Innocent Blood

by David Stuart Davies

Snow slumped down on the sofa and ran his fingers through his hair. Suddenly he felt very sober. Yes, he had a thumping headache, but the mists of inebriation had cleared. In this shiny new clarity, the question raised itself like a leviathan from the deep: what the hell was he going to do about Colin Bird?

  TWENTY-THREE

  PC Arnold Braithwaite was on duty again the following morning, relieving his colleague PC Newman, who had been down in the cells overnight. ‘Lucky me,’ Braithwaite growled, ‘just in time to deliver the bastard’s breakfast. I hope it chokes him.’

  Newman nodded. ‘Save us all a lot of bother and the taxpayer a wallop of dosh if it did.’

  Braithwaite gazed down at the tray holding the plate with a piece of greasy bacon, a pallid fried egg and a small congealed mound of anaemic baked beans. ‘I’d love to slip a little arsenic into this lot.’ He chuckled at the thought and then made his way down to the narrow corridor to Frank Hirst’s cell.

  While holding the tray in one hand, he slid aside the metal spyhole cover. The sight that met his eyes caused him to drop the tray, the sound of which resounded noisily down the corridor. In the grey light of the cell afforded by the barred window and the feeble light bulb, PC Braithwaite could just make out two legs dangling by the wall. He really didn’t need to see any more to know what had happened.

  ‘Like death warmed up.’ Snow had heard the expression bandied about the station before when some of the younger officers had come in the morning following a night on the lash. Now he knew what it meant, for this morning he was experiencing a very similar feeling. He felt like death warmed up. It was partly the after-effects of the booze imbibed in the County and partly his concerns about Colin Bird, and in particular what to do about this maverick crazy man. He had no idea what kind of stupid stunt he would try to pull next.

  As soon as Snow reached HQ, he made himself another strong coffee, the fourth that morning, and hid himself away in his office. Some thirty minutes later, Bob Fellows knocked and entered. If Snow had thought he looked a little rough that morning in the shaving mirror, it was nothing to the ghoul-like figure that hovered before him now. He walked gingerly as though passing with naked feet over burning coals, and his eyes, dark rimmed, had almost sunken into his face, the skin of which had the texture of tissue paper.

  ‘Good morning, sir,’ he croaked.

  Snow could not help but smile. ‘Feeling a little delicate, are we Sergeant?’

  Fellows nodded and it was clear that he found the action of moving his head quite painful.

  The conversation, such as it was, got no further for Susan Morgan opened the door. Her expression was severe. ‘Hirst has topped himself,’ she said sharply and succinctly.

  ‘What?’ Snow rose from his chair.

  ‘He made a rope-type noose out of his shirt and vest and hung himself in his cell. He was found at breakfast time this morning.’

  ‘Bloody hell,’ said Fellows.

  Snow sat down again as the reality of the situation sank in. He swallowed the words that were on the tip of his tongue because he considered perhaps that they were inappropriate. He was about to say, ‘Perhaps it was for the best’, but thought better of it. Instead, he said, ‘Looks like he couldn’t live with the guilt. Well, in effect that draws a very firm line under this very unpleasant case.’

  ‘Too true. Typical, he took the coward’s way out,’ observed Fellows, his pallid features regaining some of their colour as he grew more animated. ‘I bet those parents who lost their kids will be delighted. Let’s face it, prison is a soft option for bastards like Hirst who kill young ’uns for no reason. He deserved to die.’

  ‘That’s one way of looking at it,’ said Susan coolly, ‘but he cheated the system at the last.’

  ‘So what, the bugger’s dead. Good riddance.’

  Snow glanced at Susan, their eyes connecting. It was clear to each of them what both were thinking: how wonderful to have such an uncomplicated black and white view of things like Bob Fellows. It would make life so much simpler.

  TWENTY-FOUR

  If it was the simple life that Snow craved, then the gods in charge of his destiny appeared to grant him his wish, for a week or so at least. After the furore of Frank Hirst’s death had died down and the papers, after blaming the police for their incompetence in allowing a major criminal to kill himself while in their care, had found other scapegoats to pillory, things went quiet for Snow at police HQ. It was just paperwork and a few unremarkable enquiries to follow up. He welcomed the respite from the stress of the Hirst case. Of course, there was the little demon of the Colin Bird situation still sitting on his shoulder, but there had been no further developments in that department either. He was thankful for the relief.

