Someday Never Comes (#2 - D.I. Paolo Storey Crime Series)

by Frances di Plino

  “Good afternoon. I’m Detective Inspector Storey and this is Detective Sergeant Johnson. Sorry to trouble you, but we need your help.”

  Pete forced himself to stand and smile. “Hello, take a seat. Mrs Baxter said you’d be coming over. How can I help you?” That was good, he thought, voice sounded okay. “Mrs Baxter, could you bring us some coffee, please?”

  The two coppers sat down, but Storey shook his head.

  “No coffee for us, thank you. We’d like Mrs Baxter to stay, if that’s okay with you. She might have witnessed something and not realised it was important.”

  The bastard actually smiled at him! He knew something, Pete was sure of it now.

  “Yeah, fine, no problem,” Pete said. “Sit yourself down, Mrs Baxter. Let’s see if we can help out, shall we?”

  “We’re looking into a rape and murder,” Storey said. “The victim was picked up by some travellers in the woods a couple of miles from here.”

  “Dear God, no! What is the world coming to?”

  Pete tuned out the waffle from Mrs Baxter. So he was right, they were on to him. He had to keep calm.

  “Sorry,” he said, “I’m not sure what that’s got to do with me? If she was murdered a few miles from here, well…” He couldn’t think how to finish his sentence, so left it there.

  Mrs Baxter chimed in. “I agree with Mr Carson. Why would you think we saw anything if it all happened in the woods? I expect it was the travellers. Dirty nasty people, they are.”

  “No,” Storey said and looked at him in such a way that Pete wished the man would have a heart attack and die. “We have reason to believe she was attacked in one of the houses near the woods.”

  “Well, it certainly wasn’t this one,” Mrs Baxter said. “In fact, let me tell you this is a respectable house. Just because Mr Carson used to be in that band you needn’t think he’s a bad person, because he isn’t. Treats us well, he does. And, what’s more…”

  “Do you know, I think would like some coffee, after all,” Storey said, smiling at Mrs Baxter. Pete wanted to punch him.

  Mrs Baxter glanced at him for permission to go, but what could he do apart from smile. She got up and left the room. Left him to face the two coppers on his own.

  Storey stared at him. The other one hadn’t said a word since they’d arrived. He just sat there scribbling in his notebook. Pete wondered what he’d written down. They’d hardly said anything so far, so what the fuck had he been writing?

  “Sorry about interrupting your housekeeper, Mr Carson. It was clear she doesn’t know anything. So maybe it’s best if we have a chat with you on your own.”

  Pete leaned back and stretched his legs out. “Sure thing,” he said, “but I don’t know how I can help you. I haven’t seen any young girls around here.”

  Storey looked over at the other cop, then smiled and nodded. What the fuck? What had he said to make the bastards so fucking happy?

  “Who said anything about a young girl?”

  “What?” Pete said. “You did!”

  “No,” Storey said with that fucking sickening smile that made Pete’s hands itch to smack it away. “I didn’t mention the victim’s age. I didn’t mention the gender either, but you can be forgiven for jumping to conclusions on that point. How did you know the victim was young?”

  Pete tried to remember exactly what the bastard had said, but couldn’t. The fucker was trying to trap him. He shrugged.

  “I just assumed it. Not sure why. I suppose most rape victims are young. What was she, about eighteen or so?”

  Storey looked at him as if he was a piece of dog shit.

  “No, Mr Carson, she was quite a lot younger than that. We think she was between ten and twelve.”

  “I’m bloody sure I’ve have noticed if she’d been hanging around here,” Pete said. “Sorry, I can’t help you.”

  Storey smiled at him again and Pete wondered what was coming next. The bastard looked far too happy.

  “What happened to your face?” Storey asked.

  “Nothing. What do you mean? What’s my face got to do with a rape and murder?”

  “I didn’t say there was a connection. I was just wondering how your face came to be scratched like that.”

