by Damien Boyd
‘You’re kidding?’
‘It’s about finding the girls now, and we’re not going to do that with him sitting in a cell. That’s assuming he’s got anything to do with it at all.’
‘And if he hasn’t then we’ve lost nothing anyway.’
‘What’s going on?’ asked Jane, running along the landing.
‘What d’you mean?’ Dixon was standing in the doorway of the canteen.
‘Chard’s having a fag up in the car park, cussing and swearing at the top of his voice.’
‘Potter’s letting Buckler go.’
‘What the hell is she doing that for?’
‘I told her to.’
‘You what?’
‘He’s a diversion. Nothing more.’
‘You believe him?’
‘Between you and me, I do.’
‘And as far as everyone else is concerned?’
‘I’m hedging my bets. He’ll have a tail on him and you never know where he might lead us.’
Jane shook her head as she pushed past Dixon into the canteen.
‘It’s closed,’ he said.
‘Marvellous.’
‘Did you bring Monty?’
‘He’s in the back of my car.’
‘C’mon, I thought we could call in on Tanya. We can have a bag of chips on the seafront and Monty can have a quick run on the beach at the same time.’
‘Does Potter know you’re going?’
‘We’ll be back before she notices I’ve gone.’
‘So, Buckler’s being framed,’ said Jane, accelerating along the dual carriageway towards the motorway roundabout.
‘It’s not his van and the anklet was probably just lobbed over his fence.’
‘What would anyone hope to gain by that?’
‘Time.’
‘For what?’
‘Let’s not go there.’
Jane nodded. ‘Who then?’
‘I don’t know. A paedophile gang would just grab the girls and they’d be miles away by now. They’re hardly likely to worry about setting up Buckler to take the blame, are they? And if it was a sexual predator we’d probably have found their bodies by now, much as I hate to say it.’
‘Random girls, snatched by the same people . . .’ Jane was peering in her wing mirror, as she drove down the slip road on to the M5. ‘What about Sailes?’ she asked, as she flicked the indicator and pulled out.
‘It’s no coincidence that Sailes used to work for Buckler. It can’t be.’
‘What does that mean?’
No reply.
Jane glanced over at Dixon. He was staring out of the window at the remains of the furniture factory looming up on the nearside, on the banks of the River Brue.
‘Is it still smouldering?’ she asked.
‘The rain put it out days ago.’
‘Don’t dwell on it. It was one of your nine lives and that’s an end of it.’
‘You’re the one who mentioned it. I didn’t.’
Jane rolled her eyes.
Ten minutes later she turned into Princess Street and parked on the double yellow lines opposite Burnham library.
‘Salt and vinegar?’ asked Dixon, opening the passenger door.
Dixon snapped the letterbox shut and stood up.
‘Vomit,’ he said, grimacing.
He stepped back and brought his left foot up, ready to kick in the door.
‘Don’t!’ The voice was shrill and came from behind them at the bottom of the steps.
Sonia was carrying two bulging Tesco carrier bags in each hand and struggling up the steps. ‘Who the hell are you?’
‘Detective Inspector Dixon, and this is—’
‘I know who she is.’
‘Where’s the Family Liaison officer?’ asked Dixon.
‘I told her to piss off. She’s about as much use as a chocolate teapot.’
‘I get the picture.’
‘Smells like she’s been sick,’ said Jane.
‘She’s always sick on methadone.’ Sonia dropped the carrier bags at the top of the stairs and fumbled in her pocket for the door key.
‘There was supposed to be an officer on duty too.’
Sonia looked over her shoulder. ‘There were two of them in a car when I left. Probably nipped down the pub.’ She opened the door and began gathering up the handles of the carriers to lift them inside.
‘Here, let me,’ said Dixon.
‘I can do it,’ snapped Sonia.
Tanya was lying on the sofa with a blanket over her legs, a bowl on the floor next to her. Dixon winced. Some sort of chicken curry – marinated in vodka after it had been eaten, by the looks of things. And rice, there was definitely rice in there.
‘Let me get that,’ said Sonia, pushing past him.
