‘Our prime suspect was a guy called Brian Fletcher,’ Geraldine said, leaving a chocolate moustache on her mouth as she sipped the hot chocolate. ‘Weird sort of bloke. Backward. Suffers from a range of learning difficulties, I’d say. Lived in this shack of a place outside Higham. That’s a village not far from here. Parents seemed to have dropped out of mainstream society. Travellers, I suspect, although that was never confirmed.
‘Brian never went to school, never had any chance to integrate properly with society.’ She shrugged. ‘These things happen. Especially back then, and especially if you had a kid that wasn’t, you know, normal.
‘Anyway, like I said, our investigation focussed on him initially. He did some occasional work for this firm that’s got the contract managing the park Molly disappeared from. All employees were questioned initially, but a few things pointed to Fletcher. Not least the fact that several witnesses reported that he seemed to have been watching Molly in the weeks leading up to her abduction.’
‘Watching?’ Ellen asked. ‘How exactly?’
‘Apparently when he was meant to be working, he’d loiter near wherever she was – watching her. It got so bad his boss had to have a word with him about it. The thing is, the day she was grabbed, Brian was nowhere near Mountsfield Park. He’d been on a job in Foster Park, down in Belvedere. We had several witnesses confirming he was there all day. We searched his house as well. Nothing. Then forensics confirmed what we knew already – Fletcher didn’t do it.
‘I mentioned the killer had done his best to get rid of all traces of DNA? Despite this, Forensics were able to get a semen sample. We checked this against Fletcher’s DNA. It wasn’t a match. So, no DNA, no evidence and witnesses who swore he was somewhere else the day Molly was taken. Fletcher didn’t do it.’
‘What made you focus on him in the first place?’ Ellen asked.
‘Profiling,’ Geraldine said. ‘We got this damn profiling expert in to help us. Guy was certain Fletcher had done it. Said he fit the profile. The thing is, Ellen, even at the time I didn’t feel comfortable bringing him in. My kid brother, right, he’s Autistic. Drives me nuts every time there’s some sort of sex crime and the profilers go for the loners and the people with poor social skills.’
‘Yeah, but there’s a reason they do that, surely?’ Ellen said.
Geraldine sighed. ‘I know. It’s just, not everyone who’s a loner is some sort of sexual predator. A lot of loners are just people who can’t get a handle on how society works. They don’t fit in, so they find it easier to live on the outside, keep themselves to themselves. Just like Fletcher.’
Ellen thought of her own investigation and Ed’s single-minded focus on Kevin Hudson. What she was hearing now confirmed what she already believed: focussing on one suspect at the expense of all other leads just wasn’t the way to do it.
‘Before you knew he couldn’t have done it,’ Ellen said, ‘what was your gut telling you when you questioned him?’
‘Good question,’ Geraldine said. ‘To tell you the truth, there was just something not quite right about him. At the time, I was certain he was hiding something from us. In hindsight, it’s no wonder he went so funny on us. I mean, a guy like that – he’s completely under the radar most of the time. No NI number, doesn’t pay tax, probably can’t even read or write. Suddenly being dragged in by the police and questioned for a serious crime, he must have been terrified.
‘But I can tell you this, even when I thought he might be hiding something, I never once, not for an instant, got the impression he was capable of hurting someone the way that little girl was hurt. No way.’
‘So if Fletcher was your main suspect and he didn’t do it,’ Ellen said, ‘then it stands to reason that whoever killed Molly is still out there?’
Geraldine nodded. ‘Which means, in my book, there’s every chance it’s the same person who’s taken Jodie. Whoever he was, he was a monster … the way that little girl suffered. Jesus. I hope you find him, Ellen.’
‘Ed thinks it’s Jodie’s father,’ Ellen said.
‘I’ve known Ed a long time,’ Geraldine said. ‘He’s not like me. You asked me a moment ago about my gut reaction to Fletcher? The reason I liked the question is that I’m an instinct sort of girl. Always trust my gut. And I’m guessing you do too, if you asked the question in the first place. Not Ed. He’s a fact man. Keeps his mind open until every shred of evidence is gathered in. If he says Kevin Hudson’s your man, then he’ll have spent so long working up to that decision, nothing is going to change his mind.’
