Jenny nodded. ‘She says Rosie answered but there was so much yelling she couldn’t hear what she was saying . . . so she hung up and tried again. The second time the phone was engaged, and she thinks Rosie hasn’t put it back properly, which means they’re probably on their own as well.’
‘How old’s Rosie?’
Jenny checked the monitor. ‘Four.’
‘Dear God!’ He raised his voice. ‘Have you heard any more your end?’ he asked the policeman.
‘Sorry, sir.’ The young man held up his radio, which crackled intermittently with messages. ‘Same as before. The helicopter’s still reporting all cars held outside the barricades. It’s not looking good. There’s a WPC down as well – head injuries – and we can’t get to her either.’
‘Christ, what a mess!’ said Harry. ‘Couldn’t you chaps have seen this coming? What the hell induced you to put this man in there in the first place? You must have realized that most of the people on that estate would automatically assume paedophile meant monster.’ He glared angrily in Fay’s direction as if he held her responsible.
Her mouth opened and closed like a goldfish’s but no words came out.
Harry focused on her for a moment, then ignored her. ‘What was he done for, anyway? You say he’s not dangerous, but what sort of paedophile is he?’
The policeman gave an unhappy shrug. ‘All I know is what we were told in the briefing before I came out. He was a teacher in a private school and got sent down for three counts of sexual assault . . . It was a long time-frame . . . The first one happened about fifteen years ago . . . the last fairly recently. He’s only interested in boys and didn’t get much of a sentence because his first victim was seventeen, the last two sixteen, and all said they consented to what was going on. I reckon the assumption was he’d get his head kicked in if he tried the same thing in Acid Row.’
‘What did he do?’
The youngster cast an embarrassed look at the two women. ‘Stimulated them,’ he muttered.
‘What sort of stimulation?’ demanded Harry, with a doctor’s insensibility. ‘Oral or masturbation?’
‘Masturbation.’
‘In return for what? The same or penetration?’
‘Nothing.’
‘What do you mean, nothing? How did he achieve orgasm himself?’
The policeman shrugged. ‘None of the boys was asked to do anything. It’s why his sentence was only eighteen months.’
Harry shook his head in bafflement. ‘So his pleasure was in giving?’
‘I guess.’
‘He sounds too passive to be a rapist.’
‘That’s what my guvnor said. He wonders if Dr Morrison’s got the wrong end of the stick. Let’s face it, she’s bound to be scared . . . I mean, we know there’s a big crowd in that road . . . and one of the callers said they were armed with stones. Let’s say the guy put his hand on her arm to reassure her . . . and let’s say she assumed more than he intended because she knew he was a sex offender.’
Jenny broke off from redialling the numbers. ‘But I don’t think she did,’ she protested. ‘I certainly didn’t.’ She paused to order her thoughts. ‘In any case, which one’s the paedophile? The father or the son? Sophie was very specific. She said the patient had taken her prisoner and wanted to rape her . . . and the patient, according to the information I had, was the father.’
The policeman pulled a face. ‘I thought there was just the one.’
‘We’ve definitely got two of them registered.’
‘Bring up their notes,’ Harry told Jenny. ‘Let’s see their ages.’
‘I already did. They’re new patients and their records haven’t come through. All we’ve got is Francis and Nicholas Hollis, 23 Humbert Street, with an asterisk beside the names and “Zelowski” in brackets.’ She scrolled through to prove it. ‘But I do remember the son saying his father was seventy-one . . . and that would make him well past retirement age for a teacher, wouldn’t it?’
Harry looked inquiringly towards the policeman. ‘How old’s your paedophile?’
‘Not that old. I’ve seen a photo of him. Mid-forties, I’d reckon.’
Harry swore under his breath. ‘Keep phoning,’ he told Jenny. ‘And you,’ he instructed Fay, ‘tell me anything you can remember about Melanie . . . names of boyfriends, girlfriends, fathers of her kids, anyone we can contact.’
‘What are you worried about?’ asked the constable.
