Curtis was sitting in the front room. He spoke the second he saw Ed.
‘I wanted to tell my mam everything before I told your lot. I needed to speak to her first. It all came back to me and I wanted to tell her, but I’m not sorry he’s dead. Those blokes did the world a favour.’
Ed wanted details, starting with how long Dean Silvers had left before the van turned up.
‘Not long,’ Curtis said. ‘Five minutes.’
‘Could Dean have been one of the three men?’
‘Don’t know.’
‘Is all this necessary Ed?’ Jill said. ‘He’s been through so much.’ ‘You rang me Jill,’ Ed faced her. ‘What do you want me to do?’
‘Keep Curtis out of all this. He’s vulnerable, an addict. I don’t want him to go to court.’
Ed could sympathise but he had to be straight, make it clear Curtis had found a body, never mind that the corpse was his abuser.
‘I can’t keep him out of this even if I wanted to,’ Ed said. ‘You of all people should know that.’
‘Will it all come out Ed?’ Jill’s eyes were pleading.
He understood her concern, but telling her what she wanted to hear would come back and bite him.
‘Probably,’ Ed told her, the best he could do. ‘We’ll need a statement off Curtis telling us what he saw at the garage, how he videoed it. Then, if he wants, he can tell us what Scott did to him, but that’s his call. We’ll not force him to speak.’
‘Right listen up.’
Sam marched towards the front of the room, the silence from the detectives immediate.
‘Two victims…Julius Pritchard and Hans van Dijk. Family Liaison are with Julius’ family now, Hans has no family according to his employment records at the university. I want to know who they were, what they were, how they were connected to each other, how they got to the old abattoir.’
Sam paused for effect.
‘This was a premeditated murder, well planned and meticulous in its execution. These two guys were strung up, upside down and had their throats cut. Above them in blood was written ‘GUILTY’.’
She looked around at the staring faces.
‘Guilty of what? There’s a suggestion of sexual abuse, but that’s all it is at the minute, a suggestion.’
‘Is it linked to Jeremy Scott?’ Paul Adams asked.
‘Too early to say, but there are glaring similarities. Isolated locations, locations that must have been identified prior to the victims being taken there. There’s work needed around that Bev.’ Sam sat on the edge of a desk.
‘See if anyone has noticed anything unusual in those locations over the past few days, especially vehicles. We know Scott was taken there in a Ford Transit, but what about these two? Let’s find out where Julius and Hans were last seen and who they were with. Remember the golden rule, the more we know about the victims, the more we know about the killers.’
‘More than one boss?
All eyes turned to look at the young detective standing at the back of the room.
Sam smiled. ‘Can’t imagine one person kidnapping and stringing someone up alone, never mind doing it twice. We are looking for more than one. We know there were three people involved in Jeremy Scott’s abduction and murder.’
The door opened and Ed walked in.
‘Looks important but can it wait?’ Sam said.
Ed shook his head and came to the front of the room.
‘Curtis Brown’s heard on the grapevine one of the victims of our two string-ups is the grandson of a councillor.’
Sam was underwhelmed: ‘Not something we don’t know already.’ ‘Absolutely,’ Ed said. ‘But that’s not what’s spooked Curtis. He’s heard the councillor’s connected to the one and only Billy Skinner. He’s terrified he’s given us a video implicating the family.’
Chapter Seventeen
Pixie Carlton trudged towards the caravan on a field high above the sea, the Mercedes parked alongside. The car looked older than he remembered.
He fished in his wax jacket for more painkillers. His left hand to that point in his life had been used for nothing other than natural balance; even using his left pocket was alien to him.
The bruising on his back, like the swelling to his face, would eventually go, but he’d have to adjust to one hand without fingertips, what he’d heard called a ‘life changing’ injury.
