by Jack Slater
‘Yep,’ Dick said.
‘Right. I’d best give him an update then, before we get the pictures back from Middlemoor. They’ll be sending them across shortly.’
*
Louise caught up with Annie fifteen paces down the corridor, still running as fast as her little legs would take her.
‘Annie! Stop.’ She grabbed her arm, trying to slow her down, but Annie was having none of it. She was crying desperately, wailing her distress to anyone in earshot. She tried to snatch away from Louise, but her mother was stronger, more determined. She held on as they slammed through a connecting door, still running. Louise slid her grip down Annie’s arm to her hand, but let her run. They were almost at the reception now. Just one more turn. She tried slowing her steps, grasping Annie’s hand tightly, but she was dragged forward by her daughter’s headlong flight from the horror of what her brother had said.
Not just what he’d said, Louise thought, but the way he’d said it. He’d really appeared to mean it. He didn’t want to see them. Didn’t want them coming here. It was like he was abandoning them all over again. She could understand Annie’s distress. Felt the same way herself. After all they’d done as a family, trying to find him, to bring him home… And his response? First, months ago, he’d broken in while they were out and burgled the house. Now, when they’d finally found him, almost got him home, he was pushing them away as if he wanted to utterly disown them.
Why?
She couldn’t understand his rejection any more than Annie could, in truth. It was just that, as an adult, she had marginally better coping mechanisms. At least, she did now.
Last year, for a long time after Tommy disappeared, it had been the other way round. Annie had coped far better than she had, to the point where, despite her resentment of the fact, their roles had almost swapped over in some respects. Annie had been a complete gem. She had kept the family, and Louise as a person, together through the worst times.
She glanced at the receptionist as they hurried past, tipping her head in a shrug. What can I do? Then they were slamming through the double doors of the entrance, down the wide, curved, stone steps to the gravel drive. Feet crunching on the pale grit, Annie kept running until Louise was finally able to pull her back and slow them down.
‘Enough, Annie. Stop now.’
Annie spun around, burying her head in Louise’s chest, still crying disconsolately as she wrapped her arms tightly around her. ‘Why was he like that, Mum?’ she sobbed. ‘Why did he say those horrible things? We’re his family!’
‘I don’t know, love. I wish I did.’ She held Annie tightly, trying to comfort her. ‘But there are people here who can figure that out and do something about it. It’s what they’re trained for. It’ll be all right in the end. You’ll see.’
‘But he was so nasty! It was like there was somebody else in Tommy’s body. Like he was possessed, like in those nasty movies.’
‘How do you know about movies like that? They’re not supposed to be for kids.’
‘Of course I know about them, Mum. I don’t watch them. I don’t like them. But I know about them.’
‘What do you mean, you don’t like them? How do you know?’
‘From the adverts, of course. What’s that got to do with anything?’ She leaned back, staring up at Louise, her face wet with tears and so young and vulnerable that Louise’s heart almost broke with love.
She smiled, pulling her back into a tight hug. ‘Nothing at all, love. But it got your mind away from Tommy for a few seconds.’
*
‘Come.’
Pete opened the door to the station chief’s office and stepped in.
DCI Adam Silverstone was sitting behind his desk, immaculately uniformed as usual, his hat on the coat stand in the corner of the room, his desk neatly arranged with a small stack of files to his left and one open in front of him. He looked up. ‘Peter. What can I do for you?’
‘Just thought I’d best give you an update, sir. Things are moving a bit quick now, one way and another.’
‘Good,’ Silverstone nodded. ‘What’s the latest?’
Pete took a breath and went quickly through the latest developments. ‘So, we’re going to need to make a statement to go with the pictures,’ he concluded. ‘If we can get them out there tonight, they might make it onto the news programmes – the ten o’clock, if not the six. And the twenty-four-hour channels, of course. Plus, they should make tomorrow’s papers. Singh was a despicable individual, but we can’t be seen to let his killer get away with it. There’d be an outcry in the Indian and Pakistani community, accusing us of racism and all sorts.’