‘I’m wondering who taught your paedophile that giving pleasure was an aim in itself. Forget the age and sex of his victims, it’s very unnatural behaviour . . . incredibly docile. It suggests that his needs must always be subservient to someone else’s.’
‘The father?’
‘Almost certainly. There’s too much evidence showing that abused boys become abusers themselves . . . and the most likely abuser is the father or stepfather.’ He shook his head. ‘The way this guy does it suggests that sex frightens him. And if he learnt that from his father . . .’ He looked very old suddenly.
Jenny touched his hand briefly while she listened to yet another playing of Melanie’s mail. ‘Sophie’s a tough girl,’ she said. ‘She won’t submit that easily.’ This time she left a message, asking for her call to be returned as a matter of urgency. ‘We’ll have to leave this phone free now,’ she said. ‘There’s no point having it engaged if Melanie does ring back. That leaves just one line operational out here, plus the direct lines in the offices. I think we need to spread out and work separately.’ She glanced at Fay. ‘Thought of anyone yet? You can use the computer in Sophie’s office to track down their numbers. It might be better if you let me make the call, though. The police don’t want us saying too much and making the situation worse.’
‘But . . . I don’t understand . . . what situation?’ Fay protested. ‘It’s all very well to say do this . . . do that . . . but how can I do anything if I don’t know what’s going on?’
‘Neither does anyone else,’ said Jenny, ‘except that Bassindale’s rioting. The police think it’s targeted on this man Sophie’s with, but no one knows how his identity came out. He was convicted as Zelowski but was registered as Hollis when he moved to Bassindale.’
‘Some idiot with a big mouth and no brain,’ said Harry grimly, stalking off towards his office. ‘They ought to be shot . . . putting people in danger like this.’
‘I agree,’ said Jenny equally grimly, turning back to the telephone and trying Gaynor’s number again. She noticed that Fay’s face went suddenly blotchy, but she paid no mind to it because this time the phone was answered.
Fifteen
Saturday 28 July 2001
Hampshire Police Headquarters
TYLER INSTRUCTED ONE of his sergeants to locate Martin Rogerson and deliver him to headquarters ASAP. ‘Paula Anderson drove him to the press conference, so get on to her and see if they’re still in the area. I want him here where I can see him, so tell Paula not to accept any excuses. If she’s already returned him to Bournemouth or is still en route, ask her to bring him straight back again. Understood?’
‘She’ll need a reason, boss.’
‘New lead . . . promising this time. I’ll interview Laura at Gregory Logan’s house first –’ he checked his watch – ‘which gives Paula about an hour’s leeway. The earlier the better, though, tell her. It won’t do Rogerson any harm to twiddle his thumbs for half an hour in an interview room.’
He beckoned over the sergeant who’d interviewed Townsend’s neighbour and ran through the notes he’d made on flights. ‘See if Easyjet have a record of him travelling back on Friday morning. It’ll be the Palma to Luton route. And get them to check for a Ms F. Gough. She flew out with him on Tuesday but doesn’t know if he organized a flight home for her. Find out if he had a reservation which he changed to Friday. That’ll tell you the day he was intending to return. If she’s lucky he booked her in on the same flight.’
The sergeant was curious. ‘Is this the new girlfriend?’
&n
bsp; ‘You tell me. Did you get a name or a description when you spoke to his neighbour?’
He shook his head. ‘She never met her, just said the new girl was probably the reason for the break with Laura.’
‘Or with Amy,’ said Tyler. ‘We’re all assuming it was the mother he was interested in.’
The sergeant frowned. ‘I don’t get it, boss.’
‘According to the hotel manager, Franny Gough looks and sounds like a twelve-year-old. She’s dark and petite and “pretty cute”. The manager’s words, not mine. Remind you of anyone?’
‘Jesus!’
