by Jane Isaac
“Busy?”
“Depends what time of day.”
Jackman gave a thoughtful nod.
Artie scratched his temple. “So, any thoughts I can pass forward? As I said before, I’m sure we can work together on this one.”
Jackman knew that journalists could be a real hindrance when they latched onto a case, especially if they opted to take on their own covert investigation. “I’m holding a press conference in the Harborough Theatre at 6pm,” he said. “Why don’t you come along?”
Artie’s eyes shone. He gave a quick nod. “Right. See you there.”
Jackman waited for him to reach his car before he made his way towards the back of the hotel. It looked as though the original old building had been extended several times over the years and was now an eclectic mix of ancient and modern. A plethora of doors and windows lined the route.
Wilson was just stepping out of a side entrance as he reached the end of the patio area. She smiled up at him. “Ah, hello. You found us okay then?”
He nodded and looked across at the young man with a slick of dark hair and sideburns to match who’d followed her outside. His well-cut black suit screamed of ambition. “Neil Sanders,” he said with a nod. “Hotel Manager. It goes without saying that we’ll do anything to help.”
“We’ve got a room inside the hotel,” Wilson said. She pointed back through the main entrance. “We’ve started interviewing the staff on duty last night.”
Jackman thanked them both. He glanced up at a winding metal fire escape that led down from the back of the old building. “How many doors and exits does the hotel have all together?”
Sanders looked as he’d been caught off guard. He quickly recovered himself. “I’m not completely sure. We’ve had a number of extensions. I can get some maps of the layout sent over to you?”
“That would be helpful, thanks. How many rooms do you have?”
“We have fifty-nine in total, although as you can see they are quite spread out in several different buildings. And we have one restaurant upstairs and a bistro downstairs.” He pointed across to an inside area behind the patio. “There’s also a bar area at the front and several functions rooms. The wedding yesterday was held in a suite on the first floor at the front of the hotel.” He indicated for them to follow him. They made their way inside, climbed the staircase and followed Sanders into a room with a high-corniced ceiling and sash windows overlooking the road. A rectangular table ran the length of the far wall, beneath the windows.
“It’s quite compact for a wedding reception,” Wilson said.
“We have several rooms,” Sanders said with the air of a salesman. “People tend to like this one for smaller functions. I think it’s the traditional features. We usually set up a mini-bar in the room next door.”
They followed him down the corridor and into a smaller room, with a makeshift bar in the corner. A door at the far end led to the metal fire escape Jackman had noticed earlier. “Is that accessible?” he asked.
Sanders nodded. “Health and safety. You know how it is.”
They moved back out to the top of the main stairs. “Where does that lead to?” Jackman said, pointing at the long corridor that led in the opposite direction from the function room.
“To the restaurant.” Sanders smiled, clearly enjoying himself as they followed him past the toilets, down a narrow corridor and through another door. The room here opened out into an airy space and was surprisingly modern. Sharp tables were decorated with fanned yellow napkins and lit candles ready for the evening sitting. A waiter was moving around the tables putting out wine glasses that sparkled in the candlelight.
Jackman’s eyes rested on another staircase at the far end just as he heard a voice behind him, “Mr Sanders?”
He followed the voice to a woman in a red trouser suit. “You’re needed in reception.”
Sanders turned to Jackman and Wilson. “Would you excuse me for a moment?”
Wilson watched him go and scanned the restaurant. “Lovely venue for a wedding.”
Jackman took another look at the staircase. “A nightmare for us though.”
“What do you mean?”
“All the doors. With so many entrances, exits and fire escapes, there’s no way we can ever account for all the comings and goings last night. It wouldn’t be difficult to come in and see someone, arrange to meet later and not be seen.” He chewed the side of his mouth. “Check what cameras they’ve got, will you? They might have some in the yard area, where the patio is, or out front. We could see if our victim features on any of them.”
She snapped a nod. “Come on. There’s someone you should meet.”
