The article itself was mainly a tribute to Paul Keegan’s wife. It skirted around the details of Scott’s involvement, which had been written about elsewhere, but included things about charity work she had done and how many years she had given to the nursing profession. It was nicely written and Jessica couldn’t help but feel her emotions stirring, thinking what a waste of life it was.

She flicked through the pages and thought how odd it was that one news story could be about something so dark, yet overleaf was a light-hearted article about some world record cross-stitching attempt; it was bizarre.

There was a knock at the door. ‘Yep. Come in.’

Aylesbury entered and Jessica quickly wheeled around in an attempt to not look quite so casual. She put the newspaper down over her keyboard. ‘Sir.’

Her superior sat in Reynolds’ seat across the desk from her. He looked around the room, clearly taking in Jessica’s messy half, but said nothing.

‘I’ve just been to see Detective Inspector Cole,’ he began. Jessica knew where the rest of the conversation would go. She stared at a spot on her desk, refusing to meet his eye. ‘After speaking to Superintendent Davies this morning following various discussions last night, it has been decided that the Serious Crime Division will be taking over responsibility for finding Nigel Collins.’

Jessica said nothing, continuing to focus on her desk. ‘I’m sorry. Everyone appreciates the work you and the team have put into this investigation.’ He paused as if to give her an opening to reply. She didn’t trust what she might blurt out, though. ‘Jessica?’

He had never once called her by her first name, always ‘Detective’ or ‘DS Daniel’. She looked at him and, perhaps for the first time, saw him as a man, rather than a policeman who was her superior. He was staring at her with his head slightly tilted to one side. ‘I’m proud of you. I don’t think anyone could have expected more.’

Jessica felt a lump in her throat. She wanted to speak, if only to tell him to leave so he wouldn’t see her burst into tears but no words would come out. Surely, she couldn’t cry again? Not in front of her boss. She blinked hard and fought not to lose it. ‘Thank you, Sir,’ she managed to croak out.

He must have seen how close to tears she was but didn’t react. She knew it was highly unprofessional. ‘There will be other cases. You have proven to everyone you can handle serious matters.’

Jessica nodded but still couldn’t speak.

‘Okay. I’ve got to go and speak to a few more people and then arrange for exactly how things are going to work. Feel free to finish up any paperwork you have outstanding and liaise with Detective Inspector Cole.’

He swiftly stood up and turned around, exiting the room and closing the door behind him. Jessica didn’t move but could hear the hum of people working outside. She blew her nose and then closed her eyes and breathed in deeply. She didn’t know if she was angry or upset. Another knock came on the door shortly after and, thinking it was Aylesbury back for some reason, she again composed herself. ‘Come in.’

The door opened and it was Rowlands.

‘All right?’ she said.

‘Yes, come on. The verdict’s due.’

He dashed back out of the room, presumably expecting Jessica to follow. She was confused at first, thinking Scott Keegan and co had only just appeared for their first appearance that morning, then she clocked it was Harry’s case at the Crown Court. The jury had been out for two days and must have returned.

She quickly put her shoes back on and followed after Rowlands into the reception area. It seemed ridiculous that members of a modern police force were waiting in their own entrance foyer watching a small portable TV screen high on a wall. There were other televisions around the station but none specifically hooked up. There were various health and safety guidelines about setting up electrical items and, even if there weren’t, Jessica suspected a lot of the crew wouldn’t have been able to figure out where all the leads went anyway. Rather than mess around everyone had dashed to the nearest working screen.

She could see a presenter standing outside a different court to the one from that morning. He was being shielded by an umbrella as the wind blew his hair around. Across the bottom of the screen scrolled the words: ‘Tom Carpenter verdict due’. The sound was up but Jessica couldn’t hear what was being said over the expectant chatter. A library photo of Peter Hunt appeared on the screen to enormous boos and various insults that rhymed with ‘Hunt’ around the room.

Jessica knew that if the jury believed Tom Carpenter had been attacked first or thought he might be, they could decide he was allowed to use ‘reasonable force’ to defend himself. In most cases a knife would not be reasonable but, given the way Harry had been portrayed as out of control, they might just be swayed.

There was no doubt Carpenter had stabbed Harry but, according to the desk sergeant, Carpenter had claimed on oath that Harry had come at him with a glass. The knife was in his pocket and he had acted instinctively. Jessica knew that didn’t sound like Harry to her but, with all the witnesses conveniently being in the toilets at the time and no one to say any differently, it was Harry’s word against Carpenter’s. That meant it would come down to the jury but Harry certainly hadn’t helped himself. If they believed the force Carpenter had used was reasonable, they would find him not guilty.

Jessica thought of the two female jurors on the front row and the man she thought would be the foreman. She wondered if any of them had been swayed by her. Had the man on the end been pushing for a guilty verdict or did he believe Harry had been a threat?

Suddenly the scrolling text at the bottom stopped and it was as if everyone held their breath collectively. The room was silent as the presenter frantically looked behind him. The breaking news ribbon began to move along the bottom of the screen again, the words scrolling in slow motion.

‘Tom Carpenter found not guilty.’

As soon as the words had been revealed, the room erupted with shouts of derision and cries of unfairness. Jessica thought she swore a lot but some of the language shocked even her and that was nothing compared to the outrage as Peter Hunt emerged from court side by side with Tom Carpenter.

Jessica tried to shush everyone as the camera dashed towards the two people in the court’s entrance. Microphones appeared in front of them from all directions and finally everyone in the station quietened down.

Hunt was beaming even wider than his client. He had clearly made a special effort with his appearance that morning just in case this moment came. He looked more polished than ever and had some unnamed aide holding an umbrella over him. Jessica thought she wanted to listen to it but as soon as Hunt’s first words came, ‘This is justification . . .’, she drifted away from the pack back towards her office.

Poor Harry.

33

For the rest of the week, the papers and news bulletins had been full of both Tom Carpenter’s acquittal and the force’s failure to find Nigel Collins. Peter Hunt had a field day, appearing on a breakfast news programme, both of the major twenty-four-hour news channels and at least two national newspapers. He had been the main guest for a radio phone-in where the question was: ‘Are Britain’s police incompetent?’ As she listened to the broadcast on her drive to work, Jessica wondered what kind of lonely lunatic rang these types of show, spouting ill-informed mindless nonsense. She reckoned they would be on the phone pretty sharpish if they needed the police’s assistance. The presenter’s smug annoying tone, ‘So are Britain’s police a total bag of useless shits,’ he might as well have been saying, drove her crazy. She made a mental note that if she ever came across an emergency call from someone called ‘Sue from Bromsgrove’ she would quite happily ignore it.