by Rob Roughley
‘And did you see him confront, Kelly?’
‘Yeah, he did that all right, I mean, you have to understand the place was heaving and I tried to get to them but to be honest he kind of freaked me out. So I went to get a couple of drinks thinking Kelly would come over when he’d finished the lecture.’
‘But she didn’t?’
Zoe wiped a tear from her cheek. ‘As soon as we arrived, we said if we got separated then we’d make our way to the corner near the DJ and wait for each other.’
‘You said you knew Rachael as Bradley, not Sinclair?’
‘That’s right.’
‘So do you have any idea why a girl who was close to getting expelled would turn up at an exclusive all girls’ school?’
‘God knows,’ she paused. ‘But there were rumours about her,’ she grimaced as if she had a bad taste in her mouth.
Despite his rising excitement, Lasser leant back in the chair as if he hadn’t a care in the world, Mr Nonchalant. ‘What kind of rumours?’
‘Well,’ she hesitated. ‘Some of the kids thought she was dealing not just to the pupils, if you know what I mean.’
‘The teachers?’ he shot forward, as any pretence at indifference evaporated.
‘Look, these are only rumours...’
‘I understand.’
‘And some of the others thought she was,’ her face suddenly flushed with colour, ‘well, having sex.’
Bloody hell. ‘With a member of staff?’
‘According to the gossip it was more than one, I mean, you’ve met Rachael?’
‘Yes I have.’
‘Then you know what she’s like. I mean, with some kids it’s all front,’ she paused, ‘but she’s different.’
‘So, which do you believe the drugs or the sex?’
Zoe looked at him and then shrugged. ‘Both.’
27
It was like watching a man disintegrate by degrees, Bannister stood in the packed incident room, his face flushed with anxiety. It was half past six and Lasser could see his colleagues hiding yawns behind raised hands. The atmosphere in the room leaden, as if a nerve agent had been secretly siphoned into the room via the heating ducts. He felt his jaw wanting to spring open, the yawn inflating his cheeks dying to be set free.
Bannister stood at the front of the room looking fatigued. ‘Right, an update, we’re now certain the dress found at the summerhouse belonged to Kelly Ramsey. No traces of blood or semen have been found, and the dress was not ripped or torn, which we have to take as a positive.’
‘What about the drugs angle, sir, was she a user or a dealer?’ DI Cooper asked.
Lasser winced when he saw the look on Bannister’s face; he wiped a shaking hand across his brow and looked down at the desk for a moment. ‘We don’t know for sure. We have a witness who states she was offered pills by Rachael Sinclair but we can’t say for certain whether she actual took any.’
Another hand shot into the air.
Bannister sighed. ‘Yes, Spenner.’
‘Are we treating this as a murder enquiry, sir?’
The DCI opened his mouth and nothing came out, he cleared his throat and tried again, still nothing. Lasser could feel the confusion in the room he could see the furtive glances between colleagues that spoke volumes.
‘Come on, Spenner, even you know we need a body before we call something a murder.’ Lasser said. One or two people turned towards him, a few sniggered, and Spenner looked embarrassed.
‘I realise that, though why would she leave a party when it was in full swing and wander off? And then with the dress turning up, it seems as if someone...’
‘Thanks for that, Spenner, I am sure Sherlock Holmes would be well chuffed with your deductive powers.’
More laughter, Bannister shook himself like a wet dog. ‘All right you lot calm down, Lasser’s right. At present, we are looking for a missing person, and we’ll continue to do so until we find evidence that points to the contrary. Now the search of the woods has so far revealed nothing, but I want you all back out there at first light...’
‘I’m off duty tomorrow, sir.’
‘There’s overtime for those who want it, Parker, and that goes for the rest of you.’ Bannister said.
People suddenly woke up; broad smiles broke out all around the room.
‘What about the canal, sir, that cuts through the grounds.’
‘I realise that, Bob, but let’s finish searching the grounds first. If nothing turns up then we can look at the canal.’
