Scarred for Life (20 page)

Jessica was about to stride through to the office at the back when a woman’s voice bellowed: ‘It’s not my fault you’ve not changed the sodding sign.’

A man’s voice shouted back: ‘All right, keep your bloody hair on.’

‘Don’t you fucking swear at me, you dickhead. It’s not my fault the bastard radios aren’t working either – I told you not to buy such cheap shite but it’s always about saving money with you, isn’t it?’

‘If you didn’t spend so much getting your hair done—’

‘What is it with you and my hair? Christ’s sake, you’re fucking obsessed.’

‘Oh, shove it up your arse – there’s enough room up there. Jesus, what is it, your time of the month again?’

Wallop
.

‘Ow,’ the man’s voice shouted. ‘Fucking hell, you psycho bitch.’

Wallop
.

Jessica opened the door again and slammed it this time. For a second there was silence and then a couple emerged sheepishly into the main waiting room. They were not what Jessica had expected: the woman with the big gob was shorter than she was, thin, tottering on heels, clutching an enormous bag and, in fairness to the man, it did look as if quite a lot of time, effort and backcombing had gone into her hair. The man, who Jessica assumed was ‘Tim’ of ‘Tim’s Taxis’ fame, was a hulk – over six foot tall, nearly as wide as the woman was tall, with long hair down his back that wouldn’t have been amiss in a biker gang. If this wasn’t proof that opposites attract then nothing was.

The woman glanced between the four officers and smiled sweetly. ‘Can you deal with this, Tim, hon?’

Tim had his teeth gritted. ‘Yes, sweetie, you go and get your nails done. I’ll see you at home later.’

A quick peck on the cheek and she was away, somehow managing to keep her balance in heels that would be classed as weapons in some countries.

Tim rubbed his upper arms as Jessica could sense Dave and Archie suppressing giggles.

‘I think someone’s already spoken to you,’ Jessica said. ‘We’re trying to find Hamish Pendlebury.’

With a frustrated toss of his hands skywards, Tim sighed. ‘Our radios have been on the blink. We’ve had to stop taking pre-bookings because I can’t get hold of anyone.’

‘But you also manage black cabs?’

The distinction was important because Hamish drove a black cab – a Hackney cab – which was legally allowed to cruise around looking for business and did not have to keep track of all the bookings it took. The private-hire taxis could only be pre-booked and full records had to be kept of all journeys.

‘We do a bit of both,’ Tim replied. ‘Nowadays you’ve got to dabble where you can.’

‘And Hamish is out in a black cab now?’

‘Right, but I don’t know where. Our system is down. I bought it in second-hand and the guy who fitted it reckoned it was as-new. Can you do anything about that?’

‘I think you’re after trading standards. Do you have any other way of contacting him?’

‘No, it’s not the first time it’s happened. Our private guys have to hang around waiting – either that or we call their mobiles. The Hackney lot go off and do their own thing until we can get in contact.’

‘I know you’ve gone over this on the phone but I need access to your tracking records of who’s on shift and when.’

Tim led them into the back but there was barely space for two of them, so Archie, Dave and the uniformed officer returned to the maroon room and took a seat. Tim showed Jessica how the computer worked and, after she’d wedged herself behind the desk, started fishing for information. ‘Is it, er, serious . . . ?’ he added.

‘Is what serious?’

‘The reason you’re looking for Hamish.’

‘I can’t tell you.’

‘But you think he might be in trouble?’

‘I can’t tell you.’

‘Right . . . is there anything else I can help you with?’

‘Getting your radios working would be a good start. If you’ve got a kettle, then I’m sure that lot out there would appreciate it. I think we’re all white without.’

Tim opened the filing cabinet behind Jessica and took out a kettle, heading into a smaller side room, filling it with water and then putting it on top of the cabinet, jamming it into a socket that already had eight different plugs slotted into various extension adapters, which Jessica felt sure was a fire hazard. He hovered behind her, making her feel uncomfortable, mainly because he was so much taller than she was as she sat.

‘Any luck with the radios or trackers?’ she prompted.

‘Oh, aye, yeah.’ Tim edged around the desk and picked up a large metal box with a few speaker holes on the front. He unplugged a cable, turned it upside down, looked at the bottom, and then plugged it in again. ‘Hmm . . .’

Obviously a technical genius at work. Well, at least one on a par with the plonkers they employed to fix – or not – the computers at Longsight.

