by Jack Slater
Louise stroked Annie’s arm. ‘There. You rest, love. We’ll be just downstairs.’ She stood up, meeting Pete’s gaze, and they stepped out. Annie was quiet as they headed down the stairs and into the sitting room.
‘What happened?’ Pete asked as they sat down.
Louise drew a breath. ‘She didn’t tell me much. A bunch of lads surrounded her, pulled her into the cut-through from Sycamore to Hill View and made all sorts of threats. Grabbed her and…’ She shuddered. ‘Poor kid was terrified.’
Pete couldn’t help picturing the scene, although he didn’t want to. ‘Who were they? Did she say?’
Louise shook her head. ‘Older, she said. Tommy’s age or so. But they’d taken their ties and blazers off and she didn’t recognise any of them.’
So, they could be anyone. From anywhere.
‘Did she say anything else about them?’
Louise shook her head. ‘Just broke down and cried. Pretty much as you found us.’
Pete’s jaw was clamped tight, his teeth pressing together almost painfully. ‘This has got to stop. Now. Whoever it is and whyever they’re doing it, it can’t carry on.’
‘What are you going do?’
He took his phone from his pocket, hit a speed-dial number. It was picked up on the first ring. ‘Boss? What’s happened? Is everything OK?’
‘Bring Dick with you out to Sycamore Drive, Jane. There’s a path leads through to the next street over, Hill View. I need you to search the end of it, see if anything’s been left there by mistake, and knock on all the doors around there, see if anyone saw anything this afternoon. A bunch of lads, specifically.’
‘So, what’s happened?’ she asked again.
‘Annie was ambushed on the way home from school. Nothing too serious was actually done to her, but it could have been. And the threat was there. Poor kid was terrified.’
‘Right. We’re on the way.’
‘Thanks, Jane.’ He put the phone away and looked at Louise. ‘I don’t care who they are or how old they are. This was sexual assault and they’re going to be charged with it. All of them – or at least as many as we can identify.’ He glanced up towards Annie’s room. Felt Louise’s hand settle on his arm and met her gaze.
‘Leave her be for now,’ she said gently. ‘Let her rest and recover a bit.’
His brow tightened. ‘I wasn’t going to…’
Her grip tightened. ‘I know. I’m just saying. Let her tell us in her own time.’
Pete was going to protest again, but stopped himself. She was right. The priority had to be Annie – her wellbeing. Much as he wanted to get out there and catch the little shits – and needed all the information he could get as soon as he could get it to that end – he couldn’t put her through any more than she’d already endured. He relaxed. Reached for his tea and took a gulp.
Louise smiled. ‘She’ll tell us as soon as she’s ready.’
‘I know, but…’ Pete shook his head. ‘I feel so… helpless. And responsible.’
*
‘She’s asleep,’ Louise said as she stepped into the kitchen sometime later, Annie’s mug in her hand, the tea cold and untouched. Pete took the mug from her, tipped its contents down the sink and put it in the washing-up bowl with the others.
‘Probably the best thing, for now. Let her recover a bit, calm down and so on.’
Louise sighed. ‘What are we going to do, Pete?’
‘We’re going to find out…’ The phone rang in the hall, cutting him off. Louise spun around, took three long steps and snatched it up.
‘Hello?’ She paused. ‘OK. I’ll get him.’
Stepping back into the kitchen, she held out the cordless handset. ‘It’s Jane.’
Pete quickly wiped his hand on his trousers and took the phone from her. ‘Jane?’
‘Hello, boss. We’ve checked all the surrounding houses and the first thirty feet or so of the alley.’
‘And?’
‘One witness, but he couldn’t ID the lads. Didn’t recognise their uniform ties and blazers, but he said they certainly weren’t from the local school.’
‘Did he give you a description of them?’
‘Just a bunch of lads. Eight or nine of them, he said.’
‘Not the lads: the ties and badges.’ Eight or nine? No wonder she was traumatised.
‘Sorry. Red and gold ties and dark-green blazers was all he could tell from across the road.’
Pete released his pent-up breath. ‘We know where that is, don’t we?’
