Nothing but Trouble (21 page)

Jess took a sip of wine, pulled one of the trial reports towards her and began to read. Donald Peck had insisted that he’d
gone for a long walk after leaving Masterson’s and hadn’t got back to Morton Grove until after five. There was no one to corroborate
this fact, and he was vague about where he had been. ‘Just around,’ he’d replied when the barrister had pressed him. ‘I don’t
remember where exactly.’ When he
had
got home, he said, he hadn’t noticed anything amiss. The door to the upstairs spare bedroom had been closed, as it always
was. He hadn’t gone inside, and claimed to know nothing about
the body that was lying under the bed. When pressed about the smell that had been present in the house when the police had
entered two days later, he’d replied, ‘I thought it was the drains.’

The story hadn’t gone down well with the jury. Although the DNA evidence was inconclusive – Peck’s hairs were found on Minnie’s
clothes, but they could have come from the carpet she was lying on – they found him guilty of murder and the judge passed
down a sentence of life.

Jess chewed on the end of her pen, wondering why Peck hadn’t shifted the body. Surely he’d have wanted to get it out of the
house as quickly as possible. Even if he’d believed that no one else knew where Minnie was, it would still have been risky
to keep her there. Of course, he didn’t have a car, which would have made things trickier, but he could have removed the body
in the dead of night and dumped it in one of the many alleyways that twisted around the back streets of Kellston. So why hadn’t
he? It could have been, she supposed, a kind of paralysis, or an inner denial as to what had happened. Or perhaps he’d simply
been too scared of being seen.

She scribbled down Ralph Masterson’s name on a fresh sheet of paper. Would he still be alive if he’d been retired fourteen
years ago? She’d make a few calls in the morning and see if she could find out. Under his name she added those of Clare Towney,
Peck’s niece, and Hannah Bright, Minnie’s mother. It could have been Paige or Kirsten who had sent the anonymous notes to
Sam, but somehow she didn’t see it as their style. Paige was more likely to unleash her pet goon of a boyfriend – as she’d
done with David Choi – than to waste her time snipping up tabloid newspapers. And why would Paige or Kirsten accuse Sam of
being responsible for Minnie’s death? When it came to blame, they were much higher up the list themselves. They
were the ones, after all, who’d encouraged the girl to go into the house in the first place.

Jess let out a sigh and then remembered that she hadn’t called Harry yet. She picked up the phone, ran through the menu and
pressed his number. He answered on the first ring.

‘Hey,’ she said. ‘It’s only me.’

‘Got any news?’

‘Yeah, I talked to Sam Kendall, but it’s like I thought, she didn’t know anything about Lynda going back. But she didn’t dismiss
it out of hand. And she reckons that Lynda may have kept quiet about it because she didn’t want to get in any more trouble.’

‘Right,’ Harry said. ‘So we still can’t be sure one way or the other, although I can’t see any reason for Becky to lie about
it.’

‘No, me neither. I think it’s true, but we still don’t know what she saw when she did go back. Apart from that light going
on and off.’

‘Which must have been Minnie. And we already knew she was still there.’

Jess played with the glass of wine, turning the stem around in her fingers. ‘I’ve been going through the notes on the trial.
Don’t you think it’s odd that Peck didn’t try to dispose of the body?’

‘I’m sure he meant to, only the police got there first.’

‘But two days? Why would he wait that long? A child goes missing, there’s going to be a search for her. He’s a known sex offender
who likes flashing at kids. He must have realised that the cops were going to come banging on his door before too long.’

‘Well, it’s not that easy to get rid of a body. She may have been small but she wasn’t
that
small. Perhaps he was still planning how to do it. And don’t forget, he didn’t know about the other girls or that they were
going to report what had happened.
He probably assumed that Minnie had got into the house on her own. And as he didn’t have any kind of record for actually abducting
children, he might have reckoned that he was safe for a few more days.’

Jess pulled a face. ‘Taking a bit of a chance, wasn’t he?’

‘And one that didn’t pay off.’

‘Mm,’ Jess said. ‘Unless he was telling the truth. Maybe he didn’t know she was there.’

