“House on fire?” Eddie closed the door after him.
Chapter Thirty-Three
Jess sat in the bus shelter on Heath Road. It was one of the new ones that had a seat inside and an LCD screen telling you how late the next bus was. And, strangely, it hadn’t been smashed yet; it was all pristine.
She sat in the centre of the bench where she had a good view of the house; she’d been there forty-five minutes. Her bottom was numb, her feet tingled, and her back ached because she was slouching, but she didn’t move. It was as though she were dead. And if it wasn’t for her shallow breathing and her occasional blinks, other people who came into the shelter might have thought she was.
Buses came and went. A few people asked if she was okay, but she didn’t reply. If they blocked her view of the house, she would either look up at them until they moved again, or she would look around them. She didn’t speak.
It began to rain, and pretty soon the silence of the bus shelter gave way to the comforting noise of rain beating on the metal roof. It was all the same to Jess. She was in the kitchen where Sebastian died amid a melee of noise, she was in Michael’s bedroom as he screamed his tits off, she was in the dock where she suffered through the silence of that hollow-chested moment as the jury found her guilty.
Her life had begun attacking itself; it was like a virus, it consumed anything of goodness and from it the badness grew. They do say that the more you think negative thoughts, the more negative your life becomes, like a self-perpetuating circle of shit. Conversely, thinking happy thoughts created happiness. Simple!
Jess smiled.
It still rained, both outside on the shelter roof, and inside, where the darkness bled out like a wound.
She smiled wider.
He walked along Heath Road, the rain seemingly not bothering him at all. He was with a school friend, and they laughed about something as the sky grew darker. He was thinking happy thoughts.
Jess stopped smiling and got up. Her fingers tingled and her throat was dry. She cricked her back, and watched the two youths part company, Michael unlatching the small wooden gate that led to his front door.
She stepped out of the shelter and walked away, mulling something over in her mind.
Chapter Thirty-Four
“Why’s Eddie keeping you in today?” Sid pushed a cup of tea across the desk towards Troy.
Troy didn’t look up, just shrugged.
“You know that if anything’s bothering you, I’ll always listen.” Sid smiled, tongue-stud glinting. “And I’ll always try to help.”
“Go away.”
Sid stiffened. “And I have to say, despite his brash exterior, Eddie is always—”
“Fuck off, Sid.”
“Oi!” Kenny threw a pen across the office at Troy. It missed by a yard, but the accompanying sentiment struck home, bang on target. “Watch your lip, boy.”
Sid’s nostrils flared and he stood back, ready to open fire for Troy’s bad manners, but the phone on his desk rang. He breathed out the tension, grew a smile and answered. “Good morning. West Yorkshire Police Major Crime Unit, CSI Department, Sid speaking, how may I help you?” Sid nodded a few times, looked back at Troy – who had his head on his desk – thanked the caller, and put down the phone. “There’s a gentleman to see you, Troy. He’s on his way up; a Mr Gibbon.” No reaction from Troy. “I’ll go and show him in.”
“No.” Troy stood, grabbed his jacket from the back of the chair, and marched down the office. “I’ll sort it.”
“And Troy,” shouted Kenny, “don’t monkey about.” He laughed as the door slammed.
Sid turned to Kenny. “That was a bit cruel.”
“Funny, though.”
“You know Eddie wants you to do Bolton’s PM at ten o’clock with Nicki?”
Kenny gritted his teeth. “Fuck off, Sid.”
They both laughed.
* * *
Nicki came out of Crawford’s office amid a group of detectives, and split away from them, heading towards CSI. But no sooner had she broken free than she saw Troy marching from the CSI office towards the stairs, his limp barely noticeable. She was about to call out to him, but his face was angry and afraid; his eyes were wide yet they stared into the distance. He met a man at the top of the stairs. Nicki paused, watching them shake hands. She couldn’t hear, but Troy was doing a lot of nodding and spending time looking at his feet. She felt inclined to follow as they descended the stairs.
