Jessica hadn’t been in the town for long but it was already beginning to get to her. The noise… the lights. She lived in a quiet, generally secluded area of Manchester where the only thing she had to keep an eye on was the odd bout of curtain-twitching from the neighbours. There would be areas of Blackpool like that, too – but not here. She thought of Bex. The girl Jessica knew wouldn’t have been happy here with the relentless chatter and over-the-top feast of twinkling bulbs. Would she really have come here to get away from Jessica?
After a few more minutes, Jessica stood and continued walking in the direction of her car. She wasn’t sure what it was about Peter that had got under her skin – for the most part, his questions had been reasonable – so perhaps it was her that was the problem. His sister had disappeared and she was the one who’d called him. The fact he was a little awkward was neither here nor there. Loads of people were. When Jessica had first started seeing Adam, he could barely string a sentence together if he was talking to a female. By the end, he was Mr Confident.
Adam.
Another person no longer with her.
Before Jessica knew it, she was back at her car. She scrabbled into her inner pocket and took out the key, unlocking the door, ready to leave. She knew it was time but couldn’t force herself to get into the vehicle, instead staring across the road towards the phone box. There were two missing girls – both a similar age, both gone for the same period of time, both with some sort of connection to that phone kiosk.
It really was quite the coincidence.
Four
Jessica continued to stare at the phone booth from across the street. A friend of Bex’s natural mother had told her that he might have seen Bex in Blackpool. He was a drug dealer and hazy about his own whereabouts, so hardly a reliable witness – but that and the phone call left a double link to this place. Peter said that Blackpool was a hotbed for people disappearing, something Jessica loosely remembered from the vagaries of police training days. Lots of people who didn’t want to be found ended up at the resort because of the apparent ease in getting cash-in-hand jobs and the ability to evaporate among the throng of tourists. Many seaside towns were like that and Blackpool was bigger than most.
With all the time in lieu she was owed from work, Jessica had planned to visit the area, have a poke around and then return home. Ideally that would have been with Bex, but that now seemed unlikely, if it had ever been anything else. Now, Jessica wondered if she should stay for a day and ask some questions. Go door to door a street or two over if necessary. It was better than sitting in her empty house by herself.
The five hotels across the road from the phone box each displayed varying degrees of grunge. The one on the far end – Saint Andrew’s – was boarded up, with big banners pinned over the old vacancies board, telling would-be tourists it was ‘out of bounds’ and a ‘toxic health hazard’, which sounded welcoming. Given that, Jessica immediately ruled out the Seaview Pleasance next door, figuring toxic health hazards could probably spread further than the single wall between them.
That left her with the Prince Hotel, the Sunshine Resort, or Excalibur. There was little between them outwardly, each showcasing a typically British sense of outdatedness. Each offered ‘colour TV’s’ – including a dodgy apostrophe; and en-suites – or an ‘on-suite’ at the Excalibur. The colour TV advertisement was something Jessica had spotted on the outside of guest houses up and down the prom, a particularly bizarre boast in the twenty-first century given that black and white had gone out of fashion before Jessica was born. The trio of hotels had matching sepia awnings with strips of crusted, peeling paint; chipped window frames; faded welcome signs – and a general air that they belonged to another time.
Jessica peered back towards the centre of the resort. There had definitely been nicer B&Bs that way, but there was something about this spot, close to the phone booth. Bex had been here, so perhaps she’d been staying in one of these fleapit rooms?
In the end, it was the Prince Hotel’s ‘full English Breakfast’ that swung it for Jessica. The Prince was also connected to the café she’d seen earlier, offering a glimmer of hope – nothing more – that the food would be edible. Gastroenteritis might be the all-new Hollywood diet but she didn’t fancy trying it herself.
Jessica moved her car onto the car park at the front of hotel. The five hotels shared the stretch of crumbling tarmac, with room for hundreds of vehicles, though Jessica had fingers to spare when counting the number of parked cars. Admittedly, the train station wasn’t far away, but she doubted the hotels were anything close to full.
The Prince’s front door was stuck in its frame, but Jessica shouldered it open and stumbled into a musty reception area. The ‘WE COME’ mat was well-worn, but the strangest thing was the carpet on the lower half of the walls. It matched what was on the floor, creating an illusion whereby Jessica wasn’t quite sure where she should be walking.
A sudden movement to her left made her take a half-step backwards. There was a young man behind a counter tugging out his earphones, wide-eyed with surprise that someone had entered.
‘Welcome to the Prince,’ he said, failing to hide the headphone cord as he tucked it into his top. He was nineteen or twenty, lean, with spiky hair, sporting a weariness that told her he was only doing this until he could get a better job.
Jessica returned the smile. ‘Hi, Brandon. How much is it for a night?’
He was momentarily confused until he realised Jessica had read the name from the badge pinned to his lapel. ‘It’s forty-five – but I can knock a fiver off for cash. There’s also a ten-pound deposit for the minibar, but you get that back when you leave.’
Sounded about right.
