Scarred for Life, page 19
part #9 of Jessica Daniel Series
That was something someone probably should have checked before they’d decided to prioritise this as a missing persons case worthy of attention.
‘How well do you know them?’ Jessica asked.
The woman finished her cigarette and stubbed it out with her foot. ‘As well as anyone knows their neighbours nowadays. He’s Joe, she’s Leanne – neither of them seem to work, that’s about it.’
‘Have you actually seen them arguing?’
A weary nod: ‘Last summer – well, that one week in July – they were having a barbecue in the back garden. I went over for a sausage to be polite but couldn’t get away quickly enough. They’d invited a bunch of their mates over and it was already rowdy by mid-afternoon. A few more beers and everyone was shouting at everyone else. I was in our back bedroom watching as she went for him with the big tong things they were using to turn the meat over. She was whacking him on the shoulder and calling him all sorts. Then she picked up a garden gnome and hurled that at him too. I was in half a mind to give your lot a call but didn’t want the trouble in case either of them found out.’
With the alternative being that their killer had taken another woman, Jessica hoped this was another argument that had got out of hand.
Back at the station and they were making gentle inquiries into Leanne’s whereabouts without definitively classing her as missing. A small team were checking number plates that had gone into the area the previous evening, with CCTV from the shops at the bottom of the road being looked at just in case Leanne had popped in. Both Joe and Leanne had a string of low-level convictions, mainly for breaches of the peace, and someone was examining their known associates too. All in all, it was quite the farce.
Jessica knew there would be a stack of paperwork waiting for her but didn’t make it to her office before Fat Pat bellowed after her that DCI Cole wanted a word.
Despite apparently requesting her presence, he once again made her wait in the corridor, holding his hand up through the glass windows and then turning his back as he spoke on the phone. If he was deliberately trying to wind her up, then he certainly knew what he was doing. Jessica couldn’t help but wonder if the person on the phone was Pomeroy.
After a few minutes of steaming in the corridor, she finally got the wave from Cole, calling her into his office. He didn’t wait for her to sit before starting to speak: ‘That was a phone call to say that the missing woman Leanne is no longer missing. Apparently she got on a train and didn’t have the money to get back. She didn’t realise anyone was looking for her. Apologies for sending you out there – but better to be safe.’
It wasn’t a complete note of regret, nor had he used the word ‘sorry’ – but it was an apology of sorts, which was more than she’d had from him in months.
‘We can’t go chasing things up every time a couple have an argument.’
‘I know, but there’s something else . . .’ Suddenly the apology didn’t seem quite so charitable. ‘I’m sending you home – it’s late notice but there are all sorts of issues with staff and I need a senior officer to keep an eye on the area Cassie Edmonds and Grace Savage went missing from after dark.’
‘You’re putting me on nights?’
‘For Friday and Saturday. Take the rest of today off and don’t come in until late tomorrow evening. Take Sunday off too and then we’ll look again at next week. I’ve checked things over with HR and Patrick, plus there’s a bit of flexibility in the overtime budget if there’s anyone in particular you want to take out with you.’
Jessica bit on her top lip, thinking of how best to reply. There was no polite way. ‘Am I being picked on?’
Cole’s face folded into a frown but his tone didn’t soften. ‘Why would you think that?’
Jessica wanted to ask him why he’d been off with her for months, plus who was putting pressure on him and why. Instead, she gave the only answer she could: ‘No reason, Sir.’
28
Jessica sat in the small waiting area of the Indian restaurant trying to keep her temper. ‘I just don’t understand why you book a seat for half seven if you’re here at half seven and all the tables are full. Doesn’t that defeat the very purpose of making a booking?’
Adam sipped his pint of Cobra and patted her infuriatingly on the knee. ‘They’re just busy – it’s fine. We’ll get to eat.’
Jessica mumbled something about him backing her up for a change, going somewhere else, not wanting to be rushed, wondering why that waiter kept leaning against the doorframe not doing much, and then realising it was because he was trying to chat up the group of women in leather trousers.
