Hurt (The Hurt Series) (10 page)

Chloe glanced warily at the stream of students passing them. She’d inherited her mother’s sharp, green eyes, strong nose, and high cheekbones. From her father, she’d inherited the bastard’s long legs and straw blonde hair, which today, once again, was tied into a loose bun and secured with her mother’s blue butterfly clip.

‘Course not,’ she sighed.

‘Lunch then?’

Chloe’s eyes squinted into slits and her lips tightened. ‘What’s happened?’

‘Come again?’

‘Why are you
really
here? You don’t have enough hours in the day to pee let alone do lunch with your daughter.’

Along with her distinct features, Chloe had also inherited her mother’s suspicious nature. Shame she hadn’t acted on it or else Jessop wouldn’t have had to come here and embarrass the poor girl.

‘What can I say?’ Jessop said through a weak smile. ‘The bad guys’re having a day off.’

‘Never stopped you before.’

‘Touche.’ Jessop motioned to the pub across the road. ‘They serve anything decent in there?’

‘BLT’s ok, I suppose.’

‘Sounds good. You in?’

Chloe rolled her eyes. ‘Do I have a choice?’

The
pub was noisy and claustrophobic with students making plans and dates and talking music and bands. Conversation over a half decent BLT consisted of small talk about college with Chloe answering Jessop’s questions swiftly without feeling compelled to elaborate. Despite the clipped answers and Chloe’s attention constantly wavering to her mobile perched on the table within hands reach, it felt good to spend some quality time with her daughter. It had been a while; probably the day she had escorted Chloe to the college placement. Back then Chloe was a long way from being allowed to order a pint of cider in a pub, and Jessop’s face was void of the worry lines her mother talked of.

After a long silence when Jessop had finally exhausted her conversation and they both just stared at the remains of their lunch, Chloe said. ‘You ready for Saturday?’

The question was asked more out of a need to break the awkward silence than interest. Nevertheless, she was pleased her daughter had finally found her tongue. ‘As ready as I’ll ever be.’

Chloe nodded. ‘Ray’s stoked you said yes.’

‘Did he think I wouldn’t?’

‘Suppose he figured you’ve been together long enough without you mentioning marriage you just weren’t into the whole commitment thing.’

Such confidentiality between her daughter and her soon to be husband didn’t surprise her. Chloe had taken to Ray the very first time they had met, in part due to the fact she read his books, and also, incredibly and unbeknown to Jessop, she owned the one and only album Flame had released. And yes, Chloe had admitted to having a childhood crush on the band’s long haired guitarist, which, she assured one and all with a coy smile, was ancient history. Many an evening Jessop would roll in late and find them fighting over the CD player and arguing over the best guitar riff of all time. According to Chloe, like fine wine, good rock music improved with age. It was a sentiment Ray shared, cementing the relationship and quashing any doubts Jessop had harboured concerning the new man in her life.

Jessop sipped her coke and considered the timing of Ray’s proposal. It had come unexpected. ‘Did he say why now?’ she pried.

Chloe frowned. ‘Since when was I one of your snitches?’

‘Since I gave you life and a roof over your head. Now spill.’

‘Because he loves you, I suppose.’

‘You don’t need a ring and a hefty dent in your bank balance to say that.’

‘Then I guess it’s a security thing. I mean, no offence, but you both aint getting any younger.’

‘Thanks,’ Jessop sneered, remembering she’d forgone makeup and a hair brush when she’d gotten her midnight wake up call. ‘Do you think I’m doing the right thing?’

‘Ray’s cool.’

‘That’s not what I meant.’

Chloe shrugged. ‘Are you in love with him?’

‘Very much.’

‘Then there’s your answer.’

Who said it was tough being a teenager? Wisdom may come with age, but also did the need to complicate things, question what you know, and look too hard at the blindingly obvious − traits she was all too familiar with.

Chloe downed the remains of her cider and licked her lips. ‘Any more advice? You know, what to do on your wedding night − that sort of thing, you know where to find me. But please, next time, text me first, yeah?’

Jessop had forgotten what a wise-arse her daughter could be. ‘Appreciate it.’

‘
You’re welcome.’

‘This has been nice. And well, long overdue.’

‘As is my need to pee.’ Chloe stood, fixed her shirt. ‘Back in a quick.’