‘How did she take the news about Kevin?’ asked Dixon.
‘I haven’t told her.’
‘Why not?’
‘I think she’s got enough to deal with at the moment, don’t you?’
Dixon nodded.
‘At least your lot have been keeping the press away.’ She picked up the bowl and carried it out of the living room, bringing it back seconds later, the sound of a toilet flushing in the background.
‘Were you here when Kevin arrived?’
‘I’m always here.’
‘Always?’
‘I go to the shops, yes. And I pop home every day to feed my dog.’
‘Where’s home?’
‘I live on a canal boat in Bridgwater docks.’
‘And your dog?’
‘An elderly greyhound. She sleeps all day.’ Sonia sighed. ‘It’s fine, before you go ringing the RSPCA.’
‘What did they talk about?’ asked Dixon. He was looking down at Tanya, looking for signs of life. ‘Is she still breathing?’
‘She’s fine,’ snapped Sonia.
‘Should we call an ambulance?’ asked Jane.
‘No. This is perfectly normal for her.’ Sonia gave Tanya a prod and she rolled over on to her side. ‘See.’
‘If you’re sure.’
‘I am. The doctor only came this afternoon. And to answer your other question, I left them to it and had a lie down on Alesha’s bed. I can’t stand to be around them when they’re drinking and taking . . .’ Her voice tailed off.
Dixon pulled back the blanket and looked out of the window. ‘Which is your car?’ he asked.
‘It’s an old Nissan Micra, down the road a bit.’
‘And you live on a canal boat?’
‘It’s cheap.’
‘Can I see Alesha’s room, please?’
‘She’s seen it,’ replied Sonia, pointing at Jane with her thumb.
‘And I’d like to see it too.’
Jane was standing behind Dixon, peering over his shoulder. ‘The goldfish has come back to life,’ she said.
‘I got her another one. For when she comes home, y’know.’
‘It smells damp,’ said Dixon.
‘I put the poster back up.’ Sonia took hold of the corner of the Girls Aloud poster and pulled it, revealing the mould on the wall behind it.
Jane frowned. ‘You want to get that seen to.’
‘I’ve been on to the council about it.’
‘Let him have the name of the person dealing with it,’ said Jane, nodding towards Dixon. ‘He’s good at shouting at people.’
‘I will, thank you,’ replied Sonia.
Dixon looked out of the window at the back garden, the swing just visible in the failing light. ‘How often d’you see Alesha?’
‘Every day. Usually. I try to anyway. Someone’s got to keep an eye on the poor little bugger.’
‘And your relationship with her?’
‘Good. Why wouldn’t it be?’
‘No reason.’
Jane opened the wardrobe. The pile of dirty clothes in the bottom had gone, replaced by washed and ironed clothes, neatly folded on the shelves.
‘I did her washing.’ Sonia shrugged her
shoulders.
Dixon’s phone buzzed in his pocket. ‘A text from Roger,’ he said, handing it to Jane.
Clairvoyant coming later. Want to be here?
‘I’ll find out what time.’ Jane tapped out the message and hit ‘Send’.
Roger’s reply arrived before she handed the phone back to Dixon.
He. Xander Dolphin. 9
‘We’d better go,’ said Jane. ‘We’ll only just get there as it is.’
‘Thank you, Sonia,’ said Dixon, as she closed the front door behind them, a faint cry of ‘Mum’ coming from the lounge.
They were out on the M5 before Dixon spoke.
‘Anything strike you as odd about that?’ he asked, looking up at the first of the stars to appear in the darkening sky. ‘That one must be a satellite. It’s far too bright and low for anything else.’
‘Odd about what?’
‘Sonia’s behaviour.’
‘Not really. She likes to make out she’s Alesha’s guardian angel, though, and yet she’s not mentioned in any of the Social Services reports. Tanya seems to be hitting the methadone hard too, but you can hardly blame her, I suppose.’
Dixon said nothing more until Jane was parking the car in the lay-by outside Old School House in Catcott.
‘What time is it?’
‘Five to,’ replied Jane.
