Nothing But Trouble, page 23
part #11 of Jessica Daniel Series
‘That’s not what this is about.’
‘Yeah, yeah, I’m sure it’s not. What’s next? Are you going to get these mythical children to appear on my doorstep and call me Daddy? You wait until all this has happened and then try to take advantage?’
‘Mr Hyde, that’s really not—’
He pointed at the door. ‘Out. You tell your bosses it’s not worked. They thought they could soften me up the other night and then send in a girl to do their dirty work. Next time you want to talk to me, you come through my solicitor.’
Jessica was off the stool, coffee untouched as she tried to backpedal away from Hyde. For the first time, she could see everything that Josh had been trying to tell her. Hyde wasn’t a harmless old man, there was fury in his eyes; he’d transformed into a ferocious, spitting, imposing presence. Jessica felt a twinge of fear, knowing she was by herself. It wasn’t his size or the way his finger was pointing, but the depth of his anger. She could hear it in his voice, see it in the way he was snarling. Anything felt possible.
‘You think you’re clever, do you?’ he said.
Jessica was into the hallway, almost running for the front door.
‘Think you’re smarter than me?’
‘No.’
She was trying to open the front door but there was a catch and it was stuck. Hyde wasn’t reaching to open it, he was looming over her, seeming taller in his rage.
‘Think you can take advantage after everything that’s happened? Try to play me as a mug?’
His face was inches from hers. He smelled of shaving cream and she could see the bulging whites of his eyes.
Jessica’s voice was a whisper, with her unable to muster any strength. ‘Let me out . . .’ For more than a week, she’d thought this entire case was about a bunch of bullies going after one another; now it felt real. She could sense all the lives that had been touched by – massacred by – the men she’d been in the midst of. Winding up Carter suddenly didn’t seem like a good idea. What had she been thinking?
‘Do you know who I am?’ he said.
‘I know.’
‘Yet you still come to me with this story, wanting to kick a man when he’s down.’
‘It’s the truth.’
‘What you’re saying is impossible.’
‘I thought that too but it’s not.’
Hyde lunged forward and, for a fraction of a second, Jessica thought he was going to punch her. Instead, he reached to the side of her head, clicking something on the front door and then levering down the handle.
‘Tell your bosses that you failed – and don’t come back here without a warrant.’
Jessica crouched under his arm and hurried from the house, along the driveway, through the gates to her car. She sat for a few minutes catching her breath and replaying the events. She hadn’t thought Hyde would take the knowledge of potential other children well, but she hadn’t expected such fury. The assumption at the station was that Hyde was the father of the others, that he was a powerful man who’d got around in more ways than one. Is that why he’d been so angry, that now Natalie would know? Or that his other bastard children would be in danger?
Eventually, Jessica took out her phone and called DC Rowlands, asking if he fancied staying up late over the weekend.
35
Jessica hadn’t actually expected confirmed DNA results within the day – it wasn’t CSI: Manchester and the science geeks most likely had Doctor Who box sets to wade through – but it would have been nice. Nothing came through, meaning the Fosters in Liverpool would have to spend another day worrying over the outcome.
She decided not to tell Topper or anyone else about Richard Hyde’s sudden ferocity. The more she thought about it, the more Jessica convinced herself it wasn’t as bad as she’d first thought. She’d been too quick to hurry into the hall and then got herself trapped by the front door.
Because of everything else she was working on, the trio of murders were being checked over by a wider team of people overseen by Superintendent Jenkinson. Jessica skimmed through the daily reports anyway, looking to see if there was anything she didn’t already know about. There wasn’t.
After spending so much time away from the station through the week, there was paperwork galore to wade through, forms to sign, letters to open, emails to delete, people to ignore. Plus, she got dragged into the daily brief/debrief from Serious Crime. Much tea was drunk, much shite was talked, very little was done.
