The cold water wasn’t enough. Not by a long way. He took a long massaging shower, had a wet shave, and brushed his teeth twice. For the first time in more than six months he wiped on some aftershave. Then he put on his best black suit, and a blue silk tie that Laura had given him for his last birthday. As he knotted it with uncoordinated fingers, Frank saw Laura step into the bedroom. Looked at his daughter holding out the lovingly wrapped package, a proud smile beaming out of her face.
‘Happy birthday to you …’ she sang, laughing and clapping at the end. Getting as much enjoyment from giving a present as she did from receiving one. He forced the image away, but Laura continued to follow him around the bedroom.
No tears, Frank, he told himself. Not now. But tell me, who are you getting dressed up for? Janet? Gary? They won’t notice. Not anymore.
It didn’t matter that they wouldn’t notice, he decided. It felt like the right thing to do.
The inside of his grubby Renault was already like an oven. He popped the sunroof, powered down his dusty window and cranked the engine. It was another beautiful day; brilliant blue sky, a few fine and wispy clouds, a gentle breeze that whispered and caressed. Just the kind of weather you’d want when visiting your loved ones.
He drove slowly, concentrating on the road ahead, a shimmer of heat-haze guiding the way. The rest of the world passed him by without a care. It was the usual summer fare; dresses were thin and short, flesh was browning, there were more smiles to be seen than at any other time of year, except perhaps for Christmas. Frank didn’t think he’d ever feel like smiling again. For the rest of his life, summer would mean death and tragedy.
Sebastian Reeves was the Home Office pathologist who had attended the scene of the crime. He would now be involved with the police and various forensic teams until the investigation was complete. A heavy, rotund Cornishman, his face was permanently flushed and slick with sweat. Habitually he wore a bow-tie to work, the darker ones looking like squashed bats beneath a vast array of chins. He was known as the ‘gentle giant’, for despite his size he was timid and shy and awkward. More at ease with the dead than the living.
Frank had known him for several years now. As Frank came through the swing doors of the hospital mortuary, Seb happened to be standing at the reception area. He looked up from a clipboard. The expression on his face said it all.
‘I know you’ll do right by them,’ Frank said as they shook hands. ‘Let’s just get it over with.’
Sebastian Reeves looked down at his feet. It didn’t matter how many times he went through this, it obviously never got any easier for the man. Corpses were cold meat to him. It was the walking, talking live ones he didn’t know how to deal with.
Frank preceded him down the cool, antiseptic corridor and into the viewing room. Seb passed through to another chamber, appearing moments later with a covered trolley at the long window. He waited for a nod from Frank before carefully peeling back the white sheet.
Janet’s face was beautiful. Frank stared down at his estranged wife and saw all that he had once loved about her. His legs became heavy, he felt light-headed, and the tiny room seemed to pulse and throb with life. She wasn’t, couldn’t be dead, and still look so good. Seb was a master at what he did, personally applying cosmetics so that the decedent would not shock. But even he couldn’t bring someone back to life.
‘Is this Janet Anne Rogers?’ Seb’s voice came from a single speaker, yet whispered around the entire room, sibilants calling out like mocking spectres.
Frank nodded once. ‘It … yes, it is.’
‘Are you ready for … to go on?’ the pathologist asked. Again`` he paused, waiting for Frank to nod, then dragged the sheet back up over Janet’s face, and wheeled the trolley out again.
Gary was the one that did it for them both.
Frank identified his son, the boy’s chubby face also unmarked. Frank stood stiffly, this time unable to prevent the tears from sliding down his face. He caught them in the palms of his hands, where they glittered like tiny jewels. What might you have been, son? he wondered. I would have been proud of you whatever your choice, whatever you became. Because you would have been one of the good ones.
His eyes hardened then, narrowing. What was the last thing you saw? Did your eyes open when he came into your room? Did you see the man who did this to you? Did you smell his blood-lust? Oh, and what was the last thing you felt? Pain? Terror? Shock? Or did you wonder why your daddy wasn’t there to save you? To keep the monster away from you. Just as he always promised he would.
Appearing by Frank’s side, Seb took hold of his arm and guided him back out of the room that felt like a cold-meat locker. Frank sat in the waiting area for several minutes, time washing over him, a helpless and broken man. The receptionist made him some strong, sweet tea. Frank didn’t take sugar, but he drank it gratefully nonetheless, and allowed his thoughts to gradually reassemble.
Now that the identification procedure was over, he felt curiously detached. Janet and Gary were gone. He would mourn and grieve for his son until his own time ran out, but for now he had to think only of Laura. She was his sole reason for carrying on. While there was hope, some chance that she was still alive, he had to fight the sense of loss that was threatening to overwhelm him.
He made his way home, intending to wait the day out for Nicky. The sense of frustration was intense. He was aware that if he had still been with the police service, he would not have been allowed to join the investigation. His superiors would have deemed him too close, too involved. But he would still have seen the case unfold around him, would have been informed of every single twist and turn. Now all he could do was wait for Nicky to report in – something his best friend could lose his job over.