‘Right. Townsend’s been making videos of her on a nudist beach but he buggered off early Friday morning after talking to someone called Martin then getting a message – possibly a fax.’ He pointed to the e-mail address Franny had given him. ‘Try mailing Townsend and see if he bites. Tell him you need to talk to him about Laura and Amy Biddulph. Nothing heavy. Just say you need the names and addresses of anyone they became friendly with during the time they were living with him.’
‘Do I put in a contact number?’
Tyler nodded. ‘Give him my mobile . . . tell him it’s yours.’
‘What do you really want from him?’
‘What he’s been up to for the last twenty-four hours,’ said Tyler, going back into his office and closing the door behind him. He dialled the number Franny had given him.
‘Hello?’ said a woman’s voice.
‘Mrs Gough?’
‘Yes.’
‘This is Detective Chief Inspector Tyler of Hampshire Police. I’m phoning on behalf of your daughter.’
There was a small silence. ‘What’s she done this time?’
No concern for the girl’s welfare, he noticed. No ‘Is she all right?’ which was the usual reaction to such a call. ‘She’s been abandoned in a hotel in Majorca and the manager won’t let her leave until the bill’s been paid. The manager confirmed that her companion’s hire car and possessions have gone, so I think you can be sure she’s telling the truth.’
‘Edward Townsend, I suppose?’
‘That’s the name she gave me.’
He heard the flick of a cigarette lighter at the other end of the line. ‘How did the Hampshire Police become involved?’
‘We’ve been trying to contact Mr Townsend on another matter. When the manager discovered he’d already left, he asked Franny to talk to me.’
‘What was the other matter?’
There was no reason not to reveal it as she’d shortly be hearing it from Franny herself. In any case, he needed information. ‘The missing child, Amy Biddulph, lived in his house for six months.’
She let out a long sigh . . . or a lungful of smoke. It was hard to tell from her steady voice if her emotions were engaged. ‘I warned Francesca,’ she said, ‘but she wouldn’t listen to me. It’s her age. She thinks she can control everything.’ She sounded disinterested, as though she were talking about a stranger.
‘Do you know Townsend well?’
‘Hardly at all. I’m friendly with his first wife.’
He pulled forward another piece of paper. ‘Could you tell me what you do know, Mrs Gough? Perhaps you could start with why you warned your daughter against him.’
‘He’s forty-five. She’s eighteen. Do I need any other reason?’
Tyler hooked into the sharpness of her tone. ‘Is there another reason?’
‘Nothing I’m prepared to say to someone I’ve never met.’
‘I’m a policeman, Mrs Gough, and anything you tell me will be treated in confidence. This is urgent. Amy’s been missing for over twenty-four hours and if you know something that can help her we need to hear it.’
‘Except you can’t prove you’re a policeman over the phone and I can’t afford a libel suit. For all I know you could be a journalist.’
She was right, but he wondered how anyone could be so detached about the fate of a child. ‘Se Gough cares nothing . . .’ ‘Then let’s deal with one thing at a time. I’ll give you the number of the Bella Vista in Puerto Soller. The manager’s English is good and he’s prepared to take your credit card number over the phone to settle the account and organize travel home for Francesca. I’ll also give you the number of the operator here. When you phone through you can check on my credentials and leave a message for me to return the call. Is that acceptable to you?’
This time the sigh was unmistakable. ‘Not really.’
‘She is your daughter, Mrs Gough.’
There was a quiet laugh at the other end. ‘I know, and I wish I could say she wasn’t. I might feel less guilty about my shortcomings. Do you have children, Inspector? Do they steal? Do they drink? Do they sleep around? Do they take drugs?’ The questions were rhetorical because she didn’t wait for answers. ‘I paid out £5,000 for Francesca on her eighteenth birthday to settle mobile phone and mail-order bills, and to reimburse the parents of two of her friends whose credit card numbers she’d been using to order goods off the Net. I’ve written off her thieving from me, and I’ve set her up in a flat of her own to give her a chance to prove she’s responsible. The quid pro quo for all of this was that she would never expect me to bail her out of a problem again, and she would take up the university place she’s been offered. Instead, she swans off to Majorca with my best friend’s ex-husband and claims the reason I’m angry is because I’m jealous.’ She paused. ‘So, tell me, Inspector. What would you do in my shoes if a policeman phoned you and told you your daughter was in trouble . . . again?’