  Pete felt his heart go into overdrive. Fucking hell, the man must have bloody sharp eyesight. The scratches he’d got in the woods were barely visible. Even Mrs Baxter hadn’t noticed them, or if she had, hadn’t commented. His mind went blank. What could he say that would sound plausible?

  “Cat,” he blurted out. “My agent has a new kitten. I was playing with it and it suddenly went commando on my face.”

  “Really?” Storey asked with that fucking irritating grin.

  At that moment the door opened and Mrs Baxter came in carrying a tray with coffee and cakes.

  “Would you like a slice of Dundee cake? I made it myself,” she said.

  The two cops stood up as if someone had choreographed their movements. Pete wondered if they had some signal between them.

  “Thank you, Mrs Baxter,” Storey said, “but unfortunately we find we can’t stay for coffee after all.”

  Thank fuck for that, Pete thought. They’ve swallowed it. But the cop’s next words made him sweat all over again.

  “Thank you for your time, Mr Carson. We’ll be back if we need to ask you a few more questions.”

  “Oh, do you mean about the intruder?” Mrs Baxter said.

  As the two policemen sat down again, Pete wanted to strangle his housekeeper.

  “Someone broke in?” Storey said.

  Pete knew he had to put a stop to this before Mrs Baxter could mention the blood on the gates. Fuck it, what could he say?

  “No, we weren’t burgled,” he answered before she could drop him in it. “Sometimes people climb over the gates to try to get an autograph or pinch a trophy. You know, just something to prove they’ve been into the house of a famous person? Anyway, that’s what happened. We didn’t report it because you people have far more important things to do – like chasing rapists and murderers. Isn’t that right?”

  He realised he was babbling and stopped. The coppers were looking at him funny. Had he overdone it? No, they stood up again.

  “You should always report crimes, Mr Carson. We certainly look into any suspected wrong doing very carefully. In fact, we’ll keep a close eye on this property from now on. Just in case anyone tries anything.”

  Was the bastard trying to frighten him? Well, if he was, he’d fucking succeeded. Pete managed a smile, although it almost choked him.

  “Good to know,” he said. “I’ll show you out.”

  But Mrs Baxter wasn’t having that. “No, Mr Carson, that’s my job. You sit yourself down and enjoy the coffee and cake.”

  She left, almost sweeping the police in front of her. Pete waited until they’d gone and then jumped up to listen at the door. Please don’t mention the blood, he begged silently.

  “Poor Mr Carson,” he heard his housekeeper say. “He works so hard. Such a nice man he is underneath all that rock and roll strutting. I hope you will keep a watch on the house. He’s right, you know. We often get people wandering the grounds who shouldn’t be here.”

  Pete couldn’t make out what they answered, but heard the door close a few seconds later. Thank fuck for that. But then his mind began racing. They knew. Somehow they knew he was involved. He waited until he heard the sound of car wheels on gravel, then pulled out his phone.

  Walking to the door, he put his eye to the crack and saw Mrs Baxter heading off to the kitchen. With shaking hands, he hit speed dial.

  Joey answered on the first ring. “Can’t talk now, Pete. I’ve got a problem on my hands.”

  “So have I,” Pete hissed. “The cops have been here.”

  “Fuck! What did they want?”

  “They asked me about a rape and murder. They didn’t say so, but I know it was the brat we lost in the woods.”

  “We lost? You fucking lost her. Anyway, what did you tel
l them?”

  “Nothing! I told them I’d seen nothing and knew nothing.”

  “Okay, good. Keep it that way. I’ve got to go. Two of my men are being followed by the cops and I need to know what’s happening with them.”

  The line went dead and Pete stared at the phone as it if might bite him. Police onto Joey’s men? What more could go wrong?

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  18th October (late afternoon/evening)

  Paolo’s mind was running over everything Pete Carson had said. Even more to the point, the things he hadn’t said. Pete certainly hadn’t asked the right questions. Surely he should have wanted to know more so that he could help find a killer?

  “That was sharp of you, sir, spotting those scratches. I only saw them after you’d mentioned them,” Dave said as they waited for the gates to open.

