Sitting behind the wheel of his car, Drew stared over at the primary school. His mouth and lips were dry, and he tried to run his sandpaper tongue over them to bring some relief, but it was a pointless endeavour. What was he doing here?
He'd left the tent, stripped out of the borrowed forensic suit and started walking, not stopping once until he made it back to the car. He'd abandoned Harriet in the middle of the woods, but despite the guilt he felt, it hadn't stopped him from coming here. Gripping the steering wheel, he flexed his fingers and stared past the school to the place where John Taylor's shed was tucked away in the trees. Something had brought him here, something niggled in the back of his mind. It had been that way from the moment he'd arrested Taylor that day. There was something that didn't quite sit right with him, but for the life of him Drew couldn't put his finger on it.
Until now.
Something so innocuous that Harriet had said when he'd asked her why Taylor would try to take his own life. He hadn't attempted it when he'd been arrested over his grooming of Oliver Poole before. So why now? Harriet had suggested that Taylor was potentially hiding something. It had certainly crossed his own mind, but they'd tossed Taylor's house after his arrest and they'd found nothing.
And then in the interview Taylor had known Oliver was dead before Maz had told them about the discovery of the body. Of course it could be chalked up to coincidence. Everyone knew the risks when a child was missing for a number of days. The likelihood of them turning up unharmed grew slimmer with every second they were gone. Taylor could simply have been saying what they were all already thinking.
Still, something had brought Drew here. Harriet was right. It was possible that Taylor was still involved. And if he was, then Drew was going to get to the bottom of it. Pushing open the car door, Drew stepped out. The temperature had taken a nosedive on the drive over, and Drew cupped his hands up around his mouth before he blew hot air against his chilled fingers.
Squaring his shoulders, he started across the grass. And with every step he took, he felt the feeling in his gut intensify.
Chapter Thirty-Eight
AJ pushed open the front door of his house and waited for the silence to settle around him. It was his favourite part of the day. He'd have the whole house to himself for three hours, maybe four if his parents worked late, and considering the closeness of the Christmas period, he was almost certain they would be late. Dropping his schoolbag in the hall, he shuffled through to the kitchen and spotted the note left on the counter. His mother's distinctive curly handwriting told him what he already knew, but he was pleased to see a twenty-pound note waiting beneath the sheet of white paper.
Takeaway pizza it was then. He crumpled the note and proceeded to ram it back into his pocket. Crossing to the fridge, he took out a can of pop and flipped it open. The contents fizzed against his upper lip as he took a deep swig. And he'd just closed his eyes when the letter box thudded. The noise made him jump, and he slopped fizzy liquid over his hand and down the front of his shirt.
"Shit!" He swore fluidly and swiped at the dark liquid already soaking through to his skin. Embarrassment brought heat to his face, and his heart thudded in his chest. Probably just one of those charity bag thingies his mother loved. And if it was, then the weekend would be a wash-out because she'd spend the time rooting in the wardrobes in search of something to donate.
Leaving the barely touched can of pop on the counter next to his mother's note, he pulled out of his phone and typed out a message to Barry. His stomach grumbled and he made his way back into the hall. He'd pop to the takeaway, get some grub and get back in time for the Fortnite Tournament.
His attention snagged on the white note haphazardly shoved through the letterbox. His initials were just barely visible, and he felt his stomach lurch painfully.
Slipping his phone back into his pocket, he fumbled to pull the paper free of the postbox and only succeeded in tearing the edge off the notebook page.
'Meet in woods. U know where. If U don't I'll tel everyone wot U did. JT'
The scrawled handwriting made the note almost illegible, but this wasn't the first time he'd got a note like this. Of course, he'd thought it was all behind him. He'd done as he'd been told, and John had told him he was finished with him. If that bastard thought he could go back on his word now...