It was all very strange, especially since Troy had his jacket with him. Were they planning on leaving the building together? Who was that man, and what did he want with Troy? All information was good information… and so Nicki swept down the stairs in time to see them heading into an open office just off the hallway, near the stores.
It was quiet here. She rounded the corner and pressed her back to the wall and was rewarded almost instantly. She heard the man proclaim that he was from a private company specialising in employment drugs testing. She noted that Troy didn’t speak. The man did, though; he went on to say that it was a voluntary test, and that Troy must sign the consent forms if he wished to proceed.
“I don’t have any choice, do I, Mr Gibbon?” Troy said. Not a question; a statement.
Gibbon provided an answer anyway. “No, you don’t have to cooperate. But if your employer has asked you to participate, then you’d be wise to take the test. If it ends up at tribunal, refusal to have this test would look very bad for you.”
There was a pause, Nicki’s eyes were wide, and she could feel her heart chugging. She knew there had been something wrong with Troy, the way he was always at sixty thousand feet, always full of himself, and ready to argue with anyone, but she never suspected drugs; she always thought he just had a very big opinion of himself and an even bigger ego.
“Thank you,” Gibbon said. “Here’s a sample bottle. Where are the nearest toilets?”
Nicki turned, hurried back along to the stairs and climbed them with a hearty smile on her face.
* * *
Eddie closed Crawford’s door and was thinking about stealing some of Kenny’s coffee when he spotted Melanie. Perhaps it was time to find out what was going on.
He perched on her desk and made her jump, which was an added bonus.
“Eddie.”
“Melanie.” He watched her.
Her straight face cracked, and she began to smile again.
“There it is. What’s so funny? Or are you on the love beads again?”
“Funny? No, you misunderstand. I’m pleased. For you.”
“Me? No one’s ever been pleased for me.”
“And for Maggie too.”
“Maggie?”
“Jesus, Eddie. When are you going to stop giving people imaginary names and start learning their proper ones?”
“I don’t know what you mean. Doing something like that would be very childish, Cher.”
“But you are dating the receptionist?”
“Moneypenny?”
Melanie sat back and folded her arms.
“Yeah, well, keep it to yourself. We haven’t even had a proper go at it yet.”
Melanie raised her eyebrows.
“Dating, I mean. Filthy woman.” Eddie looked up and saw Nicki cresting the stairs into the main office, then turning right towards CSI. That in itself wasn’t strange; what was strange was the smile on her face, like she’d found twenty quid. He continued to watch her but asked Melanie, “What do you think of him?” He nodded towards Crawford’s door.
She whispered, “I thought he was lovely.”
“But?”
“He practically threw Jeffery out last night. Him and his sidekick walked him out of the office. Apparently Jeff was almost in tears.”
“The bastard.”
“Yeah. So – watch your back.”
Eddie patted Melanie on the shoulder and walked across the office to Benson.
“Cher?” she called after him.
“High cheekbones.” He smiled at
her. “And Botox,” he whispered, “Lots of Botox.”
Eddie approached Benson, and said, “How come you never use your own office?”
“And miss out on all this happy banter? Anyway, I’m a DI, I’ll leave all that ivory tower shite to people like him.”
“He’s a knobhead. You know that, don’t you?”
“I am a fucking detective, Eddie. I’d worked it out, thank you.”
“I don’t understand how they’d let him bring his own man in and turf Jeffery out?”
Benson shrugged. “I have no answer. I suppose he must have a good record, and maybe they were so desperate to fill Cooper’s chair, they bent over for him. He’ll have negotiated his own terms.”
Eddie put down his empty cup, sat on Benson’s desk and folded his arms.
Benson sighed. “Not going to be a quick visit, then? I have a lot of work to do.”
“I know. How far have you got with the list from Thomas Marchant’s murder?”
“Look, we’ll have a sit down sometime, you and me, okay? I’ll go through what I’ve got and we’ll take it from there. But right now…”
“Why would you do that?”
Benson smiled. “He’s kicked Jeffery out; how long have I got left, I wonder?”
“Seriously?”
