Crossing the Line (Kerry Wilkinson) (27 page)

all come to the cashpoint to get their money out as soon as it drops. Why do you think places like this

stay open? There’s an offy round the corner too that’s open until one in the morning.’

Jessica waited for the women to draw out their cash from the machine before heading across the

road. She deliberately walked along the line, glancing at the faces, before joining at the back.

‘Two in front,’ she whispered to Dave.

The line was as orderly as any queue Jessica had been in, everyone shivering in silence as the

freezing atmosphere sent their breaths drifting into the air. The cash machine clicked and chuntered its way through each of the requests. Each time, the recipient flicked through the notes, stuffed them in

their pockets, and headed back in the direction of the flats.

By the time the man in the hat got to the front of the line, there was only one other person waiting

between them. The machine spat the money out and, as he turned to walk away, the street light shone

down on the unmistakeable ratlike face of Jake Forester. His nose twitched, as if scenting trouble, but

Jessica was already on him, clamping one arm through his as Rowlands took the other.

‘Bit late to be on the streets with all that cash, isn’t it?’ Jessica said breezily. ‘I thought you might need a police escort back to your flat.’

Jessica wasn’t tall but she had at least four inches on Jake and, along with Rowlands, they were

practically dragging him along.

His voice was high and weaselly, his breath reeking of booze, though he didn’t bother to question

their identities. ‘I ain’t done nuffin’.’

‘All right, calm down. We only want a quick word.’

The two officers escorted him back to his flat as he tried to free himself. He wasn’t violent, simply

so small that his limbs and stride pattern made him difficult to keep hold of. The fact that he didn’t

question why they were there was enough to tell Jessica that it wasn’t exactly uncommon on this

estate. As he unlocked his front door, Dave and Jessica stayed close behind, pushing their way in

after him to avoid being shut out.

Inside and Jake hurried through to the living room, Jessica in close pursuit. He snatched his phone

from the arm of the chair. ‘Always losing the bloody thing.’

‘Do you know why we’re here, Jake?’

Jake flopped in his armchair and began playing with his phone. His rough red skin burned from the

alcohol, making him look at least fifteen years older than the thirty-four that he was. Jessica didn’t

know where he got the money from considering he was on benefits but she could probably guess.

‘What is it this time?’ Jake said, not looking up. ‘Nicked TVs? I ain’t seen ’em. Something kicked

off outside? I’ve been down the boozer. I don’t know nuffin’ ’bout those dodgy tenners been going

round either. It’s always summit with you lot. Don’t you know what time it is?’

‘Perhaps if you took your phone with you, we’d have been able to get hold of you earlier.’

‘Bah! Ain’t you got a home to go to?’

‘I wanted to talk to you about your dad.’

Jake’s demeanour changed in an instant, his phone dropping into his lap, head spinning around. ‘I

don’t have a dad.’

‘I could talk you through the birds and the bees to point out how that’s impossible – but it’s late and

you’ve got Channel Five for that. Let’s just say we know about the whole name-change, being taken

into care thing.’

‘Oh.’

‘Oh indeed. When was the last time you saw your father?’

Jake’s eyes darted both ways. ‘Er . . .’

‘Surely you remember?’

‘Yeah, yeah . . . it was a few years ago. I visited him in prison.’

‘How many years?’

‘Three? Four?’

‘Which prison?’

‘Strangeways.’

‘And you’re one hundred per cent sure that’s where he was a few years back?’

‘Er . . . my memory’s sometimes a bit hazy, like.’

‘Right – but you definitely haven’t seen him at any time since?’

He looked her dead in the eye, putting on his most honest face, which was about as genuine as a

used car salesman selling you the front of one car and back of another. ‘Definitely.’

Jessica glanced up at Dave, letting him know he was up and then turned back to the flat’s owner.

‘I’m going to let you into a secret here, Jake. I’ve been drinking tea all evening. I also had a black

pudding and fried egg sandwich which was probably a mistake at this time of night. I’m going to find

your toilet and then I’m going to return and ask you the same question I just have. I’d like you to have a really good think about the answer.’

