SEVENTEEN
Mrs Hodges was not exactly feeling in the greatest of spirits anyway, but her heart sank even further when she opened her front door and saw the two detectives standing there.
‘You again!’ she said. ‘When will it ever end?’
‘It will end when either we’re satisfied, or the magistrate refuses to renew our search warrant,’ DS Higgins told her. ‘And now, madam, I’d be grateful if you’d go into the kitchen while we carry out our search.’
‘But you’ve already searched the whole house from top to bottom twice,’ Mrs Hodges protested.
‘Then this will be the third time, won’t it?’ Higgins said. ‘The kitchen – if you don’t mind.’
Once she’d gone, Higgins said, ‘You check the front parlour and I’ll go through Barry’s room.’
‘And what are we looking for, exactly, skipper?’ DC Bell asked.
‘We’re looking for anything that will link that little shit-bag Barry Hodges to the victim.’
‘Like what?’
‘Well, that’s just it, DC Bell – until we find it, we won’t know, will we?’ Higgins asked.
He went upstairs, to Barry Hodges’ bedroom, and looked around him.
‘Now where would young Barry hide things he didn’t want his nosy bloody mother to see?’ he asked himself aloud.
He found his answer in the wardrobe, in the form of a cardboard box. Inside the box were harmless-looking motorbike magazines, but underneath them there were other magazines, which could not be bought in ordinary shops, containing photographs of people doing things that were beyond a lot of folks’ imagination and bodily flexibility.
‘Well, you are a dirty little bastard, aren’t you, Barry,’ he said, with considerable satisfaction.
Two minutes later he went downstairs to the parlour, where Bell was trying to look both busy and conscientious.
‘Come upstairs, Ding-dong,’ he said. ‘You search the room, and I’ll watch you. It’ll be a sort of training exercise.’
It took Bell five minutes to find the cardboard box in the wardrobe, and when he did, he merely took the lid off, looked at the top motorcycling magazine, and put the lid in place again.
‘Hang on,’ Higgins said, ‘aren’t you going to look inside?’
‘It will have been searched twice before, skip,’ Bell said.
‘Yes, and there’s just a chance that the fellers who did it were bungling idiots who didn’t recognize a clue when it was staring them in the face,’ Higgins said. ‘Open the box again, lad.’
When Bell found the magazines at the bottom of the box, his eyes positively bulged.
‘These look like they might be a bit spicy, skip,’ he said.
‘Pick one up,’ Higgins suggested. ‘Give it a shake to see if there’s a free gift inside.’
Bell did as he’d been instructed, and a pair of panties, which had been nestling in the middle, fell onto the bedroom floor.
‘Well, well, well,’ Higgins said. ‘I wonder who they belong to.’
Meadows smiled at John Green across the table in Interview Room B.
‘Earlier this morning, when I asked you if you knew why your mother and father hanged themselves, you said that you thought it was because they couldn’t face the world. But I don’t think that is what you really thought. I think you lied in an attempt to protect your secret, but that secret’s out now – now we know all about the Hidden – so there’s no point in lying any more, is there?’
‘No,’ John Green said. ‘I don’t suppose there is.’
‘So why do you think they killed themselves?’
‘I think that they were afraid that they would not be strong enough to keep a secret under pressure from all your questioning.’
‘And what secret might that be?’
‘Where the Hidden have gone.’
‘They would have known that?’
‘Yes, they stayed behind to give the others a chance to escape, but they will have been told where to find them once this is all over.’
‘Do you know where the Hidden have gone?’ Meadows asked.
‘No.’
‘Are you sure about that?’
‘I have been being trained to become a Trusted One since I was selected at the age of nine,’ John Green said, ‘but until I reach twenty-one, I am a child, and children are not told where we will hide from the devil next.’
‘Will they come back for you?’
‘No. I don’t think I have betrayed them, but they will not see it that way. Besides, they know the devil’s dark angels will be watching me, and it is too much of a risk.’
‘So what happens next?’ Meadows asked.
