Acid Row

by Minette Walters

  Rogerson stared him straight in the eye. ‘Are you accusing me of child abuse?’

  ‘I’m interested in the timing of your visit to your parents, which falls within the period when Laura and Townsend were having their affair.’

  ‘Then I suggest you take it up with Laura. As you’ve very successfully established in the last ten minutes, my contact with my daughter has been negligible since she was born.’ He put his palms on the table, preparatory to standing up.

  Tyler stabbed a finger on to the table. ‘Stay where you are,’ he ordered curtly, ‘I haven’t finished with you yet.’

  Rogerson ignored him. ‘You certainly have,’ he said, pushing himself to his feet, ‘unless you can produce some evidence of what you’ve been saying.’ He started to turn away.

  Tyler stood up. ‘Stop there, please, Mr Rogerson. I am arresting you for conspiracy and incitement to commit indecency with children. You do not have to say anything but it may harm your defence if –’

  The lawyer swung back to him, his face ugly. ‘It’s you who should stop,’ he commanded, using his finger like a club again. ‘I insist these charges be properly explained before you deliver a caution.’

  ‘– you do not mention when questioned something which you later rely on in court. Anything you do say may be given in evidence.’ He stared the other man down. ‘As a result of your arrest, the police will exercise their right to search any property you occupy or have control over . . . including your personal computer files and hard disk. Do you understand what I’ve just told you?’

  The man’s face was devoid of expression, except for a tic that made his left eyelid flicker uncontrollably. He chose to remain silent.

  Tyler smiled slightly as he held out his hand. ‘Your telephone, please, Mr Rogerson.’

  9 Humbert Street

  Jimmy listened with increasing dismay to what Harry Bonfield was urging him to do. In effect, to enter number 23 through the back door and negotiate Sophie’s release. Either by his own efforts or by taking over Sophie’s mobile to start a dialogue between the Hollises, Harry Bonfield and the police.

  ‘Are you still there?’ Harry asked when Jimmy didn’t reply.

  ‘Yeah, yeah, I’m thinking.’ Another pause. ‘OK, this is how I see it. You’ve got a psycho and a nonce shitting themselves because half the estate’s camped outside their door, and the only thing that might stop them being ripped to pieces is this doctor they’ve taken prisoner. They haven’t done the sensible thing, which is to use her as a mouthpiece, therefore they’re planning to stick her in front of them and hold a knife to her throat if anyone bursts in. Plus, they may have raped her already – either because they’re so deviant they can’t help themselves, or on the basis that the more frightened she is, the less likely she’ll be to try and save herself when the stand-off happens. How’s that for a summary?’

  ‘Spot on, I’d say.’

  ‘Right, so what’s gonna be different when I burst in? I don’t see it makes much difference whether it’s one guy or a thousand guys. These Hollises are still gonna be twitched as hell, and the lady’s still gonna have a knife to her throat. I don’t know nothing about this kind of shit, Doc. If I do it wrong, your friend could be dead. Are you sure it wouldn’t be better to wait for the rozzers?’

  There was some background conversation again. ‘Ken Hewitt says the riot police have been ordered to hold back from storming the barricades to avoid the houses along the entrance routes being set on fire. There are two squads circling the fields behind the perimeter wall at the back of the estate, but they estimate another hour before they can assemble a large enough number to make an effective attack. You’re our best shot, Jimmy.’ Harry paused. ‘You’re our only shot. I don’t want to put any more pressure on you than I already have, but the word from the helicopter is that some youths in Humbert Street have started petrol-bombing the Hollises’ house. They’ve been stopped for the moment by a small line of people who are trying to protect it, but it doesn’t look as if it’s going to hold very long.’

  ‘Who’s in the line?’

  ‘Mostly women.’ Harry broke off to listen to Ken Hewitt. ‘It’s being led by a tall, blonde, pregnant girl.’

  ‘Shit!’

  ‘Is that your Melanie?’

  ‘Sounds like it.’

  ‘Then you should go to her assistance,’ Harry said immediately. ‘Sophie would expect it . . . so would I.’

  Jimmy didn’t answer.

  ‘I think he’s gone,’ said Harry’s voice at the other end.