‘The problem is, I think he’s wrong,’ Ellen said.
Geraldine lifted her mug and drained the rest of her drink.
‘In that case,’ she said, wiping the smear of chocolate from her upper lip, ‘I’d say you’ve got a problem, Ellen.’
14:30
Rob York lived in a row of red-brick Council houses along a tidy cul-de-sac just off Mountsfield Park in Lewisham. Ellen drove straight there after her meeting with Ger. She wanted to hear, first-hand, his account of the day Molly disappeared. Her conversation with Ger had strengthened Ellen’s belief that the two disappearances were connected. Hearing Ger’s account of how Molly had suffered made her even more determined to find Jodie before the same thing happened to her.
Mountsfield Park was at the Hither Green end of Lewisham, an up-and-coming area notable for its good housing stock and strong community spirit. Ellen knew the park vaguely. When she’d first joined the force the place was a no-go area, full of druggies and winos and God knows what else. The park had improved a lot in recent years. Lewisham Council had invested serious money into cleaning it up – building a new playground, adding a coffee shop and employing a full-time park-keeper to monitor it. Glancing across as she got out of her car, Ellen was pleased to see young kids running around, a group of school children playing football, and not a druggie or wino in sight. Even Lewisham was becoming gentrified.
She ran through what Ger had told her about Rob York. A widower, his wife had died of cancer two years after giving birth to Molly, the couple’s only child. Since then, Rob had raised his daughter single-handedly. He had, Ger said, been a devoted father who’d adored his only child. Before his daughter’s death Rob York had run his own painting and decorating business and the family had lived in a large, Victorian house overlooking the park. After Molly’s death, Rob fell apart.
‘Makes you wonder about people who believe in God,’ Ger had said. ‘What sort of God would inflict that on a man, do you think? First he loses his wife, then this happens. If God’s got something to do with it, then he’s not any sort of god I want anything to do with.’
Despite her Catholic upbringing, it was a sentiment Ellen shared.
She approached York’s house with apprehension. It was a horrible thing she was about to do – asking Molly’s father to revisit the circumstances surrounding his daughter’s murder. But if it helped them track down Jodie Hudson, she couldn’t see that she had a choice.
In her jacket pocket, she felt her mobile buzzing. When she pulled it out, she saw Abby’s number on the display. She switched the phone off and put it back in her pocket. She hadn’t told Abby – or anyone else – about this morning’s visit to Hoo. It would be on Ellen’s head, and hers alone, if Baxter found out what she was up to.
At the front door, she paused. There was still time to turn around and go back to the station. Or to the Hudsons’ house and spend the day doing what she was meant to be doing. Trying to get underneath the skin of Kevin Hudson.
She rang the bell and moments later the front door swung open. A man stood there. Tall and thin, much too thin, with yellow teeth and faded hair. He smelled of rotten fruit. It was like coming face-to-face with a dead person.
‘What do you want?’ he asked.
Ellen swallowed. ‘Mr York? DI Ellen Kelly.’ She flashed her warrant card. ‘I called earlier. Left a message on your phone. When you didn’t call back I drove over on the off chance you might be here.’
He stepped forward and she nearly gagged as his foul breath hit her nostrils.
‘I asked you what you wanted,’ he said. ‘Not a load of bollocks about who you are and how many times you’ve called. I don’t care what your name is. I just want to know why you’re here.’
‘I need to talk to you about Molly’ she said.
His body sagged. ‘Have you got him?’ he rasped. ‘Is that why you’re here? You’ve found the bastard who killed her, is that it?’
‘I’m sorry,’ Ellen said, hating herself more and more as every second passed. ‘That’s not why I’m here. Not exactly. Could I come in, do you think? I’d rather not talk about it out here.’
He stood back to let her pass, motioning for her to go forward into the sitting room.
Inside the house, the smell was worse and Ellen tried to breathe through her mouth.
