On Laughton Moor

by On Laughton Moor (epub)

  Catherine nodded. ‘Can you tell me when this was?’

  ‘Summer. Mid July, twelve years ago. Hot. I was sunburnt when I got home, I remember that.’

  ‘And you and Craig and Steve walked up to the moors?’

  ‘Yeah. We called for Nick on the way.’

  ‘Nick’s surname?’

  ‘Nick Brady – well, Nicholas Brady. He lived nearby too. He was another mate of Craig’s, though I don’t think Nick liked Craig much really. He always seemed to be laughing at him behind his back, being sarcastic or muttering about him.’

  ‘But Nick still came with you that day?’

  ‘Yeah, like I said, Craig was God where we lived. Even if you didn’t particularly like him, it was still good to be seen with him – people would respect you. Nick wasn’t above knowing that,’ said Bowles.

  Catherine thought of Nick Brady lying in hospital, his parents by his side not knowing when or if their son would wake. Craig Pollard and Steve Kent, both dead, and Bowles himself, seeing suicide as preferable to coming to the police. Bowles had said they’d killed, presumably a child. Catherine took a deep breath.

  ‘And the four of you arrived at the moor,’ she said. ‘Can you remember the time?’

  ‘Late morning. Before twelve, because we’d gone by the church as the clock struck eleven, and it wouldn’t take that long to walk up there. Around eleven thirty. We walked quite a way, just talking, messing around. Craig was talking about some girl he’d been with the night before. I can’t remember the name but… It was always like that with him, a different girl every night if you believed him.’

  ‘And did you?’

  ‘Why not? All the lads wanted to be around Craig; no doubt the girls did too. I didn’t like the way he talked about them though. He wasn’t very nice, not respectful. Laughing at what they’d done, things they said. It didn’t seem fair for him to tell us. I think Nick felt the same. He wandered off in front, but Steve wanted to know every detail and Craig loved boasting. We were walking alongside the stream by then. That’s what everyone calls it, though it’s bigger than a stream really. Nick was skimming stones. Steve and Craig sat on the bank. I wasn’t sure what to do. I watched Nick for a while then had a go myself but he was much better at it than me. Story of my life really.’

  He looked to Catherine for sympathy but found none, her face remaining impassive.

  ‘Eventually, Nick went and sat down too,’ Bowles continued. ‘I followed and Craig gave us a can of lager each. It was warm, but we drank it down, and then had another can each. I was feeling a bit drunk by then. I wasn’t used to drinking like Craig was. He could get served in pubs and everything. He went out at the weekends; in the week too, he told us. Beer or vodka. Then Craig said he bet he could jump over the stream, and Nick laughed, said no way, he’d fall in. Craig stuck to his guns, but so did Nick. Craig started to get annoyed, told Nick he didn’t know what he was talking about. Craig had to prove it, of course, so he took a run-up and jumped. He just made it and then came back and sat down, cocky as anything. He told Nick he owed him a tenner. Nick said if he could do it too they were even and Craig agreed, so Nick had a go. He nearly fell in on the way back, had to scrabble with his feet, but he got across.’

  Bowles paused, took a sip of water, then another. He held out the empty cup.

  ‘Could I have some more, please?’

  More water was brought in, Catherine grateful for a cup too. Knight stretched in his chair, settled back. Bowles drank, fidgeted. Catherine waited patiently.

  ‘Steve went across too eventually, and of course Craig was going on and on about me having a go, but I knew there was no way I could do it. They were all miles taller than me. I just said no way and they let it drop eventually. We sat around for a while, and then we saw these two kids heading our way. One had a fishing net in his hand; he was the youngest. He was about the same size as my cousin, so he must have been about six, I’d say. The other was older, thin, eleven or twelve maybe.’

  ‘Both boys?’ Catherine asked.

  ‘Yeah. They went down to the water and the younger one started trying to catch fish. I don’t think there were even any fish in there. The older one was watching. It didn’t take long for Craig to start showing off. He jumped across the stream again and stood on the other side, opposite where they were fishing. He asked them where they lived. The younger one said they were travellers, staying down the road somewhere, and that their dad was doing some work for one of the farmers. Craig thought that was hilarious. He called them gyppos.’

