‘No,’ she answered.

‘Never?’

‘No.’

Hunt’s next question threw her. ‘Have you ever acted in a questionable way yourself while on duty?’

She saw the steely twinkle in his eye as he asked, almost as if he had winked at her. He probably hadn’t but there was an awful lot behind the question. She remembered Wayne Lapham and the interview room. The prosecutor leapt to his feet, objecting and pointing out Jessica herself wasn’t on trial. The judge interjected but Hunt hadn’t asked the question because he wanted an answer, he had asked it to wind her up.

He had switched from looking at the jury to looking at her, fixing her with a steady stare. If his previous question had rattled her, his next one was designed to push things even further. ‘Have you ever been romantically involved with Mr Thomas?’

This time there was definitely half a smirk on his face as he eyed her. The jury wouldn’t have been able to see it from the angle they were at. Another objection came but this time Hunt assured the judge it was a legitimate question to find out how closely the two knew each other. He pointed out that it could prejudice Jessica’s answers if they had been romantically involved.

The judge ruled the question didn’t have to be answered but Jessica looked at the jury and said ‘no’ in any case. She looked at the man on the end and the two women on the front row, the three people she wanted to convince, but knew her answer was irrelevant. Hunt hadn’t asked it because he thought it was true, he had asked it to put the idea in their heads and make them doubt her. Jessica turned back to Hunt, who looked at the jury and then at her. ‘No further questions.’

His smirk had gone but his eyes told the story. ‘Take that.’

22

As she suspected, a catch-up drink with Harry never happened. The court broke for lunch shortly after her evidence and Harry had already left court by the time the prosecuting lawyer had finished speaking to her. Jessica thought there was every chance he simply didn’t remember their conversation from Saturday. She hadn’t smelled it on him but, given everything that had happened, maybe he had been lost to drink? He wouldn’t be the first police officer to have succumbed to its lure.

Back at the station, everyone was already fully aware of how her appearance had gone. The desk sergeant’s usual source, whoever it was, had apparently been spot-on about her showdown with Peter Hunt and everyone was well aware that, while she hadn’t lost her temper and blown it, Hunt had got the better of her. Feeling in the mood to take her frustrations out on somebody, she tracked down Rowlands in the canteen. He was sitting at one of the tables chatting to the now not so new girl from uniform he reckoned he was taking out the previous week.

The girl laughed at whatever had been said to her as Jessica sat next to Rowlands opposite the female officer. She was young, blonde and good-looking, still clearly enjoying being a member of the police force. Jessica thought it wouldn’t take long to disappear. Eighteen months maximum was generally what it took before fresh-faced optimism was replaced by cynicism and reality. Often it came as soon as you saw that the domestic violence victim you had spent time consoling had changed their minds about appearing in court and taken back their rat-faced boyfriend. Either that or some drunken scumbag who had called you every name under the sun had gone to magistrates’ court and got off with a slap on the wrist. It wouldn’t take long . . .

‘You should watch this one,’ Jessica told the girl, nodding towards Rowlands. ‘I’ve heard that a lot of the girls he’s ended up with complain of feeling a bit, erm, “itchy” down below not long afterwards.’

‘Hey,’ Rowlands said, putting down the fork he had been eating with.

The girl didn’t seem too fussed. ‘I’ve not had any of that.’

Jessica rolled her eyes and shook her head, nodding towards Rowlands again. ‘Whatever. I need a few minutes with him.’

The female officer took the hint and stood up. ‘See you later?’ she asked him.

‘Yeah, yeah,’ he replied unconvincingly. ‘I’ll text you.’ The girl scuttled off, beaming.

‘Poor girl,’ Jessica said to the constable now they were alone.

‘What?’ he responded with apparent indignation but a big grin nonetheless.

‘Whenever you do muck her about, can you try not to muck her career about?’

‘What makes you think . . . ?’ Rowlands began to say but Jessica just looked at him, eyebrows raised. ‘Yeah, all right,’ he conceded. She went to speak but he carried on.

‘I thought you were in court all day?’

‘I’ve done that, now I’m back.’

‘What do you want me for?’

‘You remember your magician mate?’

‘Yeah.’

‘I figured that, as I’m off the clock anyway, it would be as good a time as any to go find out what the weirdo’s got to add.’

‘I’ll have to check he’s free.’

‘How busy can he possibly be?’

It hadn’t taken long for Rowlands to establish his pal wasn’t over-encumbered with work and was happy to see them that afternoon. Jessica told Reynolds she was going to be out for the afternoon but didn’t say where, making sure she reminded Rowlands to keep his mouth shut too. He insisted they go in his car, saying he didn’t want to risk breaking down on the way if they went in hers.

‘Haven’t you got any original material?’ Jessica asked.

‘You’re the gift that keeps on giving.’

‘At least I don’t drive some souped-up GTI twat-mobile.’

Rowlands’s vehicle was exactly what she would have expected it to be: a smallish car that had been upgraded with any number of over-priced ridiculous parts.

‘And you take the piss out of my exhaust?’ Jessica said as he started up the engine. His sounded as loud as hers, if not worse.

‘Mine’s deliberate.’

Rowlands’s magician friend lived in a flat above a bookmakers’ shop in the Stockport area of the city. The neighbourhood was pretty grim but her partner didn’t seem too bothered by leaving his car outside, which at least said one thing. They went around the back of the bookies’ and the constable buzzed the intercom. The main door unlocked itself and Jessica followed Rowlands up the stairs to the inner door. As they reached the top and were let into the hallway, Jessica had to concede it didn’t look like the typical type of accommodation you would expect to find over a shop. The first thing she saw was an enormous stuffed tiger’s head hanging above the door facing them as they walked in.

‘Oh yeah, he’s into taxidermy too,’ Rowlands said, as if that explained everything.

The man who greeted them was thin with shoulder-length long brown hair. He was dressed unassumingly in jeans and a T-shirt with some pattern she didn’t recognise. Jessica did notice he was wearing a watch on each wrist as well as odd shoes. One was a bright white trainer, the sort you might go running in, the other blue and made of some kind of canvas material. He greeted Rowlands with a hug and an ‘all right, Dave?’ He also hugged Jessica. At first, she thought she would push him away but then just let him without reciprocating. She gave him a slight tap on the back as if to say ‘all right, that’s enough’ but he was already in the process of letting go and hopped away, almost skipping through the door underneath the tiger’s head. Rowlands was following him, so Jessica shrugged and did the same.

The room they had walked into was seemingly the living room. At first it didn’t look as if there was anywhere to sit, just an assortment of throws and beanbags. The room was dark, with big thick curtains pulled at the back of the room and the only light coming from a selection of small electric lamps that looked like candles placed around the floor. There was a large elaborate chandelier on the ceiling but it was either turned off or didn’t work.