by Steven Dunne
‘As I was in Normanton Road this morning. . .’ began Brook.
‘Course. Good curry shops down there,’ agreed Noble. ‘And my nose tells me you picked up some spicy delicacies.’
‘If you’re hungry—’
‘No,’ interrupted Noble, downing a sizeable gulp of lager. ‘This is fine.’
Brook sat down, curious to hear why Noble had ventured all the way out to Hartington so late. When Noble appeared reluctant to elaborate, Brook broke the ice. ‘So no progress on Scott, you said?’
Noble looked at him over the rim of the glass, exhaling a beery sigh. ‘We haven’t found the body, if that’s what you mean.’
Brook nodded sympathetically. ‘McCleary aside, where are you at?’
‘Six days in and we’re at the fingertip-search dragging-rivers stage. Old ground to us, after the Deity murders.’
‘You’ve—’
‘We’ve done the appeals, knocked on every door, done the backgrounds, the parents, the relatives, the teachers, the ex-teachers, the friends, the parents of friends. Everyone and everything checks out.’
‘And Greg Stapleton?’
‘It’s not Stapleton. I interviewed him this afternoon. He’s got a watertight alibi for last Friday night – a dozen people were with him on a Christmas do until well after midnight.’
‘And Mrs Stapleton?’
Doubt crept over Noble’s face. ‘She didn’t threaten Scott.’ Brook raised an eyebrow at Noble who conceded with a dip of his eyes. ‘We’ll check to be thorough. But after that all leads are dry.’ He shrugged helplessly. ‘Suggestions?’
‘You need to go back to St Chad’s Road, John.’
‘Chelsea Chaplin’s party,’ said Noble.
‘Right. If Scott was abducted, someone must have seen or heard something. And if they didn’t. . .’
‘Then maybe he wasn’t abducted,’ finished Noble. ‘It is looking that way. We know Scott slipped away from the house under his own steam.’
‘Any idea why?’ inquired Brook.
Noble took a sip of lager and eyed Brook. ‘Remember I told you he was scared?’
‘I assume not because of Stapleton’s threats.’
Noble shook his head. ‘Something more recent. You remember Stapleton’s kid, Joshua, killed by the vagrant in a derelict house?’
‘Noel Williams,’ said Brook. ‘What of it?’
Noble fumbled for a folded piece of paper in a coat pocket. ‘We haven’t released any of this yet.’ He held it out to Brook but withdrew it as Brook made to take it. ‘Charlton can’t know you’ve seen this.’
Brook was a little wounded that Noble needed to ask for his discretion. But then he has a career to protect. He nodded his agreement and Noble pushed the paper at him.
‘This is a photocopy. Scott received the original and it’s in for tests. We can’t be certain but we think Scott received it a few days before the party because his mum noticed that he became withdrawn and nervous a few days before he disappeared.’
Brook opened out the paper.
Be cAreFul Scott. KeEp youR Eyes OPeN. HE WaNts YOu neXt. IM CLOSE BY.
ItS DaRk. I cAnt sEE. come HelP ME. U kNOw WHERE.
JOSH
‘Newspaper cuttings?’ Brook smiled. ‘A bit melodramatic. Found the source?’
‘The letters are from a local free paper delivered all across the city,’ said Noble.
Brook rubbed his chin. ‘And you’re testing for prints and DNA on the original.’
‘No prints. I’m not getting my hopes up about DNA,’ sighed Noble.
‘Envelope?’
‘Nope.’
‘So you don’t know how Scott received this?’
‘No, though we’re pretty certain it wasn’t posted,’ said Noble. ‘Mrs Wheeler doesn’t work and says she would’ve been first to see any letters mailed to her son.’
‘I suppose it could easily have been slipped into his pocket or school bag,’ agreed Brook, reading it again. ‘I can see why Scott would be frightened – though he wasn’t scared enough to avoid going to a party after dark.’
‘That’s because Scott thought one of the other guests sent him the note as a joke. He went there to find out.’
‘Who?’
‘Adam Kramer, his friend. Adam said Scott told him about the note then threatened him with a Stanley knife.’
‘But this friend didn’t send it?’