Jessica peered around the reception area. It wasn’t great, but she’d stayed in worse places. Well, she probably had. She couldn’t see any immediate sign of bugs or dirt. The brochure would read something like ‘quaint’, which was code for ‘medieval’. She could try the other guesthouses adjoining the car park, but they might end up being worse than this. She slipped out her purse and found a pair of twenty-pound notes plus two fivers, holding them a little out of Brandon’s reach.
‘Does that include breakfast?’ she asked.
He nodded towards the door behind her that she had assumed was a cupboard. ‘You can get into the café through there. We share the dining room with Hotel Excalibur next door, plus it’s open to the general public. Just give your room number to the person at the counter and they’ll tick you off. They open at six.’
She passed him the money. ‘I definitely won’t be up at six.’
He grinned – perhaps winked, or maybe it was an innocent twitch. ‘I didn’t even know there was a six in the morning,’ he replied.
‘Not a morning person?’
He snorted as the till under the counter dinged open: ‘You could say that.’
Brandon disappeared through a door behind the counter, returning moments later with a key attached to a large fob with ‘7’ etched into the plastic. He took her details, tapping them into the computer on the counter, and then passed across the key.
‘You’re on floor two,’ he said, nodding towards the stairs.
She held it up: ‘Room seven?’
‘What gave it away?’
‘It’s not often you get a real key nowadays, it’s usually those stupid card things that never work, then you’re up and down the lifts trying to get someone at reception to re-scan it.’ Jessica weighed it in her hand. It was heavy. ‘Good key,’ she added. ‘Very good key.’
The smile crept back onto his face. ‘Thank you, I’ll take that as a personal compliment.’
Jessica took a step towards the stairs and then stopped herself. Brandon sounded local and seemed friendly – or bored – enough to talk to her. She turned back to him. ‘Does room seven face the ocean?’ she asked as if it didn’t bother her.
‘Is it an ocean?’
Jessica puffed her lips together, thinking. ‘I guess so. Isn’t it all
the same? The water just sort of flows into one big puddle? We do live on an island, after all.’
He nodded. ‘Well, ocean, sea or puddle – you can definitely see it from your room.’
She waited for him to reach for his earphones but he didn’t, instead continuing to offer a flirty half-smile. He was half her age... but somewhere close to Bex’s.
Jessica moved back to the counter, nodding in the general direction of the town centre. ‘What’s there to do around here?’
He shrugged, pursing his lips, seeming very teenagery. ‘Aww… y’know… pubs, clubs. Depends what you’re into.’
There was a twinkle in his eye and she was pretty sure he was flirting with her, though there was every chance this was how he was with all women. Jessica thought about playing along but… half her age and all that. Besides, she really wasn’t in the mood. She took out her phone and found the photograph of Bex offering the thumbs-up, flipping it around for Brandon to see. ‘I’m looking for my friend. She was definitely in the area recently, perhaps only a couple of days ago.’
He squinted as he leaned in and then reached to take the phone. She allowed him, watching as he tilted the device to have a proper look. Some people, perhaps most, would only give a cursory glance before shaking their head, but he was really studying the image.
‘What do you mean by “in the area”?’ he asked, glancing at Jessica.
‘Around Blackpool.’
He peered back to the screen. ‘Like out and about in clubs, or specifically around South Shore?’
‘I don’t know.’
Brandon handed back the phone, pouting his bottom lip. ‘There are always pale girls out and about, but I don’t think I recognise her. Sorry.’
‘Is there any chance she could have been staying around this area?’
‘Not that I’ve seen. I’d have probably remembered her. I’ve been off for a few days and this is my first shift back. I can ask around if you want?’
Jessica shook her head, wanting to have a snoop around the area herself. If somebody did know something, there was no point in allowing them to be tipped off before she got to them.
‘I’m new anyway,’ Brandon added. ‘I’ve only been working here two and a bit weeks in the afternoons and evenings.’
‘Are you from around here?’
‘More or less. I spent the summer working on the crazy golf course, but that’s only seasonal.’ He shrugged. ‘Y’know what it’s like – it’s packed when the sun’s out. Not so much at the moment.’
Jessica did her best to appear breezy, not wanting to sound too nosy. ‘Who’s going to be here in the morning?’
‘Probably Luke – he owns this place, the café and the Excalibur. Maybe the other hotels, too. I’m not completely sure. Sometimes his wife’s about, then there are cleaners and kitchen staff. They’ve all gone home by this time of day.’ He stifled a yawn, as if it was first thing in the morning. ‘Sorry…’
‘You by yourself?’
Another shrug – and a definite wink this time: ‘I keep busy.’
Jessica wasn’t sure exactly what that meant, hoping he was referring to his music. She matched his smile and moved towards the stairs. She didn’t have any luggage but couldn’t be bothered going to the nearby Tesco Express she’d spotted for essentials. She’d get by this evening and then try to have a chat with the hotel owner in the morning. She had one foot on the bottom step when the cough came from behind her.
Brandon was watching her and, as she turned, he flicked his eyebrows up, letting her know she had his attention.
‘Everything all right?’ she asked.
‘I was, er, wondering if you wanted a drink or something later?’ He tugged on his collar.
