Текст книги "Jessica Daniel: Think of the Children / Playing with Fire / Thicker Than Water"

Автор книги: Kerry Wilkinson

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Текущая страница: 3 (всего у книги 56 страниц)

‘Isaac Hutchings’ was written in neat block capital letters next to an address.

5

The mood was dark in DCI Cole’s office. Only occasionally did they find something so out of the ordinary that no one knew how to react. The pad and pen from the desk had been sent off to the labs, which were always creaking under the sheer amount they had to do.

The three detectives each had a photocopied version of the front page of the pad. Jessica had endured another sleepless night, aware of the implications of the list.

She could hear Reynolds tutting as Cole began to speak. ‘I think we can all agree this list of names is pretty disturbing. The good news is that, aside from Isaac Hutchings, the other eight children mentioned have all been accounted for and are safe. We’ve been discreet when talking to their parents – the last thing we need is a panic. But we have asked them to be vigilant.’

‘Who the hell is making lists of children?’ Reynolds asked, sounding as angry as Jessica had ever heard him.

‘The only connection we know of is the dead driver of the stolen car,’ Jessica replied. ‘We’re still waiting on results to come back but as it stands we have no idea who he is. I spoke to someone this morning and they said we might get something this afternoon – but that’s only if DNA from the body matches someone already in their database. They haven’t been able to remove enough of the glass from his face, which means the only photo we have is so horrendous there’s no way we can release it to the media.’

She looked across to Cole, who added: ‘It’s doubtful we will get anything better but they’re trying to find a digital artist who can create a likeness of what he might look like without all the glass. The guy talked me through a list of the injuries earlier and said there’s serious damage to the driver’s bone structure too. They’ve said it’s going to take a while, which is code for “we don’t have enough money to pay this guy unless we really have to”.’

‘Great,’ Jessica replied. ‘The cause of death is a broken neck from not wearing the seatbelt. The airbag itself possibly killed him but there is so much damage, it could have been one of many things.’

Cole nodded, picking up the conversation. ‘I’ve been onto the labs about the clothes found in the woods. There’s not much to report. We already know the football shirt is around thirteen years old and the trousers the same age too. They’re both children’s sizes. We asked his mother and know they aren’t Isaac Hutchings’s but beyond that, nothing. We’re going to ask the parents of the other eight listed if the clothes belong to their children but it’s a bit of a long shot. As for their age, we don’t know what to make of it. They could have come from a charity shop or one of those vintage places and the labs say they appear to have been washed relatively recently. Christ knows why you’d bury them.’

‘What about Isaac?’ Jessica asked, changing the subject slightly.

The chief inspector looked pained. His own children were barely older than the boy she had found in the car boot. ‘Our people who were looking after his mother before the body was found are still with her. We’ve all got the reports about how he went missing. All we know so far is that there was no apparent sexual assault on him. That’s one thing, I guess, but it does leave us without a motive for whoever took him. We’ve got officers looking into the usual suspects, family members and the like, but a lot of that had already been examined when it was a missing person’s case. There’s nothing new to report.’

There was a silence as the three detectives looked at each other, hoping for inspiration. ‘We should get someone looking into unsolved cases from ten to fifteen years ago,’ Jessica said. ‘I know it’s a lot of work but maybe there’ll be something that could link to the clothes? If not that then I guess it’s the media?’

Cole nodded his approval. ‘We have people walking back through the woods to see if we missed anything but there’s nothing yet. Another team are heading off to the allotment later to see if there’s anything more there. We contacted the people who run the plots on either side of number sixty-one last night but none of them say they’ve ever seen anyone around that land. We don’t know if the driver is the person who used that shed and, even if he is, we don’t know who he is. We’re still looking into Glenn Harrison as the plot is in his name but we definitely know the address listed with the allotment secretary doesn’t exist.’

The DCI paused for a moment, peering at Jessica. ‘Do you think Isaac could have been kept at the shed?’

