body. He looked up. ‘Verity Shore will get all the headlines she dreamt of. It’s her.’
Jessie was already out of the door. ‘Burrows, call Jones. Tell him.’ She peeled her green mortuary coat off as she walked, ‘Niaz, get two officers to P. J. Dean’s house now – whoever is nearest.’ Jessie hopped from one foot to the other as she removed her shoe covers.
‘You’d better call the press office,’ said Burrows.
‘Shit.’ She pulled her phone out and dialled a number. ‘This is DI Driver. If you’re listening, P.J., please pick up the phone. I was at your house –’
‘Hello.’
‘P.J.?’
‘The phone has started to ring – journalists. What’s going on?’
‘Get out of the house, take the kids somewhere safe. The press know we came to see you this morning, all hell is about to break loose.’
‘Shit!’
‘We may have been followed.’
‘Bullshit.’ Then he shouted. ‘There’s a fucking SNITCH IN MY HOUSE!’
‘I gave you my mobile number. Call me when you are out of the house.’
‘So it is her?’
‘P.J., call me when you are out of the house.’
‘You think my phone is bugged?’
‘I’m thinking of the boys.’
‘Okay, okay, shit, I’ll call you back.’
Jessie slipped the phone back into her pocket. Burrows was watching her. ‘What?’
‘You know you may be protecting a guilty man,’ said Burrows.
‘Perhaps. But perhaps he’s innocent. And those kids certainly are. You know what the press are like.’
‘What if they do a runner?’
She tossed this possibility in her head. Niaz was already on his radio. She turned back to Burrows. ‘The press are already on to him. In five minutes’ time, that man won’t be able to take a shit without the world knowing about it. He won’t be going anywhere. Call Kay Akosa. We release a short statement: Verity Shore was found dead on the bank of the River Thames at 06.05 on Tuesday morning. Her family have been informed and an investigation is underway to determine cause of death.’
‘That’s it?’
‘What does she want, gory details?’
‘Ahmet and you finding the jellyfish?’
‘No.’
‘It’s good stuff, boss.’
‘Do you want those kids knowing their mother was dipped in acid?’
‘They won’t read the papers.’
‘Come on, Burrows, those boys go to school, their classmates’ parents will talk about it, kids’ll overhear it, headlines glare at them at eye-level … What the fuck do you think they’re going to do, come to a mutual agreement not to discuss the case in their presence? The oldest is seven, he’ll be in the playground with much older boys and girls, who know full well they are Verity’s kids, that they’re rich. You think they’ll keep it to themselves? Get an injunction, whatever it takes – this information stays with us. If anyone goes to the press they lose their job, their pension, their fffu—’ She clenched her fists.
‘You can’t control this,’ said Burrows.
‘I can try.’
‘Boss, Verity Shore was dipped in acid and was ID’d by the fake tits she claimed she never had – you’re already out of control.’
Jessie didn’t want to hear it.
‘Don’t take on the press, boss. You’ll lose.’
She turned round. ‘What do I do, then?’
‘Throw them titbits, that way they’ll stay hungry for the story but not so hungry that they go looking for blood elsewhere.’
She stood her ground, but Jessie knew he was making sense.
‘It is a media-ruled world we live in. The tabloid press is judge and jury, you want them onside. Give them the tits, keep the rest, and tell P. J. Dean to keep his trap shut.’
‘It’s a fucking circus,’ said Jessie angrily.
‘No doubt about it. Just make sure you’re the one with the whip.’
She smiled at him gratefully. ‘Thanks, Burrows.’
‘No sweat, boss.’
‘Okay, tell Kay about the implants. But I want to see that press release before it goes out.’
‘What do you want me to do?’ asked Niaz.
‘Get on to the water board. I want those sewage tunnels searched. I’m going to P. J. Dean’s house, find out what’s been going on in paradise.’
‘So you do think P. J. Dean is involved,’ announced Burrows.
‘I didn’t say that.’
Jessie stood in Verity Shore’s bedroom and stared at the window box. Chrysanthemums. Freshly planted. Hours old. Too new. Once again she lifted her camera to her eye and took a photo, then she beckoned to one of the guys in plastic overalls. It was the guy from the shower. The ballsy guy. ‘Bring the window box in,’ said Jessie. ‘And make sure you get prints from all round this window, outside and inside.’
‘Sure.’
She turned to look at him. ‘What, no snide comments, defiant gestures?’
‘Actually, the lads and I were wondering if you’d join us for a drink after. Our way of saying sorry for being such twats.’
Jessie raised an eyebrow.
‘Dicks then.’
‘You buying?’
‘With all this overtime you’re earning us, we thought it would be rude not to.’
‘In which case, I accept your offer.’
He turned round and made a thumbs-up to the three men systematically working their way through Verity Shore’s private life.
‘Don’t forget the window box,’ said Jessie. ‘And check the drains for remnants of large quantities of blood.’
He put a hand to his heart. ‘Your wish is my command,’ he said, performing a slight bow.
‘Settle.’
He smiled. ‘Sorry.’ Stuck out his hand. ‘My name’s Ed.’
‘Ma’am,’ shouted someone from the bathroom. ‘Think you had better come and have a look at this.’ Jessie walked through the wardrobe, back to the hall of mirrors. Two of the white-suited men were leaning over the tiled surround. Their presence only enhanced the bathroom’s tomb-like quality. One of them had prised off a tile. ‘I noticed it was loose when I knelt on it. Looks like someone has been stashing pills.’
Jessie peered inside. P. J. Dean had said all pills and booze were banned. Which meant Verity had resorted to subterfuge. Jessie had found the booze hidden in the shampoo bottles. And now they’d found the pills. She took a pair of tweezers from the cabinet and picked one out.
‘Looks like some bathwater got in. These are all partially dissolved,’ said the guy holding the removed tile. Jessie peered back in the man-made hole. ‘Wouldn’t they have dissolved into one