Benson shrugged again. “I don’t know. I might be talking bollocks, but he’s too nice a man to work here. There are no nice people working here, which means he’s a slimy bastard. And it means he’s good at hiding stuff. So my advice is to keep your nose clean and stay out of his way. Don’t pick fights with him, Eddie.”
Eddie laughed. “Yeah, okay, whatever you say.” He stood, collected his mug. “I ain’t changing for no prick like him, and I ain’t scared of Agent Smith, either.”
“Who?”
“His sidekick. UnWeismann.”
“Well, on your head be it.”
Eddie walked towards the CSI corridor and met the drug-testing man at the top of the stairs. “Okay, Gibbo? How did it go?”
Gibbon held out his hand, remembered that Eddie didn’t do contact, and casually dropped it again. “He was—”
“Wait,” Eddie looked around. “Come into my office, eh?”
* * *
Eddie closed his office door with a foot and handed Gibbon a coffee. “Don’t tell anyone I gave you a drink. I had to steal the coffee again.”
“Why don’t you buy some?”
Offended, Eddie stared at him, then sat down. “How did it go?”
“He was bricking it. His hand was shaking as he signed the consent forms.”
“Good. I hope it teaches him a lesson.”
“He’s a clever lad, though.”
“I know, that’s what’s so infuriating. He could be good at this job if he’d climb down off his ego. What do you think he’s on?”
“What’s his behaviour been like?”
“Apart from today where I couldn’t get a word out of him, he’s got masses of confidence, very chatty…”
“Good stamina?”
“Oh, yeah; he never stops.”
“Could be any number of stimulants, but I wouldn’t be surprised if he was on amphet.”
“He’s on fucking speed?” Eddie thought for a moment. “Is it worth getting it tested after all, just to see what he’s on?”
“I said he was a clever lad. I figured he was too willing to cooperate, you know what I mean? He was too willing to oblige. I let him go into one cubicle and then I stood on the toilet in the next one and peeped over the top.”
“You old pervert.”
“He took a vial from his jacket pocket, poured it into the container I’d given him, and then had a pee.”
Eddie was grinning. “Sneaky little bastard. I wonder where he got it from.”
“Blocked urinal somewhere, I should think.” Gibbon shrugged and sipped his coffee. “Didn’t you put sugar in this?”
“I’m not stealing Kenny’s sugar as well. What do you take me for?”
Gibbon stood. “Well, I’m off to Costa, then. You okay with me binning his sample and the paperwork?”
“Yep; I’ve learned all I need to know, cheers.”
Eddie opened his office door just as Nicki walked away. “Hey,” he called after her. “What were you doing?”
“When?”
“Just then. I opened the door and you almost fell inside!”
She appeared suitably confused. “I’d just called back for my radio, that’s all. Happened to be walking past your door, actually.”
Eddie eyed her as she waved and left the office. He looked at Gibbon, decided he ought to shake his hand. “You okay seeing yourself out?”
Chapter Thirty-Five
Eddie stared after Nicki. There was something about her that he didn’t like. He couldn’t put a finger on it, but it was there nonetheless, like a smell that he couldn’t identify. He went back into his office, grabbed his coffee and took it to sit on Sid’s desk. “What do you think of her?”
“Nicki?”
Eddie nodded.
Sid swallowed, and cracked his knuckles. “Well…”
“I know it’s not a fair question, but I value your opinion.”
Sid sat a little straighter, puffed out his pigeon chest a little further. “I haven’t made up my mind yet.”
Eddie nodded and began to heave himself off the desk, but Sid hadn’t finished.
“And that’s not good. I know people. I know instantly whether I’m going to get along with them or whether I’m going to stab them with a teaspoon, y’know. “
Eddie sat again.
“The fact that I haven’t formed an opinion about her yet spells trouble. To me, it means she’s hiding something. Whether or not that’s a bad thing” —he shrugged— “I don’t know.”
“Thanks,” Eddie said, shuffling towards the desk edge again.
“And I’ll tell you something else, too. The way they got rid of Jeffery Walker was very underhand. He wasn’t an outstanding piece of work by any means, but he was honest and reliable, and I trusted him. He made good decisions.”