Jessica shrugged. ‘Maybe but there was nothing there to suggest that. Unless he was drugged or subdued or something, anyone nearby could have heard him shouting. I don’t know how it all connects together. Given the direction the stolen car was going when it crashed, it’s possible the driver could have been heading away from the allotments but we didn’t see any food or anything that would give the game away. It just looked abandoned.’

Reynolds had been quiet for a few minutes but leant forward and spoke forcefully. ‘What I don’t get is how this list of children was put together.’ He held up the photocopy to show them what he meant. ‘We’ve all read through this but how would you know their names and addresses? A couple go to the same school, some of the others live close to each other but there’s nothing apparent to link them, aside from the fact they’re all boys between the ages of ten and twelve. So how would you know who they were and where they lived?’

It was something Jessica had briefly considered but not had time to think about properly. ‘I can’t see how it would be a teacher but maybe someone who has access to school admittance records? It’d still leave a lot of questions about why those nine specifically. It could be someone who worked in a doctor’s surgery, or one of the local cub or scout leaders – even the coach of a football team. It’s a mystery but I don’t know where we’d start.’

There was another silence but this time no one had anything else of note to add. They were all struggling to understand quite how all of the elements linked together.

Jessica eventually broke the silence. ‘If you’re both happy to take the briefing downstairs, I’ll go visit the secretary guy from the allotments. I doubt he’ll have anything but you never know.’ The two men nodded; clearly relieved it was one job they weren’t going to have to do. ‘I’ll go downstairs and set someone looking into unsolved cases first of all,’ Jessica added.

She stood but Cole called her back before she got to the door. ‘Oh yeah, sorry, I forgot. I know it’s a pain but we’re all supposed to be having new photos taken for the website tomorrow. You’d think the press office would have better things to be working on but there’s some relaunch happening. I’ve got the paperwork somewhere . . .’

Jessica exchanged a look with Jason, who seemed as nonplussed as she felt.

She responded with an ‘All right, I’ll be here’, then left the office and made her way downstairs, striding through to the main floor, which seemed to be a hub of confusion, the various officers waiting to find out what they were supposed to be doing. Jessica had no problems spotting Izzy, her flash of red hair standing out against the rest of the bodies. She moved across the room and sat on the corner of the desk the constable was working from.

‘All right?’ Jessica asked.

Izzy glanced up. ‘Oh no, you’ve got that look.’

‘What look?’

Diamond widened her eyes. ‘That look that says you’ve got a shitty job you want me to do.’

‘I’m really going to have to work on that poker face.’

Izzy smiled. ‘Let’s have it then.’

Jessica did her best to look sorry as she spoke. ‘Obviously you know everything’s a bit of a mess at the moment and no one knows how it all fits together . . . well, I want you to grab a couple of people and start looking through the cold cases. Those clothes we found in the woods are around thirteen years old. They were washed fairly recently but could still relate to something that happened back then. They’re children’s clothes so start with anything that seems relevant: missing kids, dead kids, kids who were in accidents, that kind of thing. You might not find anything and it’s not as if there’s a shortage of children wearing football shirts but we don’t have much else at present.’

Although it would be a long-winded job, Jessica knew Izzy was ruthlessly efficient and would be the best person to coordinate something from the station.

As she had been speaking, the constable had begun to take notes. ‘All right, I’ll get on it,’ Izzy said, starting to add something before stopping herself.

‘Are you sure you’re all right?’ Jessica asked. The constable put a hand on her stomach. Again it seemed as if she had done so unconsciously.

‘It just . . . makes you think, doesn’t it?’ She paused for a moment but Jessica waited. ‘You’re bringing kids into this world where someone is cataloguing their details, kidnapping and killing them. I don’t even know what to say about it.’

Jessica wasn’t sure what to add. If she was pregnant, the same thoughts would surely be weighing on her mind too. As it was, Izzy shunted her chair backwards, standing to indicate she was ready to get to work. Jessica put a hand on her shoulder, smiling in as reassuring a manner as she could. It felt a little silly but Izzy seemed to appreciate the sentiment.

