As the two men trotted across the first hole fairway, over an embankment, and out onto the street, Frank was convinced this wasn’t the way their man would act. Not once had he gained entry to a house during the day. Not once that we know about, Frank corrected himself. It’s not as though we understand everything about this man. But again, that nagging feeling persisted. Something was wrong here. Terribly wrong.
At that precise moment, an explosion of movement stopped both men in their tracks. As if from nowhere, armed officers burst into the open and ran towards the house, which Stevenson had by now disappeared behind. Cries of ‘Armed police!’ shattered the stillness of the morning. And as the men sped from view, Detective Superintendent Colin Foster emerged from an unmarked vehicle that had just screeched to a halt, brushing himself down, wearing his best suit and a superior smile.
As he walked past the two stunned men, he shot Frank a look, and winked. ‘Thanks, Rogers,’ he said. There was no mistaking the vindictiveness in his tone. ‘Let a professional take it from here.’
Frank and Nicky watched the interrogation on a monitor, a camera perched high in one corner of the interview room filming the entire process. Once back at the Francis Road station, Foster had insisted on conducting the initial interview himself, allowing only DC Capel into the room with them. For the benefit of the camera and the audio recording, Foster re-read the suspect his rights.
‘Just tell me what the fuck this is all about!’ Stevenson roared, cheeks pinched red with fury. ‘Why the fuck have you arrested me? I’ve done nothing wrong.’
‘Would you like to wait for a solicitor to be present?’ Foster asked, studiously adhering to the rule book. ‘We can arrange one for you.’
‘I don’t need no fucking brief. Tell me why I’m here.’
‘We’d like you to answer a few questions. Help us with our inquiries.’
‘Help? So, I can leave if I want to?’
‘Uh, no. You are under caution, and we are detaining you without charge for the time being. The sooner you help clear this matter up, the sooner we can all go home.’
‘Right. So again, tell me why I was arrested.’
‘Why don’t you tell me why you were in the garden of a house that is not yours, sneaking alongside and heading towards the back door.’
Stevenson screwed up his face. ‘Is that it?’ He appeared shocked and a little relieved. ‘Look, I’d rather not say why I was there, but it’s not what you were thinking. I wasn’t going to turn the place over. I’m not a fucking thief.’
‘He’s good,’ Nicky said, looking across at Frank.
‘Not really. He’s not our man.’
‘He’d better be, for all your sakes.’
Frank and Nicky turned, unaware until that moment that they had been joined by Deputy Assistant Commissioner Thompson. He studied them closely.
‘Before you both plead total innocence, you should know that I’m aware that Superintendent Foster made the formal arrest. But I have a sneaking suspicion you two played a part in this.’
No way was Frank going to get himself too deeply involved at this stage. He looked back at the monitor. ‘I have no idea why he was there, sir. But for my money, he’s not our man.’
Nicky held up a hand. ‘Hold on a minute. You don’t know he’s not the one. Let’s find out why he was there, see what reason he comes up with.’
Foster had already informed the man that his word counted for nothing. ‘You must tell us why you were at that particular address, Mr Stevenson. Please, it can only help if you talk to us.’
The man reached up to scratch behind his ear. Tall and thin, his ropy muscles appeared taut beneath a grey T-shirt. A fine stubble spread across his head, and Frank could see a shaver’s nick where he had trimmed too close to the scalp. It could look completely bald to a young girl woken from her sleep in the dead of night.
‘This is harassment, Foster. I’ll have you for it. You and the lousy Met.’
‘I don’t think so.’ Foster’s smile was smug, self-assured.
‘We’ll see. Anyhow, I’m surprised Angie hasn’t already explained,’ Stevenson said.
‘Angie?’ Capel interjected, provoking a scowl from Foster. ‘Who might that be?’
‘The owner. The woman who lives there, at the house.’
‘And what do you think she might have to tell us, Mr Stevenson?’
The man spread his hands and put back his head. ‘The reason I was there, of course. I’ve been slipping her one, haven’t I? I had to wait for her old man to leave this morning, but as soon as I saw his motor had gone, I nipped in. Didn’t she tell you?’
