whipped across her and Jessica edged backwards into the shrub. She could feel its spiky branches pushing into her back but it was more appealing than the cold. An owl hooted
somewhere nearby and Jessica found herself looking around for the source of the noise before cursing herself for taking her focus away from the house.

‘
Don’t look away, you’ll miss something
.’

She flicked her eyes back towards the building and tried to see if anything had changed, remembering the spot-the-difference puzzles she used to do as a kid. The car hadn’t moved and the
light was still on in the same downstairs room but had someone moved a curtain? She blinked to test that her eyes were working fine. It wasn’t that late but Jessica knew she couldn’t
risk moving. With her watching the house, the chief inspector couldn’t leave and no one else could be killed.

As she moved her focus towards the gate, Jessica felt the blinks lasting longer until, finally, she could resist them no more.

Jessica jumped as the sound of a car’s engine roared past. She went to move her arms but one of them was full of pins and needles, the other wedged tight. Opening her
eyes to see a tangle of leaves and branches, Jessica jolted upwards, knowing where she was but not quite believing she had let it happen. It was light and cool so she knew it must be morning. She
had somehow slept for the whole night in the small gap between the wall and hedge opposite DCI Farraday’s house.

She squeezed her way up and looked over the top of the wall. The chief inspector’s gates were still shut but there was no car in the drive. Jessica banged her hand on the edge of the
bricks to try to get some feeling back into it before pulling out her phone and checking the time: 07.41.

Jessica could feel the pain had returned to her ankle and grimaced as she put her weight on it, hauling herself back onto the pavement. She tried to run but could only hobble back to her car. In
her mind she knew she had let another victim down; she had fallen asleep and that meant the DCI had been free to leave the house the night before. She was trying to calm the panic rising in her as
she reached her car, fumbling in her jacket pocket for the keys. Her hands were grubby and she could see dirt stains on her trousers but there was something far more important than all of that.

She unlocked the car door and threw herself into the driver’s seat, starting the engine and tuning the radio to the local talk station. If there had been another killing the night before,
it would definitely be a big story. She knew she hadn’t missed any calls but maybe it was because they were waiting for her to get into the station?

Jessica crunched the car into first gear and turned around in the road, heading towards the station. The two radio presenters were joking about something irrelevant and she swore at them to get
to the news. Eventually, when she was just a few minutes from Longsight, the jingle kicked in and the newsreader started to speak. Jessica turned the volume up but they were talking about football.
She took a hand from the steering wheel to rub her head. Something wasn’t right but maybe they just hadn’t been given the story yet? That made sense.

She pulled into the station and parked at an angle in one of the bays but didn’t want to waste time straightening out. She hurried through the front entrance, heading to the front
desk.

‘Are you all right?’ the desk sergeant asked.

‘Yeah, yeah. What happened overnight?’

The man looked confused. ‘Um, nothing in particular – a domestic violence call-out, a bit of vandalism. The usual. What are you looking for?’

It was Jessica’s turn to be puzzled. ‘That’s all?’

‘Yes . . . are you sure you’re okay? You look a bit, um . . .’

Jessica ignored him, moving quickly around the counter towards the female toilets. She pushed through the door and went quickly to the sinks, putting together the pieces of what had happened in
the past few hours. It barely seemed believable but, after hearing Farraday’s name, she had driven to his house, sat on the wall opposite watching him, slept in a hedge and then, for some
reason, convinced herself someone else had been killed in the meantime.

Were those the actions of someone thinking clearly?

Jessica looked at herself in the mirror, staring into her own eyes and wondering what was happening in her head. There was a scuff of dirt on her right cheek and, as she reached up to wipe it
away, she saw just how filthy both of her hands were. As she looked closer, Jessica could see there were a couple of small twigs lodged in her hair and one was stuck to her suit jacket.

She took deep breaths as she cleaned her hands and face, trying to get as much soil from her suit as possible. All she could think of was DCI Farraday. He must have left all the clues because he
knew whoever found them wouldn’t be able to prove anything.

‘
He’s playing a game with you.
’

Or was she seeing something that wasn’t there? Jessica looked under the cubicle doors to make sure there was no one else in the room and then took out her phone. This time she didn’t
hesitate in calling Adam.

‘Jess?’

‘Yes, Adam, look, can you do something for me?’

‘Um, I guess. I mean you didn’t call and then . . .’

‘You’ll have to do the testing quietly though?’

‘Testing?’

‘Yes, at your labs.’

‘Oh, right. I didn’t realise that’s what you meant. I can’t do that, everything we test has to be logged and then they can check it all back through the computer
system.’

‘Forget that. Say I wanted to bring some skin samples or saliva in for you to test, what would you need? Like a fork or something the person had touched?’

‘I can’t do that, Jess.’

‘Okay, but say you could, what would you need?’

‘Um, look, it’s not as easy as that. DNA isn’t just an object you can pick up, it’s why we’re so careful at crime scenes. The second you touch something, you
contaminate it. It’s not like just picking up some cutlery and then running it through a scanner. We even use sterile storage bags to put things in, so the material can’t pollute the
object either. Plus it’s why we use swabs because saliva is much purer – either that or blood. Even with hairs, if you touch them then your signature is on it. But I can’t do
anything like that anyway, I could lose my job.’