‘Could someone pick this type of lock?’ Jessica asked.

The guy rocked back in his chair, almost spilling the cup of tea he was cradling, and laughed as if she had just told a particularly funny joke no one else got. ‘You’ve been watching too much TV, love.’

She forced Rowlands to ask about a skeleton key, although that brought even more laughter. The locksmith’s point was pretty clear – as long as they had been fitted correctly, it was more or less impossible to break through double-glazed doors and windows that were secured.

Aside from the fact their visit hadn’t really got them anywhere, being called ‘love’ was the final straw for Jessica. They said their goodbyes and set off back to the station, Rowlands clearly trying to suppress a smirk at the term of affection she had been called.

The desk sergeant pulled Jessica to one side as soon as they arrived back at Longsight. ‘Has anyone told you about what’s happened in court this morning?’

She hadn’t forgotten that Harry’s case was beginning that day; it had been in the back of her mind all morning. With so much going on, and the fact Harry was still ignoring her, there didn’t seem much she could do. She was supposed to be acting as a prosecution character witness at some point during the proceedings. It was booked into her schedule that she would appear but she wasn’t completely sure when that would be. Most cases were allocated a set number of days or weeks for a trial and both sides had a rough idea what the order would be. Witnesses had to be booked in, whether civilian or professional, but there could sometimes be a day or two’s leeway.

‘No, I’ve been out,’ Jessica replied.

‘Harry hasn’t turned up. They’ve delayed selecting the jury for now but, if it goes on much longer, the case is in danger of being dismissed. Apparently they can get through the first day or two without him as they have all the photos and the knife and so on but, after that, if there’s no Harry they don’t really have a case.’

Jessica sighed and cursed under her breath.

‘We’ve sent uniform around to knock on his door but there’s no answer. His phone’s off too so no one knows where he is,’ the desk sergeant added.

‘That lawyer guy is going to be furious.’

Jessica had met with the prosecutor heading up the Crown’s case on a couple of occasions. First he had come to her to ask what she could offer as a character witness for his side, and then he had returned not too long ago to give her examples of the types of question he would ask her in court. All officers were trained in regards to court procedure but this was a case the CPS really wanted to win. They knew Peter Hunt would be claiming Harry was an alcoholic who had started some sort of fight where Tom Carpenter had defended himself against a violent drunk.

Jessica didn’t have to lie to refute that. Harry did drink, sometimes more than he could handle, but she had never seen him get aggressive with it. In fact the opposite was true. He would calm down significantly and start to tell his stories. He was full of tales from the ‘old days’. Some of them weren’t very politically correct and certainly not in keeping with the modern police force but he certainly knew how to tell a good anecdote.

That was what she would say on the stand; he was a good man and, though she hadn’t been present, she didn’t believe he was the type of person to instigate something that would end up with him being stabbed. None of that would matter if they couldn’t get Harry himself to court.

‘Hunt can’t believe his luck, of course,’ the sergeant added. ‘The guy I spoke to reckons he’s had a huge grin on him all morning. He’s been swanning around like it’s already in the bag.’

‘Great. Any other good news?’

‘The computer system is down again.’

‘Again? What’s happened this time, did someone stop feeding the hamster?’

‘The what?’

‘Y’know, giant hamster wheel, powering the station . . . ? All right, forget it.’ Her humour was obviously far too advanced for the likes of her colleagues. ‘Is the DCI around?’

‘Getting ready for the press conference, of course.’

A few years ago, somebody had decided the force wasn’t open enough to the general public. They wanted the police to be far friendlier with the media, who would in turn get across a better positive message on their behalf to the general public. To do this, some of the ground-floor offices had been knocked through, repainted and reassigned as an area where they could host press conferences, or bring select members of the media in for cosy briefings.

The major problem had been that, for some reason, that same person had called the new room the ‘Longsight Press Pad’. No one really knew what the name was supposed to mean and anyone with any sense would have just called it a media or press room. Even the journalists thought it was ridiculous and, given the negative reaction, the whole initiative had been swiftly forgotten with the police effectively given the green light to go back to treating journalists with the contempt most of them thought they deserved.

Despite that the name had stuck, almost as a badge to remind people not to be so stupid in the future. The Pad was almost full that afternoon, Aylesbury sitting in the middle of a table at the front with the Greater Manchester Police branding across the wall behind him. Cole was on his right, with Jessica sitting on his left. Jessica was sweating and thought that whoever had named the room should have spent more time getting air-conditioning installed and less time coming up with a ludicrous title for it.

There were three local television cameras on tripods at the back of the room blocking the door. If there was a fire in the station they would all no doubt burn – but at least the cameras would have a good angle on it all. In front of them were around fifteen people, some journalists and some seemingly technical people to deal with the audio and visual quality. Jessica recognised a couple of the faces; one or two she had watched on the local television news and another female print journalist she had seen a few times over the years.

In the past, she had never really had cause to speak to the media because there was always someone above her to do the talking. That fact hadn’t even crossed her mind as they had spoken about doing the press conference that morning. She didn’t really get nervous but might have dressed up a bit if she had known she was going to be on TV. Before she had gone in, one of the uniformed female officers had given her a trick about wearing extra eye make-up to look more ‘serious’ on camera. Jessica thought the implication was really that she would look more ‘awake’ on camera but had taken the advice with a quick trip to the toilets before entering the room. Regardless of her efforts, Aylesbury was wearing enough make-up for the three of them.

One face she did make a special point of looking out for was Garry Ashford. She didn’t know what he looked like but, as everyone assembled in front of them, she had started to narrow down her list of suspects. She had ruled out the females and the older male journalist who she had seen on TV. There were a couple of technical-type people, which left her with three possible options for who this Ashford character could be.

First was a grossly overweight bloke sitting in the front row. She had never seen him before but he looked as if he was in his early forties. He had short patchy black hair and blotched skin on his face. He was talking to a much younger female journalist next to him who didn’t seem too interested in making conversation.

Second was a guy in his late twenties or possibly early thirties. He was tall, good-looking and seemed far too sharply dressed to be a journalist. He had nicely styled brown hair and certainly stood out in the room. He was in the second row of seats, sitting behind the station’s press officer, already writing in his notepad and seeming attentive. If this was Garry Ashford, she might just about feel guilty about kicking his arse considering how good-looking he was.