  Bowles’ unseeing gaze was fixed on the tabletop as he relived the events that had haunted him, replaying the scene in his mind.

  ‘I thought you looked like peasants,’ Craig sneered, hands on hips. ‘How many times have those clothes been handed down then? Bet your dad wore them first twenty years ago. You’d think someone would have washed them in the meantime. You stink, you scruffy little shit. I can smell you from here.’

  The younger boy glared at him.

  ‘Ignore him,’ the older one said.

  ‘That’s right, ignore the nasty man,’ Craig mocked. ‘What are you doing then, trying to catch some fish for your tea? Can’t you afford anything else? Not sold enough pegs lately, or hasn’t your mum had enough customers? Maybe Nick and Dave here could come over and have turns with her. God knows they have to pay for it.’

  The older boy stared across at Craig.

  ‘Come on, Tommy, let’s go,’ he said.

  ‘No,’ Tommy said. ‘I want to catch some fish.’

  Craig gave a nasty laugh. ‘That’s right, you can’t go back to your hovel with no fish; what will your mummy and daddy say? What will you have to eat? Maybe you’ll be lucky, and your dad will have found a turnip at the side of the road. You can take it in turns to have a chew on that.’

  The older boy said again, ‘Come on, Tommy.’

  ‘No, I’m staying here. He doesn’t scare me.’

  The older boy stared at him in frustration, then walked away. He disappeared over the bank. Craig shook his head.

  ‘You’re a brave boy, Tommy. Not like scaredy cat there, running off home.’

  ‘You’re not clever,’ said Tommy, dipping his fishing net into the water again. ‘You’re just a bully.’

  Craig narrowed his eyes. ‘A bully? What do you mean, a bully? We’re just having a chat. You’re lucky I’m even bothering to speak to you, you filthy fucking gyppo.’

  Nick looked uncomfortable.

  ‘Come on, Craig,’ he said. ‘He’s only a kid.’

  ‘Shut up, Nick, or fuck off home,’ Craig snapped.

  With a snort of derision, Nick got up and began to walk away.

  ‘So.’ Craig addressed the child again. ‘How much scrap have you collected this week?’

  ‘Scrap?’ The boy looked bemused.

  ‘Yeah, you know, scrap. What your dad brings home when he’s finished stealing for the day. He brings it back and leaves it outside your shitty caravan where your mum’s sitting making pegs and bunches of lucky heather, then you all go inside and look at the pictures in the newspaper, ’cos none of you can read.’

  The boy glared, annoyed at last.

  ‘I can read,’ he said.

  ‘Yeah, course you can,’ Craig said.

  ‘I can read!’ the boy yelled, trying to launch himself across the stream towards Craig.

  Craig stepped back, laughing. ‘Stupid little bastard. He’ll never make it.’

  Tommy was in the water, struggling and splashing. Nick ran back and started pulling off his shoes.

  ‘Don’t be daft, Nick, he’ll be all right.’ Craig half turned away.

  Nick shook his head. ‘I’m going in. What if he drowns?’

  Even Steve looked concerned now. Nick had his shoes and socks off. Bowles was wringing his hands. Craig leapt over the stream and grabbed Nick by his T-shirt.

  ‘Don’t you fucking dare. It’s not that deep; he’ll be able to get out further down. His brother’
s somewhere about. He’ll get him. Come on, let’s get out of here before somebody sees us.’

  Catherine and Knight were silent. After a few seconds, Catherine scribbled furiously in her notebook and handed it to Knight: RE: Messages left by killer: my brother died before I was born. Killer feels a link between himself and me?

  Knight’s eyes widened. He nodded, wrote a note of his own: Has to be. We need to find the older brother. He’s our man.

  ‘What happened next?’ said Catherine.

