“Which is your flat?”
Jessica blinked, closed the door and turned to face him. She made herself smile, and said, “This way.” She took him into her bedsit, glancing quickly around to make sure there was nothing out of place. No, not out of place. Incriminating. “I thought we agreed on a visit tomorrow?” She could feel him gazing at her. If his eyesight had strength it would be pushing her down onto the floor. She felt a prickle scoot up her neck, and turned to face him, plastic smile on a pale face. Why hadn’t he replied to her? “Can I offer you some tea?”
Sidmouth put down the briefcase and took off his jacket. He wore a dark striped shirt with sweat patches under the arms, frayed black braces, and slacks that were too short. Orange socks peeked out. “No. Thank you. I’m here for two reasons. Firstly, to make sure that this is your registered dwelling and that you do actually live here.”
“Yep. This is me.” Her smile widened and then crashed. She got no response from him. It was as though he were deep in thought, concerned not with her or her feelings, not with social etiquette even, just with his thoughts. Deep thoughts. She handed him a rental document.
He barely glanced at it. “Good. That’s fine.”
It was awkward. They stood facing each other in a room crammed with a bed, a wardrobe, and a tiny kitchen. If you listened carefully you could hear the mould on the wall by the cracked window growing, spreading.
Jess shuddered. “And the second reason? Is it Michael? Can I go and see him?”
Sidmouth wiped a sleeve across his forehead, and stared at her. He licked his lips again and turned to his briefcase. “Michael, yes. It’s Michael.”
Jess clapped, held her laced fingers in a nervous fist under her chin. “When? Today? Can I see him today?”
“Patience, Ms Ripley.” He withdrew a slim sheaf of papers, licked his finger, leafed through them and slid out a yellow sheet. “Social Care have agreed to an accompanied visit. I have here the details of your contact, who is expecting a phone call from you this afternoon to fix a convenient time. This,” he said, “is a form 68 which you sign as a declaration that you shall not harm or molest the child in any way, and that you shall abide by the terms laid down in…” he reached back inside the briefcase, and pulled out a leaflet, “…here: ‘Your First Supervised Visit’.” He stared at her. “Once you’ve signed the 68, everything can proceed.” He swallowed again.
This was the moment she’d dreamed of for the last decade; the moment she finally made arrangements to see Michael again. And in all the dreams of this moment, she’d been jumping up and down, tears of pure happiness spilling down her cheeks, a rush of anticipation churning her stomach.
But she felt cold.
Numb. Empty.
“All it needs is your signature,” he said. “And my signature. And then you can see him.”
Jess allowed herself a tentative smile. “Do you have a pen?”
He nodded, staring at her.
She took the 68, took the pen from his wet fingers, and placed the form on the counter next to the sink. She bent over, and signed.
“And again overleaf.”
She flipped the page and signed again, handing him back the pen and folding her arms tightly, scared that she would start to shiver. What the hell was going on?
He stood in silence for a long time, pen still in his outstretched hand, trembling slightly. And then he cleared his throat, and said, “Before I sign… I want you to do something for me.”
Chapter Six
Eddie flicked away the cigarette through the van’s window. The Major Crime Unit’s darkened glass exterior reflected sunlight that was diluted by thin cloud hanging in the air like it didn’t know what to do. That air was still and felt oppressive, as though a storm was brewing – in more ways than one. That thought led directly to Troy Ainsley and his attitude – an attitude so big that it surely couldn’t be contained inside just one head.
Bigger than my fucking ego.
Eddie climbed from the van and trudged towards the double door and the TAC access card reader. Some days he hated his job. Most days, actually. Only scene work held any degree of fascination for him now. The rest of it – the scene management, the personnel issues, running the office, coping with the paperwork and the irrepressible march of change – was a nightmare to deal with, and he longed for days when he was up to his elbows in blood and clues.