Eddie stared at him, and the smile that tried to rupture his straight face barely made a show before he throttled it. He loved how Sid ranted, appreciated his unbiased appraisals, but found his delivery – a constant barrage of words with no pause for breath or consideration – very funny.
“He’d done nothing to deserve such treatment. I mean, imagine how he feels, having given his best to MCU for eight years only to be shunted back off to division with his tail between his legs to do some made-up job collating stats. He must find it bewildering and embarrassing. Not to mention how angry he must feel at being ousted by a DS from Nottingham! I mean, no selection process, no interview? What’s all that about?”
The doors banged. Both men looked around to see Troy standing there in his own little cloud of bad mood; his eyebrows turned his eyes into slits, and Eddie was sure there was a little sneer as his top lip quivered.
Sid resumed his typing and at last Eddie stood. He faced Troy. “You okay?”
Troy nodded. “If you’ve nothing for me to do, can I go home? Please?”
Eddie glanced at the clock on the wall, and decided he wasn’t going to give someone half a day off because he felt a bit low. “No. You can come with me.”
Troy’s shoulders slumped further. “Where?”
“Grab your coat and your van keys, and you’ll find out. It’ll be a surprise. Oh look, you’ve already got your coat.” Eddie clapped his hands. “Think of the fun we’ll have!”
* * *
“Wow, you’re a little ray of pitch black, aren’t you?” Eddie was deafened by the silence on the way, but he felt comfortable with it; if the kid was too depressed or too angry to create conversation, then fine, fuck him. “Park here. Then get suited up.”
“I thought you’d sorted this last night.”
“Still work to do. I want some fingerprinting doing.”
“They’ll have worn glove
s. What’s the point?”
Eddie thought about it for a moment. “You’re right. Let’s go to Starbucks.”
Troy looked at him. “Really?”
“No. Not fucking really. Get a suit on.” Eddie slammed the van door and walked up to the tape.
The Police Community Support Officer on the cordon met Eddie. “You going in?”
Eddie pinched the bridge of his nose, and then smiled. “No,” he said, “we can do the fingerprinting from out here.”
“Sarky bastard. What’s your numbers?”
“I’m B72, and if you just write ‘Knobhead’ for him.” Eddie nodded over his shoulder as Troy’s arms bulged with suits and overshoes. “Everyone will know who you mean.”
The PCSO blinked, unimpressed.
“I’m B16,” Troy muttered.
“Well it would be, wouldn’t it,” Eddie growled. “BIG. Did you choose it yourself?”
Troy shook his head and the PCSO lifted the tape for them to duck beneath.
Eddie walked up the driveway, following Troy. “Is it open?” he shouted back at the PCSO.
“No,” said the PCSO. “But if you turn the handle and push, that usually works.”
“Touché!” Eddie half-smiled and resumed his walk up the driveway. “Smart bastard.”
Outside the porch was a scene tent, like a small marquee, held in place by weights dropped onto its feet to stop the wind pulling it down the driveway. It was a place to get changed in, it was a place to handle the exhibits, and it’s where they had reversed the private ambulance last night so they could load the body without the indignity of being spied on by press or public.
Troy dropped the suits and overshoes onto a small trestle table, and Eddie unshouldered the kit and the camera. In silence they suited up, and Eddie was relieved that the kid didn’t make fun of him getting into the suit. In fact, he was silent.
For a moment Eddie was undecided whether he liked this new, quiet, Troy better than the old loud one. He was also unsure whether he was responsible for the kid’s bad mood. He thought about it for a second or two and then dismissed it with a shake of the head.
“How long we going to be doing this shit for?” Troy asked.
Eddie considered this. “Well, let’s see. They’ve just increased the retirement age to sixty-fucking-seven. But by the time we reach our sixties, they’ll have moved the goalposts to the seventies. Pretty soon we’ll have commodes for office chairs so we won’t need to get up to take a piss, and they’ll have to expand the disabled parking outside the front door—”
The Death of Jessica Ripley Page 13