The Spider's Web

by Ben Cheetham

  Emily continued her story. Jim noted that her voice was perhaps a fraction stronger. Her face hardened into a scowl as she recounted Gavin’s conversation with Ronald and Sharon. ‘How could they lie to me my whole life like that? They’re as bad as Gavin.’

  Remembering his promise to Sharon, Jim said, ‘It was your grandma who gave us Gavin’s phone number, without which we wouldn’t have found you.’

  Emily digested this information for a moment, before giving a sharp shake of her head, as if to say, That’s not enough. Jim didn’t try to convince her otherwise. He understood why Ronald and Sharon had chosen Gavin over the law. Nonetheless, they’d made their choices and they had to live with them, just as he lived with his. His own mind began to drift, returning once again to Amy, to Margaret. Emily yanked him back into the moment as she said, ‘Later, Gavin spoke on the phone to a man.’

  ‘How much later?’

  ‘Not long. Maybe ten minutes.’

  ‘Did the man give a name?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘What was his voice like?’

  ‘It was posh English.’

  Posh English. That described the vast majority of the men in Herbert Winstanley’s black book. ‘Do you think you’d recognise it if you heard it again?’

  Emily shrugged. ‘The man said he’d get us out of the country. Gavin wanted to go to the Philippines.’

  ‘No extradition treaty,’ Jim remarked. ‘What else did he say?’

  ‘That it would take a day or two to arrange.’

  Jim glanced at his watch. It had been roughly two hours since Gavin escaped. Taking into account when the phone call had been made, that meant they had a possible window of forty or so hours to catch him. Then he would be gone, free to continue his depravity in a country beyond their reach.

  ‘But he won’t go without me,’ continued Emily, her gaze dropping to a red welt where Gavin had bound her wrist to his.

  Jim was inclined to agree. He’d seen the longing in Gavin’s eyes as he looked at Emily, he’d heard the want in his voice. ‘Was anything mentioned about how you would travel to the Philippines?’

  ‘No. That was pretty much the end of the phone call, except for one more thing Gavin said.’

  Something in Emily’s voice made Jim look up from his notepad. ‘Which was?’

  ‘He said that if anything bad happened to him, if he was shot or something like that, information would be sent to the police about some photos and videos.’

  Jim’s forehead squeezed into a dark, brooding expression. So Gavin had incriminating evidence that he was using to blackmail those he’d helped acquire victims for. And all it would take for the authorities to get their hands on that evidence was for someone to give the sociopathic little scumbag the justice he deserved. Jim gave an internal shake of his head. No, he couldn’t allow himself to think like that. He’d been down that path before and it had nearly destroyed him. He motioned for Emily to go on with her story.

  Rapidly, as though purging the words from her mind, she described what had happened after Gavin released her from inside the sofa. ‘He must be insane,’ she said. ‘Why else would he want to marry his own daughter?’

  ‘He doesn’t see you as his daughter. At least not in a way you or I would understand. To him you’re just an object. All this crap about the Horned God, that’s simply his way of justifying what he does. Believe me, Emily, I’ve met more of his kind than I ever want to remember. People like him are incapable of love or guilt or telling the truth. They’re hollow inside. Empty.’

  Emily touched her chest tentatively, almost as though she was afraid of what it might contain. ‘What makes them like that?’

  ‘I wish I knew,’ sighed Jim, turning to open the cubicle’s curtain.

  ‘Where are you going?’ Emily asked anxiously.

  Again, a feeling of déjà vu pressed down on Jim. A sense that he’d been here before and would be here again. Like he was a character in a play, doomed to repeat the same mistakes over and over. ‘I’m not going anywhere,’ he assured her. ‘I just need to let the doctor know we’re finished talking.’

  ‘We’re transferring Emily to a private room on a ward,’ the doctor informed Jim. ‘We’ll keep her in overnight just to be on the safe side.’

  Jim followed as a porter wheeled Emily’s bed through antiseptic-smelling corridors to a lift. Once she was safely installed in the room, Jim said, ‘Try to get some sleep. I’ll be right outside.’