Jessop watched her beautiful leggy blonde daughter disappear into the crowd. Cursed herself for what she was about to do, but then remembered why she was doing it.

She worked fast, accessing Chloe’s Blackberry beneath the table, finding the number she sought and tapping it into her phone’s directory. Replacing her daughter’s phone on the table just as its owner reappeared.

‘Sorry but I gotta scoot.’ Chloe retrieved her phone and pocketed it.

Jessop checked her watch. The students still had twenty minutes before their lunch break was over. ‘You in for dinner tonight?’

‘Doubt it.’

‘Jed?’

‘Yep.’

‘Still no chance of an intro, then?’

Chloe chewed her bottom lip in thought. ‘Nope.’

Jessop rolled her eyes, imitating her daughter earlier. She heard her mobile ring and saw Knowles’ name flashing on the screen.

‘Duty calls,’ Chloe said. ‘Laters.’

She watched her daughter leave the pub, answered the call.

‘You eaten yet?’ Knowles asked.

‘An average BLT if that counts.’

‘Fancy something to wash it down with? My round, if I remember.’

She didn’t remember. But she wasn’t going to turn the invitation down, either. Especially since she was on the brink of ruining her daughter’s life.

‘Gimme half an hour.

Chapter
Twenty-four

Why are married women heavier than single women?

Jessop scrawled down Ray’s text joke to the answer.

Single women come home, see what’s in the fridge, and go to bed. Married women come home, see what’s in the bed, and go to the fridge.

She stifled a laugh. Cringed under a wave of guilt for her offish behaviour toward Ray last night. He deserved more of her, and next week that’s what she’d give him.

She pocketed the phone and turned her attention back to the wing mirror reflecting the side-street where she’d parked next to Chloe’s college. If her daughter caught her here she’d be forced to lie to her for a second time. And that was something she’d sworn never to do, even if the means did justify the end.

A moment later she exhaled a breath she wasn’t aware she’d been holding as a figure who wasn’t Chloe stepped into the narrow street and ambled toward her. She leant over and pushed open the passenger door. Poked in the car’s cigarette lighter.

Looking like he’d just rolled out of bed, wearing a grey donkey jacket over a Nirvana t-shirt, torn jeans, and scuffed Dr Martin boots, Jed climbed into the passenger seat. ‘At last we meet,’ he grinned, flattening his wayward blonde hair Chloe found so adorable and extending a hand.

She accepted the gesture, shook briefly, noting Jed’s soft hands and weak grip. ‘About time, don’t you think?’

‘Suppose, yeah. So, you’re throwing Chloe a surprise birthday bash, huh? She’ll be stoked.’

That was what she had told Jed on the phone, and that she needed his help to rally her friends on the hush. ‘I’m gonna keep this short and sweet because I have to be somewhere. Okay?’

‘Okay.’

‘Last night. Midnight. Where were you?’

Jed recoiled. ‘Come again?’

‘You heard me.’

‘Why?’

‘Because not only am I your girlfriend’s mother, I’m a DCI.’ She fixed the student with hard, unblinking eyes. Jed fidgeted, his smooth cheeks flushing red.

‘Fair enough. I’ve got nothing to hide. I was at The Anvil.’

‘Anyone vouch for you?’

‘Yeah, half the college…Oh, and your daughter.’

Jessop blinked. She knew the rock bar, a five minute walk from the mall, and knew Chloe had gone there last night rocking out to a college band. As alibis went, Jed had a bloody good one. ‘What time did you get there?’

‘About eleven forty-five, after my shift.’

‘Your shift where?’

‘Jeez, don’t Chloe ever talk about me? Burger King at the mall.’

She considered the footage Davies had shown her of Jed eating alone in the Burger King behind Darren and Rebecca. Had she really believed Jed was the killer? No, because not only was he too short and doughy to be able restrain Darren the kick boxer, she knew him to be with Chloe last night. Shame, because it would have sure as hell made her life easier if he was. Jed was just an innocent victim of wrong place wrong time syndrome, an affliction that was soon to
become
the story of his life.

‘Finish with Chloe,’ she instructed. ‘Tonight.’

‘Excuse me?’

‘Tell her you don’t see a future in the relationship, that it was just a bit of fun and you need to concentrate on your studies.’

‘But I − ’

Jessop tossed Jed the image Davies had printed from the nightclub camera showing Jed with the neck-sucking redhead. Jed squinted at the picture and scratched his ear. ‘You been spying on me?’

