by Neil White
Ronnie was silent.
‘So don’t think that I’ll just do as you say, because that would mean me not doing my job properly.’
Ronnie just folded his arms, and Joe banged his hand on the desk in frustration. ‘It’s your turn to listen, Ronnie,’ he said. ‘I’ve helped you today. I’ve spoken to the prosecutor and told her what Terry Day told me. She didn’t know, and so now it affects the whole case, because the prosecutor is on the level, and if what Terry has said means that they can’t win this case, she will pull it. So the least you can do is show some gratitude.’
‘I didn’t want you to speak to Terry Day,’ Ronnie said.
Joe stared at Ronnie and then shook his head. ‘I give up. It’s your life, not mine. I’ll get paid and move on.’
‘You’ve changed,’ Ronnie said.
‘You don’t know me,’ Joe said.
‘I do, better than you think. You don’t remember, that’s all.’
‘What do you mean by that? Have we met somewhere before? Have I represented you before?’
‘If you don’t remember, it doesn’t matter.’
Joe scowled. He wasn’t in the mood for guessing games. ‘Why haven’t you asked what Terry Day told me?’
Ronnie’s jaw clenched but he said nothing.
Joe tried to soften his tone. ‘Terry Day has said that he saw Carrie and Grace last week.’
There was barely a reaction from Ronnie. Just a flicker of his eyelids.
‘It doesn’t only mean that they can’t prosecute you, it means that your daughter might still be alive.’
Ronnie looked down.
Joe shook his head and sat back again. He glanced at Gina, who seemed as confused as he was.
Ronnie looked up again. ‘I told you not to speak to Terry Day.’
‘I can’t forget what I’ve been told.’
‘So we’re done then.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘Just that. We’re finished.’
Ronnie stood up.
‘Where are you going?’
‘Would you tell anyone if I told you?’
Joe ran his fingers through his hair. He felt tired all of a sudden. ‘No, I wouldn’t.’
‘I’m going, leaving. I’ve had enough.’
‘Doesn’t it mean anything that your daughter might still be alive?’
Ronnie paused at that. He looked at Joe, and then at Gina. ‘Where’s the other little cutie? Monica.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘A bit easier on the eye. She had such lovely hair.’ He sneered. ‘Sorry, has such lovely hair. Like you said, I must watch my past tense.’ And then he went out the door.
‘Ronnie, come back,’ Joe called.
All Joe got in reply was the echo of Ronnie’s footsteps walking along the landing.
As Joe looked at Gina, he saw that she had gone pale. How did Ronnie know Monica hadn’t come in?
‘I’m going to call my brother. We need the police involved.’
Fifty
Sam called DI Evans from the car. When she answered, he said, ‘We might have something.’
He told her about the link with the photograph. When she hung up, Charlotte said, ‘What did she say?’
‘She says to follow the trail and keep her informed.’
‘So we go to the friend of Gilly’s sister?’ Charlotte asked. She checked her notes. ‘Claire.’
Sam nodded. ‘That picture is the link, and whoever is behind the profile went to Claire first and then on to Gilly.’
They drove in silence, through the snarl-up of the city centre, of buses and taxis and shoppers who regretted driving into town, before it turned into the long stretch of suburbia and then a street of semi-detached houses, two-storey, redbrick on the ground floor, pebbledash on the upper, backing on to the green fields of a local secondary school.
‘Do we have the right address?’ Charlotte said.
‘What do you mean?’
‘Look around. Rachel Henderson is the horsey daughter of a barrister. This doesn’t seem the sort of area where one of her friends would live.’
As they slowed to halt outside the address they’d been given, Sam pointed to a pair of black riding boots outside a door at the side of the house. There was mud on them, as if the owner was letting them dry off. ‘At their age, it’s the common bonds that unite them. Their differences will become more important as they get older.’
‘Very profound,’ Charlotte said with a wry grin.
The door at the side of the house opened as they walked up the drive and a redhead stood at the door, her complexion that of someone who spent a lot of time outdoors in cold weather, scrubbed and rosy, her cheeks flushed.
‘Can I help you?’ she said.
Sam showed her his ID and then said, ‘We need to speak to Claire.’
The woman looked shocked. ‘Has she done something wrong?’
‘No, nothing. I’m hoping she might be able to help with Gilly Henderson’s disappearance.’
The woman shook her head ruefully. ‘That was awful. Poor Gilly. I didn’t know her well, but her sister, Rachel, is a lovely girl. So clever, so bright.’ She shouted into the kitchen. ‘Claire? It’s the police, about Gilly.’
After a few seconds, a girl with a shock of red hair, all tangled and still recovering from the riding helmet, appeared in the doorway. She was wearing jodhpurs caked in mud. ‘I got Rachel’s message.’
Sam looked at Claire’s mother. ‘We’d like to speak to Claire alone.’
‘I would rather Claire stayed with me.’
‘How old are you, Claire?’
She looked at her mother. ‘Sixteen.’
‘Do you want to speak alone?’
Claire looked at her mother again, and then shook her head. ‘No, it’s fine.’
Sam handed over the photograph showing the young man. ‘Do you know him?’
