Acid Row

by Minette Walters

  ‘I’ve never laid a finger on Amy,’ he said. ‘I’m not an abuser, Inspector. I would never force or coerce her to do anything she didn’t want to do. I love her too much for that . . . unlike her parents, who treat her like a commodity. Her father uses her as a weapon. Her mother uses her to bolster her self-esteem.’

  Tyler turned to look at him. ‘And you just want to have sex with her?’

  ‘I’m not some sleazy child-molester. If I were, Amy would never have come with me. Everything I do is done with her consent. I wouldn’t have it any other way.’

  Tyler wondered if there was some paedophile creed in existence that he’d learnt by heart. ‘I’m not an abuser’ . . . ‘I’m not a molester . . .’ ‘Everything is done with consent . . .’ ‘You’ll tell me next that she initiates contact.’

  ‘She does. She’s learnt from her mother what pleases a man. It’s hard to resist sometimes. She’s curious about sex. Most children are.’

  Tyler shook his head and turned back to stare out of the window. ‘She’s ten years old, Mr Townsend. Of course she’s curious. That doesn’t mean she knows what she’s doing. Consent has to be informed, and a child of Amy’s age is incapable of understanding that when a paedophile touches her the feelings she arouses are different from the feelings that other men have.’

  ‘I am aware of—’

  Tyler overrode him. ‘Her mother put it to me rather well last night. Apparently Kimberely Logan accused her of trying to run Amy’s life, and Laura replied that if Amy can’t even decide between fish fingers and sausages for her tea, how can she make choices about her future?’

  ‘I’ve never once attempted to exploit my feelings for her.’

  ‘You abducted her.’

  ‘I rescued her. She said she’d kill herself if I didn’t take her away from the Logans.’

  Tyler watched a car full of children pass by, laughing and pushing each other in the back seat. ‘According to the officers who found her, she’s dressed up like a tart with peroxided hair and full make-up. Whose idea was that?’

  ‘Hers. I just bought the stuff. She wanted to look older. It wasn’t my choice. I prefer her as she is.’

  ‘They said it was a good disguise, particularly the blonde hair. They wouldn’t have recognized her from her photograph if they’d passed her in the street.’ He shook his head. ‘What were you planning to do with her? Hide her in Devon for the rest of her life?’

  ‘I never thought that far ahead. I just did it. I suppose I hoped we could lie low for a while then start again somewhere else. I read about this teacher who took one of his pupils to Italy and lived with her for a year before they were found. It seemed worth a shot.’

  ‘You must have known you’d be caught.’

  ‘Not really.’ He stared past Butler to the horizon beyond the car. There was a faraway look in his eyes. ‘I thought it more likely she’d get bored and want to go home. I told her at the start that I’d return her to her mother the minute she changed her mind.’

  ‘What was the start, Mr Townsend? How did you get into this position?’

  ‘Are you asking me what makes an adult man fall in love with a ten-year-old?’

  ‘No,’ said the DCI with mild amusement. ‘I’m prepared to take that as read. It’s not something I will ever understand. I like women. If I can find one with brains, tits and a sense of humour who enjoys a career and my cooking, then I’ll be in seventh heaven. A dependent ten-year-old stick insect with no conversation would bore me stiff . . . unless she was my daughter. In which case, I’d almost certainly find her stumbling advances towards adulthood fascinating. However, I would not – under any circumstances – wish to have sex with her.’

  Butler saw a gleam of humour spark in the pale eyes. ‘How would you know if you’ve never had a daughter? You might not put it into practice, Inspector, but you’d certainly think about it at least once in your life.’

  Tyler glanced at his sergeant, who was keeping his eyes firmly on the road. ‘You said Amy threatened to kill herself,’ he went on. ‘So why did you abandon her to go to Majorca with Franny?’

  ‘I didn’t abandon her. I bought her a mobile and programmed in my number so she could call me whenever she wanted to.’

  It was only half an answer but for the moment Tyler let it go. ‘You were the “Em” or “Ed” that she called from the phone box?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Why did she have to reverse the charges if she had a mobile?’

  ‘She didn’t have it then.’

  ‘Had she called you before?’

  He nodded. ‘Every day on her way home from school.’