‘Yes, obviously. All right, then. I’ll draft something and be ready for when the images are available. Meantime, I’ll give press liaison a call. Thank you, Peter.’
Pete knew better than to expect anything more from him, so he turned and reached for the door handle. He was opening the door when Silverstone said, ‘Let me know what Jane and Dave come up with at Risingbrook.’
Pete’s eyes widened in surprise. It was a good thing he was facing the other way, he thought, as he paused. ‘Sir.’
Stepping out of the station commander’s office, he closed the door behind him and returned to the squad room.
‘The pictures are back, boss,’ Ben said as he crossed towards his desk. He nodded towards the printer. ‘Just came through.’
Pete stepped across and took the three A4 sheets from the printer tray. Each one filled the page. They were a bit blurry at that magnification, but definitely identifiable, and the third – the composite – looked as real as the others. They’d done a good job. ‘Great. Forward them to the DCI, will you?’ He sat down at his desk. ‘He’ll take it from there with the press.’
‘Thought he might,’ Dick said.
‘You want to be careful,’ Jill told him. ‘You’ll get a reputation as an old cynic.’
‘Too late,’ Ben said. ‘At least for the old bit. They don’t call him Grey Man for nothing.’
‘Ah,’ said Dick. ‘That’s just the blokes. The ladies call me Christian.’
‘Yeah,’ Jill laughed, getting the Fifty Shades reference. ‘You wish.’
Pete’s phone rang. He picked it up. ‘DS Gayle.’
‘Pete. It’s Andy.’ Pete recognised the uniformed branch sergeant’s voice. ‘There’s been a third one.’
A wave of cold washed through Pete’s body. He knew what Fairweather was talking about. He still had to ask the question, though. ‘A third what?’
‘Cabbie killed in his car.’
‘How? When?’
‘I don’t know. What I can tell you is where and when he was found. I’ve just dispatched a couple of uniforms to the site. We were notified by a 999 call exactly four minutes ago. The body was found on Colleton Crescent by a solicitor returning to his office from a meeting. He parked in front of the taxi and saw the blood as he walked past it.’
Pete checked his watch. It was twenty-four minutes to four. Broad daylight. He knew Colleton Crescent from a case he’d worked a few months before. In fact, he’d visited the solicitors’ office up there and made a significant discovery involving that case. He recalled the big, bluff, grey-bearded man who’d helped him view their CCTV footage. What had his name been…? He couldn’t remember now, but it would come back to him, he was sure.
‘OK. I’m on the way.’ He put the phone down and stood up. ‘Victim number three,’ he said, answering the question implied by Dick’s raised eyebrows.
*
Dave gave Jane a look as the latest of the boys left the room, closing the door behind him. ‘Really?’
‘What – you’re asking me? Mr Feminist.’
‘Jesus, come on! I enjoy a laugh, but these kids are sick.’
‘After that, I’m feeling a bit queasy myself. I reckon it’s time we had young Mr Mellor back in here. He’s had enough time to calm down after the boss’s little outburst.’
They had decided to let Chris Mellor off the
hook for a while and talk to the other lads instead when Dave took over from Pete.
‘OK.’ He got up and went to the door. Opening it, he stuck his head out and said, ‘Chris Mellor.’
He had made it back to his seat before Mellor entered the room, closing the door behind him. ‘Yes?’
‘Time to finish what we started, Chris,’ Jane said. ‘Come and sit down.’
Hesitantly, he stepped forward, glancing at the nurse in the corner as he approached the chair in front of the two plain-clothes police officers. He sat down, hands gripping the sides of the seat.
‘No need to be nervous,’ Jane told him. ‘We’re just here to get to the truth, that’s all.’
Dave laughed. ‘What, and that’s supposed to relax the kid? Come on – that’s exactly what he’s afraid of. Isn’t it, Chris?’
Mellor blinked, confused.
‘So, one thing that’s confused me for ages,’ Dave said to him. ‘When you and Becky broke up last autumn, it was over those pictures of her, right? She didn’t like that your mates had seen them. But, if you didn’t show them – which we believe you didn’t, by the way – where did they get ‘em from? Because we know it wasn’t from her phone.’