  Bowles stared at her tearfully. ‘We ran. I still can’t believe we did. We didn’t even try to help him, any of us. We ran, and all the way back Craig was telling us we had to keep it a secret, that he would kill us if we told anyone. We all swore not to, because we knew we’d be in so much trouble. His body was found later in the Trent – the stream must join it somewhere. We knew it was the same boy; his photo was in the paper. I think his death was put down to misadventure, something like that. I felt so terrible, like I’d pushed him in myself. Even now, all these years later, I can’t believe it, how we could all just have stood there and watched him wash away. I read in the newspaper that he’d hit his head while he was in the water and drowned. Tommy Heron. Six years old and dead because of us, because of me, because I just stood there and let Craig bully him into jumping, like he bullied us all… Twelve years and every day it’s all I can think about.’ Bowles was sobbing now.

  The duty solicitor, who had sat as if carved from stone, sprang into life, rummaging through her bag for tissues. Catherine announced the interview was suspended for the benefit of the tape and she and Knight hurried out. Kendrick burst into the corridor then hustled them into his office.

  ‘Brilliant, bloody brilliant,’ he said. ‘We need to find the records on this poor lad who drowned, find his brother’s name and bring him in. Case closed by teatime.’

  Catherine looked dazed and Kendrick pointed a meaty finger at her.

  ‘What’s wrong with you?’

  ‘It’s just all making sense now. Pollard being killed first, hit more times than the others because he was the ringleader, then Kent…’

  ‘All the victims were killed by blows to the head too. Bowles said the boy hit his head in the water and drowned,’ Knight added.

  Catherine agreed, and then explained to Kendrick about the death of her own brother and the possibility that the killer had been referring to that in the messages.

  ‘Bloody hell,’ said Kendrick. ‘How would he know about that though?’

  ‘I’ve no idea. It happened before I was born. He fell into a neighbour’s pond when the ice broke. It was in the news but I don’t think that many people know about it. My parents never came to terms with it, blamed themselves, blamed each other…’

  Kendrick made an impatient gesture with his hand. ‘Let’s get on with it.’

  Chapter 56

  Paul Hughes hurled his suitcase into the back of the hire car. He’d had enough. How his dad had thought he was supposed to find a woman who was being protected by the police he had no idea, but it had been a stupid plan from the beginning. He fully intended to drive back down south and tell his father so. Dougie had been worse than useless, and he’d not even seen Richie, for all the good he was. It was time his father cut all ties with the bunch of Lincolnshire freaks he called family. He revved the engine, screeched out of the hotel car park and onto the ring road. He was soon on the M1, flying along, feeling more furious with every mile he travelled. His dad obviously had him down as some sort of mug, a tame monkey he could send off here and there at will. Surely he’d done more than enough to prove himself by now?

  He pulled into some services, not even sure where he was. About halfway home, he thought. Abandoning the car at a jaunty angle, he strolled through the main building and into the toilets. As soon as he walked past the first cubicle door, it flew open to reveal a huge man wearing a black cap pulled low over his face. Hughes didn’t have time to react as the man seized the front of the expensive leather jacket he was so proud of and dragged him towards a service door.

  ‘What the fuck are you doing?’

  A huge hand clamped Hughes’ mouth closed. He continued to struggle, but his captor was incredibly strong. The door clanged open and he was outside, drizzle just beginning to fall. He was lifted off his feet and a black space loomed in front of him; disorientated, he took a second to realise it was the open back doors of a van. Unceremoniously, he was lifted and flung into the back, crying out as his knees and hands hit the metal floor. The doors slammed behind him and Hughes hunched his knees to his chest, terrified. He had no idea who had grabbed him or why; he only knew that he and his father had made a lot of enemies over the years. As the vehicle began to move, he was uncomfortably reminded of all those, like Milica Zukic, whose unhappy journeys in vans just like this had helped to pay for his jacket.

  Chapter 57

  Kendrick led them up to the CID room. At her desk, Catherine discreetly checked her mobile. Nothing from Claire. She turned on her monitor, began the search. Kendrick had gathered the rest of the team around him and was summarising Bowles’ revelations. Reactions ranged from horror to anger, disgust to disbelief. They’d heard and seen worse, of course, much worse, but the passivity of Kent, Brady and Bowles was shocking in itself. The noise level increased as Kendrick sent them back to their desks, the whole room fired up by the desire to bring the brother of the dead boy to justice, whatever his motivation. Knight stood quietly by Catherine’s desk.

