Next to Die

by Neil White

  ‘Focused?’

  ‘Yeah, focused, I’ll go with that. But I do need to talk to you about what Terry told me.’

  ‘Couldn’t you call the office?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘Because I want to see your face when you give me your answer.’

  ‘You know I don’t play tricks. I thought we knew each other better than that.’

  ‘We do. I know Kim Reader when she isn’t wearing a suit, but between nine and five you’re different.’

  Kim thought about that, and then the defendant walked towards them, his girlfriend hanging on to his arm. ‘Can we go somewhere else?’ Kim said, and walked the opposite way. Joe followed, the hem of her gown floating upwards like bat wings, the tail of her horsehair wig swishing as she walked. They ended up in a small consultation room, just a table and four chairs. When he closed the door behind him, she took off the wig and put it on the table, before spending a moment straightening her hair.

  ‘Stupid thing,’ she said. ‘Makes me itch, and there’s no point in doing much with my hair, because it makes it a mess.’

  ‘You look good enough,’ Joe said.

  That brought a smile. ‘I thought I was chasing you,’ she said.

  ‘Sometimes I want to be caught.’

  ‘And other times?’

  ‘I remember your fiancé.’

  That made Kim twirl her engagement ring around her finger. ‘So go on, what’s so urgent?’

  ‘Is there anything you want to tell me about Terry Day?’

  ‘What are you talking about?’

  ‘Your case is that Carrie and Grace are dead.’

  ‘It’s a murder case. I don’t think there’s any other way you can put it.’

  ‘So why hadn’t I been told that Terry Day has seen your two deceased victims since they supposedly died?’

  Kim opened her mouth as if to say something but then stopped, her brow furrowed. ‘What do you mean?’ she said eventually, confusion in her voice.

  ‘Just that. Terry Day saw Carrie and Grace in the Cathedral Gardens last week. And before you accuse me of putting words in his mouth, I have it recorded, and he said he’d told the police. If he did, they must have told you.’

  Kim’s cheeks acquired a flush, her lips a little tighter than before. ‘This is the first I’ve heard of this.’

  ‘You agree that if Terry is right, or even if he might be right, you’ve no case? All you have is a woman trying to run away from her drunken and violent partner.’

  Kim pulled the chair out and sat down. Joe sat opposite.

  ‘How do you know he’s telling the truth?’ she said.

  ‘It doesn’t matter whether he’s or not, does it? If he is, your case is doomed. If he isn’t, he’s a habitual liar, an attention seeker, so you can’t rely on him.’

  ‘I haven’t heard this before. It would have been disclosed if I had, you know that.’

  ‘So why haven’t the police told you?’

  ‘That is something I am going to find out,’ she said, and from the glare in her eyes, Joe knew that someone would be getting a phone call that would spoil their lunch.

  Forty-Eight

  Sam stepped out of his car, Charlotte just behind him. He fastened his jacket and shivered against a cold wind. They were on the moors, the rolling barren hills that brood over the city.

  They were at Gilly Henderson’s house, the second girl to go missing. They had been to the other three, and Sam had shown them the photograph of the young man found pinned behind Julie’s monitor. Each time the door opened, the parents’ expressions had been the same: a mixture of fear and hope, that news of their daughter might be the news they dreaded. The reaction was the same too, part relief, because without the bad news they really expected, their hopes stayed alive, however slim.

  Their answers had been the same too – they had never seen him before.

  Charlotte joined Sam as they looked down at Gilly Henderson’s house. They were parked on a farm track, two dirt ruts cutting through dark coarse grass. There were sheep on the field next to them, and lower down, where the land levelled out, was a two-storey farmhouse under a dark slate roof. The upstairs windows were like tiny peepholes, the bedrooms built into what was once a roof space.

  ‘Are you sure this is the right place?’ Sam said. All he could see as he looked around were the dark greens and browns of moorland heather and grass, which dipped and climbed without any trees to slow down the winds, scarred by dry-stone walls and brightened by the occasional glimmer of water, reservoirs fashioned out of the valleys. One way was the climb and then the drop into Yorkshire. The other was the grey sprawl of Manchester, like a dirty stain in the distance against the bleakness of the hills.