He used the bend in his right arm to grip the plastic bottle of Fanta orange, unscrewed the lid with his left hand and washed down the painkillers. Putting the top back on was too much effort. He lobbed the bottle into the hedgerow. He looked up, dark clouds moving at speed towards the sea, and smiled. His deceased parents, both ardent environmentalists, would have done their nut, but needs must.
Declan Doherty answered his knock at the caravan door dressed in pinstripe trousers and maroon braces over a washed out, white singlet vest.
‘You’re a sight for sore eyes,’ Doherty grinned. ‘Last time I saw a bandage like that was after Appleby Horse Fair when some dozy bastard dropped a paving stone on his hand.’
Pixie smiled. ‘Never tried riding a horse carrying concrete.’
Declan stepped outside laughing, his bare feet immediately wet from the grass, and slapped Pixie’s back. His laughing stopped when Pixie doubled over, shrieking in pain.
‘Bloody hell I’m sorry young man.’
‘It’s okay,’ Pixie whispered, rasping for breath and standing straight.
‘Who is it Pa?’ his wife shouted from somewhere inside.
‘The young lad from last night.’
The caravan bounced into life, the sound of stomping feet mixed with high-pitched shrieks.
‘Give us a shout when you’re decent and I’ll bring the lad in for a brew.’
Declan looked at Pixie. ‘You caused quite a stir amongst my girls.’
Pixie reddened.
‘I didn’t mean any offence and I haven’t come to impose,’ he said. ‘I’ve just come to say thanks, you know, for what you did for me last night, and to return your clothes.’
He handed a carrier bag to Declan.
‘Don’t mention it and I didn’t mean to sound offensive when I said you caused a stir.’
Doherty’s face beamed. ‘It was really funny watching them all stare at the same place.’
He looked at Pixie’s crotch and laughed again.
‘Even the wife was turned on.’ Declan winked. ‘You did me a favour there son.’
Pixie managed a weak smile and stepped back. He didn’t need another back slap.
‘We’re all decent,’ a shout came from inside.
‘You look as if you could do with a brew,’ Declan turned and opened the door. ‘The missus will read your leaves afterwards. See what lies ahead.’
Pixie followed him into the caravan and immediately looked down at the carpet, his cheeks burning. The women wore more make-up than clothes, the lace night dresses on the granddaughters tight and revealing.
All the women were keen to hear about Pixie’s treatment. Tea was drunk, the hospital account given and everything dissected before Declan suggested a walk.
‘Listen son you need to lie low for a while,’ Declan said as they walked away from the caravan towards the cliffs. ‘You seem decent. The Skinners are not. If the fancy takes them they’ll do you again just for a laugh.’
Pixie chewed his lip, the colour drained from his face.
‘Do they know where you live?’
Pixie looked up, locked his eyes on Doherty. ‘That’s where they picked me up.’
‘Rented you said?’
‘Yes.’
‘Get your stuff and get the hell out of there.’
Pixie realised it was the smart move but where would he go?
‘Where to?’
‘You’re the estate agent,’ Declan said. ‘You tell me.’
The stumps on Pixie’s right hand felt like they were on fire. He wished he’d opted for the sling.
‘It’s not that easy,’
he told Declan. ‘You need references, a bond.’
Declan said he wouldn’t know, had never had to pay rent.
‘You done much camping?’ he asked Pixie.
‘As a kid.’
‘I’ve got a tent in the van, old but still waterproof. You can camp here with us. We’ll be around for a week or so. The Skinners wouldn’t dare come here and in a couple of days there’ll be more of us arriving. Go home, get your things and buy a sleeping bag.’
‘Why you doing this?’ Pixie was touched.
Doherty’s face darkened, something frightening filling his eyes.
‘Because I fucking hate Billy Skinner.’
‘How does Curtis know that?’ Sam said, jumping away from the desk, thoughts moving as fast as a racehorse out of the stalls.
‘You know this place,’ Ed said. ‘Not many secrets but we’re not always privy.’
The rest of the officers in the briefing room were trying to play catch-up.
