As if by Magic (11 page)

Reynolds laughed. ‘Actually, I think it’s the opposite. This is a valuable opportunity for one of our officers to go on television and explain why we need help. The person who gets to go front and centre is a representative of this force. You should feel privileged we all rate you so highly.’

Jessica snorted in disbelief. ‘But you know full-well I’m going to cock-up in some way or another; I’ll swear or say the wrong name and you both know I don’t want to do it.’

‘Too late,’ Cole replied. ‘The Super’s already signed it off. You’re up tonight.’

Since the autopsy and forensic examination had been completed, they had been left with little other than the CCTV footage to follow up. Gordon’s coat had a few hairs that didn’t belong to him on it but nothing that matched anything in the National DNA Database. Even though they had the murder weapon, there was little else to work with as there were no separate prints or DNA. One potential clue was that the knife was angled upwards, so he was possibly killed by someone shorter, stabbing up; as opposed to a taller person.

The marks on his neck had been traced back to something called a Stun Master – a type of taser that was illegal in the UK. They were in the process of checking sales records from overseas weapons websites against anyone’s credit card statements who could have known Gordon but it was a shot in the dark as there were so many other ways of getting hold of one if you really wanted to. The obvious way, of course, was buying one overseas and not declaring it when you returned through customs – let alone if there was any professional involvement, where this type of weapon would be as easy to get hold of as a kitchen knife.

The camera footage gave them a reasonable idea of how Gordon had spent the evening. He had started in a hotel bar just off Piccadilly and then moved to a dingier, dimly-lit singles place around a two or three-minute walk away from where his body was found.

They had footage of him inside the first location, where it was pretty clear he was trying to chat up younger females. When he had no luck, he moved to the second bar but that was where the problem arose. Although there were cameras inside and over the top of the entrance, none of them worked. The owners claimed it was something they were in the process of fixing but, given the spot’s reputation, no-one was convinced. Rowlands, who seemed to know a disturbing amount about Manchester’s singles scene, said it was well-known as a place older, probably married, people went to meet each other. His insistence that he would “never be seen dead” there certainly didn’t convince Jessica.

The bar staff vaguely recognised Gordon but couldn’t remember him specifically being with anyone, while tracing anyone else actually in the bar was also proving difficult. If Rowlands was correct, that was no surprise given that anyone who was married likely wouldn’t want their other half finding out where they were.

With no-one else apparently holding a grudge and Helga’s alibi rock-solid, they were left with little option other than to try something different.

‘You won’t be on your own,’ Cole assured Jessica. ‘Rosie is going with you.’

‘The press officer woman?’

‘Yes, not ours, the one from Greater Manchester. She’s got the contact that enabled us to go on the news.’

‘You’ve set that up on purpose as well, haven’t you?’ Jessica asked with an annoyed shake of her head.

Cole laughed. ‘It’s not all a conspiracy...’

‘But she is the most annoying person I have ever met – and that’s saying something.’

‘Rosie is a perfect professional,’ Cole replied, although he was smiling, clearly understanding Jessica’s point.

‘But she’s always grinning and going on about how “fabulous” everything is. She keeps calling me “darling”. The last time she was here, I was coming back from a job and was piss-wet through. My hair was stuck to my face, my suit was drenched, and she goes, “Oh, what a fabulous look for you, darling”. I looked like I’d been waterboarded.’

The other two officers were stifling laughter before Cole responded. ‘Just make sure you listen to her advice – she’s an expert at this type of thing.’

‘She was an extra on some daytime soap and acts like she’s got a mantelpiece full of BAFTAs at home.’

‘Regardless, she’s going with you later, so be nice.’

Jessica stood up ready to leave but, as she opened the door, she heard Reynolds calling after her. ‘Have a
fabulous
time, Jess.’

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

Jessica mumbled something uncomplimentary under her breath but Rosie seemed utterly oblivious.

‘Wow, this is just fabulous,’ Rosie said turning in a full circle.

‘Yeah, look at all this glass, it’s see-through and everything...’