Lasser had to hand it to the man; he was starting to sound like a professional again taking command of the room and dishing out orders.
‘Right, I suggest you all go home and get some rest, I want you back on site by six, is that understood?’
Murmurs of assent broke out around the room, chairs scraped back and conversations started up again as they filed towards the doors. Lasser stayed in his seat, DI Cooper threw him a quizzical look as he walked past.
Bannister waited until the room was empty before grabbing his coat from the back of the chair. ‘Come with me.’
‘Where to?’ Lasser scrambled to his feet.
‘My office, there’s something I want you to see.’
Lasser followed him through the building.
Spenner was in the corridor slipping on his crash helmet; he came to work on a moped for which he received plenty of stick. ‘Have a good night, sir,’ he said.
Bannister grunted a response and carried on walking,
Once in his office, he went straight to his chair and flopped down, all the bravado had vanished, leaving him washed out, like a man who has suddenly grown older but finds himself none the wiser.
‘I’ve been looking at Fulcom’s statement,’ he skimmed a thin blue file across the desk and Lasser slapped a hand down pining it to the table. ‘Tell me what you think, Sergeant?’
Lasser flicked it open and started to read, it was like trying to decipher a doctor’s prescription. Half way down the first page, he was frowning, by the time he reached the end he looked at Bannister in disbelief.
‘No mention of any pills and no reference to the grilling he dished out to Kelly or Zoe Metcalf.’
‘Look who countersigned it.’
Lasser glanced back down at the statement, his eyes growing wide in astonishment. ‘Sinclair!’
Bannister folded his arms. ‘It’s no wonder I couldn’t find the bastard, he was here helping Fulcom with this pile of shit.’
Lasser didn’t know what to say.
‘According to the statement, apart from Kelly vanishing, the evening went off without a hitch.’ Bannister rubbed at his temples in an effort to alleviate the mounting pressure. ‘I mean, can you believe it, because I bloody well can’t?’
‘Well, according to Zoe Metcalf, Rachael had been dealing dope to some of the kids at Hindley High and there were also rumours that one or two of the teachers were getting stuff off her.’
Bannister shook his head. ‘Unbelievable.’
‘She also mentioned that she liked to put it about and she didn’t think it was with some spotty fifth years.’
Bannister pushed himself up from the desk, ‘Staff?’
‘No evidence, but apparently that’s why she left Hindley High, but it certainly doesn’t explain how she ended up at Claremont.’
‘First thing in the morning, I want you back at that school to collar the bastard, I want him led from the place in handcuffs, is that understood?’
‘No worries.’
‘Preferably kicking and screaming with plenty of students and members of staff present.’
Lasser nodded, he was already looking forward to it.
‘What about you?’
Bannister had a malevolent gleam in his eye. ‘I’m going to get Sinclair out of bed nice and early.’
28
For the first time in almost twenty years, Stan Burrows was not in his shed at half past eight.
Jansen rattled the door but the padlock he
ld firm, he looked around the old stable block, long since converted into a workshop and timber yard, a scattering of leaves skittered across the cobbles.
Thinking back to the previous day, Jansen’s blood ran cold. Having to ring a bride on the morning of her wedding day to tell her the venue was no longer available had been the stuff of nightmares. There had been silence on the other end of the line then the tears and recriminations, eventually ending in the words litigation, Jansen had hung up in a cold sweat. Now this morning he’d already taken one call from a fractious shareholder, demanding to know why he hadn’t contacted the couple sooner to make alternate arrangements. The whole thing was a total nightmare that could ultimately cost him his job.
He was walking back to his car when Burrows came strolling into the yard, a pint mug of tea clasped in his liver spotted hand.
Jansen felt his heart rear in his chest, the blood thundering through his head. ‘What are you doing here?’ he spat
Stan took a gulp from the mug. ‘I work here.’
‘I thought I made it clear yesterday that your services are no longer required.’
Placing the mug on top of a fence post, Stan pulled out his battered cigarette tin. ‘I thought you might have had a change of heart?’
