Locked In (32 page)

She first went upstairs but DCI Aylesbury saw her through his office window and waved her away. He was on the phone and most likely deciding her future, Jessica thought. She went back down to reception and spent a few moments watching the rolling news on the mounted television. There were some outside shots of the courts but nothing much was happening at that time. There was still some presenter talking frantically while the drizzle poured in shot behind him. ‘Just go indoors,’ she said to no one in particular.

Jessica grabbed a copy of the Herald from the reception desk and disappeared off to her office with it. DS Reynolds wasn’t around, so she took off her shoes and leant back into her chair to read it. The front page was a given so she flicked straight past that but inside Garry Ashford had another background piece, this time with Paul Keegan.

It was labelled as an exclusive and Jessica couldn’t help but be impressed that the journalist had managed to get both Kim Hogan and Paul Keegan to speak to him in successive days. He hadn’t phoned her since she told him not to and, in some ways, she felt a bit sorry about that. As annoying as he was, his phone call after each find had almost been the proverbial kick she had needed to get things moving properly. It had also allowed her to blow off some steam with some choice words too, of course.

The article itself was mainly a tribute to Paul Keegan’s wife. It skirted around the details of Scott’s involvement, which had been written about elsewhere, but included things about charity work she had done and how many years she had given to the nursing profession. It was nicely written and Jessica couldn’t help but feel the emotions stirring inside herself, thinking what a waste of life it was.

She flicked through the pages and thought how odd it was that one news story could be about something so dark, yet overleaf was a light-hearted article about some world record cross-stitching attempt; it was just bizarre. There was a knock at the door. ‘Yep. Come in.’

DCI Aylesbury entered and Jessica quickly wheeled around in an attempt to not look quite so casual. She put the newspaper down over her keyboard. ‘Sir.’

Her superior sat in DS Reynolds’ seat across the desk from her. He looked around the room, clearly taking in Jessica’s messy half but said nothing.

‘I’ve just been to see Detective Inspector Cole,’ he begun. Jessica knew where the rest of the conversation would go. She stared at a spot on her desk, refusing to meet his eye. ‘After speaking to Superintendant Davies this morning following various discussions last night, it has been decided that the Serious Crime Division will be taking over responsibility for finding Nigel Collins.’

Jessica said nothing, continuing to focus on her desk. ‘I’m sorry, Detective. Everyone appreciates the work you and your team have put into this investigation.’ He paused as if to give her an opening to reply. She didn’t trust what she might blurt out, though. ‘Jessica?’

He had never once called her by her first name, always “Detective” or “DS Daniel”. She looked at him and, perhaps for the first time saw him as a man, rather than a policeman who was her superior. He was staring at her with his head slightly tilted to one side. ‘I’m proud of you. I don’t think anyone could have expected anymore.’

Jessica felt a lump in her throat. She wanted to speak, if only to tell him to leave so he wouldn’t see her but no words would come out. Surely, she couldn’t cry again? Not in front of her boss. She blinked hard and fought not to lose it. ‘Thank you, Sir,’ she managed to croak out.

He must have seen how close to tears she was but didn’t react. She knew it was highly unprofessional. ‘There will be other cases. You have proven to everyone you can handle serious matters.’

Jessica nodded but still couldn’t speak. ‘Okay. I’ve got to go and speak to a few more people then arrange for exactly how things are going to work. Feel free to finish up any paperwork you have outstanding and liaise with Detective Inspector Cole.’

He swiftly stood up and turned around, exiting the room and closing the door behind him. Jessica didn’t move but could hear the hum of people working outside. She blew her nose, then closed her eyes and breathed in deeply. She didn’t know if she was angry or upset. Another knock came on the door shortly after and, thinking it was DCI Aylesbury back for some reason, she again composed herself. ‘Come in.’

The door opened and it was DC Rowlands. ‘All right?’ she said.

‘Yeah, come on. The verdict’s due.’ He dashed back out of the room, presumably expecting Jessica to follow. She was confused at first, thinking Scott Keegan and co had only just appeared for their first appearance that morning, then she clocked it was Harry’s case at the Crown Court. The jury had been out for two days and must have returned.