The public school Rosie Whitlock attended; the young girl who had been abducted and raped last November, whose case Tommy was involved in.
Jane hesitated. ‘Risingbrook? Why would kids from there pick on Annie? Or was it random? Has she said any more?’
‘No. And she’s asleep now.’
‘There is one other thing, boss.’
‘Yes?’
‘In the alley. There was a single fresh-looking fag end in the grass and a crumpled-up packet. Don’t suppose it’ll help us find a suspect, but it might confirm it if we find one by another method.’
‘Nice one. All we need now is a big enough book to cause head injuries with when we throw it at them and we’ll be set.’
She laughed.
‘Thanks, Jane. I’ll see you tomorrow.’
‘Yeah. Night, boss.’
‘Has she got something?’ Louise asked as he ended the call.
‘A description and some DNA.’
‘DNA?’ she asked, horrified.
‘A cigarette butt. And the packet it possibly came from.’
Louise slumped with relief. ‘God, I thought for a second…Ugh!’ She shivered. ‘And they came from Risingbrook?’
He nodded.
‘It’s a long way off their turf, isn’t it?’
The big public school was over half a mile away, towards the city centre. ‘Yes. I’m guessing that’s why Jane asked if she was targeted or if it was random.’
‘How would she know that?’
Pete tilted his head. ‘Depends what they said to her. If they used her name. Or mine. If they knew where she lives.’
The door behind Louise opened. ‘They knew. They asked if I liked the artwork on the garage door the other day.’
‘Annie.’ Pete stepped forward as Annie came into the room and Louise turned to face her. ‘Are you OK, love?’
She gave a slow blink that passed for a nod. ‘Thirsty.’
Louise gathered her into her arms as he said, ‘I’ll make you another cup of tea. How’s that?’
She gave him a nod and what might have been a smile.
‘Don’t worry now, lovey,’ Louise was saying to her. ‘It’ll all be OK. Your dad’ll sort it out.’
With her arms wrapped around her mother’s waist, Annie looked over at Pete. ‘They said you’d cut off their supply so I was going to replace it, only better.’
‘Supply?’ Louise looked from Annie to Pete and back again. ‘Supply of what?’
Pete shook his head with a grimace. He didn’t want to think about that now. ‘We’ll look into it tomorrow. Did they say anything else, Annie?’
‘No. That’s when I got away from them.’
‘You got away?’ Louise leaned back, holding her at arm’s length. ‘From eight or nine of them in a narrow pathway?’
Annie nodded. ‘I did what Tommy taught me. The leader looked round at his mates, so I kicked him in the nuts, punched one of them on the nose, poked another in the eye, then jumped through the gap they’d left. The rest were too shocked to stop me until it was too late so I just ran as fast as I could.’
‘My God, Annie.’ Louise crouched so that she was on eye-level with Annie. ‘That was so…’
‘Brave,’ Pete cut in. ‘We’re so proud of you. And your mum’s right. You don’t need to worry: it won’t happen again. I’ll make sure of that.’
*
Pete dropped Annie at the bus stop with her friends in the morning then went straight t
o Risingbrook School. The road outside was crowded with cars and four-by-fours, uniformed students trickling through the gates singly and in groups. Pete drove into the wide expanse of the grounds and up the tarmac drive to park outside the doors of the main block. He locked the car and strode in. There was a reception desk to his left. He recognised the woman standing behind it, her dark hair pulled back in a bun, black-framed glasses perched on her nose.
‘Detective Gayle. What can we do for you this morning?’
‘Your photographic yearbooks,’ he said, knowing from last year that they kept them. ‘I need to borrow three of them. Current years seven to nine.’ Kids were passing behind him, chattering and laughing, their voices echoing in the big entrance hall.
‘Of course. I’ll fetch them out for you. You won’t be able to take them away, of course.’
Pete grimaced, sucking air across his teeth. ‘That could be a problem. I was hoping to keep things unofficial for the sake of the school’s reputation. If I have to come back with a warrant, that’ll be out the window.’
‘The… What do you need them for, Detective?’
