Blood of the Innocents

by Collett, Chris

  ‘Well, we haven’t established what it is just yet, but it would be helpful if we could speak to Lily herself, in case there’s anything else she remembers. Would she be up to that?’

  ‘I think so.’

  ‘Would any other of the residents or staff have seen anything?’

  ‘No, everyone else was in the dining room on the ground floor, which looks out over the side garden.’

  ‘You said this happened at tea-time. What time would that have been?’

  ‘About quarter to five.’

  Twenty minutes after Yasmin had said goodbye to her friends and disappeared off the face of the earth. Mariner didn’t like that timing one little bit.

  Back inside, they trooped up a winding staircase to Lily’s room, a twelve by twelve box of floral wallpaper and chintzy fabrics. The bed was covered with the kind of peach-coloured candlewick bedspread Mariner hadn’t seen for years. On top of the mahogany chest of drawers were the assorted remnants of Lily’s life: a few photographs and a couple of pieces of cheap porcelain; a varnished seashell purporting to be a gift from Bridlington. Not much left to show for more than seventy years on the planet.

  The view from the window wasn’t much to speak of either, overlooking as it did the jungle of yellowing scrubland that encircled the reservoir. Naturally, Lily had her windows open and even up here you could smell the sour, stagnant water. Mariner feared another setback when Lily turned out to be a frail old woman with whiskers sprouting from a face that was as lined and furrowed as the dry ground outside. Her sparse silvery hair had been permed into tight curls, exposing patches of scalp as pink and smooth as a baby’s flesh, and the cotton frock she wore hung loosely on her withered frame. She was perched on an armchair, her eyes closed, but she opened them as they arrived, huge blue irises staring at them through the magnifying lenses of her glasses.

  ‘Lily, these are the policemen I told you about. They just want to ask you some questions,’ Nora said gently.

  ‘Anything you like,’ said Lily, encouragingly alert, once she’d come round. ‘I know what I saw.’ Perhaps she would turn out to be a decent witness, after all.

  ‘I’ll get some chairs,’ said Nora, returning moments later with a couple of the moulded plastic variety, which she arranged beside the old lady. Mariner sat, but Knox maintained a disinterested distance, staring out of the window.

  ‘Can you tell us exactly what you did see?’ Mariner asked.

  ‘It was tea-time, but I didn’t feel like eating, especially the rubbish that they give us here; ratty-twee or some such foreign muck.’ Mariner waited for Nora to contradict her, but then saw the game glint in Lily’s eye. Why had he assumed that because she was old there would be no sense of mischief? ‘Anyway, I came into my room and I could see someone down there on the bridge. He caught my attention because there’s never anyone down there and the movement was . . . well . . . violent. He was swinging his arm up and down, up and down, hitting something on the ground.’

  ‘Can you show me exactly where?’ Mariner asked.

  Using the armrests for support, Lily pushed herself up from the chair shakily and they joined Knox at the window, looking out at where the yellowing field with its dark kernel swarmed with police officers, moving laboriously through the undergrowth, heads bowed as if performing some ancient religious ritual.

  ‘He was right next to that little wooden bridge, the one with the broken railings, to the left of it where the long grass starts again.’ Nothing wrong with her eyesight, then.

  ‘Was he standing or kneeling?’ Mariner asked.

  ‘He was standing, his legs apart, but he was bent over, low.’

  ‘Could you see his face?’

  ‘No, because he had his back turned to me. He just kept swinging his arm up and down, up and down.’ Her eyes filled with tears. ‘That poor little defenceless creature.’

  ‘The dog.’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Could you see what colour the dog was?’ Mariner peered out. It was unlikely that she could have. If what she said was right, the creature would have been hidden by the tall grass.

  Lily shook her head. ‘Not very well, the grass was too long.’

  ‘But you’re sure it was a dog?’

  ‘What else—?’

  ‘Could it have been that he was say, banging his shoe on the ground to dislodge something that was in it?’

  Lily gave him a withering look. ‘I know what I saw. The way he was hunched over, you could see the hate in him. He sort of stood back to look at what he’d done. The creature was moving, then it stopped moving.’ She looked out at the search. ‘I must say, it’s very good of you to have all those people looking for a dog.’

