Adam turned away but the man grabbed his elbow again and squeezed.
‘Let’s go for a cup of tea and have a chat. I’m not what you think. I just want to get to know you better. I know we have similar interests.’
Adam wrestled his arm free but stayed a pace away from the stranger, eyeing him with a mix of tentative hope and straight up suspicion.
‘You think I’m going to hurt you?’ The stranger smiled. ‘Why would I do that in front of all of these children?’
He looked around as if to emphasise the point.
‘Look, we’ll just go to the café here in the park,’ the man seemed to sense Adam’s indecision. ‘Plenty of people about, plenty of witnesses to make sure you stay safe.’
Adam looked down at the ground and spoke just above a whisper. ‘I don’t know.’
‘Come on,’ the stranger told him. ‘What harm can it do? Two friends going for a cup of tea and if you don’t mind me saying, you don’t seem to have many friends.’
Adam didn’t look up. ‘I’ve just moved into the area.’
‘All the more reason then,’ the stranger said cheerfully. ‘Come on. I’m buying.’
Adam sat close to the window on the red plastic chair. The tall man placed a mug of tea in front of him.
‘Where’s that accent from then?’
‘South,’ Adam said. ‘I needed to get as far away as possible. So what do want from me?’
The stranger sitting opposite emptied brown sugar from a sachet into his coffee.
‘I want you to be honest. Then we can go from there.’
Adam looked into his own white mug, milky tea almost to the brim. He picked up a spoon and began to stir. He didn’t take sugar but he wanted to buy himself some time. As a prop the spoon would do. He took a deep breath.
‘I was falsely accused,’ he said.
The stranger moved a steady hand and pressed it lightly on Adam’s wrist.
‘Go on,’ he said. ‘Tell me.’
As Adam talked he seemed more and more at ease, telling the man how he had been a tennis coach when one boy, a junior with a promising future, claimed Adam had molested him, the police all too ready to believe, the whispers all one way.
He had been speaking for many minutes when he realised they still hadn’t exchanged names.
‘Adam Best,’ he said, offering his hand.
‘Julius Pritchard,’ the man’s skin dry and warm. ‘Come on. Let’s get a proper drink. My car’s just round the corner.’ They walked in silence, Adam head down, cap peak pulled low. He looked up when he heard the beeping of the car being unlocked and slid onto the black Nappa leather of the 7 series BMW.
‘Nice car,’ Adam said, working the seat belt.
Julius smiled, started the engine and put the automatic into drive. ‘So did you go to court? Maybe I read about it.’
He looked over his shoulder and pulled out into the traffic.
‘No court in the end,’ Adam said, looking at the dashboard controls. ‘But it fucks up your life. Everywhere you go you think people are staring at you, that shop assistants don’t want to serve you. Then when they painted those disgusting words on my door, I knew I had to get out.’
Julius glanced his way. ‘Where are you living now?’
‘Rented flat,’ Adam said. ‘Nothing special, but it’ll do.’
Julius negotiated a set of traffic lights, turned left and moved the powerful BMW to the 40mph speed limit.
‘And what do you do with your time then, when you’re not in the park?’
‘Read,’ Adam told him. ‘I like the classics, transport myself back in time, imagine what it must have been like to live in Dickens’ day. Children knew their place then.’
‘I read them myself,’ Julius smiled. ‘Love them. Read them over and over, again and again.’
Adam shuffled in the seat. His next question needed to be asked and he hoped he’d read Julius Pritchard right.
‘What did you mean in the park when you said the same reason as me?’
Julius glanced at him.
Adam looked back, relieved to see Julius’ fingers hadn’t tightened around the wheel, that the question hadn’t changed his mood or got his back up.
‘I go to the park because I like young boys,’ Julius told him. ‘What about you?’
Adam shrugged: ‘They’re alright I suppose.’
Julius suddenly braked hard, pulled the wheel, and swung the car into the kerb. This time his fingers were clenched and his voice was edged with anger.