  “Luck, pure luck,” Paolo answered. “The marks are really faint, but the light caught his face at the right angle, just for a moment, when he moved and they showed up. Without that, I don’t think I’d have spotted them either.”

  “What did you make of his answer about the cat?” Dave said as he manoeuvred the car through gateway and pulled into the road.

  “Bullshit, pure and simple. The scratches weren’t deep enough to come from a cat, not even a kitten. He looked as if he’d plucked that excuse out of thin air,” Paolo said. “I wonder if we can come up with a valid reason to ask his agent if he has a cat. Not that it matters at this stage. The scratches were too random for an animal. They would fit being scratched by bushes or branches running through the woods, though.”

  “So you reckon he’s involved?” Dave asked.

  Paolo nodded. “I’m almost sure of it. Gut feeling says he’s in it somehow. Unfortunately, we can’t do anything without firm evidence. I can just imagine trying to get a warrant to search his place on the strength of a gut feeling. The way he was sweating, he knows something, that’s for sure.”

  “You think he’s the one bringing the girls in?”

  Paolo shook his head. “No, I don’t think so. I think he might be a customer, but I don’t think he’s the trafficker. Whoever is doing that has to have some strong connections in Albania. As far as I can remember, our Mr Carson doesn’t have any links outside of the UK, but we’ll look into that, just in case.”

  “Just a customer?” Dave asked. “Or do you think he’s our murderer?”

  “I’m pretty sure he’d have been recognised if he’d gone to the hospital, even dressed as a woman,” Paolo said, “but he might be the bastard who raped the poor kid. As it stands at the moment, even if we get some usable DNA from that child, we can’t even ask Pete Carson for a sample to check against it. We need to dig into his past. Find out if there were any rumours about him being interested in young girls back when he was on the road with The Vision Inside. I don’t remember any talk, but then not every paedophile is obvious about it. It would be better if they were. Easier to find and put away.”

  Dave hit the steering wheel with both hands. “I hate them. The bastards ruin lives. Worse than murderers they are. I’d like to cut their hands and pricks off and–”

  “Hey, keep your mind on driving, Dave! We nearly went off the road there.”

  “Sorry, sir.”

  Paolo glanced across. Dave was chewing his bottom lip as if he wanted to destroy it. Not for the first time, Paolo wondered about his detective sergeant. Dave had demons nibbling at his mind, that was for sure, but Paolo had no idea why. He wanted to say something to comfort him, but before he could frame a sentence, Dave spoke again.

  “If he had the girl in there, how did she get out?”

  “Good question,” Paolo said. “The gates are only opened from the inside or by someone with a gadget in their vehicle. It’s hardly likely he would have let her run off into the woods stark naked.”

  “What was the housekeeper saying about intruders?”

  Paolo smiled. “Mrs Baxter is top of my list to question again when Pete Carson isn’t there to interrupt her. She seemed to think he should have told us about an intruder. I found it very interesting how quickly he moved in to shut her up. I think she might know more than she realises. I wonder how George is getting on following that car.”

  Right on cue, his phone rang, but it was CC’s name up on the screen, not George’s.

  “Yes, CC, what’s the situation with the girl?”

  “She’s been placed in detox, sir. Poor thing is in a terrible state. According to the doctor she’s covered in genital warts, showing she’s sexually active. Not that we need that kind of evidence to know she’s been put out to work. She’s in no fit state to talk. Won’t be able to give us any information for quite some time, depending on how she handles detox.”

  Paolo sighed. “Poor kid. Have you heard from George?”

  “Not in the last hour, sir,” CC answered. “Last I knew he was still following the car that came back for the girl. George said it pulled up and waited for a bit, realised something was up and drove off. That was hours ago and they’ve been driving around town and the countryside ever since.”

  “Okay, thanks. We’ll see you back at the station.”

  Paolo filled Dave in on what CC had told him and then dialled out. George answered, but it was clear from his tone that he wasn’t happy.