  ‘Is there anything else you can tell us about this man?’ Mariner asked. ‘The colour of his hair, say? What he was wearing perhaps?’

  ‘I think his hair was brown and he was wearing a suit, like yours.’ She looked at Mariner. ‘A nice summer suit, except yours is lighter. The one he wore was darker, more of a light brown. I remember thinking that he would spoil it, and how warm he must be, too.’

  Gazing out of the window, Mariner tried to establish whether Lily would have seen the comings and goings of Shaun Pryce.

  ‘You said you never see anyone down there, Lily. Do you mean that? Never?’

  ‘Never.’ She was adamant.

  ‘Have you ever seen a young girl down there? Or a young man, over on the other side?’

  ‘No.’ On that point she stood firm.

  ‘Up until about a week ago she wouldn’t have been able to see much at all from up here,’ put in Nora. ‘That row of cypress trees was so tall it used to completely block the view.’

  It was only then that Mariner noticed the line of tree stumps at the bottom of the garden, the timber inside freshly exposed.

  ‘They were lovely trees,’ said Lily. ‘I was sad to see them go.’

  ‘Lucky for us that they did,’ said Mariner. ‘Thank you very much, Mrs Cooper,’ he said, absently. ‘You’ve been very helpful.’

  He turned to Nora. ‘We’ll need to come and take a written statement.’

  ‘Of—’

  Suddenly, as they watched, a shout went up and the figures working below began converging on an area a couple of hundred yards away from the bridge, where the foliage was at its most dense. Seconds later, Knox’s mobile rang and Mariner felt a sudden weight in the pit of his stomach. Knox took the call out in the corridor, returning moments later, his face grim. ‘We’re needed down there, boss.’

  Chapter Eleven

  It was only a few hundred yards away as the crow flies, but the drive around to the reservoir was nearly a mile in the car and seemed to take them an adrenaline-fuelled eternity. By the time they got there, the reservoir itself had been cleared of all but the essential personnel, the search parties had retreated to avoid contaminating the area and were congregating in the parking area to await further instructions. As Mariner and Knox bumped towards them over the uneven ground the mood was sombre, voices low. Russell greeted them at the edge of the wood. Beneath his tan he was white faced, his eyes dull with shock.

  ‘We didn’t find it until we were almost on it, despite the smell,’ he said. ‘The stink of the reservoir masked it.’

  ‘Is it her?’ Mariner asked, but Russell had already set off, eager to get this over with and pass on the find to a more senior officer.

  This time they followed the initial path over the bridge, continuing around on the other side of the water. On their last visit this had been uncharted territory, where the searchers before them had been forced to slash away the grass and brambles to create a narrow passage. Even now, the thorns clawed at their trousers, their feet tripped on loops of tangled grass. It was heavy going, speed impossible and the hike around the edge of the water seemed interminable. The heat beat sickeningly down on Mariner’s skull, while his imagination conjured up every possible variation on the horror he was about to see, the psyche’s desperate effort to prepare a
nd defend. Even then, it came nowhere close.

  As Russell had warned, rounding a clump of burgeoning shrubs, it was the smell that hit first, the cloying stench that smelled like nothing else on earth, the unmistakable odour of human decay. After the smell came the noise: the high-pitched, triumphant buzzing of busy insects. Finally, the grotesque discovery came into view.

  ‘Jesus Christ.’ Bile rose in Mariner’s throat and behind him he heard the glug of Tony Knox’s involuntary retch.

  Bizarrely, what first held Mariner’s attention were the many different shades and shapes of grass that had moulded themselves around the body, as if his brain was forcing him to focus on the peripheral detail to avoid the unspeakable. To begin with, it was hard to make sense of, obscured as it was by the dense foilage, where an attempt seemed to have had been made to bury it under the thick strands of grass.