‘Look if you’re not going to honest then there is no point in continuing this conversation,’ the heat bubbling under the surface. ‘We’re both wasting our time and I for one am not prepared to do that.’
They stared at each other in the charged silence, Adam’s expression like a free-running acrobat unsure he could make the leap from one high wall to another.
He inhaled deeply, held his breath, and dropped his head as his words came in a whisper.
‘Yes I like young boys.’
Julius slipped the BMW back into drive and pulled smoothly away. ‘Wasn’t so hard was it?’
He patted Adam’s thigh then touched a button on the steering wheel, the car filling with classical music.
Adam slipped down the seat, closed his eyes and listened to violins rise and fall like graceful fountains.
Chapter Ten
This time Jayne Cully poured hot water into three mugs, enough for the people in the room.
Ed carried them to the table, Jayne following, leaning heavily against her black stick as she dropped into the hard chair.
Ed looked around. Jayne obviously lived in this room; TV on, TV Times magazine on the small occasional table next to the chair, an indicator as to how she spent her days.
Later in the day than his last visit, the room was stifling, the gas fire on full blast. The rest of the house was Baltic cold.
Sam unbuttoned her coat.
‘Terrible thing about Jeremy,’ Jayne said. ‘All of those police looking for him. Do you think he’s still with the man in the van?’
‘I don’t know Jayne, do you?’ Sam asked.
‘I don’t know. You’re the detectives, not me.’
‘What did the man in the white van look like Jayne, can you remember?’
Jayne was quiet for a moment, eyes closed.
‘I saw his face,’ she said. ‘He was tall. Distinguished type. Like an army officer. Back rigid straight, like my father. He was in the Guards.’
She looked away, Sam watching her eyes flicker and glass over, distant memories suddenly vivid.
‘What else can you remember Jayne?’ Sam said.
‘Oh everything,’ she smiled. ‘How smart my father looked. His shiny boots.’
‘What I meant Jayne,’ Sam pressed gently, ‘was what else do you remember about Jeremy and the white van?’
Jayne blinked. ‘They walked down the path. That’s when I saw them. I was at my front door looking for milk. Jeremy seemed quite happy.’
She smiled again and paused.
‘They were talking as they walked down the path. Jeremy always locked his door even if he was cutting the grass but he didn’t lock it this time.’
She stopped and shook her head.
‘That’s why I thought it was strange when Jeremy got to the van. Why hadn’t he locked his door if he was going somewhere?’
Sam nodded an encouraging smile of her own.
Jayne was talking more quickly now, her voice getting high with excitement.
‘The distinguished chap was behind him, the van doors were already open, and when Jeremy looked inside the man pushed him in. Then the doors were slammed, the distinguished chap rushed to the driver’s seat and they were off.’
Jayne took a breath and stared into the mug. ‘That was it.’
‘Can you remember which way they drove off?’ Sam asked.
‘Left.’
‘Did you see any other men Jayne?’
‘Just
that one with Jeremy.’
‘What about any other neighbours in the street?’
‘I don’t think so,’ Jayne’s eyes looked glazed. ‘Will they find him? Jeremy?’
Sam left the question unanswered and glanced at Ed.
They drank their tea in the heat and the silence and had just passed a ‘time-to-go’ nod when Jayne spoke again.
‘I’ve seen him before you know. The distinguished chap.’
Sam and Ed stared at her.
‘Do you know who he is Jayne?’ Sam asked.
‘No, but I know him. He used to be on the television.’
‘An actor?’ Sam said.
‘No, on the news I think. Ask Johnny. He’ll know.’
Sam told her not to get up when they said their thanks and goodbyes.
‘He was a fine looking man you know?’
‘Who was?’ Sam said, pausing at the sitting room door.
‘My father.’
‘What do you think?’ Ed asked when they were back in the car, engine running and heater turned up full.
‘Jayne? Lovely woman but as a credible witness...’
Sam and Ed both knew Jayne Cully would never be allowed anywhere near a witness box.
‘And yet,’ Sam said now. ‘I don’t think she’s making anything up. I think she saw something, or at least she believes she saw something. We just can’t be certain what or when.’
