by G D Sanders
‘So, he doesn’t go out much then. He drinks at home?’
‘Oh, no, he’s out every night and sometimes very late.’
‘How do you know that, Miss Waterford?’ asked Jenny. ‘Do you hear him come in?’
‘Never, I sleep very well. A glass of sherry at half past six and a glass of wine, two if it’s a special occasion, with supper, and then a Horlicks with the evening news before I go to bed.’
‘Then how do you know …?’
‘Oh, I’ve seen him. Whenever I go to the Marlowe Theatre with my friend Judith, I always stay overnight at her house in St Peter’s Lane. She lives near Maison Rose the hairdresser’s, rather downmarket. We would never go there but I’ve seen Mr Leaman going into the flat above the shop very late at night.’
Jenny and Nat finished their slices of cake and thanked Miss Waterford profusely.
‘I do hope you get the flat when it becomes available; you’re such a lovely couple, it will be a pleasure to have you as neighbours.’
As they were shown to the door Nat winked at Jenny and she, half smiling, motioned for him to be careful.
On their way to the cathedral for the Torch Relay, they looked in at the Station. Nat walked ahead into the CID Room and began to report back to Ed and Mike.
‘Jenny and I have just been to Leaman’s, and spoken to one of the other occupants.’
‘Did you get anything useful?’ asked Ed.
‘Nothing much, but his neighbour on the ground floor, a Miss Waterford, said that she’d seen Leaman out late at night visiting a flat above a hairdresser in St Peter’s Lane.’
‘Rosie Baker!’ exclaimed Mike, stirring in his chair. ‘The Maison Rose, perms for ladies of a certain age and something after hours for their husbands. The old bugger, I knew Ray liked a drink but I didn’t know he was into that sort of thing.’
‘What do you mean, Mike?’ asked Ed.
‘Rosie’s been there for years. She does women’s hairdressing during the day and has a modest stream of gentlemen callers after hours. Very discreet and quite harmless but I’m surprised Leaman makes a habit of calling.’
‘From what you say, it doesn’t sound as if he’s into young girls, but you should check it out.’ Ed knew seemingly minor information could prove valuable in an investigation. ‘If what Waterford says is true, Rosie may give us something useful. Pop round and have a word as soon as she closes the shop this evening.’
Mike didn’t look too eager but he nodded his acceptance of the assignment.
53
On the route through the centre of the city, uniform police and event stewards in HiVis jackets moved through the crowds, which were six or more deep on both sides of the narrow streets near the cathedral entrance. One man was not there to watch the Olympic Torch. He was casually observing the crowds looking for a girl he knew. Almost any girl he’d researched would do.
Ashley and Tyler, in their regulation school uniforms, had a good position at the end of Mercery Lane. They’d arrived early at Cathedral Gate and their interest was beginning to wane when there was movement and cheering in Sun Street. Escorts in dark glasses and grey shirts emblazoned with the gold Olympic logo surrounded the torch carrier as he swung left through the gateway and entered The Precincts. The two girls didn’t have long to wait before the torch reappeared and passed in front of them to continue its journey towards St Margaret’s Street and out of the city through Wincheap.
As people began to drift away, one man remained. He’d caught sight of Ashley Stockbridge and Tyler Hewitt opposite Cathedral Gate. He knew there was no school for the remainder of the afternoon so, when the girls turned to go, he wondered if they might make their way home. Following at a distance he watched Ashley and Tyler enter the cinema. Through the glass doors he saw them buy tickets and make their way to the café. They had 35 minutes to kill before the film started. He calculated they should be out just before seven-fifteen. Plenty of time to collect the van, park it near the City Centre and be back at the cinema before they re-emerged.
Wondering where it would be best to park he checked his birdwatchers’ notebook. Both lived out towards Harbledown, Ashley on Prioress Road and Tyler in the converted house on Summer Hill. The large car park in Pound Lane would be perfect.
Mike left the Station at 17.30 and drove to St Peter’s Lane. Passing Maison Rose, he slowed to a crawl and glanced through the widow. The last customer was under the dryer and Rosie was clearing up. He pulled into the car park and listened to local radio for five minutes before walking to the hairdresser’s. The customer had left but Rosie was still tidying things away. Mike opened the door and walked in.