‘I will have to live a normal life – there is no choice in the matter.’ John Green smiled. It was a poignant smile. ‘It feels as if a great weight has been lifted off my shoulders.’
‘Can I ask you about last Sunday?’ Meadows asked.
‘I suppose so.’
‘Were you, Philip Jones and Michael Gray at Roger Smith’s house all day?’
‘Yes.’
‘But not to play Diplomacy?’
‘No, not to play Diplomacy. Roger is a Trusted One, and he was training us in our duties.’
‘And you were there all day?’
‘Yes.’
‘All of you?’
‘Yes.’
‘You’re lying, John.’
‘Roger Smith was away for some time,’ Green admitted.
‘How much time?’
‘Three or four hours.’
‘In the evening?’
‘In the afternoon.’
‘Does he have a car?’
‘No, he doesn’t even know how to drive. None of us do. Driving leads to meeting lots of new people, and meeting lots of new people leads to corruption and the weakening of the light.’
‘Why didn’t you tell us before that Smith had been away for most of the afternoon?’
‘Roger asked me not to.’
‘Do you know why?’
‘It is not for me to question a Trusted One.’
‘So why are you telling me now?’
‘Whatever the reason he did not wish you to know where he was, it doesn’t matter now, because he is gone and you will never find him.’
‘Hasn’t it occurred to you that Smith was missing just at the time your sister was killed?’ Meadows asked.
‘He would not have killed Mary.’
‘How can you be so sure?’
‘He is a Trusted One. He had a duty to protect her.’
‘But didn’t he have a duty to protect the group as a whole?’
‘Of course he did.’
‘And by her actions, wasn’t Mary threatening the safety of the group?’
John Green suddenly put his hands to his face. ‘Oh no,’ he moaned. ‘Oh God, no!’
‘Guess what we found in your wardrobe, Barry?’ DS Higgins said, holding up a transparent evidence envelope containing a pornographic magazine. ‘You really are a dirty little wanker, aren’t you?’
‘I’d be grateful if you’d refrain from aiming personal abuse at my client,’ Barry Hodges’ solicitor said.
‘Sorry, I’ll re-phrase it,’ Higgins said. ‘You really are a dirty little masturbator, aren’t you, Barry?’
‘That’s quite enough,’ the solicitor said.
‘And guess what we found inside your dirty magazine,’ Higgins said. He held up a second envelope. ‘These!’
‘I’ve never seen them before,’ Barry Hodges protested.
‘Well, they didn’t get there on their own, did they?’ Higgins asked. ‘Are you suggesting your mother put them there?’
‘You put them there,’ Hodges accused.
‘No, we didn’t, we found them there,’ Higgins corrected him. ‘Now the thing is, Barry, we’ve come to what you might call a crunch point. I’m betting these knickers belonged to Mary Green, and that we can prove they belonged to her. And if they are and we can, we’ll be charging
you with murder. But maybe I’m wrong about the knickers. Maybe they’re not Mary’s, or I can’t prove they are – and I don’t want to lose you just because of that. So here’s the deal – admit to it now, and I’ll see you’re charged with manslaughter, and with bit of luck, you’ll be out in six years. Make me chase up some more evidence and we’ll go for a maximum sentence. What do you think?’
As John Green stepped through the front door of Whitebridge police headquarters, he saw the girl standing on the other side of the road.
He walked over to her and said, ‘What are you doing here?’
‘Waiting,’ Louisa said.
‘Who for?’
‘For you.’
‘Have you been waiting long?’ he asked.
‘No,’ she replied, unconvincingly. ‘What’s been happening to you?’
‘They’ve questioned me, and now I’m free to go.’
‘So you’ll be leaving Whitebridge?’ she said, the disappointment evident in her voice.
‘No,’ he told her.
‘But I thought you said …’
‘That was before, but circumstances change. I’m planning to stay here now. I really have nowhere else to go.’
‘But that’s wonderful news!’ Louisa said. ‘I don’t mean that it’s wonderful news that you have nowhere else to go, I mean …’
‘I know what you mean.’