Claire’s cheeks reddened as her mother gave a shrill snort of anger.
‘Him?’ Claire’s mother said. ‘I knew he’d be in trouble again.’
‘So you know this person?’ Sam said, surprised.
‘No,’ she said. ‘But you should, because the police know all about him.’
Sam and Charlotte were shown through to the living room, with pink patterned carpets and striped wallpaper, broken only by a paper border in a flower print that wrapped around the walls. There were family pictures on every available shelf, and one wall was taken up by trophies and rosettes.
As they sat down, Sam pointed towards the display. ‘You must be pretty good at horse riding.’
Claire followed his gaze. ‘I like horses. That’s how I know Rachel and Gilly. We use the same stables. They have their own horses, and I just help out, but Rachel knows I can ride well.’
Sam lifted the photograph to show Claire. ‘Tell me about him.’
Claire looked at her mother, who nodded her approval. Claire took a deep breath and moved her hair away from her face.
‘He got in touch on the internet. He told me he had seen me at the stables, and that I was a friend of Rachel. He told me he liked Rachel, and was sorry for using me like this, but wanted to get to know Rachel through me.’
‘How did you feel about that?’
‘Used, but that’s what happens sometimes with guys, that they like your friend and so they speak to you first, to make the introduction.’
‘So what did you do?’
‘We chatted, you know, by messages, and then the chat program, and he kept on pestering me to put him on to Rachel.’
‘And did you?’
‘Eventually. But Rachel didn’t like him. She thought he was creepy. He wasn’t very happy. He sounded angry on the chat.’
‘So who is he?’
‘He said he was called Billy. I can’t remember his second name.’
‘And is he still friends with you?’
‘No.’
‘You liked him, didn’t you,’ Charlotte said, her voice soft.
<
br /> ‘I liked that guy,’ Claire said, and she pointed to the picture. ‘He was sexy and funny and seemed to know what I liked. Then the police told me that he wasn’t like that all, that he was much older, and smaller. Not even called Billy.’
‘What happened with him?’ Charlotte asked.
Claire looked at her mother and then at the floor. ‘I had arranged to meet him. He was going to take me for a walk, somewhere nice, but, well…’ She shrugged.
Claire’s mother gave a short, bitter laugh. ‘I stopped it,’ she explained. ‘Claire didn’t know that I used to check her internet accounts when she was out, to look for stuff like this. It was disgusting. Some of the things they were talking about. Claire shouldn’t know about stuff like that.’
‘Mum!’
Her mother waved her away. ‘You should be glad I found out.’
‘What did you do?’ Sam asked.
‘They were talking about meeting up and so I called the police, because I knew something wasn’t right.’
‘How do you mean?’
Claire sat back in her chair, her arms folded. ‘She means that guys like him don’t like girls like me.’
Sam looked at Claire’s mother, who simply pursed her lips. Claire was right, as much as it hurt her.
‘So tell me what happened with the police?’ Sam said.
It was Claire’s mother who spoke again. ‘They said that because they had only been talking about meeting up, there was nothing they could do. Nothing had been arranged. How can that be right, that someone has got to set off before they can be caught? It means that my child has to be in real danger before you can stop it.’
Sam agreed with her, but he wasn’t interested in a discussion about legal theory. ‘Did you tell Rachel about this, that he wasn’t who he said he was?’
‘My mum told me not to,’ Claire said. ‘She said I’d embarrassed her enough without telling anyone else.’
Sam closed his eyes for a moment in exasperation. He prayed that hadn’t caused a young woman to put herself in danger, because she hadn’t been warned off.
‘I thought he was interested in Rachel,’ Sam said. ‘So, how did you two end up talking about meeting?’
Claire didn’t reply. Instead, she just played with her fingers and looked down. Her mother filled in the silence.
‘Because she put herself on a plate for him,’ she said, disgust in her voice now, glaring at Claire. ‘Promised herself, boasted about what she would do to him.’
Claire jumped to her feet and stormed out of the room, slamming the door as she went.
Her mother didn’t say anything at first, and so Sam and Charlotte let the silence fester, knowing that Claire’s mother would eventually say something. They didn’t have to wait long.
‘I’m sorry,’ she said, softening. ‘I just couldn’t believe how she had put herself in danger. We’ve given her all the warnings about the internet and strangers, and how bad people can sound good when they’re hiding behind a keyboard, and yet she still did it.’ She shook her head. ‘I was her age once, but it was never like that.’
‘The world was never like this back then,’ Sam said. ‘Thank you for your time. You’ve been a big help.’
‘Have I?’
‘Yes. We will be able to trace what happened from your complaint, so that will give us a name.’
‘Just one thing,’ she said.
‘Go on.’
‘You said you were here because of what happened to Gilly, and you showed that picture. So you think he might have had something to do with what happened to Gilly?’
‘It’s just another line of enquiry,’ Sam said.
She put her face in her hands. ‘You’re not saying no, which means that whatever happened to Gilly might have happened to Claire?’
Sam didn’t deny it quickly enough, because it was a possibility. Claire didn’t have the same link to Ben Grant’s case, but that didn’t mean whoever it was didn’t fill in the gaps with other victims.