And he’d just given one of those days away to Kenny. All part of being a fucking boss, he assured himself. Magnanimous to a fault.
Idiot.
Eddie sighed as the door clicked open and sighed again as it closed behind him, trapping him in a cool silence that pressed in on all sides. How he hated being here. The relative darkness of the foyer greeted him. Moneypenny might have nodded as he walked past; he wasn’t sure.
“Eddie?”
He stopped and turned to face her.
It had become something of a ritual between them and he didn’t know why she kept doing it. She would stop him as he walked along, and keep him chatting for ages. Well, a minute or two, but it seemed like ages. Not for the first time did he wonder if there was another way in. “I have to go and bollock someone.”
She cleared her throat and scratched the back of her neck. “I just wondered—”
The phone on her desk rang. Eddie seized the opportunity to glance at her cleavage as she bent forwards to answer it, and he waved, mouthing ‘see you later’. She waved back, but it looked like a forlorn goodbye.
What the hell is up with her? Whatever happened to the good old days when I could stare at her chest without the risk of a conversation erupting?
At the top of the two flights of stairs, Eddie peered across the main office. Benson stared at the computer screen, head in his hands. “What’s up?”
Benson didn’t look up. “The barrister.” He shrugged, slapped his hands on the desk. “I have no idea where to start. So far this year he’s represented twenty-eight people in Leeds Crown Court alone. I haven’t even started on his family yet.”
“So narrow the clients down. Some of them will be inside—”
“I know that!” he shouted. The office quietened, hoping for a row, and he looked around. “What? Get on with your bloody work!”
Eddie took a step back and hid a creeping smile. “I love it when you get angry,” he whispered.
“They can hire a hit from inside, Eddie,” he said. “Honestly, this guy has so many fucking enemies it’s a wonder he didn’t die years ago.”
“Why did they choose now to hit him?”
Benson shrugged again.
“I have no idea how you made Inspector. Sometimes you are truly shite at your job.”
“I want to thank you for your opinion. Now piss off and leave me alone.”
“Don’t look for people he represented this year. Look for the ones who got out of prison this year.”
Benson growled, “Get out of my…” He stopped, looked to the ceiling.
Eddie laughed. “I did it, didn’t I? I hit the one thing you hadn’t thought of.”
Benson began typing. “Get lost, Eddie.”
* * *
He signed the paperwork as Jess buttoned her blouse, her vision blurred with tears.
He only said, “Don’t forget our next appointment. Three days.” Then he slid his jacket back on, collected his briefcase and let himself out of the flat.
Jess heard the front door close and raced along the corridor to make sure he was gone. She dropped the latch, stood with her back to the door, and wailed.
Chapter Seven
Eddie walked into the CSI office, intending to grab a coffee at the kitchenette before heading straight into his own office and closing the door behind him. He knew the ‘discussion’ with Troy would turn into a confrontation, and he wanted to be ready. He had to prepare himself not to punch the crap out of the little shit, because he knew that wasn’t a smart option even though it was the easiest one.
He could hear voices from the kitc
henette. Most noticeable was Troy’s, loud and brash; he was concentrating on being the centre of everyone’s universe, and Eddie could feel the hackles rise on his neck. He decided against the coffee and marched straight into the CSI office.
Sid was the first to see him, and like a dog seeing its master return home, he smiled and hurried towards him. Black lipstick and red eyeliner made him look like a sick and twisted Coco. “Eddie! Eddie, she’s here!”
“Is it Hallowe’en already, Sid?”
Sid cocked an eyebrow. “Not nice, Eddie.”
“Who’s here?” Eddie peered over Sid’s studded shoulder pads and all he could see was Troy’s million-dollar smile; he could smell the spearmint from here. His lip curled.
“Nicki, of course! Come on, come on, let me introduce you.” He trotted down the office, and if he’d had a tail it would have been wagging.
Eddie worried that he might have a little accident on the carpet if he didn’t curb his excitement.
