‘Happy?’ Fordham asked, turning back to Jessica.
‘I’ve been happier.’
He nodded towards the bars. ‘You enjoy being behind them?’
‘Not really.’
‘What happened to you? You knew we were looking for you.’
‘Were you? That’s the first I’ve heard of it.’
His features didn’t crack. ‘Where have you been for the past two days?’
‘I found a comfier hotel room and had a really long sleep.’
Fordham rolled his eyes, realising the answer he wanted wasn’t coming anytime soon. He held up his thumb and index finger, barely a centimetre apart. ‘You were this close.’
‘To what?’
‘To being buried. We had the press release ready for tomorrow and then a young woman named Rebecca walked into the station with a very interesting story to tell. Given everything that’s happening here, wasn’t that impeccable timing?’
‘You were a little late, actually. There was an auction. People left, they—’
‘We got them.’
‘Oh.’ Jessica hadn’t expected that.
‘Roadblock on the way out of here. Only one route into this place, one route out. It’s going to be a busy few days processing everyone.’
‘Right.’
He pointed up at the ceiling. ‘One of the things I don’t get – one of the many things – is what happened to the lights.’
Jessica deadpanned him. She could explain that he was Plan A and that Ellie with the lights was Plan B. She could even have told him about the incredible Plan C she’d come up with that would never come to fruition. Plan D was an absolute belter. None of that really mattered.
‘I have no idea,’ she said.
Fordham rolled his eyes again. ‘You and me really need to have a chat.’
Jessica rattled the bars. ‘Reckon you can get us out of here first?’
Forty-Four
Two days later, Jessica was back in Blackpool, sitting on a bench a little off the promenade. The weather had taken a turn for the even colder, but at least she had her own jeans, jacket and boots to try to keep it out. The sea was blasting into the sea wall below, each crash a clap of thunder. Off to her side, a pair of seagulls were battling it out over a discarded kebab, squawking noisily at one another. Jessica reasoned that they were probably trying to palm off the grim lettuce-like stuff. Nobody liked that.
‘Don’t say I never buy you anything.’
DCI Fordham dropped onto the bench next to Jessica and handed her a grease-soaked white paper parcel.
‘What is it?’ Jessica asked.
‘Fish and chips. What do you think?’
‘Salt and vinegar?’
‘Obviously – I’m not a maniac.’
‘Gravy?’
‘On a bench without cutlery?’
‘Fair enough.’ Jessica unpacked the paper and breathed in the wonderfully bitter vinegar. She preferred Manchester as a place, but, bloody hell, they did good chips in Blackpool.
Fordham unwrapped his own and started to pick at the chips with his fingers. ‘You’ve left me a hell of a lot of work to do,’ he said.
‘Good. The next time they’re making redundancies, you can point out how busy you are. What have you got?’
‘It’s hard to know where to start. Murder and false imprisonment, probably. Then there’s people-trafficking, possession of weapons, assault, sexual assault, money-laundering, slavery. I’ve never seen one person charged with so many things. Even the CPS won’t be able to make a mess of this.’
‘I wouldn’t bet on that.’
‘No, well… we’ll see. I don’t think either of the Waverlys are going to feel the sun on their arms for a long time.’
Jessica frowned down at Fordham’s chips. ‘What are you doing?’
‘What?’
‘Eating them one by one. You’re supposed to squish them all together for maximum potatoage.’
‘That,’ he replied, ‘is not even a word – and I can eat my chips however I want.’
Jessica smushed three chips together until the potato bulged, and then bit the fluffy mass in half. ‘You’re doing it wrong,’ she said. ‘One day you’ll realise how much of your chip-eating life has been a waste.’
Fordham deliberately picked up a single chip, dangling it in front of her, and then ate it whole.
‘I saw that the Prince Hotel was closed for business,’ Jessica said.
‘That was yesterday’s job. We had so many places to raid that we had to bring officers in from the surrounding area. Cafés, hotels, building sites – all using people provided by Vince. Good job he keeps records. It’s no wonder the kids round here can’t find work.’
‘What about Henka and Jacek?’
‘Reunited with their families. I wish I’d been there but…’ He held a hand up in the air and yawned.
‘Too lazy?’ Jessica asked.
He guffawed. ‘Yeah, that. Anyway, we’ve picked up Peter Salisbury, but we’re yet to find his dad. Vince Waverly was a surprising interview. He knows we’ve got him nailed for all sorts and he’s not the honourable type – he decided he was taking everyone down with him. We’ve got chapter and verse on pretty much everyone associated with this whole thing.’
‘I wouldn’t have expected that.’
‘Me neither. He told his own solicitor to shut up twice.’
‘I’d have loved to have seen that.’
Jessica set to work on her slab of fish, starting by picking off the batter and eating that by itself.
‘That’s how you eat fish, is it?’ Fordham asked.
‘Everyone knows you start with the batter first. I don’t know why they bother with the fish – just sell battered batter.’
‘Heart disease?’
‘Nah – you’ve been brainwashed. What else is going on?’
