‘One for later,’ she told Jessica.
They moved into the alley that ran along the side of the shop, remaining in single file and sticking to the shade. Fran was at the front, Jessica in the middle, with soft appreciative munches coming from Alison at the back.
The mini supermarket faced a wide road that Jessica didn’t recognise. There were shops on either side, but not the types found closer to the town centre. These were more orientated towards local residents – a hairdresser, florist and hardware store, with a pub at the far end. It was similar to the rank that was within walking distance of Jessica’s house in Manchester, probably within walking distance of most people’s houses.
Other than the faint sound of music coming from the pub, the area was quiet. The shops were closed, but there were no shutters.
‘He’s been spotted cruising around here before,’ Fran said after a minute or so of waiting in position. She didn’t look over her shoulder.
A few cars did pass, but none of them slowed. If anything, they sped up, trying to beat the traffic lights next to the pub. Fran shuffled closer to the wall, allowing Jessica to move alongside her as she nodded towards a bus stop that had been out of view. A bright white street light blazed above, with one lone woman sitting on the bench below. She was wearing a short purple dress with a dark jacket over the top, heels tapping on the pavement as she jabbed at her phone.
‘Do you know her?’ Jessica asked.
‘No. She probably works at one of the casinos if she’s dressed like that.’
They continued watching in silence. A couple of times, the woman peered up, glancing from side to side, perhaps sensing she was being observed. Each time, she returned to her phone.
‘Ally,’ Fran said, nudging Jessica’s arm and nodding towards the lights. A dark blue BMW had crossed the junction and was heading towards them on the other side of the road.
Alison squidged in between Jessica and Fran, barely taking up any space. Her thumb had been in her mouth again but she removed it with a soft plop and whispered a solemn: ‘That’s him.’
Jessica found herself holding her breath as the car slowed. It passed them but the driver was looking the other way. As it reached the bus stop, the driver stopped directly under the street light. They couldn’t hear the individual words, but the passenger side window was down and the driver said something to the woman in the purple dress. Jessica stepped out of the shadow to get a closer look at the driver. Fran was tugging her backwards but Jessica was undeterred, shrugging herself free and edging a few paces along the street. She stared at the car, the overhead street light giving her a near perfect view of the driver.
The woman at the bus stop peered up from her phone, pulling her jacket tighter as she shook her head. The driver said something else and she replied with a frown and something Jessica couldn’t hear. Instantly, the car’s engine growled and the BMW zoomed away, disappearing around the bend, out of sight.
‘Hey.’ Jessica felt a hand on her shoulder, turning to see Fran’s face screwed up with concern. She’d drifted far further along the pavement than she’d realised, twenty or thirty metres from the safety of the shadows. ‘What’s going on?’ Fran added.
‘It’s the driver.’
‘What about him?’
‘He’s the man I apparently killed,’ Jessica replied. ‘He told me his name was Peter Salisbury.’
Thirty
Fran stared at Jessica for a few moments, lips tight. ‘Come on,’ she said, pulling Jessica’s arm and leading her back towards the alley that ran along the side of the mini supermarket. Alison was still there, pressed into the shadows, eyeing Jessica carefully.
‘Are you sure you got a proper look at the driver?’ Fran asked.
‘It’s him. We walked along the prom and he told me about a missing sister. He said his name was Peter, but it was all a bit weird. When the police showed me a photograph of the dead guy and said it was Peter Salisbury, I assumed it was the same person. They looked similar – stubble and dark hair – but I’d only met him once. I didn’t think I’d know him – but it’s the shape of his face. Perhaps the way the light catches it, I don’t know. He was definitely the driver.’
Fran seemed lost for words, which was something of a first. Alison had no idea what was going on. She stood close by, listening but adding nothing.
‘So who’s Peter Salisbury?’ Fran asked. ‘Is he the dead guy or the driver?’
Jessica shook her head slowly, trying to remember everything she’d been told. ‘Peter’s father identified the body.’
‘So Peter is the dead guy – and this bloke, the driver, gave you Peter’s name to confuse you?’