Jessica found a few minutes to search for the e-fit of Annie among their catalogue of crooks, remembering her promise to Alf and Nerys that she’d find the person who robbed them. She should have palmed it off onto a constable to deal with, someone who had more time, but the case had already been bodged once. Not that she was doing a better job of it.
Annie sounded local and knew the area on which she was preying, so there was little point in searching too widely around the rest of the country. Of the few potential facial matches Jessica did find, almost all were instantly shot down because the people had either moved away or were in prison. There were a couple of names who could be ‘Annie’ but the women didn’t look that similar and Jessica knew she was more hopeful than confident. Thoroughly exhausted, she asked Izzy if she could find a competent constable to make a few inquiries, doubting it would come to much. At least she was doing something.
Jessica hadn’t wanted to call or message Bex through the day, not wanting it to seem like she was prying. It had been in the back of her mind throughout, wondering how Bex and her mother had got on when it had been just them.
Bex was sitting at the dining table when Jessica arrived home, typing on the laptop that Jessica had more or less given her. She rarely used it herself. Bex seemed content, in one piece with no puffy eyes or hints of upset.
‘Everything all right?’ Jessica asked.
Bex nodded, closing the lid of the laptop, ready to talk. ‘I didn’t want to disturb you at work.’
‘How was your morning?’
‘Confusing.’
‘How so?’
‘It felt different . . . I wasn’t angry today.’
‘Perhaps you’d said everything you had to?’
Bex nodded, crossing the room and sitting on the sofa, next to Jessica. ‘We just talked, not about the past, about now. I told her about being part-time at college and that I’m starting properly in September, she told me about the agency job she’s got. She works one till five on weekdays doing data input at the university. She got into the agency herself because, otherwise, the people who run the housing project put you into manual work, cleaning and so on. She didn’t want to do that, but it feels weird that she did it for herself.’
There was something she wasn’t saying but Jessica didn’t want to push too much.
‘You got on then?’
‘I suppose. I didn’t shout this time. It felt . . . normal. Two people having a cup of tea.’
‘That’s good?’
Jessica phrased it as a question because Bex didn’t sound so sure.
Bex looked away. ‘She asked me something . . .’
‘Okay.’
‘She’ll be moving out of the sheltered housing at the end of the summer and will need a new place. When I told her about going to college in September, she asked if I wanted to find somewhere with her. She wants to start again in all ways. She said we could rent and then, if it doesn’t work, we’re not stuck.’
‘Oh . . .’
Jessica didn’t know what to say. It felt as if she’d been punched in the stomach, winded. She tried to breathe but it hurt. She’d lived alone before and enjoyed it, but things had changed – she’d changed. The idea of being by herself in this big house full of memories left her worried in a way she hadn’t felt in a long while. She needed people around her.
‘I didn’t give her an answer,’ Bex added quickly.
‘It’s okay – you need to do what’s right for you.’
‘I don’t know what’s right for me.’ Bex took a breath, turning back. ‘Jess . . . ?’
‘What?’
‘It wouldn’t mean I appreciate what you’ve done for me any less.’
Jessica nodded, resting a hand on Bex’s shoulder, wanting to hug her but wondering if it would feel weird. ‘I know – I just want you to be happy.’
Bex continued what she was working on through the evening as Jessica ate off her lap and watched television, or, more to the point, she had the television on. She wasn’t taking anything in. She didn’t want to live by herself but, at the same time, this was the place she owned with Adam. What she really wanted was him back. She wanted Adam out of the coma, at home, the way things used to be.
Izzy had said that Jessica was never one to stay still. She hadn’t been talking about houses or places to live, she’d meant in life. Jessica always had something going on, good or bad. If Bex left, Jessica would feel for the first time in a long while that she’d stalled, that she was trapped.
Her phone rang at a few minutes after seven – Archie. Jessica thought about ignoring it, not in the mood for him wondering if she ‘wanted to do something’. It was how he always phrased it, but the implication was obvious. She answered anyway, in the mood for an argument.