Perhaps absent-mindedly, Fordham started to pick the batter from his fish. ‘We’ve got about a dozen translators in at the moment. We’ve got all those people from underneath the barn staying in hotels and we retrieved their passports. We’re trying to take statements, but they’ve been through a lot and it’s fair to say they don’t really trust us. For many of them, this is what Britain’s like. Can’t blame ’em, really. Hopefully we’ll get their stories and then I guess many of them will want to go home. I don’t know, really.’
‘What about Sophie Johns?’
‘I don’t know. We’ve been questioning Peter Salisbury, but he’s not saying much. There’s so much to do, it’ll all take time. This is one of the biggest operations in our history. It was all happening under our noses and we missed it.’
‘A lot of people missed it.’
‘True, but… oh, I don’t know.’ He sighed and then ate a chip, speaking with his mouth full: ‘At least we got him… them.’
Jessica had almost picked off all the batter, so she started on the fish. It was slimy from grease but delicious. She’d saved a few chips, too. A textbook job of eating fish and chips.
‘If I ask you something, can you promise not to take it the wrong way?’ she asked.
‘Go on then.’
‘I’m really not a complete egomaniac.’
‘People who start sentences with that usually go on to say something that proves they are an egomaniac.’
Jessica smiled. ‘Well, yes, I know. There’s loads going on, obviously, but… what about me?’
She felt embarrassed for asking. She was far from the most important person in all this, but she still had to know.
‘How do you mean?’ Fordham asked.
‘I’ve not heard anything officially. Am I free to go? Free to work? Everyone’s acting like it’s all sorted. I spoke to my mum on the phone and she was asking if I’m in trouble.’
‘Was that her first question?’
‘She did ask if I was all right.’
‘I spoke to your super,’ Fordham said. ‘Some bloke named Jenkinson. I told him you were instrumental in the arre
st of the Waverlys and in freeing those captives. That’s all I know. Unless anyone’s told you differently, nothing’s changed. You were never anything other than a person we wanted to help us with our inquiries.’
‘Ugh.’
‘What?’
‘I hate that phrase. It doesn’t mean anything.’
‘Quite – but the press office like it, so there we go.’
Jessica picked up a thicker piece of fish and tossed it sideways. The seagulls looked at her, looked at the fish, and then pounced on it.
‘That’s thirty quid,’ Fordham said.
‘What?’
‘Littering.’
‘I was feeding the seagulls.’
‘There’s probably some by-law about that, too.’ He chuckled to himself and then screwed up his nearly empty packet, before launching it at the bin. It rolled around the rim and then dropped in.
‘Why did you do it?’ Jessica asked.
‘Do what?’
She screwed up her own paper, suddenly not hungry. This was what it all came down to. ‘You know.’
‘Why didn’t we tell everyone you were a suspect? Why didn’t we just arrest you and keep you in? You know why. You’re one of us, Inspector. Like you said, things didn’t add up.’
‘It’s not right, though, is it? If I was anyone else, I’d have been in a cell. The Waverlys would still be operating. They only did all of that to try to draw Bex in – and they nearly succeeded.’
‘Worked out, didn’t it?’
‘Is that the point? I’ve seen special treatment in Manchester. I’ve seen how it ends.’
Fordham stood and flicked his coat-tails backwards. He loosened his tie and then put his hand in his pockets. He was smiling at her, but more with bemusement than anything else. ‘What would you prefer?’
Jessica thought of Chief Constable Graham Pomeroy and what he’d done to her, how he’d got away with it because of his position. How he’d done favours for his friends, knowing he was too powerful to be taken down. Was this the same?
She wiped her fingers on the paper and then crossed to the bin and put it inside. ‘I’ve got to go.’
‘Somewhere to be?’
‘Something like that.’
Fordham held out his hand and Jessica shook it. ‘I’m sure I’ll see you again,’ he said.
‘You can only hope.’
He winked at her and then turned to swagger off along the promenade.
Forty-Five
Jessica bounced up and down on the beanbag in the living room of the Shanty. ‘I could get used to one of these,’ she said.
Bex was sitting across from her on the hard floor, legs crossed. ‘You definitely couldn’t,’ she replied. ‘You like your sofa too much.’
‘That is true.’
Alison, Ellie and Fran were sitting with them, each with a mug of tea. In a list of everything that made the Shanty work, tea was probably at the top.
‘I’ve not told anyone about this place,’ Jessica assured them, motioning towards Fran. ‘I told them you were a friend and that’s why you were at the farm.’
Fran nodded. ‘I said the same – no lies there. Thank you.’
‘I should really be thanking you. I’m not entirely sure how this would have played out without your help.’
‘We look after our own.’
It was almost exactly what DCI Fordham had said to her, but Jessica somehow felt less sinister hearing it from Fran. She really didn’t know how to feel about it all. Did the end justify the means?
Fran must have sensed the moment of insecurity because she stood, tapping Ellie on the shoulder and signalling for them to give Jessica and Bex some privacy. The other women said their goodbyes and then disappeared off into the rest of the house.
Bex shuffled across until she was on the beanbag next to Jessica and then rested her head on her shoulder.
‘I’m sorry I couldn’t protect you,’ Jessica said, battling the lump in her throat.