That was the easy explanation, that some stranger – the man driving the car – had used Peter’s identity when Jessica phoned the number on the poster. At some point after they’d gone their separate ways, he’d killed the actual Peter and then dumped the body. Jessica’s number was still the most recent on Peter’s phone, which is why DCI Fordham had knocked on her hotel room door. It made sense in a warped not-making-sense kind of way, largely because Jessica had no idea who the driver was. He must be someone with a grudge, or a reason to target her, but she’d never met him before that evening on the promenade.
Except that the easy explanation felt wrong.
It took Jessica a second or two to clock why, but then she knew. ‘That driver is Peter Salisbury,’ she said. ‘The body must be someone else who looks similar. There was a wallet on the body with Peter’s name, so they had no reason to assume it was anyone else. His dad then identified the body, so that was that. Things like blood work and DNA tests are expensive. It’d only be done if there were doubt over an identity. There would have been a post-mortem, but unless there was anything out of the ordinary, there’s no reason it would have been picked up on.’
‘Out of the ordinary how?’ Fran asked.
‘Say Peter had his appendix removed when he was a kid, but the dead body still had his; or if Peter was six foot and the body was five eight. That sort of thing. From what Fordham said, the cause of death was clear and they had a positive ID. If they were both men of a similar age, height, build and so on, it could easily happen. They wouldn’t even have to be exact, just similar. I’m not saying these things are rushed…’ she tailed off and then added, ‘well, maybe I am. This is a busy town. There’s no point in messing around with lengthy investigations when it’s all on a plate. We’re always so conscious of the budget.’ Jessica stopped herself again, mind buzzing. ‘Everyone thinks Peter’s dead but he must have been keeping his head down.’
Fran didn’t seem convinced: ‘How do you know that’s him?’
Jessica was about to answer when a bus passed, its engine grumbling noisily. It pulled up at the bus stop on the other side of the road and the woman in the purple dress climbed aboard before the bus growled its way towards the traffic lights and disappeared.
Jessica watched it go, assuring herself she was right. ‘Peter’s dad,’ she said. ‘He’s called Greg. They have the same eyes. If you saw them, you’d know.’
‘Why would his father identify someone else’s body as his son’s?’
‘Insurance?’ Alison jumped in for the first time, peering from Fran to Jessica. As soon as she’d spoken, she seemed embarrassed by it and lowered her tone as she added: ‘I mean some people have life insurance, don’t they? Maybe he’ll get a load of money?’
Fran touched her upper arm, smiling and whispering: ‘Good thinking, honey.’ She turned back to Jessica and shrugged, asking silently what Jessica thought.
Jessica didn’t want to say ‘no’ but she doubted it. ‘Perhaps insurance and something else?’ she said. It wouldn’t be the first time someone had faked their own death to cash in, and then lived out their days as someone else until they were either caught or kicked the bucket for real. This didn’t feel like that, because, if it was, why bring Jessica into it? The poster had been left on the phone booth on purpose. Faking death wasn’t exact
ly simple – but it was easier than what had happened.
Fran sensed the confusion, remaining quiet until she couldn’t stand it any longer. ‘If that was Peter driving the car, then who’s the dead body?’
Jessica shook her head. ‘I have no idea.’
That wasn’t the only question to which she had no answer, though one thing was perhaps explaining itself. Peter was a regular at the Honky Tonk diner and Sophie Johns had a thing for him. If he was alive, perhaps he’d convinced – or forced Sophie – to call Jessica on the night she vanished. After all, there was no way he’d ever be a suspect in her disappearance, given that he was supposed to be dead.
Jessica’s head was throbbing from trying to figure everything out.
‘Are you going to tell… y’know… your lot?’ Fran said. She sounded concerned, though it was hard to know whether that was for Jessica’s welfare, or the fate of her girls.
Things were moving too quickly, Jessica’s thoughts colliding with her principles. She was scared. She could lose everything and she would be putting her faith and fate in the hands of other people.
‘If I tip off Fordham and co., I’ll have to hand myself in. Maybe they’ll believe me, maybe not – but unless they find Peter himself, it won’t make much difference.’
