by Chris Simms
Jon shut his eyes. 'I know. Listen, can you pop round ours later? Alice was a bit upset last night.'
'Upset?'
'Over-tired I think. She's probably going a bit stir crazy in the house with just her and the baby. She could do with some company.'
'She should get some fresh air. Take Punch out for a walk.'
'She won't be doing that. She kicked Punch out.'
'Kicked Punch out?'
'She doesn't want him in the house anymore.'
'Why on earth has she decided that?'
'She thinks he's a danger to Holly.'
'Danger to Holly?'
'I know. She reckons Punch is jealous of her.'
'Well, now you mention it, I've heard that before too. Dogs are pack animals, very sensitive to where they lie in order of importance.'
Jesus, not you too, Jon thought. 'Mum, we're talking about
Punch. He's a total softie.'
'True, but you can never really tell what an animal is thinking.'
'Mum, it's not like Alice to be so harsh.'
'She's protecting her baby, Jon. Maternal instinct.'
'She's acting strange more like. Emotional.'
'Has she rung Amanda?'
Amanda. Alice's mum, who had just gone on holiday with her latest boy friend. 'She's in the Canary Islands for the next fortnight, remember?'
'Oh yes. I'll give Alice a call. See if she wants to go out for a coffee or lunch.'
Jon felt the tension in him abate slightly. 'Thanks, Mum, that would be a great help.'
'Where's the dog then?'
'In the back of my car. I didn't know what to do with him. I don't suppose he could stay at yours?'
'Ours? I don't know.'
'Just for a day or two.'
The silence spoke volumes as she searched for a valid reason to say no. He cut in, not wanting to hear what she came up with. 'Don't worry. I'll see if someone else can take him in.'
'Well, if you're sure. I don't want to be awkward... '
His mobile started to ring. 'OK. I've got to go. Speak to you later.' He hung up without waiting for a reply, angered by what he perceived as selfishness on her part.
As soon as he saw Carmel's name on the screen, he took the call. 'You lot ever tell the fucking truth? You can forget—'
'Jon, it wasn't my story. Look at the names on the front page. The news editor coordinated the whole thing. Him and a rich businessman mate who's offering the reward.'
'And who is that?'
'I don't know. Honestly. They've got me on background stuff. You'll find my piece on Alien Big Cat sightings on page three. You realise they've got Peterson's address?'
'Yeah. Nothing to do with you either?' he said, marching towards the side exit.
'Listen. I just wanted you to know that I kept my word.'
'And I don't believe you. The interview's off.' He hung up, taking a small amount of pleasure in cutting her down. The other officers were in the car park waiting for him. 'Right,' he barked. 'Let's get over to Peterson's. By the way, it fucking stinks in his house.' Setting off towards his vehicle, he called over his shoulder. 'I can take one other.'
He opened up his car and Punch scrabbled excitedly to his feet. Jon leaned forward, extending a hand over the seat so his dog could nuzzle eagerly at his palm. 'Hello boy,' he smiled, spirits lifted by the animal's uncomplicated affection.
The other door opened and an officer peered in. 'Sniffer dog, boss?'
'No. My mutt, Punch. He won't bite.' He glanced at his colleague's questioning expression. 'Don't ask.'
The uniform standing at the front door looked concerned when their convoy of unmarked police cars pulled up. His face quickly showed relief when he realised they were fellow officers – a bit of company at last.
Telling Punch to stay put, Jon led the search team up the pathway, keeping his face averted from the press photographer standing on the pavement. Flashing his ID at the officer, he took out Peterson's set of keys, selected the one for the front door and opened it. The same stale smell greeted him. No wonder he had to leave his house to find a shag.
He led the team into the front room, noting that no one was hurrying to take a seat. 'OK. We're looking for documents, letters, anything relating to his time at the Silverdale facility, or his little car park hobby. Keep an eye out for anything linking him to Rose Sutton.' He pointed to two officers. 'Hugh and Paul, start upstairs. Susan, you and me will search in here. Alan and Mark, check the kitchen.'