‘Sorry, I’m just closing—’
‘Hello, Rosie.’
She looked up and smiled in a surprised welcome.
‘Why, if it isn’t Constable Potts! I didn’t recognize you, Michael, without your helmet.’
‘It’s Sergeant Potts now, Rosie.’
‘Where’s your uniform?’
‘Plain clothes now, Rosie; it’s Detective Sergeant Potts.’
‘Well I never, our little Michael’s a detective.’
‘Now, now, Rosie, less of the “little”, we all grow up, even policemen.’
‘Grow older, you mean.’ Rosie pushed a stray lock of hair into place. ‘So, what can I do you for you, Michael, a nice cup of tea?’
‘That would be very agreeable.’
‘Come on up,’ said Rosie, first stopping to lock the street entrance and then leading him up the narrow staircase to her flat. ‘You go through to the lounge, Michael, and I’ll get the tea.’
Mike had been here before when he was a young constable on the beat and Rosie had reported a break-in. It must have been 20 years ago or more but there were still the same rose-patterned carpet and chintz cushions on the three-piece suite. He sat in an armchair and waited for Rosie to bring the tea. It arrived with a large slice of Victoria sponge.
‘Now, how can I help you, Michael?’
‘We’re trying to eliminate people from our inquiries, Rosie, and we’ve been told that this man’s been seen visiting you late in the evening.’
Mike showed her a photograph of the games master Ray Leaman.
‘Yes, he pops in to see me three or four times a week.’
Mike raised his eyebrows. ‘He’s here that often?’
‘A girl’s got to make a living, love, but, with him, it’s not what you think.’
‘So what should I be thinking?’
‘He first came here 12 or 15 years ago with two of his rugby chums. They’d already had a few beers but I could see he was nervous so I took the other two first and saved him till last. He called himself John then. Poor love, he couldn’t get it up and I could see tears starting in his eyes. I put my negligée back on and took him in my arms. “There, there, love, it happens sometimes when you’ve had one too many. Just sit here and I’ll put on a show your mates will marvel at.”
‘He sat meek as a lamb drying his eyes as I bounced on the bed crying out as if Attila himself was taking me to the top of the Alps and back. When I could see he was all right I rolled off onto the floor and gave a few urgent yeses before some heavy breathing and appreciative moans.
‘“Right, now you go back to your mates. You’ll find a bottle of scotch and glasses in the sideboard. Help yourselves ’til I get back.”
‘He’s been coming to see me ever since. Always brings me a bottle of Black Label.’
‘You’re a good woman, Rosie.’
‘Aye, whore with a heart of gold, that’s me. Caring for the wives’ hair-dos during the day and helping the husbands get their rocks off at night.’
‘Not all the husbands, surely?’
‘You’d be surprised.’ Then the banter left Rosie’s voice as she said, ‘You’re right, not as many as there once was. Would you like a drop of scotch in that tea? It’s Black Label.’
‘Better not, I’m driving.’ Mike paused and then leant towards Rosie. ‘So John still c
omes to see you?’
‘Come on, Michael, we both know he’s not John. He’s Ray Leaman, teaches up at the school.’
‘Okay, does Ray Leaman still come to see you?’
‘As I said, three or four times a week.’
‘And does he …?’
‘As I said, it’s not what you think. He’s never wants sex; I’ve offered more than once but he prefers to sit and talk. We share a drop of his Black Label and these days I make him a rice pudding. He likes it with a spoonful of seedless raspberry jam. If he comes on a Sunday we have a special treat, treacle pudding with Bird’s custard. Ray Leaman’s a talker, Michael. In this business you get a lot of those.’
Without looking at his watch Mike was aware that he’d been talking to Rosie for some time. That, plus the feeling that he was comfortable and settled in her room above the shop, brought a sense of guilt. He should be getting home.
‘I’d better be on my way, Rosie. Your sponge cake was lovely and the tea just hit the spot.’
