‘Or us getting our hands on this Simeon one,’ added Lee.
‘All right, youse go,’ Mal said. ‘We’ll stay for a bit.’
‘Bollocks to that!’ yelped Lee. ‘If they’re pissing off to be with their birds, I’m going back to Elaine!’
‘I need a lift back to yours to get my car, anyway,’ Sam said.
‘Okay,’ Mal said grumpily. ‘But you’d better stop at the Spar for a bevvy, Lee. I ain’t sitting with you and your fat slag all night without getting bladdered – and you’re paying!’
‘Piss off,’ Lee said, starting the car. ‘You won’t give me no free Charlie!’
Dropping Sam and Ged in the car park a little while later, they arranged to try again the next night.
‘But one of youse can bring the spliffs next time,’ Mal said.
20
On Thursday morning, Jackson received the videotape of Monday’s news report. Liz Jardine had sent it by courier – along with a handwritten note wishing him a speedy and successful conclusion. It was all too obvious that she was hoping he’d alert her to any breakthrough the moment it occurred. She could swivel, as far as he was concerned.
Taking the tape to the video suite, he sent for Mac to come and watch it with him.
By eleven, they were almost brain-dead, having played it through numerous times – squinting at all the people in the crowd as they looked for a girl who matched Mrs Lilley’s description. If they spotted any likelies, they would get some stills blown up and get them over to her.
It was a long shot, but anything would help right now. They had nothing. No weapons, and no reported shooting victims treated at any of the hospitals. It was an obvious possibility that their man could have gone out of Manchester, but it wasn’t very likely, given the amount of blood they’d found at the scene. The only other explanation was that the person had died and their corpse was lying somewhere, rotting away and in the process of decomposition destroying the forensic evidence that would link them to the murder.
This was what Jackson was hoping wouldn’t happen. In areas like this, bodies often went undiscovered for months. The various disgusting stenches that lingered around the hallways of these high-rises could override even the smell of rotting flesh. He couldn’t recall the number of times that he’d been called to a suspect flat only to find a reeking jellified mess melting into the carpet.
It was now four days since the start of the case. The longer this went on, the less likely they were to get it sorted and closed.
‘Do you think you could have looked any more bored than that?’ Mac asked, pointing at Jackson rolling his eyes on screen.
‘You’re not supposed to be watching me,’ Jackson grunted. ‘But I do look a bit like a fucking St Bernard, don’t I?’ he griped, stroking his chin and fingering the saggy rolls of flesh below. ‘Whoever said the camera never lies is an arsehole,’ he muttered. ‘Anyway, Mac – apart from me, have you spotted anyone worth checking out?’
‘Three or four.’ Mac leaned forward to point at the screen. ‘Just freeze it for a sec and I’ll show you.’
‘I wonder what goes through their minds?’ Jackson mused as he rooted for the remote under a mess of papers on the desk. ‘When they go back to the scene and see us digging about?’
Finding the remote, he pointed it at the screen, freezing the crowd. ‘You’d think their faces would give them away, wouldn’t you?’
‘They can be crafty bastards, though, can’t they?’ Mac muttered, staring hard at the crowd. ‘Look how many we catch red-handed, and they come over so innocent you end up questioning your own judgement. If you want my opinion, it’s the innocent ones who look guilty, and vice versa. There you go . . .’ He pointed at the screen. ‘That’s one of them.’
Jackson leaned forward for a closer look. Mac was pointing to a blonde girl standing off to the rear of the crowd. She was on tiptoes, peering around with big eyes. Jackson noted the counter number to get a still shot of the frame.
‘Looks very interested, doesn’t she? But I suppose that’s to be expected. Kind of reminds you of those French women knitting at the executions, doesn’t it? Who else?’
‘There’s another two standing together a bit further on,’ Mac said. ‘Just over to the right a bit, and further forward . . . Stop. There they are.’
Jackson peered at the two – another blonde, with a ponytail and black roots, and a redhead. Something about the redhead struck him as odd.