‘So where are you going to go now? Back to your house?’
‘No, I can’t do that, because it’s still part of the investigation.’
‘But they can’t just throw you out on the street, with no roof over your head and only the clothes that you’re wearing,’ Louisa said, with a growing sense of outrage.
John smiled.
‘What’s so funny?’ Louisa demanded.
‘That you’re getting so angry on my behalf – and it’s not so much funny as it is touching.’ The smile was still in place. ‘It’s not quite as bad as you imagine. They’ve arranged for one of the local charities to kit me out with two or three outfits, and I’ve got a voucher in my pocket for overnight accommodation at a hostel. They’ve given me some money, too, so I can buy little things like a toothbrush and toothpaste. And if I start to feel peckish – well, they tell me that Whitebridge is the pie shop capital of the universe.’
‘I hate the thought of you sleeping in a hostel,’ Louisa said.
‘It won’t be for long, and once the police have finished with it, I can move back into my own house.’
‘And will you be able to do that, after all that’s happened there?’
‘I expect I’ll get used to it.’
‘You could stay at my house,’ Louisa said.
‘No, really, I couldn’t.’
‘Why not? I’ve got the space, and since you’re not planning to leave anymore …’
‘If we were sleeping under the same roof, it could lead to things,’ he said. ‘You know what I’m talking about, don’t you?’
‘Yes, I know,’ Louisa said.
‘I’m not saying it would happen, but it might,’ John said.
‘And what if it did happen?’ Louisa asked. ‘Would that be such a terrible thing? Try it for one night, rather than going to the horrible hostel. What have you got to lose?’
‘I’ll pick up the clothes from the charity, do the shopping I need to do, and then ring you,’ he said.
‘Does that mean you are willing to give it a try?’ she asked.
‘Yes, it does,’ he replied.
Colin Beresford squared his shoulders resolutely, and knocked on DCI Dixon’s office door.
‘Enter,’ said a gruff voice from inside, which could only have belonged to Rhino.
Dixon was sitting at his desk, ostensibly reading a report.
He looked up.
‘Yes, DI Beresford?’
‘We think we’ve got a strong line to follow on the Mary Green murder, sir,’ Beresford said. ‘One of this hidden cult that we’ve uncovered, a man called Roger Smith …’
‘Whatever you’ve found out about this alleged cult doesn’t really matter anymore – because we’ve made an arrest,’ DCI Dixon said.
‘Barry Hodges – the motorcyclist?’ Beresford asked.
‘That’s right, Barry Hodges.’
‘But surely, if he’d done it, his fingerprints would be on the picnic hamper,’ Beresford said.
‘It would have been nice if they had been,’ Dixon said, sidestepping the question. ‘It’s always nice when convenient evidence just drops into our laps, but when it doesn’t, we make do without it. And maybe Barry Hodges’ fingerprints are there – maybe they’re the ones that are blurred.’
‘And the reason they’re blurred is because there are other fingerprints – which I’m almost certain are Roger Smith’s – on top of them.’
‘The second set of prints were made by someone prior to the hamper being taken to the woods,’ Dixon said, authoritatively.
‘How do you know?’
‘It’s my job to know.’
‘How could Barry Hodges have handled the hamper without getting his prints all over it?’ Beresford asked.
‘Look at the video,’ Dixon told him. ‘He was wearing leather motorcycle gauntlets.’
‘He was wearing them while he was driving the bike,’ Beresford said, ‘but would he still be wearing them in the woods, on a warm summer’s day?’
‘You’ve really not thought this through, lad,’ Dixon said. ‘When they get to the woods, it’s Mary who unstraps the basket, because she’s playing the role of the little woman. That’s how her prints get on it. And once he’s killed her, he puts his gauntlets on before he picks up the basket.’
‘Why would Barry hide the basket in the woods?’ Beresford asked. ‘It came from his home, and he must have known it could probably be traced back to him – so why didn’t he simply strap it back on his bike, and take it away?’
‘He may have panicked,’ Dixon said.
