'I got the full tour,' says Noone. 'Very keen to show off the place. Don't think there was a room I didn't see. I may have had a shower.'
'Nice,' says Frank. He tries to remain calm but Noone is getting under his skin. And he's smart. Saying he was at the house previously negates almost any forensics. Unless he left a bloody print. Even hair samples would be tainted.
'You did this, Ben.'
'We're finished here, DCI Keane,' says Eagles. 'My client doesn't have to sit and listen to these wild accusations.'
Frank ignores the lawyer. 'This isn't a performance, Noone. There's a sixteen-year-old boy out there. Now you've killed him, or you've got him. One of the two. I know that. We can wait for this bullshit story of yours to fall apart or we can help Nicky. You can help Nicky. Just tell us and it'll be easier for you in court.'
Noone just sits there. He turns to Eagles. 'Can you believe this?'
'No,' says Eagles, 'I can't.' He stands and places his briefcase on the table, his hands folded across the clasp. 'Unless you are going to formally charge Mr Noone with murder, we're leaving. Right now.'
'The DNA will be in soon, Ben,' says Frank. 'From when you fucked Nicky's dead mother. You remember coming over her, don't you? Your client won't mind giving us a DNA swab, will you?' Frank smiles at Eagles. 'For elimination purposes.'
'We're going,' says Eagles. 'You can get a court order for that DNA swab.'
'No friendly cooperation?' Frank folds his arms behind his head.
'Unbelievable,' says Noone, getting to his feet.
'Was she dead when you fucked her, Ben? I'm betting she was.' Frank's angry, but even in the midst of his rage there's an uncomfortable feeling that Noone's too confident. There'll be no DNA, thinks Frank. I was wrong. He didn't fuck Maddy Peters.
Eagles opens the door to the interview room and steps outside. At the threshold, Noone turns to Keane. 'Good luck,' he says. 'I hope you find Nicky, I really do.' He closes the door behind him. Frank picks up the file and hurls it after him. It bounces off the battered wood and sprays paper across the floor.
Em Harris presses the stop button on the digital recorder and stands. 'Can I just say, you handled that perfectly, Frank. Textbook stuff.'
'Fuck off,' says Frank. 'And it's DCI Keane, Harris. Or have you forgotten I'm your boss?'
'No, DCI Keane,' says Harris. She opens the door. 'I haven't.'
Alone, Frank places his forehead on the Formica surface of the table and lets out a long, low groan.
Shit.
Forty-Six
The day's not over.
After losing his cool in the interview with Noone, Frank runs straight into Searle outside the MIT offices, Peter Moreleigh at his heels like an attentive terrier.
'Sir.'
'The very man!' Charlie Searle is oozing bonhomie. A bad sign. Frank's sure there's a direct and inverse correlation between Searle's cheeriness and the amount of shit about to be dumped in your lap. From the grin that's creasing the slimy bastard's face now, Frank knows he's in for something special. It's also bad that the two of them are still around after five.
'Will this take long, sir?' It's a faint hope but he's got to try. 'Only I've got an update meeting . . .'
'Only take a few moments, Frank. Your office?'
Two minutes later and Searle's sitting opposite Frank. Moreleigh leans his skinny arse on the sill of the window. 'Can't for the life of me understand why you prefer it down here, Frank,' says Searle, casting a dubious eye around the unlovely surroundings.
'Each to his own, I suppose.'
Moreleigh smirks and adjusts the lapel of his suit.
'Fill me in,' says Searle. There's a joke there somewhere but Frank doesn't take the bait.
'I imagine this is about the Peters and Quinner cases?'
Searle nods. 'Correct.'
'I'm on lead for the Peters case and Harris is looking after the Quinner one. They're obviously linked. I understand from DC Rose that the film production has shut down after Quinner's death.'
Searle looks at Moreleigh, who shakes his head sadly. 'We're getting flak from the council on that. Movie production is a cornerstone of the new regime.'
Frank doesn't respond. He waits until he's sure Moreleigh's finished making noises and then picks up the thread as if he hadn't spoken.
