As if by Magic (20 page)

‘One,’ Dave repeated, ‘She definitely won’t be.’

‘Have you already tried it on?’

Wrinkles spread across Rowlands’ brow as he scowled. ‘I only said “hello” and she told me to piss off because she isn’t interested in dickheads!’

Jessica laughed. ‘Excellent. We’re going to get on even better than I thought.’

‘Two,’ Dave added, still frowning, ‘How did you figure it out?’

‘I probably overplayed that a little. Let’s just say that, when you’ve been attacked for real, you’re less keen on focusing on a pretend attack.’

Rowlands’ face turned from annoyance to confusion with the arching of an eyebrow. ‘He made it up?’

‘They both did,’ Jessica said. ‘I always thought it was a bit strange, a bit more than a robbery, a lot less than a beating. Jonah was annoyed that his Dad was making him work there and Wayne was short of cash. Between them they came up with the idea of faking an attack. If Wayne hadn’t have confessed, we probably wouldn’t have known. They gave each other a bit of a kicking to make it look good and Wayne ended up with the cash. We had Jonah and his father in this morning. The judge is furious – it’s a good job we didn’t go big-time to the media.’

‘Why because you would have messed up on TV again?’

‘No,’ Jessica replied, annoyed, ‘Because we would have all looked very silly indeed. As it is, his Dad insisted we charged his son with wasting police time. Jonah confessed that it was his idea, so we gave Wayne a slap on the wrists and made sure he paid the money back to his employer. He was a bit stupid but he did his bit at my flat and the poor guy’s got a three-month old. I spoke to the pizza shop owner and he was all right about it in the end. Somehow, I got a free garlic bread out of it too.’

Dave laughed. ‘It all comes down to food, doesn’t it?’

‘I still need a lift,’ Jessica reminded him.

‘Where are we going?’

‘Somewhere you can’t tell Jack or Jase. If they figure it out, then fine but I’m not helping them.’

‘What with?’

Jessica leaned in lowered her voice. ‘I know who did all that stuff to Brenda’s house.’ She pushed back on to the chair. ‘And no, it wasn’t me before you ask.’

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

Jessica rung the doorbell and leaned against the adjacent wall wondering why she had brought such a heavy coat. Whenever it rained, she frequently seemed to be dressed for dry weather and yet, today, with the sun blazing ready to herald the start of the summer, she was standing uncomfortably in a thick jacket she had “repatriated” from the station’s clothing supply.

As the door swung open, a young woman stood staring at Jessica, recognition flowing across her face. ‘Oh,’ she said.

‘Are you going to invite me in, Ashleigh?’ Jessica asked.

‘Are you on your own?’ she asked, her accent not as thickly trans-Atlantic as Jessica remembered.

Jessica pointed at the car on the road. ‘He’s waiting for me but I thought we should probably have a chat by ourselves.’

Ashleigh peered over Jessica’s shoulder. She looked a lot different to the last time they had met. Back then, she was engaged to Balthazar, Brenda’s former husband. She had curly blonde hair with tight clothes and big heels. Now she was wearing tracksuit bottoms, socks and an unflattering vest top, while her hair didn’t look as if it had been washed in a few days. She nodded reluctantly and held the door open.

The flat she was living in was also a far cry from the mansion she had been sharing with Balthazar before his arrest. Jessica guessed the whole area was smaller than the room which the magician used to practice in at his old property. The living room was lined with rucksacks and suitcases.

‘Going somewhere?’ Jessica asked as she sat in an uncomfortable armchair.

Ashleigh sat on the floor, resting up against the sofa. ‘I never bothered unpacking. It’s not as if I need half this stuff any longer. Most of it is stage clothes.’

‘Okay Ashleigh,’ Jessica said sternly. ‘This isn’t going to be a two-way conversation and I’m really not interested in anything you have to say. I know it’s you who has been doing various things to Brenda’s house.’

Ashleigh started shaking her head but Jessica raised a finger. ‘Shut it. As far as I know, no-one else in my department knows and, for now, I’m happy for it to stay that way. I’m not going to protect you and if anyone else figures it out, then you’re on your own.’

‘She ruined my life,’ Ashleigh said dramatically.

‘... And you ruined hers when you went off with her husband. Personally, I couldn’t care less. The only reason I’m not doing this properly is that, whether you know it or not, Brenda is a very dangerous woman.’ Jessica pushed her hair back to allow Ashleigh to see the marks from the stun gun on her neck. ‘If she knew it was you, I don’t even want to know what she’d do – but it would be a lot more than you deserve and none of us would be able to help you.’

Ashleigh seemed close to tears. ‘What are you going to do?’

Jessica sighed, feeling as if she was talking to a child. ‘I’m not going to do anything. But what you’re going to do is something to make those people whose animals you killed feel better. I don’t get it myself but there are three people who have lost a member of their families – albeit a hairy one who shits everywhere. If I find out you’ve done something in the next twenty-four hours then I’ll leave it. If not, then I throw you to Brenda. You probably deserve each other.’