  Snow had done a little gentle digging and discovered that Bird had taken himself off on a protracted leave, possibly, he pondered, so that he could lick his wounds. Snow felt a shaft of guilt about this. He was not conscious of giving off any signs that he was interested in Bird or prepared to start a relationship with him, but something must have created this impression in the man’s mind and maybe this was something he had done or said. What still worried Snow was the fact that Bird was an irrational and unpredictable character and there was always the possibility that he could create further mischief.

  One of his more pleasant duties in the days following Frank Hirst’s death was welcoming PC Hargreaves back to his duties after his brief stay in hospital. The young constable was fully recovered from his minor injuries and was thrilled that Snow had added a commendation to his record for his contribution to the apprehension and arrest of Hirst. There were still some rough edges to Hargreaves, thought Snow, but he had the right attitude and intelligence which should take him far. He reckoned that in all probability he’d have his sergeant’s stripes within a few years.

  Elizabeth Saunders had also left hospital and Snow and Fellows had paid a courtesy call at home. Snow was pleased to see that physically the girl seemed fine, although she seemed ill at ease with them, strangers in her own home. The medics had said it would take some time before she was able to relax with men she didn’t know. Strangers made her very uneasy. Not surprisingly, thought Snow. Nevertheless, the girl was determined to return to school as soon as possible, which showed a remarkable spirit.

  So all seemed reasonably quiet once more on Snow’s pond.

  And then all hell broke loose.

  Snow was settling down for an evening in front of the television when he got the call. He wasn’t much of a viewer but once in a while he enjoyed relaxing as the homogenised pap that the TV companies churned out washed over him. It took him out of himself and helped wash the mental grime of the day away. The shrill call of the phone, like a distant scream, put an end to his viewing plans. He switched the set off even before he answered the phone.

  ‘Bad news, sir,’ said Bob Fellows at the other end.

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Elizabeth Saunders has gone missing. She never made it home from school.’

  ‘What?’ Initially Snow had difficulty comprehending what his sergeant was saying.

  ‘I’m afraid it looks like she may have been kidnapped.’

  Snow shook his head in disbelief. This was crazy. Unreal. He took a few seconds before responding to get himself thinking straight. ‘Is there any evidence to support that? Couldn’t she just have gone off somewhere? Be at a friend’s house.’ He knew these were probably pointless assertions. Bob would not have made the statement about kidnapping without good reason.

  ‘There is evidence.’ Fellows paused as though he was too embarrassed to continue. ‘The parents received a telephone call about twenty minutes ago. From the kidnapper.’

  ‘Asking for a ransom?’

  ‘No, sir. He just said. “I’ve got Lizzie. I’m finishing the job off. Tell Inspector Snow, catch me if you can”.’

  Snow’s stomach constricted violently and he found himself clasping the receiver with a fierce grip in his sweaty hand. ‘Finishing the job o
ff,’ he repeated slowly.

  ‘Yes, sir. It looks like whoever this joker is, he’s taken up the baton dropped by Hirst.’

  Again Snow took time to think before replying. It was difficult not to believe that he was dreaming. The hissing silence unnerved Fellows.

  ‘Are you still there, sir?’

  ‘Yes, yes, I’m just trying to get my head round this. I’m fairly certain that Hirst was working alone. This is not the action of a partner in crime.’

  ‘It could be someone who was sympathetic to Hirst’s cause. Someone else who lost their child in that crash.’

  Snow thought that very unlikely, but his ragged brain could not offer up any sensible suggestion at the moment so he turned his thoughts to more practical matters. ‘When was the girl last seen?’

  ‘At school. I don’t know the details. These need to be checked.’

  ‘Is someone with the parents now?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘They need twenty-four-hour surveillance and we need to have the phone tapped in case the abductor rings again.’

  ‘I’ll get on to it.’

