Dead Alone

‘What do you want me to do?’ asked Niaz.

‘Get on to the water board. I want those sewage tunnels searched. I’m going to P. J. Dean’s house, find out what’s been going on in paradise.’

‘So you do think P. J. Dean is involved,’ announced Burrows.

‘I didn’t say that.’

CHAPTER 15 (#ulink_accaf702-e4d9-5c24-a37e-30d9a7c963f0)

Jessie stood in Verity Shore’s bedroom and stared at the window box. Chrysanthemums. Freshly planted. Hours old. Too new. Once again she lifted her camera to her eye and took a photo, then she beckoned to one of the guys in plastic overalls. It was the guy from the shower. The ballsy guy. ‘Bring the window box in,’ said Jessie. ‘And make sure you get prints from all round this window, outside and inside.’

‘Sure.’

She turned to look at him. ‘What, no snide comments, defiant gestures?’

‘Actually, the lads and I were wondering if you’d join us for a drink after. Our way of saying sorry for being such twats.’

Jessie raised an eyebrow.

‘Dicks then.’

‘You buying?’

‘With all this overtime you’re earning us, we thought it would be rude not to.’

‘In which case, I accept your offer.’

He turned round and made a thumbs-up to the three men systematically working their way through Verity Shore’s private life.

‘Don’t forget the window box,’ said Jessie. ‘And check the drains for remnants of large quantities of blood.’

He put a hand to his heart. ‘Your wish is my command,’ he said, performing a slight bow.

‘Settle.’

He smiled. ‘Sorry.’ Stuck out his hand. ‘My name’s Ed.’

‘Ma’am,’ shouted someone from the bathroom. ‘Think you had better come and have a look at this.’ Jessie walked through the wardrobe, back to the hall of mirrors. Two of the white-suited men were leaning over the tiled surround. Their presence only enhanced the bathroom’s tomb-like quality. One of them had prised off a tile. ‘I noticed it was loose when I knelt on it. Looks like someone has been stashing pills.’

Jessie peered inside. P. J. Dean had said all pills and booze were banned. Which meant Verity had resorted to subterfuge. Jessie had found the booze hidden in the shampoo bottles. And now they’d found the pills. She took a pair of tweezers from the cabinet and picked one out.

‘Looks like some bathwater got in. These are all partially dissolved,’ said the guy holding the removed tile. Jessie peered back in the man-made hole. ‘Wouldn’t they have dissolved into one big lump?’ she said. ‘Bag them all up, take them to the lab and have them tested.’

‘What do you think they are?’

‘Could be anything – amphetamines, antidepressants, painkillers, Ecstasy. P. J. Dean said she often took to her room, maybe this was what kept her entertained.’

‘I think we’re done here.’

‘What about the wardrobe?’ said Jessie. ‘Someone has to go through every single shoe box.’

‘Why?’

‘Why? Because they make good hiding places and it looks like Verity Shore had a lot to hide. Then we’ll go to the pub. And not a word of this outside this building.’ They all gave their word, Jessie wondered how much it was worth. As P. J. Dean said, you could only trust people so far, everybody has a price.

Jessie left the house and walked round the back of the garage. There was a thick rainwater pipe, with two offshoots at different heights. And bins at the bottom. If there had been any footprints before, they’d been wiped away. Someone had been doing some tidying as well as some gardening. Jessie put a foot on the sturdiest-looking bin, grabbed the pipe, put another foot on a windowsill and grabbed the first offshoot with her left hand. A redundant nail gave her the third secure step, an over-spill pipe her fourth. Within ten seconds she was on the roof. She walked across the flat, sun-warmed asphalt to Verity’s window. The window box had been taken away, leaving two sturdy brackets. It was a big step up, but it wasn’t impossible. If needs must. She turned and leant back on the white wall, pulled out her phone and dialled a number.

‘Fry, it’s Driver here. What news on those video tapes?’

‘Bugger all.’

She nodded to herself. ‘Good.’

‘Good? I’ve been watching hours of the same image and you think that’s good?’

‘Yes. Didn’t want to tax you with anything too complicated.’

‘Look, ma’am I’m sorry about the –’

‘Forget it. Keep watching the tapes.’

‘What are you expecting me to find?’

‘Nothing.’

She snapped her phone shut, retraced her steps across the roof of the garage, and peered out over the garden. To the right of the house there was a building that looked like a pool house. Pools meant chemicals. Chlorine. Bleach. It all came from the same family. It also meant sun-loungers. Privacy. By easing herself backwards off the roof and clinging to the over-spill pipe, she could climb down with relative ease, even in the dying light. She felt for the nail. Perhaps not so redundant after all. The windowsill. The bin. The ground. Escape. But not to the outside world. Cameras would have caught her. No, Verity Shore found escape in-house. Provided, perhaps, by the adoring arms of a seventeen-year-old.

This house held secrets. Jessie could feel it. She walked across the clipped lawn, past the football goals to the pool house. The smell of chlorine got stronger as she drew closer. There was no key to this room. It was a big pool, but Jessie could have walked from one end to the other with ease. Not because it was a steady shallow depth, but because it was empty. Drained. Jessie called the forensic team. And the reaping began again.

CHAPTER 16 (#ulink_eaff37fa-8062-54ef-833a-97301c26c51d)

‘Mark, thanks for coming to see me in this Godawful place.’

‘It’s all right, guv. I’ve been wanting a word with you anyway. That Jessie Driver, she gets –’ Jones put his hand up. ‘She’s running the department like a despot, circumnavigating the press office, she’s –’

‘A different sort of detective to you and me, Mark, that’s all, but that doesn’t mean she isn’t, in her own way, as good. I need you in charge in my absence, not whipping up a battleground. I’ve got something important for you to do.’

‘Police a pensioners’ march?’

‘Mark, come on, I’m too ill for your shit. You are a good man, don’t make me have to convince her of that.’

Ward shook his head. This pep talk touched the surface of years of booze, boys’ club, marital break-ups, bodies. He’d given the Force too much to be passed over for a girl half his age with none of his experience. ‘Whatever.’

‘Please?’

‘What was this important case?’

Jones passed over the file. ‘Find Frank Mills. Use whatever means, do whatever you have to, but find him.’