'I've got a strong feeling about Noone, the American actor. That's where I've just been. He got briefed up halfway through. Eagles, from Bilson's.'
At the mention of one of the city's oldest law firms Searle raises a quizzical eyebrow.
'Quick work. And expensive.'
'Too quick,' agrees Frank.
'Anything solid on him?'
'Well that's the thing,' says Frank, conscious that he's straying out onto decidedly creaky ice. 'It's the absence of anything solid that's worrying me.' Frank explains to Searle about Noone's flimsy records.
'Seems a bit thin, Frank.'
'We should be hearing from the lab about the DNA material gathered from the Peters house. I've been promised it today. I need to get a court order for a swab from Noone. And I've got a couple of officers trawling the CCTV for evidence to disprove his story. He claims there's a woman he spent the night of the fourteenth with. No name or number and says he picked her up outside Maxie's.'
'Hmm. OK. We'll talk about the DNA swab when we know it's not the dentist's. No need to rock the boat unnecessarily. And surely the brother – Terry – is in the frame too? He was sleeping with his sister-in-law. In my book that places him much closer to the centre.'
Searle might be a bit of a wanker but Frank has to admit he's still a cop under the suit. The blue files mustn't only be for show. The fucker's done some homework on this case and Frank agrees on every point he's made. Terry is a stronger candidate.
Except that Frank knows that it's Noone.
But Charlie Searle and Pete Moreleigh aren't here for a chinwag about progress. If Searle's taken the trouble to get out from behind his desk and schlep across to Stanley Road with Moreleigh in tow, there's a reason. Frank spins out a few more minutes on what's happening with Terry Peters and the work being done on the Quinner case before Superintendent Searle comes to the point. It's Frank's request for more uniforms for the ongoing search for Nicky that gives Searle his chance.
'Ah, yes, Nicky Peters.'
'Why does that sound like it's going to be a problem for me?'
Searle smiles without warmth. 'Because it probably is, Frank.'Searle gets up and stands next to Frank. 'You've had contact with the tabloids on this?'
'Yes,' says Frank, not sure of where this is headed.
'Then you'll know what they're capable of.' This is from Moreleigh. 'We had a call from a journalist at one of the red tops, a chap called McSkimming. Vicious little bastard if his previous stuff's anything to go by.'
'And?'
'McSkimming's going to run a story in tomorrow's paper suggesting strongly that Nicky Peters killed both his parents. They have an interview with Alicia Peters.'
'Terry's wife?'
Searle nods. 'Alicia's making it sound like she's a worried relative. Come back, Nicky, all is forgiven. That kind of carry-on.'
'She's found out about Terry and Maddy.' Frank's nodding his head as if confirming something to himself. 'And blaming Nicky's better than admitting it might be her husband.'
'It could be the husband.'
'No,' says Frank. 'It's Noone, I can –'
Searle cuts across him, all pretence at friendliness gone. 'Cut it out, Frank. We can't support that kind of dumb policing. Both Terry and Nicky Peters are better suspects than Ben Noone and you know it. I want you to get something prepared for McSkimming. They're going to run this story and I don't want the department to look stupid.'
'This is going to put Nicky in danger.'
Searle's expression is scornful. 'For fuck's sake, Frank, if you're right about him being taken by Noone then the kid's dead. And if by some miracle he's not and turns out to be the killer, then he might a
s well be dead. We're going with the story that we're anxious to speak to Nicky. When he turns up we want to look like we knew it was him all along.'
'And if the DNA from Birkdale is Noone's?'
'Then you'll be right and I'll be wrong. But that's another day and we can deal with that if and when it happens. In the meantime I want a statement that positions us with an umbrella when it starts raining. Nicky Peters is a troubled teen. We're reaching out for him. We understand. We'd like to speak to him. Got it?'
Forty-Seven
It's all Theresa Cooper can do to stop herself sprinting for the car after Stella Flynn spills the news about her ex-husband.
Instead, she forces herself to slow down and get as cohesive a story from Stella as possible.
'You know this, Stella?'
