DS Jessica Daniel series: Locked In/Vigilante/The Woman in Black - Books 1-3 (22 page)

‘Can I show you something first?’

‘I’d rather you didn’t.’

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

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

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

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.

‘Thirty pounds and eighty-two pence,’ he said.

Hugo nodded along. ‘Good, good. And you, Miss, er, 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. ‘Good, good.’ He turned back to Rowlands. ‘How much is that in total then, Dave?’

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

‘Hmm yeah, sounds about right,’ Hugo said, plopping himself back onto his beanbag before instantly leaping to his feet again. ‘Right, tea?’ he asked, looking from Jessica
to Rowlands and then back again.

‘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 Dave. ‘What are we doing?’ she asked.

‘I don’t know yet.’

She nodded towards the shelf. ‘Is that a real chicken?’

‘Probably. I told you, he likes taxidermy.’

Jessica 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 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 with a
flowery pattern. 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 started 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.

‘No.’

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

‘Okay . . .’

Hugo threw her 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 the 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 stared 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 the orange. She looked at the magician sitting on the floor in front of her who had an
expectant grin on his face. Jessica pulled the segments 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.

‘£40.82.’

She looked at Hugo, who was grinning smugly, and then at Rowlands, tossing him the piece of plastic. He caught it and looked at the number before exploding into laughter. ‘That is
fan-bloody-tastic,’ he said.

Hugo didn’t say anything but continued to smile. Jessica had to admit it was impressive. ‘Pretty good. I’ve seen better,’ she said.

Rowlands was still laughing. ‘Love it, mate. Love it.’

Jessica let the mood settle. ‘Okay, can we do what we came here for?’

Hugo had a knowing smile on his face but nodded at her. ‘What would you like to know?’

Jessica didn’t want to go into too much detail about the case, while Rowlands was still giggling to himself and rolling the chip around in his hand. ‘What do you know about getting
in and out of somewhere that is completely locked?’ she asked.

Hugo nodded, taking her question in. He looked straight at her and she noticed that he was quite a good-looking guy despite his frame and weirdness. His face was nicely symmetrical and his smile
was appealing and kindly. ‘With any act of illusion, the obvious answer is almost certainly the correct one. Nobody can walk through walls or disappear from one spot and reappear in another.
As an entertainer, my job is to make you think I can.’

‘But how . . . ?’ Jessica started.

‘Think. When you’re watching someone perform, it’s not what you
do
see that matters, it’s what you
don’t
see. Is someone really flying just
because you can’t see the wires holding them?’

‘But I know a man can’t fly. I know somebody can’t walk through walls.’

‘We all know what a human being can and can’t do. The art of illusion is to make you question that. Look at me. What are the first things you noticed?’

Jessica rescanned him but knew what she was going to say. ‘You’re wearing two watches and odd shoes.’

‘Exactly and while you’re busy looking at my feet and wrists you’re missing far more fundamental things.’

Jessica finally got it. ‘So you’re saying we’re overlooking something straightforward?’

‘I don’t know; that’s not for me to say but I do know that with anything that looks impossible, the obvious answer is almost certainly the correct one.’

Rowlands drove them both back to the station, still crowing about his friend’s trick. He had kept the poker chip as a memento. Jessica thought about what Hugo had told
her. The shoes and the watches were misdirection. She didn’t know how he had done the trick but did feel as if she had learned something from him. In terms of progress, the meeting
hadn’t got her anywhere but she felt it could be useful in the future. For now, she just had to put his advice into practical terms. She still felt that the key to the case would be linking
the victims. Wayne Lapham was a connection but there must be another. If she could find that link, she felt sure the rest of the pieces would click into place – including the mystery way the
person had got into and out of the houses. It was that part she felt was the misdirection. While they were focusing on the method, they were not concentrating on whoever had murdered two
people.

Hugo’s words stuck in her mind as the week went on. The two people that had been given the task of linking the victims were reassigned as Jessica took on the job herself. She would take
the files of Yvonne Christensen and Martin Prince home each evening, hoping something would occur to her which others had somehow missed. She went back over the notes of the interviews with the
victims’ family and friends and rechecked things such as bank and phone records. She even checked where the victims had gone to school to see if they unknowingly knew each other. It was dead
end after dead end and she was becoming fully aware she was turning into a nightmare to live with.

Caroline’s relationship with Randall had turned serious and they were sleeping over at either Randall’s flat or theirs every night of the week now. Caroline asked her whether she
minded but it was a bit late and Jessica wouldn’t have objected even if she did; she was pleased her friend was happy. Caroline said that Randall’s flat was a bit basic and theirs was
much nicer. Jessica was allowing herself to be engulfed by the work. She would leave the flat early and either come home late, or return with the two files she knew off by heart. She had phoned
Harry the evening after meeting Hugo but he had not answered. She also texted Garry Ashford that night.