It would serve him right if he didn't turn up. Leave him waiting in the woods. A smile crept over AJ's face as he imagined the other man waiting in the freezing woods. He glanced down at the note again and the threat killed his joy stone dead. If anyone knew what he'd done. If anyone knew what they'd done... The thought alone was enough to bring scalding bile racing up the back of AJ's throat. Humiliation caused heat to flood into his cheeks as his mind tried to bring the worst of the memories back to the surface.
John had said it was his fault, that he'd let it happen... That he'd enjoyed it. Squeezing his eyes shut, AJ shook his head. No. He wasn't going to let that fucker screw everything up. Not now. He wasn't the same scared kid he'd been back then, and he'd seen enough stuff on the net to know that what John had done was wrong.
"You're not the only one who can make threats," AJ said to no-one in particular. The silence in the hall closed in around him again. Nobody had to know what had happened. Nobody would find out so long as he did as he was told. But this was the last time, and he was going to make sure John knew it, too. Clenching his hand around the note, he balled it into his fist and snatched his schoolbag from the floor. He'd give that bastard what-for and make him regret ever coming to his house. Satisfied that he had a plan, AJ pulled the front door open and stepped out into the night without a backwards glance.
For a fleeting moment he contemplated leaving a note for mum, but quickly changed his mind. He'd be home before she ever knew to miss him. No harm, no foul. He slammed the front door after himself and slung his bag high up onto his shoulder.
He'd soon be home, tucked up in front of Fortnite with a pepperoni pizza. It was a comforting thought, and he held it close as he disappeared into the night.
Chapter Thirty-Nine
Drew stood in the centre of the shed and stared at his surroundings. Everywhere he could think to look had turned up nothing more than cobwebs and pointless tools. Dropping onto the stool where Taylor had sat the day before, he studied his surroundings a little more closely. He raked his gaze over the lollipop sign and the old school projectors that lay discarded alongside tables and chairs that had seen better days.
He'd pulled everything out, searched through every scrap of paper he could lay his hands on. He'd even managed to open the toolbox Taylor had left out on the workbench, but it had turned up nothing. Had he been wrong to think Taylor was acting suspicious? Was there really nothing to find here?
It was hard to believe, but there was no denying the facts as they presented themselves. Burying his face in his hands, he sighed. It wouldn't be the first time he'd been wrong...
The image of Oliver Poole's body as it lay in the woods, his arms wrapped tight around the brown teddy-bear. It was a memory that would stay with him.
His phone buzzed inside his pocket, and Drew reached into the jacket and slipped it out before he could stop himself. He glanced down at the name on the screen and was surprised to see Melissa's name scrolling in time to the ringing tone. He contemplated letting the call ring out, but changed his mind at the last second. She would only keep calling. Melissa was like a dog with a bone and once she'd latched onto the idea of getting him on the phone, he knew she would stop at nothing to get it done.
"Yeah, go for DI Haskell," he said wearily.
"What the fuck, Drew," Melissa said. Her rage was palpable. "You didn't think to let me know where you were going?"
"There was something I needed to do," he said darkly.
"And?"
"And what?"
"Did you find what you were looking for?"
Drew shook his head and leaned back on the stool, causing the floorboards beneath his feet to gro
an. "No."
"Do you even know what it is you're looking for?"
"Is there something you need to tell me, Melissa, or did you just call me up so you could berate me?"
"Drew, I know you're finding this case hard. The fact that you left your pet psychologist at the scene is proof enough of that. But we need you back here at the station. The time is ticking down on Taylor and we need to have another chat to him, especially now that we've got Oliver's body."
Hearing her utter the words sent a chill down Drew's spine. "How can you be so cold?"
"Excuse me?"
"You make it sound like nothing at all. That a boy died, and it means nothing to you."
"That's not fair," Melissa said, and Drew was rewarded by the first stirrings of emotion in her voice. "I'm like this because I have to. Because it's my job. And if I don't keep my head then the person who did this is going to walk."
"I'm sorry," he said. Drew pushed onto his feet and the floorboards flexed beneath his boots. "I'll come straight back and--" He cut off as he realised Melissa had already hung up.