  After washing the blood off his hands at a sink, he settled down heavily on a chair and scrolled through his contact numbers until he found Staci. What time was it in South Africa? he wondered. What did it matter what fucking time it was? The kind of news he had for her was no respecter of time. His finger hovered over the number. An image of Staci as she’d looked the last time he saw her came into his mind – she’d looked as if a breath of wind might blow her over. And now he was about to unleash a hurricane on her.

  Footsteps attracted his attention. He looked up to see Garrett approaching. The DCS peered through the observation window at Emily, before pulling up a chair next to Jim. A moment of silence passed, like a mark of respect. Then Garrett said, ‘I’m sorry, Jim. I know how close you were to Reece. He was a…’ A slight hesitation made Garrett’s voice ring insincere, ‘a good detective.’

  ‘No he wasn’t,’ said Jim. ‘But he was a good husband.’

  ‘Have you spoken to his wife?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Do you want me to do it?’

  Jim shook his head.

  ‘Do you think she knew what Reece was doing for her?’

  ‘No. And she won’t find out from me either. Bad enough that her husband’s dead. But to know that it’s because of her illness…’ Jim tailed off meaningfully. He doubted Staci would survive knowing that. Not in her current condition. She had to find out at some point, of course. There would be no burial with honours for Reece. No posthumous bravery awards. But the longer they could keep it from her the better.

  ‘As far as Anna Young’s concerned, I can’t stress how important it is that you don’t talk to her about Reece.’

  ‘So it’s back to damage control, is it?’ Jim said, with a sardonic twitch of his lips. ‘Protect the department’s reputation at all costs.’

  ‘Someone has to do it or the people will lose faith in us,’ Garrett stated unapologetically. ‘And we can’t allow that to happen.’

  Why not? Jim felt like retorting. Why protect a system that’s rotten to the core? Perhaps it’s time to tear the whole thing down and build something new. He kept his thoughts to himself. He knew he’d be wasting them on Garrett. Besides, he didn’t have the energy for such a debate. Gesturing towards Emily’s room, Garrett made to speak. Anticipating what he was going to ask, Jim handed him his notepad. He closed his eyes and rested his head back against the wall as Garrett read his notes.

  ‘“A world where there’s no right or wrong”,’ quoted Garrett. ‘Gavin Walsh sounds like a classic sociopath.’

  ‘Through and through,’ agreed Jim.

  Garrett tapped the notepad as he read about Gavin’s phone conversation with the anonymous man. ‘This looks promising. We’ve already put in a request for his call records.’

  ‘We should also have Emily listen to recordings of all the men from Herbert’s book. See if she recognises any of their voices.’

  ‘I was just having that same thought.’ Garrett’s eyes widened behind his glasses. ‘What’s this about photos and videos? If this is true, it might be the key to… well, everything. Someone must be holding this evidence for Gavin. Surely the most likely candidates are his parents? If we can get them to give it up—’

  ‘They won’t do that,’ broke in Jim.

  ‘How do you know? Sharon Walsh already gave up her son to us.’

  ‘In order to save her granddaughter.’

  ‘We have evidence that they’ve falsified birth documents and withheld information about criminal activity.’

&
nbsp; ‘That won’t be enough leverage.’

  ‘Then we’ll dangle the possibility of a reunion with Emily in front of them.’

  ‘They’re not stupid. They know that’s not going to happen.’

  ‘It could do. Right now they’re still her legal guardians.’

  Jim frowned at Garrett. The Chief Superintendent raised his hands in reassurance. ‘It could happen, but it’s not going to. The DNA results will be in tomorrow and then we should have definitive proof that they’re not Emily’s parents.’

  A constable entered the ward and approached them. Jim eyed him narrowly. ‘What’s this?’

  ‘Emily’s guard for the night.’

  ‘That won’t be necessary. I’ll stay with her.’

  ‘A policeman’s been killed, Jim. You need to come in and give a statement.’

  ‘And I will do when I’m sure Emily’s safe.’

  Garrett leant in close, his voice dropping. ‘Look, I understand your trust has been shaken. I feel the same way. But even if you stay, you can’t watch her twenty-four hours a day. You’ve got to sleep. So at some point – from the looks of you, some point in the near future – you’re going to have to trust someone.’