‘No.’

‘Then how the hell did you get this?’

‘That’s not importance.’

‘It fucking is to me! This is an invasion of my privacy, man. I’m not wanted for any crime. I mean, you can’t just go around taking pictures of − ’

Jessop reached to the dashboard for the lit cigarette lighter. Held the glowing end to the corner of the print until the picture caught light. Tossed it into Jed’s lap.

Jed recoiled, kicking the door open and batting the flaming paper from his legs. ‘Are you fucking mad?’

‘Not yet. But I will be if Chloe learns of this. Now get out of my car and my daughter’s life.’

She sat and watched the love of her daughter’s life jog back up the street and out of sight. Being cruel to be kind never felt good for either party involved, yet, she reminded herself on seeing the charred remains of the incriminating photo, it was a vital part of parenthood. In time Chloe would unwittingly thank her.

Yeah, just as the killer envisioned his victims’ loved ones would thank him for his act of cruelty.

Chapter
Twenty-five

Whereas the majority of the station’s coppers drank in The Corn Exchange, a relaxed two tier bar and grill with two pool tables and the best steak menu in the city, situated across the road from the station, Mike Knowles preferred somewhere a little less commercial.

Tucked in a quiet side street behind the station, The Bell and Dragon was worthy of the nickname Knowles had given his sleepy local: The pub that time forgot.

To Jessop the scattering of sozzled elderly patrons appeared to have forgotten about time. Nevertheless, it was a nice contrast to Chloe’s noisy, oppressive lunchtime hangout. No cocky, tattooed bartenders tossing bottles around here, just a plump woman in a cardigan serving plates stacked high with homely food, and an old boy in shirt sleeves who looked as though he might keel over every time he pulled on one of the stiff beer pumps.

Dressed in pressed navy chinos and an equally pressed denim shirt, Knowles returned from the bar and placed her half of lager on the table next to his Guinness and open newspaper. Taking a seat he closed the paper, in which she noted he’d managed to complete the day’s crossword and giant Sudoko puzzle. She eyed the paper’s front page, and the headline telling of the Tanya Adams murder. She thought about the statement she had written for Mason to give at this morning’s press conference. Short and just the hard facts. No details, and no mention of a possible multiple murderer. There was no point in panicking the public yet. Mason’s perpetual coolness served him well during these statements. One look from those intense dark eyes would curtail any inappropriate question poised on a hungry reporter’s slavering lips.

‘Cheers,’ Knowles said, holding his glass aloft.

Jessop reciprocated her old friend’s gesture and took a long pull on her lager before slumping back in the worn leather chair. She wondered if at this moment not two miles away her daughter’s heart was being broken. ‘Christ,’ she sighed.

‘I know that look.’ Knowles raised a white eyebrow. ‘Chloe?’

‘You’re wasted in forensics, Mike. You should be on my team.’

‘Doesn’t take a kinesics expert to read a mother’s face. Wanna talk about it?’

‘She’s eighteen. What more is there to say?’

Knowles nodded, sipped his Guinness.

A father of two, both in their early thirties, Knowles was no stranger to the angst of the hormonal teenager, and knew as well as any parent such volatile ground should be trod carefully if unavoidable.

Tactfully switching the subject, Knowles asked, ‘All ready for the big day?’

‘Nothing to do now other than to turn up.’

‘Ray gonna wear a suit?’

‘He would’ve if I’d wanted him to.’ She smiled to herself, recalling the conversation. Ray was strictly a jeans and t-shirt man, but had graciously said he’d rock a black suit jacket and black shirt for the day. No tie, though. It wasn’t like he was appearing in court.

‘He’s good for you, Cathy.’

‘He deserves more of me.’

Knowles gave her his best conspiratorial look. ‘Thought there was something up recently.’

She arched an eyebrow, sipped her lager. ‘You sure you don’t want a transfer to my team?’

‘Maybe if I was sure it’d still be
your
team in six months time.’

Again the astuteness. This was why she loved their little meetings. They were like a
confessional
without the humiliation and hardship of actually confessing. ‘Forget it. It’s just the STD.’

Knowles’ face blanched and he fidgeted in his chair.

Realising how that must have sounded, and that Knowles may not be familiar with the acronym, she let out a laugh. ‘Short Timers Disease, Mike. Not - ’