Foster shook his head, pushed back his glasses. ‘Quite the opposite, in point of fact. Mrs Reed told us she had never seen you before, and could not account for you being on her property.’
In the next room, Frank swore. ‘Shit! This is why Foster should’ve waited. If Stevenson breaks in, we have him. If he’s invited in, we have a different story altogether.’
Stevenson’s mouth had fallen open. ‘You what? Never seen me before? Are you having a laugh? I mean … oh, hold on. I know her game. She’s obviously shit-scared of her old man, and doesn’t want to get involved in anything to do with you lot. Can’t say I blame her, mind, the way you treat people.’
Foster paused, his fingers tapping anxiously on the desk before him. He looked concerned by the suspect’s confidence. He leaned over to Capel and whispered something in his ear. Moments later, Capel appeared in the room in which Frank, Nicky, the DAC and, by now, a handful of other officers were monitoring the interview.
‘The boss is going to suspend things for now,’ Capel said to Nicky. ‘He’d like you and Frank to talk with Angie Reed. See if you can clear this up.’
‘Stupid bastard shouldn’t have given the order. It was too soon.’ Frank almost snarled his outrage.
‘I think he may just have realised that. See what you can do, eh?’
As they left the station, Frank was shaking his head bitterly. ‘In the end, I thought he was trying it on. Baiting us, wanting someone to arrest him in order to claim harassment. And all the time he was porking some housewife.’
‘You believed him, then?’ Nicky seemed uncertain.
‘Yeah. I did. Didn’t you?’
With obvious reluctance, Nicky nodded. ‘Looks like you were right yet again. Stevenson’s not our man.’
‘No. But right now I’d give anything to have been wrong about him.’
Angie Reed chain-smoked throughout the entire conversation. At first, she kept to her original story, denying all knowledge of Alan Stevenson. It was Frank who pointed out that the man had carried out some work in the very next house, at the back door, directly opposite her own, that her story could be verified. At this point, the woman seemed to sense that she had backed herself into a corner from which she could not escape.
‘That’s how we met,’ she said at last.
In her mid-thirties, Angie Reed was a plump, somewhat plain woman. Her T-shirt was a little too tight for her over-developed breasts, her denim skirt a little too short for her heavy legs and thighs.
‘I came out into the garden while he was putting on their door. He’s got the chat, and made his interest in me all too obvious. I made him a few cups of tea, he came indoors for one on the second day, and things sort of took off from there.’
‘You started an affair?’ This from Nicky.
‘Yeah. Off and on Alan would pop round. We never went out anywhere. It was just sex.’
‘And your husband knows nothing of this?’
The woman shook her head forcefully. ‘Christ, no. He touches me about twice a year, but he don’t want anyone else sniffing around. He’d kill me. Kill us both.’
‘Which is why you lied earlier,’ Frank said.
‘Yeah. I panicked. Didn’t know how to get out of it.’ Her gaze narrowed then. ‘Why did you arrest Alan, anyway? What’s he done?’
‘I’m not sure he’s done anything. So, this af
fair has been going on since last year, and he sneaks around as and when he can. Is this only during the day, or has he been here of an evening, too?’ Frank was remembering the report of Stevenson’s van being seen after midnight.
‘He’s been here a few times of a night. My old man works away sometimes. Alan never stayed all night, though.’
‘What’s the latest he was ever here?’ Nicky asked.
Angie Reed stopped to consider. ‘Ooh, must have been around one in the morning. Wasn’t often he stayed that late, but he did a few times. I hope you’re going to tell his wife, too. I don’t see why I should be the only one to suffer.’
Frank decided he’d had enough of this woman. He and Nicky excused themselves, and for a time sat out in the car. ‘I should have listened to you,’ Nicky said miserably. ‘I was taken in by coincidence, just wanting so much to nail this fucker. I’m sorry, mate.’
‘Don’t worry about it. Stevenson had to be investigated. He was. Now we can move on.’
‘I expect you’d like to come back with me, do some gloating when I tell Foster?’