‘I’m busy, Arch,’ she said.
‘I need your help.’
For the first time ever, he sounded like he meant it.
‘Are you in trouble?’
‘Not at the moment but you’ve got to come now.’
Jessica parked her car close to the same verge as when she, Archie and Izzy had inadvertently ended up at a rave less than a week previously. It was a very different atmosphere this time. Rather than the dancing teenagers, there were big men and a handful of bigger women traipsing along the edge of the road, then into the field and walking towards the distant barn.
As they crossed into the field, Archie stretched and took Jessica’s hand. ‘What are you doing?’ she asked.
‘Trust me – we want to fit in.’
Jessica let his fingers slide into hers, slowing her pace slightly so he didn’t have to hurry. ‘How do you know the fight’s definitely tonight?’ she asked, keeping her voice low.
‘One of my mates, don’t worry.’
‘Why didn’t you tell Iz – or anyone else?’
‘Iz has been stressed all week because her last tip was wrong. She doesn’t want to muck up again.’ Archie used his free hand to indicate the groups of people ahead of them – almost entirely men, wearing jeans and big arse-kicking boots. The few women who were there looked as if they could dish out a bigger hiding than the blokes: tree-trunk arms, enormous chests, the type who enjoyed watching two men beating each other senseless. ‘It’s not really her scene,’ Archie concluded.
‘Is it mine?’
His fingers squeezed hers. ‘That’s not what I said. Anyway, I didn’t want to make a fuss in case my tip was wrong.’
‘Why don’t you call it in now?’
‘Because these people aren’t stupid. Whatever’s going on in the barn at the moment will be the warm-up. If anyone important’s going to be here, we’re going to have to sit tight.’
It was annoying that he was right but Jessica was more worried by his greasy, sweaty palm – despite the local lad bravado, he was nervous too.
The queue to get into the barn was far longer than it had been for the rave, with almost no noise coming from the inside. There were no strobing lights and if it hadn’t been for the rows of parked cars on the roads that lined the field, no one would have known anything untoward was going on. Jessica tried not to spend too much time gazing around, not wanting to attract attention, but there were at least ten men for every woman, probably more. Archie kept hold of her hand but, as the sun dipped beneath the trees, casting a dark orange glow, he started to become edgier, moving from foot to foot and peering around the people in front of them towards the entrance.
The reason for the delay became clear as they got closer. There were four men on the door – each huge, wearing jeans, plaid shirts and vests, arms covered with tattoos and scars. They called forward two people at a time, frisked them, and checked their pockets, then sent them inside.
The only exception Jessica saw was the couple three ahead of them – two women, both enormous, wearing tube tops too small for their chest size. The four doormen didn’t even ask them to empty their pockets, let alone frisk the women, before sending them inside.
Soon, Archie and Jessica were waved forward by the biggest of the four. He had a pointy grey and black beard, bushy grey eyebrows and a ponytail down his back. Greedy eyes settled on Jessica before he turned to Archie.
‘What’s the word, bro?’
‘Indigo.’
Ponytail nodded and Archie took the hint, emptying the wallet and phone from his pocket. The guard flicked through the wallet, checking through the various flaps and removing two twenty-pound notes before handing it back with the phone. Jessica wasn’t sure but it didn’t look like Archie’s regular phone; it seemed older with buttons instead of the touchscreen.
‘Turn it off,’ the man said.
‘Now?’
‘Before you go in – you can keep it with you but anyone caught using a phone inside, well . . .’
Archie pressed and held the button on top of his phone as one of the other men stepped forward, running his hands along Archie’s arms, then up and down his legs. One of the other guards stepped forward but Ponytail waved him away.
‘You,’ he said, nodding at Jessica. She handed him her phone, the only thing she’d brought aside from a few folded-up ten-pound notes. He flipped the phone around in his hand and then passed it back. Jessica turned it off and took a step towards the door. Ponytail reached forward, grabbing her wrist. ‘Where are you going?’