Sam lit a cigarette, opened the window a fraction, and inhaled deeply.
‘As for the here and now, the white transit can be a line of inquiry but on the back burner. We need someone else to have seen it. Then Jayne’s distinguished chap shortens in the betting.’
The tap on the passenger window made them both jump.
Darius Simpson, the reporter from the Seaton Post, was bent down with his face almost touching the glass.
‘Hi Sam. What’s happening?’
She was relieved to see Darius was alone. No snapper to record her cigarette.
‘There might be a press con tomorrow. The press office will give you a heads up.’
Darius looked hurt.
‘Come on Sam. There are SOCOs up at O’Grady’s garage, SOCOs in that house,’ he nodded towards Jeremy Scott’s, ‘and uniform knocking on doors in the street. Something’s going on. I just want an early heads up. Get started for tomorrow’s edition.’
Sam knew Darius and knew the press. They had space to fill and would always find a way. Stonewall them and you had no control over what ended up in the headlines.
‘I’ll get something sorted and put it on the voice bank,’ Sam told him. ‘It’s only going to be a holding statement for now though, so don’t go building your hopes up.’
Darius ran his hand through his blond mop. He would need more and the voice bank, the rolling update of incidents pushed out by the police press office, gave him nothing every other journo couldn’t share. The Holy Grail was always an exclusive.
‘It’s a body or a missing kid,’ he told Sam. ‘What else would you be here for? Kidnapping maybe? Are the house and the garage linked?’
Sam shook her head. Darius Simpson was still shaking his when she and Ed drove away.
The Snooty Fox was about ten miles south-west of Seaton St George. Julius pulled onto the car park of the country inn, famed, the billboard promised, for its home cooking and craft ales.
‘A friend of mine owns this,’ he said.
Adam walked towards the pub, white walls, window-frames painted eggshell blue, a large fox on the swinging illuminated sign dressed in waistcoat, breeches and black riding boots.
‘First port of call for the Boxing Day hunt,’ Julius said, following Adam’s eyes and flipping open a soft pack of Marlboro.
‘Bet the ‘save the fox’ brigade love this place,’ Adam thought aloud, still staring at the sign.
Julius lit a Marlboro. ‘Let’s just say there’s been a couple of minor skirmishes over the years but nothing a quick clip with a riding stick can’t remedy. Scum just wanting to spoil people’s fun. Nothing to do with the damned fox. All about class and envy.’
They were standing by the entrance porch, a terracotta plant pot by the door, cigarette ends overflowing from it.
‘You hunt then?’ Adam asked.
‘Man and boy. Not just foxes now.’ Julius laughed, an exaggerated laugh, contrived, the type loud-mouthed bores have an annoying habit of making.
He flicked the barely smoked cigarette into the plant pot. ‘Come on. Let’s get a drink. Hope you’re a real ale man, not one of those lager louts.’
Adam followed Julius and imagined him as a young boy at his first kill, cheeks covered in fox blood.
The pub had a stone floor, mahogany bar, and low-beamed ceiling. The single frosted pump for the Heineken Extra Cold looked as out of place as granny knickers on a street prostitute.
‘Two pints of your finest landlord,’ Julius shouted, as the door swung shut. ‘Cornelius, this is Adam.’
The stocky, ginger haired barman thrust out his thick forearm towards Adam and shook hands.
‘Cornelius’ family have owned this pub for over a hundred years,’ Julius said. ‘Used to own all the land around it too, before his great-grandfather had to sell up. Preferred chasing skirt to working the farm. Stand in here long enough you’ll count more gingers than you can throw a stick at.’
Cue more too-loud laughter.
‘Nice place,’ Adam said, as he raised the glass to his lips and contemplated names. He didn’t think he’d ever met a Julius before and he was rock solid certain his path had never crossed a Cornelius. These two would have had it every day if they’d gone to his comprehensive.
Adam would have preferred the lager but didn’t want to offend Julius.
There were two other customers, sat at opposite ends of the bar, and neither seemed thrilled to see Julius.
