Catch the Fallen Sparrow

by Priscilla Masters

  Alice stood up heavily then lumbered out of the door. They drove around Leek, then five miles towards Macclesfield, looking at cars, the windows open to listen to engine noises. Alice gave each vehicle slow consideration.

  Long, Joanna soon found out, was any car at all – except possibly a Mini. Alice picked out hatchbacks and estates, saloons and fastbacks. Similarly, a light colour covered fifty per cent of cars on the road, pale, metallic greens and greys, whites and creams, yellows and pale blues. So they stood on a street corner and Joanna asked her to close her eyes and identify a car that sounded right. But when Alice was convinced she had ‘heard the car’, it turned out to be a motor bike.

  Alice looked close to tears. ‘Jonathan was right,’ she said. ‘I’m a silly old fool. I aren’t familiar with cars. I never ’ad one.’ Then she stopped. ‘I don’t know nothin’. I can’t ’elp. And I was near. I saw. I didn’t do nothin’. I was scared. But I could ’ave saved the burnin’.’

  Joanna tried to comfort the old woman and offered to drive her back to her home.

  Alice looked at her. ‘You have a car?’

  Joanna grinned. ‘I usually use my bike,’ she said. ‘But I have had to use the car lately.’ She smiled ruefully.

  ‘There’s been so much haring around.’

  It was a fine evening but September was turning cool. Joanna slipped her coat on and walked slowly up the grey slope of the moor, towards the Winking Man, outlined in black against the grey sky.

  At the top Alice called out, ‘Jonathan ... Jonathan. I ’ave the police lady with me.’

  His head appeared through the gloom from behind the rock, hostile and suspicious. He glared at Joanna. ‘What are you ’ere for?’ he demanded.

  ‘She brought me home.’

  He looked from one to the other. ‘You find the car then,’ he mocked.

  Alice shook her head, iron-grey dreadlocks bouncing off her cheeks.

  ‘I knew she wouldn’t.’ It was Joanna he addressed.

  ‘Sit down a minute.’

  Joanna sat on the rock and gazed across the wide view, lake and town, mountains and valleys.

  Alice watched her face like a hawk. ‘That is a view,’ she said proudly. ‘Not bricks. Not dirty air. Not even people at all. Just the hills and the land and God.’ She glanced at Joanna. ‘You married then?’

  Joanna shook her head.

  ‘You want to be married?’

  And suddenly the anguish of Matthew flooded back – the old confusion and uncertainty. She shrugged her shoulders while Alice watched her – puzzled.

  She touched her with a gnarled, wrinkled hand. ‘ ’Ard world, isn’t it?’

  Joanna laughed. ‘But our worlds are different, Alice.’

  Alice Rutter gave a slow chuckle. ‘Don’t be daft,’ she said. ‘It’s the same world. We all has different ways of livin’ in it but it’s the same world all right.’

  Joanna stared down at the hollow where the town sat. ‘How do you live up here, Alice?’

  The old woman blinked. ‘The animals does. Why shouldn’t we? We can survive too. It’s just that people like you have bred too fine. You forgets you has legs for walkin’. Because you use cars. You never learn how to catch food and store it through the winter. There’s things you knows, I dare say,’ she said, winking at Jonathan ‘but there’s an awful lot of things you don’t know.’

  Joanna looked at the woman’s face and read something there – something wise, a hidden, superior knowledge – something she didn’t understand but could respect. ‘Two children are missing,’ she said, ‘from the same house that the boy was from.’

  Alice was watching her steadily.

  ‘I’m worried about them.’

  Alice stood up, Jonathan too, towering over her, bulky in their layers of clothes.

  ‘You’ll find them,’ Alice said. ‘Soon enough and ...’ she wagged her finger at Joanna, ‘when they wants to be found. You’ll find them when they lets you.’ There was a stern hostility in her face and Joanna felt unnerved, lonely. She was standing on alien territory.

  ‘I have to go now,’ she said, ‘but I’ll come back.’ Joanna ran down the side of the blackening mountain, conscious all the way of the woman’s powerful presence behind her. When she reached the car the phone was crackling. She answered it and heard Mike’s voice. They had found another body.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Flashing blue lights lit the front of the sports shop already sealed off with tape. Mike met Joanna as she drew to a halt.

  ‘A customer alerted us.’ His voice was shaking. However many murders they investigated, violent death was always a shock.