‘Inside.’
‘Not yet, hold your arms out.’
‘You let those other women in.’
He winked. ‘You ain’t other women.’
Jessica held her arms out, crucifixion-style.
‘Open your legs.’
‘Are you joking?’
‘Open ’em, or piss off.’
Jessica did as she was told, taking the star jump position: arms wide, legs apart. Ponytail stood behind her, running his hand slowly along her left arm, then her right. She could feel his beard tickling the back of her neck, his breath creeping along her hairline. As the next two men in line moved forward to be checked by the rest of the guards, Ponytail remained focused on her. His hands stroked her back, before reaching around and touching her tummy. She winced, shivering, as they flitted across her breasts before he was cupping them both, squeezing gently at first before firmly pinching her nipples.
‘You’re certainly packing something,’ he said.
Jessica’s eyes had been closed but she felt a flash of movement, looking up to see Archie in front of her, fists balled at his side. She shook her head the tiniest of amounts but Ponytail had removed his hands.
‘You all right there, tough guy?’ he said to Archie.
Jessica stared into Archie’s eyes, seeing the fury in him, but begging him not to do anything. There were four guards, almost certainly more inside too. There was no police backup, just them. It wasn’t the time.
‘Just anxious to get inside,’ Archie replied, voice quivering just enough to keep Jessica on edge.
Ponytail purred his reply. ‘Not much longer, bro.’
She felt him drop behind her, gripping her ankle and running his hand up the length of her leg, passing her knee, stroking her inside thigh and then, horrifically, sickeningly, pressing the side of his index finger into the space between her legs and rubbing back and forth. Jessica bit her bottom lip, knees wobbling. She felt sick.
Ponytail finally stepped away. ‘You’re clear. Have fun and keep those phones off.’
It was a good job Archie took her hand because, without him, Jessica felt like she might fall. She felt weak, used. The next thing she knew, they were inside. There was no thumping music, just the grunts and cheers of men crowding a boxing ring in the centre of the barn. Archie kept hold of her hand, leading her along the back of the crowd until they were in a dark corner.
He let go of her hand, resting it across her back: ‘You okay?’
‘Yeah.’
‘He—’
‘I know, Arch. We can’t do much about it now. Let’s just get this over with – I hope you’ve got a plan of how you’re going to call it in.’ She was struggling to hold it together, not wanting Archie to see how affected she was. Jessica nodded up to the viewing platforms they’d spotted during the rave. There were four spotters watching the action, or, more likely, watching the crowd.
‘I’ll sort something,’ he said.
‘How did you know the password?’
‘My mate.’ He took her hand, stepping towards the ring. ‘Come on, let’s not get noticed.’
It wasn’t long before the first fight started, though it couldn’t really be classed as a contest. It was a brutal one-sided beating, one big guy with frying-pan hands pounding someone half his size until there was so much blood that a man, loosely on hand as a referee, stepped in. There were no gloves, no headguards, no pads in the corner. Nobody seemed to be keeping time, with no distinctions for rounds or time-outs. It was a street fight confined to a ring, with little concern for either of the competitors’ well-being.
As the loser was carried away on a stretcher, disappearing towards the back of the barn into an area behind a set of wooden panels, Archie leant in to whisper in Jessica’s ear: ‘That was a family dispute.’
‘What?’
‘The warm-up act – the only rules are no biting or gouging. It will have settled some argument between families.’
The winner was parading around the four corners, arms aloft. When he reached the one closest to them, a huge woman – probably his mother – heaved herself up onto the side of the ring and hugged him. She stepped away with smears of blood across her front, getting a series of cheers for the effort.
When the winner finally left, four young men leapt into the ring, scrubbing the worst of the blood away as part of the crowd disappeared towards one of the two bars that were selling cans.