‘A change of heart?’ Jansen snorted. ‘I don’t think so, you are a waste of time, and I want you off this land,’ he flapped his hands towards the gates, as if he were shooing off a stray dog.
Stan sniffed and slid out a cigarette before spinning the wheel on an old Zippo lighter, a moment later; he was puffing contentedly on a thin roll up. ‘Are you sure that’s wise?’
Jansen pointed at the exit, ‘Out.’
‘Because if you do get rid of me, I’ll have to make a living from somewhere and I’ve already been talking to one bloke who says he works for the Sun...’
‘Are you threatening me, Burrows?’ Jansen’s mouth twisted out of shape, his eyes narrowed.
‘Not at all, I’m just thinking about your reputation. I mean, I spent yesterday helping the police and it’s going to be the same today. In fact I’m just on my tea break...’
‘You...!’
‘If I was to let it slip that I’d been given the boot and I was only helping out of concern for the girl,’ he shrugged. ‘Well, let’s just say I’m sure the reporters would want a word with you. They’d want to know why you’d kicked me out, and let’s face it I’m a man who’s worked here for twenty-seven years, man and boy,’ he grinned showing more gaps than teeth. ‘Whilst you’ve only been here eighteen months. I tell you, it wouldn’t look too sparkling.’
‘You wouldn’t dare!’
‘I can see the headline now, local man sacked for doing his duty, a picture of me looking all woebegone, and one of you climbing into your BMW with your fancy suit and Foster Grants.’
Jansen swallowed and felt the dry click in his throat; Stan looked up at the sky and blew smoke out through his hairy nostrils.
‘You can’t blackmail me, Burrows.’ Jansen was rigid with fury, his face scrawled with hatred for the old man who stood before him.
Stan looked at him in mock surprise. ‘Hey, pal, they’re your words not mine.’
‘If you do go to the papers I’ll make sure they know that you’re a lazy, inept old fool who can’t even hammer a nail in straight.’
Stan shrugged. ‘So my eyes aren’t what they used to be, what kind of story would that make? No, pal, they’ll be more interested in why you wanted shut of me. Of course, I’ll tell ’em that I’ve slowed down and that my lumbago gives me gyp but I soldier on, out in all weathers...’
‘The first speck of rain and you’re straight back in your sodding shed!’ Spittle flew from Jansen’s lips, his eyes wide in disbelief.
‘Aye well, you’ve got your tale to tell,’ he grinned. And I’ve got mine.’
A police officer walked into the courtyard; his high viz vest bright in the sunshine.
‘Are you ready, Stan?’
Burrows looked at Jansen and raised a wiry eyebrow.
Somewhere in the trees a magpie laughed.
‘Just get on with it,’ Jansen hissed.
‘On my way, Steve, but you’ll have to go slow,’ Stan winked at Jansen. ‘I’m not as young as I used to be.’
29
There was no sign of Medea Sullivan; a different woman sat behind the desk she was in her late fifties and a dead ringer for Margaret Thatcher, the same hair and beak like nose, steely grey eyes that watched unblinking as he strode toward her.
‘Can I help you?’ she asked, as if she had no intention of helping in any way.
‘No thanks, I’m here to see Mr Fulcom and I already know the way.’
‘Excuse me but you can’t go in there.’
Lasser looked over his shoulder. ‘It’s OK, love, this won’t take a minute.’
‘Please refrain from using that sexist word,’ her brow darkened, the starched hair rocked from side to side as she stood up. ‘You need an appointment to see the deputy head and I know that he has none booked for today.’
‘Well he does now,’ Lasser carried on walking.
‘If you lay one hand on that door I shall be forced to call security!’
‘Go ahead, the more the merrier,’ grabbing the handle he pulled but the door remained locked tight. ‘Open it.’
The Thatcher clone shook her head and thrust her hands onto wide hips. ‘Mr Fulcom is a very busy man with considerable responsibilities, now if you don’t vacate the premises I shall be forced to call the police.’