“Nicki, he’s here.” Sid spun on his platforms, sweeping an arm in Eddie’s direction. “This is Eddie Collins.”
Nicki stared at Eddie, mouth open.
“Fuck me. It’s love at first sight,” Troy laughed.
Eddie glared at him. “Inside my head I’ve punched you in the face three times already.” He put his hands in his pockets, hoping it might dissuade her from offering him her hand. It didn’t work, and inside, Eddie screamed. He shook briefly, wondering what the hell to say to her. What do you say to a stranger? “Welcome to the madhouse.”
“You didn’t welcome me to the madhouse.”
Eddie looked at Troy again. “Because you’re a prick. And make that four times.”
“Shall I fix everyone a drink?” Sid clapped, his effervescence not exactly captivating, but mildly endearing. “Tea? Coffee?”
Nicki smiled at Sid, “Tea. Thank you.”
“And a coffee for me. I couldn’t get in the kitchenette when I arrived, for the ego blocking the doorway. And bring out the garibaldis, Sid. This is a celebration.”
Troy shook his head, and Eddie turned to him. “Have you shown Nicki where the drugs are?”
Troy’s mouth froze mid-chew. “Drugs?”
“Valium? Diazepam?” He turned to Nicki. “You’ll soon be on a repeat prescription for them, working here, love.”
The smile slid right off Nicki’s face.
“Troy. My office. Now.”
Eddie stormed off to his office, and Troy followed.
“Close it. Sit down.”
Troy sat, feet tapping on the floor, hands rubbing at his legs, fingers scraping the fabric of his trousers. “You fancy her, don’t you?”
Eddie just stared at him, watching him grow ever more nervous. “You seem a little agitated. Everything alright?”
Troy nodded, “Yeah, yeah, I’m cool.”
“How on earth do you not choke on all that bullshit coming out of your mouth?”
“What?”
Eddie looked away. “I said that out loud, didn’t I?”
“Very funny.”
“You have anything you’d like to share with me?”
“Like what?”
“I don’t know. It was just a friendly enquiry.”
“You can have a stick of Wrigley’s if you fancy…”
Eddie wondered if this was how parents felt as they prepared to lecture their child on the correct way to behave. He hadn’t exactly been looking forward to it, yet he relished the chance to get the little bastard by the neck and squeeze – just enough to frighten him. “You are a disgrace. You will never walk into a scene like that again, with your funky swagger, your chewing gum, and your back-chat.”
“I never—”
“Shut up. I don’t care what bits of paper you have that prove what an excellent student and scene examiner you are. They don’t impress me. All that will impress me is your scene work, and your ability to produce high-quality reports based on what you’ve seen and recorded and recovered. I expect you to provide me and the investigation with your conclusions based upon what you perceive, and in association with any witness account you may be privy to.”
Troy crossed his legs, his airborne foot flicking around.
“At a scene, no one is above listening to suggestions – including me. Everything is on the table; all possibilities are taken into consideration. No one is trying to get one over on their colleagues, because that means the victim loses. Everything we do is focused entirely on the victim. So if you’re busy battling me, we’re both busy not doing our jobs. Is that clear?”
Troy nodded.
“Good. Because the next bit of news I have for you might come as a shock.”
“Go on.”
“I’m your boss.”
Troy looked around the room. He shrugged. “Yeah. So?”
“So? So you don’t fuck about with me; you treat me with respect; you ease off on the competition, because it’s not a competition, it’s a fact-finding mission. It’s not a game, Troy.”
“I see Kenny having a laugh with you. That’s all I was doing.”
“No, it isn’t. You were winding me up; you were showing off. I have banter with Kenny. Get it? Banter. We have a laugh, and we take the piss out of each other because we’ve known each other a lot of years, and…”
“And?”
Eddie swallowed. “And I trust him.”
Troy threw his head back. “Ah, I see. So…”
“And I like him.”