‘I think you’re probably a bit young for me.’
‘Oh, right… I mean, I don’t mind if—’
‘Thanks for the offer.’
‘Right…’
Before either of them could become embarrassed any further, Jessica padded up the steps, rounding the banisters and continuing until she was on the second floor.
Room seven was more or less as she’d have guessed. There was a big-backed dinosaur of a television on a scratched dresser, no phone, tired-looking wallpaper and furnishings, plus a thin crust of dust on top of the plastic light switch. She turned the lights on and then off again before locking the door, leaving the key in the slot.
The large window at the front of the room overlooked the ocean/sea/puddle. She dragged across an armchair that was far heavier than it appeared and then sat in the dark, watching the phone booth. From her location, Jessica had a perfect view of the seafront – if she’d been here a couple of days before, she’d have seen Bex at the kiosk, making the call underneath the street light and CCTV camera.
It wasn’t long before a cacophony of yawns ripped through Jessica, leaving her cheeks brushed with tears, her lids heavy. She closed her eyes, thinking about how comfortable the chair was, especially given the slightly stale smell…
Jessica jumped awake as her head slipped along the curve of the chair’s headrest and flopped to the side. She narrowly caught herself before falling from the seat entirely, blinking, yawning, wondering what was going on. The street outside was deserted, the phone booth apparently untouched. The only difference was that the tide had finished coming in and was lapping at the bottom of the sea wall, out of sight from Jessica’s viewpoint.
She yawned again, spinning to peer through the dark at the green digits on the alarm clock. It was a few minutes after ten o’clock and a chill was creeping around the edges of the window frame, making her shiver. Jessica fumbled her way around the walls until she found the light switch. The bulb hummed and fizzed before spewing a dim yellow haze. Still yawning, she had a proper look around the room. There was a second chair underneath a table, which had a Best of Blackpool hardback on top. Or Blackpoo, given the ‘l’ had been scraped away by a comic genius. Jessica checked the back, noting the 2001 publication date. She wasn’t sure too much had changed in the years since.
She sat on the bed, bouncing up and down as the springs squeaked in annoyance. She hated soft mattresses. There was a print pinned on the wall above the bed, showing an unidentified field with a hay bale in the middle. Aside from that, there wasn’t much to look at.
Jessica tried the wardrobe – empty; the dressing table drawers – empty; and then a small cupboard next to the bed. Except that it wasn’t a cupboard – it was a minibar cunningly disguised as a cupboard. She’d already forgotten about the deposit she’d paid but was at the seaside by herself. What else was there to do? Jessica fished out the micro vodka and whisky bottles, arranging them on the dresser in order of alcoholic percentage.
Best start low and work her way up.
As she relaxed back in front of the window, she unscrewed bottle number one and took a sniff.
‘Cheers,’ she said to the empty room, raising the plastic bottle and then downing it in one.
Five
Now
DCI Fordham picked up the Best of Blackpoo book and sat in the chair facing the window. He peered down towards the seafront – and the phone booth – and then twisted to face Jessica, pointing towards the front cover of the book. ‘Seen many of the attractions?’
Jessica was standing next to the bed, struggling with the news that Peter was dead. She’d thought he was a bit strange but now wondered what might have happened if she’d continued her evening with him. Maybe he’d be alive?
‘I only got here yesterday,’ Jessica replied.
‘Right… so you said.’ Fordham opened the book and flipped randomly to a page, holding it up for her to see. ‘Do they really need to tell you to see the tower? You can hardly bloody miss it.’
Jessica wasn’t really listening. ‘How did Peter die?’
Fordham snapped the cover closed with a dusty snap, dropping it onto his lap. ‘I want to make sure there’s no confusion here. The last time you saw Peter Salisbury was close to the Central Pier? You�
��d been talking about your missing friend and his missing sister, and then you came here and checked into a room?’
‘Right.’
‘And that was about six o’clock?’
‘Sometime around then. I wasn’t paying attention.’
Jessica knew how vague she was being – this was exactly what she hated when she was interviewing a potential witness. It was funny how things sounded when on the other side. She wasn’t trying to be obstructive, she simply didn’t know.
Fordham’s gaze again flickered towards the bin and the discarded alcohol bottles. He was drumming his fingers on the book. ‘Peter’s body was found on some rocks close to the beach in the early hours of the morning. By the looks of things, he was stabbed repeatedly in the neck. There would have been a significant amount of blood. His wallet, driving licence and your business card were the only things on him.’
It took Jessica a few seconds to take it in. Peter hadn’t simply died – there were no natural causes involved, no accidental fall. He’d been murdered.
‘I only met him yesterday,’ she whispered.
‘So you said.’
‘That’s why he had my card. I’d given it to him in the evening.’
She paused, weighing up Fordham and wondering if she should push her luck. Police officers often had an unspoken bond of knowing how one another felt. Not always, of course. Some were officious bell-ends, driven by ego and power. She wondered if Fordham was like her, willing to give someone a break.
Silent Suspect: A completely gripping crime thriller with edge-of-your-seat suspense (Detective Jessica Daniel thriller series Book 13) Page 3