Locked In (21 page)

She saw the steely twinkle in his eye as he asked. It almost looked as if he had winked at her. He probably hadn’t but there was an awful lot behind the question. She remembered Wayne Lapham and the interview room. The prosecutor leapt to his feet, objecting and pointing out Jessica herself wasn’t on trial. The judge interjected but Hunt hadn’t asked the question because he wanted an answer, he had asked it to wind her up.

He had switched from looking at the jury to looking at her, fixing her with a steady stare. If his previous question had rattled her, his next one was designed to push things even farther. ‘Have you ever been romantically involved with Mr Thomas?’

This time there was definitely half a smirk on his face as he eyed her. The jury wouldn’t have been able to see it from the angle they were sat at. Another objection came but this time Hunt responded to it, assuring the judge it was a legitimate question to find out how closely the two knew each other. He pointed out that, if they had been romantically involved, it could prejudice Jessica’s answers.

The judge ruled the question didn’t have to be answered but Jessica looked at the jury and said “no” in any case. She looked at the foreman and the two women on the front row, the three people she wanted to convince, but knew her answer was irrelevant. Hunt hadn’t asked it because he thought it was true, he had asked it to put the idea in their heads and make them doubt her. Jessica looked back at Peter Hunt, who looked at the jury, then at her. ‘No further questions.’

His smirk had gone but his eyes told the story. “Take that”.

As she suspected, a catch-up drink with Harry never happened. The court broke for lunch shortly after her evidence and, by the time the prosecuting lawyer had finished speaking to her, Harry had already left court by himself. Jessica thought that there was every chance he simply didn’t remember their conversation from Saturday. She hadn’t smelled it on him but, given everything that had happened, maybe he had been lost to drink? He wouldn’t be the first police officer to have succumbed to its lure.

Back at the station, everyone was already fully aware of how her appearance had gone. The desk sergeant’s usual source, whoever it was, had apparently been spot-on about her showdown with Peter Hunt and everyone was well aware that, while she hadn’t lost her temper and blown it, Hunt had got the better of her. Feeling in the mood to take her frustrations out on somebody, she tracked down DC Rowlands in the canteen. He was sitting at one of the tables chatting to the now not-so new girl from uniform he had reckoned he was taking out the previous week.

The girl laughed at whatever the detective had said to her as Jessica sat next to DC Rowlands, opposite the female officer. She was young, blonde and good-looking, still clearly enjoying being a member of the police force. That wouldn’t take long to disappear, Jessica thought. Eighteen months maximum was generally what it took before fresh-faced optimism was replaced by cynicism and reality. Often it came as soon as you saw that the domestic violence victim you had spent time consoling had changed their minds about appearing in court and taken back their rat-faced boyfriend. Either that or some drunken scumbag who had called you every name under the sun had gone to magistrates’ court and got off with a slap on the wrist. It wouldn’t take long...

‘You wanna watch this one,’ Jessica said to the girl but nodding towards DC Rowlands. ‘I’ve heard that a lot of the girls he’s ended up with complain of feeling a bit, erm, “itchy” down below not long afterwards.’

‘Hey,’ DC Rowlands said, putting down the fork he had been eating with.

The girl didn’t seem too fussed. ‘Nah, I’ve not had any of that.’

Jessica rolled her eyes and shook her head then nodded towards DC Rowlands again. ‘Whatever. I need a few minutes with him.’

The female officer took the hint and stood up. ‘See you later?’ she asked the man.

‘Yeah, yeah,’ he replied unconvincingly. ‘I’ll text you, yeah?’ The girl scuttled off, beaming.

‘Poor girl,’ Jessica said to the constable now they were alone.

‘What?’ he responded with apparent indignation but a big grin nonetheless.

‘Look, just whenever you do muck
her
about, can you try not to muck her
career
about?’

‘What makes you think...?’ DC Rowlands went to say but Jessica just looked at him, eyebrows raised. ‘Yeah, all right,’ he added. She went to speak but he carried on. ‘Thought you were in court all day?’

‘Done that, now I’m back.’

‘Right. What do you want me for?’

‘Well you remember your magician mate?’

‘Yeah.’

‘Well I figured that, as I’m off the clock anyway, it would be as good a time as any to go find out what the weirdo’s got to add.’

‘I’ll have to check he’s free.’