  ‘Good man. Alert patrol cars and bobbies on the beat with the girl’s description. I’ll see you early in the office. At seven. We need to go to the school and find out exactly when the girl was last seen and take our investigation from there.’

  ‘Right, sir.’

  Snow replaced the receiver and gazed at his reflection in the hall mirror. He could see the sheen of sweat on his forehead and the look of desperation in his eyes. Within minutes the relaxed fellow who had planned a night in front of the telly had become a haunted man. What the hell was going on? Why had this girl been taken? And why, for God’s sake, had his name been mentioned? It seemed that this time the whole thing was personal.

  TWENTY-FIVE

  He looked down on the sleeping girl with mixed emotions. He was a little frightened that his resolution was wavering. Could he really kill this pretty little thing? Had he gone one step too far in his plans? He bit his lip deliberately to cause himself some pain, to bring him back from this wavering realm. He had to stop thinking about this. He had designed and made his elaborate bed and now he must lie on it.

  Was he mad? he wondered as he locked the room. If he was, he didn’t feel it. Angry? Yes. Determined? He was getting there. Excited? Certainly. He had to admit to himself that the emotions that rippled through his consciousness now were for the main part exhilarating. They stimulated and invigorated him. They released him from the straitjacket of conformity, duty and mundanity. He was getting his own back by upsetting someone who had very seriously upset him, but who had also given him the freedom to leap over the fence and break rules. Very serious rules. He smiled at this concept. Yes, yes, of course he was doing the right thing. He would go downstairs and have a drink to celebrate.

  TWENTY-SIX

  Matilda Shawcross, the head teacher of St Jude’s Catholic Junior School, stood up from behind her desk as DI Snow and DS Fellows were shown into the office by a rather flustered secretary.

  ‘I must confess that I had not expected to see the gentlemen of the police so soon … after last time,’ she said as she waved them to two chairs opposite her. She looked, thought Snow, remarkably young to be in such an elevated position in the academic world. To him her self-assurance, sleek figure, fine skin and bright eyes were those of a woman only just entering her thirties. She was attractive, self-contained and intelligent. Snow liked her immediately. She was dressed in a smart black suit and a fine white shirt. Her fair hair was cut short in a gamine style, giving emphasis to her high cheekbones and large grey eyes. To his surprise, Snow found her strangely alluring. It disturbed him slightly that he was taking in so much of her appearance and not concentrating fully on the purpose of the visit.

  ‘I presume there is no further news about poor Elizabeth,’ she said.

  Snow shook his head. ‘I am afraid not, but in circumstances like this it is sometimes good not to have any news.’

  The head teacher gave an understanding nod. ‘So, how can I be of assistance?’

  ‘We believe that Elizabeth has been taken …’

  ‘What! I knew that she was missing – but kidnapped … again?’ Her grey eyes widened in surprise. ‘I thought you had arrested the man who took her?’

  ‘Yes. We suspect that this is a completely different individual.’

  ‘My God. Are you sure?’

  ‘We are not sure of anything at the moment. We are trying to piece things together.’

  ‘Of course.’ Matilda Shawcross shook her head in disbelief at the news she had just received. ‘What a nightmare. How may I help?’

  ‘I am just hoping that one of your students may have seen something. At the end of school yesterday.’

  ‘I really don’t know.’

  ‘What I’d like to do is speak to your students in morning assembly to see if I can jog someone’s memory. You still have morning assemblies, I assume.’

  ‘Of course. This is a Catholic school. We have a hymn, prayers and a moralistic tale.’

  ‘I’d appreciate your co-operation in this.’

  ‘I understand, Inspector. However …’ She paused, thinking how she could frame her thoughts, before continuing. ‘I am sure you are aware of the sensitivity of such an exercise. These are young, impressionable girls. I would be neglecting my duty if I allowed them to be frightened or upset by what you are going to say.’

  ‘Of course. I understand. Don’t worry, I won’t be raising any bogeymen or stimulating any nasty dreams. I just want to know if any of your girls saw Elizabeth at the end of the day and if they saw anything unusual. I will tread carefully, believe me.’