‘It… You’d have to ask them. I didn’t even know they’d got them, at first.’
‘So, how did you find out?’
‘I caught Matt and Jonathan giggling over them. When I saw what they were looking at I went ballistic. I asked where they’d got them from, but they wouldn’t tell me. Just wanted to know if I’d seen as much of her as they had.’ His fists clenched at his sides, his face reddening as the anger took over.
‘But you found out in the end,’ Dave reminded him.
‘Yes. After Becky had already dumped me. I told her it wasn’t me, but she wouldn’t have it. There was no other source that made sense to her. Or me, for that matter.’
‘So, where did they come from?’
‘Mr bloody Fisher!’
The outrage on his face was unquestionably real and still as fresh as the day he’d found out.
‘Mr Fisher? The games master?’ Dave confirmed. Coming from Mellor, this was hearsay. It couldn’t be used in court. But it did confirm what the other lads had told them and it kept Mellor talking, feeling the righteous indignation that would hopefully persuade him to say more. ‘How did he get hold of them?’
‘Turns out, he’s a pal of her dad.’ His lip curled in disgust. ‘That’s where they came from.’ He met Dave’s gaze. ‘How perverted is that?’
Dave heard a tiny noise come from Jane’s throat beside him. The irony was not lost on him either, but he managed to suppress his reaction. ‘You’re saying Mr Fisher got pictures of Becky from her dad?’
‘Yes. And just for a laugh, Jonathan grabbed his phone one day while he was out on the field and uploaded all the photos from it to his own Dropbox account. And when he saw what he’d got, he…’ His face twisted in anguish. ‘He shared them with everyone.’
‘Everyone?’ Jane asked.
‘Well, the gang, I mean. Everyone that matters!’
‘And does Mr Fisher know about all this? That you lads went into his phone and got these pictures?’
Chris shrugged. ‘Don’t know. He’s never said anything, as far as I know.’
Dave shared another glance with Jane. If he knew, the man would certainly have had some kind of reaction. He’d have been terrified they might get out.
‘So, what was your problem with Detective Sergeant Gayle?’
‘I didn’t have one. But he cut off the source of the pictures, didn’t he? Arrested Becky’s dad.’
‘Hang on,’ Jane cut in. ‘How many times have you lads grabbed these pictures off Fi… Mr Fisher’s phone?’
‘A couple. They seemed to be sharing them until…’ He shrugged.
‘But Neil Sanderson was arrested six months ago. Why wait until now to go after DS Gayle?’
‘We weren’t waiting. We knew who he was. It just took ages to find out where he lived. He’s not in the phone book or anything. It was only after that we found out he had a wife and daughter. So, somebody said maybe we could find out where she went to school and… It all took time.’
‘So, how did you find out?’
‘I don’t know. I wasn’t involved in that part of it. I just went along on the day. But when I saw what was happening, I backed off. I swear. The girl will tell you. And when she kicked Jonathan and nearly put Matt’s eye out, well, that was it. She ran and we started to chase her, but then some old fart came around the corner with this bloody great dog, so we legged it.’
Jane drew a breath. ‘Just one more question. At what point did you all know what the plan was that day? That you were going to have Annie Gayle “replace the source” of those pictures, only better, as someone said to her?’
Dave looked at her, horrified. This was the first time he’d heard that. He heard a noise from the school nurse and glanced across. Her face was pale with shock, her expression of wide-eyed horror in the process of changing to one of outrage. He raised a calming hand to her and returned his gaze to Chris Mellor, who was looking down, shame-faced. ‘Really?’
‘It came up while we were waiting for her. Like I said – we were just going to scare her. Make sure it got back to her dad. But then someone started making suggestions of what else we could do. One thing led to another. People were joking around, trying to outdo one another. It all got out of hand and, by the time she showed up, it had progressed to that.’
That’s what you call progress in places like this, is it? Dave thought. ‘I think you’d best give us a minute, Chris.’
Mellor looked unsure.
‘Off you go. Wait out there with the others.’