What made the situation all the more unpalatable was Colin Foster’s presence on the case. The two men had clashed repeatedly when they worked together. In Frank’s opinion, Foster was everything a good copper should not be. The man took credit for the work of others – something Frank despised him for. He had risen to his current rank on the sweat and blood of other men – some of whom were Frank’s friends – and could not be forgiven for such actions. Now Foster was running this, of all cases. And he would screw it up. Frank was certain of that. Even if the monster was caught, no doubt due to the efforts of Nicky and the other officers, Foster would somehow let vital evidence slip through his fingers, or make the procedural cock-up that would see the case tossed out of court. But Foster came from the right side of the tracks, he had the breeding, a father who was a high-roller somewhere on the east coast, he said the right things to the right people, and he had been a Mason since the age of twenty-two. These were the only qualifications he needed.
Frank held the man and everything he stood for in contempt, yet vowed not to let Foster get in the way of what had to be done. There was the way of the book, and then there was Frank’s way. And he knew that only his way would work this time. Only his way would get his daughter back.
Sometimes you had to bend the rules.
Perhaps soon would come the time to break them.
8
Frank decided to call in at the office before heading home. Zoe would want to see him, and there was business to attend to. He knew he wasn’t up to it – not by a long way – but recognised the fact that he had other responsibilities.
The office in the High Road was one of two perched above a video store that also housed a pool room at the back, which seemed to serve as a meeting place for local small-time hoodlums. The office entrance was separate, but from time to time Frank would spot a face he recognised as he entered or left. He knew the building was monitored by plain-clothes police officers on a regular basis, but he doubted they would ever stumble across a criminal mastermind. They were all in Marbella.
Leytonstone had undergone many changes down the years. The A12 now wound through its heart like a concrete and tarmac artery, and many new houses had been built to replace council eyesores. But while much of it was efficient, some p
leasing to the eye, the rest remained squalid and neglected. The area that bordered Stratford, where Frank leased his office, was perhaps the one that least remained in the mind. The council tenement homes were grey and uninspiring, shops and houses old and dark and devoid of style. The place was going nowhere and getting there fast.
Zoe was on the phone when he entered the office. Her eyes found his, before quickly darting away again as she continued her conversation. Frank had to remind himself of her age and relative inexperience in dealing with matters of such personal sensitivity. But after she cut short the call, his young office manager surprised him with a maturity beyond her years.
‘You look as if you could do with a drink, boss,’ she said. Everything else, all the compassion and sympathy, could be found in her open appraisal of him.
The Langthorne was the closest pub. It was a little after one-thirty, and on a stage, that comprised of four tables taped together and covered with a stapled dustsheet, a stripper way past her sell-by date was trying to look sexy while struggling to step out of her snakeskin thong. Frank walked past with barely a glance, ordered two pints of Stella, then he and Zoe moved across to an empty table on the far side of the bar.
Before they had a chance to make themselves comfortable, a cheer went up, and Frank turned his head. The stripper had fallen off the stage, thong wrapped around the heel of her right shoe. Frank paused, saw some of the other punters moving in to help her up; probably hoping to cop a feel as they did so. He sat down heavily, drawing both hands down his face.
‘Bad day?’ Zoe asked.
‘Oh, yes.’ Frank downed half his lager in one go, nodding as he wiped froth from the corner of his mouth. ‘I don’t think they come any worse.’
Zoe leaned across the table and laid a hand on his. ‘I was worried about you. I was going to call you last night, but I figured you’d want to be left alone.’
‘You’re right, but I’m sorry. I’m the one who should have called you. Let you know what was going on.’
She waved his apology away with a flap of her hand. ‘You had one or two other things on your mind. All I knew was what your friend told you when he came to the office, but you were out the door so quickly I never had the chance to tell you how sorry I was.’
Frank took another swig from his glass; the plastic container a sad reflection of the type of clientele that frequented the place. ‘I didn’t spend too long at the … scene. I don’t exactly get on with the person in charge of the investigation. I’m going back tomorrow morning. Actually, I’ve just returned from officially identifying Janet and Gary.’
‘Christ. That must’ve been an ordeal.’
‘I hope you never have to find out.’ Frank studied his assistant for a moment. Zoe’s appearance was still somewhat clown-like, but the myriad of colours seemed unusually subdued. He wondered how she’d look in black.
‘What do you want me to do about the business?’ she asked, lighting up a cigarette.
Frank shrugged his shoulders. ‘I can’t think too clearly at the moment, Zo. Fend off any calls for the time being. I may have to hire someone to do my rounds, but let’s see how it pans out over the next few days, eh?’
‘You’re the boss. Boss.’ She blew out a cloud of smoke, fanning it away with her hand.
‘I know you’ll cope.’ He managed a feeble grin. ‘If you can’t stun them with your natural charm, fax them a photo and they’ll feel sorry for you.’
Zoe pulled a face, wrinkling her nose. ‘I’ll send them a bank statement. That’ll have them wetting themselves with laughter.’
Without asking, Zoe fetched them two more drinks. By this time, the middle-aged stripper had hobbled off, swiftly replaced by one young enough to cause suspicion. The girl appeared nervous, entirely ill-at-ease, her movements rigid and uncoordinated as she shed her clothing.
