by P L Kane
Jake gave a slow nod.
‘And as for you,’ Channing continued, directing his attention towards Matt again, ‘I’ll be keeping a closer eye on you from now on.’
Matt swallowed, and also nodded, knowing he’d dodged the bullet … this time. As Channing opened the door again and called for a uniform to escort Jake, his friend looked back at Matt, still seated.
His eyes said he was sorry, that he hadn’t meant for him to get into trouble. But they also said something else. They still held that same look, the anger, the need to understand. A desire for revenge.
It told Matt all he needed to know. That there was no way he was going to just drop this, as Channing had told him to. Not that easily.
And Matt knew something else as well, that Jake, that all of this, was going to be on his own mind for some time to come.
Chapter 6
He just couldn’t stop thinking about it. Thinking about everything.
He’d let them drop him off back at the hotel, the couple of uniformed officers Channing had ordered to escort him ‘home’. But Jake hadn’t stayed there. Couldn’t face going back to that room he’d woken up in, feeling rougher than he’d ever felt in his life. Half-dead …
Better than totally dead.
Though it was also the place he’d decided enough was enough. That it was time to concentrate on his mission, on what he had to do – which was dig out Matt’s card and ring him. There were no two ways about it, he’d needed to see the boyfriend. He hadn’t meant to cause problems at the station – or thought about the consequences for Matt if they were caught – but when the guy had got in his face, Jake had just seen red.
It was almost like he was watching a movie again, someone else reaching out and grabbing the boy by the collar, dragging him to the door. Jake wasn’t a violent person, or at least he hadn’t thought he was … until that moment. He’d assumed that once he saw the guy, this Bobby Bannister, he’d know one way or the other about Jordan. Had wanted to look him in the eyes, he’d told Matt, but even just seeing him would be enough to know … But it hadn’t really worked out like that, had it?
Jake still didn’t know one way or the other whether this boy had actually committed the crime, although everything was pointing in that direction in spite of his claims of innocence. Claims that were actually pretty convincing. He should have felt something, sensed whether this was his child’s murderer, surely? Instead, he’d just felt an overwhelming hatred towards him. But Jake wasn’t just seeing his face, he was seeing all the faces of all the guys who – in his mind – had corrupted his daughter. Had turned her into something she really wasn’t, something she shouldn’t have been. Something that had got her killed.
And he’d snapped.
The rest, like a lot of things since he’d got that phone call the previous morning, was a bit of a haze. Matt trying to pull him away, Channing, the interview room. Jake was aware then of how much trouble he’d got his friend into, was sorry, but at the same time glad he’d got the opportunity – however brief it had been – to confront Bannister. It was only afterwards he’d thought about what that might have cost Matt: his job, his family … He hadn’t needed to stick his neck out for Jake, but had anyway. That was true friendship.
Luckily, Jake’s actions hadn’t landed him in too much hot water – Channing was more concerned about his own neck than anything. More than willing to cover things up.
Wouldn’t be the first time …
Which didn’t exactly inspire confidence, made you wonder what else they’d swept under the carpet in this town. Jake guessed he’d probably never know.
It would be awkward probably at work for a while, but things would calm down. Jake would make it up to Matt, somehow. He wasn’t sure how.
What if … what if none of this had ever happened, eh?
If only.
But it left him right back at square one in figuring this all out. Figuring out why it had happened. The cops didn’t seem that interested in the reason, they had their man (caught red-handed … yes, red as in Jordan’s blood). It was like Channing had said to him, they were so close to nailing him now.
What had really happened, though, that night? Why had Bannister done it, if he even had? If he never admitted he’d killed Jordan, then none of them would find peace. She would never find peace.
Jails were full of convicts claiming they hadn’t done it, swearing just like Bannister had sworn it.
I-I found her like that, I swear!
Nobody ever got to the bottom of those cases, nobody punished the truly guilty party or parties. Nobody really cared. There were people who cared about this one, though. Who had cared about Jordan. Who would find the truth, whatever that was.
Where to start, though? He had no idea. Where would Dave Harris have started? His old colleague from The Gazette … ‘A story starts at the beginning,’ Dave used to say. And even as he thought that, Jake saw a flash of Jordan as the happy little girl he’d known and loved (still loved, in spite of everything, but this was different). Before the world had swallowed her up, before social media, friends who led her down the wrong paths, boys. Back then, back at the beginning, things had been simple.
They probably hadn’t been, Jake knew that – people always looked back with rose-tinted glasses. But they’d seemed it. Easier, happier. Happier than later on. Happier than now, that was for damned sure! There had been hope, anyway – for the future. That everything would turn out okay.
When he’d set off from the hotel, Jake hadn’t really known where he was heading. He had some vague notion about buying a change of clothing, actually getting that toothbrush he’d told Matt he was after when whiskey was the only thing on his mind; plus a charger for his phone, as he’d left without one. And he’d done all that, found somewhere and purchased what he’d needed for now – had carried them around with him in plastic bags like somebody who’d just been to the sales. Or been made homeless.