He followed her down the stairs and into the front bar area. The earlier crowd had dispersed. Apart from a business man hunched over a laptop in the corner, they had the room to themselves. A young woman in a crisp white shirt and matching black waistcoat and trousers, was hanging a fresh bottle of whisky behind the bar. She clicked the bottle into place and smiled at Wilson as they approached. “Can I get you anything?”
“No, thank you,” Wilson said and turned to Jackman. “This is Sophie Jennings, sir. She was working the bar last night.”
Jackman introduced himself and gave her a kind smile. “I realise you’ve had a huge shock, but anything you can tell us will really help piece together what happened. Did you speak with Jo last night?”
The woman nodded. In spite of the touch of make-up that covered her smooth complexion, her face looked drawn. “I can’t believe it’s happened.”
“Can you tell me what you saw?”
“Not much really.” Sophie’s voice trembled slightly. “The other detective’s already asked.”
Jackman pulled over a couple of bar stools for himself and Wilson and sat down. “I realise this is difficult,” he said. “What time did you start work yesterday?”
“Two o’clock. I wasn’t due in until four, but one of the other girls phoned in sick so they called me in early.”
“Was the hotel busy?”
“I only cover the bar area down here. We weren’t busy, early on. A few people called in. The wedding party arrived just after three.”
Jackman took in the surroundings as he let the words sink in. The ornate bar faced the door, offering a perfect view of the street out front through the windows either side. “Would you recognise the girl that was killed?” He spoke the words slowly, careful not to release any more information than was absolutely necessary.
Sophie nodded. “She was a bridesmaid. Jo, they called her. She’d been popping in and out all evening for a sneaky cigarette. We chatted a bit.” A half-smile lit up her face. “She was funny, made me laugh. I let her keep her ciggies behind the counter because she didn’t have a pocket.”
Jackman smiled. He guessed Sophie was similar in age to their victim. “Did she have anyone with her?”
Sophie shook her head. “She usually came down on her own.”
“When was the last time you saw her?”
“Just after ten thirty, I think. I remember it because she got her bracelet caught on her earring while she was pulling on her coat. I helped her free it up while her sister was in the ladies. We giggled about it.”
“What happened next?”
“Her sister, Chloe, joined her. They stood outside for a while. I was busy serving other customers, but I do remember Chloe holding her head. She looked poorly. I thought about going out at one point, but I couldn’t leave the bar. The next time I looked in that direction she’d gone.” Tears welled in her eyes. “It’s so awful. I keep thinking, what if I was the last person to see her?”
“What time was that?”
“I’m not sure. They were only outside for about ten minutes, I think.”
“Did you see who came and went around that time?”
“No, it was busy, and we were short-staffed.”
“What about earlier when she came down for a cigarette. Did she talk to anyone in the bar, or outside?”
“Not that I remember.”
“Strange that she came down here,” Jackman said. “She could easily have used the fire escape upstairs.”
“Her family didn’t like her smoking. I had to help her smuggle the ciggies back into her bag when her sister wasn’t looking.”
“What time did you finish?”
“It must have been about half two before I got out of here.”
Jackman scanned the view of the street again. “When did you find out she’d been attacked?” he asked gently.
“This morning. I heard it on the radio. Didn’t make the connection at first. Then I got a text from Tim, he works the early shift. He told me the police were here and one of the bridesmaids from the wedding party yesterday had been killed.”
Jackman thanked Sophie and stepped out into the High Street with Wilson. He looked out at the line of shops opposite and tried to imagine what they would have looked like, bathed in darkness the night before. “How well lit is this stretch at night?” he asked.
“It’s not too bad, being the main drag,” Wilson said. “And it wasn’t particularly late either.”
Chapter Nine
Grace hauled herself up, wavering as she reached standing. Phil put an arm out to support her, but she shook it away and moved towards the door.