He stood up and left the room.
As the door closed behind him, Dave saw the nurse struggling to stay in her seat.
‘My God,’ she said. ‘I could strangle every last one of them! I’ve never heard anything like it. And to think, they’re boys from this school!’
Dave turned to Jane. She was shaking her head in disbelief. ‘They were after Annie, who’s just eleven years old, to… Jesus! They might be rich and well-educated, but they’re bloody animals!’
Dave tilted his head, sucking air across his teeth in agreement. ‘I think we’ve been here long enough. We’ve got all we need except for the van.’ He reached into his pocket and pulled out his mobile phone. Hit a speed-dial number.
‘Exeter police station. How can I help?’
‘DC Miles, CID. I’m at Risingbrook School. I need transport for nine suspects, all underage.’
‘Nine? Get out of it. Don’t take the piss.’
‘Oh, I’m not, mate. I’m completely serious. And the sooner, the better.’
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
On the left side of Colleton Crescent stood a row of Georgian-style houses that had been converted to office-based business premises, including the solicitors’ Andy Fairweather had mentioned. They looked out across the narrow road to a strip of parkland bordered, on the far side, by dense shrubbery and small trees that ended abruptly in a vertical drop down to the stone-paved quay over forty feet below.
Five months ago, a man who Pete had spoken to as a witness in a multiple murder case had been thrown over that edge to his death. Again, it had been broad daylight, the quay below full of tourists and shoppers. Now, as Pete rounded the gentle curve of the Crescent and entered the straight section, he was greeted, up ahead, by an array of blue flashing lights atop four patrol cars parked just beyond the far end of the row of houses, where they were replaced for several yards by a high wall.
The patrol cars were double-parked along the narrow road, effectively blocking it. Pete pulled up behind them and stepped out of his unmarked Ford, taking his badge from his pocket to hold it up for the uniformed constable standing guard a few feet away, at the end of a line of blue and white police tape that had been strung around the scene. The constable nodded and lifted the tape for him. Ducki
ng under, Pete approached the scene.
The second patrol car in the line had its back door open, a uniformed constable standing beside it. As he approached, the constable turned and Pete recognised a familiar face. ‘Mick. What have we got here?’
‘A bloody mess, Sarge. And the man who found it.’ He stepped away from the car, indicating the back seat. ‘Nathaniel Pearson, solicitor with Pearson, Queensbury and Rollinson.’
Franklin, Pete thought, suddenly recalling the name of the man who’d helped him with CCTV footage, last year, of two killers and their next victim driving past this very point.
He stepped forward, held out his hand to the slender fifty-ish man in a dark pin-stripe suit who was sitting in the patrol car, his complexion pale and sweaty. ‘DS Gayle,’ he said. ‘I had the pleasure of dealing with a colleague of yours a few months ago. Dan Franklin.’
The man shook his hand, his grip surprisingly firm. He gave Pete what could have passed for a brief smile, but looked more like a grimace. ‘Pleasure. Yes, I remember. That homeless chap that got tossed off the top over there. Very…’ This time, it was definitely a grimace.
‘Tragic?’ Pete suggested, knowing that wasn’t even close to what he’d been thinking.
The lawyer looked up, meeting his gaze. ‘Quite.’
‘So, tell me, Mr Pearson – what happened here? Every detail, relevant or not, if you don’t mind.’
‘Very well.’ The thin man drew a breath. ‘I’d been to see a client. There was a parking space along here when I got back, so I pulled in.’ He leaned forward, pointing along the road. ‘That’s mine. The Aston. And as I was walking back, I saw that the taxi, there, was… Well, the inside of the windscreen was sprayed red. You could tell it was on the inside. The direction of the light shone off the glass. That’s why I didn’t spot it until I got up close, I suppose. I could see there was someone sitting in the driver’s seat, but it was a taxi, so you’d expect that. Then I saw the… What do you call it? Blood spatter. And then, through it, I saw that the front of his shirt was red and he was slumped, as if he was asleep. That’s when I realised what I was looking at. I ran into the office, called 999 and here we are.’