But still he hadn’t returned to the hotel, he’d carried on wandering. Realised at some point that he probably should eat; again, he’d be no use to anyone – especially Jordan – if he simply collapsed. How would he get to the bottom of anything then?
It wasn’t the healthiest, but he grabbed a burger and some fries at a fast food place. Jake sat for a while just staring at the meal in front of him, felt like doing anything else in the world but this. The body was a machine, though, and like any other machine it needed fuel. So he picked up the burger, something he would have relished before, enjoyed on the hop between shooting gigs, and he forced himself to bite into it. Jake chewed mechanically, swallowing, fighting the sensations when he thought he was going to throw up again.
In the end, he wolfed the whole meal – he’d underestimated just how hungry he was – and washed it down with diet coke this time, alcohol the furthest thing from his mind.
Then he wandered once more, up and down streets so familiar to him but which now seemed alien and hostile. He barely noticed when the sun began to set; more darkness, which he could embrace. His feet hurt, but he kept going. Maybe if he walked long enough, far enough, he really could turn back time. Make it so this whole thing hadn’t happened.
Had it been the noise that attracted him, he wondered afterwards. Redmarket coming to life and doing what it did best, welcoming the lost souls to bars and clubs. The one thing it was known for now, legendary nights out – bucking the trend of other towns and cities that found their streets virtually empty since the recession started to bite. Instead, Redmarket had blossomed; he’d seen that start to happen even before he left the area. A reinvention for this former market town that had once been known for its meat more than anything else, hence its name.
Now there were meat markets of a different kind, where young men could hook up with young women on any given night of the week. Jake observed some of them off out that evening: gaggles of girls wearing shiny skin-tight dresses that barely came down past their waists, clutching tiny handbags, already clearly drunk (
not that he could talk after last night), tottering on high-heels, wearing make-up the Joker would have been proud of. Similarly, the lads out on the pull: skinny jeans and shirts open to their belly buttons practically. All they were missing were the medallions and flares and it could have been the 1970s rather than this day and age.
Jake heard the music being pumped out, the thumping bass that would have made your internal organs vibrate if you were close enough to it. Saw the flashing lights, all the colours of the rainbow. Mesmerising, drawing people in as effectively as those sirens used to do to the sailors of old – and there’d be just as many crashes later on. Perhaps not on rocks, but people crashing into each other. Dancing to begin with, then later in alleyways and in flats; bodies crashing against each other in another way. Kids who hardly knew each other, screwing like it was some sort of hobby or pastime, a new sport.
It was what Jordan had been doing all those years, coming to places like this, he reminded himself. It was where she’d been heading that evening, after meeting up with Bannister. Hitting the clubs, painting the town …
Maybe the name of the place was still appropriate, Jake mused. Only in this instance it had been painted red with the blood of a girl, stabbed and dying on one of the market stalls.
And it was almost as if thinking of the thing had brought him here, to his final destination that night. Most of the vans had gone, the media and reporters having left the scene alone for the night. Nothing would be happening now, they figured; he’d have done the same if he’d been with his news team. They’d all have gone off to join the youngsters in the pubs, some in the clubs as well – the oldest swingers in town brigade. People who’d been in the industry a long time, but had never really grown up and probably never would.
The consequence of that was this particular part of the town was deserted. It was where all the trading had once taken place, people bartering for goods – not just pork and beef, either, but all sorts. Why the stalls were still here now, however, was anyone’s guess. It wasn’t as if anyone used them that much anymore, only on certain days. And at this moment in time, their only use appeared to be to hold the blue and white tape in place which told everyone this was a crime scene, that they shouldn’t enter. Forensics would have done their jobs, though; samples taken. If Channing was to be believed all that stuff wouldn’t even be necessary to convict Bannister. Wasn’t an episode of CSI or anything …
Maybe it hadn’t been the noise or the music at all that had delivered him here. Maybe it had been thinking about the murder, not being able to stop thinking about all of this. And the pull, to see the scene – just as strong as it had been to see her boyfriend in his cell. Thinking that this might hold a few answers, that he’d look at where it happened and suddenly have a revelation about why it had. Who might have done it if it hadn’t been Bannister.
It was why he had to get closer, crossing that line of tape and making his way through the maze of stalls. He left his bags by the side of one of them, zeroing in on the stall he was looking for. Where Jordan had met her end. He could tell because of the white outline that had been drawn around the body – but just the upper half, on the part of the stall that had clearly been holding her up.
The wood was stained maroon, had sucked up the blood greedily until it was dry again. Jake stared at the stall, cocking his head. Trying to imagine Jordan there two nights ago, breath coming in ragged gasps … and then trying not to. Knowing that, like the rest of it, he’d never be able to wipe those images from his mind ever again.
He was bending, reaching out to touch the stall when he heard the cry: ‘Oi! Oi, you there! What d’you think you’re doing?’
Jake froze. To be quite honest, he didn’t know what the hell he was doing. About to touch his dead daughter’s dried blood to …what, reconnect somehow, to feel close to her again in a way he hadn’t been able to in life of late? To feel her presence like some kind of ghoul?