  “This is pointless, sir. They know I’m onto them and have taken me on a bloody tour of Bradchester.”

  “Where are you now?” Paolo asked.

  “At the motorway services north of town. They pulled in here about fifteen minutes ago. Uniform and me, we’re sitting in the car park like a couple of Charlies.”

  “Okay, stay there. Dave and I will come over to back you up. If they move off again, keep on them and let us know where you’re headed. I think it’s time we had a chat with that pair.”

  Paolo ended the call and turned to Dave. “Change of plan. Head to the motorway services. We’re going to bring in the two men who ferried the girl to Zephyr Road.”

  Dave smiled. “Good. I can’t wait.”

  Dave’s smile made Paolo feel he might not be the best person to take into the interview room when they questioned the two men. He decided to give George a shot at them.

  Dave pulled up next to George’s car. Paolo jumped out and stood next to the driver’s window.

  “Hi, George. Where are they now?”

  “Dark BMW over there in the far corner, sir. They parked up and haven’t left the car since we got here. I’m bloody sure they know I’ve been following them.”

  “Okay, I’m going to go and have a chat with them. You stand by in case I need back up.”

  Paolo turned and signalled to Dave to come with him. As he walked away he heard George mutter.

  “Always bloody back up.”

  “Just hold on a second, Dave,” Paolo said and stepped back to the car.

  “Do you have a problem, George?”

  Paolo was surprised by a look of venom on George’s face, but it passed so quickly, he couldn’t be certain it had ever been there.

  “No, sir, no problem. Why do you ask?”

  “I thought I heard you say something,” Paolo said.

  George cast a quick look at the uniformed officer sitting next to him. Paolo couldn’t quite work out what the look was intended to imply, but George’s next words were definitely a lie.

  “I said, ‘Let’s hope you don’t need back up.’ Sir.”

  “Okay, fine. I hope you’re right,” Paolo said and returned to Dave’s side. As they walked across the car park, Paolo changed his mind about inviting George in on the interviews. He’d bring in CC instead.

  Putting thoughts of George and his problems to one side, Paolo tapped on the driver’s side of the BMW. The window slid down and Paolo felt like punching the air. The man looking up at him was a perfect match for one of the identikit images Michelle had helped the artist to compile.

  “Why has your man been following us?” the man said before Paolo could speak.
/>
  “He just wanted to ask you a few questions. We’re investigating a child prostitution ring and think you might have witnessed something that could help us.”

  “How would we know anything?” The man looked at his companion, a dead ringer for the second identikit image. Michelle was spot on with her observations. “Do you know about child prostitution, Bekim?”

  “No, not me,” the man answered. “I only like grown up prostitutes. What about you, Edar? You like humping children? ”

  Both men laughed and Paolo felt as if he’d wandered into a bad comedy routine.

  “The thing is, when you were in Zephyr Road, you might have seen or heard something that could help our investigation. Would you like to come to the station and have a chat?”

  Once again, both men laughed. “Sure, why not?” the driver said. “We’ll follow you there.”

  “That’s not necessary,” Paolo said. “You can come with us in our cars. Someone will bring you back here afterwards. Your car will be safe enough in the meantime.”

  As if they had rehearsed it, both men nodded and got out of the car. This is too easy, Paolo thought. Far too easy.

  After more than two hours’ questioning each man separately, Paolo’s blood pressure was close to explosion point. The men couldn’t have been more helpful, except that they knew nothing and could tell the police nothing. They even voluntarily handed over their mobile phones for Paolo to check past calls, which meant, Paolo was sure, there would be sod all that was incriminating to find on them. He left the interview room in search of George and found him in the canteen.

  “Mind if I join you?”

  George looked up from the newspaper he was reading and pointed to the seat opposite.

  “Not at all, sir. Bit unusual for you to take an evening tea break, isn’t it?”

  As he sat down, Paolo nodded. “I haven’t come for tea. CC and I have been interviewing the two men you followed and getting nowhere. Did they stop anywhere while you were on their tail?”