The Secret of Wild Boar Woods (DS Dave Slater Mystery Novels Book 6)

by P. F. Ford

‘I’ve told you before, Vinnie is not a hacker,’ said Norman.

  Slater rolled his eyes.

  ‘Yeah, right. Whatever you say, Norm. Come on, I’ll buy you breakfast.’

  By 9.30am, Slater was beginning to feel as if they might actually be getting somewhere. Reports from the school gates suggested two parents had confirmed the mystery man was genuine, although neither could improve on the description. It wasn’t great, but it was confirmation that the man existed, and he now became the focus of their investigations.

  Then Steve Biddeford called to tell him that not only was there a CCTV camera covering the shopfront opposite the school gates, but there was a second that covered the pelican crossing, over the road, to the school. Because of the angle it was set at, it also covered the school gates. One of the PCs who had been standing at the gates all morning was on his way back to the station with the recording.

  ‘Right,’ said Norman, a little later. ‘You’re gonna love this. I’ll start the recording from where the guy arrives.’

  Slater, Darling, and Goodnews huddled behind his chair so they could watch over his shoulder.

  ‘Okay,’ he said, as he pressed play. ‘The first few kids have already come through and gone off with their parents, and you can see the rest of them are milling around all over.’

  ‘It’s a bit blurred,’ said Slater.

  ‘Yeah,’ said Norman. ‘Sorry about that, but don’t forget this camera is focused on the crossing. What we’re watching is on the periphery. That’s why it’s a bit out of focus, and it’s why cars keep passing through.’

  They watched the scene for a few seconds. The parents and children seemed to be performing some sort of chaotic choreography which somehow worked to get them all away from the school and heading for home.

  ‘Here you go,’ said Norman.

  They studied the screen as a man walked into the chaos from their right. He seemed to be wearing blue jeans and some sort of dark-coloured fleece, but it was difficult to tell exactly. The man appeared to be looking up and down the road, as if he was trying to find someone.

  ‘He’s no spring chicken, is he?’ said Slater. ‘He must be at least seventy.’

  ‘If he knows there’s a camera watching him he’s making no attempt to hide from it,’ murmured Goodnews.

  ‘Perhaps that’s because he knows the camera watching the gates is out of action, but he doesn’t know there’s one across the road,’ said Darling.

  Slater was puzzled.

  ‘But why’s he looking up and down the road?’ he asked, quietly, almost to himself.

  ‘He’s probably trying to decide which one’s going to be his victim.’ Darling’s voice was hard and her words clipped.

  ‘There’s Chrissy Morrison,’ said Norman, as the pretty, blonde-haired little girl came into view. ‘She comes to the gate, says goodbye to her friend, and then waits for her mum.

  ‘So it’s now 3.35,’ said Goodnews. ‘Let’s see if we can see what happens in the fifteen minutes until her mum arrives. Keep an eye on our mystery man.’

  They watched, and waited, as the crowd outside the gates gradually diminished. By 3.40 there were just a few stragglers; parents chatting to each other while their kids impatiently waited to go home. Chrissy was still waiting by the gates, but she was obviously getting bored. The mystery man had taken in his immediate surroundings, but he continued to look up and down the road. Now he turned and looked pointedly at Chrissy, but he made no move to attract her attention, and no move towards her.

  ‘There,’ said Goodnews. ‘He’s just eyeballed her.’

  ‘He’s not making any move, though,’ said Slater.

  ‘He’s singled her out,’ said Darling. ‘He knows she’s waiting and her mum’s not there. I bet he’ll wait for the rest of the parents to disperse, then he’ll make a move.’

  Another small girl came to wait by the gates, on the opposite side to Chrissy and closer to the man. She was about the same size as Chrissy. From a distance they looked quite similar.

  ‘Bloody hell,’ said Goodnews. ‘They’re like two peas in a pod. Why didn’t he go for the one nearest?’

  ‘Maybe her mum turned up in time,’ said Darling.

  According to the time stamp on the film it was now 3.43. The little girl closest to the man seemed to have come to a decision. At the same time, Chrissy Morrison suddenly ran off screen to the right.