‘I owe you.’

In many ways, the week had gone well. Her court appearance was out of the way and the embarrassment over what had happened in the incident room the previous weekend was forgotten. Somehow, she
was also off the hook over her relationship with the media. The irony was that she hadn’t spoken to the papers when she was under suspicion but afterwards she actually
had
talked to
Garry Ashford and was now not in trouble. It was odd how things worked out.

Of course there was one major problem: the investigation was still going precisely nowhere and even the press were bored now. Since visiting Sandra Prince after her release from hospital,
Jessica had phoned the woman twice more. She wanted to let the victim’s wife know she was trying her best. Each time they talked, Jessica could hear the devastation in the woman’s
voice. She said nice things and wished her well but Jessica felt guilty for her own lack of progress.

Caroline had noticed her friend’s isolation and said she wanted to do something to cheer her up. Jessica had told her not to but eventually relented. Caroline had arranged a dinner party
at their house, wanting to show Randall what a good cook she was. Not content with just cooking for two, she insisted Jessica be there too, while Randall had invited one of his friends along.

Jessica knew it was a sneaky way of getting her on a date of sorts but couldn’t be bothered arguing. As promised, she had come home from the station ‘on time’. She told
Caroline that, if anything major was to occur, the plans would have to change but, much as she had willed it to, nothing had come up through the day. As she entered the flat, she smelled something
inviting drifting from their kitchen. She yelled ‘hi’ and Caroline walked into the hallway, squealing: ‘You’re back.’

‘I’m back.’

‘Do you want to . . . get changed or anything?’

‘Nope.’

Since going into plain clothes, Jessica had spent most evenings still wearing her work suits. It was a habit that went all the way back to school, where she would stay in her uniform from the
moment she got dressed in the morning to the moment she got ready for bed in the evening. Her parents had tried to make her alter her ways but eventually realised they were fighting a losing
battle. She wasn’t bothered about making an impression on whoever Randall’s friend happened to be. She thought she looked all right in any case. Her suit fitted her fairly well and she
had washed her hair the night before. That, along with a little make-up, was about as prepared as she bothered to get when going out nowadays.

‘Okay then. Can you watch the stove while I get changed?’

‘What do I have to do?’

‘Just make sure it doesn’t boil over.’

Even with her limited culinary skills, Jessica felt she could manage that. As ever, she put her bag and shoes down inside the living room door on top of the two files she was carrying around
more for comfort than anything practical. Caroline went off to her room as Jessica entered the kitchen.

Their kitchen wasn’t massive but the end wall opposite the door had a cooker, which had eventually been brought in by their landlord after their complaints about the original one. It
looked decent but Jessica had never bothered to learn how to use it. Her instruments of choice lay on the counter top next to it: a toaster and microwave. There were various cupboards lining the
walls above the tops and down the left-hand side of the room. All of the doors matched the light yellow colour scheme of the room and Caroline did a great job of keeping everything spotless.

Jessica wasn’t completely sure what was in the pan she was making sure didn’t boil over by stirring it. Whatever it was, it looked potatoey and smelled good, as did whatever was in
the oven itself.

Their flat had two bedrooms and a reasonable-sized living room but the kitchen had to double up as a dining room as necessary. Most of the time they ate from their laps in the living room but
the option was there if they wanted to feel almost civilised.

There was a small table in the kitchen with a wobbly leg and Jessica sat fiddling with her phone, deliberately rocking the table and checking a few websites plus reading an email from her mum.
Her parents had had the Internet installed a few years previously but it was only recently they were beginning to get to grips with its possibilities. With Jessica so busy and their phone calls
becoming less frequent, her mum had taken to emailing. Her dad still wasn’t too taken with technology, so her mother would write on behalf of them both. Each email was immaculately written.
While language was evolving thanks to things such as shortened text-speak, Jessica’s mother was certainly not one for abbreviations. Everything was spelled correctly with perfect grammar.
Jessica always liked that when she read her mum’s emails and it reminded her of being younger back at home.

The doorbell went and Jessica heard Caroline calling, ‘Can you get it?’

As Jessica opened the door, Randall gave her a big grin, a hug and a ‘hi’. He kissed her on the cheek as his friend followed him in. Jessica closed the door behind them and turned
around, noticing the other guy for the first time. He was a little taller than her with short black hair and a nicely trimmed stubbly beard. He was wearing fashionable dark blue jeans and a nice
loose-fitting linen shirt. It had an extra button undone at the top and his thick dark chest hair was clearly visible. He had a cheeky-looking grin already on his face as he eyed her nervously,
keeping his hands in his pockets.