Jayne was sitting on a bench near the war memorial when the court broke for lunch. It gave her a good view of the entrance.
She’d decided not to sit in the courtroom, because whoever she was supposed to be following would recognise her if she had to go after them. Despite what the movies showed, public galleries in courts were mostly empty. Murder cases brought more of a crowd, bereaved relatives and their supporters, but even in those cases the seats were rarely full.
There was a street market in full flow just down the road, and for a few moments she’d been enjoying the bustle of the city, so different from Highford where the town centre was just a tunnel for the wild Pennine winds and everyone looked pinched and red-faced. It told her that her feelings were right, that Highford had served its purpose and it was time to leave. Her life had held more promise when she was a young psychology student, before Jimmy took away her confidence and she took away his life.
She was wearing a baseball cap, with her long hair pulled into a ponytail and hidden underneath. There was enough sunshine to justify sunglasses and it was warm enough that she could wear a white T-shirt without feeling cold. Her black jacket was in a small rucksack, so that she’d be able to instantly make herself look different if she thought she’d been spotted.
Some people spilled out of the court building. A small group in tight shirts and gold jewellery dug into their pockets for cigarettes, but no one like the man described in Dan’s second message.
Perhaps Dan had got it wrong and it was just some local obsessed with court cases? There were people like that, who saw court as local entertainment, and what could be better than a murder?
She waited for another fifteen minutes, her phone in her hand, making it look as if she was checking for messages, but her eyes never left the front door.
As she held her phone, the light started to flash. There was a notification on her Facebook account.
It was an account she used purely for business. There were no pictures of her, just periodic announcements to keep her page in peoples’ timelines. It didn’t have many followers, but it was another way of spreading the word and for prospective clients to contact her. It was dormant most days, apart from people asking her what it was like to be a private investigator.
Her page had a new like. She clicked on it, wondering whether it was more work, or perhaps one of her old conquests wanting to hook up again.
When she saw who it was from, her hand trembled.
She’d had this great plan at the car showroom, but she’d been clumsy and given herself away. And here it was, the proof.
Her new like? Her new follower?
Sean Martin.
She cursed, angry with herself, but as she looked up from her phone, she saw her target. A man dressed all in black leaving the courthouse, scruffy and furtive as he looked up and down the street, his hands in his coat pocket. Dan was right, there was something shifty about him.
He made swiftly for the street market. She pushed the thought of Sean Martin away and followed the man, hanging back, wary of being seen. He weaved through the stalls, past racks of cheap clothing and boxes of knock-off microwaves, not stopping to look. He seemed to know where he was headed.
There was a small side street next to the market and he ducked into it. Jayne shot after him, worried that she’d lost him. Perhaps he’d seen her and run away.
As she reached the alley, she looked along, breathless, but he was there, in a doorway, his phone in his hand, dialling a number. He paced as he waited for an answer. Jayne backed away towards a stall filled with second-hand books and DVDs and pretended to browse. Whoever he called must have answered, because he was talking quickly, his face animated.
The stallholder came over and was about to start his patter when the man hung up and walked out of the alley. Jayne held up her hand in apology and followed again. He was walking quickly, straight back to the courthouse.
As he rushed back inside, past the small group of smokers by the front door, Jayne pulled out her phone to message Dan.
The man had left the building just to make a phone call, but he’d gone somewhere quiet, where he could be certain no one was listening.
Dan was correct. Something wasn’t right.