  ‘What about when she and Laura were in the hotel?’

  ‘There was a call box round the corner. She used to sneak out when Laura was asleep.’

  ‘So what changed?’

  ‘The holidays. She was in tears all the time . . . hated the Logans . . . hated the bullying . . . hated her mother for being a loser . . . hated her father. I saw her as often as I could, but it just became more and more upsetting.’

  ‘It’s an interesting coincidence, wouldn’t you say?’

  ‘What is?’

  ‘That around the time her father says he’s going to withdraw his money, you start spending time with the daughter. Are you saying those two facts are unconnected?’

  ‘From my end, certainly.’ Another wry shrug. ‘She never wanted to leave my house, Inspector. She needs to be loved. Children aren’t stupid. They know what makes them happy.’

  ‘Where did you take her each day?’

  ‘The Downs. The seaside. The sort of places a father takes his child for fun. But it wasn’t every day. Three or four . . . no more.’

  ‘Where did she go the other days?’

  He gave a small laugh. ‘Nowhere, as far as I know. She phoned me several times from her bedroom . . . said the Logan kids were so thick she could run rings round them. She used to hide under her bed and read books. It gave her a buzz to make them think she had a friend they knew nothing about. All she had to do was slip downstairs while they were watching television and slam the front door . . . they always assumed she’d been out . . . particularly when she acted angry or upset.’

  Tyler recalled Kimberley’s words. ‘I bet she’s skulking in a hole somewhere so she can pretend she’s got friends . . .’ Two sides of the same coin. ‘When did you buy the mobile?’

  ‘After those calls the Logan children witnessed. I didn’t want them telling Laura what she was doing. Amy kept saying she’d kill herself if she wasn’t allowed to see . . .’ His voice faltered to a halt.

  Tyler found the emotion as fake as the tan. ‘I hope you’re not planning to stand up in court and portray yourself as St Eddy who saved a child from suicide?’ he snapped. ‘Abduction’s a very serious crime, Mr Townsend.’

  ‘I know . . . but what else could I do?’

  Tyler gave a snort of derision. ‘I can’t see a jury being impressed by your sudden flight to Majorca for sex with an Amy lookalike when the child herself was begging you for help.’

  ‘I didn’t have much choice. I had creditors on my back. I left John Finch to sort it in my absence.’

  ‘Why take Franny with you?’

  ‘She seemed a good alternative.’

  ‘To Amy?’

  ‘Yes . . . till she got drunk.’ He stared at his hands. ‘I’m not proud of any of this, Inspector.’

  Tyler turned his face to the passenger window so Townsend wouldn’t see his expression. ‘Why didn’t you tell Laura her daughter was suicidal?’

  ‘She took Amy away because she was jealous of the closeness we had. What do you think she’d have done if I’d called her and said Amy wants to kill herself because she’d rather live with me? She’d have blocked every call, then gone into a nervous breakdown when she came home and found her daughter dangling from the banisters.’ Butler watched him raise a hand as if to plead for belief, then drop it again. ‘She said she’d do it in the morning while M
iss Piggy and Jabba were asleep, and she hoped everyone would cry when she was dead, because the only person who cried about her life was her.’

  ‘Children often talk like that.’

  ‘I believed her.’

  Tyler turned to look at him again. ‘Why didn’t you speak to her father?’ he asked cynically.

  ‘He’d have taken her back immediately.’

  ‘Why? You keep telling me how indifferent he is to her.’

  ‘He is. It’s Laura he wants – preferably on her knees – begging for her kid. He’s a type. Dominating . . . possessive . . . He can’t forgive her for finding the courage to leave. He’ll punish her for ever if he can. Look at what he’s done to me.’

  Tyler nodded. Even without the evidence of the hatchet job Rogerson had done on Townsend’s company, Tyler believed the man to be intensely vindictive. But . . . ‘Then why take his wife?’ he said unfeelingly. ‘You must have known what would happen.’

  ‘I didn’t. Not at the time. I used to listen to the way he talked to her . . . saw the way he treated Amy . . . like an irritating mosquito. It never occurred to me he’d be jealous if they left. In any case, it was Laura who made the running. I wouldn’t have bothered if it hadn’t been for Amy.’