They looked up at the house when the front door opened, a shaft of light reaching across the road and lighting up the passenger compartment of Jane’s car.
‘It’s Roger,’ said Dixon. ‘Just make a mental note of the first thing he says. All right?’
Jane frowned.
‘Then compare it to what Sonia said.’ Dixon nodded. ‘Or didn’t say.’
Poland strode across the road and wrenched open the driver’s door before Jane had taken the key out of the ignition.
‘Any news about Hatty?’
Chapter Seventeen
‘Xander, this is Detective Inspector Dixon and . . .’ Geraldine frowned. ‘I’m sorry, I’ve forgotten your name.’
Poland sighed. ‘Detective Sergeant Winter.’
‘Yes, sorry. Ros Hicks you know, and this is our local vicar, Reverend Julia Morgan.’
Dixon hadn’t expected an audience, all three of them sitting around the dining table. It reminded him of a seance.
‘I think I’ll leave you to it,’ said the vicar, standing up. ‘I’m not altogether sure I should be here for this.’
‘The Lord wouldn’t approve, you mean?’ Xander had been sitting on the sofa with his arm around Adele. He stood up. Blue jeans, a sleeveless T-shirt under a black leather waistcoat, both arms covered in tattoos from the shoulder to the wrist. He’d have to stand still if Dixon was going to count those earrings. A nose stud in each nostril; he probably had his tongue pierced too. Dixon winced.
‘What were you expecting, Inspector?’ Xander grinned.
‘I wasn’t expecting anything, Sir.’
‘No, I meant . . .’ The vicar hesitated, then walked towards the front door, avoiding eye contact with Geraldine.
‘I’ll go too,’ said Ros, following the vicar towards the front door. ‘It should be family only. Ring me if you need anything.’
‘We will.’ Adele spoke without looking up.
‘Shall we get on with it then?’ said Dixon, spinning round. ‘What do we do?’
‘I detect a note of cynicism.’ Xander frowned.
‘Not at all. If you think you can help, I’m listening.’
‘Well, I do think I can help.’
‘So, what happens now?’ asked Poland.
‘Can I see Hatty’s room?’
‘I’ll show you, Xander,’ said Geraldine, gesturing to the stairs that led up to the galleried landing. ‘This way.’
The Family Liaison officer, Karen Marsden, appeared behind Dixon and whispered in his ear. ‘I have warned the family that it may be a waste of time.’
‘Thank you,’ said Dixon, turning around.
‘Is there any news?’
‘No.’
‘I’m in regular contact with Express Park and have been keeping them informed.’
Dixon nodded.
‘What do we do now?’ asked Jeremy. He stood up and began pacing up and down in front of the fire. ‘It’s all a bit . . .’ His voice tailed off.
Poland sat down next to Adele.
‘She’s had to be sedated again, Sir,’ said Karen, raising her eyebrows.
‘This is fucking ridiculous,’ snapped Jeremy. ‘I can’t believe we’re doing this. He’ll be doing bloody card tricks on Britain’s Got Talent next.’
‘We’ve got nothing to lose,’ said Adele, her voice low and slow.
‘Well?’ asked Jeremy, when Xander and Geraldine appeared at the top of the stairs.
‘I need to be alone.’ Xander was carrying a teddy bear.
‘That’s Letty,’ mumbled Adele. ‘Hatty’s favourite.’
‘I’ll bring her back. I’m just going for a smoke.’
‘Wacky baccy probably,’ muttered Jeremy. ‘How much is this costing us?’
‘Nothing,’ snapped Geraldine.
‘A bloody good thing too.’
‘Jeremy, please.’
‘I’m sorry, darling,’ he said. He leaned over and kissed Adele on the cheek. ‘What d’you think, Inspector?’
‘I’m with your wife, Sir. It can’t do any harm.’ Dixon looked out of the window into the darkness, the outline of Xander sitting on a low wall on the far side of the patio just visible in the light from the windows; so too the unmistakable glow of a long, slow drag on a joint.
‘Is he taking the piss?’ whispered Jane.
‘What d’you want to do, nick him for possession?’