  ‘Bugger,’ said Slater. ‘We’re going to lose sight of her.’

  The mystery man watched her run away and, for the first time, he seemed to become quite agitated. He took another look up and down the road. As he did, the girl closest to him began to walk off screen to the left.

  Now the mystery man was looking seriously stressed.

  ‘The bastard doesn’t know which one to go for,’ said Darling. ‘I wonder why he chose Chrissy?’

  They watched as the man looked again in the direction Chrissy had headed, and then seemed to make up his mind.

  ‘Here we go,’ said Darling, confidently.

  On the screen, the man headed off to the left, after the other girl.

  ‘What the f-,’ said Darling. ‘Where’s he going?’

  ‘Shite!’ Goodnews shook her head furiously.

  ‘Wow.’ Norman was still staring at the screen. ‘I didn’t see that one coming.’

  ‘Houston, we have a problem,’ said Slater, matter-of-factly.

  They continued to watch the now empty scene until at 3.50, a harassed-looking Janet Morrison appeared and began frantically looking for her daughter. Norman pressed stop.

  ‘I don’t think anyone wants to watch Chrissy’s mum in distress, do they?’ he asked, ‘Cos I sure don’t.’

  ‘So, what do we make of that, then?’ asked Goodnews.

  ‘I think it puts a bit of a dent in our theory that he’s some sort of kiddie-fiddler killer.’ Slater sighed heavily.

  ‘It doesn’t prove he didn’t do it,’ argued Darling.

  ‘But it looks a whole lot less likely now, doesn’t it? If he had picked Chrissy out, as you were so sure, why did he follow the other kid?’

  ‘Maybe he’s a lot cleverer than you think. That could have been an attempt to throw us off the scent. He could easily have doubled back after Chrissy.’

  ‘But why would he?’ asked Slater. ‘Why not just take the one he was following?’

  ‘Suppose her mum came along just as he was about to,’ said Darling. ‘That’s why he doubled back to go after Chrissy.’

  ‘Do we know who the other girl is?’ asked Goodnews. ‘We need to speak to her.’

  ‘I can enhance the image.’ Norman started tapping buttons on the computer. ‘A good photo will make it a lot easier to identify her.’

  ‘Can you do that for our mystery man?’ asked Slater.

  ‘Shouldn’t be too hard.’

  ‘Okay,’ said Slater. ‘Here’s what I think we should do. Darling, I want you to carry on watching that footage. If he did double back, you should see him. Norm, can you get those two enhanced images done? If we get the little girl’s photo down to the school, they can tell us who she is, and if you can get a good one of the guy at the gates, we might be able to find out who he is.’

  ‘What are you going to do?’ asked Goodnews.

  He looked at his watch.

  ‘It’s ten-thirty,’ he said. ‘I’m going to get coffee and cakes.’

  It hadn’t taken Norman long to produce his two enhanced images, and within half an hour they had also identified the mystery man by running his photo through the DVLA database and found his driving licence. Having delivered the small girl’s photo to Steve Biddeford so he could take it into the school, Slater and Darling were now on their way to see if could find the man in question at his home address.

  ‘So how long have you and Norm worked together?’ asked Darling, as she drove.

  ‘It must be coming up for a couple of years,’ said Slater.

  ‘He seems like good guy.’

  Slater l
ooked at her, pointedly.

  ‘Yeah,’ he said. ‘He told me you’d been talking to him.’

  ‘Ah,’ said Darling.

  ‘Look, I know I was in a crappy mood when we first met. And I apologise for that, but if you’ve got a problem with me, it would be better if you came to me about it so we can sort it out, not go running to someone else.’

  ‘I didn’t go running to anyone. He asked me how it was going, and I told him. I wasn’t complaining about you, I just stated the facts. He asked me how we were getting on, and I told him I thought you were a crabby bugger, which you were.’

  Slater sighed. She was right, he had been in a shite mood that morning, although he couldn’t have said exactly why.

  ‘I thought you understood I tell it how I see it,’ she continued, as she parked the car. ‘That’s all I was doing. I wasn’t looking for someone to team up with me against you. Don’t worry, I can fight my own battles if I think I need to.’