She quickly put her shoes back on and followed after DC Rowlands into the reception area. It seemed ridiculous that members of a modern police force were waiting in their own entrance foyer watching a small portable TV screen high on a wall. There were other televisions around the station but none specifically hooked up. There were various health and safety guidelines about setting up electrical items and, even if there weren’t, Jessica suspected a lot of the crew wouldn’t have been able to figure out where all the leads went anyway. Rather than mess around, with the immediacy of something breaking, everyone had just dashed to the nearest working screen.

She could see a presenter standing outside a different court building to the one from that morning. He was being shielded by an umbrella, while the wind blew his hair around. Across the bottom of the screen scrolled the words: “Tom Carpenter verdict due”. The sound was up but Jessica couldn’t hear what was being said anyway over the expectant chatter. A library photo of Peter Hunt appeared on the screen to enormous boos and various insults that rhymed with “Hunt” around the room.

Jessica knew that if the jury thought Tom Carpenter had either been attacked first or thought he might be, they could decide he was allowed to use “reasonable force” to defend himself. In most cases a knife would not be reasonable but, given the way Harry had been portrayed as out of control they might just be swayed.

There was no doubt Carpenter had stabbed Harry, that had clearly been established. But, according to the desk sergeant, Carpenter had claimed on oath that Harry had come at him with a glass. The knife was just in his pocket and he had acted instinctively. Jessica knew that didn’t sound like Harry to her but, with all the witnesses conveniently being in the toilets at the time and no one to say any differently, it was Harry’s word against Carpenter’s. That meant it would all come down to the jury but Harry certainly hadn’t helped himself. If they believed the force Carpenter had used was reasonable, they would find him not guilty.

Jessica thought of the two female jurors on the front row and the foreman. She wondered if any of them had been swayed by her. Had the foreman been pushing for a guilty verdict or did he believe Harry had been a threat?

Suddenly the scrolling text at the bottom stopped and it was almost as if everyone held their breath collectively. The room fell quiet as the presenter on screen frantically looked behind him as the breaking news ribbon began to move along the bottom of the screen again. It almost seemed as if the words were scrolling in slow motion.

“Tom Carpenter found not guilty.”

As soon as the words had been revealed, the room erupted with shouts of derision and cries of unfairness. Jessica thought she swore a lot but some of the language shocked even her and that was nothing compared to the outrage as Peter Hunt emerged from court side-by-side with Tom Carpenter.

Jessica tried to shush everyone as on-screen the camera dashed towards the two people at in the court’s entrance. Microphones appeared in front of them from all directions and finally everyone in the station quietened down.

Hunt was beaming even wider than his client. He had clearly made a special effort with his appearance that morning too just in case this moment came. He looked more polished than ever and had some unnamed aide holding an umbrella over him. Jessica thought she wanted to listen to it but as soon as Hunt’s first words came, “This is justification...”, she drifted away from the pack back towards her office.

Poor Harry, she thought.

For the rest of the week, the papers and news bulletins had been full of both Tom Carpenter’s acquittal and the force’s failure to find Nigel Collins. Peter Hunt had an absolute field day, appearing on a breakfast news programme, both of the major twenty four hour news channels and at least two national newspapers. He had been the main guest for a radio phone-in where the question was: “Are Britain’s police incompetent?” As she listened to the broadcast on her drive to work, Jessica had wondered what kind of lonely lunatic phoned these types of show, spouting ill-informed mindless nonsense. She reckoned they would be on the phone pretty sharpish if they needed the police’s assistance. The presenter’s smug annoying tone, “So are Britain’s police a total bag of useless shits,” he may as well have been saying, drove her crazy. She made a mental note that if she ever came across an emergency call from someone called “Sue from Bromsgrove” she would quite happily ignore it.

‘We’ll see who’s incompetent then you old hag,’ Jessica told the radio.

If that wasn’t all bad enough, Tom Carpenter had sold his story to a red-top tabloid. “CRAZED COP GLASS TERROR” put across his version of events in all their made-up glory. Harry had been painted as an out-of-control drink-fuelled corrupt officer. She had tried calling Harry half-a-dozen times since the verdict but his phone wasn’t even on.