"Great," he muttered, his breath forming little puffs of white air in front of his face as he spoke. He'd pissed her off and now he would pay for his behaviour. He took a step forward and was rewarded with another squeak from the old boards beneath his boots. Glancing down, he noted the uneven surface of the floor. Taylor had seemed interested in the floor the day before, hadn't he? Was he just imagining things now?
Crouching down, Drew ran his fingers over the boards and found the spaces between the wood were wide enough to jam his fingers in. Try as he might, he couldn't get enough purchase on the board. Glancing up, he scanned the space and spotted the screwdriver that rested on the shelf over his head. It couldn't be a coincidence.
Grabbing the tool, Drew jammed it in between the boards and levered the wood out of place. It came up easily, sending a large black spider skittering for the darkness beneath the floor. Lifting the board free, he dislodged several woodlice, their grey shell bodies tumbled into the space left behind. Drew pulled his flashlight out and held it over the space, illuminating the contents that awaited him. He snapped on a pair of gloves from his pocket and set the torch on the ground next to his knees.
An old, rusted lunchbox sat in the darkness. The image on the front long since worn away by time, leaving only patches of the original red colour it had been. Next to the box sat a couple of plastic folders. Drew lifted them out first and flipped through the contents. His stomach flipped with disgust as his brain made sense of the images which had clearly been downloaded from the internet at some point in the not so distant past. Closing the first folder, he opened the next one and was confronted with pages of handwritten accounts. He scanned the pages briefly, his rage mounting with each word he digested. Oliver had not been the first child to fall victim to Taylor's predatory behaviour, it seemed.
Drew clamped his eyes shut and sucked a deep breath in through his nose. The urge to return to the interview room just so he could annihilate the man who had printed the images was almost overwhelming.
When he finally got himself under control, Drew reached back into the hole and lifted out the tin lunch box. The shiny new lock which had obviously been on the front of it remained in the hole, the clip of which had been snapped. Had Taylor lost the keys and been forced to cut the lock himself? It didn't make much sense, but Drew couldn't rule out the possibility. He set down the lunch box and pried open the lid, careful not to damage the contents within.
It took him a moment to realise that the box contained twenty to thirty Polaroid pictures. The grainy images were initially indistinct and Drew flipped through the pictures quickly until a flash of washed out purple caught the corner of his eye. He paused and raised the picture closer to his face so he could study it more closely.
Oliver Poole lay on a cement floor, his eyes closed, arms wrapped around the same brown teddy he'd been clutching when they'd found him in the woods.
Bile swept up the back of Drew's throat and he let the pictures drop back into the box before he half scrambled, half fell backwards into the corner of the shed. He closed his eyes, but he couldn't rid himself of the images. They crowded out his brain until he couldn't tell where the images started and the memory of what they'd found in the woods began. It made no sense, Taylor had been in hospital and yet there was no denying the fact that the photos had been found in the same shed he'd tried to hang himself in. He turned the pictures over and found a note scrawled across the back. It took him a moment to decipher the spidery handwriting, but when it did, it brought a fresh wave of nausea racing up his throat.
“This is our little secret.”
His hands shook as he pulled the phone from his pocket and dialled DI Appleton's number. She answered after the first ring. "Are you--"
Drew cut her off before she could finish her sentence. "I need SOCOs down to the shed where Taylor tried to hang himself yesterday."
"I don't understand. Why would you--"
"Melissa, he has pictures--" Drew cleared his throat abruptly and fought to get his temper under control. "I came to the shed because I had a hunch. I've found some pictures here and a few other items that need to be processed by a forensics team."
"Done," Melissa said. "Drew, what kind of pictures?"
He knew what she was asking him and he contemplated lying, but changed his mind. She would know soon enough, anyway. "Exactly what you'd expect from someone like him." He squeezed his eyes shut and pinched a gloved finger to the bridge of his nose. "But that's not all. There are pictures of Oliver."