‘How busy can he possibly be?’

It hadn’t taken long for DC Rowlands to establish his pal wasn’t over-encumbered with work and was happy to see them that afternoon. Jessica told DS Reynolds she was going to be out for the afternoon but didn’t say where. She made sure she reminded DC Rowlands to keep his mouth shut too. He insisted they go in his car, saying he didn’t want to risk breaking down on the way if they went in hers.

‘Haven’t you got any original material?’ Jessica asked.

‘You’re the gift that keeps on giving.’

‘At least I don’t drive some souped-up GTI twat-mobile.’

DC Rowlands’ vehicle was exactly what she would have expected it to be; some smallish car that had been upgraded with any number of over-priced ridiculous parts.

‘And you take the piss out of
my
exhaust?’ Jessica said as he started up the engine. His sounded as loud as hers, if not worse.

‘Mine’s deliberate.’

DC Rowlands’ magician friend lived in a flat above a bookmakers’ shop in the Stockport area of the city. The area was pretty grim but her partner didn’t seem too bothered by parking his car outside, which at least said one thing. They went around the back of the bookies’ and the constable buzzed the intercom. The main door unlocked itself and Jessica followed DC Rowlands up the stairs to his friend’s inner door. As they got to the top of the stairs and were let into the hallway, Jessica had to concede it didn’t look like the typical type of accommodation you would expect to find over a shop. The first thing she saw was an enormous stuffed tiger head hanging above the door facing them as they walked in.

‘Oh yeah, he’s into taxidermy too,’ said DC Rowlands as if that explained everything.

The man who greeted them was thin with shoulder-length long brown hair. He was dressed relatively unassumingly in jeans and a T-shirt with some pattern she didn’t recognise on it. Jessica did notice instantly he was wearing a watch on each wrist then saw he was also wearing odd shoes. One was a bright white trainer, the sort you might go running in, while the other was blue and made of some sort of canvas material. He greeted DC Rowlands with a hug and an “all right Dave?” He also hugged Jessica. At first, she thought she would push him away but then just let him without really reciprocating. She gave him a slight tap on the back as if to say “all right that’s enough”. He was already in the process of letting go and hopped away, almost skipping through the door underneath the tiger head. DC Rowlands was following him, so Jessica just shrugged and did the same.

The room they had walked into was seemingly the living room. At first there didn’t look as if there was anywhere to sit, just an assortment of throws and beanbags. The room was dark, with some big thick curtains pulled at the back of the room and the only light coming from a selection of small electric lights that looked like candles placed around the floor. There was a large elaborate chandelier on the ceiling but it was either turned off or didn’t work.

The room was surrounded by tall heavy-looking bookshelves, most of which were packed with hardback books. On one of the shelves was something that looked decidedly like a stuffed chicken. Jessica was going to ask if it
was
a chicken then figured she didn’t really want to know the answer.

Most living rooms had some kind of central point. People pointed their furniture towards a television or something like a fireplace or fish tank. This room seemed to have nothing like that, not that there was any furniture anyway. There was certainly no TV and the only thing potentially central was a large round white shaggy rug. The colour stood out sharply against the rest of the dark shades in the room.

The whole flat smelled faintly of a substance Jessica would assume was incense but certainly had the air of something decidedly more illegal than that. She figured she would let it go... unless this guy really annoyed her.

The magician literally jumped on to one of the bean bags and sprawled himself out, bobbing up and down before arranging himself into a cross-legged sitting position. DC Rowlands seemingly thought nothing untoward of this behaviour and simply sat on another beanbag the other side of the rug. With little other option, Jessica sat on a different beanbag. It reminded her of Caroline’s flat at university when they first moved to Manchester with a distinct lack of furniture. There were beanbags then too.

DC Rowlands was smiling at her but Jessica didn’t want to admit she felt a tad out of her depth, so asked the obvious question. ‘So, what’s your name then?’ She thought it was a simple-enough question but the response made her less sure.

‘My actual name is Francis but you can call me Hugo.’ They had been there for less than two minutes but, not for the first time, Jessica figured she didn’t want to know the answer. How could those two names be in the slightest bit connected? As if reading her mind, he added: ‘Hugo’s my stage name.’

‘Are you on stage often?’

‘Life’s a stage, don’t you think?’

