DS Jessica Daniel series: Locked In/Vigilante/The Woman in Black - Books 1-3 (32 page)

‘So I’ve got to put up with your dodgy cooking for another four weeks?’

‘I’m afraid so, yes.’

‘So it’s all marriage, kids, the works then?’

‘Get out of it. Not yet.’

Caroline and Randall snuggled closer on the sofa and Jessica strongly suspected the ‘not yet’ part was critical. Looking at them, she didn’t think it would take long.
‘The big question is what does his mum make of you?’ Jessica said. ‘There’s got to be a bit of competition there now for his attention. You’re going to be the tart who
stole her precious little boy away.’

‘Mum and Dad live abroad,’ Randall said. ‘I reckon they’d be big fans though.’

The wine bottle was empty so Caroline sent her boyfriend off to the kitchen to get another. ‘And get used to waiting on me hand and foot,’ she called after him. They heard the toilet
door go while they were waiting.

‘Are you sure you’re going to be okay?’ Caroline asked.

‘Of course. I’m a big girl and all that.’

‘Are you going to stay here?’

‘I don’t know. Probably. I can afford the rent on my own. It’s close to work, which helps.’

‘Maybe you can get some fish for company?’ Caroline had a mischievous look on her face.

‘Yeah, right. I don’t think I’d trust myself to look after some other living creature.’ She remembered the stuffed chicken from Hugo’s house, thinking that was just
about her limit.

‘Is everything okay with . . . the case?’

Jessica didn’t want to get into things, so just nodded. ‘Yeah, it’s fine.’

Jessica felt like a condemned woman on the drive to work the next morning. Rain was lashing down which at least meant the full press pack wouldn’t be outside the
station’s gates in such force. ‘Journalists,’ she said to no one in particular while driving, ‘a group of people on a never-ending quest for the truth . . . unless
it’s pissing down and then the truth can go bugger itself.’

There were a few people outside the gates but nothing like the day before. She weaved in between a couple of television cameras and made sure that the car shielded her from any unwanted long
camera shots when she parked up. Even though she felt sure the case was going to be taken from her, she had still spent the morning watching the news. The tragic story of Nigel Collins was
everywhere, while the link had obviously been made to the three young men who were going to be in court that morning and the one who was already in jail. Jessica realised that was probably why the
throngs outside the gate had thinned so much – everyone was at the magistrates’ court instead.

She first went upstairs but Aylesbury saw her through his office window and waved her away. He was on the phone and most likely deciding her future. She returned 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. There was still some presenter talking frantically as the
drizzle poured in shot behind him. ‘Just go indoors,’ she said quietly.

Jessica grabbed a copy of the
Herald
from the reception desk and disappeared off to her office. 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’d 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 needed to get things moving properly. It 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 her emotions stirring, 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 bizarre.

There was a knock at the door. ‘Yep. Come in.’

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 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 began. 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 Superintendent 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. Everyone appreciates the work you and the 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 more.’

Jessica felt a lump in her throat. She wanted to speak, if only to tell him to leave so he wouldn’t see her burst into tears 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 and 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 and 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 Aylesbury back for some reason, she again
composed herself. ‘Come in.’

The door opened and it was Rowlands.

‘All right?’ she said.

‘Yes, 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 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 everyone
had dashed to the nearest working screen.

She could see a presenter standing outside a different court to the one from that morning. He was being shielded by an umbrella as 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 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 believed Tom Carpenter had 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 but, according to the desk sergeant, Carpenter had claimed on oath that Harry had come at him with a glass. The knife was 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 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 man she thought would be the foreman. She wondered if any of them had been swayed by her. Had the man on the end 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 as if everyone held their breath collectively. The room was silent as the presenter frantically looked behind him. The breaking news
ribbon began to move along the bottom of the screen again, the words 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 the camera dashed towards the two people 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 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.

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 a 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 wondered what kind of lonely lunatic rang 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 might 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 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 its 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 on.

It summed up Jessica’s 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. 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 and had his week’s takings ransacked
from the safe. Jessica had spoken to the distraught victim who 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 footage 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 forget.

By the Friday night, she was 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 rosé 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 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.’

‘Okay . . . Are you all right?’