‘Any better?’ Jessica asked.

‘No . . . I think it might be a loose connection.’

Apparently at a loss how to fix it, Tim dropped to the floor and started to shuffle under the desk, cracking his head on the corner with a solid thwack.

‘Are you okay?’

Tim squealed slightly. ‘Fine. Just a little tap.’

Jessica continued looking through the logs. As they had been told, Hamish was definitely off work on the nights Cassie and Grace had disappeared, yet the number plate of his black cab had shown up very close to the area Jessica suspected both women went missing from. It was enough to arrest him.

Crack!

Tim’s head crunched off the table again as he tried to manoeuvre himself out.

‘Do you need me to move?’ Jessica asked.

Tim creakily emerged, rubbing his head. ‘I’m fine. I’ve disconnected everything under there and tried again.’ He pressed a button on the desk but nothing happened. ‘Stupid piece of shite . . .’ He paused. ‘’Scuse the language, like.’

‘It’s fine.’

Still at a loss, Tim leant forward and smashed his hand on the top of the box with such force that the entire desk shook. There was a crackle, a pop and then static.

‘Does that mean it’s working?’ Jessica asked.

Tim shrugged. ‘I suppose so.’

‘Try radioing Hamish.’

Tim checked his lists and then put the call out. Seconds later the reply buzzed back from a gruff Scottish accent. ‘I’m here, son. Is your radio on the blink again? My phone’s out of charge, else I would’ve called in.’

Jessica grabbed a pen from the desk and wrote, ‘Where is he?’ on the pad between her and Tim.

‘Where are you, mate?’ Tim asked breezily.

‘Just picked someone up from the Tesco on Oxford Road. I’m on my way out to Longsight. I’ll call in when I’m done.’

23

‘Better put your seatbelt on, mate,’ Dave warned the uniformed officer as the four of them packed into the marked police car. Jessica had taken the driver’s seat before anyone could complain and screeched them away into rush-hour traffic, sirens blazing, blue lights spinning, heart pumping.

‘Fuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuck,’ Archie wailed from the passenger seat as his head thudded into the window.

‘Stop whingeing,’ Jessica barked, slamming the car into fourth and blazing around a bus. ‘Call the station and get backup.’

Archie wound down the window an inch, saying he felt a little woozy, and Jessica half-turned in the seat towards Rowlands. ‘Have you still got Tim on the phone?’

‘Yes, can you watch the road, please?’

Jessica accelerated into a speed bump and felt the suspension bounce as the car took off and landed with a metallic thud. She rounded a corner in third just as their radio blazed to life.

‘Answer it, then,’ Jessica ordered Archie.

‘I think I’m going to be sick.’

‘Stop being wet.’ Jessica punched the dashboard. ‘What is it?’

‘We’ve just caught your cab on ANPR,’ an officer chirped.

‘Thanks for the help but we’re already on our way.’

The tyres howled as Jessica undertook a lorry, swerved right and overtook a mini, before breezing through a set of red traffic lights.

‘I really think I might be sick,’ Archie said groggily, winding down the window even further.

‘Will you put that back up?’ Jessica said. ‘It’s bloody freezing in here.’

She was so busy bellowing at Archie that she almost missed the ramp from Mancunian Way onto Stockport Road. Not wanting to double back, Jessica stamped on the brake, spun the steering wheel hard left and hoped for the best. With a crunch of metal, the rear bumper clipped the concrete barrier but she gripped the steering wheel tightly and righted the front, accelerating at the same time and racing down the incline in one smooth-ish movement. Well, that was how it felt in her head.

‘I hope you’ve packed some clean pants,’ Dave told the uniformed officer in the back seat.

‘I’ve been in a rally car and that was nothing like this.’

Jessica eased off the pedal as she reached the bottom, had a quick glance right, and then steamed onto the A6. ‘Will you two girls stop bitching in the back? This is how an expert does it.’

In the front, Archie slumped towards the open window, making an unhealthy-sounding combination of gurgles and groans. Jessica slid the car into fifth as she accelerated again.

‘Find out from Tim where his mate is now,’ Jessica shouted.

Dave asked the question and replied moments later: ‘That estate out the back of Levenshulme train station. Second right after the station, first left.’

‘Gotcha.’

A motorbike swerved to turn across her and then thought better of it when the rider realised how quickly she was going. Jessica swore under her breath, weaving around a car coming in the opposite direction as Archie groaned again.