  ‘I came here once before,’ Charlotte said. ‘The girl’s father was one of the prosecution barristers in the Grant case. Bill Henderson. A nice man. He said he could retire, but the legal work gave him the safety net so that he could do this, a bit of sheep farming and getting away from it all.’

  As Sam looked around, he said, ‘It’s hard to blame the man.’

  ‘Try this in November, when it’s all wind and driving rain. You might think differently,’ Charlotte said. ‘What do we do if we get another no?’

  ‘We go around Julie’s friends,’ Sam said. ‘If no one knows who he is, then I’m even more suspicious.’

  ‘Perhaps he’s just someone cute she saw somewhere, on a website or something? Girls do that kind of thing.’

  ‘Perhaps,’ Sam said, although his instinct told him that it was more than that.

  They walked down the track to the house and the door opened before they got there.

  ‘I’m DC Sam Parker,’ he said. ‘And this is DC Glover.’ They had their identification ready and both smiled, to make clear that there was no bad news.

  It was Gilly’s mother. Her hand went to her chest and she took a deep breath.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ she said. ‘I just thought for a moment, well, you know.’

  ‘We understand,’ Sam said softly. ‘We came to ask you something.’ He pulled out the exhibit bag containing the photograph. ‘Do you know this boy?’

  She took the picture from him and looked at it, peering closely through the plastic bag, before shaking her head. ‘No, I don’t.’ There was noise behind her, footsteps on the stairs, and Sam saw a young woman, like an older version of the missing girl. Gilly’s sister. She passed over the photograph and said, ‘Rachel, do you know this boy?’

  Rachel came up behind her mother and took the exhibit bag from her. She frowned, which turned into a scowl. ‘That creep. What does he want?’

  ‘You know him?’ Sam said, his voice keener.

  ‘No, not really, but he tried to get to know me,’ she said.

  ‘Can you explain?’

  ‘There isn’t much to say. He got in touch on the internet, through my profile, said that he’d seen me around, liked the things that I did, horse riding, things like that, but I didn’t believe him. It was a bit too creepy. I was flattered at first, but he was familiar right from the start, as if he was too impatient to know things about me.’

  ‘How long ago was this?’

  She thought about that, and then said, ‘Nearly a year. I think he guessed I was younger, because my picture was an old one. My hair was longer then, and so I looked like Gilly. Perhaps he thought I was her.’ Then she seemed to realise why they were asking the questions. ‘Is this to do with Gilly? You think he might be involved?’

  ‘I don’t know,’ Sam said. ‘It’s just something we’re looking at.’

  Sam took the photograph back from her. ‘Can you remember any personal details at all? His name? Where he was from?’

  ‘He wanted me to meet him,’ Rachel said, making her mother’s eyes widen.

  ‘Why didn’t you say?’ she said.

  ‘What was there to say? Some guy said that he liked me and wanted to take me out. It does happen sometimes, you know, and i
t was a few months before Gilly went missing. What’s the connection?’

  ‘What did he say about the meet?’ Sam said.

  ‘I can’t remember, really. It was a long time ago.’

  ‘What did he say when he first got in touch?’

  ‘Just that he knew me through one of my friends, Claire, but when I asked her, she said that she didn’t know him. He just asked to be friends on her online profile, and you know what it’s like. It’s good to have lots of friends, so she said yes, and then I did too, but he started to get really personal.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  She blushed. ‘Just about me. What I like, that kind of stuff.’

  ‘Sexual?’

  She glanced at her mother. ‘I was going to block him but when I looked he had gone, and I couldn’t find him, and so he must have blocked me.’

  ‘Can you check Claire’s profile, to see if he’s still listed?’

  ‘If he has blocked me I won’t be able to see him, but I can send her a message,’ she said. ‘I’ll get my phone.’

  As Rachel went back upstairs, her mother turned to Sam, surprised. ‘I didn’t know any of this. Do you really think he might have something to do with Gilly going missing?’

  Sam wanted to say that yes, he did, that something about the picture concerned him, but he didn’t yet know why. But he knew that the first rule of dealing with victims is not to raise hopes. Tell the good news when it’s definite, and leave the maybes to fade with time.