Fran started to say something but then stopped herself. She gasped, peering past Jessica to the lights. On the far side of the junction, the BMW had reappeared. It had stopped, ready to head back their way, this time on their side of the road. It was the only vehicle in sight, illuminated a murky purple because of the glowing red traffic light.
‘What do you want to do?’ Fran hissed.
Jessica was usually so calm, if not outwardly then inwardly. She brimmed with ideas and generally thought a step or two ahead of those around her. As the traffic light colour changed to red with amber, she felt frozen. All she thought was to get the number plate, though she knew it would likely do little. If Peter was driving around, trying to encourage girls into his car, someone would eventually notice and call the police. They would probably be fake plates, or a stolen car. If not that, then the car would be hidden somewhere it was unlikely to be found. It might be a lead, but it wouldn’t help her in the small time frame she had.
As she flailed, there was a glance between Fran and Alison and then it was too late. Jessica said ‘no’, but Alison had already dashed past her, almost skipping onto the kerbside underneath a nearby street light. Fran yanked Jessica’s arm, pulling her into the darkest shadows, well out of sight of the road. Part of Jessica wanted to fight, to say this wasn’t what she wanted, but the decision had already been made for her.
The BMW was barely twenty metres away when it rumbled to a halt underneath the street light. The passenger window hummed down and Alison crouched, resting on the paintwork.
‘What you up to?’ a man’s voice asked. Jessica’s view of the driver was blocked by Alison’s slender frame.
‘Not much. You?’ Alison sounded so young, so vulnerable. Jessica wanted to pull her away to safety.
Fran sensed the movement and gripped Jessica’s hand, whispering: ‘She’s fine.’
In front of them, the driver laughed quietly: ‘I’m not up to much, either. You want a ride?’
‘What for?’
‘Y’know… see the sights. You local?’
‘Sort of.’
The engine snarled as the man revved it. ‘You getting in then?’
Alison opened the door and stepped backwards to swing it open. It was only a fraction of a second, but Jessica had a clear view of the driver. He had the same stubble, the same short hair. He smiled, leering towards Alison as she shuffled into the passenger seat and then Jessica knew with complete certainty that he was the man she’d met on the promenade.
Peter Salisbury was alive – and he’d just picked up a young girl from the street and driven off with her in his car.
Thirty-One
It wasn’t until the car was around the bend and out of sight that Jessica finally breathed out. Fran let go of her hand and then started walking towards the yard at the back of the mini supermarket. Jessica could do nothing other than follow as Fran retrieved the carrier bag of out-of-date food from the large bin. She headed to the wall, waiting for Jessica and the boost-up needed to get over.
‘Where are we going?’ Jessica asked. She felt as if she had just woken up, not quite able to understand what was going on.
‘Where do you think?’ Fran replied. ‘Back to the Shanty.’ She put the bag on the floor and cupped her hands, ready to push Jessica up and over the wall.
‘What about Alison?’ Jessica asked.
‘She can look after herself. There’s not much we can do – it’s not like we can follow her. She’s smart, resourceful. Don’t be fooled because she sucks her thumb.’
‘I wasn’t…’ Jessica had made assumptions, but that wasn’t the point. She didn’t know how to express herself without making it sound patronising. ‘How do you know she’ll be all right?’
‘Because she’s not the first girl who’s got into a car with a man. She knew what she was doing.’
Jessica batted away Fran’s hands and cupped her own, ready to hoist the other woman up first. ‘But why did she go?’
‘Because you’re one of us and we look out for each other. Ally will try to find out who he is, where he’s staying, that sort of thing. Trust her.’
She stepped into Jessica’s palms and, as she was hoisted up, Fran grabbed the top of the wall and pulled until she was sitting astride it. She took the carrier bag of food and then helped Jessica up before they started the walk back to the Shanty.
The house was even quieter than usual when Jessica and Fran arrived. Fran headed straight through to the kitchen and clicked the kettle on. She made them both cups of tea and then showed Jessica into the living room. There was no sign of Ruth or her book, but Ellie was cross-legged on the beanbags, using a pair of pliers to poke at the wiring sticking out of a blanket. Her black hair was held in place by a brown bandana. She had been alone in the room but smiled up at Fran, who sat next to her. Jessica took a spot close by, still uncomfortable at what had happened that evening.