Frank pushed his first glass to one side, picked up the second. Again, he put away half of the lager in two thirsty swallows. ‘I have no idea where to begin picking up the pieces,’ he admitted. ‘I’ve been on the other side of this on many occasions, and though I’ve always felt a tug of sympathy, I’ve never really given much thought to how people carry on with their lives afterwards.’
‘It’s what we do, though.’ Zoe shrugged, the movement causing her huge hooped earrings to jangle. She drew on her cigarette, the end flaring brightly. ‘I remember when my old man was killed in a car accident. We thought we’d never get over it. Thought we’d never laugh again, never be happy. But we came through it, we do still laugh, and I even reckon we’ll all be happy again one day. You have to have something to look forward to, don’t you?’
Frank set down his glass and stared at her in amazement. ‘Are you sure you’re not a forty-year-old who’s had some amazing cosmetic surgery carried out? You’re a child, Zoe. How can you be so wise?’
‘Me and Yoda, eh?’
Frank laughed, in spite of himself. ‘What do you know about Yoda? You weren’t even born when Star Wars came out.’
‘You’re forgetting the most recent ones. Plus, one of my exes was an absolute anorak on the subject.’
Frank leaned across the table, meeting what little of her eyes he could see behind the blue makeup. ‘So, tell me, how do I go about it? How do I face up to this?’
Zoe paused only for a moment, stubbing out her cigarette. Then she gave a nod and said, ‘Like you’ve met everything else since I’ve known you, Frank. Head-on. The one thing I know for certain is that you won’t let this grind you down. You won’t let whoever did this have that satisfaction.’
‘The confidence of youth,’ he said, shaking his head. But as he drained his glass, he felt Zoe’s words strike home with a force that made him feel almost humble, and just a little less pessimistic about what the future had in store.
9
The first thing Frank did when he got home was to call an undertaker, spending the next fifty minutes making ceremony arrangements. It was a solemn, soul-destroying process that no grieving person should have to endure.
When he was done, Frank stripped off his suit and changed into jeans and a plain black T-shirt. Then he fixed himself another beer and called Debbie. He told her about the identification, the drink and chat with Zoe afterwards, how numb he was feeling. She asked if she could come to the house, and he didn’t have the heart to say no. Although she had once been Janet’s closest friend, a good friend to the entire family for that matter, she and Frank had grown much closer after the separation. When she arrived barely ten minutes later, Debbie fell into his arms without a word being spoken. They clung to each other. It was his family, but Debbie’s ties with them were strong. He had no more tears to shed for now, but he comforted her while she sobbed.
What followed was a curious unease. For a short while they sat in the living room like strangers, awkward silences forming an unseen barrier. Instead of bringing them closer together as it perhaps should have, it seemed to have driven a wedge between them. It was as if their blossoming relationship had been acceptable only while Janet and the children were around to give it their blessing. Finally, when Debbie stood to leave, Frank took hold of her arm.
‘I’m sorry,’ he said. ‘I know this should be very different, and I’m not handling it at all well. But things have changed and I’m just not sure of anything right now. I have to get it out of my system, Debs. I have to do my best for Laura, without any distractions.’
‘I understand.’ She kissed his cheek, wiped her pink lipstick away with the soft pad of her thumb. ‘I know this is a terrible time for you, Frank. The worst of times. You do what you have to. If you need me, I’ll be there for you. Just call.’
Frank nodded, uncertain how he felt right at that moment. The future looked so desperately bleak. There seemed no room for happiness in it. Not even with this lovely woman.
On his own once more, Frank switched on the TV and set the channel to Sky News. He didn’t have to wait too long for the feature he’d known would figure prominently throughou
t the day. An official spokesman stood outside the revolving New Scotland Yard sign, reading from a statement. Essentially, he revealed to the nation what Nicky had spoken of the previous day: that the media had hitherto been kept in the dark about certain specifics relating to each separate investigation, both in order not to feed the killer with the kind of notoriety he may have sought, and also to lessen the chance of a panic. The spokesman dismissed all suggestions that this tactic may, inadvertently, have led to the more recent murders and abductions.
Frank had asked himself this same question. But as one who had walked the official side of the fence, he knew that if he had been the senior investigating officer, he would have wanted the same limited information released to the media. While he wasn’t aware of the exact details not provided, he knew the kind of things investigators liked to keep away from the public.
The news item concluded with a reporter casting doubt on the Yard’s assertions that the restricted release had been the correct procedure to follow. Frank had crossed swords with the media on several occasions, and his guess was that their self-serving attitude would be seen by the general public for what it was.
Instead of moving to an unrelated item, the news segued into a piece on the abducted girls. Frank found himself staring at a photograph of his own face, taken many years before during a particularly harrowing murder investigation. A female anchor gave a brief outline of Frank’s work as a detective, before mentioning his more immediate connection with the item. Suitably sombre, the woman spoke about Laura as if they were old pals, finishing her spot by posing a question: just how involved would Frank Rogers be in the current investigation?
Frank swore and jabbed the remote’s standby button.
Degrees of Darkness Page 5