  ‘And do you think you need to fight me?’ he asked, wearily.

  ‘No.’ She opened the car door. ‘You’re no problem. I can handle you being a bit moody. I’d like to cheer you up a bit, though. It would definitely improve your score.’

  ‘Score? What score?’ he asked, but she was already out of the car and closing the door.

  As Slater knocked at the door, Darling took in their surroundings. Number 23 Laurel Close was a rundown semi-detached house, which stuck out from its neighbours like a sore thumb. Whereas all the other houses in the close had modern double-glazed replacement windows, number 23 still had the original wooden windows, which obviously hadn’t seen a fresh coat of paint in at least ten years. It didn’t look as if the windows had been cleaned during those ten years, either. A faded estate car, once white but now distinctly off-white, was parked on the drive, and blended in perfectly with the surrounding drabness. She peered inside, expecting to see a matching interior. To her surprise it was surprisingly clean and tidy.

  ‘This car’s been valeted,’ she said to Slater.

  The front garden seemed to be equally as neglected as the house. Darling didn’t know much about gardening, but she felt a pang of sympathy for the neighbour in the adjoining house who was obviously fighting a losing battle against the weeds invading from the garden of number 23. All things considered, she thought it was all pretty depressing.

  As the door creaked open, she swung round to face it. The man who opened the door seemed to be a perfect match. A depressed man in a depressed house. They knew Michael Crump was seventy years old, but he looked much, much older. His face was deeply lined and was topped by lank, grey hair. He almost seemed to sag as he stood before them. It was the posture of a man who had spent most of his life looking downwards, and she wondered if he was trying to avoid looking the world in the eye for some reason. She decided he was definitely guilty about something.

  ‘Michael Crump?’ asked Slater.

  ‘Yes?’

  Slater produced his warrant card.

  ‘I’m DS Slater, and this is my colleague DC Darling. We’re from Tinton CID. I wonder if we might ask you a few questions.’

  ‘What about?’ asked Crump, barely making eye contact with Slater.

  ‘Could we come inside? It’s a bit public out here.’

  Crump stepped back and reluctantly swung the door open. He slipped his glasses off, dragged a grubby-looking handkerchief from his pocket, and started to polish them.

  As they walked inside, Darling was struck by how dark and gloomy it was, but then she thought it was hardly surprising, as the windows were probably doing a better job of keeping the light out than letting it in. She followed Slater as Mr Crump led them into a lounge with furniture that was probably quite fashionable twenty or thirty years ago. Maybe it was what they called shabby-chic. Then again, this furniture could never have been considered chic. It was just plain shabby. There was a faint odour in the room; probably a combination of damp and dirt.

  Slater eased himself carefully into one of the chairs, almost as if he was frightened it was going to collapse underneath him. Darling was sure she saw a small cloud of dust rising around him. She decided she would rather stand over by the door.

  ‘What’s this all about?’ asked Crump, as he followed them into the room. He slipped his glasses back on, as if they would somehow help him hear better.

  ‘A small girl went missing after school on Monday,’ said Slater. ‘We were wondering if you could help us with our enquiries.’

  ‘What makes you think I can help?’

  ‘Perhaps you could start be telling me why you were at the school gates on that same afternoon, just as the children were leaving school.’

  ‘No, I don’t think I was…’

  ‘Before you say any more,’ said Slater, firmly, ‘let me advise you there’s a CCTV camera opposite those gates. It clearly shows you were there from just after 3.30. Perhaps you’d like to start again and tell me why?’

  Crump slipped his glasses off and began polishing again. He looked at Slater, then at Darling, and then back at Slater. She knew what that look meant – he obviously didn’t want to talk in front of her. She looked at Slater. He nodded his head, just once.

  ‘Would you mind if I use your loo?’ she asked Crump.

  ‘At the top of the stairs. You can’t miss it.’