‘That opens up another can of worms,’ Sam told Ed. ‘I can see why Skinner would want a local councillor in his pocket, but would he kill for him?’
‘Skinner himself, probably not, but there’s plenty would do it for him,’ Ed said. ‘And if Elgin’s the councillor in question and Skinner thought it would earn him extra brownie points, it’s more than possible.’
Ed pulled out a chair and sat on it while it was still rolling.
Sam was back at the desk, leaning against the edge, facing the room.
‘We need to trace the anonymous call to Elgin, if it was ever made,’ she said. ‘He’s certainly got enough motive.’
Dead men couldn’t argue their innocence, Sam knew, but if the allegations were true, they had three paedophiles, all of them taken out execution-style.
She looked down at Ed who was writing in his blue hard-backed A4 notepad.
‘Raise an action,’ she said. ‘I want to know if there’s any link between these three, however long ago. Like everyone else in this room I don’t like coincidences.’
‘I might be able to help there ma’am,’ one of the Intelligence Unit detectives spoke up.
Sam looked at him. She nodded for him to continue.
God I hate being called ma’am.
‘Julius lives with his wife and two kids, both under ten.’
Nobody raised an eyebrow. They were dealing in facts, not emotions.
‘Works from home; self-employed web designer. Kids go to private school. He volunteers at a hospice.’
‘Very public spirited,’ Sam said, walking towards the window. ‘Always a cloak to hide behind.’
‘We’ve got nothing on him,’ the detective continued. ‘But Jackie Mason, Sergeant Mason, remembers the name from about 15 years ago. Locked up on suspicion of flashing to a young boy. Jackie was custody officer. He can’t remember much else, not even the arresting officer.’
‘Okay,’ Sam said. ‘Let’s ask around the nick see if anybody else recognises his name or the others. Leave it open ended. Just get something on the daily briefing asking for Officers Reports from anyone who has had any dealings with him or knows if anyone else has had any dealings with him, however historical. Do it for all three victims.’
A few in the group shook their heads.
Sam picked up on it immediately, moved away from the window, and stood almost to attention.
‘Whatever else they might have been, they were all victims of a horrible death. Some of you might be thinking they got what they deserved but our job is to find their killers. Understood? The day we turn a blind eye we may as well turn the lights off and go home.’
The nods told Sam she had made her point.
‘Right, let’s get cracking.’
Another camera flash had Sam blinking again.
Telling the press about one execution would have got their attention; briefing them about three guaranteed a hungry full house.
Saturday or not, all the media channels and major newspapers were present, TV crews as always trying to hog the best spots in the crowded room.
‘So I have a number of appeals today,’ Sam said. ‘Firstly has anybody seen any suspicious behavior around the disused buildings that used to be O’Grady’s garage or Edmundson’s abattoir…people, vehicles, anything?’
Sam paused to allow her words to sink in.
‘I am also interested in anybody who may have come into contact with the victims or knows anything about them. I want to build up a picture of them and their habits and I’m appealing for help in that regard.’
More camera flashes.
Sam watched the assembled throng writing their notes, the print reporters no doubt in shorthand. They tended to be old school.
‘Finally I want to hear from anybody who saw a white Ford Transit in the vicinity of The Avenue last Thursday. Thank you.’
With plenty of seasoned operators among the press corps, the rain of questions was never likely to be less than a heavy downpour.
Sam would have expected nothing else. She was ready.
‘Are all three deaths linked Chief Inspector,’ a reporter from one of the nationals fired first.
‘As you would expect that is a line of inquiry we are following,’ Sam said. ‘Nothing, as yet, has been ruled in or out.’
‘So is there a serial killer in our midst?’
The question, shot from a tabloid hack who knew the ropes, had ‘give us a headline’ in 10ft tall letters. It was also a moment where Sam needed to watch her step.