Pulling on latex gloves, the officers moved off. Jon looked round the room. A unit stood at one end of it, shelves full of books, videos and magazines. By the television was a cabinet topped by an inch-thick layer of letters and junk mail. 'You take the shelves Susan. I'll start over here.'
There must have been several months' worth of post accumulated there, much of it unopened. He searched for signs of the sender, flipping envelopes over and scanning numerous logos and addresses.
Centurion Double Glazing. Capital One credit cards. United Utilities. Scottish Power. BT. The Telegraph Wine Club. Jon frowned, surprised Peterson was interested in wines.
Next was an open letter from the Benefits Agency. Along with details of his disability allowance was a reminder that the lease on his current vehicle was coming to an end. The letter asked that he choose a vehicle from the accompanying list. Jon slid out the piece of paper. Volvos, Toyotas, Renaults. All new. Jesus, he thought of the crappy old Ford he and Alice couldn't afford to replace.
Continuing through the pile, he found an envelope that appeared suspiciously anonymous. A PO Box number in Basingstoke was the only indication of where it had come from.
Knowing that no one could prove who opened it, he took out a penknife and ran the blade under the flap. Inside was a receipt from a mail order chemist. An order of Cialis soft tabs, whatever they were. Jon scanned the panel at the bottom of the document. 'Try our other premium quality drugs for enhancing male sexual performance!'
He replaced the sheet and carried on with his search, aware that he'd found no personal correspondence yet.
'Some interesting choices of home entertainment here, boss.' He glanced at Susan who was crouching in front of the shelf unit. From the way she was holding the DVD case by just a forefinger and thumb, he suspected she hadn't found The Sound
of Music.
'Go on then, as if I can't guess.'
'Chicken Run.'
'Not the animated film about those cute hens?'
'No. Though there seems to be quite a few cocks in it.' Jon gave a snort. 'Just be glad you're not going through his bedroom.'
'Yeah, I owe you a drink for sparing me that.'
A voice sounded from upstairs. 'Boss? We've got some interesting stuff here on his computer.'
Jon rolled his eyes at Susan then called out, 'Used the internet for keeping up with world news did he?'
'That'll be a no. Come and see.'
Before climbing the stairs Jon looked down the corridor towards the kitchen. 'How's it going in there, lads?'
'Could make a fortune from recycling his empty cans of Asda strong lager,' came the reply.
At the top of the stairs Jon headed for the doorway with the flickering blue light. The two officers were in front of the computer screen. 'I went into the history file, last site he'd been on was a right pervy one.'
'Called Swinger's Haven by any chance?'
The officer looked surprised. 'Yeah. Are you behind the appeal for witnesses posted there?'
'I am.'
'Well, there's been no replies to your posting, but I think he'd visited the forum bit just before. Appears he was checking for meets in the local area.'
Jon leaned forward to read the screen, relieved they hadn't scrolled down to the comments about himself.
'This one here, it says “Likewise. Mr P.” I think that's from him.'
'How come?'
He pointed to the scrap of paper sellotaped to the side of the monitor. 'SH. Username – Mr P, password – 5Burman.
That's this address isn't it? 5 Burman Street. SH stands for Swinger's Haven because when I typed that username and password in, it gave me access.'
'Nice one, Paul. OK, unplug it and bag the whole thing up. The IT boys can go through everything properly.'
Jon glanced round the room, eyes lingering for a moment on the double bed. It was covered by a crumpled duvet and he could see a large grease mark on the pillow where Peterson's head had rested.
His mobile phone started to ring, Rick's name showing up on the screen. 'Rick, how's things?'
'Good. Can you talk?'
'Yup, fire away.'
'We've had a hit with the request on Swinger's Haven.'
'Yeah?' Jon paused, looking over his shoulder at the computer screen. 'We're on it at the moment. Doesn't seem to be any replies that I can see.'
'A guy just called me. We gave my telephone number, remember?'
Jon felt a trickle of excitement run down his neck. 'What did he say?'
'He heard the radio reports and thinks the person found yesterday is the same person he was with a few nights ago at Silburn Grove car park.'
'With? What did he mean by that?'
'You really want me to elaborate?'
