‘How long ago was that?’

Jessica already knew the answer – she’d done her homework before coming anywhere near the office – but that didn’t mean it wasn’t worth hearing it from him.

Tim started counting on his fingers. ‘A little over a year and a half.’

‘But somehow you moved from playing in a band to owning a taxi company?’

‘Stupid, right? We’d been playing all around the area and not really getting anywhere. There were a few hardcore fans who’d come along and make up the numbers but there was never going to be any money in it. When I was on my own, that would’ve been fine. I was happy living place to place, eating cold pizza and doing a gig every few nights. That was never going to suit Mandy. She liked the idea of going out with someone in a band, she just didn’t want me actually being in the band – especially one that wasn’t successful.’

‘So it was her idea to start a business?’

Tim swigged his vodka again. ‘Not exactly. It took me ages to realise but I did eventually figure out why she started seeing me – it was because she really thought the band was good. She thought we were playing local pubs at that point but then within a few months we’d be doing bigger clubs, then arenas. She thought she was buying into something that was going to be successful. When I realised that, I kept thinking I’d let her down. She thought she was marrying a soon-to-be rock god, but instead she got the hairy bloke at the back with drumsticks. None of that bothered me; I just wanted to play drums – if it was in front of a dozen people in some back room, that was fine. If it was in front of thousands of people at some festival, I would’ve treated it the exact same way.’

‘I understand.’

Jessica really did. To an extent, on a different scale in a different line of work, she was the same. Big case or small case, there was a bad guy to catch. If you started prioritising one victim over another then you’d begin to see them as numbers, or targets, anything except people.

Tim took another drink, going silent as the commentator on the radio got excited again – United were two-one down.

‘Bastard defence again,’ Tim muttered, just as the internal radio rattled into life. One of the drivers was trying to get in contact but Tim ignored him.

‘Anyway, when I realised I’d let her down, I was trying to come up with something else I could do that she’d appreciate. She was always watching these shows about these crazy parties that people have, where they hire out a zoo for the day and invite their mates; or they have pop stars arriving in a helicopter to serenade them for their birthday.’

‘I once saw one where this girl dressed up as Snow White,’ Jessica said, ‘and hired seven dwarves to do her bidding for the day. All her guests were dressed up as Disney characters.’

Tim laughed. ‘Like I told you – girls are mental. What lad could ever come up with that?’

Jessica couldn’t disagree.

Another drink, smaller this time, and Tim continued: ‘On those shows, all the girls hire limos to get them to places. I told Mandy that we should start a limo hire business and I’ve never seen her so excited. I think she had visions of a fleet of pink cars chauffeuring her everywhere, and that we’d have a couple of others that would bring all the money in.’

‘But it didn’t work like that?’

‘Did it bollocks. Do you know how expensive those things are? Then you’ve got to get insurance and everything else. It’d have been cheaper starting a helicopter company. The bank was having none of it – but the guy suggested that if we could run our own taxi company, the limos would become a natural extension if we were successful.’

No wonder they were both miserable.

‘One thing led to another, and suddenly I’m here seven days a week trying to give directions to clueless drivers. Meanwhile, our lead singer’s off in America, where I should be.’

Jessica held out a hand and took the vodka bottle from him. He didn’t resist as she screwed the lid on and rested it under her seat.

‘Who hit who first?’

Tim had hunched forward with his forearms resting on his knees but his head shot up, searching for Jessica. She held his gaze as he said: ‘I’ve never touched her.’

‘When did she first hit you?’

Likely without realising, Tim began scratching at his upper arm, returning his stare to his feet. ‘Around a year ago.’

‘Have you ever told anyone?’

‘What do you think?’

‘You know why I’m asking, don’t you?’ Tim didn’t reply, tapping his foot and listening to the football commentary, so Jessica continued: ‘You must realise there’s a reason why no one’s come through that door in the last twenty minutes – and it’s not because you haven’t sorted the sign out yet. We’re trying to give you the chance to do things quietly. It will look better for you in the long run.’

‘How many people have you got out there?’

‘Enough.’

‘But you came in by yourself?’

It could have sounded threatening but it didn’t.

Jessica shrugged. ‘I know this isn’t the life you want – and I don’t mean the band or the taxis, maybe even Mandy. The other stuff.’

No reply. Still two-one in the football.

‘We’re going to have to interview you properly at the station, take fingerprints, talk to your drivers to find out who was running the desk on the evenings you weren’t – we’ll put it all together with your help or without it.’

‘What if I don’t want to go quietly?’

Jessica tilted her head again, brushing her hair back to make the earpiece as clear as it could be.

‘If I were you, I really wouldn’t repeat that.’

34

Jessica was feeling smugger than Hamish Pendlebury and his scumbag solicitor. She sat in the chair across from DCI Cole’s desk staring at the row of commendations and certificates pinned to the wall, listening to him on the phone waffling on about procedural stuff to someone she couldn’t care less about.

Eventually, he hung up and spun around in his chair. He still wasn’t looking at her, instead focusing on a spot just over her shoulder in a way that made Jessica so self-conscious she wanted to turn around and see if there was anything there.

‘I did say you didn’t have to come in today,’ Cole said, still watching the spot.

‘It’s a Monday morning – what else am I going to do with my time?’

‘Give me the rundown.’

This was the moment Jessica had been waiting for all weekend. Rarely did she gloat over her achievements, knowing that anything she was pleased about was tempered by other people’s heartache, but here, for once, it felt good to stick a big middle finger up to whoever was making her life hard. From where she was sitting, it was the man across the desk.

Jessica began to read from her notes: ‘On Saturday afternoon, I arrested Timothy Stoddard for the murders of Cassie Edmonds and Grace Savage. The profile said . . .’ Jessica paused, fumbling with her papers to find the right one, ‘. . . that our killer “had a deep-seated hatred of women”, which is a fairly woolly and wide-ranging claim but at least had me thinking. I’m not actually certain it’s the case here – but Tim Stoddard had a definite hatred of one woman: his wife Mandy, even if he loved her too. Neither of them have any history of abuse, no criminal record and nothing that could’ve naturally drawn us to them.’

That was a relief in itself – it was always a problem explaining to the media why you’d missed an obvious clue in the first place.

‘Myself, DC Rowlands, DC Davey and PC Jamieson visited the taxi office when we were investigating Hamish Pendlebury and overheard Stoddard arguing with his wife. She ended up hitting him.’

‘Did you do anything at the time?’

‘Well, er, no – I mean—’