Jessica was beginning to realise that Rosie did not understand sarcasm which was hilarious on the one hand, but largely annoying. As they stood on the ground floor of the television company’s studios in a new building on Salford Quays, Jessica looked around at her surroundings. As she had said, there was glass pretty much everywhere she looked, while hundreds of people sat around, apparently doing very little other than watching television and listening to headphones. Whatever they were supposed to be doing, it looked like a job Jessica quite fancied.

Rosie was somewhere in her fifties but dressed far younger. She was caked in make-up and wearing a wide-brimmed hat despite being indoors. She had only just taken off her sunglasses, which particularly annoyed Jessica, as she was firmly of the opinion that the only people who needed sunglasses in Manchester were either rock stars, complete idiots, or a bit of both.

An impossibly thin woman with a clipboard came to collect them, although she seemed to be in an enthusiasm contest with Rosie as they kissed each other on the cheeks and complimented each other’s outfits.

Jessica stood around awkwardly until the clipboard woman finally acknowledged her with a “it’s wonderful for you to come in”, before she took them up to the third floor. After half an hour of exchanging pleasantries with the newsreaders Richard and Sophia, then having someone plaster make-up on her face, Jessica’s temper was close to breaking point.

They sat watching the opening few minutes of the broadcast, with Rosie whispering in Jessica’s ear and stating the obvious throughout. A flood that hit a local farm was “awful”, the fact a celebrity was in the centre that night for a movie premiere was “exquisite, darling”, the presenters were allegedly “old friends of the family”, while one of the correspondents was “a sweet little thing with a heart like a pogo stick” – whatever that was supposed to mean.

Finally, as the presenters went to another correspondent, the floor manager ushered Jessica on to the set and pointed at the camera she would be addressing. Annoyingly, Rosie went to stand behind it, pointing manically at the camera, in case Jessica has somehow not figured out what it was.

As the coverage returned to the studio, Richard mentioned the basics of the case, before Sophia took over. ‘And now joining us in the studio, we have Detective Sergeant Jessica Daniels...’

Jessica winced. ‘It’s, er, Daniel actually,’ she said looking across the camera as Rosie gave her a double thumbs-up.

Sophia started to apologise but Jessica was also speaking and they ended up clumsily talking over each other until both stopping at the same time, leaving a few seconds of dead air.

‘Sorry,’ Jessica said as the CCTV footage appeared on the monitor in front of her which displayed what was on the screen for everyone at home. ‘We are trying to trace anyone who may have seen Gordon Imrie on the night he died,’ Jessica added, before naming the bars he was in and, as the camera cut from one to the other, the roads he walked along.

‘All calls will be treated with absolute discretion and you do not have to leave your name,’ Jessica concluded before Richard cut in.

‘Are there any theories you are working on at the moment?’

Jessica copied his forced friendly tone. ‘Currently, we have open minds about any possible motive or reason for the killing. We aren’t ruling anything in or out.’

‘Thank you Sergeant Dan-i-el,’ Sophia said, carefully pronouncing her surname. ‘Is there anything else you would like to add for the people of Manchester?’

‘Yes Sophie, just that incidents like this are, of course, extremely rare.’

‘Thank you, Serg...’

‘Sorry, I meant Sophi
a
,’ Jessica cut in, correcting herself.

There was a short, awkward pause before Sophia continued. ‘Yes, thank you Sergeant Dan-i-el,’ she concluded, before Richard introduced the weather.

Jessica was led off set by a needlessly apologetic floor manager, where Rosie gave her another double thumbs-up. ‘That was fabulous, sweetie,’ she said. ‘You’re a complete natural on camera. You know, if you ever think about giving up the policing, I have a few contacts at ITV. I could get you an audition...?’

‘I’m all right thanks,’ Jessica replied, switching her phone back on and re-pocketing it as one of the runners led them back down the lifts.

Within moments Jessica could feel the phone buzzing. The first message was, perhaps unsurprisingly, from Rowlands: “This is both the worst and best thing I have ever seen on TV.”

He had followed it up with another thirty seconds later. “Oooh, ‘SophiE’. Very catty.”