‘I’ll call in later,’ Jessica said. ‘I’m off to meet the allotment society secretary.’

She had volunteered to go because she wanted to feel as if she was doing something. The briefings were necessary because of the number of people who had to be organised and assigned to various roles. It was that type of work which made Jessica feel glad she hadn’t been promoted any further. At least as a sergeant she could get out and investigate things. She could see first-hand how Cole and Reynolds often had their hands tied because they were the ones supposed to be sorting out everyone else. It also helped that they trusted her enough to get on with the job.

Keith Nunns was exactly how Jessica would have pictured someone who ran an allotment society. She knew it would be a deeply insulting thing to say out loud but sometimes, knowing what someone’s job was before seeing them, she found that the person ended up living up to every prejudice and stereotype she felt bad about having. He was somewhere in his late fifties, short and slightly overweight with narrow strands of hair combed across his head.

And he could talk.

He lived with his wife in a semi-detached house not far from the allotment and, after inviting Jessica in, proceeded to give her his life story. Usually she would have taken control and made sure he addressed the questions she needed answering – but listening to him tell her about his forty-year career in the engineering industry seemed reassuringly normal after everything that had gone on in the past few days.

When it seemed as if he was finally running out of steam, Jessica steered the conversation towards the things she needed to know. ‘I was wondering if you could talk me through the process people go through when they pay their annual fees, Mr Nunns?’ she asked.

He enthusiastically leapt up from his armchair and started digging in a cupboard underneath the TV, pulling out a large folder and sitting next to Jessica on the sofa. ‘I know I should really do it all on a computer but I had enough of that at work before retiring. Between you and me, I don’t really know what I’m doing on them beyond what I had to do with my job.’

He opened the folder and flicked through the pages. Each one had a number at the top to indicate the plot, followed by a name and address, then a list of payments. Some numbers had multiple pages assigned to them.

‘You’ll notice that I keep the pages for people who gave up their land,’ he added. ‘When someone else takes it on they get a new page but I also hang on to the old one. I’ve been doing this on and off for twenty-five years now.’ Jessica feared he was about to give her another chunk of his life story but instead he skimmed through to number sixty-one. ‘There’s only one page here,’ he added. ‘The guy who had the records before me has died now and I inherited his information. I copied a lot of it from his notes into my own files but it has only ever had one owner.’

Keith tapped his finger on the page and Jessica’s eyes were drawn to the name inked in tidy joined-up handwriting: ‘Glenn Harrison’.

Jessica scanned down the page and could see the annual deposits written in the same neat writing. The amounts had grown each year as the price increased but everything else seemed straightforward. ‘I know it sounds like an obvious question,’ Jessica began. ‘But did you ever meet Glenn Harrison?’

He instantly shook his head. ‘I know it might seem odd but I probably only know around half the people who have plots. Some apply through the council and they’ve been trying to get people to pay via direct debit. Others are long-term people who pay with cheques or cash. Some of the ones I know personally will give me their money when it’s due.’

‘How did Glenn Harrison pay you?’

‘I would get an envelope through the door with cash in. It’s not that unusual but admittedly most people see me in person. After I’d taken over the job, it took me a while to sort out all the separate accounts. A few people used to put cash through my door back then and one or two never stopped.’

‘Would you have kept any of the envelopes or anything the money was posted in?’

Keith shook his head again. ‘No, I bin all that stuff. I’d have no need to keep it.’

Jessica had been pretty sure that was what he would say but it was worth asking. ‘What about the address details? Someone’s told you it’s not real, haven’t they?’

Keith sounded defensive. ‘Yes but . . . I’d have no way of knowing that, would I?’

‘Oh no, it’s completely understandable. I’m just asking how you would have been given that address.’

‘I suppose it was one of those things I inherited. I would have copied it over from the scraps I was given.’

Jessica knew he wouldn’t take it well but had to ask anyway. ‘Is there any chance you could have copied it incorrectly?’