  ‘Jesus, Doc, give me a break, OK! I’m thinking. Is that allowed?’ He didn’t expect an answer, so he didn’t wait for one. ‘Right, this is what’s gonna happen. Forget negotiations. Instead, I’m gonna make these two bastards an offer they can’t refuse. Do you reckon Sophie’s got the balls to come with me if I offer to protect them and get them off the estate? See, it strikes me, the trouble’ll die down quicker if the crowd can go inside the house and find it empty. All they’ll do is trash the place.’

  ‘How will you take them off the estate?’

  ‘Meet up with the rozzers who’re coming round the back.’ He took a tremulous breath, which told the listeners at the other end how frightened he was. ‘It’s gotta be safer heading into the estate than trying to go round the barricades. All the action’s up towards the main road, and not many people are gonna know what these fuckers look like. It’ll just look like three guys and a girl, heading home. What do you reckon?’

  It sounded flaky, even to his ears, but all Harry said was: ‘It’s better than anything we’ve come up with. Good luck.’

  Jimmy returned the telephone to Mrs Carthew then dived down the stairs towards the garden.

  Hampshire Police Headquarters

  ‘He’s using initials to store his numbers,’ said Tyler’s sergeant as he ran through the menu on Rogerson’s phone, jotting down letters and figures. ‘You’d better be right about him, Guv. He’ll take us for every last penny if you’re wrong . . . and you’ll be on gardening leave.’

  ‘I’m not wrong,’ said Tyler, looking over his shoulder. ‘You didn’t see his face when I mentioned his hard disk. He’s downloaded something that he’s ashamed of, and he knows we’re going to find it.’

  ‘OK. ET. This looks like it.’ Gary Butler wrote the numbers on the pad and swivelled it towards his boss. ‘What are you planning to do with it?’

  ‘Try it,’ said Tyler, reaching for the landline. ‘If Rogerson was telling the truth, Townsend isn’t going to answer anyway.’ He let his hand drop. ‘On second thoughts,’ he said, ‘I’ll use Rogerson’s phone. The bastard might be more forthcoming if his solicitor’s number flashes up.’

  ‘You’ll kill the case if you don’t tell him who you are, Guv.’

  ‘We don’t have a case,’ said Tyler grimly.

  Inside 23 Humbert Street

  Colin’s attempt to pour water through the letter box from inside the house was worse than useless. The top of the kettle jammed against the door as he tilted it and most of the liquid ran down inside. He took a quick peek through the gap, burning his fingers on the metal slot, and saw with alarm that Melanie and her line had been forced by the heat to move away from the house towards their tormentors.

  He ran back to the kitchen and ripped open the floor cabinets, looking for a bucket or anything else that would hold a substantial amount of water. He found a metal pail beneath the sink which he shoved under the running taps while he continued to search. A mixing bowl. A large tupperware box. He substituted them for the overflowing bucket then heaved the two gallons of water down the corridor.

  He had come to the conclusion that the only thing to do was open the door and empty the bucket directly on to the flames. But his hands were trembling as he reached for the latch because he knew it would be an irresistible invitation to Wesley Barber to charge the house or, worse, throw another petrol bomb.

  With Colin as the target . . .

  Ambulance Service R
eport

  Ambulance No:

  512

  Date:

  28.07.01

  Time of collection:

  15.55

  In attendance:

  K. Parry, V. Singh

  Patient Details: (supplied by Andrew Fallon, friend)

  Name:

  Kevin Charteris

  Address:

  206 Bassindale Row, Bassindale

  Age:

  15

  Next of kin:

  Mother – Mrs M. Charteris, 206 Bassindale Row

  (Unavailable when paramedics tried to contact her by telephone)

  Status:

  Patient was brought to the ambulance outside barricade

  Dead on Arrival

  Attempt at resuscitation failed

  Estimate of 75% burns (2nd & 3rd degree) to head and body

  Death due to shock – estimate of time: 10′ prior to arrival

  Destination:

  Southampton General Hospital

  * * *

  Twenty-two

  Saturday 28 July 2001

  Hampshire Police Headquarters

  THE PHONE WAS answered after the first ring. ‘What do you want, Martin?’ It was a man’s voice and the sounds of an engine and passing traffic told Tyler he was in his car, almost certainly using a remote microphone. The fluctuating volume and intermittent breaks suggested the signal wasn’t good.