  ‘You didn’t find Laura attractive?’

  ‘Not particularly.’

  ‘Then why make tapes of her? Why make tapes of any of the women whose children you fancied?’

  ‘It made them less suspicious.’

  Gary Butler glanced up to find Townsend looking at him in the mirror and, like the DCI, he began to wonder how truthful any of these answers were. They were certainly glib, although why any man should want to paint himself as a paedophile was beyond him.

  ‘Did Laura know about the other tapes?’ Tyler asked. ‘The ones you made of your wife and stepdaughter? Did Martin tell her?’

  ‘I don’t think so.’

  ‘Did Martin warn you to keep your hands off Amy?’

  ‘No.’

  He turned again. ‘Did you ever discuss your paedophilia with him?’

  ‘No.’ Another flicker of amusement. ‘He’s not that type of man.’

  ‘Is he the type to download indecent images of children?’

  Townsend shook his head. ‘Not children.’

  ‘Women?’

  A nod. ‘You asked me earlier what happened to the tapes I made of Laura . . . Martin’s got them. It was her parting present to him. Add them to your collection, she said. Make some other poor idiot watch me in order to work up enough enthusiasm to have sex with you.’

  Tyler smiled slightly. ‘You realize, of course, that we’ll be searching your computers for evidence of pornography, Mr Townsend – particularly child pornograpy – either downloaded by you or on websites operated by you. Do you want to save us time by telling us what to look for?’

  ‘There’s nothing to find. I’m not into Net pornography.’

  Tyler resumed his study of the passing countryside. He had a sneaking admiration for the man’s cunning. Even the public would be on his side when they learnt that the child was alive and hadn’t been interfered with. They might even sympathize with his dilemma. To rescue or not to rescue? He might have sympathized with it himself if he could believe that Townsend was capable of loving anyone but himself.

  ‘You’re bullshitting me,’ he said after a moment. ‘I’m prepared to accept you have an obsession with youth – I only have to look at you to see that – but I’m hard pushed to believe that that obsession extends to sex with ten-year-olds. You’re willing to exploit them – that I don’t doubt for a moment – but I can’t see you engaging in illegal intercourse. You’re like a heroin dealer . . . happy to peddle filth but not stupid enough to become involved yourself.’

  ‘I don’t deal in children.’

  ‘Of course you do. Women, too. You’re an Internet pimp. We’ll find it . . . It may take time . . . and we may not get all of it . . . but I will have you for it, Mr Townsend. Off the top of my head, I’d guess it began with your first wife, who was probably as enthusiastic as you about performing to camera, which is why she went coy at the time of the divorce. After that, you sought out women and kids who were happy to show off. It made it easier.’

  ‘That’s crazy,’ said the other man without heat. ‘Where’s the money?’

  ‘Anywhere you like. You can wire it all over the world these days.’ He turned with an inquiring expression. ‘Perhaps this errant half-million represents part of it? What happened to that? Did someone else get to it first? Or did it never exist?’

  Townsend put his head against the back of his seat and stared at the roof of the car.

  Tyler chuckled. ‘You don’t fancy children any more than I do. You just want us to think you do. A repentant, self-confessed paedophile with no previous convictions – who hasn’t interfered with the child he’s abducted – or any other child in his care – will receive a far lighter sentence than a man who kidnaps a child for extortion.’

  Townsend continued to stare at the ceiling. ‘You’re pissing in the wind, Inspector.’

  ‘You were keeping Amy nicely on tap till you needed her. Presumably this little charade was set up for next weekend, then you got a message from John Finch to say Rogerson had advanced the meeting. So you hightail it back for her. I’m betting there’s an interesting video hidden in that laptop of yours of Rogerson’s daughter acting the tart. I’m also betting you were going to show it to him before the meeting, which is why you were so shocked to hear he was under arrest. What was the threat going to be if he didn’t back down? Sell her to the highest bidder? Plaster her across the Net?’

  ‘All you’ll find in my laptop is a spreadsheet on Etstone,’ he said evenly.

  ‘No one’s that good, Mr Townsend. We’ll find it eventually.’

  ‘There’s nothing to find. Ask Amy. It was all very innocent.’