  Jim knew Garrett was right. He was dangerously close to exhaustion. He’d be no good to anyone if he had another heart attack. Still, he wasn’t about to leave Emily in the hands of someone he didn’t know. Even if had known the constable, he would have wanted to vet his background for weaknesses that could be exploited by Villiers and his accomplices. He’d liked Reece. More than liked. He’d thought of him almost as the son he’d never had. His feelings had blinded him. He wasn’t going to make that mistake again. He folded his arms, wearing a weary but immovable expression. Garrett gave a small nod as though he’d expected as much. He motioned for the constable to leave. ‘Good luck speaking to Reece’s wife,’ he said, standing to leave himself.

  Jim’s gaze returned to his phone. He ran a hand over his face, pulling the corners of his eyes down. It wasn’t luck he needed. It was the strength to do what he must. His head turned towards the sound of a low, haunted wail from Emily’s room. He rose to look through the observation window. Emily was pushing at the air as though fending off an attacker. Her eyeballs were moving rapidly beneath their closed lids. She was having a nightmare. Jim thought about waking her, but he knew it would do no good. The nightmare would only return.

  Heaving a sigh, he dialled Staci.

  23

  Jim pulled up outside the house. It was a reassuringly anonymous little semi on the northern edge of Nottingham. The opposite side of the city to the Walshes’ house. Emily stared at it, unmoving, a shadow of anxiety in her eyes. She hadn’t wanted to return to the city, but for now she had no other option. Her school was there, her friends were there, her life was there. Jim watched her watching the house. At first, he’d questioned the sense of placing her with a foster family in Nottingham, arguing instead for a safe house in Sheffield. But the more he thought about it, the more he came to realise this was the best thing for her. She’d already suffered so much upheaval. As the victim counsellor who’d assessed her had said, she needed familiarity, a reference point to anchor her back to the everyday world.

  ‘You’ll be perfectly safe here, Emily. Your foster carers are both retired police officers.’ Jim pointed to an unmarked car with two men in it. ‘And you see them. They’re plain-clothes constables. They’ll be keeping a close eye on you.’ He’d handpicked the constables and two others who were to relieve them at night. None of them had any previous connection to the investigation, so there was no reason they should have been got to. All had spotless service records and no history of financial problems.

  The anxiety didn’t leave Emily’s eyes, but she got out of the car. Jim retrieved a plastic bag from the back seat. He gently ushered her ahead of him to the house. They were met at the door by a smiling late-middle-aged couple and a suited social worker. He handed over the bag. ‘There’s a toothbrush and a few other things in there, but she’s going to need some new clothes.’

  ‘We’ll make sure Emily has everything she needs, Chief Inspector,’ the social worker assured him.

  Jim turned to Emily. He managed a smile. It wasn’t easy. Not when he was so raw with the memory of the previous night’s conversation with Staci. It would take a long time for the sound of her sobbing, broken voice to fade from his mind. ‘How did it happen?’ she’d distraughtly demanded to know. Reece was killed by a suspect we were pursuing, was all Jim had told her. Which was true and yet concealed the real, unbearable truth. The only scrap of comfort he’d taken from the conversation was that Staci wasn’t alone. Reece had lied about Amelia not going with her, no doubt to justify his need to stay in the country and keep tabs on the investigation. Jim was glad he had. Amelia was her mother’s reason to fight and survive.

  ‘I’m sorry I couldn’t help you,’ said Emily.

  On the way to Nottingham, Jim had stopped in at Sheffield Police HQ and played Emily interview recordings of the men from Herbert’s book. She hadn’t recognised any of their voices.

  ‘You have helped us, Emily. Without you we wouldn’t have found Gavin. Now you’ve got my number. Call me anytime. I’ll be in touch if there are any developments in our search.’

  ‘Thank you, Mr Monahan.’

  Jim accepted the thanks with a nod. ‘Take care, Emily. Hopefully we’ll speak again very soon.’

  He returned to his car, feeling her gaze follow him. He accelerated away without looking back. He knew that if he saw her sad, scared eyes it would only make it all the more difficult to leave her there. He headed towards Sheffield, his flat and bed. The afternoon promised to be a long stretch of interviews – both with and by him – and writing up reports, but first he needed a couple of hours’ sleep.

