Behind Closed Doors (Season One: Book 7) (Jessica Daniel) (3 page)

‘I do but I’ve not been here for too long,’ she replied. ‘If you’re looking for directions, I’m probably not the best person to ask.’

Jessica peered down at Cole’s note. ‘I’m looking for Charlie Bailey. Do you know him?’

The woman grinned as she closed her book, putting it on the table and stretching out a hand. ‘Charlotte Bailey, pleased to meet you. You must be Jessica.’

Jessica shook her hand awkwardly, unsure what to say and feeling even more self-conscious. ‘Sorry, my DCI left me a note saying “Charlie” and I assumed . . .’

Charley took the note, reading it with a smile and handing it back. Her voice was posh, each word perfectly pronounced. ‘It’s the way he’s spelled it. I go for an E-Y at the
end. I’m guessing you tried calling but there’s no reception out here.’

Jessica slid into the booth opposite her. ‘I tried when I got off the train, then from the taxi, then when I arrived at the pub.’

Charley shook her head. ‘It’s pretty remote here. You get patches where everything works perfectly, then five steps away, you’ll lose reception entirely. The locals spent years
campaigning against a phone mast being put in, so they can’t really complain.’

‘You’re not local then?’

It was an obvious question given the accent but Charley answered anyway. ‘No, I’m from Jersey.’

‘The island?’

‘Unless you know another one.’

Charley continued smiling and Jessica could tell she had been asked these questions many times before. Jessica figured that if she was going to end up working with someone, then she may as well
find out all she could about them.

‘How did you end up here?’

Charley raised a hand, catching the attention of a barman who was picking up glasses. She ordered a glass of wine for herself and a soft drink for Jessica.

‘I studied medieval history at Cambridge. When I finished, I wasn’t sure what I wanted to do but applied to the police on a whim. I did a bit of time in uniform down south and did
the usual swap over to CID, working my way up. One day, I saw a job advertised on our internal system for a DCI position up here. One thing led to another and here I am.’

Charley’s eyes were bright blue, brimming with enthusiasm and a charm Jessica could only wish for.

‘So you come from the Channel Islands?’

‘Yes.’

‘And you went to Cambridge?
The
Cambridge, not some satellite polytechnic where you have a load of dropouts studying fashion and the media, or something like that?’

‘Yes.’

‘But you joined the police?’

‘Yes.’

‘And now you’re up living on the Lancs–Yorks border in the middle of nowhere?’

‘Exactly.’

Jessica paused for a moment, wondering if there was a polite way to phrase her next question. When she realised there wasn’t, she simply went for it.

‘
Why
?’

Charley laughed, a girly giggle that Jessica guessed could have snared many men over the years. She flicked her hair away from her face, grinning. ‘I suppose I figured, “Why
not?”. It felt like something different to do.’

‘But you studied history at Cambridge. Surely that opens a few doors?’

Charley shrugged. ‘Yes but boring doors. I wanted to go and work with real people.’

‘Do you know anyone around here?’

‘Not before I came.’

‘So you moved halfway across the country by yourself, even though you didn’t know anyone?’

‘I suppose it sounds a bit strange when you put it like that. For me it was a new experience.’

Jessica’s own definition of a new experience within the policing world would be a transfer to a Caribbean island to work in the sun for a few years. Some village in the middle of nowhere
would certainly provide a new experience – but it wasn’t one she would go out of her way to choose.

Before she could say anything, the barman returned with a tray and their drinks. Charley knew him by name, patting him on the arm and saying she hoped his mother was feeling better. He was only
eighteen or nineteen and blushed at the attention of an attractive woman twice his age, stumbling over a reply before tripping over his own feet as he turned to walk away. Jessica could see that
Charley had already made her presence felt in the area, although being a DCI meant she must have responsibility for more than simply this village.

As he walked out of earshot, Charley raised her eyebrows. ‘You’ve got to keep them on their toes,’ she winked.