He expected her banter to return but, with a brief look of disappointment, she spoke simply. ‘Don’t leave it so long next time, Michael.’
As he left through the street entrance Mike stooped to kiss Rosie’s cheek.
‘You should stop by more often,’ she called after him as he crossed the road towards the car park.
54
He was back across the street watching the cinema. Twelve minutes after he’d arrived, Ashley and Tyler left together. It wasn’t yet dark and there were still many people on the streets. He hoped the girls would stop somewhere, if not to eat, at least for a coffee. But by the time he followed them as far as St Peter’s Place it was clear they were going home.
He doubled back to pick up the van, drove past them on Rheims Way, turned into Summer Hill, and parked well short of the first house. He pulled on his black balaclava and rolled it above his face so that it resembled a beanie. The pad and bottle were already in his coat pocket. On the near side of the van he opened the sliding door and re-closed it incompletely so that the lock didn’t catch.
Walking back to the road junction he looked down Rheims Way towards the city. The girls had passed the roundabout and were just approaching the point where he expected them to separate. Ashley should cut between the trees to her home on Prioress Road and Tyler should continue towards him and take the left turn into Summer Hill. The girls stopped, deep in conversation. He waited until they said goodbye before walking back to hide in the bushes beside the van.
He was in luck. There were no other people about but he rolled the balaclava down over his face just in case. The girl might turn and catch sight of him before the ether took effect.
Taking the cap off the bottle he held it against the pad. Hearing Tyler approaching he began repeating ‘Schoolgirl, schoolgirl’ under his breath. The image of his mother and the rush of apprehension were less debilitating than before. He stepped out behind Tyler and pressed the ether-soaked pad over her nose and mouth.
She was taller than the others, almost his own height. Tyler was also fitter and his arm easily encircled her body. After the first moment of surprise and confusion he felt her muscles tense but the effect of the ether was rapid. Before she could pull the pad away from her face, her grip weakened. In less than a minute she was out cold. Within two she was in the back of the van. Within three he was driving steadily along Faulkners Lane. Via Rough Common and back through the city he would reach the building in the woods in fifteen minutes.
Emily Hewitt was expecting her daughter home by eight. Normally they had a meal together around six-thirty. Tonight she’d prepared a late supper. By half past eight Tyler had still not arrived and Emily was getting anxious. She trusted her daughter and didn’t like to chase her but, after waiting a further ten minutes, she called Tyler’s mobile. It was switched off. Tyler never switched her phone off. With a cold shiver of anxiety, Emily scribbled a note and left it on the kitchen table.
Walking down Summer Hill, Emily hoped to meet her daughter on her way home, but there was no sign of Tyler. When she reached the trees near the roundabout on Rheims Way, Emily turned in to Prioress Road. She thought she’d recognize the house but knocked next door by mistake. When she tried the right one, Ashley opened the door.
‘Is Tyler with you?’
‘No, she left me to walk home about an hour ago.’
Emily felt a cold panic in her stomach. Her face fell.
‘Who is it, love?’ called Ashley’s mother from further inside the house.
‘Mrs Hewitt, Tyler’s mother.’
‘Ask her in.’
‘Tyler didn’t arrive home.’
Emily was distraught. She felt weak, barely able to stand. Mr and Mrs Stockbridge drove her back to Summer Hill. The flat was deserted, with Emily’s note still on the table. Mr Stockbridge took it on himself to telephone the police.
The night shift Desk Sergeant took the call. He got the mother on the line to give a brief verbal description of her daughter, which was radioed to two cars diverted to patrol the Harbledown area. Ed Ogborne was still at her desk. She called Jenny’s mobile and arranged to pick her up outside the police accommodation block. By 21.15 they were parked on Summer Hill and Jenny was knocking at the door of Emily Hewitt’s flat.
Mr Stockbridge opened the door.
‘DC Eastham and DI Ogborne, may we speak with Mrs Hewitt, please?’
‘She’s in the kitchen with my wife.’
‘And you are?’ asked Ed showing her Warrant Card.
‘Harry Stockbridge, the father of Ashley, Tyler’s friend.’