All those things annoyed her, but none so much as the fact that she knew she was being picked on. It wasn’t the first time she’d been switched to lates at short notice and likely wouldn’t be the last – but the timing was fishy. Was it because they wanted a different officer to find something to pin on Holden Wyatt while she was off during the day, or were they trying to get her out of the way for another reason? The actual shifts wouldn’t inconvenience her that much – she rarely slept for longer than a few hours at a time and being off during the day might give her a chance to get up to no good away from prying eyes. That still didn’t stop her feeling marginalised – and even though she’d never met him properly, Graham Pomeroy’s enormous frame was surely casting a shadow over her life.
In an attempt to put it all out of her mind, Jessica had told Adam she was taking him out for tea to wherever he wanted to go; the only proviso was that it had to be exactly where she wanted and if he could pretend that it was where he wanted to go as well, then she’d be really grateful.
Luckily, Adam was a good actor and a far more patient person than she was.
Jessica peered up at the clock again – quarter to eight. They should have sat down to eat fifteen minutes ago. She nudged Adam with her knee. ‘Are you going to say something?’
‘Of course I’m not.’
‘Why?’
‘Because we’re in a restaurant. Do you really think the best thing to do is piss people off before they make your food?’
Fair point.
Fifteen minutes later and Jessica was working her way through a stack of poppadoms and tray of pickles as Adam leant back in his seat and watched her. ‘It’s nice to be out.’
‘It’s nice not to have to cook.’
‘Since when do you cook?’
‘I did you Pot Noodle on toast last week.’
‘Find that one in a celebrity chef book, did you?’
Jessica dug a slice of poppadom deep into the mango chutney, not daring to look up from the food because she didn’t want to catch his eye. ‘Sorry about, well, everything. Being late, sleeping on the sofa, being on nights . . .’
Adam sounded convincing, but then he’d had a lot of practice. ‘It’s fine – I’m going to pop over to Georgia’s flat tomorrow.’
Jessica hadn’t seen Adam’s sister in months. ‘How is she?’
‘That’s what I’m going to find out.’
‘Oh, right . . .’
Adam reached forward and dipped his finger in the onion chutney. ‘We should talk about Bex.’
‘What about her?’
‘Who is she?’
‘I told you.’
‘You said she’d stolen your purse and that you weren’t sure why you invited her into our home. She’s there now – it’s fine, I trust you – but there has to be a point to all of this.’
Jessica finished off the final poppadom and drank some of her wine to give herself a few moments to think. Luckily, the waiter trotted over and began clearing the remains of the food away, giving her a few more seconds. Eventually, she gave her reply: ‘I don’t know what I’m doing.’
‘She’s seventeen, Jess.’
‘I know.’
‘Is it because of . . . ?’
Adam didn’t want to say it outright – no one except Jessica’s mother ever did – but it was clear what he meant. ‘You think I’m trying to be Bex’s mum?’
‘I didn’t say that – you’re the one who said you don’t know what you’re doing. I just want to make sure you’re not going to end up hurting yourself.’
‘Why would I do that?’
Adam started to reply but had to pause as the waiter cheerfully brought over a tray with their starters on. It was all smiles and thank yous until they were alone again, then Adam leant in and whispered: ‘You don’t know who she is, Jess. I know you want to help and it’s fine if you want her to stay at our house for a while – but you have to think about what you’re getting yourself into. Are you going to help her get a job? Go to college? Find her own place? What about clothes, food and transport?’
‘I don’t know yet.’
‘Can you at least try to think about things?’
Jessica took another mouthful of wine, holding it in her mouth, enjoying the slightly bitter taste. ‘I have thought about them, I just don’t know the answers yet.’
Adam tilted his head, smiling slightly. ‘Okay.’
‘Are you sure?’
‘I want you to be happy, Jess.’