Closing the door behind her, Jessica headed into the hallway for an impromptu poke-around. In the

kitchen, a green plastic toaster was on the counter surrounded by crumbs, with a matching microwave

sporting a murky brown film across the front. The bin was packed with plastic tubs and cardboard

sleeves from microwave meals – an uncomfortable reminder of her old flat. Aside from that, the lack

of use made it surprisingly clean. No notes on the fridge, no interesting letters in the bin – or at least none near the top, there was no way Jessica was going delving.

The bathroom could have fitted into a similar space to the ones found on planes. There was a

shower, a toilet and a sink all crammed almost impossibly into a cupboard in which it was barely

possible to turn around.

The bedroom wasn’t that much larger; a computer desk was wodged into the space at the end of a

double bed and there were tall built-in wardrobes on the walls. Everything was so tight that there was

no room to walk around without climbing onto the bed. Jessica checked through the wardrobes and

under the computer desk before finding something vaguely interesting.

She walked back into the living room clutching a handful of items, placing them on the table in front

of the television. Jake protested the entire way through, telling Jessica he knew his rights and that she couldn’t go through his things without a warrant.

Jessica looked to Dave. ‘The strange thing is, I distinctly remember being invited in, DC

Rowlands, don’t you?’

‘Aye, very accommodating, our friend Jake. Walked us over from the cashpoint, invited us in,

offered us tea and biscuits.’

Jessica focused on Jake again. ‘That’s your problem – when you invited us in, it isn’t my fault if I

was looking for the toilet and accidentally walked through the wrong door into your bedroom and

stumbled across all this stuff.’

‘I didn’t invite you in!’

‘That’s not how I remember it. Anyway, we need some explanations here.’ She used the tips of her

thumb and forefinger to hold up a crumpled porn mag. ‘“OLD AND BOLD”,’ she read, handing the

offending article to Rowlands. ‘Here’s one for you. Check there’s no animal stuff in there.’ She

looked back to Jake, pointing to the stack of magazines she’d taken. ‘Nothing illegal in here, is there?’

Jake crossed his legs uncomfortably, his pointed rodent face twitching again. ‘No.’

Jessica took the next one from the pile, pulling a face. ‘“GLAMMED-UP GRANS”. Christ’s sake.

Where do you even get this stuff?’ She handed it to Rowlands again, who had the other magazine open

lengthways, looking slightly queasy.

After flicking through the rest of the stack, Jessica conceded everything Jake had was probably

legal, if a little ‘specialist’.

Jessica pointed towards a stack of DVDs in individual plastic wallets. Each of them had a title

written on in black marker pen. ‘Right, what’s this lot?’

‘Just a few movies.’

‘What type of movies?’ Jessica nodded towards the magazines. ‘Not more porn? I don’t know how

you’ve not gone blind from that lot.’

‘All sorts.’

Jessica flicked through the top few and held one up for Rowlands to look at.

‘Ooh, I’ve been meaning to see that,’ the constable said.

‘Me too – it’s still in cinemas. What does this look like to you, DC Rowlands?’

‘It looks like that DVD might have been pirated.’

Jessica peered back at Jake. ‘And not just one copied DVD – there are hundreds here. Do you

know what that says to me? Piracy ring. We’re going to have to get the big boys in and rip this place

apart. There could be disc-burners hidden anywhere, thousands of copied discs being distributed to

the entire estate. There’s no tax being paid and all sorts of copyright infringements going on.’

Jake shrunk back into his seat. ‘It’s only a few films. You can buy ’em down the pub – three for a

tenner.’

Jessica shook her head. ‘That’s not what this looks like to me; this looks like a major international

attempt to defraud the film industry.’

Jake’s reply was more like a squeak. ‘It’s only a few discs.’

‘Who sold ’em to you?’

More panic on Jake’s face. ‘I can’t remember ’is name, like . . .’

‘What did he look like?’

‘It was . . . er . . . dark.’

‘Definitely a he though, good. White, black, Asian?’

