by Alison James
* * *
It seemed unlikely that Caitlyn Anderson would provide much clarification. Rachel and Brickall arranged to speak to her the following morning, before catching their flight and train respectively. Rachel had pictured her as a tall, willowy Celtic beauty, but she turned out to be a short, rotund woman with a bowl haircut and two full sleeves of tattoos, who worked as a carer in an old people’s residential home. She met them in the front hall of the home during her break, and took them out into the building’s large garden so that she could smoke, carrying a tray of tea in the sort of green china cups and saucers used in hospitals. Brickall let Dolly off the lead and she truffled around between tree trunks, scenting squirrels.
‘The thing is,’ Caitlyn poured three cups of tea and pulled a packet of Silk Cut from the pocket of her green nylon overall, ‘I’d like to help yous, but I dinnae remember much. It was two years ago now. It’s all a bit of a blur… what did I say to the polis back then?’
‘Look, just forget the statement you made,’ Rachel told her firmly. ‘Just try and picture yourself back there again, and tell us what you see.’
Caitlyn took a deep drag on her cigarette and half closed her eyes. ‘There was a car, big car, sort of brownish. And this lad on the pavement in some sort of trouble. Young lad, big mop of wavy hair. And this woman was… I don’t know… the car door was open… No, hold on. That’s it: it was the boot of the car that was open. The hatch. It was a hatchback of some kind. And this woman, she was kind of pulling the lad out of the car.’
Rachel sat forward on the bench. ‘Hold on Caitlyn, your original statement said she was putting the boy into the car – are you now saying she was taking him out of it?’
Caitlyn opened her eyes and tapped the pillar of ash onto the terrace. ‘I think so, aye. I’m pretty sure now I think about it that she was getting the wee lad oot the car.’
‘Could you describe the woman?’
She shook her head. ‘Not really. She was under a street light, but it wasn’t bright enough to see her face well. I only remember that she was a bit, you know, on the heavy side. Fat.’
‘And the boy was drunk?’ asked Brickall.
Caitlyn thought about this for a second. ‘I think I said that in my statement, but afterwards I got to thinking that wasn’t quite right. I started working here since then, and the old folks… you get used to seeing them on their medication. Some of them have stuff that sedates them. It was like that with the wee French laddie. It was more like he was drugged than drunk. But that’s all I can remember. That’s all I saw. I’m sorry.’
‘Not at all, Caitlyn.’ Rachel stood up, giving Brickall his cue to go and retrieve Dolly from the rhododendron bushes. ‘Thanks for talking to us: you’ve been really helpful.’
‘What d’you think?’ Brickall asked as they left the premises and walked down the street,
‘I think a trip to France is in our near future,’ said Rachel, reaching down to fondle Dolly’s floppy ears. ‘But that’s for another day. First: back to London.’
Twelve
Nigel Patten summoned Rachel and Brickall to a meeting room on the first floor only an hour after they had returned to their office in Tinworth Street.
He gestured expansively at the biscuits and coffee urn. ‘I thought it would be better in here, since I’ve asked someone to join us.’
On cue, the door swung open and Giles Denton walked in, senior officer at the NCA’s Child Exploitation and Online Protection command.
He gave Patten’s hand a cursory shake, but his attention was elsewhere. ‘Rachel. How the devil are you?’
And there it was, the weapons-grade charisma. The smile that made her – and probably anyone else he bestowed it on – feel like there was no one else in the room.
‘From the brief summary DI Prince gave me over the phone, I thought it was appropriate that someone from Child Exploitation be here to discuss your findings,’ said Patten. ‘Do help yourself to coffee, everyone.’
Brickall scowled at Giles and grabbed two chocolate digestives.
‘DI Prince, would you like to start?’
Rachel went to the whiteboard and pinned pictures of Emily and Bruno at the top of it then, further down, pictures of Niamh Donovan and one she had found online of Luuk Rynsberger. He had shiny chestnut hair shaved at the sides and floppy at the top, a square jaw and an attractive smile. In between she wrote up the names of Kenneth Candlish, Will and Hazel MacBain, and with arrows shooting down from Bruno’s picture, Marie-Laure Fournier and Caitlyn Anderson. She talked through the conflicting testimony of Dries van Meijer and the MacBains, Niamh’s revelation about the sex party and Kenneth Candlish’s reaction to it.
