Catch the Fallen Sparrow

by Priscilla Masters

  ‘I hope not.’ Joanna gave a heartfelt sigh. ‘I hope not. We’ve had enough of that particular Pandora’s box in Staffordshire over the last few years. I believe this was an isolated case – not a full-blown scandal.’

  Caroline glanced at her pad. ‘Is it true the shoes he was wearing were too big for him?’

  Joanna nodded. ‘Two sizes too big,’ she said. ‘Dean was a size five. The shoes were sevens.’

  Caroline looked up. ‘New?’

  ‘Almost.’

  ‘Where did they come from?’ Her eyes were blue and intelligent. ‘Had somebody bought them for him? Given them to him?’

  ‘We think,’ Joanna said cautiously, ‘that it’s possible he might have shoplifted them. We don’t know.’

  Caro’s face grew rat-like, almost twitching in her anxiety to sniff out the truth. ‘Where from?’

  Joanna knew she dared not say. With Keith Latos’s previous record the Press would have hanged him before proving anything. Trial by headline. Even if – and she had to admit it was a big ‘if – he was guilty they still had to prove it beyond reasonable doubt, in a court of law. She had already applied for a search warrant to comb through Keith Latos’s flat. And she would have laid a moderate-sized bet that they would stumble across something there with which to connect Latos with Dean. So to Caro she said, ‘We don’t know that he did steal them – let alone where from. Enquiries are progressing.’

  Caro shot her another very sharp, perceptive look. ‘I see,’ she said.

  Joanna glanced enquiringly at Caro. ‘Is that all? I have a briefing at nine.’ She looked at her watch. It was five past.

  ‘Just one more thing ...’ Caro’s voice was deceptively casual. ‘Whose was the ring?’

  Inwardly Joanna groaned and then she thought very quickly. Use the Press, Caro had said. She could use them ... perhaps to flush a sly fox out of his hole. ‘The ring,’ she said slowly, ‘has been positively identified by Mrs Gilly Leech as belonging to her late husband.’

  Caro sat up. ‘So how did it get on the finger of the dead boy?’ she asked.

  ‘All we know,’ Joanna said carefully, ‘is that the ring was missing after a reported break-in at the Leech home, Rock House.’

  Caro was quick to spot the flaw. ‘Reported break-in,’ she said, her eyes very clear, the pupils like pin-points.

  ‘That’s right,’ Joanna said deliberately. ‘Reported break-in.’

  Caro’s eyes flickered. ‘I see,’ she said slowly. ‘I see.’ She wrote something down in her notebook. ‘When was this?’

  ‘About a year ago.’

  ‘Mr Leech died ...?’

  ‘A little while after.’

  Caro looked up. ‘He died of ...?’

  ‘Pneumonia.’

  ‘Rumour has it,’ Caro said carefully, ‘that Robin Leech is consulting solicitors about a visit you recently made to his mother.’ She looked up. ‘Would you care to comment?’

  ‘He’s perfectly within his rights,’ Joanna said calmly.

  Caroline regarded her curiously. ‘So will you be interviewing Robin Leech?’

  Suddenly Joanna grinned. ‘If you run half the story I think you will,’ she said, ‘I expect Robin Leech will want to talk to me, probably with his own solicitor.’

  Caro frowned. ‘I gather a murky separation followed by an even murkier divorce is about to hit your local rags,’ she said.

  Joanna looked at her. ‘Not the London papers?’

  Caro shook her head. ‘He isn’t big enough, and neither is the scandal. Nothing more than a teenage waitress.’ She shook her head again. ‘The waitress, so rumour has it, isn’t even very photogenic. Naive, a bit silly and stupid. In fact, I think you could say it was a sordid little kitchen-sink drama.’

  Joanna smiled. ‘Well, thank you: she said. ‘I’m glad to be armed with this little fact before I meet Robin Leech for myself.’

  ‘For what it’s worth,’ Caro said, ‘he is one of the most pompous, snobbish and incredibly boring men I have ever met in my entire life. He is one of the by-products of the English caste system. And don’t tell me all men are equal. No one meeting Robin Leech would ever believe that line. Not in a thousand years. Now,’ she said briskly, ‘in exchange for that little opinion, perhaps you can fill me in with a detail or two. Off the record, of course. Rumour has it that Ashford Leech was homosexual with a penchant for young boys. I would imagine they were pretty young boys. Rumour also has it that Ashford Leech’s terminal illness was due to the fact that he had Aids.’ She was watching Joanna carefully, like a tiger stalking its prey.