  She made her way out of the room, carefully closing the door behind her, and quietly made her way up the stairs. As Crump had assured her, the bathroom was the first door she came to, but she carried on past it and stopped outside the next door she came to and pushed the door open. To her surprise, the room was quite luxurious and was surprisingly clean and tidy. It was obviously a woman’s bedroom, or at least the open wardrobe door showed it appeared to contain women’s clothes, and there was make-up on the dressing table. Darling recognised the brand; she knew it was expensive stuff. She wondered if perhaps Crump was married and they slept in separate rooms.

  She quickly checked out the other two bedrooms. The first was just a spare room, with assorted junk piled on the bed. The second was obviously Crump’s room. Darling thought it was as grubby as he was, and she felt she understood why the woman, if she was his wife, would want to sleep in her own room.

  She made her way back to the bathroom, stopped to flush the loo, and then continued back downstairs and into the lounge. Slater looked up as she walked into the room.

  ‘Mr Crump seems to have lost his voice,’ he said. ‘He doesn’t seem to be able to tell me what he was doing on Monday afternoon.’

  ‘Perhaps his wife can help,’ said Darling. Crump seemed to make a tiny, involuntary movement, almost a flinch. ‘Is your wife here, Mr Crump?’

  ‘No,’ he said, rather hastily. ‘She’s away at the moment.’

  ‘Where is she?’ asked Slater.

  ‘She’s gone to see her father.’

  ‘When will she back?’

  ‘I’m not exactly sure. He’s not well, you see. She’ll come back when he’s feeling better.’

  ‘You’d better leave her a note in case she comes back this afternoon,’ said Slater.

  For the first time Crump’s face became animated.

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Because I’d like you to come down to the police station with us,’ said Slater. ‘I think we need to get some answers, and it doesn’t look like we’re going to get any here, does it?’

  ‘Am I under arrest?’

  ‘Not yet,’ said Slater. ‘At the moment you’re just helping with our enquiries, but, if you’d prefer it...’

  ‘You never told me whether you saw him double back on that film,’ said Slater. He glanced at Darling, who was sitting next to him in the observation suite. He could see Michael Crump through the window, and the contents of the man’s pockets were strewn on a table in front of him.

  ‘Not that I could see,’ Darling conceded.

  ‘That’s a pity. Our case would be a whole lot better if we had him on film following Chrissy, or at least heading in
the same direction.’

  ‘There is another way he could have got there. Around the back of the school,’ said Darling.

  ‘He could have used a helicopter,’ said Slater, sighing, ‘but with no proof, the only thing we know for sure is that he followed a different girl who went in the opposite direction to Chrissy, and who’s to say he was following her with any intent? Maybe it just happens he was going the same way.’

  ‘But you saw him sizing up those two little girls on the tape.’ Darling’s voice was sharp. ‘And, anyway, just look at him. He’s definitely guilty about something.’

  Slater followed her gaze through the window. Crump sat in exactly the position he had adopted when they had first put him in that room – head bowed, hands in his lap, staring resolutely at the table in front of him.

  ‘Did you notice he couldn’t look either of us in the eye when we spoke to him earlier?’ said Darling. ‘And his wife obviously doesn’t sleep in the same room as him.’

  Slater looked at her, his eyes wide.

  ‘Oh well, that’s it then. He must be guilty if his wife doesn’t sleep with him. Why didn’t you say so before? We could have had this case closed by now.’

  She returned his critical gaze.

  ‘I’m just saying it could mean there’s something dodgy about him, that’s all.’

  ‘It could just as easily mean there’s something dodgy about her,’ he pointed out.

  ‘Well, yeah, I suppose,’ she grudgingly agreed. ‘But it’s always a bloke, isn’t it?’

  ‘I know you’re quite new to all this,’ said Slater, ‘but I think you’re in danger of getting a bit carried away with your suspicions. Your belief that “it’s always a bloke”, “his wife doesn’t sleep with him”, and “he looks guilty about something”, doesn’t make this man a child-killer, and I promise you it won’t cut much ice with the DPP. In my experience, they like us to produce something called evidence. I know it’s a pain in the arse, and your way is probably much quicker, but there you go, that’s how it works.’

  ‘Okay,’ said Darling. ‘Have it your own way, but I’m telling you I’m right.’