The Unquiet Dead

There was a knock on the door and Niaz came in with a steaming mug of coffee. Jessie inhaled the aroma. Canteen coffee had never smelled so good. But she didn’t get to taste it, or thank him, because Mark Ward suddenly burst through Jessie’s door, slamming into Niaz and causing the coffee to spill. Her fellow DI swore under his breath.

‘Sorry,’ he said, backing out of the room. ‘Didn’t know you had company.’

Sarah Klein stood up. So royalty rises, thought Jessie, though not for women and not for people of ethnic origin. ‘Don’t worry,’ she said, extending her hand. ‘Sarah Klein.’

Ward was looking worried.

‘What is it, Mark?’

‘Don’t worry, it can wait,’ he said, retreating to the corridor with a final frantic glance at Jessie.

Jessie stood. ‘Niaz, please stay with Ms Klein. Take a statement, a detailed description of what Anna Maria was wearing, her mobile number, the names of her friends and where and when she was planning to meet them. Then, Ms Klein, I suggest you go home and wait. Hopefully, Anna Maria will be back by the end of the day. If not, we’ll have everything in place to act.’

‘That isn’t enough,’ exclaimed Sarah Klein.

‘With all of that we can start looking at CCTV footage. We’ll be able to map her movements quite easily, provided you can give us that information.’

‘And then you’ll get the press involved?’

‘Probably,’ said Jessie, curious. ‘Why do you ask?’

‘It’s the quickest way to get maximum coverage – for sightings and things. I hate the press myself, but I’ll do whatever I have to do, for Anna Maria.’

What was it with these people? ‘Let’s start with the information I’ve requested. We’ll go from there.’

‘She has blonde hair and was wearing a Dolce and Gabbana dress –’

‘Please,’ said Jessie, taking the dripping coffee mug from Niaz. ‘Tell PC Ahmet.’

Sarah Klein looked briefly at Niaz, but she was a good actress and disguised her disappointment well.

As Jessie had suspected, Mark Ward was waiting for her in the hall. She mimicked strangulation as the door closed behind her. ‘I bet you a fiver the daughter has legged it,’ she whispered. ‘Is everything all right?’

‘I don’t know, how did that go?’

‘A couple of ageing actresses first thing in the morning, how do you think?’

‘Shit,’ said Mark.

‘Tell me she isn’t appearing in a play that’s dying a death. Can you believe how far these people will go to get good box-office receipts?’

‘But that’s just it –’ Mark stopped but Jessie had already felt the draught. Her office door was open. She turned. Sarah Klein’s clone was looking at her with a very unnerving expression on her face. Clearly she’d heard what Jessie had said. Her only option was to bluff it. But before she’d even managed to force her mouth into a smile, or utter polite platitudes, the angry woman spoke.

‘That was very unimpressive.’

‘I’m sorry if you think that, but in my experience –’

Mark pushed the back of his shoe into Jessie’s heel. She ignored his warning. She’d had enough of the arrogance of vaguely famous people, assuming they were more important than everyone else and therefore deserving of special treatment.

‘– these sort of situations –’

‘How can you possibly judge the situation when you didn’t ask the right questions?’

‘If you have anything to add, please go ahead.’

Mark pushed her aside and stepped forward. ‘Driver, perhaps you haven’t met –’

‘Careful,’ protested Jessie.

‘I think he is trying to tell you to be careful. Thank you, Mark, but I think we can handle this from here.’

Jessie looked from her colleague to the heavily made-up woman and back again.

‘Handle what?’ asked Jessie.

‘That will be all, Mark. Thank you,’ she said imperiously. To Jessie’s astonishment, Mark nodded curtly and left. A little hole opened up beneath her feet and she looked longingly into it. But the ground was solid; she wasn’t going anywhere.

‘DCI Moore,’ said Jessie, offering her hand. ‘I don’t believe we’ve properly met.’

‘No. Seems you were unavailable to attend my induction yesterday afternoon. DI Ward said you were …’ she paused looking Jessie up and down, ‘indisposed.’

Bollocks was the only word that sprung to Jessie’s mind. Bollocks. Bollocks. Bollocks.

‘I wouldn’t have got where I am if I didn’t know the difference between indisposed and a hangover. You, DI Driver, have a hangover. I can smell it.’

Jessie opened her mouth, then closed it again. A series of other swear words were now filling the void in her head where fabulous excuses should have been.

‘I am going to give you the benefit of the doubt and assume your performance in there is down to your,’ she paused again, ‘indisposition. However, had I been Ms Klein’s lawyer – and for all you knew I might have been just that – I would have advised her to make a formal complaint against you. Don’t ever treat a victim of crime like that again.’

Getting defensive wasn’t going to get her out of this. ‘I apologise,’ said Jessie. ‘I shall take over from Niaz immediately.’

‘Who is this Niaz? What’s a PC in uniform doing here in CID?’

‘He’s been seconded to CID from Putney. He shows true promise and I’m hoping he’ll take the exams.’

‘“True promise” in whose judgement?’

Jessie didn’t reply. She wasn’t going to let DCI Moore tar Niaz with the same brush. Moore turned on her high heel and walked away, leaving Jessie reeling. What bloody induction? Where was Jones? He wasn’t supposed to be leaving for another week. And why didn’t Mark warn her? She kicked Mark’s door open. He held up his hands as if she were wielding a gun.

‘She turned up about an hour after you called in.’

‘Why didn’t you phone me, tell me to come back?’

‘I tried to, but your mobile was switched off.’

Jessie had a vague memory of listening to some messages when she and Bill got home that evening. But by then she’d been drinking for ten hours and was in a fairly shoddy condition.

‘I feel like shit.’