  The soles of the shoes were visible first of all. They were the easy part: normal, like any pair of shoes on any pair of feet. Pulling away the grassy coverage, Mariner forced himself to work his way visually up the battered, bloody and decaying form, and by the time his eyes reached the insect-infested skull he already knew. ‘Turn it over,’ he instructed Russell. Russell did so. ‘Christ.’ Although the face and side of the head had been half eaten away, it didn’t matter. The Nike tracksuit and Manchester United football shirt were unmistakable from the description he’d been given only days earlier. ‘It’s Ricky Skeet,’ he said, dully, while inside he wanted to bellow all the breath from his lungs. Why hadn’t he listened to Colleen? Why had he let Fiske bully him into believing that Ricky had just run away? He’d never be able to live with himself over this.

  ‘Call Charlie Glover and get SOCO—’

  ‘They’re on their way, sir.’

  Mariner forced himself to take another look. SOCO would confirm it but the state of Ricky’s body would indicate that he was the ‘dog’ Lily had seen being beaten to death.

  ‘We haven’t found his bike yet,’ said Russell. ‘It must be around here somewhere and it might give us a clue about how he got in here in the first place.’

  ‘It might lead us to a witness, as well.’

  ‘There’s something else interesting the lads came across, sir.’ Russell walked them back over the bridge, towards where they’d left their cars. This time though, he passed by their entry point and kept right, skirting under the trees to around the edge of what, at wetter times, would have been the lake’s edge. The flattened area was perfectly concealed by the high grasses around it, like a small arena. They were standing now on the opposite side of the water to the side where Ricky’s body lay, and the reason for the location was obvious. Unlike the other side of the reservoir, this area would have been bathed in sunshine for most of the afternoon. ‘They guys have found a couple of used condoms too,’ Russell said. ‘We’ve bagged them up. But there’s no other sign of activity.’ Like blood, he might have added.

  It was the side nearest to the clearing where they had met Shaun Pryce. Knox stooped to retrieve something from the ground. ‘Good place to relax, eh?’ He held up a home-rolled dog-end, putting it to his nose. ‘Most animals don’t shit in their own back yard,’ said Knox, grimly. ‘Shaun Pryce doesn’t come down here on his own and he doesn’t settle for the clearing, either.’

  Even as Mariner saw Charlie Glover approaching from twenty yards away, leading a procession of white-boiler-suited SOCOs, he could read the expression on his face. It told Mariner that he was racked with the same guilt. He waited on the bridge while Charlie went to look at the body.

  Five minutes later Glover returned, a man in a daze. ‘Christ, it’s like the arsehole of hell,’ he said, numbly.

  ‘What in God’s name was Ricky Skeet doing down here? It must be what, three or four miles from his house? And how did he get in?’

  ‘God knows. Good place to hide out, though. No one would think to look here for him.’

  ‘Well, we didn’t, did we? But how would he even know it existed?’

  Mariner gazed out over the dark, cracked mud. ‘Ricky’s dad used to take him fishing. Maybe there were fish in here once.’ They were back on the bridge, close to where Yasmin’s phone had been found. ‘This whole thing makes no sense. Yasmin’s phone here and Ricky’s body way over there.’

  Glover looked around, saw the brown stains on the grass. ‘If it’s his blood then Ricky was killed here. He could have somehow come by Yasmin’s phone.’

  ‘That’s the only plausible explanation. There’s the possibility that Yasmin was seeing someone, a boy, or man. Do you think there’s any chance it could have been Ricky?’

  Glover thought about that. ‘I don’t see how. How would they have met? They’re at different schools, from different parts of the city. He’s two years younger.’

  ‘That’s what I thought. Unless it was a chance meeting. They could have met down here, or at the station,’ Mariner offered.

  ‘What would have taken Ricky to the station?’

  Mariner shared his scepticism. ‘All we found was Yasmin’s phone. I think a more likely explanation would be that she dropped it and someone - Ricky perhaps - found it and brought it here.’

  ‘Or he stole it.’

  ‘Ricky doesn’t do that. And anyway, when would he have had the opportunity? It’s much more likely that Yasmin dropped it. The afternoon she disappeared, she had to run for the train. It could have happened then.’