  ‘We’re looking at everything,’ Sam said. ‘It was just a photograph we found.’

  Sam could see that she had spotted his evasiveness, but she stayed silent until Rachel bounded back down the stairs.

  ‘I’ve sent her a message, to see if she knows anything,’ Rachel said. ‘I can let you know what she says.’

  ‘I’d rather have Claire’s details, so I can speak to her myself.’

  Rachel grabbed a piece of paper and, once she had scrabbled through a drawer to find a pen, she wrote down a name and an address.

  Sam looked at the piece of paper and thanked them both, and then he and Charlotte stepped back out into the freshness of the moors.

  As they walked back to the car, Charlotte said, ‘What do you think?’

  ‘It’s a link, it must mean something.’

  ‘But how did you notice the picture?’

  ‘I don’t know, and that’s what’s bothering me,’ Sam said. ‘I had a recollection that there was something significant around her computer but I can’t work out what it was that made me notice it. Now I feel like I need to know what it was.’

  ‘It’s classic grooming behaviour,’ Charlotte said, her voice low. ‘Target girls in their teens and slowly wind up the sexual tension, make them share their secrets. Get some pictures from them, intimate ones, and he’s got them. Before long, she sets off to meet some sexy guy just a little bit older than her, and when she gets there, it’s some sad old man who can blackmail her into doing whatever he wants, because he has all of her secrets.’

  ‘So you think this photograph is just a front?’

  Charlotte took it from him and looked more closely at it. Then she stopped and raised her eyebrows. ‘Definitely,’ she said. ‘I don’t know why we didn’t spot it before.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘Look at the pictures on the wall behind.’

  Sam looked closely at the photograph and tried to work out what Charlotte had seen. The picture showed a teenage boy, his hair a dark trendy flick, his body lean in a T-shirt, brightened by the light from the flash when the picture was taken. In contrast, the wall behind seemed dark, his face and body taking all of the glare.

  ‘I can’t see it. Just sports teams. Group shots, celebrating.’

  ‘Yes, but what sort of sports teams?’

  ‘I can’t make them out.’

  ‘It’s not very clear, but some of the players are holding helmets,’ Charlotte said. ‘Like gridiron helmets. And on the shelf, there’s the tip of a ball, like a rugby ball.’

  ‘Are you sure?’ Sam said, peering closer.

  ‘Or is it an American football?’

  Sam looked up. ‘I think you’re right.’

  ‘That’s what I see,’ Charlotte said. ‘That kid is American. It’s easy to fake a profile. Just browse around for a good-looking teenager with an open profile and copy his pictures. Make your own profile, upload the pictures as your own, and there you have it, a whole new personality for yourself. He’s young and he’s good-looking. The rest is just research. Pick your target, find out what they like, and draw them in.’

  ‘But are teenage girls really so gullible?’

  ‘Teenage girls are just like teenage boys. Adult emotions and needs hit them like being barged in the street, because they’re all jumbled and confused. So it only takes someone who knows how to give them some direction and they’re soon drawn into the trap. I used to work on the sex crimes unit, and it’s what all these sickos are like. They see themselves as teachers, all wanting to take their victims from being girls to being women, but when that finally happens they often don’t like the women the girls have become, because the women see the groomer for what he is: an abuser. Usually sad little individuals who want to be revered, so they pick on the easily impressed, and make them do things that the victim won’t want to be made public. Then they have them. It’s not about reverence: it’s about fear.’

  ‘But this is more than just grooming,’ Sam said. ‘He’s making them disappear.’

  Forty-Nine

  Joe looked up as Gina burst into his office.

  ‘What’s wrong?’ he said.

  ‘It’s Monica. She’s not at home, and every time I call her mobile, it goes straight to voicemail, as if it’s turned off.’

  ‘And she definitely hasn’t called in?’

  ‘No. I’ve spoken to everyone.’

  Joe frowned. ‘That doesn’t seem like her.’

  ‘She’s young and in a big city. Perhaps her night got too wild?’

  ‘Does she strike you as the type?’ When Gina didn’t answer, he added, ‘No, me neither.’