“Grace. Where are you going?” Phil’s face was pained. The details of Jo’s attack had been vivid.
“Jo’s room.”
Parsons’ head shot up. “I’m sorry Grace, I have to ask you not to go…”
“I’m not going to go in there,” Grace shouted, the pithiness in her voice rising with every word. The police interest was starting to feel like a rat, tunnelling its way through her family life, tarnishing everything in sight.
She felt Phil’s heavy footsteps behind her as she reached the stairs. “Grace…”
“Please. Leave me alone.” She turned, closing her eyes to block out the hurt in his face. “I just need some time.”
He nodded. Reached out and stroked the side of her arm, then made his way back to the kitchen.
Grace waited for him to go before she continued up to the top, hovering a moment at Jo’s door. She breathed in deeply, hoping for a scent of her daughter, but there was nothing. None of the pots and perfumes, the candles and burners that decorated Jo’s room. Those smells that all mixed together to create a sweet musky fragrance every time she’d popped her head around the door. She leaned her shoulder against the wall, slid down onto the top step.
The detective’s words pummelled her. ‘Signs of sexual interference…’ She squeezed her eyes shut. For a moment she couldn’t breathe. No. Not her Jo. Please. The thought of her baby going through an attack was too unbearable. Grace knew that. Knew exactly how it felt. Because it had happened to her.
She was eighteen. Barely a year younger than Jo. His hands pawing at her, tugging at her hair, forcing himself inside her.
She could still remember the day it happened. It was the day after her eighteenth birthday. Having taken her out for a family meal on the night of her birthday, her parents reluctantly agreed to let her go out with the girls.
It wasn’t her first time out alone. But it was the first time they didn’t insist on picking her up. All those years of her parents watching, waiting, collecting her were over. She was eighteen. She could finally do it her own way.
Her friends, Susi and Kath, came round to get ready at her house. They’d played music, dressed to the sounds of Take That and REM. Grace wore her new dress, the long black one that clung to her figure that she’d bought with her birthday money. On her way out, her mother had pressed a ten pound note into her hand. ‘That’s your taxi money,’ she’d said. ‘Keep it separate and don’t forget.’
The nightclub was heaving with bodies pressed in against each other. A kaleidoscope of flashing lights lit the silvery darkness; loud music blared, the bass vibrating in her chest. She spotted her friend Jenna beside the bar and gave her a wave. Drinks were expensive. Before Grace knew it she’d spent her wages from her part time job at the newsagents and the tenner was all she had left. She ran the tips of her fingers across it in her pocket. But she didn’t forget her mother’s words.
At the end of the evening she’d walked out with Susi and Kath. The cool air sent them into an alcohol-induced giggle. Susi stopped and lit up. “You getting a cab, Grace?”
Grace pushed her hand into her side pocket. The money was missing. She searched her handbag. She must have dropped it. “Err… yeah.”
“We’ll walk you to the taxi rank.”
“There’s no need.”
“My mum would never forgive me if I didn’t. She made me promise to look out for you. She went on about it so much that I’d get a cab with you myself if I didn’t live at the opposite end of town.” Susi took a drag on her cigarette and passed it across to Kath. As they moved away from the club, the fresh night air slapped Grace in the face. Suddenly she felt alert. Afraid. The prospect of walking home alone didn’t seem so appealing. Susi stubbed out her cigarette on the pavement. As she did so, the contents of her upturned handbag fell to the ground. Lipsticks, a hairbrush and a packet of chewing gum all rattled as they hit the ground. A few coins circled the pavement.
“Is that all you have left?” Kath asked Susi.
“Looks like it!”
They both giggled again as they scrabbled about, picking it all up. “Well, it’s more than I have.”
“Did you see where Jenna went?” Grace asked as they reached the taxi rank. Jenna lived down the road from her. They could walk back together.
But her idea was dashed in the next line. “Off with Mark. Won’t see her until the morning now.” The girls both hugged Grace.