‘It’s in regard to a sexual assault that took place in Whipton yesterday afternoon. A witness identified the perpetrators as coming from here by their uniforms. They wouldn’t be able to identify the individuals involved, but the victim would. If she can do that from the yearbooks, they can be dealt with as individuals before the press get hold of anything and start shouting it about all over the place.’
Her naturally stern features closed into a frown. ‘There’s no need for threats of press involvement, Detective. I’ll need to speak to the head, of course, but in those circumstances, I don’t see why he’d object.’
‘You misunderstood, Mrs Paxton. I wasn’t making threats – just pointing out a possibility that I’m trying to avoid on your behalf.’
‘Hmm.’ She clearly wasn’t convinced. ‘Give me a moment.’
She turned away and picked up the phone on the desk behind her.
Oh, well, Pete thought as she dialled. Another Christmas card I won’t be getting this year. He leaned on the counter and waited while she spoke in low tones.
Putting the phone down, she turned back to face him. She was still looking more sour than usual when she said, ‘The head has agreed to allow you to take the three yearbooks away with you. I didn’t pass on your – suggestion – about the press.’
Pete smiled. ‘Thank you. And thank him for me, would you? I’m sorry if I was a bit less tactful than usual.’
She pursed her lips and turned away, heading through to a back office. Moments later, she returned, three thick folio-sized books in her arms. She put them carefully on the counter. ‘Apology accepted, Detective.’
‘Thanks. I’ll get them back to you as soon as I can. Depending on how ready the victim is to go through them, of course.’
She drew a long breath. ‘Was she… badly hurt?’
Pete shook his head. ‘Not as badly as a couple of the lads, from what I gather. Not that that’s going to affect the charges.’
‘Good. And quite right too.’
Pete picked up the books. Maybe he would be getting that Christmas card, after all.
*
Pete saw Dick and Ben’s computer screens as he approached his desk. Both appeared to be going through indoor CCTV footage. ‘Any joy yet?’ he asked.
‘Nothing yet,’ Dave answered. ‘She actually had seven possible places to choose from at that time of night. We’ve started by going through all of them for the few minutes around the time she was last seen on the square, to find which one she went into. There’s none of a girl with a cap like she was wearing out there, but a few with similar jackets. We’ve eliminated the blondes and the one redhead to begin with. Got down to four: two of them in the same pub – the one in the alley going through to Fore Street. Trouble is, that time of night, they’re all heaving, people coming and going all the time. But we’re trying to identify each of the possibles as she leaves, to make sure she hasn’t changed her appearance. We’re getting there.’
‘How’ve you got on, boss?’ Jane asked. ‘And how’s Annie?’
‘She’s all right, considering. She insisted on going to school today. I dropped her off. I’ll be picking her up too. And I’ll be out at lunchtime. I got the yearbooks from Risingbrook to show her – see if she can pick out any of the lads.’
‘She wasn’t actually…?’ Jill hesitated.
‘No. But the threat was there.’
‘But why?’ Jane wanted to know. ‘What was the point? Surely, it wasn’t… A whole gang like that. I mean…’ She shook her head, at a loss.
‘Apparently, they were the same ones who put the graffiti on our garage door and did my tyres. And they said to her that I’d cut off their supply, whatever that means. So, she was going to replace it, only better.’
‘Eh? What’s that about?’ Ben demanded, looking up from his screen.
Pete shrugged. ‘What have we put a stop to recently? Drugs is the main thing, isn’t it.’
‘But that wasn’t down to you. You were in here.’
‘Except for the Armenian.’
‘The dog fights, the other day?’ Dave suggested. ‘That’s a lot more recent. Might make it more relevant.’
‘There’s Frank with his eggs and chicks,’ Ben said. He had been with Pete when he arrested the former CID officer a few months before and had been the prime victim of his bullying before he retired.
‘I can’t see lads that age being into falconry,’ Pete said, ‘legal or otherwise, no matter how privileged their backgrounds.’
Ben shrugged.
‘There’s one other possibility,’ Jane said carefully. ‘Do you remember Chris Mellor?’
Pete frowned.
‘Becky Sanderson’s boyfriend.’