‘I’m a grown-up.’
‘You were still living with me.’
‘How could either of us have predicted this?’
‘You should be proud of yourself,’ Jessica said. ‘Some very bad people are going to prison, and some others, who are entirely innocent, have got their lives back. You did this.’
Bex lifted her head from Jessica’s shoulder and leaned against the wall, eyes closed. ‘Max,’ she whispered.
Jessica gripped her hand but Bex pulled away, folding her arms across herself. Jessica didn’t want to ask precisely what he’d done to her. She could guess and perhaps Bex would tell her when she was ready.
‘I know some people you can talk to,’ Jessica said, but Bex shook her head.
Jessica still had no idea how Max knew where to find Bex. Perhaps the police would get it out of him, but, for now, it was a mystery. There was a chance he’d seen her walking around and followed her – Bex was distinctive – but Manchester was a big city.
Bex had registered for things like college in her own name with Jessica’s address, but it seemed unlikely Max would have been able to view those records. But, if not those methods, then how? Bex’s mother had recently come back into her life and there was a definite annoyance that Bex had chosen to stay with Jessica over her. Could she have a role? She had done horrific things to her daughter in the past but this would be taking it to another level. If Max wouldn’t tell the police, then it might remain a mystery.
Jessica nodded towards the door. ‘My car’s a couple of streets over if you’re ready to come home…?’
Bex straightened herself, unable to look at Jessica. Her body language gave the answer. ‘I was thinking about staying for a little while.’
‘Oh, right…’
‘I don’t mean—’
‘It’s okay, I get it.’
‘It’s just… I’m not sure where I call home any longer.’ She nodded towards the doorway, where Fran was standing, waggling an empty mug of tea towards them and asking the silent question. ‘I think it might be here,’ Bex added.
Jessica gulped back her disappointment. ‘I understand,’ she replied, knowing that, deep down, no matter how hard she tried, she really didn’t.
If reading Detective Jessica Daniel’s story had you completely gripped, why not try Something Wicked by Kerry Wilkinson. Investigator Andrew Hunter must find a missing teenager whose disappearance seems to be linked to a chilling case from the past… can he find him, before it’s too late?
Discover the unputdownable Andrew Hunter series today.
Something Wicked
Andrew Hunter Book 1
Your son walked out of the house one night. He never came back.
Nine months ago Elaine Carr’s only son, Nicholas, disappeared in the dark woods near his home. He hasn’t been seen since, and she’s falling apart.
Investigator Andrew Hunter suspects Nicholas is alive, but in grave danger. He wants to know how no one in the small town of Prestwich has any answers. Why the teenager’s girlfriend is so cagey, and to get a proper look at the tattoo on her wrist. And as he follows the trail of an unsettling clue found in the boy’s bedroom, he begins to wonder if Nicholas’s disappearance is connected to a chilling case buried in the past.
Can Andrew find Nicholas alive, or is he already too late to save him?
A gripping thriller full of shocking twists that will have you hooked! If you like L.J. Ross, Mark Edwards or Rachel Caine, you’ll love Something Wicked!
Get it here.
Hear more from Kerry
I want to say a huge thank you for choosing to read Silent Suspect. If you did enjoy it, and want to keep up-to-date with all my latest releases, just sign up here. Your email address will never be shared and you can unsubscribe at any time.
Also by Kerry Wilkinson
Standalone novels
TEN BIRTHDAYS
TWO SISTERS
THE GIRL WHO CAME BACK
LAST NIGHT
THE DEATH AND LIFE OF ELEAN
OR PARKER
THE WIFE’S SECRET
The Jessica Daniel series
THE KILLER INSIDE (also known as LOCKED IN)
VIGILANTE
THE WOMAN IN BLACK
THINK OF THE CHILDREN
PLAYING WITH FIRE
THE MISSING DEAD (also known as THICKER THAN WATER)
BEHIND CLOSED DOORS
CROSSING THE LINE
SCARRED FOR LIFE
FOR RICHER, FOR POORER
NOTHING BUT TROUBLE
EYE FOR AN EYE
The Andrew Hunter series
SOMETHING WICKED
SOMETHING HIDDEN
Short Stories
JANUARY
FEBRUARY
MARCH
APRIL
Silver Blackthorn
RECKONING
RENEGADE
RESURGENCE
Other
DOWN AMONG THE DEAD MEN
NO PLACE LIKE HOME
WATCHED
A letter from Kerry
I want to say a huge thank you for choosing to read Silent Suspect. If you did enjoy it, and want to keep up to date with all my latest releases, just sign up here. Your email address will never be shared and you can unsubscribe at any time.
Since fairly early on with writing the Jessica books, I’ve thought of her stories in terms of arcs. Life doesn’t tie everything up into neat bows and it feels a bit weird to me if a book tidies up every loose end, leaving no questions for the reader. Sure, it might be satisfying, but it’s false, too. A fairy tale. The real world isn’t like that.
Silent Suspect: A completely gripping crime thriller with edge-of-your-seat suspense (Detective Jessica Daniel thriller series Book 13) Page 26