Stella nods. Her shoulders are shaking so much that Cooper takes the cup from her and places it on the coffee table. The last thing she needs at this point is a compulsive-obsessive to get deflected by tea stains on the shagpile.
'I started to get a few ideas about him a long time before it happened. A wife does, you know?'
The unmarried Cooper nods in agreement. 'Go on.'
'Little things at first. A lack of interest in me. Well, that wasn't anything special. Men can do that.'
'But . . .?'
'But he started to show an interest in filming Jacob.' Stella looks up. 'I don't mean the normal sort of filming – Terry works in the business so he's always got cameras on the go – I mean filming stuff that was sort of . . . wrong. There's no other way to describe it.'
'Like what?'
'Well, Jacob was getting older by this point. Maybe nine or ten. Too old for some of the stuff. I found some shots Terry had taken of him in the shower. I asked him about it and he just said it was fooling around. Like a prank thing. I should have been firmer then, but I wasn't to know. Anyway, after that I kept a bit of a lookout for anything funny and there wasn't anything for a long time. It looked like Terry had been telling me the truth.'
'And had he?'
Stella shakes her head. She's crying again. 'God forgive me,' she sobs. 'Poor Nicky.'
'What about Nicky, Stella?'
'I found out – well, suspected more like – that Terry had started helping Nicky out with cameras and stuff. He was always interested in that sort of thing was Nicky, even as a youngster. Made his own videos. Not just filming. He edited them, put them to music and the like. Entered competitions.'
Cooper steers Stella back to Terry. 'And Terry?'
'I came back one day, home.'
'Here?'
'No, where we used to live. Birkdale. It was the weekend but Jacob was off with some school trip thing. I was working at the hospital – reception work – but there'd been some problem with the rosters . . . I don't know. Whatever it was I came home early and Terry was in the back garden with Nicky. He must have been about ten. He was lying on a towel and Terry was rubbing oil on him. It was a warm day and Nicky had shorts on, so I suppose it was technically OK, but when Terry saw me I knew. I just knew. He made some crap up but that was the finish of it. I started divorce proceedings straight away.'
There's silence in the room. Theresa gets the feeling that Stella Flynn might crumble away to nothing if not handled correctly.
'But you didn't say anything?'
'I did!' Stella's face flashes anger. 'Of course I did! I told Maddy about it.'
'How did she take it?'
'She didn't believe me. Not Terry.'
Cooper thinks: she was sleeping with him even then.
'And Terry had been clever. Covered his tracks well. Nothing on him, and Nicky never said a word. Denied that Terry had done a thing. For all I know Nicky might not have known if Terry had been fiddling with him. He was only a kid. The family closed off against me – those that knew what I thought, anyway. When he married Alicia I tried to tell her but even though she had a boy herself she was the same as Maddy. Didn't want to know. I could see how I looked – a nasty, bitter ex-wife trying to stir up trouble. I tried a few times. No one listened.'
Stella fixes her eyes on Theresa. 'But I fucking knew what that bastard was doing and he wasn't going to get to Jacob. I'd have killed him if he'd ever tried to see him again. Killed him.'
'And did he? Try, I mean.'
'Once. The day he broke the window. I told him then that if he ever came back it would all come out, evidence or no evidence. He hasn't seen Jacob since then.'
'What happened when you heard about Nicky?'
Stella fishes a tissue from the pocket of her jeans and blows her nose. 'I heard about Paul and Maddy being killed. It seemed so unlikely that I didn't know what to think. I certainly didn't connect it with Terry in any way. It was only when I heard that Nicky was missing that I wondered.' She looks at Cooper imploringly. 'But what could I do? I don't have anything to back me up. I'm just the ex-wife, right? Who's going to believe what I say?'
Cooper stands up. She's a solid woman and right now looks like she's ready to take on all comers.
'Me,' she says. 'For one.'
Forty-Eight
While Frank and Harris are interviewing Noone, Terry's in the bar of The Pumphouse all afternoon and by six is well on the way to being completely bollixed.
With everything turning to shit, and work halted on the movie, drink seems like the only sensible option.
