Archie rolled his shoulders forward and snorted quietly.
‘A little . . .’ Holden replied, trying not to look at either of them.
‘And there’s a university crest underneath the logo with oars on it out the front as well . . .’
‘Yes.’
‘It’d be a shame if you lost all of that because someone had been careless with the records. That doesn’t seem the type of thing that a well-run place like this would risk happening . . .’
‘I did say there was a membership secretary, perhaps he’d have a better idea—’
Jessica pointed towards the door in the far corner. ‘How about you go into that office back there and do whatever it is you have to do in order to get me what I need. There might be data protection laws but then there’s also telling porkies to an officer.’ She turned back to Archie. ‘What is it we call it again?’
‘Being a knob head?’
‘Obstructing a police officer.’
Jessica gave him her best glare and Holden shook his head slightly, scarpering in the direction of the office.
‘He’s a lying little rich kid, isn’t he?’ Archie said when they were alone.
‘Not so little.’
‘Whatever – we should do him for something anyway.’
‘Nah, I’d rather he was out here shitting himself. If need be, we’ll keep an eye on him. He’ll be off talking to all his chums later on, getting their stories straight. I want them all nervous; that’s when one of them will say something stupid.’
‘You think he was involved?’
Jessica blew out through her clenched teeth. ‘Dunno. Even if it was some sort of drinking accident, why would he leave the body in the bin out the back? Dumping it in the river would be better – it might’ve been dragged down stream and ended up in the canal. He might be a slippery little shite but he’s not stupid. I still don’t think he’s telling us everything.’
Peering up at the walls, Jessica took in the rest of the surroundings. There was a large upturned boat hanging from the ceiling that was snared to the walls, as well as half-a-dozen crossed oars.
‘What do you know about initiations?’ Jessica asked quietly.
‘When I was playing footy as a kid, they made us do a lap of the field before we could start. Do you think they’ve got the new recruits giving them handjobs in the shower or something?’
Jessica shrugged. ‘It was the way he said they always hold this function at this time of year, after the new recruits have decided they want to commit. It’s odd having a party in November – why wouldn’t they do it at Christmas instead? They’d still have the same number of members. “Committed” was a very odd choice of word. Plus people keep saying they thought Damon was looking forward to something – perhaps it was becoming a full member here.’
‘Posh twats beating up other posh twats . . .’
Jessica replied sternly. ‘Someone’s died.’
Archie sighed, letting her know it was just a front. ‘Aye, I know. I was only arsing around.’ He breathed in deeply through his nose. ‘What shall we do?’
‘When we’re done with him, how about you look through his membership lists and make a few phone calls? See if you can find a pissed-off former member. If they have been hazing people, there must be someone who’ll blab.’
Before she could say anything else, Holden hurried out from the office on the far side of the room carrying a handful of papers. He gave them to Jessica and then stood tall, refusing to meet either of their eyes. ‘If that’s everything, I’ve got things to do.’
‘For now,’ Jessica replied. ‘But the next time we have a word, it’ll be under caution at the station. That way, if you try to lie again, we’ll have it on tape. I don’t like people looking me in the eye and feeding me a pile of shite.’
His expression didn’t change. ‘Fine, I’ll bring a solicitor too.’
‘You do that – see you soon.’
Jessica slowed as she walked, allowing her footsteps to echo around the deserted building. Archie followed suit until they were outside, where drizzle had replaced the earlier mildness.
‘Do you think we’ll see him again?’ Archie asked.
‘Definitely.’
‘What are you doing later?’
The question took Jessica so much by surprise that she answered without thinking: ‘I’ve got someone to meet tonight, then I’m off for the weekend.’
7
Jessica sat alone in the late-night greasy spoon drumming her fingers on the sticky once-white table. Fry-ups for breakfast were one thing but she was definitely getting too old to be eating this late, let alone putting away something this unhealthy. She had deliberately chosen a cafe just off the Northern Quarter, easily within walking distance of anywhere in the city centre. It was a place in which Friday-evening drunks and after-dark regulars would sit in silence and pile through solidified fat on a plate before or after sloshing down some ale from around the corner.
This really was living the dream.
She peered at the clock over the door, where a brown film of grime covered the vaguely transparent face. Nine o’clock on the dot – another evening away from Adam, another evening of doing things vaguely related to work. Each time he’d smile and nod, saying he understood and that he wanted to watch something geeky on television anyway. Either that, or he’d go to his sister’s flat and they’d sit and chat about whatever it was they talked about when Jessica wasn’t there. Probably her, or was that being paranoid?
One minute past nine: the person she was hoping for wasn’t coming.
Jessica should’ve known it. She’d tried to be clever but, as ever, she was being too smart for her own good. Who wanted to spend Friday night in a place like this? She should’ve been at home, wrapped up in a blanket watching reality television in what she and Adam both pretended was an ironic way, even though they each secretly enjoyed it. Actually, she should’ve been out on the town, drink in hand, enjoying herself: she wasn’t that old, for God’s sake. Thirty . . . something. Definitely not the big four-oh.
Ugh.
Two minutes past nine.
Jessica wiped the remaining streak of egg yolk from her plate with her finger and held it in her mouth. Why had Archie asked what she was doing that night? Was he asking her out? Or trying to be a mate? They didn’t really know each other but there was undoubtedly a spark there, like when you’re on a train or a plane, or stuck in a waiting room somewhere and something funny happens that you’re not sure anyone else has noticed. You exchange a knowing look with a stranger, a mere flicker of the eyes or a slightly raised eyebrow, and suddenly you know exactly what they’re thinking. For the tiniest of split seconds, you have a window into their soul and it feels fabulous. You might never see them again, never know their name, perhaps not even speak, but just for a moment you understand what being human is all about. She had that with Archie. They worked on the same wavelength and yet she’d gone from being the apprentice kept on a leash to being the handler allowing the new recruit to do his thing. She’d gone from being Darth Vader to Emperor Palpatine, she’d . . . hang on a minute, was that from Star Wars? Bloody hell, it was. Star Wars! Christ, going out with Adam and hanging around with Dave Rowlands had rubbed off on her so badly, she now knew the names of people in geeky sci-fi films. This was a new low.
Three minutes past nine.
The depressed-looking man behind the counter of the cafe leant forward onto his elbows and yawned, peering up at the relic of a television perched precariously on a mount above Jessica’s head. In the days of flatscreens, 3D, digital, plasma, LCD and who knew what else, this was a square box out of the dark ages. Either that or the 1970s, one or the other. There was a socket high on the wall, with the yellowing grungy plug practically welded into position. Jessica doubted it had been moved since the day it had been installed. It was on silent and there was a boxing match on. Jessica peered up at the clock again.