'No thanks. Can he come to the nick?'
'No, he's not prepared to meet there.'
'Where then?'
'Next to the library is a nursery play area. You know it?'
'By those arches?'
'Yeah, there's some benches that face back at those arches.'
'What time?'
'In an hour.'
'Right, I'll meet you there.'
Eighteen
Jon just had time to call into a coffee shop by the library and grab a cup to take away. He followed the circular exterior of the library round to its main entrance, where the usual smattering of students were hanging around on the front steps.
To his right, a tram tooted its horn, then pulled away from the platform with an electric whine. Jon looked at the bronze tableau of women advancing forward in what appeared to be a disintegrating blanket. As usual, he wondered what the hell the statue was all about. On the benches just past it he could see Rick, also sipping from a paper cup.
Jon walked over in the shadow cast by the gothic town hall buildings that loomed over St Peter's square. 'Morning Rick. Little cold for an outside meeting, isn't it?'
Rick looked up with a smile and a shrug. 'Maybe he'll be happy to go somewhere warmer.'
Jon sat down and crossed his ankles. Visible in the windows between the arches was a day nursery. A set of toddlers sat entranced around a staff member as she read a story. Jon's mind went to his own baby, still months away from being able to sit up, let alone be read to. He wondered how Alice was and started to reach for his phone.
'Check out this guy. I think it could be him,' Rick said quietly.
Jon's fingers curled back round his coffee cup and glanced to his right. A man with a pudding-bowl haircut was tentatively making his way along the arches. He was about forty years old, five-foot-seven or eight tall, wide hips giving him a womanly shape. Gripped in front of him was a newspaper, held as if to fend off any unwelcome approach. His eyes settled for a moment on Rick and Jon, skittered nervously past them, then slowly returned.
'It's him,' Rick murmured, getting to his feet. 'Adrian? It's
Rick. We spoke earlier this morning.'
'Ah.'
He didn't move, but gripped the paper even more tightly across his stomach. Jon spotted a wedding ring on his finger.
Rick gestured to his side. 'This is my senior officer, DI Jon
Spicer. He's leading the investigation.'
Jon stood, but decided not to offer his hand. The bloke looked like he would be terrified by any physical contact. Instead he pointed towards the library. 'There's a coffee shop round the corner. Can we get you a drink?'
The man was silent for several moments. Finally he replied.
'There's a cafe´ in the library itself.' His voice squeaked with nerves.
'Whatever you prefer,' Rick answered.
They walked in awkward silence until they reached the library's entrance.
'I think I'd prefer it in here,' he said, making eye contact with
Rick for a split second.
Jon and Rick dropped their cups into a bin. They filed through the library's swing gate, crossed the foyer and went down the wide stone steps into the basement cafe´ where a woman was bustling around behind the counter.
'What would you like?' Jon asked.
The man glanced at his watch. 'Erm. A tea. Thank you.'
'Rick, another frothy coffee?' He let one eyebrow arch up and Rick gave him a polite smile.
'Yes, thank you, Jon.'
As the woman served their drinks, Jon looked down at
Adrian. 'Do you work in the city centre?'
He glanced about, checking that no one was within hearing distance. 'Yes. I work for the council, in the town hall offices.' Jon made himself look interested. 'That must be a great building to work in. Architecturally I mean.'
Adrian frowned. 'It's a little cramped. Not designed for all the computers we can't seem to survive without nowadays.'
Jon smiled. 'Yeah, same can be said for most police stations.' He nodded at the corner table. 'Over there?'
Once they'd sat down, Jon took out his notebook and pen.
'Now Adrian, everything you tell us is in the strictest confidence. Are you clear about that?'
'That's a promise is it? I have your promise? I can't let anyone know that I... that I was there, in the car park.'
'You have my word,' Jon assured him, hoping the case wouldn't develop in such a way that a court appearance would be necessary. 'So can you tell us exactly what happened?'
Adrian coughed nervously, then interlinked his fingers. 'I arrived at the car park at about ten o'clock. No one was there so I walked over to the brick shed at the end to wait.'