She had to try not to roll her eyes but could see DC Rowlands smiling out of the corner of her eye. She ignored Hugo’s response but shot the detective a look to let him know they would be having words later. ‘Okay then, erm, Hugo, Detective Constable Rowlands says you may have some information that could help our investigation?’

She wanted to add: “I personally doubt that very much you mental case” but held her tongue. It was if he hadn’t heard her question in any case. ‘Can I show you something first?’

‘I’d rather you didn’t.’

DC Rowlands took that moment to chip in. ‘He’s good y’know.’

Jessica rolled her eyes. ‘Yeah, whatever, go on.’

She was trying not to be sarcastic or obviously hostile but had felt her tone slip with that. ‘Okay, hold this,’ Hugo said, pulling an orange out from his pocket and tossing it towards her.

Jessica hadn’t quite realised what was happening at first but caught the piece of fruit one-handed. If she hadn’t have done, it would have smacked her square in the face. She shook her head but Hugo wasn’t even looking. He had leapt to his feet and motioning for DC Rowlands to do the same. Jessica stayed seated on the beanbag, feeling more and more uncomfortable.

‘Right,’ Hugo said to his friend. ‘How much money have you got on you?’

DC Rowlands fiddled through his pockets, pulling out his wallet. He opened one of the flaps and turned it upside down into his hands. A few coins fell out and he snatched a couple of notes out from the main part. He counted it all back into the correct place.

‘Er, thirty pounds and 82p,’ he said.

Hugo nodded along. ‘Good, good. And you, Detective Daniel?’

Jessica didn’t need to check. ‘I’ve only got a tenner.’ She didn’t bother with change and only ever kept notes and cards in her purse.

Hugo kept nodding along. ‘Good, good.’ He turned back to DC Rowlands. ‘How much is that in total then Dave?’

The magician’s friend obviously didn’t need much time to think. ‘Er, Forty eighty two, I guess.’

‘Hmm yeah, sounds about right,’ Hugo said, then plopped himself back on to his bean bag before instantly leaping to his feet again. ‘Right, tea?’ he asked, looking from Jessica to DC Rowlands then back again.

‘Er, I’m fine,’ Jessica replied, clearly confused.

‘Me too,’ confirmed the constable.

‘I fancy some tea,’ said Hugo, making his way back out of the living room before either of them could object.

Jessica was still holding the orange but, with the magician out of the room, looked to DC Rowlands. ‘What are we doing?’ she asked.

‘Dunno yet.’

‘Is that a real chicken? She said nodding towards the shelf.

‘Probably. I told you, he likes taxidermy.’ She continued to shoot her colleague dirty looks while looking around the rest of the bizarre room. She thought there was something that looked like a stuffed rat or mouse on one of the other shelves.

A couple of minutes later, Hugo re-entered the room carrying a tray. On it was a small metal teapot with steam coming from its spout and three china teacups on individual saucers. Each was white but with a flowery pattern on it. Jessica thought it was the kind of set you might expect somebody’s grandmother to have. Hugo set the tray down in the middle of the white rug in between them. ‘Right, tea,’ he said.

Jessica went to remind him she didn’t want any but figured it wouldn’t do much good. ‘Okay,’ he added. ‘I like mine with a hint of orange. Have you ever had it like that?’ He was looking directly at Jessica.

‘Nope.’

‘Could you peel that for me?’ He was indicating the orange still in her hand.

‘Whatever.’

Hugo threw her over a handkerchief and Jessica started to peel the fruit, putting the pieces of skin into a nearby bin. As a kid she always tried to peel a fruit’s skin off in one piece. Here she didn’t care, tearing small strips off and tossing them away. When it was complete, she glanced back at the magician who just looked at her. ‘Can you squeeze a few drops into the pot?’

She was pretty much past caring what this obvious madman asked her to do. She got to her feet and went over to the tray. Hugo removed the teapot’s lid and she gently squeezed the fruit, allowing a few drops to fall into the pot. As Jessica did that, she noticed something solid in the centre of it. She looked at the magician sitting on the floor in front of her who had an expectant grin on his fact. Jessica pulled the segments of the orange apart and could now clearly see something that looked like a small poker chip. She pulled it out and set the orange down on the tray. The chip was round and black but on it was imprinted a pound sign, four digits and a decimal point.