‘Obviously we now need to dig deeper, and to try and get further corroboration from Marie-Laure and Luuk Rynsberger.’
‘I also think local law enforcement should be persuaded to come on board at this point,’ said Patten.
Brickall grimaced.
‘DS Brickall? You have something you want to add?’
‘Sorry; it’s just that we weren’t exactly flavour of the month with Police Scotland.’ He took a third biscuit and dunked it in his milky coffee.
‘That may be so, but when it comes to intelligence regarding the people behind these parties, and who’s attending them, you’re going to need local knowledge. Local backup. So you’re going to have to try and find a way to get them onside.’
‘There is something that strikes me,’ said Giles, stroking his dark stubble as he stared at the photos on the board. ‘Something these kids all have in common.’
‘Go on,’ said Rachel.
‘All four of them are extremely good-looking. Five if you include… what’s her name? Marie-Laure. More so than average. Which suggests to me they might have been deliberately targeted.’
Patten nodded. ‘Good point, Giles.’
‘Of course this may be no more than the targeting street promoters do when they select the prettiest girls to invite into a club. Or there could be more involved. I think it’s certainly something we need to look into.’
‘How much longer is the festival on for?’ Patten asked.
‘It finishes this Sunday,’ Rachel confirmed. ‘Only three more days.’
‘In that case, DS Brickall,’ Patten said, ‘I’d like you to fly straight back up there and see if you can track down the people who are handing out invites to these parties. I’m assuming they’re using festivalgoers as targets, and the sheer volume of people as cover. So we need to tackle this before the festival ends.’
‘But sir—’
‘I’ll get Janette to book you a flight now, and you can brief us here on Tuesday. DI Prince, I’d like you to follow up a formal statement from the Irish girl and try and get as much information as you can from the other two teenagers – Marie-Laure and Luuk. And, of course, to continue to liaise with Chief Inspector Denton on the potential grooming issue.’
‘“Liaise with Chief Inspector Denton.”’ Brickall put on a childish echo as they headed back up to the third floor. ‘You’ll love that, won’t you? Fucks’ sake, I don’t want to go back to the arse-wit carnival! Why can’t you go?’
‘Because I’ve got things to do here. So quit bitching – that’s an order.’
‘Seriously boss,’ Brickall flung himself into his chair so hard that it hit the edge of his desk and knocked his fan over. ‘What am I going to do with Dolly? I’ve left her in the flat today and my neighbour’s popping in to walk her at lunchtime, but I can’t take her on the plane with me tomorrow.’
‘Leave her with me.’
‘Really?’
Rachel nodded. ‘You can bring her over this evening, as long as it’s before eight.’
‘And when I do get up to Edinburgh, what am I supposed to do up there on my own? It’s going to be impossible with no resources.’
‘Just do what you can. Ask around. You’re good at getting information out of people. And see if you can get your mate Morag to lend you some manp
ower.’
‘Yous’ll no be taking my coppers off the beat!’ Brickall did a passable imitation of DI Sillars’ Glaswegian croak.
Rachel laughed. ‘Seriously though; if she’s awkward, get Patten to phone her and pull rank.’
‘Yes, boss.’
When they left work at six, Brickall headed straight to Forest Hill to fetch the dog and Rachel sought out an off-licence to buy wine. She had put off Howard the night before on the grounds that it was late by the time she arrived back from the airport, but had agreed that he could come over that evening.
When she had unlocked the front door to her flat the night before, she had known before she was over the threshold that something had changed since she left for Edinburgh. She could smell it – literally. She switched on the lights to find that Howard had painted a black chalkboard on the section of wall behind her kitchen table. He had chalked ‘Welcome Home!’ onto the board, adding a heart and a smiley face.