But Frank was shaking his head. ‘No, you break the good news,’ he said. ‘Savour the moment for me. I’m going home.’
‘Thompson’s going to hit the roof.’
‘Maybe Foster’s actually screwed himself this time.’
‘I wouldn’t bank on it.’
‘No. Me neither. Oh, and Nicky, you’re bound to be asked what we were doing there today. So, this is what you tell them: we were out taking a walk on the golf course when we saw the armed boys steaming in. We stepped up to see if we could lend a hand. We had no idea Stevenson was still under surveillance. And by Superintendent Foster of all people.’
Nicky grinned. ‘You think Thompson will believe that crock?’
Frank shook his head again. ‘No. But I’ll lay odds he’ll want to, just for the sheer pleasure of sticking it to that prick Foster. I got the distinct impression that he likes the man about as much as we do.’
40
The drive up from Chingford took little more than an hour and a quarter. Orton was south of Peterborough city centre, minutes from the main A1(M) route. An attempt had been made by the developers to give the place an identity, where flats and both small and large houses were jumbled together, some with wooden cladding exteriors, others bricks and mortar. But whichever way you cut it, there was no mistaking the uniformity of another local authority estate. Bland and run down, it stood as testimony to naivety and waste.
Following the Alan Stevenson fiasco, he’d gone home feeling pretty low. Not at all sure how to proceed. The only thing he was certain of was that he needed a drink. Tania Penny’s phone number was stuck to the fridge door by a magnet, and he saw this when he reached inside for a beer. It struck him immediately that not all leads had been followed up, and this would be one way of maintaining some kind of momentum.
He had two choices: sit there and mope while getting slowly drunk, or move on to the next lead.
It was a no-brainer.
Tania Penny was waiting for Frank Rogers outside the three-storey house that had once been her family home. It was a featureless place, but Frank noticed that the grass was trim, net curtains gleaming white and windows sparkling. Tania got out of her small ten-year-old Volvo as Frank drew up. She had not been waiting long; the Volvo’s cooling engine was still ticking like a time-bomb.
The young woman was tall and willowy, with mousy hair tied up and clipped neatly in place. She wore a baggy T-shirt that hung outside a tight pair of cut-off denim shorts. The weather had turned a little cooler, and Frank noticed goosebumps rising on her tanned legs. She would have been stunningly beautiful had she not been so laden with sadness. It seemed to pull at her resolve, ageing her prematurely.
‘I couldn’t wait for you inside,’ she explained after they’d introduced themselves. Her voice was thick with the sound of the Fens. ‘I haven’t been anywhere near the place since … since I found them.’
Frank understood. ‘I’m sorry. That must have been an awful ordeal for you.’
Tania shook her head at the memory. ‘You have no idea.’
‘Unfortunately, yes I do. My wife and son were killed by the same man. He now has my daughter.’
The young woman put both hands to her mouth as if in prayer, features crumbling. ‘Oh, damn. Now it’s my turn to be sorry. I should have thought …’
Frank raised his hands. ‘No need. Look … if you really don’t want to go inside, perhaps we could talk elsewhere.’
Tania turned her head toward the house, its window panes darkened by shadows. ‘No. I must go in there. I need to. Now seems like the right time, with someone beside me who can understand how I feel. I just couldn’t face it alone.’
They strolled slowly across to the house. Several children played on the path, unaware of life’s vagaries and deceptions. Frank envied their innocence. ‘How has the place been kept so clean?’ he asked Tania.
‘The rest of my family take it in turns. You know, uncles, aunts. They all muck in once a week.’
‘How about the upkeep? Must be a strain paying rent for a place you don’t even live in.’
She smiled briefly and shook her head. ‘Oh, no. My parents bought the house off the council. The insurance paid off the mortgage, and the place was left to me.’ Her voice seemed to break as she spoke.
Frank stopped and reached out to grasp her forearm. His grip was tender. ‘Look, if this is going to be painful, if it’s too much for you, tell me. I really only need to see you, not the house itself.’