Becky Sanderson was Rosie Whitlock’s best friend. Her father was currently awaiting trial on child pornography charges and she had been sexting with her boyfriend until it emerged that others had seen the pictures she sent him and they broke up. ‘Yes, I remember.’
And they told Annie she’d have to replace their source.
‘If that’s what this is about, there’s going to be hell to pay. I can promise you that.’
*
Dick shrank the video playback window on his computer screen and slumped back in his chair. ‘Nothing.’
Pete looked up from what he was doing. ‘That’s everywhere then.’
‘Yep. All four of the girls we picked out emerged eventually from the pubs in the same clothes they went in wearing.’
‘So, it has to be one of those you left out. The blondes and the redhead.’
‘I’d go with the redhead,’ Dave said. ‘You can never trust them. Ow! Physical violence, boss!’
Pete looked from Dave to Jane and back. ‘I didn’t see anything.’
‘What? Blatant abuse, that was.’
‘And thoroughly deserved,’ Jill put in from his other side.
‘Who asked you, Titch?’
This time, Pete did see the response as Jill jabbed him in the ribs.
‘Hey! I’m getting picked on here,’ Dave protested. ‘Sexual harassment.’
‘You should be so lucky,’ Jane said.
‘I’ve said so for years, but you will stick with that husband of yours.’
‘Since when did that stop you?’ Dick demanded.
‘Never,’ Jane put in. ‘But my knee would.’
‘Well, seeing that you’re such an expert on redheads, Dave, you can check the one you spotted on the footage while Dick and Ben check on the blondes. I’m going to Whipton. By the time I get back, hopefully one of you will have identified a suspect. Meantime, Jane and Jill can follow through on Ranjeet’s alleged victims. Check identities, histories, alibis for the times in question, etc, etc.’
He had slipped into his jacket and was reaching for the door handle when Dave exclaimed, ‘Ha ha! Told you. It was the redhead.’
CHAPTER
EIGHTEEN
‘Show me.’
Pete leaned over Dave’s shoulder, staring at his screen.
Dave leaned back, pointing with the butt end of his pen. ‘There she is. Left-hand edge of the screen.’ He edged the video forward slowly. ‘Disappearing off the edge of the picture.’
‘OK.’
The image was reasonable quality but had a yellow tinge to it from the artificial lights that darkened the young woman’s hair to a chestnut-brown.
Dave let the video run at normal speed. ‘Wait for it. Wait for it. Wait for it. There!’ he declared as a young blonde in a summer dress emerged from the side of the picture and walked across at an angle.
‘How the hell d’you make that connection?’
‘Simple. Blondie didn’t go into the toilets in the ten minutes before the redhead did, and the redhead didn’t come out in the ten minutes after.’
‘Fair enough,’ Pete nodded. ‘Check a further five minutes before and after, then get as good a printout as you can of her face and let’s see if we can identify her.’
‘So, she switched from dark to red to blonde?’ Ben clarified. ‘That’s a bit elaborate, isn’t it?’
‘Says one thing clearly, though, doesn’t it?’ Dick said. ‘If she’s set up that complicated a plan to evade us, it definitely wasn’t a spontaneous attack.’
‘She set out with intent,’ Dave agreed. ‘Almost…’ He shook his head quickly.
‘Almost what?’ Pete asked.
‘Almost professional.’
‘Here we go again,’ Jane protested. ‘A female hitman in Devon? Dream on, matey.’
‘Have wig, will travel,’ Dick said dryly.
‘Not many people would dump a whole outfit, including a leather jacket, like that,’ Ben pointed out. ‘That wasn’t cheap, I bet.’
‘Well, one of you get over there and see if you can recover it then,’ Pete said. ‘The whole outfit, if possible. We might get some DNA that way. And get going on that picture of her. Police National Computer, Missing Persons, DVLA, Passport Control. Everywhere you can think of and more besides. Also, send all three images to HQ, get a composite done with the dark hair from Cathedral Square and the face from the pub cameras. Then all three pictures can go to press liaison for putting out to the papers and TV. “Do you know this woman?” – that kind of thing. Well done, Dave.’