As if by Magic (10 page)

Percy nodded approvingly and took another bite of his sandwich.

Back outside, Percy hobbled around an area close to where they had parked, pointing towards where he said the cat had been. He then led them towards a row of trees.

‘The golf course is over the back of there,’ he said, then pointed to a spot on the ground. ‘Look, see, those aren’t normal.’

Jessica crouched to see what he was looking at. Pressed into the mud was a rounded triangular-shaped dent, with four smaller egg-shaped impressions above it. She didn’t know what a panther paw looked like but, if she had to guess, Jessica would have gone for something like what she was looking at. Being careful not to step close to it, Jessica edged around the mud looking to see if there were any further prints but the wet soil was covered in a pile of mushy leaves and broken twigs that stretched until they would have been fully in the woods.

As Rowlands took a photo of the print, Jessica assured the man they would report back to him soon. She knew full-well DCI Cole had only sent them out as part-punishment because everyone – especially her – assumed Percy was not all there. The apparent paw print didn’t exactly prove he was correct, but it was enough for them to call in a proper big-cat expert.

‘What do you reckon?’ Rowlands asked as he drove slowly away from the farm, trying to keep the car steady.

‘I have no idea about the big cat but I’d be willing to go back just for the food.’

‘I thought you said he was going to be a nutter?’

‘The only nutter I’ve been in contact with today is you. What kind of maniac doesn’t have sauce on a bacon butty?’

‘What’s wrong with that?’

‘It’s unnatural. Look, when you’re a kid, you have red sauce on everything; chips, fish fingers, sausages, roast dinners, cake, jelly, ice cream – everything. Then you reach an age of understanding. For some early-developers it’s about thirteen or so but I’ve heard of some people that don’t get there until they’re eighteen or nineteen. That’s when you realise that brown sauce is what adults go for. It’s like a rite of passage for northerners, like your first communion or bar mitzvah. Then you spend most of your adult life knowing you’re in a comfortable, safe place. If someone offers you a sausage butty, you reach for the brown sauce. Someone asks if you want a bacon barm and you say, “Yes please, where’s the brown sauce?”. Then, when you get to about sixty or so, you start going back the other way, asking for the red sauce. It’s like reverse evolution – perfectly normal and natural. What you don’t do is start biting into a bacon butty without any sauce on it at all. It’s weird.’

As Rowlands pulled on to the main road to head back to Longsight, there was a long pause. ‘Well that puts me in my place,’ he finally said. ‘I don’t think I have ever heard anyone talk quite so knowledgeably about sauce before.’

Jessica shrugged. ‘I just assumed everyone knew this stuff. When I’m Prime Minister, this will be day one of secondary school.’

Rowlands flicked the indicator. ‘So what do you have on chips then?’

‘Gravy, obviously. What kind of a question is that? Call yourself a northerner...’

Jessica was about to start explaining why low-fat mayonnaise was a crime against humanity when her phone began ringing.

‘What’s up?’ Rowlands asked after a very short conversation.

‘We’re back off Jack’s naughty step.’

‘How come?’

‘They’ve found a body.’

ELEVEN

For the second time in as many weeks, Jessica found herself trudging through the back alleys of Manchester’s Northern Quarter. She told a small crowd of hopeful onlookers there was nothing to see, despite the rolls of police tape and row of police cars indicating the opposite, before she spotted newly promoted Detective Inspector Jason Reynolds with his back to her.

‘How was the nutter?’ Reynolds asked as Jessica idled up next to him.

‘You missed out actually. He served us this gourmet breakfast; bacon, eggs, sausages, fried potatoes, brown sauce – the lot.’

‘Sure he did,’ Reynolds replied unconvinced. Before his promotion, the two of them shared an office. He was a large black officer who towered over her in stature, although he was a bit of a softie underneath. ‘Anyway, we got a call about an hour ago,’ Reynolds continued. ‘It looks like the body has been here most of the night under a blanket. There are enough homeless people around that nobody gave him a second look. It was only when someone spotted the blood on the ground that they gave us a call.’

Jessica looked beyond Reynolds but a white tent had been erected around the body. ‘Do we know anything yet?’