After the interview with the police on Monday he'd worried that he'd fucked up more than he already had, but they seemed convinced enough by his story about the affair with Maddy.
For a moment, when the black copper had known he was hiding something, he'd thought the game was up. Blurting it out about Maddy turned out to be the best thing he could have done. When they let him go he could hardly believe it and there was only one thing on his mind.
Get rid of Nicky.
Except he couldn't. He'd bottled it. Terry thinks of Nicky down there now, alone, terrified, in the dark. He might be dead, he might not, but Terry knows he can't go down there again. If he hadn't been able to do it before then he wasn't going to be able to do it now. As he sees it he only has three options.
He can talk, tell the police everything and face the consequences. Who knows, he may get points for saving the boy? It's the only choice that will redeem him but Terry Peters hasn't got that in him. The idea of the shame, of the pure hatred that will rain down on him, is overwhelming.
The second choice is the one he'd tried to do and failed. He'd gone down there again the other night ready to tie up the loose ends. Fuck 'loose ends'. Say what you mean.
He'd gone down there to kill Nicky.
And it had been impossible. Terry just doesn't have what it takes, despite what he'd said that night at Paul's house.
'I'll take care of Nicky,' Terry had said. 'I'll do it.'
But he hadn't.
Why the fuck he'd ever kept Nicky in the tunnels – like some sort of pet – he didn't know. Wasn't the whole thing bad enough as it was? Nicky's the only real connection between Noone, Terry and the murders and Terry knows he's risking everything leaving Nicky alive.
But it's Nicky, for Christ's sake. Blood.
The last choice, and the one that's foremost in Terry's mind, is to kill himself. The river's there waiting. It would be so easy to drop over the side and let the Mersey take him. He can almost hear it calling. One seductive step over the rail, a few minutes' struggle in the black water and then nothing. No more pain, no more decisions, no more consequences.
Terry closes his eyes but all he can see is his brother's face.
Tell me what to do.
Paul had always known what the right thing to do was.
He had looked after him when they were kids, always made sure that little Terry had been included. Paul had given Terry nothing but trust and love and in return Terry had abused his only son, fucked his wife and then helped slaughter all three of them. He is vermin. He is less than vermin.
He lurches to the gents and is violently sick.
<
br /> When he emerges, Noone's in the bar.
'I left him down there, Ben.' Tears are running down Terry Peters' face. 'I left him to die. In the tunnels. He's all alone.'
'It's OK, Terry,' says Noone. 'Let's get you home.'
Forty-Nine
Cooper gets back to MIT from Ainsdale around six. She's missed the Quinner autopsy but this takes precedence. Ferguson's results will come through anyway, MIT presence or not. Police attendance is more a habit than a requirement and Cooper's confident she can claim that Stella Flynn's revelations about her ex-husband will cover any problems with the autopsy. Getting anything solid to back up the ex-wife's claims will be another story.
As luck would have it she runs into Harris just outside the MIT office.
'It's Terry,' Cooper blurts out as soon as she sees the DI. She'd meant for it to come out differently but she can't help herself.
'What?' Harris is distracted. Apart from the ever-growing stack of MIT emails and memos, her phone is clogged with increasingly needy texts from Linda. Add to that the fact that Frank's gone off at the deep end in the interview with Noone, and the last thing she needs now is some twaddle from Theresa. 'What's Terry?'
'He fucking did it!' Cooper leans in close, her eyes shining. 'He's a kiddie-fiddler, Em!'
Harris raises her eyebrows, not commenting on Theresa's breach of office etiquette in calling her by her first name. 'I didn't see that one coming,' she says. She pushes open the office door and makes her way to her workstation, Cooper following close behind. 'Explain.'
'It gets better,' continues Cooper as Harris deposits her file and phone on the crowded desk. 'He was sniffing around Nicky Peters. I just came from Stella Flynn's place – Terry's ex – and she spilled the lot.'
'Oh,' says Harris, her excitement diminishing rapidly. 'The ex.'
'Wait,' says Cooper. 'Wait a sec. I know what you're thinking, but this is right.'
'And we have some evidence of this?'
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