‘I can’t say that at this time,’ she answered smoothly. ‘Yes there are similarities in the killing sites in that they are disused buildings on the edges of the town but it really is too early to suggest the same person or persons is responsible.’
‘But it is a possibility?’
Here we go, Sam thought.
‘In life everything and anything is a possibility, but as I’ve just said it is too early, far too early, to suggest these deaths are linked.’
It was the best and safest response but Sam knew she would be reading ‘Is A Crazed Serial Killer On The Hunt?’ headlines tomorrow.
‘Were the victims known to the police?’
‘That is another line of inquiry,’ Sam said. ‘I’m sure you understand that we are at the early stages of the investigation. As soon as I have more information I will let you know.’
A young woman wearing a Sky zip up and, Sam noticed, beautiful drop earrings, raised her hand.
‘Jeremy Scott was known to the police, albeit many years ago and albeit in Hampshire,’ she began. ‘He stood trial on charges of child sex abuse. Does that give you some idea of the killer’s motive?’
Another tricky one but a question Sam knew would be coming.
‘He did, but as you quite correctly point out, that was many years ago and he was acquitted…to link his death to him being cleared is again premature at this stage.’
Drop earrings held her pitch and fired again when she had Sam’s eyes.
‘Julius Pritchard and Hans van Dijk were running a junior football league,’ she said. ‘Perhaps their interests in young boys may be a factor in their deaths.’
Like any good journalist, she had done her research. Sam was impressed.
‘I do not want to speculate,’ she answered, the theme unchanged but now reinforced. ‘I deal in facts. Speculation and what may turn out to be unfounded allegations help nobody, least of all the newspapers which make them. Speculation is a dangerous thing for all of us.’
Sam hoped the response would end the line of questioning.
Every journalist, she expected, knew the case of a high-profile murder suspect hung out to dry in sections of the national press in the days after his arrest. The man was innocent, no charges were brought and a handful of major media names found themselves paying him significant sums for libel. The fallout had left a mark.
As the questions moved to safer ground…how many officers were involved in the enquiry, had causes of death been established, was there an appeal hotl
ine...Sam knew she had been right.
Harry Pullman was lying on the settee watching Sam Parker’s press conference go live on one of the 24-hour news channels, Dean Silvers on an armchair close by.
‘What gets me is who gives a fuck about a few nonces?’ Dean said, tugging the ring-pull and feeling lager spurt onto his fingers. ‘They’d be better off catching these dirty bastards when they’re at it not the ones who sort them out.’
He put his legs on the coffee table.
‘Look at her, appealing for this and that. Waste of time and money.’
Dean took another mouthful of lager as Harry sat up.
‘Billy Skinner,’ Harry said.
‘Told you, take him out, sit back and watch the fireworks,’ Dean shrugged. ‘Mat won’t know where to start and when he finally starts somewhere, it won’t be with us. He’d never believe we had the balls.’
‘Luke might though,’
‘Doubt it,’ Dean tipped the can again, belched softly. ‘He’ll want to cut a deal. Mat will be running around like madman’s shite but not Luke.’
Harry said: ‘You seem sure.’
Dean downed the lager, crushed the tin, and wiped his chin.
‘I’ve spoken to them all at some time,’ he said. ‘Luke’s smart, Mark’s thick and Mat’s an arsehole. Likes one or two as well.’
He sniggered.
‘I heard Mat’s marrying Geoff,’ Harry said. ‘Not that Billy’s taken with the idea.’
‘Would you be if I minced in here and said I was marrying a bloke?’
‘Would make no odds to me,’ Harry told him. ‘Live and let live. So Luke’s our man?’
Dean reached for another cold can at his feet, condensation running like summer rain to a damp patch on the floor.
‘He’s the brains so he’ll want allies when it kicks off. We need to be sure we’re in that band of brothers.’
Chapter Eighteen
Ed was standing with his right hand on a desk, bent over looking at a TV screen, when Sam walked back into the HOLMES room.
‘Everything okay?’ he asked.
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