Reynolds held up a see-through evidence bag with a leather wallet at the bottom. ‘We found this on on him, so we know he’s called Gordon Imrie. He’s thirty one and lives out Denton way. We’re just checking the details but it looks like he’s married because there’s a photo of a woman in there too. She looks too old to be a daughter.’

‘How did he die?’

‘Some sort of stun weapon in the neck and then stabbed – the weapon was left sticking out of him.’ He nodded towards the tent, where the Scene of Crime officers would be working inside. ‘They reckon whoever it was knew what they were doing because it was directly through the heart. It might have been accidental but the blow was clean; no frenzy, just one simple strike.’

‘How do you mean “stun”?’

‘He’s got these teeth-type marks at the base of his neck. It’s not like the ones we use, more like an American version. We’ll probably have to wait for a formal weapon ID.’

‘Can I have a look at the wallet?’

Reynolds handed it across and, without opening the bag itself, Jessica created enough space to flip the wallet open. In the front window was a driving licence with Gordon’s name and address on. From the small black and white image, she could see Gordon had receding hair with a tight, tidy moustache. It was always hard to tell much from those types of photographs because everyone had dull emotionless expressions on passport snaps. There were still notes tucked into the money compartment, while, as Jessica squeezed the edges it revealed a compartment underneath the driving licence.

‘Jase,’ Jessica said, pointing him towards what she had found.

Reynolds peered inside and nodded as Jessica handed him back the wallet. ‘You don’t see too many married men carrying condoms around in their wallets,’ he said.

‘It’s this sort of area,’ Jessica said, looking at their surroundings. ‘Dirty, dark back alley a few minutes away from the pubs. If you haven’t got the money for a hotel room, or don’t want your missus seeing something she shouldn’t on a credit card statement, this is the kind of place you might go to.’

She looked over to see Reynolds staring at her, eyebrow cocked. ‘I thought you were more of a flowers and chocolates girl?’

Jessica laughed. ‘Pizza, curry and wine maybe, but you know what I mean.’

‘Pizza and curry? Talk about high-maintenance.’ Reynolds’ phone sounded and he took the call before quickly hanging up. ‘Okay, we’ve got the details. There’s definitely a wife.’

‘Who’s doing what?’

‘Jack’s organising everyone at the station and we’ve already got people going through the CCTV to see if we can spot him. We can head out to see her.’

‘I’ve still got the boy wonder in the car.’

‘Dave? Why didn’t he come over?’

Jessica rolled her eyes. ‘He didn’t want to pay for parking, so he’s waiting on the street just in case a traffic warden comes along.’

‘But he’d be on official business...’

‘Yeah, tell him that. He’s still banging on about a fiver he reckons I owe him for parking a few weeks ago. I’ve told him that if he cut down on the amount of gel he uses to spike his hair, he wouldn’t be so bothered about a few quid.’

Reynolds shook his head. ‘You two are like a squabbling brother and sister. Either way, send him back to Longsight and we’ll head off to Denton.’

* * * * * * * * * * * * *

As Reynolds broke the news about what had happened to her husband, Jessica watched Helga Imrie’s reaction closely but there was no subtlety about the woman’s confusion.

‘My Gordon?’ she said.

‘I’m afraid so.’ Reynolds replied.

‘But he was out with his friends...’

As the truth slowly begun to dawn upon her, the woman’s reaction quickly turned into a stunned acceptance. She invited them in and insisted on putting the kettle on.

Jessica knew death knocks could go many different ways; some people could not control their grief and went to pieces, others took the news as calmly as if you had told them the milk in their fridge was off. Most were somewhere in between. Although Helga was definitely closer to the “calm” end of the scale, Jessica could see a blankness of disbelief in her eyes, even as she started to fuss over drying up the mugs on the draining board.

‘I’m sorry but we really could do with asking you a few questions,’ Reynolds said from the kitchen table as Helga hunted through the cupboards looking for the teabags. She was quite close to Jessica in age but a little shorter, with cropped dark brown hair.

‘That’s okay...’

‘You said he was out with friends. Does he often stay out for the night?’