  She stared at him. ‘How was he killed?’

  ‘Slit throat, Jo. God, there’s blood everywhere.’ He stopped for a moment. ‘I never saw such a messy murder,’ he said softly. Latos must have been covered in blood.

  She walked inside. She had steeled herself for a gruesome spectacle but nothing could have prepared her for this. The knife had slit an artery. The heart had pumped out blood. It had spurted and hit the ceiling in a great splash. Joanna stared at it then at the small body of Keith Latos, his neck a gaping pulp, his T-shirt drenched.

  ‘Yet who would have thought the old man to have had so much blood in him,’ she said softly.

  ‘Sorry?’ One of the SOC officers looked up.

  ‘Never mind,’ she said. ‘Another murder.’

  ‘I don’t think this one was,’ he said. ‘For a small chap he was pretty muscular. But he never had a chance. Quick flash ... Phhht.’ He whistled through his teeth. ‘Bloody quick end.’

  ‘I don’t suppose it was burglary?’

  The SOC officer shook his head. ‘Not a chance,’ he said.

  ‘Pathologist sent for?’

  ‘I’m here.’ Cathy was standing behind her with her small black scene-of-crime case in her hand. She smiled at Joanna. ‘Leek’s getting pretty ghastly,’ she said with a thin smile. ‘Matthew promised me it would be a complete holiday.’ She looked down at the bloodied corpse. ‘I don’t call this much of a holiday, Joanna.’ She knelt down beside the corpse and slipped on some surgeon’s gloves. ‘I suppose you’ve heard the good news. Matthew should be home in a couple of days.’

  Joanna stared at her. ‘He rang?’

  ‘Yes ... He had to let the hospital know when he’d be back.’ She touched Latos’s face. ‘Cold,’ she said, then looked up at Joanna. ‘Didn’t you know?’

  Joanna couldn’t tell whether her voice contained a hint of malice. ‘No,’ she said shortly. ‘I didn’t.’ So Matthew was coming home and he hadn’t even had the courtesy to ring her. He had contacted colleagues – made sure they would expect him back. And he hadn’t lifted the telephone to let her know. She gritted her teeth, feeling as though she had been punched. Fortunately Cathy did not notice.

  ‘Been dead around two hours,’ she said. ‘One very sure slice to the neck. Probably with a carving knife. The sort you carve the joint with. Strong too. Gone right through the carotid artery, jugular vein, trachea ... Look.’

  She tilted the head just a little. ‘See that. Spinal column. One hell of a blow.’

  One of the police officers ran out of the room rather quickly.

  Cathy looked up at her. ‘I’ll be able to tell you more about the knife when I get him to the mortuary. Just tell me one thing, Joanna,’ she asked curiously, ‘was he connected with the boy?’

  ‘One of the chief suspects,’ Joanna said gloomily.

  Cathy looked at her. ‘Well, he didn’t do this,’ she said.

  Joanna found DC Alan King with the police photographer.

  ‘Turned up anything?’

  He shook his head. ‘Must have been close to closing time,’ he said. ‘Whoever it was was in and out quickly.’

  ‘Any prints?’

  King shook his head again. ‘Not a bloody thing to go on,’ he said. ‘If it wasn’t connected with the Tunstall case, I’d think it was a homicidal maniac.’

 
Joanna looked at the blood-drenched corpse and came to a decision. ‘Mike,’ she said. ‘I’m going to ask the Super for some extra men. We have to find the two children. I think we should return to The Nest. I want to speak to Mark Riversdale and make another search of their rooms. We must have missed something.’ She stared down at the white face. ‘I didn’t expect this,’ she said through her teeth.

  Mike touched her shoulder. ‘None of us did.’

  Outside she sat in the car and looked at him. ‘Why was Latos killed?’ It was a simple question. She felt she should know the answer, but no brainwaves, no inspiration came, only the ugly vision of the opened neck. She sat for a while, pondering as pictures moved in front of her eyes, neatly boxed shoelaces unthreaded, knotted in skeins as they arrived from the manufacturer. Pairs of trainers tossed together in the basket outside the shop, neatly laced, tied together in pairs ... a photograph album, a ring ... She put the car into gear and headed towards the Ashbourne road.

  To Joanna’s surprise Maree O’Rourke opened the door to The Nest. She seemed confused at the appearance of the two police officers. And embarrassed too. ‘Hello,’ she said, dragging her fingers through her spiky hair. ‘Have you heard anything about Jason and Kirsty?’