The sitting room was a small, dark room at the front of the house with tightly drawn curtains. It was all Ellen could do not to turn around and run back outside.
York switched on the single bare bulb in the ceiling as he followed Ellen into the room. She wished he hadn’t. The room was definitely better in the dark.
‘Drink?’ He waved a can of supermarket-brand lager at her.
She shook her head. ‘No, thanks. Okay if I sit down?’
He shrugged. ‘Help yourself.’
She sat on the very edge of a sticky armchair and watched him open the can and take a long slug from it. He belched loudly, then sat opposite her on the only other chair in the room.
The mantelpiece over the gas fire was covered in photos. The same girl in each one – a smiling child with thick dark hair, a shy smile and a gap between her front teeth.
‘Molly?’ Ellen asked. A rhetorical question, but one she felt obliged to ask.
York took another swig of beer and nodded.
‘Sam didn’t tell me you lot would be calling,’ he said. ‘He usually calls when it’s something like this. Mind you, I haven’t heard from him since the ear-bashing I gave him last time. No news, he said. Just phoning to see how I was doing.’
He shook his head. ‘“How you doing, Rob?” he says. Like we were mates and he was just phoning for a chat. How the fuck did he think I was doing?’
‘Sam’s your liaison officer,’ Ellen guessed.
‘That’s right. DS Sam Spade. His real name, I swear to God.’ York paused and peered at Ellen. ‘But you’d know that, wouldn’t you? You said you had news. Come on then, spit it out. I haven’t got all day, you know.’
Ellen remembered Sam Spade – it was hardly a name she’d forget. A Lewisham old-timer who’d retired a couple of years back. She had no idea where he was now, but was sure she could track him down if she needed to.
‘A young girl has gone missing,’ she said.
York sprang forward in his chair. ‘I knew it!’ he cried. ‘I told your lot over and over. Pull your fingers out and find the bastard who did this. Otherwise, he’ll do it again and some other poor family will be destroyed.’
‘We don’t know if this has anything to do with Molly,’ Ellen said.
Despite her best efforts, she couldn’t drag her eyes away from the photos. There must have been twenty or more, all crowded onto the small mantelpiece, the images jostling for attention, each one determined not to let Ellen forget about the little girl who’d been strangled and dumped in the Thames.
York followed her eyes to the photos and his body sagged again. ‘She was my world. My little princess. Me and Molly, we were a team. When Sheryl died, I thought that was it. Didn’t know how I’d manage to keep going. Except you’ve got to, don’t you? No choice when you’ve got kids.’
‘It’s them that keeps you going,’ Ellen said.
York nodded. ‘That’s what Molly did. Mornings I thought I’d never find the energy to drag myself out of bed and there she’d be, with that smile of hers and I’d manage it. Couldn’t do it for myself, but I did it for her. Did it over and over again.’
‘It was the same for me,’ Ellen said. ‘After my husband died, I only kept going for the kids’ sake. You don’t have a choice, do you?’
‘What did he die of?’ York asked. ‘Your husband, I mean.’
‘Hit and run,’ Ellen said.
‘They ever catch who did it?’
Ellen’s fingers twitched with the memory of pulling the trigger.
‘Yes,’ she said. ‘They got him eventually.’
York drank more beer and wiped his mouth with the back of his sleeve.
‘So this missing girl,’ he said. ‘You think it’s the same bastard who took my Molly?’
‘No,’ Ellen said.
She shifted uncomfortably on the chair. She should never have come. She knew that now, but it was too late. The man was destroyed by grief. What had she expected? She had no right, none at all, turning up like this and expecting him to go through it all again.
‘Course you do,’ York said. ‘It’s why you’re here, isn’t it? You think he’s after doing the same thing to someone else’s child. Jesus!’ He slugged back the rest of his beer, crunched the can with his fist and pushed himself from his chair. Suddenly, standing over her like that, he seemed very tall.