“Let us know when you get home,” Susi said.
“Sure.” Grace was stood behind a couple holding hands.
She watched them totter away in their heels. Maybe walking home wouldn’t be so bad. She’d be back in no time if she hurried. Buoyed up, she waited until the girls had disappeared around the corner and then walked back through the High Street and took a left into Bowden Lane. It was well lit. She could hear her heels clicking as they tapped the pavement. This wasn’t so bad. She turned the next corner and the next. She was coming towards the edge of the town now. The streetlights were less frequent.
Grace was only minutes from home when it happened. She remembered seeing the motorcyclist pulling up. He climbed off, was wrestling with his helmet as she passed. She’d smiled weakly at him, not wishing to look frightened, and took the shortcut past the garages. It was darker down there, only a few of the streetlights remained.
A push from behind. She teetered forward, just steadying herself when she was slammed up against the wall. White spots flashed in front of her eyes as she was pulled around. His mouth was on her. Thick beer-filled breath. She turned her face, tried to scream but he grabbed her chin, forced it back.
She could still remember the smell of him, menthol mixed with beer. The world swirled. Fear engulfed her.
Sat on the stairs, Grace couldn’t help but wonder if Jo had felt the same terror, the same excruciating pain. She dropped her head, covered her face with her hands and wept.
Chapter Ten
The damp night air nipped at Jackman’s skin as he stepped out of The Angel hotel, wiping away the blanket of weariness that clung to him from the lack of sleep the night before. The first seventy-two hours after any serious crime were critical and, aware that he was on foreign territory, he’d decided to move hotels from Enderby to Market Harborough to familiarise himself with the market town and the many routes that snaked through its centre.
A light drizzle started as he walked, peppering his shoulders. He turned up his collar, cast intermittent glances into the lit windows of the upmarket boutiques that lined his route. The Three Swans bar was crowded as he wandered past, the people of Harborough enjoying a drink on a Friday evening. He moved on past coffee houses and heaving restaurants. Alice would love it here, he t
hought to himself. A buzzing town amidst a scenic backdrop. He could almost see his wife’s pale blue eyes dancing with that familiar sense of adventure. But almost as quickly as it arrived, the image melted away, replaced with that of a thin hunched woman with glassy eyes, staring into the distance. Alice would never explore anything again. He sunk his hands into the depths of his pockets and trudged forward. In the square, he passed a cluster of wooden huts and a sign advertising a German Market.
His mind floated back to the press conference earlier that evening. Seated beside Taylor, facing a sea of journalists, flashes of photographers punctuating their appeal. The day had been frustrating, interviews at the hotels and investigations into Jo’s background providing little new to share. Two enlarged photos adorned the screen beside them: a formal one of the victim in her bridesmaid dress posing for a photo with her sister, and another of her sitting at a table at The Three Swans, raising a wine glass to the camera, her mouth pulled into a wide grin.
Predictively, there were questions about links to Operation Ascott, speculation that the murder was connected to the attacks on the other girls. They’d played them down. Murmurs of discontent had spread around the room. The hacks weren’t going to let this one lie. Artie Black sat at the front, pressing home the similarities.
Taylor had stood. His imposing presence shutting down the room as he talked about the extra officers he had drafted in to work around the clock to track down the killer. It was clear that the people of Harborough respected him, despite general confidence in the police investigation on Operation Ascott waning. He’d pressed forward, appealing for the media and the police to unite, focus on this case, work together to catch the killer of a vulnerable girl. So unlike Jackman’s own superintendent in Stratford who hated press conferences, the one area that exposed the weak link in her armour. By the time they’d finished the press were placated. For the moment. Jackman gave the usual advice in these situations, asking local people to be sensible and wary of their own safety. Girls to go out in pairs, stick to lit areas and take registered cabs after dark. Although as they left, Artie Black shot him a look that left him under no illusion. He wasn’t likely to be quiet for long.