DS Jessica Daniel series: Think of the Children / Playing with Fire / Thicker Than Water – Books 4–6 (58 page)

There were the fourteen-year-old boys at the back of the bus in their ill-fitting school uniforms, swearing and scowling at anyone who dared to look in their direction. Then there were the young
teenage girls in front of the boys, split into two both physically by the aisle and their attitude. A handful on one side were leaning over the backs of the seats, chatting to the lads, or applying
make-up. The others were seemingly unhappy at both the other girls – and the boys.

After that, there were the people in suits on their way to work, constantly checking their watches and a few older folk looking slightly bemused. Probably thinking about how much things had
changed since their day, Andrew thought before realising he had stereotyped everyone on the bus. The one thing which definitely wasn’t just in his head was that everyone seemed to have a
mobile phone in their hand – even the pensioners.

When the bus finally stopped in the city centre, Andrew hurried through the streets until he reached the hotel Jessica had told him Ryan was staying in. Although she hadn’t been able to
give him any specific details about the schedule the teenager kept, Jessica said he usually went to college in the mornings and worked at a garage in the afternoons. What he got up to in the
evenings was anyone’s guess.

Andrew sat in the window of a coffee shop across the road, sipping on a cappuccino and watching the world pass him by. Gentle rain started to fall as the pace of everything, from the cars
buzzing past, to the speed at which people were walking, seemed to increase. The glass began to mist up, so he finished his drink and left the cafe before crossing to the hotel. Although he was
confident of his ability to blend into most scenes, standing in the rain was always a guaranteed way to make yourself stand out.

And you got soaked.

The investigator walked through the revolving doors of the hotel, entering the lobby. A selection of empty wide lounge chairs was dotted around. He walked quickly across the area, checking where
the lifts and stairs came out, before sitting on one of the chairs and taking his phone out.

He was consistently amazed at how you could get away with hovering almost anywhere unchallenged if you looked a little bit smart. It was all about seeming as if you had authority whether you did
or not. Jeans and a T-shirt were a definite no. A well-fitting suit carefully matched with a plain tie would do wonders as long as you walked around in a manner that made it appear as if you knew
what you were doing.

Andrew typed on his phone’s keypad and stopped every few minutes to check his watch, looking frustrated enough that he might be waiting for someone but not agitated enough to make a scene.
As expected, no one paid him any attention.

After fifteen minutes, Andrew spotted the person he had seen with Sienna in the restaurant. Ryan slouched his way out of the lift, looking at his own phone screen and not where he was going. He
scowled at a member of staff he almost walked into and left through the rotating door, shoving his shoulder hard into the glass to make it move.

Andrew moved quickly from his seat, pulling his woollen coat around him before exiting into the drizzle. He couldn’t believe his luck that Ryan was wearing bright white trainers and an
almost luminous yellow coat. Losing him would be well-nigh impossible, especially because of the uninterested, slouching way the teenager walked. Andrew could see him across the road, heading
towards the bus stop he had not long left himself. He walked swiftly through the foot traffic, keeping an eye on the bright yellow jacket as Ryan slowed to a stop by the bus rank. Andrew waited at
the far end of the enclosed area, around twenty metres away, thinking it was going to be a long day.

By the time the daylight began to fade, Andrew was annoyed at himself firstly for allowing Jessica to talk him into the job and secondly for the crazy decision to spend the day
on foot. As his thighs and legs began to ache, he kept telling himself how good it was for him to be getting so much exercise. The truth was he would have rather been in his car eating a meat and
potato pie and brushing the crumbs into the foot well.

His journey had taken him to the college, where he spent the morning in the park next to the bus stop waiting for Ryan to finish. He knew there was a chance the young man could leave by a
different route but, considering he knew where he worked, it wasn’t the worst of his concerns. The only reason he hadn’t gone straight to the workplace in the afternoon was because he
wanted to get an idea of what Ryan’s journey was like and to keep an eye on anyone he might be hanging around with. He had already scouted the location and knew the back of the college led
nowhere. The front was essentially one enormous car park. From his position it had been pretty easy to see everything except inside the building. Realistically he was never going to get access
there, so, by using his telephoto lens from the safety of the bushes just inside the park, he had done as well as could be expected without descending to significantly more subterfuge than he was
willing to use.