‘What about us?’
‘I’m happy if you are.’
She finished her drink. ‘That’s not an answer – what do you want?’
It was Adam’s turn to become self-conscious, using a napkin to wipe something non-existent from his face and replying almost apologetically: ‘I’ve already got everything I want.’
Jessica immersed herself in the food so that she didn’t have to respond, then changed the subject. She hated it when he said things like that because what was she supposed to say back?
The rest of the meal was terrific, the wine was smooth, the taxi drive back to the house was uneventful and the lights were off when they arrived home. Adam waved Jessica into the living room with a cheeky grin, asking if she fancied one more drink. Considering she planned, after seeing Adam off to work in the morning, to spend the rest of the day in bed, Jessica figured it couldn’t do much harm.
They giggled their way into the room like a pair of teenagers left on their own for the first time. Adam took a pair of shot glasses and half-full vodka bottle out of the cabinet underneath the television and poured them each a glass. They flopped on the sofa and toasted their first meal out alone together for months. Jessica enjoyed the burn of the liquid on her throat and reached for the bottle, pouring another. Adam shook his head: ‘I’ve got work tomorrow.’
Jessica didn’t let that stop her, downing the second shot in one and slumping even deeper into the cushions of the sofa.
‘Something’s different,’ Adam said, out of the blue.
‘What?’
‘I’m not sure – but something’s not quite right in here.’
Jessica poured – and drank – a third shot. Perhaps moving onto lates wasn’t a bad thing after all if it meant she had more evenings off in between times to hang around with Adam and go drinking. ‘I think you’ve had too much to drink,’ she said.
‘You’re the one slurring your words.’
‘Am not.’
Adam sounded as if he was about to say something but then he paused, biting his lip. ‘The candlesticks are missing.’
Jessica squinted towards the shelf they’d sat atop since they had partially unpacked but Adam was right – they had gone.
29
The alcohol helped Jessica sleep but Holden Wyatt, Damon Potter, Cassie Edmonds, Grace Savage, Bones, DCI Cole, Assistant Chief Constable Graham Pomeroy and strange curved symbols were haunting her.
Then there was Bex.
Jessica had checked through the gap between the door and the frame before she’d gone to bed but the teenager was in the same position she’d been in for the past few nights: curled into a ball under the bed covers, breathing deeply. Everything Adam had said at the restaurant was correct – but Jessica so wanted to help and knowing Bex had a roof over her head and food in her stomach was one of the few things that had got her through the week.
Although she knew she had to be up through the night, Jessica got up early and waited in the kitchen. She put some toast on for Adam, kissed him goodbye and then waited some more. She heard Bex moving around upstairs at twenty past nine and then the sound of the shower. Just before ten, the teenager emerged into the kitchen humming a song that Jessica didn’t know. Her long black hair was wet and loose, the damp ends creating a wet patch on the oversized T-shirt Adam had given her; the angular tattoo on her arm was bold and bright. Her slim legs hardly seemed to have the width to support the rest of her frame as she padded barefoot into the room, stopping when she noticed Jessica.
‘Oh, you’re up,’ she said. ‘I thought you’d be sleeping most of the day.’
‘I probably will be. Do you want something to eat?’
Bex grinned, chewing on the corners of her mouth hungrily. ‘I shouldn’t keep eating your food.’
‘Maybe we should sit down one evening and have a talk about things?’
Jessica didn’t know how Bex would take it but the teenager nodded and grinned again. Her face had started to fill out slightly over the past few days, which was perhaps no surprise seeing as she couldn’t have got any thinner.
Jessica dropped a couple more slices of bread into the toaster and then started hunting through the cereal packets in the cupboard. That was the other thing about letting Adam do the food shopping by himself: he bought lots of cereal. If he could get away with eating it three times a day, he probably would.