‘I asked you a question!’ came the voice again, and now Jake straightened, turned, saw the torch before he saw the person who was holding it. Dark at first, shadowy behind the light, Jake soon saw it was a uniformed male police officer – probably left there to guard the scene at night-time.
‘I …’ Jake began, then hung his head. ‘I just wanted to—’
‘Get your kicks from hanging around murder scenes, do you?’ said the copper, getting closer. He looked to be in his twenties, not that much older than Bannister … or Jordan. Looked like he should be in one of those clubs not that far away.
‘No,’ Jake replied. ‘I … She was my …’
‘Oh, hold on, wait a minute. I know you … You were at the station this morning. You’re … Oh, I’m so sorry, sir.’
Jake shook his head. There was no need, he was the one who should be sorry if anything.
‘But you can’t be here, you know?’
He nodded. He did.
‘It’s against the rules. Not even …’ The young copper paused, frowned. ‘Why are you here, anyway?’
‘I-I just wanted to see where …’
‘Now then,’ came the reply, the youth sounding older than his years. ‘You’ll only go and upset yourself more doing things like that.’
Upset himself more? How much more upset could he get than knowing his child had been taken from him, permanently.
‘Would you like me to radio for someone to take you home?’ asked the PC.
‘Home?’ To wherever he was staying the officer obviously meant. He shook his head, two of his colleagues had already delivered him there that morning but it hadn’t taken. They’d wonder what he was playing at if they had to do it again.
‘I’ll … I can walk, it’s okay.’
‘All right. Well, you mind how you go then. Can be a bit dangerous around here at …’ He realised what he was saying suddenly and clammed up. This man’s daughter knew just how dangerous things could get. ‘That is … Take care, sir.’
Jake thanked him and went to retrieve his bags, then he made his way back outside the cordon. Began his long trek to the hotel, thoughts still jumbled and zipping around inside his head. The visit to the crime scene – not that he’d known he was going there – hadn’t really helped in the slightest. No sudden epiphanies, nothing to give him any clue as to why this might have happened. So it was the same as the aftermath of seeing Bannister, just as fruitless.
What next? What next?
He pushed away the notion that he probably should grab another bottle of booze or hit the bar when he got back to the hotel. That wouldn’t do anyone any good, would just muddle his thoughts even more. He needed to be clear-headed, needed to be able to think things through.
You need to be able to sleep, as well, said the little voice trying to lead him astray.
But he needn’t have worried about that. All the walking that day had exhausted Jake and he was out like a light as soon as his head hit the pillow.
Unlike the previous night, he dreamed. Jake dreamt about Jordan, about when she was little – probably because he’d been thinking about that earlier on. It was a nice dream, they were happy, having fun. Julie was there as well, joining in. A holiday by the coast, on the beach, which somehow then morphed into a Christmas where they were all opening presents. He seriously hadn’t wanted that dream to end.
But as dawn’s early light streamed into the hotel room – through the cracks in the curtains he’d drawn – he had no choice but to wake up. As sad as this made him, though, remembering what had happened in the real world – when, only seconds ago he’d been in that blissful fantasy which seemed to go on forever – opening his eyes also brought with it that revelation he’d been looking for.
He knew, right there and then, what he had to do next. How to start, going back to the beginning. Jake wouldn’t find that by gaping at Bannister, or the market stall where Jordan had died.
But he knew now where he would definitely find it.
Jake had to go back, once more.
Go back home.
Chapter 7
He had a good excuse.
That’s where he’d left his car, the day before last – when Matt wouldn’t let him drive, had insisted on making sure he got to the hotel safely. Hopefully it was still there and that oaf Greg hadn’t smashed it to pieces or something … But that’s where he was going anyway, back to his home, even if it didn’t feel like one anymore. It was Jordan’s home, though; had still been her home when she died. Jake felt sure he might find something there that would give him a clue about what the hell was going on.
He’d showered that morning, not wanting to show up on the doorstep smelling like he’d just rolled out of a skip, and he’d changed into the clothes he’d bought – a fresh T-shirt and pair of jeans. Jake had remembered to put the ‘do not disturb’ on the door the previous night, but turned this around when he left the room.
Then he went down to grab a bowl of something for the complimentary breakfast. It was only then, as a few people’s eyes trailed him, that he realised what must have happened – and there it was, large as life on the TV in the restaurant. His face in a little square top right, as the newsreader silently carried on with his report, the sound off so it didn’t disturb the other diners.
‘Shit,’ he whispered under his breath, making for a table in the corner with his cereal and coffee. He could feel those eyes boring into him, even as he faced away, kept his head down and ate.
It wasn’t long before the first shadow spread across his table and he looked up to see a man in his thirties with tight curly hair standing there, hands open in front of him, his eyes digging holes into Jake.
‘Yes?’ he snapped, before he could help himself. ‘Can I help you with something?’
The man’s mouth dropped open, and he looked back to another table where a blonde woman the same age was sitting. When he faced front again, he said: ‘We … my wife and I, just wanted to say how sorry we were for your loss.’ And Jake saw as the woman turned, that she was nursing a baby which couldn’t have been more than a few months old.