  ‘No comment,’ Joanna said, and Caroline closed her eyes wearily.

  ‘So he did,’ she said.

  ‘Really?’

  ‘I do understand “police speak”,’ Caroline said. ‘So please don’t insult me.’

  ‘The trouble with you, Caro,’ Joanna said suddenly, ‘is that I can never say something off the record. As far as you’re concerned it’s all “on the record”. So I have to guard my comments. You’ve tested our friendship too far’

  ‘It’s got me some good stories,’ Caro said smoothly.

  Joanna stood up. ‘I do have to go. I have a briefing.’

  As she reached the door Caro spoke again. ‘Good luck. I hope you get him.’

  Joanna turned and gave her a watery smile. ‘Thanks,’ she said. ‘So do I.’ And she was left to wonder whom Caro had meant.

  The briefing was held in the large office at the front of the building. Joanna stood near the blackboard and faced the assembled officers. Mike sat on the corner of the table.

  ‘The Gypsy’s looking fierce today,’ Alan King whispered to PC Cheryl Smith.

  ‘Did you see the blonde?’ she whispered back. ‘Press.’

  They looked at each other knowingly.

  Joanna cleared her throat. ‘There are quite a few leads that need following up,’ she said. ‘The first is we need to speak to the soldier again, Gary Swinton. I’d like us to get him in. He is the person who found the body. He also has tattoos identical to the ones on Dean’s knuckles. Private Gary Swinton. We’d better get him in some time today, please.’ She glanced around the room. ‘For those of you who are not aware, Gary Swinton was, until last year, living at The Nest.’

  There was a mutter around the room and she held up her hand.

  ‘He is not the only suspect. But obviously he moves to the top of the list. DC King. Perhaps you’d visit the army camp. Speak to the other one ... what’s his name?’ She read from her notes. ‘Tom Mayland, the Welsh boy and any others who might have seen Swinton at the disco on Sunday night. Let’s find out if he did have the opportunity to commit this crime. We have narrowed the dumping and setting fire to the body to around four a.m. Find out whether he could have got out of the camp. Also ...’ she frowned at King, ‘see what you can dig up about him. What sort of person is he? Violent? Homosexual tendencies? You know the sort of thing. Look particularly for anything that connects him with Dean Tunstall.’

  DC King nodded, scribbled something down on his notepad and folded his arms ... ‘Excuse me, ma’am.’

  She waited too.

  ‘We’ve uncovered something about the warden at The Nest.’ He surveyed the room, enjoying the expectation on the watching faces. ‘Mark Riversdale ...’ He glanced at his pad. ‘Apparently he spent six months in a psychiatric ward – drying out. He was an alcoholic. I spoke to the psychiatrist in charge of his case. As usual ...’ he made a face, ‘he was not keen on divulging information but he said Riversdale was an unstable character and that after one of his drinking bouts he suffered from amnesia ... didn’t remember a bloody thing of what had gone on.’

  DC King paused. ‘Riversdale referred himself to the psychiatric unit after he exposed himself to a young lad. No charges were pressed. I’ve checked. He doesn’t have a record but the mother of the boy – a ten-year-old, by the way – threatened him with the law if he didn’t do something about his problem. According to Riversdale he
never remembered a thing about it.’

  King sat down, pleased with the effect of his words. Everyone in the room was watching him.

  Joanna nodded. ‘And he is the one in charge of the home.’ She looked around. ‘I don’t think I need to say anything more about Riversdale – except to say watch him. Is he still drinking? Have we any evidence of deviance since he became warden of The Nest?’

  To Mike she said quietly. ‘Did they check him out before they put him there?’ He shrugged his shoulders and she met his eyes. ‘It makes me so bloody cross,’ she said. ‘Imagine – putting a man with that sort of record in charge of a children’s home.’

  ‘Joanna ...’ he touched her arm, ‘Riversdale didn’t have a criminal record. When the council checked him out – if they bothered – he would have come out spotless. He had a medical record – not a criminal record.’

