‘But how . . . ?’ Jessica started.

‘Think. When you’re watching someone perform, it’s not what you do see that matters, it’s what you don’t see. Is someone really flying just because you can’t see the wires holding them?’

‘But I know a man can’t fly. I know somebody can’t walk through walls.’

‘We all know what a human being can and can’t do. The art of illusion is to make you question that. Look at me. What are the first things you noticed?’

Jessica rescanned him but knew what she was going to say. ‘You’re wearing two watches and odd shoes.’

‘Exactly and while you’re busy looking at my feet and wrists you’re missing far more fundamental things.’

Jessica finally got it. ‘So you’re saying we’re overlooking something straightforward?’

‘I don’t know; that’s not for me to say but I do know that with anything that looks impossible, the obvious answer is almost certainly the correct one.’

23

Rowlands drove them both back to the station, still crowing about his friend’s trick. He had kept the poker chip as a memento. Jessica thought about what Hugo had told her. The shoes and the watches were misdirection. She didn’t know how he had done the trick but did feel as if she had learned something from him. In terms of progress, the meeting hadn’t got her anywhere but she felt it could be useful in the future. For now, she just had to put his advice into practical terms. She still felt that the key to the case would be linking the victims. Wayne Lapham was a connection but there must be another. If she could find that link, she felt sure the rest of the pieces would click into place – including the mystery way the person had got into and out of the houses. It was that part she felt was the misdirection. While they were focusing on the method, they were not concentrating on whoever had murdered two people.

Hugo’s words stuck in her mind as the week went on. The two people that had been given the task of linking the victims were reassigned as Jessica took on the job herself. She would take the files of Yvonne Christensen and Martin Prince home each evening, hoping something would occur to her which others had somehow missed. She went back over the notes of the interviews with the victims’ family and friends and rechecked things such as bank and phone records. She even checked where the victims had gone to school to see if they unknowingly knew each other. It was dead end after dead end and she was becoming fully aware she was turning into a nightmare to live with.

Caroline’s relationship with Randall had turned serious and they were sleeping over at either Randall’s flat or theirs every night of the week now. Caroline asked her whether she minded but it was a bit late and Jessica wouldn’t have objected even if she did; she was pleased her friend was happy. Caroline said that Randall’s flat was a bit basic and theirs was much nicer. Jessica was allowing herself to be engulfed by the work. She would leave the flat early and either come home late, or return with the two files she knew off by heart. She had phoned Harry the evening after meeting Hugo but he had not answered. She also texted Garry Ashford that night.

‘I owe you.’

In many ways, the week had gone well. Her court appearance was out of the way and the embarrassment over what had happened in the incident room the previous weekend was forgotten. Somehow, she was also off the hook over her relationship with the media. The irony was that she hadn’t spoken to the papers when she was under suspicion but afterwards she actually had talked to Garry Ashford and was now not in trouble. It was odd how things worked out.

Of course there was one major problem: the investigation was still going precisely nowhere and even the press were bored now. Since visiting Sandra Prince after her release from hospital, Jessica had phoned the woman twice more. She wanted to let the victim’s wife know she was trying her best. Each time they talked, Jessica could hear the devastation in the woman’s voice. She said nice things and wished her well but Jessica felt guilty for her own lack of progress.

Caroline had noticed her friend’s isolation and said she wanted to do something to cheer her up. Jessica had told her not to but eventually relented. Caroline had arranged a dinner party at their house, wanting to show Randall what a good cook she was. Not content with just cooking for two, she insisted Jessica be there too, while Randall had invited one of his friends along.

Jessica knew it was a sneaky way of getting her on a date of sorts but couldn’t be bothered arguing. As promised, she had come home from the station ‘on time’. She told Caroline that, if anything major was to occur, the plans would have to change but, much as she had willed it to, nothing had come up through the day. As she entered the flat, she smelled something inviting drifting from their kitchen. She yelled ‘hi’ and Caroline walked into the hallway, squealing: ‘You’re back.’

‘I’m back.’

‘Do you want to . . . get changed or anything?’

‘Nope.’

Since going into plain clothes, Jessica had spent most evenings still wearing her work suits. It was a habit that went all the way back to school, where she would stay in her uniform from the moment she got dressed in the morning to the moment she got ready for bed in the evening. Her parents had tried to make her alter her ways but eventually realised they were fighting a losing battle. She wasn’t bothered about making an impression on whoever Randall’s friend happened to be. She thought she looked all right in any case. Her suit fitted her fairly well and she had washed her hair the night before. That, along with a little make-up, was about as prepared as she bothered to get when going out nowadays.

‘Okay then. Can you watch the stove while I get changed?’

‘What do I have to do?’

‘Just make sure it doesn’t boil over.’

Even with her limited culinary skills, Jessica felt she could manage that. As ever, she put her bag and shoes down inside the living room door on top of the two files she was carrying around more for comfort than anything practical. Caroline went off to her room as Jessica entered the kitchen.

Their kitchen wasn’t massive but the end wall opposite the door had a cooker, which had eventually been brought in by their landlord after their complaints about the original one. It looked decent but Jessica had never bothered to learn how to use it. Her instruments of choice lay on the counter top next to it: a toaster and microwave. There were various cupboards lining the walls above the tops and down the left-hand side of the room. All of the doors matched the light yellow colour scheme of the room and Caroline did a great job of keeping everything spotless.

Jessica wasn’t completely sure what was in the pan she was making sure didn’t boil over by stirring it. Whatever it was, it looked potatoey and smelled good, as did whatever was in the oven itself.

Their flat had two bedrooms and a reasonable-sized living room but the kitchen had to double up as a dining room as necessary. Most of the time they ate from their laps in the living room but the option was there if they wanted to feel almost civilised.

There was a small table in the kitchen with a wobbly leg and Jessica sat fiddling with her phone, deliberately rocking the table and checking a few websites plus reading an email from her mum. Her parents had had the Internet installed a few years previously but it was only recently they were beginning to get to grips with its possibilities. With Jessica so busy and their phone calls becoming less frequent, her mum had taken to emailing. Her dad still wasn’t too taken with technology, so her mother would write on behalf of them both. Each email was immaculately written. While language was evolving thanks to things such as shortened text-speak, Jessica’s mother was certainly not one for abbreviations. Everything was spelled correctly with perfect grammar. Jessica always liked that when she read her mum’s emails and it reminded her of being younger back at home.