  ‘At the moment, she’ll be saying whatever you’ve told her to say . . . but it won’t last. You may not have touched her, but it won’t take a professional long to find out if you persuaded her to take her knickers down to show her father just how much control you have over her. I think you’re a sick fucker, frankly, but you’re not a nonce. Any more than Martin Rogerson is. As you say, he prefers women . . . which is what he says about you.’ He chuckled again at the man’s expression. ‘I’d rather do you for kidnap and extortion. That’s a hell of a long sentence. You shouldn’t exploit people’s love for their children, Mr Townsend.’

  ‘What love? What makes you think Martin would back down because of a video? Everyone knows he doesn’t give a shit about Amy.’

  ‘So you keep saying,’ the DCI murmured, ‘and if you repeat it often enough you might convince a jury. It won’t work with Laura, though. No one will believe she didn’t love her child.’ He levelled a finger at the man. ‘That’s what I’m going to hound you for. Making an already insecure child believe that her mother didn’t love her. I’ve sat with the woman . . . dragged her sad little secrets out of her . . . watched her pain . . . listened to her guilt. And, by God, I haven’t enjoyed it. She knows she’s imperfect . . . knows that Amy wishes she were different . . . but that doesn’t give a prick like you the right to manipulate her child’s affections.’

  Thirty

  Saturday 28 July 2001

  Inside 23 Humbert Street

  SOPHIE KNELT BESIDE Jimmy’s prone body. The top third of his ear had been severed from his scalp, but he was alive. He lay half in and half out of the kitchen, muttering to himself against the floor, saliva dribbling from his mouth. There was no one downstairs. The door of the back room stood open, but the only noise inside the house seemed to be coming from upstairs. Laughter and singing. Sophie could make out some words.

  ‘. . . we are the champions . . . we are the champions . . . we are the champions of the WORLD . . .’

  Feet drummed on the floor like a tattoo. In celebration? Coming downstairs? She didn’t know. She rolled Jimmy over and smack
ed him hard across the face. ‘Wake up, you bugger!’ she said as loudly as she dared into his bleeding ear. ‘It’s Sophie! Mel needs help.’

  He opened his eyes and she slapped him again. ‘Go away,’ he mumbled. ‘I’m tired.’

  This time she grabbed him by the shoulders and shook him. ‘Mel’s in trouble,’ she said urgently. ‘I need you to come with me. There are people upstairs. Do you understand?’

  The movement hurt his head and he clapped a hand to his torn ear. ‘Ah, shi-i-it! What the fuck!’

  ‘Wake UP!’ she snarled, smacking him again. ‘I’m SICK of men passing out on me!’

  He sat up abruptly, recollection flooding back . . . Wesley . . . the machete . . . the soldier. He looked around. ‘Where’s Wesley?’

  ‘Upstairs,’ she said, grabbing his hand and urging him to his feet. ‘We have to go.’

  ‘What about the old man?’

  ‘Safe,’ she said, thinking he meant Franek. ‘Come on . . . come on.’ She urged him down the corridor towards the front door. ‘Harry said Mel fell under the feet of the crowd. We need to get her out. I’m worried about the baby. You’ll have to carry her.’

  She had an awful sense of foreboding as she reached for the latch. It reminded her of the last time she’d stood by that door – when she could have walked out – but didn’t – because a patient’s son said thank you and she paused to smile at him. She turned painfully to Jimmy. ‘I’m frightened,’ she said.

  ‘Yeah,’ he said, ‘me, too.’ He caught her arm and drew her behind him. ‘I’ve got a really bad feeling about this,’ he muttered. ‘It’s too fucking quiet.’

  She clutched at his jacket. ‘What should we do?’

  He took a deep breath and twisted the latch. ‘Get ready to run,’ he said, easing the door open.

  Command centre – police helicopter footage

  The police could calculate to the second how long it took for the bestiality of the lynching to metamorphose from laughter to shock. Almost every face was turned upwards towards the window as Wesley paraded his prize. An old man with his shorts round his ankles, blood running down his legs and a noose round his neck. Expressions were vivid. Eager. Amused. Did they understand what was happening? Did they approve? Had the movies innured them to reality?