  She stared at him for a minute before turning her attention back to the briefing. ‘So far the SOCs have covered the west side of the Roaches – that is the area between the Buxton road and the spot where Dean’s body was found. However, due to information received from the landlady of the Winking Man – they heard a car travelling along the Flash road – I believe that the murder vehicle could have approached the Roaches from the Flash side.’

  ‘Excuse me ...’ One of the DCs put her hand up. ‘We thought of that, but it’s a narrow track. A car pulled up there would have completely blocked the road. Besides, there’s nowhere to turn.’

  ‘Nevertheless,’ Joanna said, ‘I think this is what our killer did. I’d like some of you to speak to Herbert Machin. He’s a farmer from Flash.’

  ‘We already did.’

  ‘Ask more specific questions,’ Joanna said slowly. ‘Ask him if a car or even a Land Rover turned round in his gateway. I feel it’s worth a second go.’

  The DC nodded and Joanna carried on. ‘So I want the search area widened to include the other side – the east side of the Roaches. Take a good wide sweep of the area after a corridor has been cleared and marked. Please,’ she appealed to the clump of uniformed officers in front of her, ‘be thorough. I believe we will find forensic evidence that this is the route the murderer – or at least the person who dumped the body – took to X, the place where the body was set alight. I don’t need to impress on you that the tiny fragment of evidence might just be the one item we need to connect a person with this place. It might make the difference between a conviction and none, the difference in a crime repeated or a person in prison.’

  One of the probationers at the front put his hand up. ‘Inspector,’ he called, ‘was it definitely a man?’

  Joanna frowned. ‘This is difficult, isn’t it?’ she said slowly. ‘Abuse of a young boy would normally imply a man. But please all of you remember it does not have to be the abuser who killed Dean and set his body alight. Remember – he had not suffered abuse for some time before his death. No,’ she said, ‘it does not have to be a man but I am strongly suspicious that it was.’ She scanned the room full of police.

  ‘The second thing is I do need to talk to the other children from the home – I believe there are five of them. They will almost certainly want a social worker there as well as the warden.’ She caught sight of Cheryl Smith. ‘Perhaps you and DC King can set that up – probably this afternoon. Also, did any of you know that two people inhabit a cave on the Roaches?’

  Phil Scott gave a sharp exclamation. ‘I’d forgotten about them,’ he said. ‘I thought they were evicted a few years ago.’

  Joanna sighed. ‘You can imagine ...’ she said. ‘We’ve been up there for a few days and didn’t even know they were probably watching us – let alone the fact that it is a distinct possibility that they saw part of the crime, at least the attempted destruction of Dean’s body, if not the actual murder act itself.’ She sighed again. ‘You can imagine how incompetent it will make us look if this fact comes to light.’

  Around the room they nodded with dropped shoulders. Police incompetence ... It was the one phrase hurled at them from all quarters – general public, officers in charge, the Press.

  ‘Well, somehow we’ve missed them on the moors. I believe they are still there. DS Mike Korpanski and I intend driving out there later on this morning and speaking to them. I’d also like to talk to the landlord of the Winking Man and his wife, and I want you,’ she looked at the two PCs in the corner, ‘to keep trying to find Dean’s mother. How far have you got?’

  One of them stood up. ‘We had an address in Plymouth,’ he said, ‘but she left there two years ago, owing rent. We’ve got a couple of friends but she seems to have been rootless. No one’s seen her for two years.’

  ‘Keep trying,’ she said.

  One of the young policemen stood up. ‘Why? She hasn’t even seen him since he was tiny.’

  Joanna held her finger up. ‘I’ll tell you why,’ she said. ‘We don’t know yet who Dean’s father was – whether he had any family. And besides that, don’t any of you feel a woman has the right to know whether her child is alive or dead?’

  Not one of them had an answer to that and when they had all filed out of the room Joanna asked Mike, ‘Do you believe two people can survive up there in a cave?’

  ‘I don’t know ...’ He looked confused. ‘I suppose the only thing we can do is to climb the Roaches and see. By the way, Jo,’ he said, ‘message came this morning from the coroner’s office. The inquest’s been set for next Monday.’

  ‘And there will be the police and the social worker, the warden. No family, Mike,’ she said. ‘No mother, father, brothers or sisters.’