Jessica wanted to dislike her but couldn’t resist being charmed. Despite this being somewhere that she struggled to find on a map, there was something almost romantic about the notion of
dropping everything and anyone you had ever known and creating a new life for yourself. She could sense the appeal.

Charley took a sip of her wine. ‘So, you’re Jessica,’ she said. ‘I’ve heard a bit about you.’

Jessica fought not to squirm, wondering if someone had been talking out of turn about what had happened in the last nine months. ‘What have you heard?’

‘Well, mainly read. I looked your name up. You’ve been involved in some interesting cases in the past. You’re quite the star. I’m surprised you’re still a sergeant
. . .’

Charley might have been fishing for answers but Jessica ignored the unasked question anyway. ‘It’s not just me.’

The other woman took another sip of her wine, smiling knowingly. ‘No “I” in team. I get it. Unfortunately, this is very much an “I”-type of job. Are you good at
working on your own?’

Jessica always felt she was better by herself, figuring things out, getting on people’s nerves and generally making things happen. She nodded, unwilling to talk herself up.

Charley turned, pointing directly behind her towards a window. ‘About two miles that way is an enormous old stately home. It’s one of these places that has been handed down through
generations of families for hundreds of years. It’s never been open to the public, so we can only guess at what it’s like on the inside, but outside it is beautiful. It’s made of
this stunning honey-coloured stone, with huge windows and lush green lawns. To see it is like stepping back in time. You can imagine Victorians in their flowing gowns and top hats playing croquet
in the front garden.’

‘And this is where things are based?’

‘“Things” indeed. I know your lot fished Liam Renton out of the canal but he’s not the only person connected to that place who has gone missing. The force around here
have been watching them for eight or nine years, long before I arrived, but there’s never anything concrete. When you sent through the ID on Liam’s body, I went with a team of my own.
They invited us in, shunted us into the closest room so we couldn’t see much and then we did interview after interview getting the same useless information. With Liam they admitted he’d
been there but said he had been expelled weeks previously. Everyone repeated it, no inconsistencies, no one to say any differently. With their big, expensive lawyers there, there’s little
else we can do.’

‘So you want me to get myself into their group?’

Charley took a larger swig of her drink but her eyes didn’t leave Jessica. ‘We want someone who would fit the right criteria. Young, vulnerable-looking, steely on the inside. We
don’t know what they might be getting up to.’

‘Who are the people you know about?’

Charley didn’t seem to mind Jessica steering the subject away from herself. She pushed back into her chair. ‘The person who owns the house – at least according to the deeds
– is Sophie Lewis. She’s married to Jan Lewis. Sophie’s father was a very wealthy landowner but she was his only heir and is now the only remaining member of that
family.’

‘I’ve never heard of her.’

‘There’s no reason you should have done but neither of them use their real names anyway. Jan calls himself “Moses”, Sophie is “Zipporah”.’

Jessica scrunched her face in confusion but Charley continued. ‘In the Bible, Zipporah is Moses’s wife.’

‘Is it a religious sect?’

Charley shook her head. ‘We’re not sure. In the city centres when they are recruiting, they don’t really talk about God or the Bible. They talk about getting past the addiction
of drugs, alcohol and other things. They speak about depression and how it can be cured. When they get people back to the house, we have no idea what happens. Moses never seems to leave, instead
sending his followers out to do his work for him. In fairness, for the most part, people seem okay there but there’s obviously something going on because of Liam and the ones before
him.’

Jessica finally took a sip of her own drink. ‘What do you need me to do?’

The other officer didn’t point out that Jessica hadn’t been accepted to do anything yet – she was simply here for a chat. ‘The first thing would be to get yourself in.
From what we can tell, they go to four different city centres on alternate Sundays. They do Leeds, Bradford, Sheffield and Manchester. Assuming they don’t change the pattern, tomorrow will be
Manchester.’

‘So I should visit them?’