From the college, via the bus, he arrived at Ryan’s workplace. The previous evening, he had left his car parked on the side street opposite the garage, knowing he was going to end up
there. Again, finding out what exactly Ryan did inside was a level up from what he felt was necessary but Andrew took photos of Ryan’s workmates and each customer who came and went. At some
point, he would share the images he had from both the garage and the college with Jessica to see if she spotted anything he hadn’t.

The clouds had started to mass and with the light fading and his ability to take photos severely impeded, Andrew was almost ready to pack up for the day when he saw Ryan hurrying out of the
large sliding doors speaking into his phone. At first Andrew thought he was heading for the bus stop but the teenager turned left almost immediately into a side street. Throughout the day, he had
only seen his target slouch but he was now moving quickly and something didn’t seem right.

Andrew dropped the camera in his shoulder bag and stepped out of the car, pulling the lapels up on his coat to partially shield his face. He walked steadily but swiftly across the road,
following Ryan’s yellow coat from a distance as the teenager crossed another road and cut across a grassy area until he came to a bridge over the main road.

There were street lights at either end but none in the middle. Andrew hung back, away from the first lamp, squinting into the distance as Ryan stopped almost exactly in the centre of the
walkway. From the far end, he saw another figure approaching. It was undoubtedly a young woman, roughly Ryan’s age. She was wearing jogging bottoms and a large coat but her long blonde hair
swished in the breeze.

Andrew edged as close to the bridge as he dared, not wanting to stand directly under the street light. The noise of the traffic passing underneath meant overhearing any of the conversation was
impossible but the two people seemed to be having some sort of argument. The female waved her hands around and Ryan pointed an aggressive finger. The investigator peered towards them, trying to see
if the girl seemed familiar from any of the photos he had taken.

As the duo’s gesturing tailed off, Ryan unzipped his jacket and reached inside. From where he was standing, Andrew couldn’t see exactly what he was holding in his hand but it looked
like a folder or an envelope. He held it out towards the woman, who looked inside but didn’t take it. Andrew closed his eyes for a moment and took a deep breath, before starting to walk
confidently and quickly past the lamp over the bridge. He was careful not to arouse suspicion by looking at the pair as he moved towards them but glanced up briefly as he passed.

Ryan was shielding his body but his companion was clearly less aware of Andrew’s approach. She was now holding a white padded envelope and, although he didn’t catch the whole
sentence, he heard her local accent say one line perfectly. ‘Where the fuck did you get all this money?’

Garry Ashford wasn’t answering his phone. Jessica first called from her mobile and then from the station’s phone. With no luck, she tried using the prefix that
meant the call showed up as ‘unknown’. He obviously knew she was trying to get hold of him, which meant he was avoiding her calls. In fairness, she didn’t blame him.

Jessica tried dialling his mobile one final time, staring at the
Herald
’s website on her work terminal. The words ‘SUICIDE CLUB’ leapt off the screen. They were the
exact ones which had also been on the front of that morning’s paper and had been picked up by national newspapers who had been calling the press office all morning. Even the television news,
who had initially reported things fairly straight, were now using harder language so as not to be left behind by their print colleagues.

At first, she had thought about calling Sebastian to shout at him but held back, thinking he might enjoy it. She also knew from what Garry had previously claimed that the writer didn’t
create the headlines. It sounded suspiciously made up and didn’t stop her wanting someone to shout at.

Jessica clicked the ‘contact us’ button at the bottom of the news story and dialled the number on her desk phone.

A female voice answered sweetly on the second ring. ‘
Morning Herald
, how can I direct your call?’

‘Garry Ashford, please.’

‘One moment.’ Generic instrumental music started playing, agitating Jessica even further. The line quickly clicked back to the woman’s voice. ‘Can I ask who is calling,
please?’

‘Yes, it’s his mother.’

‘Okay, one moment.’