‘You’re really putting me off,’ Jessica said.

‘Hnnnnnfhh.’

Jessica skidded around the turn towards the train station, second right, first left.
Screeeeeeeeeeech
.

Blue flashing lights already filled the road, with the black cab stopped in the centre, two police cars ahead of it, one behind. Jessica slotted in next to the one at the rear and wrenched the door open. Her heart was pounding from the adrenaline as she bounded forward.

Close to the stopped cab was an officer talking into his radio. When he spotted Jessica, he waved her across. ‘We only got here thirty seconds ago. We’ve been waiting for you.’ Behind her, Archie, Dave and the uniformed officer staggered across, out of breath. Even in the dim light from the street lamps, Archie looked green. ‘What happened to you three?’ the officer added. ‘You look like you’ve shat yourselves.’

‘I nearly did,’ Dave replied, trying to catch his breath.

The officer passed Jessica a bulletproof vest. ‘We’ve got armed officers on the way,’ he said.

‘Sod that, I’ve already bailed them out once today.’

Jessica marched across to the cab and knocked on the driver’s side window, taking a step backwards as the rear door opened. Out stepped a dumpy woman, hands up, Tesco bag for life in the air. ‘It was only a pack of choc ices!’ she shouted, eyes wide in fear. ‘I thought I’d only picked up one box but there are two. I’ll pay the difference.’

Jessica ignored her, opening the driver’s door, crouching and telling Hamish Pendlebury he was under arrest.

Archie sat in Jessica’s office cradling a chipped mug of tea. ‘I don’t think I’m going to sleep tonight,’ he said, voice still trembling.

Dave laughed. ‘I’ve seen way worse than that.’

Jessica scowled at the pair of them, Rowlands in particular. ‘Aren’t you done for the day?’

‘I just need an hour or two for my heart rate to return to normal, then I’ll nick off,’ Dave replied.

‘You have been on the advanced driving course, haven’t you?’ Archie asked.

‘Pfft, I should be teaching that,’ Jessica replied.

Neither of them seemed convinced. ‘Is that why you took a chunk out of the back bumper?’ Dave asked.

Jessica nodded at Archie. ‘That was
his
fault – if he hadn’t been squealing like a trapped mouse, I would’ve been able to concentrate.’

Archie sipped his drink but his eyes were blinking rapidly. ‘That guy in uniform’s gone home for the day. It wouldn’t surprise me if he’s off on the sick for six months now. Poor bastard.’

‘Will you two stop moaning about my driving? I got us there, didn’t I? We’re all in one piece – you should be thanking me.’

‘What for?’ Dave asked.

‘Showing you how to multi-task. There you were crying like a baby abandoned in a box, while I was driving, answering radios, navigating—’

‘Scaring the shite out of cyclists,’ Dave added.

‘Bah, they should get a car.’

There was a knock on the door, with a PC poking his head around to say that Hamish Pendlebury and his solicitor were now ready. Jessica was already past the end of her shift – again.

‘Go home,’ she said, nodding at Dave and then turning to Archie. ‘Right then, brown pants, you did the legwork, so you can ask the questions if you can keep your lunch down for a few minutes.’

Archie perked up, sitting straighter in his chair and then standing. ‘Really?’

‘Yes, just splash some water on your face first – you look like you’ve got chronic bowel syndrome. Meet me at the interview rooms.’

Hamish Pendlebury was a big man. His studded leather jacket had been confiscated but he was still wearing jeans and a scruffy black skull and crossbones T-shirt full of creases. His hair wasn’t as long as Tim’s but they could have been members of the same biker gang, and he had a long grey beard which had been clumped into a point. His solicitor was the complete opposite: small, well decked out, expensive leather satchel, cocky. Hamish was looking fairly confident too, his steady gaze sweeping across Jessica and Archie, which wasn’t a good sign.

Before Archie had said a word, Jessica had a sinking feeling. When both the suspect and his solicitor were looking conceited in the interview room, it was because they knew something the officers in front of them didn’t. There was a definite smugness about the pair of them. A smuggy smugness that they weren’t even attempting to conceal with their smug grins and smug posture. Even the satchel had a smug look about it, as if the solicitor had spent an hour in Marrakech bartering some poor kid down from thirty quid until he’d managed to buy it for fifty pence – and then put it on expenses when he got home. The smug bastard.