Troy nodded to himself. “You’ve got it in for me—”
“You know what I like about you, Troy?”
“No. What?”
“Fuck all.”
“I get how it is. You can have banter with the other geriatrics, but new blood comes in and you get scared, and you see it as a threat.” Troy leaned forwards in his chair, his voice growing louder, more venomous. “You make me sick, you old fag, that you can have it in for me before I’ve even fucking started. I’m the best CSI you’re ever likely to get in this shithole of an office. So you should think yourself lucky I even volunteered to come here and fish your crap-show out of the stagnant—”
Eddie reached forward and took a handful of Troy’s jet-black hair. And he pulled. He yanked him down off the chair and onto his knees, and Troy yelped and then shouted. “Get the fuck off me!”
Eddie pressed his face into the carpet. “Now listen to me, you arrogant little fuck. You start treating me and this department with some respect—”
“Or what? You’ll beat me to a pulp?”
Eddie considered this. “Yes,” he said, “something like that.”
And then the office door opened. Nicki stood there; she gasped. “What’s going on?”
“We’re having a meeting. Close the door.”
Sid appeared in the doorway, carrying a tray.
“Get Nicki a coffee, Sid, and bring me a digestive with that, would you?”
Sid reached in and pulled the door closed.
“Get off me before I have you arrested for assault.”
Eddie let him go, and when he stood, Troy’s face was red, his hair ruffled and his eyes wide.
“I’m so gonna fuck you over for this.”
“Well, that induces in me a level of fear I’ve never felt before.”
“I mean it!”
“Empty your pockets.”
“What?”
“I thought only old people were deaf.”
“You can’t make me.”
Eddie folded his arms. “Based on our recent physical relationship, I’d say I can make you do pretty much anything I want, wouldn’t you? Now empty them before I do it for you.” Eddie sighed as the door opened again. “What?”
Jeffery now stood in the doorway. “Eddie,” he said, “everything okay?”
Eddie shrugged. “Fine.”
“Troy?”
Troy looked at Eddie. Eddie had no expression on his face; just a knowing look in his eyes.
“Everything’s fine, Mr Wa
lker. Thank you.”
Jeffery hovered for a while, knowing there was hostility but seeing only harmony, until, with no way to prove otherwise, he tutted and left, barging past Nicki on his way. Now she stood in the doorway again.
“I saw what you did,” she said to Eddie. “I didn’t like it.”
Eddie shook his head. “I don’t care.”
“Well, you should!”
“What’s the best way to stop a cat playing with a mouse until it’s dead?”
“I have no idea—”
“Shoot the mouse.”
“What are you talking about?”
“I have no idea, but it shut you up for a minute. Like I said before, Troy and I are in the middle of a meeting. A private meeting. Close the door. And this time leave it closed.” He watched her shut the door, then walked over and flung it open again. She shuffled away quickly, and Eddie grunted and retook his seat.
“You’re lucky I’ve mellowed in my old age. A year ago you’d have been through that window, minus your warrant card.” He motioned at Troy to sit. “Look,” he said, “I’m sorry I did that to you.”
Troy looked up quickly.
“Before you get the wrong idea: I’m not sorry I did that because she saw me, and I’m not sorry because Mr Walker came in. I couldn’t give a shit about either of them. I’m sorry because I embarrassed you.”
“Whatever. I’m fine. I’m not embarrassed.”
Eddie thought about it, and nodded. “Okay – that’s what you want me to believe, so I will. But I know different. Us old folk have a sixth sense about this kind of shit. And we also have a sixth sense about other kinds of shit. Know what I mean, Troy?”
Troy fidgeted again.
“Don’t throw it all away. You could be really good at this.”
Troy bit his lip, looked at the carpet, and nodded minutely.
“Someday soon, you’ll be subject to a random drug test. I hope you pass it.”
“How can it be random if you know about it?”
The Death of Jessica Ripley Page 3