‘Adam swears he’d never seen the note before we showed it to him,’ said Noble.
‘Do we believe him?’
‘We do,’ nodded Noble.
‘But did Scott believe him?’
‘Eventually.’
‘Which is when he really started to get frightened,’ concluded Brook.
‘That doesn’t cover it. According to Adam, he was terrified.’ Noble paused for breath. ‘There’s something else. Adam thinks Scott saw something that night.’
‘What?’
‘We don’t know for sure. During the party, the pair of them snuck off to a room on the top floor because Adam had vodka. Scott mentioned the note then pulled out the Stanley knife to confront Adam. When he realised Adam hadn’t sent it, Scott got really edgy. He went to the bedroom window and looked out into the dark. He must have seen something or someone in the back garden because Adam says when Scott turned round he was as white as a sheet, almost frozen in terror.’
‘Did Adam see what Scott saw?’
‘No. And Scott didn’t tell him. But he mumbled something before running out of the room in a panic. That was the last anyone saw of him.’
‘What did he say?’
‘Adam wasn’t certain but he thinks it was Josh.’
‘Josh?’ said Brook. ‘His dead friend.’
Noble shrugged. ‘He may have misheard.’
‘But?’ prompted Brook.
‘But we searched the garden. It’s big, lots of trees and shrubs. There’s one of those leylandii that neighbours are always going to court over. Massive.’ He looked up at Brook. ‘We found footprints in the soil next to it. Training shoes. The markings on the sole were from the same brand Joshua Stapleton was wearing the night he died – same size too.’
Brook said nothing for a few minutes, the silence broken only by the crack of wood in the burner and the gulp as Noble pulled on his drink.
‘So someone else knew the trainers Joshua Stapleton wore the night he died and wore the same brand last Friday night. And if he was wearing similar clothes, you might conclude that someone was passing himself off as Scott’s dead friend.’
‘That’s my thinking,’ said Noble. ‘And if I was thirteen years old, I think that would scare me rigid.’
‘U kNOw WHERE,’ said Brook, looking at the note again. ‘The derelict house, you think?’
‘I don’t see how. It was pulled down months ago.’
‘Mmmm.’
‘There’s something else.’ Noble pointed a finger at a part of the note. ‘Whoever stuck these cuttings together left a bit of the date on one of them.’
‘I noticed,’ said Brook. ‘The thirty-first – which month?’
Noble raised an eyebrow. ‘Guess.’
Brook considered for a moment but didn’t disappoint. ‘October.’
‘Halloween,’ confirmed Noble. ‘Not only that. The cuttings were taken from the edition published last year, not this. The same night Josh Stapleton went missing, after trick or treating with Scott.’
‘Interesting,’ said Brook, rubbing his chin. ‘You’d better check the alibis of Stapleton’s relatives again.’
‘Why?’
‘Who keeps a copy of a free paper from thirteen months ago unless it means something?’ said Brook. ‘But a grieving family might keep a copy from the day their boy died.’
‘Maybe a killer too,’ suggested Noble.
‘Did you ask Stapleton about the note?’
‘Without going into specifics, I asked if he, or his wife, had communicated with Scott in the month before his disapp
earance,’ said Noble. ‘They denied ever speaking to Scott after Greg threatened him at the trial.’
‘Do you believe them?’
‘It’s not the Stapletons,’ said Noble. ‘They’re decent people. Their world was turned upside down by their son’s death and they lashed out verbally. But posting threatening notes? It isn’t their style.’
‘No,’ conceded Brook. ‘And I doubt they’d go round impersonating their dead son either.’ He looked again at the note. ‘Besides, this isn’t a threat, it’s a warning.’ Brook stood and pulled a half-finished bottle of malt whisky from a cupboard. He poured a small measure into his only leaded tumbler and topped it up with water. Noble watched him walk around the kitchen while he sipped the contents. Eventually he sat down and looked hard at Noble. He tried to pick his words for maximum diplomacy. ‘The existence and contents of that note imply the Stapleton boy’s killer is still out there.’
Noble knew what was coming but didn’t comment so Brook was forced to ask the question.
‘Sorry to query one of your results, John, but how sure are you about the Williams conviction?’