  ‘I’m sorry,’ Joanna said.

  Maree looked close to tears. ‘God,’ she said, ‘what the hell’s happening to them?’

  Joanna said nothing. Mike merely stared.

  Maree gave him a glance then quickly looked away. ‘Was there anything ...’

  ‘We wanted to speak to Mark,’ Joanna said. ‘And we would like to search Jason and Kirsty’s rooms.’

  ‘Again?’ She paused then nodded. ‘Of course – fine.’ Now she was over-friendly, almost effusive ... ‘Come in ...’ She stood back against the door. ‘Mark isn’t exactly available at the moment.’

  ‘Is he in or not?’ Mike pushed forwards.

  Maree flushed. ‘He isn’t terribly well: she said. ‘He’s upset. Look, why don’t you search the rooms first? Then you can speak to him.’

  The boys’ room seemed empty now. Dean and Jason both gone. Twin beds, neatly made up, clothes out of sight. Even the posters seemed characterless – Terminator, Edward Scissorhands ... an unknown character with blood dripping from his nose, and strangely a soft poster of a bright blue bird flapping its wings over water. It looked out of place against the aggression portrayed around it. Joanna studied it for a while. ‘I wonder which of them put this one up.’

  She opened the wardrobe. School uniform, school shoes, shirts, T-shirts, jeans. Some were probably Dean’s – the rest Jason’s. She stared at them and wondered whether he would ever wear them again. Damn it, she thought, where was the boy?

  She turned to Mike. ‘There’s nothing here, Mike,’ she said.

  He nodded. ‘The lads have been through it,’ he said.

  ‘It’s so ...’ she grappled for a word, ‘typical...’

  Kirsty’s room was different in that she did not share it. The posters were Take That, East 17 ... The clothes were less dissimilar, baggy jeans, baggy T-shirts, the school uniform skirt, cardigan, Doc Martens shoes. Joanna pulled open a drawer, fumbled through underwear. Again there was nothing there. She looked around in desperation. There must be something here ... some clue as to the girl’s whereabouts. A photograph was stuck on to the wall, three children. It was fuzzy and blurred but she could just make out Kirsty, Jason and Dean, standing on the top of some rock, fists clenched as though they had conquered Everest. Dean’s hair was blown in the wind, bright yellow, his clenched fist raised towards the sky. Jason had his arm crooked around the younger boy’s neck while Kirsty was wiping her hair out of her eyes, squinting up at the sun. Joanna stared at the print and wondered who had taken the photograph. None of the children, as far as she knew, possessed a camera. She took a last glance around the room and went downstairs.

  Mark Riversdale was in the corner of the sitting room, his head in his hands, looking as pale as death. He glanced up as they entered. ‘Haven’t you found them yet?’ His voice was pleading and he was drunk. ‘I could lose my job over this, you know.’ He screwed up his face. ‘Haven’t you any idea where they are?’

  Maree met their eyes, shook her head very slightly and handed Mark a cup of black coffee. ‘Would you like one?’

  They both shook their heads. Joanna sat down while Mike watched.

  ‘What were they like when you last saw them?’ Joanna asked.

  He thought for a while as though confused by the question. Then he shrugged his shoulders. ‘Just normal,’ he said.

  ‘Were they very upset by Dean’s death?’

  ‘Inspector,’ he said, ‘these kids have a lot of things happen to them. They’re pretty hard. They learn not to let their feelings show.’

  ‘But you’re by way of being a parent,’ Joanna said. ‘Surely you know what their feelings are.’

  Riversdale shook his head. ‘No,’ he said simply, ‘I don’t. If they were upset they didn’t show it. They were good kids,’ he added.

  ‘Did they mention anything about Dean?’

  ‘Not really.’

  ‘Mr Riversdale,’ Joanna said quietly, ‘where were you at five o’clock this evening?’

  He looked in genuine puzzlement. ‘Why?’

  ‘Just answer the question.’ Mike stepped forward. His voice was sharp. He too had been affected by what he had witnessed.

  Mark looked helplessly at Maree and when she shook her head again slightly her ear-rings moved like wind chimes. The negative movement said it. I can’t help you. You’re on your own.

  ‘I was here,’ he said, ‘thinking.’

  ‘Alone?’ Mike could not keep the note of aggression out of his voice.