‘He panicked so much that he spent several minutes searching out a good hiding place?’ Beresford wondered.
‘Look, lad, out of consideration for the fact that your team put us onto Barry Hodges in the first place, I’ve already given you more time – and explanation – than you’re entitled to. But if I was you, I really wouldn’t push it.’
‘The killer didn’t take it with him because he knew that a man on his own – on foot and carrying a picnic basket – would have stuck out like a sore thumb,’ Beresford said.
‘Barry Hodges has confessed,’ Dixon said. ‘He did it! What more do you want – a re-enactment of the crime by the Mid Lancs Police Amateur Dramatics Society?’
He’s giving me a chance to share a joke with him, and then it will be all over, Beresford thought.
‘As the officer in charge of the investigation, I’d like you to authorize a nationwide search for Roger Smith, sir,’ he said.
‘For Christ’s sake!’ Dixon exploded. ‘Do you know how much that would cost?’
‘We’re not talking money here,’ Beresford said. ‘We’re talking justice for Monika Paniatowski.’
‘No, you’re talking “DCI Dixon doesn’t know his bloody arse from his bloody elbow”,’ Dixon said. ‘I’ve got the right man, and I’m not going to send out any signals that there’s any doubt about that.’
‘If you won’t do what I think needs to be done, sir, I’ll have to go over your head to the chief constable,’ Beresford said.
‘If you do that, laddie, your career in the Mid Lancs force will be over,’ Dixon growled.
‘I know it will be,’ Beresford said sadly. ‘But I’m going to have to do it anyway.’
What was happening at the table in the public bar of the Drum and Monkey could, strictly speaking, have been called a wake, though it was nowhere near as cheerful as most wakes can be. None of the three participants had said anything to each other for quite a while, but instead were making their own mental tours of the past and mourning the end of an era.
‘What did the chief constable actually tell you, sir?’ Crane asked, breaking the silence.
‘He said he’d had the evidence presented to him – including the signed confession – and he’s satisfied that Barry Hodges killed Mary Green,’ Beresford said. ‘He told me I should be congratulating DCI Dixon’s team – and especially DS Higgins – for exemplary police work. He went on to say that the Mid Lancs police did not encourage sore losers, and that if I wished to see my career advance, I should adopt a better attitude pretty damn quick.’
‘It doesn’t matter what attitude you adopt, or how quickly you adopt it,’ Meadows said. ‘Dixon’s got his knife into you, and that means you’re as good as dead.’
‘I know,’ Beresford agreed. ‘I don’t care about any of that. What’s getting to me is that the man who hurt Monika will go unpunished.’
‘Don’t think about that now,’ Meadows urged. ‘And don’t give the bastards the satisfaction of getting rid of you. Hand in your resignation straight away, before they can do anything.’
‘And what would I do next?’ Beresford wondered. ‘I’ve always been a bobby – it’s the only thing I know.’
‘I could get you a job as head of security, earning three times as much as you are now,’ Meadows said.
‘You could?’
‘Yes.’
‘And might I ask how?’
‘I know people,’ Meadows said.
Yes, Beresford agreed silently – she probably did.
‘We could hand in our resignations together,’ Crane said. ‘How’s that for a grand gesture?’
‘You’re resigning, too?’ Beresford asked, amazed.
‘My old tutor contacted me a few weeks ago to tell me there’s a fellowship in my college available, and if I want it, then it’s as good as mine. There’s a lot to be said for it, you know. A couple of hours teaching per week, and, for the rest of the time, waited on hand and foot by my scout. It would give me a chance to find out if I really am a serious poet or just a dilettante.’
‘What about you, Kate?’ Beresford asked. ‘Will you stay on in the force if we go?’
Meadows shook her head. ‘No, I don’t think so.’
‘Then what will you do?’
‘I’ve never actually needed to work since my husband was killed,’ Meadows said. ‘Maybe I’ll become one of the international jet set – summer in St Tropez, winter in Klosters, and the occasional trip to the West Indies or New York for a little bit of variety.’
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