As he spoke his face slowly changed from a light red to a deep purple. You poor bastard, Jon thought. This is excruciating for you, isn't it?
'Why leave your car?' Rick gently prodded.
'I don't like staying in it.' He glanced up. From his imploring look, Jon could tell he didn't want to explain why.
'Sorry Adrian,' Jon said. 'We need to be clear on why. The attack took place by that shed. It could be important.'
Adrian made an attempt to clear his throat. 'I'm not... not the only one who uses the car.'
Right, Jon thought. Can't have other men's spunk on the wife's seat. 'So you were waiting by the shed?'
'Yes, there're trees behind it. It's quite a private area. The car turned up about ten minutes later. A dark blue Volvo, I gave part of its registration to the emergency operator when I called.' Seeing Jon's look of acknowledgement, Adrian paused. 'Is it the car? The car of the person found yesterday morning?'
'We think so, yes.' He got the photo of Derek Peterson out.
'Was this the man who arrived in the Volvo?' Adrian nodded. 'Now he's dead?'
Jon gave a single nod.
'And he was called Peterson?'
'He was.'
For a few moments Adrian's lips moved as he tried to form a word. Then he gave up and just stared at the table.
Jon met Rick's gaze, then turned his eyes towards Adrian and gave a little nod. Your turn.
'Adrian. The Volvo had just arrived... ' Rick prompted. Head still bowed, Adrian continued. 'Yes. He parked about ten metres away from my car. I stepped out from the side of the shed, waited for him – Peterson – to see me, then I moved back into the shadows. A few seconds later I heard his footsteps. He came round the corner and stood before me.' Adrian's head sagged lower as if weighed down by shame. 'We had just got started when... '
'Sorry Adrian.' Jon kept his eyes on his notebook, avoiding eye contact. 'I take it you were... the height of your head was at... '
'I was kneeling, yes. Then I heard movement in the undergrowth behind us. Twigs snapping, then a
shoe crunching on gravel. I hadn't time to look up before there was this... this kind of stifled cry. So full of rage it was.'
'From the attacker?' Jon asked.
'I think so. Then came the sound of something striking Peterson. He staggered back against the wall of the shed and I rolled on to the ground and covered my head with my arms, waiting to get hit. But the noises continued above me. I looked up and saw it was a young man. They were chest to chest, grappling with the weapon. Blood was dripping down Peterson's face. The younger man was hissing bastard, bastard, bastard and Peterson's whole posture changed.'
'How do you mean?' Jon sat forward.
'Well, at first he was just as surprised as me. But then he recognised the guy who'd hit him.'
'How do you know he recognised him?' Jon cut in.
'He just did. You'll see when I carry on. Peterson kind of squared up to him, did something to break the younger man's grip on the metal bar. By now I was on my feet, I moved around them and was going towards my car. It looked like Peterson was going to disarm him and I thought we could both make a run for it, but Peterson didn't escape when he had the chance.'
Adrian raised a hand to the bridge of his nose and pinched it.
'Peterson got hold of the young guy's wrist and twisted it up and behind his back. It must have really hurt because the lad let go of the bar with his other hand and started to gasp.' Adrian's eyes were now squeezed shut. 'He kept twisting the lad's arm up, forcing him to bend forward. Then... then he pulled the lad's tracksuit bottoms down. I actually said to him, what are you doing? He told me to piss off. He had the bar ready and I backed off, away from it all. It was then the lad started to scream.'
Jon lifted one hand from the table. 'Hang on, I think I've lost you here. It was the lad screaming, not Peterson?'
'Yes. The lad. I'm sure Peterson knew him. That's why he did it, he was punishing him, I'm sure.' He turned towards the wall and shook his head.
'Sorry Adrian, you're saying Peterson assaulted his attacker?' Adrian ran a hand down the side of his face. 'He'd bent him over. He used that metal bar on him, I know he did.'
'You mean he inserted it into the lad's anus?'
'I didn't actually see, but the screams. What else was he doing?'
Jon turned the information over in his head. Christ, Adrian was probably right. 'So you went back to your car and rang nine-nine-nine?'