  His phone rang. Garrett’s name flashed up. No doubt he was calling to pile another disappointment on what had so far been a day of them. First had come the news that the only calls on Gavin’s phone records were between him and a mobile number that had been traced to his parent’s house. Gavin had obviously used a different phone to contact whoever was arranging to spirit him out of the country. Then came the discovery of the motorhome at an isolated farm on the North Yorkshire Moors, twenty or so miles north of Pickering. A farmhand found the vehicle concealed in a barn. The farmer – an elderly widower – was missing. So was his Land Rover. The general theory was that Gavin had taken the farmer hostage in case he got cornered and needed a bargaining chip. Jim didn’t rate the chances of the farmer being seen alive again. Gavin would only hold onto him and the Land Rover long enough for his contact to set up a switch vehicle. At which point he would dispose of them both.

  The final double dollop of shit on the cake was Reece’s phone records and finances. Phone records showed a series of calls both received from and made to a mobile number. One of the calls had been received shortly before the break-in at Fiona Young’s house. Jim had found himself wondering whether Reece was responsible for that particular attempt to intimidate Anna. He’d remembered how Reece had already been at the house when he arrived. Something else had occurred to him too. It wasn’t until after the break-in that he’d told Reece Anna was talking to the Hopeland victims, which suggested there was at least one more leak in the department. Or rather departments, seeing as Garrett had made enquiries about the Hopeland case-file to people at Greater Manchester Police and Special Branch. And those people had contacted other people, who’d contacted others, and so on, making it all but impossible to pin down any leaks. With depressing inevitability, Reece had made another call directly after learning Anna was tailing Emily. The number was for an unregistered pay-as-you-go phone. Attempts to trace it had been unsuccessful. Reece’s finances had similarly proved to be a dead end. His bank account was clean. Whatever money he’d been promised had obviously been paid directly to the South African private medical company treating Staci. The company had so far refused to give any details about where the payme
nt came from.

  Jim put the phone to his ear. ‘Some good news at last,’ said Garrett. ‘The DNA result came in. Emily is Jessica Young’s daughter. Scott Greenwood’s bringing in Ronald and Sharon as we speak.’

  ‘Are we going to charge them?’

  ‘That depends on how forthcoming they are.’

  ‘Threats won’t move them.’

  ‘We’ll see about that. I’m on my way back from North Yorkshire. I’ll see you at headquarters.’

  With a shake of his head, Jim hung up. If Gavin’s parents were holding on to information about the photos and videos, there was no way they would give it up to avoid being charged. Not when those photos and videos were probably the only thing keeping Gavin alive. Sharon may have wished her son was never born, but there was a big difference between that and pronouncing a death sentence on him.

  Jim phoned Queen’s Medical Centre and asked to be put through to the ward Anna was on. A nurse answered and he asked how Anna was doing. ‘I couldn’t say why, but she’s really picked up since this morning,’ said the nurse.

  Jim knew why. Early that morning he’d instructed a constable to contact Anna and let her know Emily was safe.

  ‘Would you like to speak to her?’ asked the nurse.

  ‘No.’ His reluctance to speak to Anna had nothing to do with Garrett and everything to do with Amy, Margaret and Reece. Enough good people were dead. This was where it ended. It was time to put some distance between Anna and himself. ‘Could you give her a message? Tell her the DNA result came back and she was right.’

  As Jim hung up once again, a hollow sense of loneliness settled over him. He didn’t try to push the feeling away. Loneliness he could accept. But if someone else he cared for died… The mere thought of it was almost too much to bear.

  He was relieved to find Special Branch were no longer sitting outside his flat. No doubt they’d been put on the back foot by the events of the past two days. He ate a quick cold meal and flopped onto the bed. Tears slid from beneath his closed eyes. But even his grief couldn’t keep him from sleep for long. He sank into a mercifully dreamless darkness. It seemed only seconds later when he was awakened by his mobile phone. Looking groggily at its screen, he saw a number he didn’t recognise. He answered the call. ‘Hello.’