‘Unlikely.’

‘Well, it may be unlikely, but there’s something going on here, something that Paige and co. want to keep covered up.’

‘It’s a big leap to go from there to claiming that Donald Peck was innocent.’

‘Maybe. I don’t suppose you know if Ralph Masterson is still around, do you? The retired probation officer? He was the guy
that Peck went to visit that day.’

‘I’ve no idea. What do you want to know for?’

‘I just thought it might be interesting to talk to him, to hear his take on things. He must have known Peck pretty well. I
was going to try the probation service, but I don’t suppose they’d give me his number even if they did have it.’

‘No, they probably wouldn’t.’

‘So if you have any contacts …’

Harry heaved out a sigh. ‘Okay, I’ll see what I can do.’

Jess knew he wasn’t happy about the direction this investigation was taking, but she couldn’t see what other choice they had.
If they were going to discover the truth about the past, then any bit of information, from any source, could be useful. ‘Thanks.
I appreciate it.’

‘Talk to you tomorrow, then.’

‘Yeah, talk to you then. Good night.’

Jess put the phone down and yawned. She’d been staring at small print for most of the evening and her eyes felt tired and
scratchy. Should she call it a night? But she was sure that somewhere in the piles of paper lay a clue that had been missed.
Wearily, she pulled the trial reports towards her and started reading again.

It was almost three o’clock when Jess was abruptly woken up by a strident, high-pitched beeping sound. For a moment she lay
there squinting into the darkness, before finally realising that it was the smoke alarm going off. Groaning, she pulled a
pillow over her head, pressing it against her ears. ‘Damn thing,’ she muttered. It was the third time in a month that it had
gone off for no apparent reason.

Eventually, knowing that she had to do something before it disturbed everyone else in the block, she threw off the duvet,
forced herself out of bed and padded barefoot across the floor. It was only as she was opening the door to the living room
that she became aware of the smell, the thick, acrid odour of something burning. What? Her brain, still fuzzy with sleep,
couldn’t process the information her senses were giving her. Her fingers fumbled for the light switch, but when she clicked
it on, nothing happened.

Jess stood still, peering into the gloom. Everything seemed grey, as if the room was filled with a dense cloud of fog. She
tried the switch again – on, off, on, off – but the electrics were
clearly dead. Suddenly she heard a splintering noise, a crackling, before a lick of orange appeared by the far wall. It was
followed by another, and another, until the licks turned into flames and the heat hit her in the face. It was only then that
she fully woke up.

‘Oh, Christ! No, no, no!’ she yelped.

Quickly, Jess retreated into the bedroom, slamming the door behind her. She leaned against it, breathing heavily. Her heart
was pounding in her chest, her pulse racing.
Try and stay calm,
she told herself.
Whatever you do, don’t lose the plot.
With the living room alight, and the fire coming from the direction of the halls, there was no way she could get out that
way. She would have to make her escape through the bedroom window. Luckily, she was on the ground floor.

A thin stream of smoke had started creeping under the door. She jumped away and raced across the room. It was only as she
reached the window and pulled back the curtains that she recognised the fundamental flaw in her plan. With burglaries being
what they were in London, her landlord had installed a sturdy set of iron bars. The grille could be opened with a key, but
in the five years that she’d lived here, Jess had never used it. Where was the key?
Where was the bloody key?
She looked around, but couldn’t remember where she’d put it. Frantically, she pulled at the bars, but they were too solid
to budge. She reached between them to try and open the window – at least she could shout for help – but even though it was
unlocked, that refused to budge too. She pushed and shoved at the handle, but the window wouldn’t shift. What the hell was
going on?

Jess glanced over her shoulder. There was more smoke coming into the bedroom. She had to call the fire service. Why hadn’t
she thought of that before? But her phone was on the table in the living room. God, she should have tried to grab it. Maybe
she still could. Backtracking to the door, she opened it
an inch but was met with an almighty wave of heat. By now the fire had really taken hold and the whole room was ablaze. She
swiftly closed the door again. Her stomach lurched with fear and there were tears in her eyes, tears of fright and confusion.
What next?
Think, think!