‘Funny look on her face,’ he said. ‘See how the blonde looks excited, like our French Revolution girl? Now take a look at the redhead. She looks freaked. And she’s not looking in the direction of the body like all the others. She’s watching us.’
‘A lot of them do that,’ Mac remarked. ‘It doesn’t really mean anything. I mean, come on, you were being filmed! Half of them are just there hoping to get their mugs on telly, aren’t they?’
Jackson shook his head slowly. ‘I hear what you’re saying, Mac, but I don’t think that’s her game. Let’s just run it for a sec and see what she’s up to, eh?’
They ran the film and watched the girl intently. She was indeed watching the police, furtively glancing around at them, but not, as they’d supposed, at Jackson or the film crew.
‘You know what’s making me twitchy?’ Jackson commented. ‘The way she’s watching the obvious coppers – the uniforms. It’s like she’s keeping an eye on them to see if she’s been spotted, know what I mean?’
Mac frowned. ‘What? Like she’s expecting to be?’
Jackson nodded thoughtfully. He hadn’t quite got it straight in his own head what it was exactly. Just a gut feeling. But whatever – she was definitely one to check.
‘Maybe she’s just got a thing about men in uniform?’ Mac suggested, managing to leer and grin simultaneously.
‘Or maybe she’s guilty as hell about something?’ Jackson countered.
‘Could be anything.’ Mac shrugged. ‘Unpaid leccy bill, pending court case? She might even have a warrant out on her.’
‘She wouldn’t be stupid enough to turn up there if that was the case.’
Mac pulled his head back and gave Jackson an incredulous look. ‘Oh, please!’
‘All right.’ Jackson waved a hand towards the screen. ‘Where’s your other suspect?’
‘Further back,’ Mac said. ‘Just before you do your hound-dog bit!’
The fourth likely was another blonde – extremely thin and scruffy, and sporting a pair of dark shades.
‘Junkie,’ Jackson grunted.
‘Bit early for a smack-head.’
‘Not if she’s a lifter,’ Jackson said. ‘The early worm gets all the bargains, and all that. Right, I’ve had enough of this.’
Pressing the rewind button, he waited for the tape to pop out of the machine. Then he put it back in its case and wrote across the front: JACKSON – DO NOT ERASE.
‘Here’s the counter numbers of the frames we want stills off,’ he said, handing a note and the video across to Mac. ‘Get them down to the lab and tell them what we want. Oh, and Mac, tell ’em to be quick, eh?’
‘Yes, sir!’ Mac flipped a salute and jumped to his feet. ‘Anything else, sir?’
‘Yeah!’ Jackson grinned. ‘Don’t be so disrespectful to your elders and betters!’
Even at a rush, it was a full hour before the lab technician carried out the folder and handed it to Mac.
‘I’ve managed to get them pretty clear,’ he said. ‘But with the size he wanted, I’m afraid they’re a bit on the grainy side. Now then – will that be cash, or credit?’
‘Ha, ha, very funny!’ Mac drawled. ‘See you later, and thanks for this,’ he said, waving the folder as he turned and rushed out the door.
‘Here you go, boss,’ he said when he reached Jackson’s office. He flipped the folder across the desk.
Jackson caught it and tipped the prints out, lining them up side by side on his desk. He spent a good few minutes scrutinizing them before looking up.
‘Do us a favour,’ he said, picking up the phone and tapping out an internal number. ‘Go and pick up the mug books – and make sure they give you the Rastas, too. I only mentioned that one at the last minute, they might forget if you don’t remind them.
‘Hello, yes.’ He turned his attention to the phone, waving Mac out. ‘That car I wanted, I need it in five minutes. And the lad – Dalton. Tell him to get his arse over here quick smart!’
Slamming the receiver down, he pushed his chair back and gathered the prints together, stuffing them back into the folder. He’d just locked his door when first Mac, then Paul Dalton appeared from opposite ends of the corridor.