‘Noel Williams confessed to killing Joshua Stapleton,’ said Noble slowly. ‘Is that sure enough for you?’
‘And you have no doubts?’
Noble looked at him tight-lipped. ‘Why would I have doubts?’
‘I don’t know,’ said Brook. ‘I wasn’t there. But the sentence. . .’
‘What about it?’ demanded Noble. Brook hesitated. ‘Go on. I can cope.’
Brook looked hard at Noble. ‘When a child is murdered and the killer gets off with twenty years, and could be out in ten, I think I’d smell a rat.’
Noble took a long sip of his lager and studied the foam draining down his glass. ‘I didn’t get to interview Williams.’
Brook nodded minutely. ‘That’s what I thought. We’re the same. We want the right result or no result, even if it affects our clear-up. And that’s what’s worrying you now. You think DI Ford—’
‘I didn’t say that.’
‘But you’re thinking it.’ Brook found Noble’s eye. ‘What happened?’
‘We got a conviction.’
‘You offered a child killer manslaughter with diminished responsibility. Why? Was it lack of evidence?’
‘Noel Williams lived there—’
‘Then forensics should have had a field day.’
Noble mulled it over. ‘How does it look from the outside?’
‘Without knowing the details, it looks like Noel Williams is an ideal fall guy – a homeless vagrant, probably a drink and drug abuser into the bargain. He’s a suspect with no credibility.’
‘But Williams confessed,’ argued Noble. ‘His brief offered no defence in court.’
‘Because he’s not credible, not even to his own defence counsel,’ said Brook. ‘When we arrest someone who doesn’t know the time of day, more often than not the statement they sign is our version of events.’
‘But he did sign it.’
‘But was he competent to sign?’ Brook pressed. Noble looked up, about to speak but couldn’t. ‘I know,’ said Brook. ‘You weren’t there.’
‘Look, we’ve written statements for suspects before and when we read them back we could be delivering the Queen’s Speech, for all they know,’ said Noble. ‘Yet they still sign it.’
‘Which is why you have to take extra care because someone like Noel Williams can be so out of it, he might actually believe he’s guilty if someone tells him often enough. And even if Williams knew he was innocent, a vagrant doesn’t need a lot of persuading to sign a piece of paper that gets him off the streets. Especially in winter. And now he spends his evenings watching TV in a warm prison, tucking into three hot meals a day, instead of shivering in ruined houses with only a bottle and a needle to console him.’
Noble searched for a way to contradict Brook. ‘But Williams knew Joshua and Scott. They used to throw stones at him on their way home from school and break windows in the squat. He remembered them. Motive.’
‘So Williams has a memory of being goaded by a couple of schoolboys. It changes nothing. Did he remember throwing Josh Stapleton to his death?’
‘Not while I was present,’ admitted Noble.
‘Twenty years, John. For murdering a child. That’s a slap on the wrist in this country.’
Noble was deep in thought.
‘Look, I might be wrong,’ said Brook. ‘Have you listened to the tapes?’
‘I have. I can’t fault what I hear,’ said Noble, seeming no happier.
Brook decided not to press too hard and let Noble brood. Finally, ‘I’m the last person to cast doubt on Ford after what I did. But you showed me the note. You must have a reason for that.’
Noble blew out his cheeks in submission. ‘I think Ford coached him off the record, offered him a reduction for a confession. Williams was left alone overnight. He’d been fed and had drunk a gallon of coffee so he could function by the morning. We were interviewing him early but when I went to pick him up, he wasn’t in his cell. He was in Interview One – alone with Ford. The tape was off by now. Ford said the duty solicitor had just left and Williams had confessed.’
Noble went to take another drink but put the glass down. ‘I knew something was wrong, even at the scene. Williams was completely gone when we brought him in. He could barely function. And there’s something else.’
‘Go on.’
‘Joshua’s underpants had been cut off. . .’
‘I didn’t know he was raped,’ exclaimed Brook.
‘That’s just it,’ said Noble. ‘He wasn’t. But after he’d been thrown off the stairwell, someone pulled his tracksuit down to his ankles, cut his underpants off and took his trainers. Both were found in the room Williams crashed.’