Helga pulled a box of tea bags out from an overhead cupboard and crossed to the counter-top where the kettle was. ‘Sometimes. He goes out with his mates from work on a regular night each fortnight and they often end up staying at one of their houses. One of Gordon’s friends has a flat in the centre, so it’s easier than getting a taxi back.’

‘And you don’t mind?’

‘It saves me getting up at three in the morning because he can’t fit his key in the lock, doesn’t it?’

‘Do you know the names of the friends he was out with?’ Jessica asked.

The kettle clicked off and Helga began pouring water into each of the mugs before giving them the names of four people.

Reynolds excused himself to call the names into the station, leaving the two women alone in the kitchen. Helga wrapped her palm around the mug, looping her fingers through the handle and using the heat to warm her hands.

‘Do you know anyone who might have wanted to hurt him? Jessica asked delicately.

Helga shook her head. ‘No, he’s never been in trouble. We grew up together.’

‘So you’ve been together for a while?’

‘Since school. I think we first met when were about nine or ten. We used to hang around like you do when you’re that age. You’re sort of boyfriend and girlfriend, even though you’re too young to understand what that actually means.’

Jessica nodded, remembering her own time in school. There was a boy called James Nurse who she tormented for about three years when they were the similar age. His Dad got a new job out of the area and they moved away during the summer holiday. She never got the chance to tell him that the reason she was so annoying was because she really liked him.

‘So how long have you been married?’

Helga counted on her fingers. ‘I’m thirty two, so eleven years now. We were going out for around three years before that, so we’ve been together for ages...’ she tailed off and Jessica could see a bob in her throat as she reached across and ripped off a piece of kitchen roll to dab her eyes. ‘I don’t really understand...’

Reynolds came back in with an apology and a needless point towards his phone.

‘That’s why we need to check these things with you,’ Jessica said. ‘The more you can tell us, the more chance we have of being able to find out what was happening.’

‘I’m sorry but we do have to ask this,’ Reynolds added as he sat back down. ‘But what were you doing last night?’

‘I had my friends over; just a few people I knew from work. We watched this rubbish, terrible movie, ate popcorn, drank wine and just talked.’

Jessica noted the names but knew the alibi would be solid. One of the friends had even slept over, so there wouldn’t even be much of a question that Helga could have slipped out.

As she was writing, Reynolds’ phone started to ring. He apologised and slipped back into the hallway, again leaving the two women alone.

‘We’ve been trying for children,’ Helga said softly, putting her mug back on the table and making eye contact with Jessica. ‘It’s something we’ve talked about for a few years but we’ve both been busy at work.’

Jessica thought of the condom in Gordon’s wallet. At some point in the near future, Jessica strongly suspected someone may have to break it to the woman that her marriage hadn’t been as tight as she thought.

Before she could be dragged into uncomfortable talk of babies, the door opened again and she could tell from Reynolds’ expression that something had happened. Jessica apologised and entered the hallway, the Inspector closing the door behind her.

‘What is it?’ Jessica whispered, although she already had a good idea of what he was going to say.

‘We’ve contacted all four of Gordon’s friends and guess what?’

‘... None of them were with him last night?’

‘Exactly. They say they didn’t see him after they left work in the afternoon.’

‘Shite... someone’s going to have to tell her. She’s going to be devastated.’ Jessica looked up to see the whites of Reynolds’ eyes wide with expectation. ‘All right, fine,’ Jessica added, before opening the door and walking back into the kitchen, ready to tell Helga that her husband was a liar.

TWELVE

Jessica leaned back in the seat and rolled her eyes. ‘This is because I skipped that training thing, isn’t it?’

DCI Jack Cole shook his head but his part-smile gave him away and Jessica knew the answer anyway.

‘You’re paranoid,’ Cole replied, as he rotated gently in the chair of his office. He had only recently been promoted and was someone Jessica had worked with very closely in the past. She trusted him completely but was very aware he knew her a little
too
well. He wasn’t quite fifty yet, but his hair had long-since started to grey, while the wrinkles around his eyes were slowly lengthening and growing into one another. She doubted the new job was going to give him much of a respite from the ageing process.

Jessica rebalanced herself as she looked towards DI Reynolds. The pair of them were sitting in Cole’s office on the upstairs floor of Longsight’s police station. ‘You’re my witness – this is workplace bullying.’