  Riversdale heard it and looked puzzled. ‘I was thinking,’ he said. ‘Wondering where they are.’ His face changed then, became paler and seemed to shrink. ‘Why?’ he asked. ‘Why are you asking me all this?’ Then his voice changed too. ‘What’s happened?’

  Maree stood up, gripped the back of the chair ‘Oh my God,’ she said. ‘Not Jason and Kirsty too?’

  Joanna had learned to use fear and confusion as a weapon. So for a moment she said nothing but watched their faces silently. They showed upset and apprehension but no foreknowledge or guilt. So she told them. No ... the children had not been found but Latos had – with his throat sliced through to the spine.

  Riversdale frowned. ‘I’m sorry,’ he said. ‘I don’t understand. What is this all to do with Dean?’

  Mike cleared his throat. ‘We don’t know,’ he said. ‘Yet.’

  Maree looked angry. ‘Why can’t you bloody well find them?’

  ‘Could you ever when they absconded before? When Dean went you never found out where he was.’

  ‘That was different.’ She looked even more angry. ‘They could have been kidnapped.’

  ‘We know all that,’ Mike said woodenly. ‘We are trying, Maree.’

  She sighed and sank back down on the sofa.

  ‘This case ...’ she said.

  When Joanna returned to the station she was met by a triumphant Caro who produced a pale, thin woman dressed in long, dangly ear-rings, a short skirt and bent stilettos.

  ‘This is Dean’s mother,’ Caro said. Her triumph was complete – the magician had brought a live white rabbit out of a seemingly empty top hat. ‘She answered our plea for the missing mother.’

  ‘You’d better come into one of the interview rooms,’ Joanna said. Caro didn’t even ask. She knew the rules by now.

  So Mike and Joanna faced the woman who claimed to be Dean’s mother and Joanna felt uneasy. She didn’t know whether to say she was sorry. In the end she decided she should – however inappropriate it might be. But the woman didn’t look interested – let alone perturbed.

  Joanna smiled. ‘I’m – sorry about Dean,’ she said. ‘Mrs ... Miss.’

  ‘Ms’ll do me nicely,’ the woman said. ‘Gaynor’s me name – Gaynor Tunstall. I actually was married –
just the once. But it sort of fell through. Ever since then I’ve gone back to usin’ me unmarried name.

  ‘Were you married to Dean’s father?’

  Gaynor Tunstall looked uneasy. ‘Not exactly,’ she said. She glanced around at Mike. ‘Does he have to stay here?’

  ‘Look, Gaynor ...’ Joanna spoke frankly. ‘We aren’t pressing charges. The tape recorder is off. You came here of your own free will. We hope you might be able to help us find your son’s killer. Gaynor,’ she said softly, ‘we need your help.’

  She nodded sagely. ‘ ’Avin’ trouble, are you?’

  ‘It isn’t proving an easy case,’ Joanna said, ‘but I rely on Detective Sergeant Korpanski. He is simply here because he might pick up something I miss. You understand?’

  Gaynor nodded. ‘Seems funny,’ she said. ‘I don’t really think of him as my son.’

  ‘Was he your son?’

  She sighed. ‘Deany ...? Yeah. He was mine all right.’

  Joanna and Mike exchanged glances. ‘Who was his father?’

  Gaynor was like a sharp little bird. She put her head on one side. ‘Who wants to know?’ she demanded.

  Joanna leaned forwards. ‘Please,’ she said.

  She bit her lip. ‘I can’t really say,’ she said. ‘I was sort of – busy at the time. I suppose blood tests. But... I never bothered. It wasn’t as if I was bringing him up anyway.’ She looked at Joanna. ‘I’m an ’opeless mum,’ she said without apology. ‘Just not born for it.’ Then she glowered at Mike. ‘Dean was my only mistake,’ she said with dignity. ‘And I did try with him. I tried ’ard. By the time ’e’d got to two I knew it was a waste of time. He was better off where he was. Home ... looked after ... clothes – schooling. Bloody social workers. They were always on at me. ’E’s yours ... you know the sort of thing. Mother Love – something called bonding.’ She gave a sharp cackle. ‘Always reminded me of bondage.’ She paused. ‘It was a bloody waste of time. I couldn’t cope. I never did Dean no good. I did the best for him.’

  ‘You didn’t think of having him adopted?’

  Now Gaynor Tunstall looked indignant. ‘What do you take me for? Give ’im away?’