  ‘Here’s a report on Tommy Heron’s death,’ Catherine said. Knight bent to study the screen.

  ‘He did definitely die then. I wanted to clarify that first. We could have been looking for the brother when the boy himself might have survived, to come after Pollard and the gang when he was old enough to fight his own battles.’

  ‘I hadn’t thought of that.’

  They read silently. Sure enough, the boy had come from a travelling family and his death had been judged accidental. Catherine frowned.

  ‘So why didn’t the brother come forward at the time? Why didn’t he tell his parents or the police that the only reason his little brother had fallen in the water was that a gang of yobs about three times his age had goaded him into it?’

  ‘It doesn’t make sense.’

  Catherine kept searching, the minutes ticking away. Kendrick bustled over.

  ‘There’s a problem, sir.’ Catherine looked up at him. ‘Why didn’t Tommy Heron’s big brother tell someone what happened? And why is there no mention of him in any of these reports?’

  Chapter 58

  Kendrick’s face was red as he clumped around Catherine’s desk to stand behind her chair and peer at her computer monitor.

  ‘What do you mean, he’s not in the reports? He must be. Wasn’t he interviewed?’

  ‘Doesn’t seem like it. The boy’s body was found before he was reported missing; the news was broken to his parents, who said they’d told him hundreds of times not to go on the moors. The verdict of accidental death was given. If they were a travelling family, they probably moved on as soon as they could. Why would they want to stay in a place where their son died?’

  ‘It doesn’t make sense. Is Bowles sure they were brothers?’

  ‘He seemed to be, but I suppose he could have just presumed…’ Catherine shook her head.

  ‘Get back down there and find out!’ Kendrick roared.

  * * *

  Bowles looked worse than ever. His tear-stained faced was gaunt, as if he’d lost weight since they’d brought him to the station. He shuffled back into the interview room. Catherine restarted the recording and snapped at Bowles: ‘Are you sure the other boy was Tommy Heron’s brother?’

  Bowles blinked at her, confused. ‘Who else could he have been?’ he said.

  She glared at him. ‘His friend, his cousin, his nephew, his neighbour, his school mate, some kid he’d just met and decided to hang around with for the day? Am I making myself clear?’

  Gawping, Bowl
es thought it through. ‘Then they might not have been brothers?’

  ‘Did they do or say anything that made you think they were, or did you just presume?’

  ‘I suppose I presumed; we all presumed. They didn’t say anything when Craig talked about their mum and dad. It was just the way the older boy looked after the younger one, made sure he didn’t stand too close to the water.’

  Catherine didn’t bother to comment, knowing they should have asked Bowles before whether he’d heard the boys speak to each other, whether names were mentioned.

  * * *

  Back upstairs, Kendrick was working himself into one of his rages.

  ‘If they weren’t brothers, what chance do we have of finding him? He could be anybody – if they were travellers he could be anywhere. Can Bowles even describe this boy? Not that it’ll help us twelve years later. I expect he’s changed slightly. Well?’

  Catherine admitted that Bowles couldn’t, not properly, nor could he give them a name. As Kendrick took a breath to refill his lungs in preparation for his next onslaught, Varcoe half stood and beckoned to them.

  ‘Tommy Heron’s parents are named as Annie and Christian Heron.’ She pointed at her screen.

  ‘And?’ Kendrick barked.

  ‘Annie Heron died six years ago. She jumped from the top of a bridge. Christian Heron died this summer, July, and it seems as if he was a heavy drinker. Do you think this could be what triggered the murders?’

  ‘How do you mean?’ asked Kendrick, calming slightly.

  ‘Well, the mother of the drowned boy killing herself, his father drinking heavily, eventually dying because of it?’

  ‘The whole family destroyed,’ Knight said.

  Varcoe nodded. ‘Exactly.’

  ‘It would make sense if we were still looking for the brother, but so far, there doesn’t seem to be one,’ said Catherine, frustrated.