Fran handed Ellie one of the cookies they’d rescued from the bin. ‘Present,’ she said.
Ellie’s eyes sparkled as she put the pliers down and took the biscuit. She bit into it with a grin and then turned to Jessica. ‘Have you had any luck finding your friend?’ she asked.
‘No.’
‘I’m sure she’ll show up.’
Jessica returned her smile but struggled to find much enthusiasm. Until she knew Alison was safe – if she was safe – she’d be unable to rest.
‘Whatcha up to, sweetie?’ Fran asked.
Ellie had quickly devoured more than half the cookie. She whirled her hand in front of her mouth as she chewed. ‘I found an electric blanket in a skip on North Shore. They’re cleaning out a block of flats and there’s all sorts out there. I might ask if someone wants to come with me tomorrow to see if there’s anything else. I’m trying to get it to work.’ Ellie picked up the blanket and pointed to a rigid spot around the edge. ‘The wiring’s gone. I had some spare in my toolbox, so hopefully it’ll be okay now.’ She handed it to Fran. ‘Want to try it?’
‘Is it going to blow up on me?’
They grinned at one another and then Ellie winked. ‘Darn! You figured out my grand plan.’ She finished the cookie and then picked the blanket up and crossed to the bank of sockets on the other side of the room. She unplugged one of the phone chargers and then pushed in the plug from the blanket. ‘Ready?’ she asked.
‘Go on,’ Fran replied.
Ellie flicked the switch on the cable and then reared back as if it had exploded. She giggled and then waited a few moments before pressing her hand to the area closest to the cabling.
‘It’s warm,’ she said, smile spreading.
‘Warm as in “this might set the house on fire”, or warm as in “nice and toasty”
?’
Ellie pressed the switch to turn it off. ‘Toasty.’
Fran applauded quietly. ‘Brilliant. What are you going to do with it?’
‘Mel was saying she felt cold last night. I’ll see if she wants it.’
Fran pushed herself up and held her arm out. Ellie wedged herself in for a cuddle and then stifled a yawn. ‘I’m going to bed,’ she said.
‘We’ll be up in a bit, hon. Night.’
Ellie nodded towards Jessica and then folded the blanket under her arm before heading for the stairs. There were a couple of creaks and then the house was silent – eerily so considering there were anything up to a dozen people sleeping on the floor above.
Fran lowered herself back onto the beanbag next to Jessica. ‘Quite a lot of the girls either go to bed early, or they stay out,’ she said. ‘One or two like a drink, but they don’t bring it back here. We don’t exactly have a curfew, but nobody wants to be the person who wakes everyone else up. You tired?’
‘Not yet.’
Fran offered the same knowing smile that she had done many times before: ‘Ally will be fine.’
‘I’d still rather wait.’
‘Do you read? We’ve got a small library in the cupboard under the stairs – things we’ve found around and about.’
Jessica yawned, not bothering to hide it, and then shook her head. ‘I think my mind needs some time to figure everything out.’
There was one cookie left in the packet and Fran snapped it in half, passing one part to Jessica. ‘Eat,’ she said.
She hadn’t been hungry, but the moment Jessica took a bite, her stomach growled. She always lost track of mealtimes when she was stressed – and this was as serious as it got.
It wasn’t until she brushed her pocket that she remembered how much cash she had on her. The women of the Shanty were busy digging around in skips and bins for food and warmth – and she could have kitted out the house.
‘You can ask me,’ Fran said out of the blue. She was finally taking off her deerstalker, allowing her hair to hang freely. It really was white, but not the type that might be seen on someone who had aged. It glowed healthily, astoundingly. It was no wonder she covered her head when they were outside – she’d be easily remembered otherwise.
Silent Suspect: A completely gripping crime thriller with edge-of-your-seat suspense (Detective Jessica Daniel thriller series Book 13) Page 18