For Jessica it all summed up her week. Even though the SCD had taken their case, her department was still getting hammered on two fronts. She had been forced to brief one of the SCD officers the day after handing the files over, talking them through her notes and letting them know where everything was on the computer system so they could access it from their base. The smug git spent the entire two hours with a “We’re cleaning up your mess” look on his face that Jessica had felt desperate to wipe off.

She had been put on the case of a man who robbed an off-licence with a weapon. The shop’s owner had been smashed in the face with a claw hammer, then had his week’s takings ransacked from the safe. Jessica had spoken to the distraught victim who just kept repeating he was pleased his wife hadn’t been present as she often worked that shift. Jessica did her best to work as she usually would, gathering the CCTV and so on, but could feel her heart wasn’t in it. Every time she was driving, whenever she went to bed at night or had a quiet moment, her thoughts drifted back to Nigel Collins. She felt bad for not focusing fully on her job but had invested so much energy in the “Houdini” case, it was hard to just forget it.

By the Friday night, she was just sick of the week as a whole and pledged to curl up at home with her old friend; the local supermarket’s own-brand cheap rose wine. Caroline and Randall had gone off to set a few things up in their new flat, ready to start moving and she had the place to herself. She was halfway through watching a repeat of some talent show programme she had no interest in when a thought dropped into her head. She had gone through two-thirds of the bottle by herself, which she was pretty sure was influencing her decision-making. She picked her phone up from the coffee table, scrolled through her list of contacts, and pressed the “call” button when it reached Garry Ashford’s name.

It rang twice before being picked up. ‘Hello?’

‘Garry, it’s Jess Daniel.’

‘DS Daniel?’

‘Yeah, call me Jess.’

‘Erm, okay. Are you... all right?’

‘Wanna come keep me company?’

‘Sorry?’

‘One-time only offer.’

‘Er, yeah, I guess...’

The poor guy sounded scared stiff. Jessica gave him her address. ‘Oh and Garry,’ she added. ‘DON’T wear the tweed. DO bring all your notes about Houdini and DO bring wine.’ She hung up.

Garry Ashford arrived forty five minutes later with a carrier bag full of notebooks and two bottles of wine; one red, one white. ‘I didn’t know which you preferred, so bought one of each,’ he said.

‘Actually I usually go for rose,’ Jessica replied with a wink taking the bottles from him.

In the time before him arriving, she had phoned up the takeaway a few streets over to order some curries. The first bottle of wine had begun to kick in and she really fancied something hot to go with it but they hadn’t yet arrived.

As Garry walked in, Jessica thought he was actually dressed like a functioning member of the human race that evening. He was wearing a pair of regular blue jeans with a red T-shirt. She let him into the flat and led him into the living room, before dropping one of the bottles of wine off in the kitchen and opening the other. She took an extra glass into the living room and handed it to her guest, before filling both his and her own glass.

He was sitting on the sofa and had started taking his notebooks out from the carrier bag. Jessica sat next to him. ‘Christ Garry, did you make all this effort for me? Your hair looks as if you’ve only been dragged through a hedge once tonight instead of the usual three or four times.’

‘I feel privileged now I’ve finally achieved the Holy Trinity of insults,’ Garry replied.

‘Huh?’

‘You’ve now taken the piss out of my name, dress sense and looks.’

Jessica did actually feel a bit bad, realising not everyone would get her sense of humour. ‘Oh yeah, sorry. I was only joking.’

Garry looked at her. ‘It’s all right. At least I don’t look as bad as that photo we used of you on the front page. I mean what kind of crazed woman grins underneath a headline about a murder?’

Jessica playfully punched him in the shoulder. ‘Oi.’

They both laughed, then Garry asked the obvious question: ‘Why am I here, detective?’

Jessica downed the rest of her glass in one and looked at him. ‘It’s Jess. To be honest, I’m not sure. You know they’ve taken the case away, don’t you?’

‘Yeah.’

‘I’ve looked over my notes and the files and it’s been in the back of my mind the whole time that I’ve missed something obvious. I guess I just thought... I guess it’s because you’re not police. Before I’m ready to let it go completely I supposed I wondered if you might have picked up something I missed.’