‘I suppose not.’
‘Not now anyway.’
‘She’s alive,’ said Xander, stepping in through the sliding door.
‘Thank God,’ muttered Geraldine.
‘She’s definitely alive.’
‘What makes you think that?’ asked Jeremy.
‘I don’t think it,’ replied Xander. ‘It’s a fact.’
‘Where is she?’ asked Roger.
‘I see a castle . . . and flowers . . .’ He shook his head. ‘That’s all.’
‘What sort of castle?’ asked Dixon.
‘I don’t know.’
‘Is it a ruin?’
‘I can’t see.’
‘Is there a roof on it?’
‘I don’t know.’
‘Where is it?’
Xander shook his head.
‘What sort of flowers?’
‘All sorts. They’re not clear.’
‘Well, that’s a fat lot of fucking good, isn’t it,’ snapped Jeremy.
‘I’m doing my best,’ said Xander. ‘I can only see what I can see.’
‘So, what happens now?’ asked Jeremy.
‘We’ll get the local castles checked.’ Dixon frowned. ‘But unless Xander can come up with anything else, it doesn’t really take us much further forward.’
‘But, you’ll check the castles?’ asked Geraldine.
‘We will.’
‘Thank you.’
Dixon brushed aside Poland’s apologies as they walked across the lane to Jane’s car. ‘Really, Roger, it’s fine,’ he said.
‘And thank you for not nicking him.’
‘It was tempting.’ Dixon smiled.
‘You’ll let me know as soon as you hear anything?’
‘Of course we will.’
Dixon was searching the internet on his phone while Jane turned left at the end of the lane.
‘There are twenty-four castles in Somerset, according to Wikipedia,’ he said. ‘I bloody well told you, didn’t I?’
‘At least he didn’t say a Scottish castle.’
‘That’s something, I suppose.’
‘Will you get them checked?’
‘Yes.’ Dixon rolled his eyes. ‘What was the first thing Roger said then?’
‘“Any news about Hatty?”’
‘That’s right. Something Sonia never asked about Alesha. Not once.’
‘You’re right, she didn’t.’ Jane turned out on to the main road. ‘Where to now?’
‘Express Park.’
‘Why would that be, d’you think?’
‘There are only two reasons I can think of,’ replied Dixon. ‘One is she doesn’t give a shit.’
‘Which can’t be right.’
‘Can’t it?’
‘And the other?’
‘She already knows exactly where she is.’
Chapter Eighteen
‘Where the hell have you been?’ demanded Potter, as Dixon and Jane appeared at the top of the stairs.
‘Catcott, Ma’am,’ he replied.
‘What for?’
‘The family got a clairvoyant in and I thought I ought to be there.’
‘You thought wrong.’ Potter threw her reading glasses on to the desk in front of her. ‘What’d she say?’
‘Hatty’s alive.’
‘Anything else?’
‘He saw a castle and flowers.’
‘He?’ Potter sighed. ‘I suppose we’ve got to waste time checking the local castles now, have we?’
‘Would you like to tell the family we’re not going to bother, or shall I?’
Potter clenched her jaw, breathing slowly through her nose. ‘Organise a search with uniform,’ she said.
‘I already have, Ma’am.’
‘Just make sure it doesn’t interfere with the reconstruction tomorrow morning.’
‘Reconstruction?’
‘If you’d been here, you’d know.’ Potter sighed. ‘Catcott, tomorrow morning at eight thirty. We’ve got a girl following Hatty’s route to school. The press will be there and so will you.’
‘Have you told the parents?’
‘Family Liaison are going to keep them indoors.’
‘Is there another press conference afterwards?’
‘The mother’s not up to it, apparently.’
‘Sounds about right.’
‘Aren’t they missing you in Safeguarding?’ asked Potter, turning to Jane.
‘I was supposed to be on holiday this week anyway, Ma’am.’
‘Any news about Ted Buckler?’ asked Dixon.
Potter shook her head. ‘The search turned up nothing we didn’t already have. He went straight home when we released him and hasn’t budged since.’
‘Anything else?’