‘You lot fucked up,’ he snarled. ‘You should have found him, but you didn’t. Spent all your time focussing on that poor backward bloke when it was never him who took her. You don’t give a toss about me or my little girl. You don’t have the first idea what it’s like for me, waking up day after day after day. Waking up and realising all over again that she’s gone and there’s another twenty-four hours I have to find a way of surviving through. And then you turn up, telling me it’s happened again, like I should … what? Thank you or something? Come on, out!’
York grabbed her arm, dragging her from the chair and pushing her towards the front door. He was strong, but she was stronger. She thrust her elbow back into his stomach and he staggered back, clutching his middle.
‘Assaulting an officer,’ Ellen said, panting, ‘never a good idea, Mr York. I’m sorry for what you’ve been through. Really I am. But please, don’t ever try that again.’
He looked up at her, face full of pain and rage.
‘She’s going to die,’ he whispered. ‘That poor little girl. He’s got her and he’ll do the same things to her he did to my Molly. He’s probably doing them right now. And instead of trying to find him, you’re here in my house talking shite I don’t want to hear.’
‘We’ll find him,’ Ellen said. ‘Whoever he is, wherever he is. We will find this man, Mr York. And when we do, we’ll make sure he can’t ever hurt another child. I promise you.’
York threw his head back and growled. ‘You’re all the same. Lies, lies and more fucking lies. Acting like you care when all this is to you is a job. People like you, with your cosy little lives and your lovely houses and your perfect bloody children. You haven’t got a clue. Not a fucking clue. You tell me your husband dies and you want me to believe that’s the same thing as losing a child the way I lost my Molly. Listen to me, lady. I lost my wife. I lost my kid. And let me tell you, the difference between those two things is like the difference between a grain of sand a fucking planet. Can you imagine it? What it’s like to think about someone doing those things to your kid? To the one person you wanted to love and protect more than anything?
‘He raped her. Everywhere he could. She had anal injuries, lesions inside her mouth. Two fingers broken on her left hand. Three ribs broken. And you know what I can’t stop thinking about?’
Ellen wanted him to stop. But she couldn’t speak. The noise he’d made, more animal than man, and these things he was telling her, things she knew but did her best never to think about, made words impossible.
‘I think about her little face,’ York said. ‘What she used to look like when she cried. And I can see her. And hear her. And that’s all there is. Her little face full of pain. Her screams. Begging him to stop. Begging me to come and rescue her. That’s all
there is inside my head. And it makes me sick. Literally. But I can’t stop it and part of me doesn’t even want to because if I stop it, then she’s gone altogether.’
‘I’m sorry,’ Ellen said. But he didn’t hear her. He was crying now, his body shaking, tears running unchecked down his face. When she opened the front door to leave, he showed no sign of noticing.
15:00
‘Here. Have a cake.’
He’s sitting beside me on the bed. Too close, like he always does. The smell of him is disgusting, but I’m so hungry. My tummy’s rumbling and grumbling. And beside Brian’s smell, I can smell the cakes.
He shifts away from me a bit, making the bed shake, and puts the bag of cakes down between us.
I’m remembering the last time, when he grabbed my arm, and I don’t want to go for a cake in case he does it again. Except my tummy hurts I’m so hungry and the sweet smell of them is inside my nose, making my mouth water.
I grab one. Quick. Keep my head down so I don’t have to look at him. He doesn’t do anything. Oh God. It’s so good. I stuff it into my mouth and it’s gone too quick. I lick the crumbs off the paper case and scrape the little bits of pink icing off with my teeth.
He’s got a thing about pink. This room I’m in, it’s some sort of shed but it’s all decorated like a girl’s bedroom. And everything is pink, I swear to God. Absolutely everything, except those stupid posters. Pink stupid walls, a pink stupid rug and stupid, horrible pink sheets on the bed.
‘Marion.’
I don’t want to look at him, even though I know by the way his voice is that that’s what he wants. I keep my head down, but then he says it again.
‘Marion.’
I look up. He’s staring at me with a funny look on his face. Like he’s smiling except his eyes are wet and you’d think he was about to burst into tears.
He stands up and the bed moves. I can’t breathe, waiting to see what he’s going to do.
‘Do you still like The Rainbow Parade?’
Hunting Shadows Page 10