‘And you don’t think Williams could have done that?’
‘He wasn’t carrying a blade, for one thing.’
‘He’d had three days to get rid of it,’ said Brook.
‘He’d also had three days to put on Joshua’s trainers and three days to get out of there.’ Noble shook his head, tight-lipped. ‘But he was in no condition.’
Brook was silent for a moment. ‘You had a confession, John. You had every right to square it away on Ford’s say-so. Which brings us back to the note.’
‘You think the killer’s still out there?’ asked Noble.
‘He wants you next,’ quoted Brook.
‘And if the Stapleton kid’s killer is still at large, he thinks Scott Wheeler might have seen him and wants to silence him.’
‘Possible,’ agreed Brook. Noble had a lot on his plate. There was no point muddying the waters further. Not without Scott Wheeler to interview.
‘At least it’s not a sexual motive,’ added Noble, clutching at a straw. He drained his glass and stared into it, realising what Brook put into words for him.
‘If Scott saw a killer, John, he’s in even more danger.’
Noble rubbed his hands across his face. ‘Oh, God, what a mess.’ He looked at Brook through splayed fingers. ‘What should I do about Williams? Ford will—’
‘Do nothing. Yet. Concentrate on finding Scott then you can ask him the question.’
‘And if he’s dead?’
‘Don’t cross that bridge until it’s in front of you, John. You’ve got enough to think about.’
Noble laughed. ‘The thing is I haven’t. We’ve done everything. If McCleary doesn’t pan out all we can do is wait and hope.’
‘Maybe the phones will come good. Nothing gets the public more involved than a missing child.’
Noble snorted. ‘The public? You know better than me how much garbage they give us to wade through – people shopping neighbours who kicked their cat ten years ago or parked across their drive or trimmed an inch too much off their hedge. And that’s just the nasty ones. The fruit loops are worse.’ Noble managed a weary smile. ‘But at least we get a giggle out of them.’
‘Tell me,’ smiled Brook
.
‘Can you believe someone actually rang in to tell us Scott had been abducted by the Pied Piper?’ Noble laughed in spite of himself, unclear why Brook’s smile had frozen on his face.
‘All very interesting,’ said Noble, tapping out a cigarette as they stood by his car. ‘But the Pied Piper’s a fairytale.’
Brook eyed the cigarette. He didn’t want one but he loved the ritual – the cupped hand, the sound of the flame touching the tobacco, the first sullying inhalation – and muscle memory was itching his scratch. ‘I know, John. But I’m looking for a killer who struck nearly fifty years ago so I’m feeding on scraps.’
‘Well, I’m sure it’s logged. I’ll ask Morton.’
‘Thanks. And keep it under wraps, will you? I don’t want word getting out to the wrong people. I’m enough of a hate figure to the citizens of Derby as it is.’
Noble grinned as he unlocked his car. ‘I heard about the hair-drying Hendrickson got from Charlton. I doubt he’ll ever look you in the eye again.’
‘And I suspect Brian Burton won’t be getting any more tips either,’ smiled Brook.
‘How did you manage that?’
‘I have my methods,’ said Brook soberly, remembering how close he’d come to hitting Hendrickson.
Noble laughed. ‘As well I know.’ He opened the driver’s door. ‘Thanks for the drink.’
‘Don’t mention it,’ said Brook. ‘And maybe tomorrow you’ll tell me why you came all this way to see me.’
Noble straightened, his brow wrinkled in confusion. ‘How do you do that?’
‘I’m a trained detective, John.’ Brook smiled. ‘If it won’t keep, I’m still listening.’
Noble pulled on his cigarette, coming to a decision. ‘Forget it. It’s silly.’
‘Then it’ll make up for all the times you’ve listened to my drivel.’
Noble looked out into the cold night, suddenly embarrassed. Eventually he managed, ‘I was thinking of jacking it in, resigning.’
Brook was genuinely surprised. ‘Because of the promotion?’
Noble narrowed his eyes. ‘I don’t know. I don’t think so. I hope not. It’s just been getting me down, this case. It feels like I’m banging my head against a brick wall. I don’t want to turn out. . .’ He flashed an apologetic look at Brook then declined to continue.