"Christ," Melissa swore. "He has indecent images of the Poole boy?"
"No. I can't be certain, but I'm almost sure that the pictures are of Oliver shortly before and directly after his death."
Silence swept down the line. "Drew, how is that possible?"
He shrugged and then remembered she couldn't see him. "I have no idea. All I do know is we need this processed ASAP, and then we need to sit down with that bastard again. And this time I'm going to have the truth of what happened to Oliver if it's the last thing I do."
He hung up before she could answer. He snapped off the gloves and pushed onto his feet and left the shed. He made it halfway across the grass before his stomach dropped him to his knees and he retched until there was nothing left inside. The icy ground seeped through his trousers, freezing him to the bone, and still it felt like something that was happening to someone else, someone far removed from the situation at hand. He'd witnessed horrors before, but this was different. This was a child, an innocent boy who had died, scared and alone at the hands of some lunatic. And that was after everything Taylor had done to him.
Drew's chest constricted. He would get justice for Oliver. No matter what it took, no matter the cost, he deserved that much, at least. Shakily, Drew stood. Taylor would pay for what he'd done, Drew would see to that much.
Chapter Forty
Sitting at the desk in the corner of the office, Harriet flipped through the pages of the diary Martina had let her look through. She'd already jotted down some questions and as soon as Martina returned, she was hoping to persuade the DC to take her to Marjorie's house.
"You find anything useful?" Martina's voice made her jump, and Harriet straightened up in the chair.
"Maybe," Harriet said. "Would it be possible to visit Marjorie?" The moment the words left her mouth, Harriet could tell the other woman wasn't at all comfortable with the idea.
"I don't think so. Hasn't she been through enough? If we keep bothering her then--"
"It's just some of the names in the diary, well she never attached a surname to them and if we're going to get a complete picture, then we need to know all the people in play at the time."
Martina started to shake her head. "I just don't see how upsetting her again is going to push us further."
"That wouldn't be my intention--" Harriet cut off as the door to the office slammed open and Drew strode in. His normally dark hair was grey
with dust and dirt. His jacket was the same, his hands blackened from whatever he'd been digging around in. Harriet pushed up from her seat and met his gaze head on. "What happened, are you--?"
"I'm fine," he said briskly. "I need to see Melissa. Have you seen her?"
Harriet shook her head. "Not since she went into her office. I've been a little preoccupied--"
"With what?" Drew's tone instantly made her bristle.
"The Jack Campbell case," she said, but Drew's blank expression told her he had no idea what she was talking about. "The other body found in the woods."
"The skeleton?" Drew asked, incredulity straining his voice. "You're telling me you've put aside the murder of Oliver Poole so you can work on a cold case?"
"It's an active investigation," Martina interjected coldly. "And Dr Quinn offered to assist me and I very gladly took her up on her offer."
Drew narrowed his eyes at the DC. "You're not even supposed to be here," he said. "Don't you have an office back in York?"
"Drew, I don't think that's appropriate," Harriet said, folding her arms over her chest. "My job is to consult, and that's what I'm doing."
"You work for our team," he said angrily. Harriet watched as he flexed his fists down by his sides.
"Tell me what happened?"
He shook his head. "If you think a twenty-year-old cold case is more important than the murder we've just had, that's your business," he said. "But I don't have time to explain to you the workings of a case you're supposed to know." He stormed off, leaving Harriet to stare after him.
"Shit," Martina said softly. "I'm sorry. I didn't know you'd get so much grief for helping me out."
Harriet shook her head. "I don't think it has anything to do with my working with you," she said.
"What then?"
"Something has happened," she said.
"Like what?"
Harriet shrugged. "I don't know, but it must be bad for Drew to behave like that." She sighed and levelled Martina with a hard stare. "Now, after all of that, are you going to let me help you with your case or not?"
Hunting the Silence: The Yorkshire Murders (DI Haskell & Quinn Crime Thriller Series Book 4) Page 22