‘Er . . . It’s only a few discs.’

‘I’ll give you a bit of advice here, Jake. You’re best off admitting it. If you beat up some old dear,

you’ll get a slap on the wrist, your name in the paper and a bit of community service. We know some

right nasty bastards in the police – but I’ve never met anyone quite as evil as those copyright Nazis.

Copy a DVD and they’ll chop your cock off, feed it to you with a side salad of bollocks and sling you

in a cell for forty years. If you think the things you’ve heard about Guantanamo Bay are bad, wait until this lot get hold of you.’

‘I haven’t done anything!’

‘Right, and I might be able to help you out. If you can tell me the last time you saw your dad

without treating me like I’m stupid, I’ll see what I can do.’

‘I don’t know what you’re talking about – I’ve not seen him in years.’

Jessica rolled her eyes. Jake wasn’t convincing himself, let alone her. He was making the mistake

of too much eye contact, which was infinitely worse than not looking at somebody at all. His

eyebrows were twitching, Adam’s apple bobbing.

‘Last chance – when was the last time you saw your father? Think
really
carefully before lying to me again.’

‘I’m not lying.’

Jessica dropped the discs back on the table and turned to Dave. ‘All right, nick him.’

28

DCI Cole didn’t exactly approve of Jessica arresting Jake but he hadn’t shut her down either. She

wanted to talk to the man about the kidnap but had no reason to bring him in if it wasn’t for the copied discs. Cole’s initial words were, ‘Not again’, followed by, ‘I hope you know what you’re doing’, and

then, ‘Whatever you do, don’t hand him over to those copyright Nazis’.

Cole had taken charge of the search for the missing Hambleton children, with Jessica sitting in on

the briefing. Using a combination of different angles from the traffic cameras, they had around two-

thirds of the kidnapper’s face. He was definitely male, with grey-black stubble on his chin, a thin face and plain dark clothing. It wasn’t much to go on – but it was something. They’d traced the vehicles

going onto the estate in the build-up to the kidnapping but couldn’t find anything they could pin onto

someone specifically. After abandoning the stolen car in the field and setting it on fire, they had no

idea what had happened to the children. No footprints, no easy-to-find forensic details in the burned-

out vehicle, no cameras anywhere near it and, crucially, no witnesses. If the kidnapper knew what he

was doing, Zac and Poppy would be hidden somewhere either soundproofed or remote enough that no

one would hear them. For the police, the window to catch him in the act had already gone, now it was

about getting their pictures everywhere and hoping for the best.

Jessica assumed Niall was still with his son and daughter-in-law because he was nowhere to be

seen. He’d been in the force long enough to know they were now relying either on luck or the

kidnapper’s stupidity. She still hadn’t told Cole the single word – ‘Slasher’ – he’d said in the car.

There was no reason not to tell him but she felt there was something she needed to find out for herself

first.

By the time Jessica had Jake brought up from the cells, he was looking more like a rodent than

ever. His eyes were red and bleary, his crimson skin blotched and covered with a thin layer of

stubble. As he was led into the interview room, his eyes darted around, nose twitching as it had the

previous evening. For some inexplicable reason, he had refused to even speak to the duty solicitor, let

alone bring him to the interview room. Some people were like that – no matter how many times they

were told it was free, they trusted people in suits less than they trusted those in a uniform. To be fair, Jessica had come across more shifty bastards in suits than she had in uniform over the years.

Jake slumped in his seat, scratching at the back of his hand. His forehead was sweating, even

though it wasn’t hot. Jessica had seen enough alcoholics over the years to know he was struggling.

‘You’ve ruined my life,’ he said, not looking up.

‘Are you ready to tell the truth about visiting the prison yet?’ Jessica asked.

Jake slid further down the chair, until his back was almost parallel to the ground. ‘You don’t know

what it’s like having a dad like that. If people find out . . . all the victims’ families, they might come for me.’

He sounded so pitiful that Jessica was beginning to feel sorry for him. After a night in the cells and

a few hours off the booze, he was reacting in the way most people would if they’d been arrested.