Claire’s mother started to cry, and Sam decided that it was a good time to go.
They let themselves out, and as they walked back down the drive towards his car, the sounds of shouting could be heard from inside the house.
‘May have reopened a wound there,’ Charlotte said.
‘And got ourselves a lead,’ Sam said. ‘We need to chase that up as soon as we get back to the station.’
Fifty-One
Joe spent half an hour not doing very much, just twirling in his seat and thinking about Ronnie Bagley. There was something going on that he didn’t like, and that he didn’t understand. Why didn’t Ronnie want to use anything said by Terry Day, even though it should have been the best news for him? His daughter was alive and he would also avoid a life sentence. Was it guilt because he knew Terry Day was mistaken, and if he was that guilty, why didn’t he just admit it?
Joe left his office and went to find Gina. She was at her desk, the phone in her hand.
Gina looked up when Joe appeared in the doorway. ‘Monica’s parents are heading to Manchester. They’re worried too.’ She noticed he had his jacket in his hand. ‘Where are you going?
‘Mahones.’
Gina looked surprised.
‘They have the info on Ronnie’s background,’ Joe said.
‘Yes, but Mahones?’
‘I need to find out about Ronnie.’
‘But why? You’ll run the case on your terms, not on anything he told them.’
‘Ronnie has commented twice about how I should remember him. Now he’s walked out on me. And that crack about Monica in the past tense? He wants me to know something, but for some reason he won’t come out and say it.’
‘Will they let you in?’
‘Gina, I left, that’s all.’
‘You know what I mean. Not everyone leaves like you did.’
Joe smiled. ‘Thanks for your concern.’
As he headed out to the street, he didn’t have to turn round to know that Gina was watching him from a window. He walked past the small park, looked in, and was surprised to see Ronnie standing and looking towards the office.
Joe muttered to himself, ‘You little shit,’ and then turned and went towards him.
He wasn’t sure what would happen, or even whether Ronnie would talk to him, but Ronnie stayed still as he got closer.
‘Tell me about Monica,’ Joe said.
Ronnie remained silent at first, but after a few moments he said, ‘Everything is your fault.’
‘What do you mean, my fault?’
‘You were supposed to stop it.’
‘You’re talking in riddles, Ronnie. What do you mean, I was supposed to stop it?’
Ronnie sat down on a bench and put his hands between his knees. ‘Do you know what it’s like to lose control over events, when you thought you wanted something, but then someone takes over?’
‘Isn’t that just life?’
‘And death.’
Joe clenched his jaw. ‘Is there something you want to tell me?’
Ronnie shook his head. ‘No, there’s nothing you can do. That time has gone now.’
‘What about Monica?’
He shook his head again. ‘It didn’t mean anything.’ He got to his feet.
Ronnie went to walk away but Joe grabbed his arm. ‘Tell me about Monica.’
‘I don’t have to talk to you,’ Ronnie said, as he pulled his arm away and walked quickly out of the park. At the gate he turned to shout, ‘It’s all your fault.’
Joe watched him go, angry, frustrated, and then carried on to Mahones. He hoped the answer would be there.
Mahones wasn’t far, he passed it every day on the way to the court, although he made sure he was always on the other side of the road and looking down. He didn’t want any chance meetings.
He had trained there, spent two great years as he learned the job, shadowing the more experienced lawyers, and then once he had built his portfolio he was allowed into the rough and tumble of the polic
e station, some fresh meat for the detectives made weary by the constant ‘no comment’ advice given by the older hands. That was where he had learned his trade, much more than the courtroom, where there was at least a veneer of respectability. In the police station, things could get nasty, with clients angry at being locked up and wondering why some fresh-faced newbie was advising them. And the detectives were meaner, asking how he could sleep at night, acting for the scumbags in the cells. He used to justify himself to them, but eventually realised the question had only ever been rhetorical. He learned that a knowing smirk wound them up more.
Joe found that court was a playground after that. All he had to do was to remember to ask the right questions and enjoy being the interrogator when the detective was in the witness box, where a knowing smirk would not be enough of an answer for them.
It hadn’t been the hours that had made him leave though, or career concerns. It had been something else completely.
As he pushed open the entrance doors, he noticed that the reception desk had been refitted. Gone was the low desk from where the receptionist could see everything, and in its place was a high counter, with the receptionist sat low behind it. Joe guessed that it was for reasons of security, because sometimes the clients couldn’t stop themselves from pocketing whatever was close by.
The receptionist looked up, too much make-up and dry grey hair exaggerating her weariness, but when recognition struck, her eyes widened.
‘Joe Parker!’ she said. ‘I never thought I’d see you walk through these doors again.’
‘Hello, Isla. Neither did I. I’m here about a case, not to cause trouble.’
‘Oh, don’t worry. All of that was a long time ago.’
He looked around and it suddenly felt so familiar. He’d enjoyed his years at Mahones. It was how it ended that left him feeling sour, because Joe had not only started his career at Mahones. He had fallen in love there too. The full-blown, all-in-until-he-dies kind of love.