Adam tried not to stare; it was like a ginger’s day out.
‘James, Steve,’ Julius said.
Both guys at the bar turned, said ‘Julius’ in unison, and went back to their pints.
‘Let’s grab a seat Adam.’
Satisfied there were no CCTV cameras, Adam removed his cap as they walked to a copper-topped table in the corner of the room. Christ even the tabletops have a touch of ginger.
‘So,’ Julius said, raising his glass. ‘Do you work?’
‘Hardly. I was a tennis coach all my life. What job will I get?’
‘Hence the trainers.’ He nodded towards Adam’s shoes.
Adam looked down. ‘Yeah Stan Smith was my hero back in the day. Most people who wear them now don’t know who Stan Smith was. Bloody tragedy. What a player.’
‘About jobs,’ Julius said, leaning closer. ‘I may be able to help you out there. It won’t pay much but it will be cash in hand and won’t screw up whatever benefits you get. My associates and I will just say you are volunteering.’
Adam pushed himself into the back of the bench seat, his nose rebelling at Julius’ sickly sweet aftershave. ‘Volunteering for what exactly?’
‘We run a five-a-side league, under 11s to under 13s.’ When he smiled Adam noticed his uneven teeth. ‘You don’t need me to draw you pictures.’
Adam didn’t respond immediately, didn’t want to appear too keen. ‘What kind of league?’
‘Six until nine every Thursday on those floodlit Astroturf pitches,’ Julius told him. ‘We hire the whole place. Shots and Saves.’
‘Sounds expensive.’
Adam grimaced as he sipped the pint...no head, no bubbles, and a taste like something a tramp had washed his feet in.
His father had always told him there was no such thing as a bad pint of beer, just that some were better than others. Well ‘King of the Others’ was lurking in his glass.
‘It’s very cheap actually,’ Julius was telling him. ‘We know the owner.’
Adam stared at Julius over the rim of his pint glass.
‘And I would do what exactly?’
‘He
lp out, referee, sort out results. We have about eight teams most Thursdays.’
‘What about DBS checks?’ Adam asked.
Disclosure and Barring Service checks were now mandatory for a whole host of things. Volunteering with children was one of them.
Gingers one, two and three looked their way as Julius launched another laugh.
‘Seriously?’ He shook his head. ‘We get kids coming from the sink estates, parents who don’t give a shit about them, parents who can at least pretend someone is taking an interest in their offspring while they piss their money up the wall. They don’t give a toss about DBS. Anyway, you said you didn’t go to court.’
‘I didn’t.’ Adam sipped more beer. He didn’t want anybody doing any checks on him. ‘So what about you? What do you do?’
Julius told him he was a web designer who worked from home and volunteered at a hospice a couple of times a week, helping with fundraising.
‘Well you must be DBS checked,’ Adam said
‘I am and I’m clear, which is how I expect to stay,’ Julius told him. ‘Solid upstanding citizen.’
‘So why involve me?’
‘I knew what you were,’ Julius said. ‘We are always looking to recruit new members, because let’s face it we can all learn through experience, and you may have different experiences to the rest of us.’
Julius got to his feet. ‘Drink up then.’
‘Why?’ Adam’s face creased with unease. ‘Where are we going?’
‘Just a call on a friend,’ Julius said. ‘May as well drop by and introduce you to him before I go home.’
‘And what’s at home?’ Adam asked.
The smile showed the crooked teeth.
‘A wife and two kids.’
Chapter Eleven
Sam and Ed were sat in her office, empty crisp and sandwich packets on the desk, the fluorescent strip lighting bright against the early evening darkness outside.
‘I hate this time of year,’ Sam said. ‘I really think there’s something in this SAD.’
‘What?’
‘Seasonal Affective Disorder.’
Ed rolled his eyes. ‘Jesus does everything have to have a fancy title these days? Just this week I’ve read about Waste Management and Disposal Technicians, bin men in my day, and a Transparency Enhancement Facilitator. Do you know what that is?’
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