‘Took your bloody time, didn’t you?’ he snapped as he headed for the back door. ‘Come on. We haven’t got all day!’
Paul Dalton’s nerves returned with a vengeance. DS Macintosh was an added pressure. It had been bad enough driving just DCI Jackson, but the two together – old mates, obviously – made him feel inadequate. He needn’t have worried. Mac had already decided he must be all right, or Jackson would never have picked him out to come along.
‘You know the way, don’t you?’ Jackson asked as they jumped into the car.
‘Yes, sir.’ Paul nodded. ‘Oh, by the way, I got these out of some car mags.’ Reaching into his uniform jacket, he pulled out the folded wad of magazine pages he’d assembled the night before. ‘I thought we could show them to Mrs Lilley and see if she recognizes those cars.’
‘Good lad!’ Jackson took the pictures and winked at Mac over his shoulder. He’d forgotten all about the car pictures. The lad was proving to be an asset. ‘Well, off you go, then,’ he said. ‘And don’t forget – I’m colour-blind. Red means green, right?’
‘Don’t be telling him stuff like that!’ Mac admonished from the back seat. He tapped Paul on the shoulder. ‘Don’t you be listening to him. I want to get there in one piece. You go through one red and I’ll nick you myself!’
‘Yes, sir,’ Paul said with a grin.
Jacqueline Fenton was surprised to see them – and distinctly cooler, having been ousted from their meeting the day before. Opening the door to let them in, she said, ‘I presume you’re here to see Ivy again?’
Jackson smiled. ‘If she’s available?’
‘I’m sure she is,’ Ms Fenton answered, flicking a glance at the mug books he was carrying. So they were taking old Ivy seriously, then. ‘I’ll just let her know you’re here,’ she said, and swept off down the corridor.
‘What’s eating her?’ Mac asked in a hushed voice as they followed.
‘I don’t think she was expecting us,’ Jackson hissed back. ‘She’s only got half her face pack on!’
‘Bit of all right, though,’ Mac commented. ‘Nice arse!’
‘Only ’cos it matches yours for size,’ said Jackson.
Ms Fenton didn’t even try to enter when Ivy invited the officers into her apartment this time. Turning on her heel, she rushed off to have a gossip with the visiting hairdresser. She still hadn’t forgiven Ivy for snubbing her yesterday, but maybe she’d relent later – after the officers had gone. Find out what was going on?
‘Can I get you a coffee?’ Mrs Lilley asked when they were all seated.
‘No, thanks,’ Jackson said. ‘We don’t want to put you out. And I don’t mean to rush you, but I’d appreciate it if you could have a look at some pictures for us.’ Opening the folder, he pulled out the stills and handed them to her.
‘These were taken from a videotape of the news broadcast,’ he told her. ‘They’re not brilliant, but they’re not too bad. Now, I know you said you couldn’t be absolutely sure if the girl you saw that night was the same girl you saw the next morning. But, based on your description, we picked out four likely girls. All I ask is that you take your time to look them over. You’re under no pressure, so if you don’t see the girl, don’t worry. Just do your best.’
‘Of course,’ said Mrs Lilley.
The first print was the junkie in shades. Mrs Lilley looked closely at her, then shook her head. ‘I’ve seen this girl around, but she’s not the one.’
She took longer with the second print. This was the one with the two girls standing together. As she peered long and hard, her face creased into a thoughtful frown. Jackson and Mac exchanged a glance. This could be it.
‘I wouldn’t like to say I was one hundred per cent certain,’ she said at last. ‘But I’m almost sure this is the girl.’
Jackson felt his heart jump in his chest. He pushed himself to the edge of his seat. ‘Which one?’ he asked, knowing in his heart that she was going to say the redhead.
‘That one.’ She pointed at the redhead and Jackson almost cheered. ‘I’m pretty confident she’s the one I saw on the night, and again the next morning. But I’d hesitate to swear under oath that I was certain. It could just be her familiarity.’