  ‘I’m worried, Joe.’

  ‘What do you think we should do?’

  ‘There’s no point in calling the police yet,’ Gina said. ‘What can we tell them? That a young single woman didn’t turn up for work?’

  ‘We should call her parents, let them know. Do we have their number?’

  ‘We’ll have it somewhere,’ Gina said.

  ‘I’m sure she’ll be fine,’ Joe said, and gave her a smile of reassurance.

  ‘Okay, I believe you,’ she said, and then, ‘So tell me about Kim. What did your sweetheart say?’

  ‘She’s not my sweetheart.’

  ‘She will be.’

  ‘As a matchmaker surely you shouldn’t push me towards someone who’s engaged?’

  ‘If you’re not going to fight for her, fine.’

  Joe shook his head, smiling. He liked the way Gina spoke to him. The clerks treated him like a boss. He knew that Gina still saw him as the upstart young lawyer who had tried to upset her investigations.

  ‘Kim didn’t know about Terry Day,’ Joe said.

  ‘Do you believe her?’

  ‘You knew her when you were still in the force. What was the police view?’

  ‘That she was good when she wanted to be, but she shot her arrow a little too straight, if you know what I mean. We wanted her to back us more.’

  ‘But that isn’t her job, is it, and that’s why I admire her as a lawyer. Kim can be ruthless, but she is honest.’

  ‘So the police kept Terry’s news to themselves?’ Gina said. ‘That’s naughty.’

  ‘But you’re not surprised.’

  ‘Only that they thought they could get away with it. When you work for the police, you’ve got to spot what can come back and bite you. Terry Day was always going to talk. Did they want it to come out during the trial, with a judge barking at them about why the
y didn’t pass it on?’ She exhaled. ‘So what now?’

  ‘We speak to Ronnie. I’m going to tell him what Terry said, and I want to know whether Mahones knew about it. You know how they work: they will have been speaking to witnesses even before Ronnie was charged. They get a nailed on defence and yet roll over when he wants me. Something doesn’t make sense.’ He checked his watch. ‘And Ronnie should be here soon.’

  The phone on Joe’s desk buzzed. When he picked it up, he listened for a moment and then said, ‘Send him up.’ He smiled at Gina. ‘It’s Ronnie, and he’s punctual, so at least he has one good quality.’

  Gina moved out of the way as Ronnie came into the room.

  Ronnie was licking his lips and running his hands over his head, smoothing down his hair. His eyes looked wild, almost excited, although they were red, as if he’d been out too late.

  Joe gestured towards a seat. As Ronnie sat down, Gina sat on the windowsill behind Joe.

  ‘What’s so urgent?’ Ronnie said, shuffling uncomfortably in his seat.

  ‘Terry Day,’ Joe said.

  Ronnie took a deep breath. ‘What about him?’

  ‘He’s got some interesting stories to tell. One of them will help you, and I thought you might want to hear the good news from me personally.’

  Ronnie paled and then looked up at the ceiling. Joe watched the flare of his nostrils, confused at his reaction.

  When Ronnie looked down again, he said, ‘I told you to leave him alone.’ The words snarled their way out.

  ‘But you don’t know what I’m going to say.’

  ‘I don’t want to hear it.’

  ‘My job is to build you a defence. I’ve got you one.’

  ‘No, your job is to do what I say,’ Ronnie said, his voice raised, banging his hand on the chair arm. ‘I’m the client. That’s how it works.’

  ‘No, that it isn’t how it works, Ronnie,’ Joe said, his tone quieter, more measured, a way of disguising the slow rise of anger. ‘If you just want someone to do your legwork, you might as well do it yourself.’ Joe felt Gina’s hand on his shoulder, but he shrugged it off. ‘Let me tell you something, Ronnie. I don’t care about you. I don’t care about any of my clients. That’s how the good lawyers are. I care about me, that is all, because I care how I do my job. If you are convicted, all I’ll be interested in is whether I did all I could. If I did, then you’ll just have to take whatever verdict comes your way. If I’ve done a good job, I won’t be too worried as you head back to Strangeways in one of those white vans.’