It wasn’t that she didn’t like what he had done. She actually liked it quite a lot – it looked great as a backdrop to the off-white table and chairs. It was that he had come here and done it behind her back, without consultation. What was it she had said to Brickall about her relationship with Howard while they were in Edinburgh… that the writing was on the wall? Well, now it really was. Or on the chalkboard.
Of course he still had no idea that he was coming over this evening to be dumped. After she’d wiped away his chalk message with a damp cloth, Rachel set out bowls of snacks and opened a bottle of the wine that Howard liked, painfully aware that this was unlikely to soften the blow.
* * *
Brickall arrived at quarter to eight with Dolly on her lead and a bag containing feeding bowls and biscuits. She wagged her tail enthusiastically when she recognised Rachel.
‘Sorry, I couldn’t carry the dog bed as well,’ Brickall told her. ‘You’ll have to improvise.’ He spotted the wine, chips and dips. ‘Drinks and nibbles! Nice of you, I must say.’
‘They’re not for you,’ Rachel said, setting out Dolly’s bowls on the kitchen floor and heading into the bedroom to find a blanket for the dog to sleep on.
‘Can’t be a date night, surely.’ Brickall took in Rachel’s leggings, make-up free face and bare feet.
‘Howard’s coming over,’ Rachel said, with a sigh. ‘I’m going to attempt to end things.’
‘Fucking fantastic.’ Brickall settled himself on the sofa, spreading his arms along its back. ‘I’m looking forward to seeing this. Nice blackboard, by the way.’
‘Don’t be a dickhead,’ Rachel said, prodding his trainer with her bare toes. ‘Now say your goodbyes and piss off. I want you well clear of the place before he gets here.’
‘Okay, but video the highlights for me.’ Brickall bent and kissed Dolly on top of her smooth head. ‘Be a good puppy for Auntie Rachel.’
Howard arrived ten minutes later, his face hidden behind a showy bouquet of lilies. ‘How’s my favourite detective?’ he asked, enveloping her in a bear hug and kissing her squarely on the lips. She had always enjoyed his hugs, and felt her resolve waver fractionally as she leaned into him.
‘Fine,’ she said. ‘Good.’ She inhaled hard, bracing herself, before unwrapping his arms and going to pour the wine. She had put the snacks away before he arrived, Brickall’s visit having reminded her that this wasn’t a date.
Howard gave her a broad smile, his pale blue eyes crinkling at the corners. Such kind eyes. They had been the first thing Rachel had noticed about him when she met him at the gym.
‘What do you think to your surprise?’
‘Great. Looks great. Thank you.’
‘No problem… well, I must say it’s really great to clap eyes on you at last. I’ve really missed you.’
This only served to make Rachel feel worse. When all was said and done, Howard Davison was a nice guy. He was kind, and thoughtful, and patient. But this – whatever it was – just wasn’t working. The dynamic had shifted between them, putting her permanently on the defensive.
And Rachel didn’t believe in trying to right a relationship, to correct its course. In her view, if it felt wrong, then it was wrong. Howard’s big mistake had been failing to grasp just how much space she needed. He was always there in the background, ready to pounce on any spare time she had. Endlessly available, and expecting to come round to her flat whenever he had free time. Needing to know her schedule, tracking her movements. And now working on the place while she was away. She felt suffocated.
‘Oh wow – you’ve got a dog!’ As Howard accepted his glass of wine, he spotted Dolly sitting patiently at the side of the sofa, as if waiting for someone to make permanent claim to her.
‘She’s not mine, she’s Mark’s. Well, actually she’s not even his, she’s his friend’s.’ She shrugged. ‘It’s complicated.’
Howard frowned. ‘Well how’s that going to work? When you have to travel for the job?’
He had a point. Rachel hadn’t really thought about this. She had only taken over Dolly’s care to allow Brickall to take the last-minute flight to Edinburgh.
‘I could walk her,’ Howard went on, pouring himself a glass of the wine. ‘I’ve got my key and I could pop by in my lunch hour.’
‘No, it’s okay, she’ll probably only be here for a few days,’ Rachel glugged her wine. Dutch courage. ‘And about the key, Howard… I’d like it back.’