Moments later and Bex was mashing a Shredded Wheat into a Weetabix while taking a bite of toast. Jessica took a strange pleasure in watching someone clearly so in need of food being able to wolf down the contents of her cupboards. That was until she felt self-conscious that she was turning into her mother. When Jessica had been a child, her mum constantly used to invite her primary school friends around after classes and then spend the evening trying to feed them as much as human beings could fit into themselves. Things hadn’t changed by the time Jessica took Adam home for the first time. Her mother had frowned in disapproval at his slender frame and then spent an hour finding out exactly which foods he liked so she could shove them down his gullet over the course of an otherwise quiet Sunday afternoon. It must be a mumsy thing – and the fact that Jessica could happily keep making food for Bex, even though she rarely bothered to make anything for herself, was a worrying development.
That wasn’t the only worrying thing.
‘What did you get up to last night?’ Jessica asked.
Munch, munch, munch.
‘I had a walk to the end of your road and then carried on to the shops and back. It was nice to get some air but then it started getting cold again and I was convinced that I’d left the door unlocked. I’m not used to locking things.’
‘Had you?’
‘No, it’s one of those things where you know you’ve done something but your mind won’t switch off from it until you check. I sort of . . .’
Bex tailed off, delving into the mushy remains of her cereal and drawing her free hand across her chest protectively.
‘It’s okay.’
Scrape, scrape, scrape.
‘I’m a bit like that with my bag,’ Bex added. ‘It’s the only thing I have left from my mum’s house. All my clothes gradually became too big so I . . . got some more.’ She glanced away from the table guiltily. ‘I know how to pack it so that I can reach anything I need and then it has this sort of balance to it. But you end up getting paranoid if it doesn’t feel right. You think someone’s been nicking off you while you’ve been asleep, so you’re constantly on edge. Even though I know I’ve packed it right, I still get that urge to check it. I know it’s mad.’
Jessica knew it wasn’t. When you owned hardly anything, it made sense that you’d obsess over the things you did.
‘How long were you out for last night?’
Bex lifted the bowl and drank the dregs of the milk at the bottom. ‘I don’t know – an hour? Should I have stayed in?’
‘No, it’s not that, it’s just . . .’ To compound the fact that Jessica didn’t know which words to use, Bex took that moment to peer up from the table and smile at her. Whether she’d got her looks from her junkie mother or absent father, Bex really was naturally pretty, despite the slight hollowness she still had in her face. ‘. . . do you remember the candlesticks from the other room?’
‘You said they’d survived a fire.’
‘Right . . . it’s just they’re missing . . .’
Bex bit through the triangle of toast and then carefully put it back on the plate. She kept her eyes fixed on Jessica as she chewed, saying nothing. Jessica tried to read her face, her posture, anything; but there was only a darkness that hadn’t been there before. Suddenly Jessica saw the Bex she didn’t know – the street Bex, the girl who’d seen and survived things as a fourteen-year-old that Jessica didn’t even want to guess about. Her pointed shoulders had angled forward, pressing into the material of the T-shirt, her eyebrows had turned into a V, with vertical crease lines in the centre of her forehead.
Bex’s voice had dropped an octave into a forced calmness. ‘What are you trying to say?’
‘Nothing, I’m asking if you’ve seen them. Adam says he remembers them being there when he got home from work yesterday.’
‘Are you asking if I nicked them?’
‘No, I’m asking if you’ve seen them.’
Somewhere outside a pair of birds were singing to each other, probably complaining about the weather and wondering when it was time to go south. A car blazed along the street in front, wheels spinning as they weaved in and out of the parked cars in a rush to get to the next give way sign. Elsewhere, a lawnmower chugged its way into life, spluttering burnt fuel into the atmosphere as its owner took advantage of the temporary respite from the rain.
Inside, there was only silence as the two women stared at each other. Jessica was good at this game – she had played it enough times – but this was different because now she felt like the guilty one. Bex might have been thinner than she was, perhaps not as strong, as fast, or as experienced, but she was definitely better than Jessica at this.