Lasser stormed across the room, pulled out his warrant card and slapped it onto the desk. ‘If you have a button you can press to let me through those doors, then I suggest you do it now.’
The woman looked rattled for a moment then the frown snapped back into place. ‘You still need a pass...’
‘This is my access all areas pass. Now, open the door.’
‘It won’t do you any good.’
‘And why’s that?’
‘Because Mr Fulcom isn’t in today.’
‘What?’
A sly smile flickered across her face. ‘He called in sick this morning; he suffers from migraines, which is hardly surprising, considering the stress he’s under, I mean...’
‘I want his home address.’
She looked at Lasser as if he were stark staring mad. ‘I can’t reveal personal details of members of staff, especially not the deputy head.’
She made it sound as if Lasser wanted to strip search him in front of the whole school, touch your toes you might feel a little discomfort.
‘What is wrong with you people?’ he asked.
‘I beg your pardon,’ she took a backward step, the fingers of one hand plucked at the string of pearls around her neck.
‘I’m standing in front of you as a representative of the law, I have provided identification and asked to be let through that door,’ he jabbed a finger toward the door. ‘And you stand there and tell me to bugger off...’
‘I said no such thing!’
‘Now you either tell me where Fulcom lives or you can get on your broomstick to accompany me down to the station where you will be charged with obstruction and withholding evidence.’
Her bottom lip quivered though it was impossible to tell whether it was in fear or anger. Snatching open a drawer she pulled out a leather bound diary and began to rifle through the pages. ‘There,’ she spun it around and pointed at the address with a shaking finger.
Lasser pulled out a thin notebook, cracking a vicious smile as he took down the details. ‘See, that wasn’t so painful, was it?’
‘Just get out you horrid little man,’ she spat.
30
Paying for the paper, he leaves the shop and stands on the pavement looking at the front page in mounting horror. The photograph shows Kelly at the bedroom window, dipping her head to clip in the feathered earring; it was the last picture he had ever taken of her. His eyes drift up to the headline, ‘Missing girl was bein
g stalked by weirdo.’
He blinks and starts to read, his eyes flicking slowly from left to right, his grip on the paper tightening with each word. The word paedophile leaps out at him and he feels like crying, further down the paragraph the peddler of filth uses words like, sick and deranged.
When the dog barks, he staggers back against the shop front.
‘Don’t worry mate, he doesn’t bite.’
The man yanked back on the lead and the bull terrier eyed him like a tasty morsel as the owner dragged it past.
He could feel his heart hammering; see tiny sparkles of light dancing before his eyes. ‘That’s quite all right,’ he mumbled.
The owner took no notice, the dog cocked its leg against a lamppost sending a jet of yellow piss onto the floor and then dog and owner swaggered on down the street.
Folding the paper, he set off walking and then stopped at the first bench he came to. His hands began to shake as he re-reads the words. This wasn’t right, it was all lies, he wasn’t any of those things, paedophile, stalker, weirdo, none of it was true.
The paper stated that, whoever had taken the images was sick in the head, they asked the question, was this same man responsible for Kelly Ramsey’s disappearance?
Shaking his head from side to side, the words blurring as tears began to slide down his salt-and-pepper cheeks.
They think he could do something like that, take something so wondrous and break it, destroy it?
Plop, a tear hits the paper and is absorbed, they didn’t know him, didn’t understand that he was incapable of hurting anyone, especially not one of his girls. Another tear falls joining the first. It’s just a hobby, a pastime; it was never about hurting anyone, never about taking away the innocence.
His hands come together and the paper crumples, he begins to rip it to shreds, all the anger, all the despair boiling over. Bits of paper blow down the street, carried by the warm spring breeze, some snag at his feet and he kicks them away, his legs thrashing.
A young woman pushing a toddler in a buggy crosses the road. It’s always safer to give them a wide birth. Another crazy, it was getting worse since they closed down the nut houses. Care in the community, what a joke.