  Chapter Ten

  For once it was light, fresh and golden on the moors – and as clear as ice. As they climbed towards the crag and the Winking Man, Joanna could see far below, the wide spread of moorland, a distant town, dotted farms and the men combing the east face of the rock. She and Mike climbed towards the black hole which marked the mouth of the cave. It was a stiff climb and the wind whipped their faces as they gained height, howling around them like a banshee. They were both panting as they reached the ledge. Joanna turned near the top and looked back. It was an excellent vantage point. From here she could see both sides of the rock and yet not be seen. They climbed a few feet further and turned to face the tiny mouth that marked the entrance to the cave, hidden from below by a headstone of rock. It was only then that she realized they had been watched – probably all the time.

  ‘Good mornin’.’

  The woman looked monstrously huge. Only later Joanna discovered this was an illusion created by layers of thick, filthy clothes that blended perfectly with the stone. Her hair was granite grey, straggling below her shoulders, topped by a dirty red bobble hat. Her eyes were hostile.

  ‘I seen you before,’ the woman said.

  ‘Last night.’

  The woman nodded.

  ‘Are you Alice Rutter?’ she asked, having to shout the words to be heard above the wind whipping across the grey stones.

  The woman agreed warily. ‘Police, are you?’

  Joanna nodded. ‘That’s right,’ she said, and instinctively knew this sharp-eyed woman with iron strength to her body and iron will in her character held at least part of the answer.

  She indicated the mouth of the cave. ‘Is Jonathan at home?’ she asked, but Alice was reluctant to invite her in. Instead she scowled.

  ‘There’s no reason for you to talk to him,’ she said. ‘He slept.’

  It was unnecessary to ask Alice when he slept.

  Joanna sat down on a small flat depression in the rock. Alice leaned against the crag.

  ‘I want to know who killed the boy,’ Joanna said baldly.

  Alice nodded very slowly.

  ‘He was very young, had had a short and unhappy life,’ Joanna continued. She could not rush this interview. It must be taken at Alice’s pace and that was slow. But at least in this high hollow they were out of the blast of the wind. She glanced at Mike, sitting on a projection, watching the old woman w
ith disbelieving eyes.

  Alice was staring down the hill where the police were walking the forensic line. ‘At least they be in the right place this time,’ she said, chuckling.

  Behind her Joanna could hear Mike shuffling his feet impatiently and knew he was thinking of wasted police hours, of forensic evidence blown away in the wind. But this would not help them now.

  ‘What did you see?’

  ‘The boy was already dead,’ Alice said, her eyes misted and sad. ‘I would have stopped him burnin’ him if he had moved.’ She stopped for a while, and pursed her lips up. ‘I knew he was dead when they got out of the car. Swung him over his shoulder, he did, like a dead sheep. Then he walked –’

  ‘The car,’ Mike interrupted. ‘What make was it?’

  She looked at him without understanding. ‘How the ’ell should I know? It were barely dawn and I don’t know different shapes of a car.’

  ‘Colour?’ Joanna asked gently.

  ‘I think it were pale,’ Alice said slowly.

  ‘White?’ Mike asked.

  But Alice shook her head. ‘I couldn’t say,’ she said. ‘Maybe.’

  ‘Then what?’

  ‘Brought him up the bank. I was hid behind the rock, watching him.’

  ‘You’re sure it was a man?’

  But again Alice shook her head. ‘Had one of them hats on what covers your face,’ she said. ‘Something to do with the Crimea.’

  They both stared at her puzzled, then it dawned on Joanna. ‘Balaclava?’ she asked.

  Alice nodded. ‘That’s it,’ she said. ‘I couldn’t see no face. And he was wearin’ one of them thick thorn-proof coats, trousers and Wellington boots. So it might have not bin a man. I can’t swear and I can’t say who it was but I did see.’

  ‘Then what?’ Joanna was finding it hard to swallow her disappointment.

  ‘The person dropped the body,’ Alice said. ‘There.’

  ‘That wasn’t where it was found.’ Mike sounded sceptical.

  ‘Wait for me,’ Alice said slowly. ‘I haven’t finished.’

  ‘So?’

  ‘The stupid fool. He tried to fire the body along the gully, but the wind was howlin’ up. It burned then blew out. But I can prove it.’ She nodded down towards the police chain. ‘They’ll see burnin’ there.’