‘We’re not really sure how tough the recruitment policy is – assuming there’s anything formal at all. It might be a case of talking to them and being invited, or there
could be something far more disturbing. Whoever it is would be on their own. One of the things we do know from the recruiting sessions is that electronics are banned within the house. No phones, no
way to communicate. Everything would have to be weighed from the need to find out what’s going on compared to the individual’s own personal safety. We need someone who has good
judgement, someone who might have to cross a line or two but knows where to stop.’

Jessica nodded, her heart beating faster. If it wasn’t for the ‘good judgement’ instruction, Charley might as well have said they needed her.

‘If there are no communications, how would I report back?’

Charley again ignored the ‘I’. ‘Whoever it was would have to remember everything. Don’t write it down, don’t talk to anyone else there. When the time came and there
was enough to report, they would have to sneak out as and when they could. There may be slight changes to the plan depending on what we can clear but that would basically be it. We need to know if
they have weapons. Does Moses have everyone enraptured? For instance, would the other residents do something like kill themselves if he told them to? Would they attack others? Who is his right-hand
man? What about Zipporah? She’s one of the recruiters but we know he changed his name first, so we’re assuming she’s in his thrall too. Then of course, we want to know where the
people are going – and why someone like Liam Renton is dead.’

‘How high is this going?’

Charley finished her wine in one. ‘Let’s just say there are people above me who know. This way, I act as the face of whatever goes on. If it goes wrong, guess who gets it in the
neck. If it goes well, guess who gets the credit. We both know what it’s like. In essence, this is my thing, at least for now.’

‘And you want me?’

Jessica knew it was a direct question that needed an answer. Without a drink to hide behind, Charley had to reply. ‘Perhaps. Your record is good. What are things like away from the
station? Are you single?’

Jessica stumbled over the start of a reply but Charley was firm. ‘I’m not asking because I need your personal life story, I’m asking because we need a certain type of person.
Are you single?’

‘It’s complicated . . . I’m not married.’

Charley narrowed her eyes. ‘If this goes badly it will be someone’s career down the pan at the absolute least. At worst . . .’ She tailed off, before adding: ‘We
can’t have someone who’s worrying about their home life. It has to be someone who can become a part of whatever community it is they have inside the house. You might be there for a few
days, perhaps months. We need someone who has nothing to lose.’

Jessica couldn’t meet Charley’s eyes, staring out of the window and feeling the lump in her throat again. ‘I’ve already lost.’

SUNDAY

Jessica could not remember the last time she felt nervous walking around Manchester city centre. The scroats with their hooded tops, backsides hanging out of their jeans and
skewed baseball caps were a constant annoyance, even when she was on the job, but they never made her nervous. As she passed a group of lads resting at the corner of the shopping centre smoking,
one of them whistled.

‘Y’all right, sexy?’ someone called.

Jessica didn’t know if they were shouting after her or some other unfortunate girl behind her but she didn’t stop to find out. Is that what courtship had come to? What did the lads
think would happen? That some attractive young woman would throw her heels aside and dash across the path, desperate to copulate because some too-thin rake of a boy called her
‘sexy’?

She kept walking, thinking how she would have had the lot of them emptying their pockets in an impromptu stop and search if she had been a couple of years younger.

A couple of years angrier.

It wasn’t them making her nervous, it was being outside. The endless blanket of grey sky overhead, the smell of drizzle in the air, the hum of the trams, the number of people hurrying from
shop to shop, desperate to snap up a bargain. The setting and sounds were familiar and yet it felt alien, as if she had stumbled into the wrong city that looked the same but was somehow subtly
different. The confidence she once had around people felt like a distant memory too, replaced by an edginess whenever anyone with a pushchair came too close, or if a child skipped across her
path.

Jessica wondered if she had made a mistake. She didn’t know if Cole had used reverse psychology on her but she had gone for it anyway, determined to prove she still had it. With Charley,
it was more a fascination that this talented, attractive woman would ditch everything she knew to move to the middle of nowhere for a new experience. It felt so appealing, so close, that Jessica
found herself wanting to do her best for Charley, to show the other woman that taking such a brave punt wasn’t a silly thing to do. If a change of life worked out for Charley then perhaps . .
.