Tyler answered honestly. ‘Stick to the rules I’d laid down.’
‘Thank you.’
‘But I’m not in your shoes, Mrs Gough. I’ve been divorced longer than I was married and I don’t have children. My entire experience of girls of Francesca’s age was arresting them for theft and prostitution when I was a beat copper.’
There was another short silence. ‘And?’
‘I can’t remember a single one that I didn’t arrest at least twice, though the average number of arrests per girl was more like five or six. They all said they were never going to do it again . . . but they were all back on the streets within days of being released because getting stoned on the money they made out of theft or prostitution was quicker and easier than saving up the pittance they could earn at Tesco’s.’
She wasn’t a woman who rushed into speech. ‘I don’t understand the point you’re making,’ she murmured after a moment.
He was irritated by her silences. ‘I’m saying that habits are hard to break without a strong incentive, and few of us succeed the first time of asking. How many times have you tried to give up smoking?’ he asked bluntly. ‘Once? Twice? Do you wake up every morning and say today’s the day?’
She gave another sigh. ‘I hoped that making her responsible for herself would be an incentive.’
‘She’s not ready for it.’
‘She’s eighteen.’
‘But sounds and behaves like a twelve-year-old, and you don’t hand a twelve-year-old the keys to a flat.’ He glanced at his watch. He didn’t have time for this. Franny and her problems would have to wait. ‘Look, I’m going to give you the numbers, anyway, and it’s up to you what you do about them. Whatever you decide, will you please phone your daughter and explain? There’s an outside chance she has a flight home, which one of my team is checking at the moment. I’ll ask him to phone you with the result. Also, I do need to talk to you again. If you haven’t left a message by six o’clock this evening, I’ll come out to Southampton to interview you . . . either tonight or tomorrow morning.’
‘Do I have any choice in this?’ she asked after he’d given her the numbers.
He ignored the question. ‘One last thing. You said you were friendly with Townsend’s first wife. Presumably you’re not going to give me her name and address until you’ve checked me out, so would you be good enough to contact her and ask her to call the incident room?’
She hesitated so long that he wondered if she’d hung
up.
‘Mrs Gough?’
‘I hoped she’d never find out that Francesca’s been sleeping with Edward,’ she said unhappily. ‘I thought it would all blow over and she wouldn’t need to know.’
‘Why would she care?’
‘She has a daughter of her own,’ she said before cutting the line.
Nightingale Health Centre
Harry Bonfield was reluctant to phone Sophie’s parents until he’d spoken to her fianc窠Bob Scudamore, but her parents’ address was the only next-of-kin detail recorded against her notes. He remembered a psychiatrist friend in London whom Bob had mentioned over dinner one night as being a close colleague, and a phone call to him produced Bob’s home and mobile numbers. Not for the first time, Harry blessed the club nature of the National Health Service. It was the biggest employer in the country, but it was still a village where someone knew someone who could put you in touch in an emergency.
The long-distance relationship that Sophie and Bob had conducted throughout her time at the Nightingale Health Centre had worried Harry considerably. Bob, five years older than she, was well up the ladder in the psychiatric department of one of the London teaching hospitals, and Harry had assumed it was only a matter of time before he popped the question and Sophie returned to London. It was becoming harder and harder to recruit young doctors into general practice, and he was pessimistic about the chances of keeping one of the best they’d attracted in years.
His worst fears had been realized two months ago when Sophie had waggled a diamond ring under his nose. ‘What do you reckon?’ she’d asked. ‘Am I wise or am I wise?’
‘Bob?’
She laughed and gave him a punch on the arm. ‘Who else would it be? God damn it, Harry, I don’t have a cupboard full of secret lovers, you know!’
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