  The head gave a taut but pleasant smile. ‘Very well, I will arrange it. If there is anyone with information that might help they can come to my room immediately after assembly where you can have a chat with them.’

  ‘That would be good. Thank you.’

  She glanced at her watch. ‘Assembly is in three-quarters of an hour. Would you like a cup of tea while you wait?’

  Snow was surprised how nervous he became when it was his turn to stand up in front of two hundred young girls to deliver his spiel. Miss Shawcross had introduced him as Mr Snow, an important policeman, and as he stood at the front of the stage in the school hall to address the girls he suddenly found his mouth going dry. It wasn’t the best of performances, he thought afterwards, but he managed to convey the main points in a tone that was appropriate and the head seemed pleased with his tact and restraint.

  They did not have long to wait after the assembly had taken place before someone came knocking at the head teacher’s door. She ushered in two ten-year-olds whom she introduced to Snow as Mary Fields and Cathy Newbould.

  ‘You have something to tell Mr Snow? Something about Elizabeth?’

  The girls nodded mutely.

  ‘There’s no need to be frightened,’ said Snow gently, kneeling so that his face was on their level. ‘Just tell me what you know.’

  The two girls exchanged glances and then Mary jabbed Cathy gently in the ribs to respond. ‘We were with Lizzie at the end of school – in the yard – when the policeman arrived to see her,’ she said.

  ‘The policeman?’ came the surprised response from Bob Fellows.

  The girls flinched at this outburst. Snow ignored it and carried on gently. ‘How do you know it was a policeman?’ he asked.

  ‘’Cause he had one of them blue uniforms on,’ said Cathy.

  ‘Yes, I think he had three stripes on his arm,’ added her friend.

  ‘A sergeant,’ suggested Snow.

  The girls nodded.

  ‘What did this policeman say to Elizabeth – Lizzie?’

  ‘He said her mum had been involved in a car accident – a crash or something – and he’d come to take Lizzie to the hospital to see her. He said she was not to worry. Her mum was going to be all right.’

  ‘What did Lizzie do when he told her this?’

&
nbsp; ‘Well,’ said Cathy, ‘at first she started to cry a bit and we gave her a hug, but the policeman said there wasn’t time to hang about. They ought to be off.’

  ‘He took her hand and led her away,’ said Mary.

  ‘Did you see the car they got into?’

  The girls shook their heads.

  ‘What did this policeman look like?’

  The two friends wrinkled their noses and exchanged glances. ‘Sort of ordinary, really,’ ventured Cathy.

  ‘Did he look like me, for instance?’ asked Snow, standing up so they could get a good look at him.

  ‘About as tall. Oh, he had blond hair.’

  ‘His nose was a bit big,’ said Mary, giggling.

  ‘Was he fat or thin?’

  ‘He was quite thin and his voice was a bit croaky.’

  ‘Anything else?’

  They paused and then both shook their heads.

  ‘Thank you, girls. You have been a great help.’ Snow gave them a brief smile.

  ‘Best get back to your class now,’ said Miss Shawcross, moving to the door and opening it for them. Just before they left, Mary turned to Snow. ‘Is Lizzie OK? How’s her mum?’ she asked.

  The policeman was a little perplexed as to how to reply to this query. He couldn’t tell them the truth and yet he did not want to upset the youngsters or prompt them to start rumours amongst their classmates.

  It was Miss Shawcross who came to Snow’s rescue. ‘There have been some misunderstandings which have led to a few complications that these police officers are trying to sort out,’ she said smiling. ‘There is nothing to worry about. Truly.’

  ‘Thank you,’ said Snow when the girls had departed.

  Matilda Shawcross flashed Snow a warm smile. ‘Reassuring students comes as second nature in my job, Inspector. Most children are eager to be told all is well and they accept that confirmation without much soul-searching.’ Her smile broadened.

  For a moment, Snow was caught by that smile and those bright, intelligent eyes. He felt strange and unnerved, for he realised that he was in some odd way drawn to her. He never felt this way about women. Sensually they barely registered on his radar. Now he felt uncomfortable and tongue-tied. His cheeks began to burn and suddenly the collar of his shirt seemed too tight.