  Tyler was a reasonably good mimic and Rogerson’s deep, cut-glass tones weren’t difficult to ape in short bursts. ‘Where are you?’ he asked.

  ‘In England. About an hour away . . . you can thank John Finch . . . told me what was . . . the wind . . .’ It was a London accent and he was angry. The chewed vowels were accentuated by the airwaves, his irritation strong enough to put an edge on them.

  Tyler put his hand over the mouthpiece, then raised it slightly. ‘. . . Amy.’

  ‘The signal’s bad. I can’t . . . you properly. What about her?’

  ‘Police . . . questioning me.’

  The man’s voice came in a sudden strong surge. ‘Yeah, well, I’m sorry about the kid, but it doesn’t change anything. I’ll have your guts if you’re not at the Hilton in an hour.’ The line was cut abruptly.

  Tyler switched off the mobile and handed it to his sergeant.

  ‘Well?’ the other man asked.

  The DCI pressed his thumb and forefinger to the bridge of his nose. ‘If that was Townsend, then he’s on his way to the Southampton Hilton. And he’s mighty pissed off.’

  ‘What about?’

  ‘Christ knows,’ he said.

  ‘Do you think he has Amy?’

  Tyler rubbed a tired hand across his face. ‘It didn’t sound like it.’

  Gardens behind Humbert Street

  There was nothing Jimmy could say to the soldier other than to ask him to go on guarding the fence and stop anyone coming through behind him. He saw distrust in the old man’s eyes, as if he thought Jimmy were saving his own skin by escaping through the empty gardens towards Bassindale Row, but there was no time for explanations and no sense in making them either. The truth would be repeated to others, and a lie wouldn’t be believed.

  He ran along the path of broken fences that the boys had made earlier, searching the backs of the houses for Granny Howard’s maisonette at 21a. She had let him into her downstairs room once when he’d tried to make peace with her, and he’d noticed the ornaments she kept on her window sill. One in particular had seized his attention because it looked valuable. A sizeable bronze statue of a rearing horse. He hoped to God it was still there, or that she was sitting in her window, because if he couldn’t locate the back of Melanie’s house then he was going to have trouble finding number 23.

  He found the horse in a window two properties on from the garden with the climbing frame, and caught a glimpse of Granny Howard’s ill-tempered face as he crossed the overgrown patch of weeds which she guarded so jealously but never entered. That made the next fence the boundary with number 23. He ducked into the shadow of a small apple tree and took deep, steadying breaths as he squinted at the windows of the back room and kitchen, searching for signs of movement behind the glass.

  He knew it had to be laid out like Mrs Carthew’s house, which meant his only access was through the kitchen, but he could stand there indefinitely trying to find out if the men were on the ground floor. Logic told him to go carefully, climb the fence near the house and crawl along the wall beneath the windows, gambling that a quick look into each room to see if it was occupied wouldn’t give him away. His temperament urged the exact opposite. Take the problem head on, vault the fence and charge the door, for even if he took the cautious option, the door was almost certainly locked and would require a shoulder-thrust to break it down.

  He groaned to himself. Whichever he chose would be wrong.

  Life was like that.

  Hampshire Police Headquarters

  A similar thought was running through Tyler’s head. Life was a poker game. Play the cards? Or cut the losses? He couldn’t see Martin Rogerson accepting an apology, so cutting his losses wasn’t much of an option and, like Jimmy, his nature urged action.

  ‘To hell with it!’ he told his sergeant. ‘I want Townsend held for questioning. Get on to Southampton and ask them to pick him up when he arrives at the Hilton. They’ll need to be in place within the next half-hour. Tell them we’re on our way and we’ll talk to him there. If he asks what it’s about, they’re to say our interest relates to the six-month period Amy spent in his house. I don’t want him spooked. Also, ask them to hold anyone who arrives for a meeting with him and Rogerson. Let’s be sure they’re kosher before we let a group of paedophiles loose.’

  ‘What about Rogerson?’

  ‘Hang on to him.’

  Butler looked troubled. ‘Are you sure you’re doing the right thing, Guv?’