The music returned as Jessica re-read the top few lines of the story, allowing herself to become more annoyed by it. After a couple of minutes, the tune finally ended and Garry spoke.
‘Mum, I told you to call my mobile.’

‘I did but you’re not answering that, are you, Mr Ashford?’

There were a few moments of silence before the journalist realised he had been duped. ‘Jess?’

‘What the hell is going on with the headline?’

‘Jess, I, er . . .’

‘And since when do you ignore my calls? I’ve been dodging yours for years but that’s not the point.’

Garry stumbled over his words before finally coughing to clear his throat. ‘Sorry. I didn’t write the headline but you can’t say the story isn’t true. Two teenagers have
both killed themselves with apparently no good reason. Why shouldn’t we report that?’

‘It’s not just reporting that though, is it? It’s the implication there might be a string of other young girls ready to do the same.’

‘Are you saying there’s not?’ Garry shot back.

‘Are you saying there are?’

There was a pause before the journalist replied. ‘I told you, I didn’t write the headline, or the story for that matter. If you want to take it up with someone, call the
editor.’

Jessica was surprised at the annoyance in his voice. Their relationship had always been very one-sided in her favour. ‘I’m sorry, Garry,’ she said. ‘I know it’s not
you.’

When the journalist replied, his tone was a lot steadier. ‘Jess, we know each other well enough that I understand you just wanted someone to shout at. But as I keep telling you, these
decisions go above me.’

She felt a little silly, recognising he was right. ‘Fair enough but we have now got people going into schools and colleges today to give talks and so on.’

‘Maybe that’s a good thing? If there is a wider problem, it will get people asking for help.’

When he put it like that, Jessica realised the morning’s coverage wasn’t entirely negative. ‘You’re a slippery little fellow, aren’t you?’ she said,
lightening her tone to let him know she was joking.

Garry laughed. ‘If I were you, I’d be more concerned by the morning’s other revelation?’

‘What?’

‘The fact our secretary thinks your voice sounds like a sixty-four-year-old woman’s. That can’t be a good sign.’

Jessica couldn’t stop herself from giggling, although his point did hit a little too close to home. ‘All right, laugh it up,’ she said. ‘You’ve not been breaking
any speed limits recently, have you? Tax disc in date? What about the tread on your tyres? Are they the correct depth?’

‘Everything’s perfectly in order. The police are dodgy around here so you’ve got to be careful.’

‘Yeah, all right. We should go for a beer sometime. Just stop pissing me off, okay?’

‘I think me breathing pisses you off, but I’ll do my best.’

Jessica put down the receiver, feeling a little better, despite the lack of shouting. As she did, her mobile started ringing, with Andrew Hunter’s name illuminated.

‘You called at just the right time,’ Jessica answered.

Her greeting obviously confused the caller, who could only reply with a, ‘Huh?’

‘If you had phoned ten minutes ago, I would have been less than my cheery, fragrant self.’

‘Er, right . . . I’ve got something for you.’

Jessica realised the man hadn’t had time to adjust to her sense of humour. ‘Go on.’

‘I was going to call last night but it got late and then your line was busy this morning. Yesterday I followed your Ryan lad. I wanted to see what his routine was. Anyway, I ended up
following him to this bridge out by his work where he met this girl.’

Jessica couldn’t stop herself from interrupting. She took a pen from her top drawer and turned over a scrap of paper. ‘Did you recognise her?’

‘I don’t think so.’

‘Did you get any pictures?’

‘No, it was way too dark. Ryan gave her this large envelope. I didn’t want to be too conspicuous but I heard her ask him where he got the money from.’

For a moment, Jessica didn’t know what to say, before replying with a simple: ‘Money?’

‘Yes. I don’t know how much. The envelope didn’t seem particularly stuffed but I only saw it for a second.’ Andrew went on to describe the girl.

‘So she’s about his age?’ Jessica confirmed. ‘Why would he be giving her cash?’

‘I don’t know. I was hoping you might.’

Jessica tried to think. If the woman was a similar age to Ryan, that meant she was also close to Sienna and Molly. Could that mean anything?