Her brain stalled for a moment but then kicked into gear again. The first thing she had to do was to stall the encroaching
smoke. Flinging open the wardrobe, she pulled a load of clothes off their hangers and laid them at the foot of the door. How
long would that give her? A few minutes, perhaps. There was only one sure way out of this nightmare – she had to get through
that damn window!

Stumbling back across the room, she tried the handle again, but although it turned, the window still wouldn’t budge. She hammered
on the glass with her fists. Would anybody hear her? The bedroom was set to the side of the flats, away from the street, and
the next building was over twenty yards away, separated by a square of grass. There were no lights on in that house. Of course
there weren’t. It was the middle of the night.

The alarm had stopped screeching, silenced by the fire. She could imagine it there on the ceiling, a melted, dripping blob
of plastic. But surely someone in her block would have been roused by the noise, would have realised what was going on? Surely
someone would have made that 999 call?

The grey smoke was leaking in again, sliding between the sweaters and the shirts and the coats. Real panic was sweeping over
her now. Sheer black fright, tight as a shroud, was squeezing out her last drops of courage. She crouched down by the door,
desperately trying to stem the flow. It was useless. She could feel the smoke sliding into her throat, her lungs, eating away
at her oxygen. Leaping up, she fled back to the window.

She’d have to break the glass. That was her only chance. At least then she might be able to grab some air. But what could
she smash it with? What could she use? With her breath coming in short, fast pants, she picked up the small high-backed chair
by the bed and slammed it against the wall. She felt a jarring run the length of her arm, but the chair remained in one piece.
She swung it again, harder this time, and finally it broke, two of the legs splintering off and landing on the floor.

She bent down and grabbed one of the legs. Shoving it between the bars, she tried desperately to smash the pane. But the glass
was thick, double-glazed, and no matter how hard she tried, it still refused to give. Something came into her head about going
for the corners. She made a few final thrusts, but it was no good. She had no power left in her arms. Her strength was ebbing
away, her body too weak to carry on.

Smoke was filling the room now, making her cough and choke.
Get down on the floor,
her brain was telling her.
Smoke rises. Your only chance is to get down low.
She crumpled to her knees, fell sideways and curled into a ball.
Please God,
she prayed as she gasped for air.
Please God …

By the time Harry got to the hospital, it was twenty past five. Dawn was just beginning to break, the dark sky thinning to
silver. A few light drops of rain pattered against the windscreen. He parked the car in a space near the entrance and went
inside. As he strode through the maze of almost empty corridors, there was an eerie silence, relieved only by the occasional
snore, the odd murmur or the light trilling of a phone. He couldn’t help but remember the last time he’d been here, the time
Ellen Shaw had been brought in after deliberately stepping out into the road. He had watched her from the window of the old
office, watched her look carefully to the left, to the right and then …

He screwed up his face. Ellen had lived, and Jess would too. She was one of life’s survivors. But a fire, a bloody fire! He
knew the kind of damage that could cause. He had seen it when he’d been a cop. Quickly he tried to push those images out of
his head. She must be conscious or she wouldn’t have been able to give them his number to call. Unless they had found it in
her wallet or her phone. The woman who had rung him had given only the barest of details.

He turned a corner and saw the sign that he’d been looking for: Highfield Ward. Hurrying forward, he pushed open the doors
and peered through the semi-gloom. It only took a moment for him to spot her. Jess was perched on the side of a bed in the
corner, dressed in a large white T-shirt and an untied flowery hospital gown. Her head was bowed, her eyes fixed on the floor
as she gently swung her legs to and fro. He felt a wave of relief run through him.

She glanced up as he approached and gave a rueful smile. ‘Sorry, I didn’t know who else to call. I haven’t got any money on
me, and Neil’s in Edinburgh and … Well, I suppose I could have tried Sam, she might still have been working, but—’

‘Hey, it’s no problem,’ he said, laying his hand lightly on her shoulder. He could see how shaken she was, even though she
was trying hard not to show it. ‘I’m glad you did. Are you okay? What happened?’