  Tyler smiled slightly. ‘No.’

  ‘Then shouldn’t—?’

  ‘Townsend’s MO sucks, Gary. I’ve got two women and five kids who’ve all been captured nude on video.’ He counted them off on his fingers. ‘First wife . . . first stepdaughter . . . Laura . . . Amy . . . Franny . . . and two unknowns. And those are the ones we know about. Both women believed the tapes were for his own private enjoyment when he was away from them. So why does he start filming their daughters the minute he gets them into his house? And why does he use encrypted e-mail?’

  ‘Why move women into his house at all? Why bother to marry? Why pretend with Laura?’

  Tyler touched a finger to a paragraph in Mrs Gough’s message. ‘She says Amy looks like the first stepdaughter at the same age. Perhaps it’s a personal thing. Perhaps he can’t resist a certain type of child. Slim, dark and aged about ten. He was angry with Franny Gough because she was too well developed.’

  ‘Or Rogerson’s right and it’s the women who attracted him. The fact that he made videos of them tends to support that. Maybe he’s a bit of an artist . . . likes the female form . . . pre- and post-puberty. Lots of us do, Guv.’

  ‘You telling me you like leering at little girls, Gary?’

  Butler shrugged. ‘Neither of the women said he abused their kids, just that he made videos of them.’

  ‘In order to exploit them. I’ll put money on him being a paedophile. Even more on Rogerson knowing it.’

  ‘Yeah, but not the paedophile who’s taken Amy. Don’t forget, she was with someone else while he was in Majorca. Kimberley and Barry said she was out of the house same as usual on Tuesday, Wednesday and Thursday. You’ll dig a bigger hole for yourself if you don’t release Rogerson now. He told you she wasn’t with Townsend, and he’ll have your hide if she turns up dead on the other side of the country while you’re busy hounding him and his client.’

  ‘He’s going to have it anyway.’ The DCI rubbed the back of his neck, eyes narrowed in thought. ‘Who’s “Em” if it’s not “Ed”? Whose black car was it if it wasn’t Townsend’s? Who was the kid seen getting into it if
it wasn’t Amy? Why did he come home early? Why didn’t he go back to his house? Where’s he been for the last twenty-four hours?’

  ‘A better question would be why did he take Franny Gough to Majorca if he had Amy on tap? It doesn’t add up . . . not to my mind anyway.’

  Tyler stared past him, lost in thought. ‘Perhaps having her “on tap” is right,’ he said then. ‘He knew where she was, knew she’d still be there when he came back.’ He brought his gaze back to the sergeant. ‘He’d need a constant supply of girls if he’s running a pornography site,’ he pointed out, ‘and Franny said the trip was a spontaneous one.’

  ‘But why go all the way to Majorca? Why not film Franny in her flat?’

  ‘Ringing the changes? Didn’t want Mrs Gough running to the police because of what the first wife had told her?’

  ‘It’s all shots in the dark, guv. You can’t hold people on dodgy guesswork. The super’ll be on your back before you know it. Rogerson’s already working up a storm in the cells.’ He paused. ‘Tell me this, why would Townsend jeopardize everything by abducting the kid? What was Amy planning to do that forced him to ditch Franny and come home? How did he find out what she was planning to do? A kid couldn’t have afforded to phone a mobile in Spain from a call box in England. It doesn’t make sense. There are too many flaws.’

  ‘Do you have any better ideas?’ Tyler demanded crossly. ‘We’ve got a missing child and a suspect paedophile who knows her intimately. He also has a bloody close and bloody strange relationship with the father . . . bearing in mind he seduced the man’s wife. Wouldn’t you say it’s worth investigating?’

  He saw only scepticism in the other man’s eyes, and nodded irritably towards the door. ‘Just do it, Gary. If I’m wrong I’m wrong. At the moment I couldn’t give a damn one way or the other . . . just so long as the kid ends up alive. The truth is she sounds like an uppity little brat that I won’t like if I ever meet her. I’m not into all-singing, all-dancing. I like children that are normal . . . a bit shy . . . keener on being with other kids than adults . . . but I’ve never been in Amy’s position. It can’t be much fun having to beg for love.’