He patted the sofa cushion next to him, but she ignored it and remained standing. Dolly, on the other hand, responded to the cue and jumped up onto the seat, resting her head on his lap.
‘Why’s that?’ Anxiety tightened the corners of his mouth.
‘The thing is, I’ve been doing some thinking while I was in Scotland … and I think we should see less of each other.’ The words spilled out in a rush, not sounding at all as she had rehearsed them in her head.
‘How much less?’
Rachel gulped her wine again. ‘A lot less.’
‘Are you breaking up with me?
Just rip off the Band-Aid, Rachel told herself. ‘Yes,’ she conceded. ‘I think we should break up.’
Howard looked stunned. ‘But why, babe? I thought everything was… it’s been working so well. We have such a nice time together.’
But I don’t want ‘nice’, Rachel thought. ‘Nice’ doesn’t do it for me. Instead she said: ‘Look, Howard, the last six months have been great. We have had a really nice time together…’
There it was again. The ‘n’ word. It was catching.
‘But I’m bang in the middle of what’s turning out to be quite a complex investigation. I’m going to have to do some travelling in Europe, and I’m almost certainly going to have to spend more time in Scotland. Basically I’m not going to be around, so a committed relationship just isn’t going to work.’
‘But babe, I don’t mind that. I don’t mind waiting around for you: I’m not going anywhere. If I hold onto the key, I can come over and keep an eye on the place, walk the dog, water the plants, do any little jobs that need doing…’
He still didn’t get it.
‘No,’ Rachel said, more firmly this time, ‘That isn’t what I want. And I can’t give you what you want either. I just can’t.’
‘But we’re happy, aren’t we?’ She couldn’t bear the look of confusion on his face and looked away. ‘Whatever it is, we can work it out, Rachel. Let’s just take some time, and—’
‘No, Howard.’ Rachel spoke more sharply than she had intended, making Dolly look up, her nose twitching. She softened her tone. ‘I’m sorry, I really am. And I’m happy to stay friends. But the rest of it… it has to be over.’
Thirteen
The following evening, after returning to the flat at lunchtime to take Dolly out, Rachel loaded the dog and her belongings into her car and set off to her mother’s house in Purley.
She didn’t phone beforehand to say that she was coming. She knew that her older sister Lindsay would sniff at this, pronouncing it inconsi
derate to turn up unannounced. But then again, Lindsay inhabited a world where even the most mundane activity was planned with regimental precision and nobody ever did anything on the spur of the moment. Besides, Rachel happened to know that her mother quite enjoyed surprises.
‘Goodness me, what have we got here?’ Eileen Prince exclaimed when she opened the door and saw her youngest daughter standing there with a dog’s lead in one hand and a large box of Quality Street in the other. She embraced Rachel and bent down to pet Dolly.
‘This is Dolly,’ Rachel said. ‘I’m looking after her for a while, and I thought she might enjoy a trip out of central London.’
‘Are you staying the night?’ Eileen asked as they went inside. As she spoke, she was heading straight to the kitchen to put on the kettle. The predictability of her mother’s response was what made visits home so comforting.
‘If that’s all right?’
‘Of course, but you should have said, love. I’ve already eaten my evening meal.’
‘I thought you’d enjoy the surprise.’
‘Well, it is a lovely surprise to see you.’ Eileen put on her apron, and Rachel had a sudden flashback to Hazel MacBain playing the surrendered wife. The meek homemaker. ‘And to have this little poppet for a visit.’
Eileen bent over as far as her arthritis would allow and petted Dolly. When Rachel was a child, the family owned a Jack Russell terrier called Buster, and she knew her mother missed having a canine companion.
‘Horlicks?’ she asked, straightening up and taking mugs from the cupboard.
‘Perfect.’
‘And I’ve got some custard creams in here somewhere… And what about you? We can’t leave you out.’ This last remark was addressed to Dolly, who was presented with a saucer containing scraps of leftover roast chicken.
Eileen carried the tray through to the sitting room and they sat drinking their Horlicks, dipping into the Quality Street and watching a rerun of Gardeners’ World with Monty Don. Eileen approved of Monty Don.