  ‘Haven’t you got CCTV on that? It may have picked it up and might also show us if Ricky was at the station.’

  ‘Sure,’ Mariner said, absently, his mind not really on it. He knew he should be focusing on Yasmin but now all he could think about was Colleen waiting at home in hopeful ignorance. He didn’t want to leave all that to Charlie Glover.

  Tony Knox was hovering. ‘Shall we bring in Pryce?’

  ‘Who?’ Glover’s ears pricked up.

  ‘A guy called Shaun Pryce turned up while we were here yesterday, back in the clearing, but claims that he doesn’t come on to the reservoir itself.’ Mariner filled Glover in on the main points of the conversation with Pryce.

  ‘But I think he’s a more regular visitor there than he told us. That flattened area of grass looks tailor-made for him. He wasn’t telling us the truth about that, and he doesn’t come here alone, either.’

  ‘Judging everyone by your own standards, Tony?’ said Glover.

  Mariner cringed on Knox’s behalf at the reference to his colourful past, but he took it well enough. Would have been something of a double standard not to. ‘There were a hell of a lot of fresh dog-ends for one person,’ he said.

  ‘The weather’s been dry for weeks. They could have built up over a period of time. And if he’s down here screwing some girl, why didn’t he just say so? It’s no big deal. In fact I’d have thought it was something he’d want to brag about.’

  ‘She’ll be married, won’t she? Didn’t you ever see Confessions of an Electrician? He’ll be having it away with someone else’s missus.’ There was a bitter edge to Knox’s voice. ‘Maybe Ricky saw Pryce knocking off some woman and threatened to let it out, so Pryce had to shut him up.’

  ‘How would Ricky know that what he saw was illicit? For all Ricky knew it could have been Pryce and his wife having a bit of open-air fun.’

  ‘Maybe Pryce didn’t like having an audience.’

  Mariner shook his head. ‘Oh no, Shaun Pryce would love it. He’s an actor,’ he added, for Glover’s benefit.

  ‘He might not be so keen on being watched if things aren’t going his way,’ Glover said.

  ‘Can’t imagine that,’ said Knox, sourly.

  ‘Perhaps Ricky was a regular visitor down here, too. Had seen what Pryce was up to and been blackmailing him?’

  ‘Well, right now Pryce is the only other person we can place down here, so we at least need to talk to him.’

  ‘Yes, we do,’ Mariner agreed. ‘We need to know exactly what he did down here, when he was here and for how long - going
back for the last couple of months. But I don’t think there’s any urgency. I get the feeling that Shaun Pryce might be in a more talkative mood once news leaks out about where we’ve found Yasmin’s phone.’

  ‘You’re sure he won’t disappear?’

  ‘Oh no, judging by yesterday’s performance, if he is involved, he’ll want to be around for his bit of the limelight. ’

  ‘I’d better go and tell Ricky’s mother. Do you want to come?’

  Mariner winced. Running the scene in his head, he could hear Colleen’s screaming and sobbing as if it was real, and see her beating her fists against Glover. ‘Not yet. She needs to know that you’re in charge. And we’ve got things to do.’ Or was he taking the coward’s way out, unable to face Colleen after letting her down so badly, afraid of the hysteria that would ensue? Later, Charlie told him it hadn’t run like that at all. She’d taken the news in a stunned silence. Somehow that had been even worse.

  As they left the site, a low loader bearing a Portakabin was driving on. The incident room would be set up here to maximise the use of local intelligence and deepen the search. One of the first tasks would be a door to door to try and establish when and where Ricky was last seen. The Murder Investigation Unit would support Charlie Glover’s OCU investigation and a team would be put on to searching the reservoir area for the murder weapon. The diving team would have to be contracted in from a neighbouring force, since their own divers had gone the way of the mounted division and fallen victim to budget cuts. Trawling the reservoir would be a mammoth task in all that thick black mud. Close behind the truck was a couple of unmarked vehicles, one of them a grey Transit.

  ‘The vultures moving in,’ observed Knox. Inevitably, the press would have picked up news of the discovery from the morning’s activities over the air waves. ‘Want me to get rid of them, boss?’