‘What should I do?’ Ashleigh trembled as Jessica stood.

‘You’re a grown woman, Ash-L-E-I-G-H. If you’re old enough to kill animals and throw paint around, then you’re old enough to figure something out for yourself. Now sort your life out and stop pissing me off.’

Jessica headed towards the front door, before finishing with: ‘I’ll let myself out.’

TWENTY THREE

Brenda Gale wondered how long it would be before her hair grew long enough to stop her having to wear the wig. Costumes, make-up and hairpieces had been a part of her life for so many years that it didn’t feel as awkward as it might have done – but she would still rather be able to go around without the contact lenses, blonde hair and alien, ill-fitting clothes.

She sat on a bench on the edge of a park watching Detective Sergeant Jessica Daniel and the officer named Dave who had been to her house the first time bicker about who was going to walk the few feet to the ice-cream van and pay. Eventually the man with the spiky hair stood up in a huff and asked if Jessica wanted a flake. He probably didn’t even realise quite how much she had him wrapped around her little finger.

As he crossed to the ice-cream van, Brenda watched Jessica take out her phone and start typing out a message. The Sergeant really was quite fascinating; immature but astute, impulsive yet calculating. The more she wondered about it, the more Brenda thought that killing animals really wasn’t Jessica’s style – or at least denying it wouldn’t be. If she was going to do something, she would want people to know.

Brenda stood and walked the short distance along the pathway, where the man shouted across to Jessica to ask if she wanted nuts.

‘Yes,’ came the reply.

‘Sprinkles?’

‘Well, obviously – don’t you know anything about ice-cream?’

Brenda smiled and tried not to laugh as she passed within a couple of metres of the bench.

‘Where’s my second flake?’ Brenda heard Jessica complaining behind her as she vowed that, one day, she and Jessica Daniel would meet again.

AFTERWORD

The idea for much of this story fell into my head after a very strange Sunday morning. I had been invited to sit on a digital publishing panel on the eve of the 2012 London Book Fair. It included people who knew what they were talking about; a CEO of a major traditional book publisher, an agent, a digital publisher, and – for whatever reason – me. I turned up in jeans and a T-shirt, while everyone else had suits on, and then rambled on about whatever fell into my head over the forty minutes. Whatever I said seemed to go down well as it took me half an hour to be able to leave the building due to various industry people wanting to talk to me. Flattering and nice. Yes. Weird? Definitely.

I had never done anything like that before and, on the rare occasion I’ve attended anything remotely official like that, I would usually be that annoying person at the back making sarcastic remarks and generally being disruptive. That’s probably where Jessica gets it from.

Anyway, to cut a long story short (if you didn’t like this, you were probably shouting that 10,000 words ago), I ended up being given a bottle of champagne. As I walked through the streets of London, there were two things that struck me:

1. The streets are not paved with gold and are, in fact, more likely to be covered with fast food wrappers.

2. They have this weird ball of light-type thing in the sky which I have rarely seen in the northern skies.

As I was trying to take in those two facts, I was simultaneously carrying the bottle – which had been delightfully wrapped in one of those shiny bottle bag things – and thinking I looked a little silly.

I don’t know about you but I often find random thoughts falling into my head when I’m out and about on my own. Not in a “everyone must die”-way, but more in a “wouldn’t it be funny if you glued a pound coin to the pavement outside your office and watched everyone walk past and try to pick it up”-way.

I’ve definitely not done that, if you’re wondering.*

As I was walking, I passed an abandoned shop with a large, empty porch area and the thought popped into my head that perhaps I should leave the bottle there and see who picked it up. Then I thought that, if I did that, it would probably be quarantined as a suspicious package. After that, I remembered sitting at Manchester’s Piccadilly station the previous evening, bored.

From there, it all fell together – suspicious package, plus Piccadilly, plus Jessica, equals this. Within an hour I had rough notes for the story and I started writing it that evening. All these words later and here it is. I hope you enjoyed it. If not, you know what to blame: The city of London and that dastardly ball of light in the sky.

Thanks,

Kerry Wilkinson (July 2012)

* It was outside a student halls of residence.

BONUS FEATURES

These are my original notes. I had the title straight away and you can see I began this on 15 April, 2012. If you compare these scribblings, you can see chapter one of the book is actually quite similar to what ended up in the final version. I’ll apologise straight away for my handwriting. My old English teacher would be tutting right about now.

I was staying in the Grange Rochester Hotel. The room had a nice, large writing desk with a television. I was watching Chelsea versus Tottenham in the FA Cup semi-finals while writing these. It is on this page where things really begin to differ from the notes to the final version. That happens a lot as I write. I get better ideas moving along but I always have something like this as a skeleton. In this, Balthazar had been making claims around the country.

This is sort of the ending of part one, with a few little changes. When I am at home, I keep a pad next to the bed just in case I think of anything. Sometimes I cannot read my own writing when I wake up the next morning. I’m not entirely sure what everything in the top right is saying.