‘I know. But like I said, now is as good a time as any to face up to it. It is mine now, after all. And Samantha’s … if she comes home.’
Frank said nothing. His reassurance at that moment would have sounded hollow and unconvincing. Tania turned the key and pushed, pausing on the doorstep. He saw her jaw stiffen determinedly. Then she was inside, walking around the house in complete silence. Frank remained in the hall by the front door, allowing the girl her privacy. He felt for her. She wasn’t much more than a child herself. It wasn’t right for the young to die, but it was no more right that they should be left behind to mourn and grieve. And this poor girl had more than that to contend with, for she had actually discovered the bodies. How was that affecting her life?
Frank took in all that he could. The hall and stairway carpets were obviously new. Blood could be scrubbed away, but no amount of cleaning could expunge the memories held in each fibre. For the first time he thought of Paul Clarke’s relatives, and how they were handling the cleaning up. The man may have stolen his wife, but Frank would never have wished such an end on anyone.
When Tania was finished with the rest of the house they moved into the kitchen. She took a bottle from the fridge and poured them both a tall glass of sparkling mineral water. ‘I’ve nothing stronger. My parents weren’t really drinkers. And there’s no milk for tea.’
She led them into the living room, where the shadows lengthened and time slipped by unnoticed as they talked. Like the rest of the house, the room was too clean, too tidy. It had the air of abandonment. Frank’s heart reached out to the young woman, but although he asked all the right questions, she really had nothing new to offer.
Tania had stayed the night with a friend, returning the next afternoon to find her family slaughtered, Samantha missing. She could not recall seeing any strangers in the area, nor had anyone worked on the house, her father being a keen and excellent all-round building tradesman.
Frank was on the point of excusing himself when he noticed her moist eyes locked on the wall to his right. He turned and saw two framed photographs. One was of Tania herself, posing on a beach, her bikini the same shade as her flesh. The other portrayed a girl several years younger, with the same exquisite bone structure and fledgling beauty, smart in her school uniform.
‘Poor Sam,’ Tania whispered. ‘I hope she isn’t suffering. I think I’d rather she was dead than that.’
Frank edged fo
rward to give her hand a gentle squeeze. ‘She’s a lovely looking girl. My daughter had just had her school photograph taken, too. She …’
His head snapped back to the photograph. He got to his feet abruptly, spilling the glass of water across the carpet, oblivious to it. Slowly, as if with great reluctance, he inched his way across to the wall. This time he ignored Samantha Penny’s face. This time he saw only the background behind her. He closed his eyes and drifted back eleven days.
Laura coming into the kitchen early on Saturday morning. Laura handing him a large envelope. Laura eyeing him nervously as he pulled out the photograph. Frank squeezed his eyes tight, then tighter still. He saw Laura clearly, her face looking out of the photo, the image of her mother. Then he saw the background. A peach and beige marble effect, more luxurious than the standard backdrops, yet with a curious defect in the marbling that made one section look like the face of a cartoon dog.
He opened his eyes and looked beyond Samantha Penny. Peach and beige. Marbling. Defect. Not in precisely the same place, but the seating would never have been exact. The picture faded out and re-emerged as Laura once more. Her school photograph.
School.
Her favourite place?
Not a chance. Laura’s response to the question about her favourite place had been a clue after all. The best she could think of giving.
‘It can’t be,’ he muttered, shaking his head slowly. His mouth was dry, heart clamouring. All moisture seemed to have seeped into the palms of his hands.
‘What’s wrong?’ Tania asked. While he had been standing there, she had fetched a cloth from the kitchen and was on her knees mopping up the water. She looked up at him, wary and a little anxious.
‘It just couldn’t be,’ he said again, as if he hadn’t heard her.
‘Sorry?’ Tania turned to him, concerned now by his behaviour. ‘What’s wrong, Mr Rogers?’
Frank turned, face clearly registering his shock. ‘Oh. Nothing. Sorry. I just … I just thought of something I need to do. Urgently. Look, Tania, I have to go.’ He picked up the framed photograph. ‘May I borrow this? I can’t tell you why I need it, just that it will help.’
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