Reynolds had got in on the act with one that read: “CU 2moro Sgt Daniels”, while there was another from her friend Caroline that said: “Did you know you were live?”

Jessica switched her phone off.

‘Are you all right, darling?’ Rosie asked as the security officer asked them to sign out.

‘Perfect,’ Jessica said. ‘Except for the fact that I work with a bunch of bastards.’

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

Jessica drove herself back to the station and then sat around with the small crew of officers who were answering the phones. DCI Cole told her she had done well, although it sounded like the type of thing he had to say, and then offered to buy her a tea from the machine.

As she walked on to the floor, one of the officers pointed out that the news organisation had helpfully uploaded Jessica’s appeal on to the Internet
.

‘That will be great for publicity,’ he said enthusiastically, while Jessica vowed that anyone she saw playing that video around the station would face serious consequences.

When she turned her phone back on, there were another three messages from Rowlands, the last of which read: “They just replayed the whole thing on 24hr news – or maybe it was the comedy channel”.

Considering the amount of coverage the incident was getting, they were receiving frustratingly few calls. They had always feared that the stigma of being in a singles’ bar was going to dissuade many from coming forward but they also knew that somebody, somewhere would have seen Gordon that night.

Just as Jessica was getting ready to go home for the night, she saw one of the constables frantically waving towards her. As she approached, he put the caller on hold.

‘Is that someone who saw Gordon?’ Jessica asked hopefully.

‘Nearly... it’s complicated. I’ve got someone who says she runs an agency that was paid by the wife to find out whether or not her husband was cheating.’

THIRTEEN

The inside of Karen Mason’s home was so pink that it looked like there had been an explosion in a candy floss factory. As Jessica and Reynolds walked through the front door, Jessica found herself blinking rapidly and having to squeeze the top of her nose just to take in the sheer scale of it all. The carpet was bright pink, the walls were light pink, while the sofa, cushions, coffee table, television and even a fish tank in the corner were all varying degrees of the same colour.

Considering the fact it was barely eight in the morning, it was quite a lot to take in.

‘Thanks for contacting us, Mrs Mason,’ Reynolds said as the woman offered them a spot on the sofa.

Karen was somewhere in her early-fifties, thin, and incredibly groomed, especially given the time of day. Her hair was a perfect brown bouffant with a tight curl falling around her eyes on either side. She was wearing a tight black satin knee-length skirt, with an equally tight white blouse. Predictably, her lips were pink.

‘It’s no problem,’ Karen replied, nodding towards Jessica. ‘I saw you on television last night. It was very... memorable. Something about the location stuck and that’s when I called Annie.’

Karen indicated a chair on the opposite side of the coffee table where a younger woman was sitting with her legs tucked underneath her. Jessica would have guessed her to be in her early-twenties but it was hard to tell because she was staring at the floor, while her long dark hair was loose and shielding much of her face.

‘So tell us what you know,’ Jessica said.

Karen sat on the final chair in the room and crossed her legs. ‘I run an agency specifically offering services for women. If they think their husbands or partners may be cheating on them, or are perhaps prone to cheating, we are able to offer them peace of mind as to whether or not their suspicions are founded.’

Jessica thought that was an incredibly polite way of putting it. ‘How exactly do you do that?’ she asked.

Karen pressed her hands together on her knees, exposing pristine pink nails. ‘A lot depends on the exact circumstances. Sometimes women will come to us who believe their partners go for a certain kind, or have, let’s say a specific
exotic
interest, which can make things a little more difficult. Other times, it is far simpler. We may, for example, put an acceptable female in the path of the male and see how he reacts.’

Jessica didn’t look across, but she could hear Annie shuffling in the chair. ‘Who are your predominant types of customer?’

‘Oh, you’d be surprised. I’ve worked with everyone from millionairesses all the way down to every day housewives. We offer very tailored services based upon financial means.’

‘Okay, let’s be specific,’ Reynolds said. ‘Tell us about Mrs Imrie.’

Karen pursed her lips. ‘You do know all of this information is strictly confidential?’

‘We know,’ Reynolds said. ‘But this is also a murder investigation, so you can tell us or we’ll come back with a warrant.’