They followed him into the kitchen where his wife was trying to comfort Tyler’s mother.
‘Emily Hewitt?’
At the sound of her name she looked up, tears streaking a face grey with anxiety.
‘DI Ed Ogborne and this is DC Jenny Eastham. Is there somewhere we could talk?’
‘Tyler’s not come home. She’s been abducted. Some maniac’s got her.’
Emily’s voice was high-pitched with stress and her desperate eyes looked pleadingly at Ed.
‘You got to find her. She’s my only child. Tyler’s all I’ve got.’
‘Mrs Hewitt, please accept our sympathy. This is a terrible time for anybody but especially for a mother. We’re here to help. I’m sorry if our manner may seem a little callous but, like you, we want Tyler back. To find her we have to move swiftly.’ Ed spoke sympathetically but efficiently. ‘First, do you have a recent photograph of Tyler?’
‘There’s one in the lounge.’ Emily got unsteadily to her feet and began walking towards the hall. The two detectives followed her. Mrs Stockbridge made to join them while her husband hovered.
Jenny turned in the doorway. ‘Mr Stockbridge, perhaps you and your wife could make some tea and maybe find a biscuit or two. We need to speak quietly with Tyler’s mother.’
Leaving the Stockbridges to their appointed tasks Jenny walked to the front door and called the Station asking for a car to stop by the flat to collect a photograph and a fuller description of the missing girl.
In the sitting room Ed began going through routine questions to establish the timeline of events. Emily Hewitt clasped her hands in her lap but speaking of practical matters she grew calmer.
‘School finished early for the Olympic Torch Relay. Tyler said she and Ashley would try to get close to the cathedral entrance. Later they were going to the early film at the cinema. It’s a school day tomorrow. She promised to be home to eat at eight.’
At this point the Stockbridges arrived with three cups of tea and a plate of biscuits.
‘Only Rich Tea, I’m afraid.’
‘Thank you, Mrs Stockbridge. We need not detain you or your husband any longer this evening. Somebody will call tomorrow morning to take your statements. We’ll need to speak with your daughter too. Perhaps Ashley could delay going to school until we’ve seen her. Once again, thank you for being such good neighbours to Mrs Hewitt.’
Finally, the
flat was quiet and the two detectives were alone with Tyler’s mother. They had yet to ask but from her appearance Ed estimated that Emily was in her mid-thirties. She couldn’t have been much more than her daughter’s age when she gave birth to Tyler.
‘Emily, may I call you Emily?’ There was a nod. ‘Thank you. Perhaps you’d like some tea and a biscuit before we continue.’
Emily shook her head. ‘Ask whatever you need to ask. I just want my daughter back.’
‘When we arrived you said your daughter had been abducted. Why did you say that? She might have met somebody else in town and stayed longer than she intended.’
‘No. Tyler’s responsible. She always does what she’s promised.’
‘Sometimes things happen …’
‘But Tyler didn’t stay in Canterbury. Ashley told me they walked home together.’
‘Tyler may have seen another friend after she left Ashley.’
‘No.’ Emily shook her head. ‘Tyler doesn’t have other friends nearby. It’s just a few minutes from Ashley’s road to here, I walked it this evening.’ Her jaw dropped. ‘I must have passed the spot where she was attacked!’ She buried her face in her hands and burst into tears.
Ed waited before saying gently, ‘If Tyler’s been abducted then I think it’s likely she was taken by the person who took Lucy Naylor.’
Emily raised her head. ‘Why? It could have been any weirdo. I want her found. Why aren’t you out there looking for my daughter?’
‘The uniform police have a description of Tyler and they are already looking for her. It’s my job to organize the investigation, find Tyler and arrest the perpetrator.’
‘But you’ve already decided it’s the man who took Lucy Naylor. What makes you say that? It could be any sick creep who’s got my Tyler.’
Ed decided to be more forceful. For the sake of the investigation they needed to move on.
‘Emily, I’m an experienced detective. I’ve already noticed similarities between Tyler’s disappearance and that of Lucy Naylor. The good news is that if your daughter has been taken by the man who took Lucy then there is every chance Tyler will be released.’