‘Definitely not.’ Keith was as firm as he could be and didn’t elaborate.

‘Can you explain to me about the keys?’ she persisted.

He nodded, still willing to engage. ‘I’m sure you noticed that around three-quarters of the plots have sheds but not all of them. It’s partly due to how boundaries have been redrawn over the years. The key itself is actually nothing to us because people have their own padlocks. A few years ago there was a bit of money left over and the society agreed to pay for these key fobs. It was so everything looked neat.’

‘How would Mr Harrison have got one if his address wasn’t correct?’

‘We never sent them out because of the expense. The shed for plot one is left unlocked during the day specifically so people can either borrow the odd supply or, in this case, pick up their key fobs. We’ve done it with other things in the past too. Sometimes we get promotional bags of seeds and the like and they’re always left in that shed.’

Jessica knew she was heading into another dead end but showed him the photograph of the anonymous driver from the car crash, apologising for the glass shards in the dead man’s hideously deformed features. Keith reeled in shock, shaking his head and saying he didn’t know the person. Not that there was much to recognise. Jessica felt bad for making him look at it and knew there was little point in trying to show it to anyone else; it was a stupid thing to do in the first place.

She stood ready to leave and Keith followed before nervously asking the question he had clearly spent the last forty-five minutes holding on to. ‘I was wondering if you could tell me what’s going on?’

Jessica didn’t think it was a good idea to tell him much else. ‘I can’t, I’m afraid,’ she said.

‘You’ve roped off the whole of sixty-one; do you know when things might be back to normal?’

Jessica again shook her head. ‘I’m sorry, I don’t know that myself.’

Back at her car, Jessica sat in the driver’s seat and took out her phone. She dialled Izzy, who answered on the second ring.

‘Are you okay?’ the constable asked.

‘I didn’t get much here from the allotment guy,’ Jessica said. ‘Have you come up with anything?’

‘You’re hopeful; it’s only been an hour.’

‘I know but no one seems to have a bloody clue what’s going on.’

Izzy laughed. ‘You can add me to that list if you want. I do have some news though.’

‘Good news?’

‘Just news. The lab results are back from the dead driver. His DNA doesn’t match anyone in the national database. They also tested it against Isaac’s and know they’re not related. Basically they have no idea who he is.’ Jessica ended the call, sighing. She stared at herself in the rear-view mirror before turning the key and pulling away, no idea of what to do next.

6

Rachel Corless kept her eyes on the roundabout as one of her two sons helped spin the other around with a little too much relish. ‘Marcus,’ she shouted but the boy either didn’t hear or, more likely, didn’t want to. ‘Marcus,’ she tried again before a final, ‘Marcus!’

Finally the boy stopped pushing on the metal bars, turning to face his mother. ‘What?’ he called back.

‘Stop pushing your brother so hard.’

Marcus turned around and gave the roundabout another shove which his mother had to admit was at least slightly gentler than the previous ones had been.

Rachel turned to the woman sitting on the bench next to her. ‘How come your two just play happily on the swings while mine seem intent on spinning each other around until they’re sick?’

Diane Briggs laughed. ‘You should see them when they’re back at home. Last night they were doing wrestling moves on each other. I was in the living room and heard a massive bump on the floor. I rushed upstairs and it turned out one of them was leaping off the top of the bunk beds onto the other.’

Rachel grinned. ‘I’d settle for that. Two weeks ago, I heard them shouting in their bedroom. I went up and Lloyd was in the process of taking a run-up to punch his brother in the shoulder.’

‘My two are always fighting.’

‘No, they weren’t fighting. Marcus was standing there sideways waiting for it. I asked them what was going on and they were having a competition to see who could give the other the biggest bruise.’

‘I once caught Andrew hanging over the end of his bed with his head drooping down and Matthew flicking his ears. They said they’d heard that you lost all feeling if you hang upside down. He couldn’t understand why he could still feel the pain in his ears.’

‘Surely it’s the other way around? If you hold your arm up and the blood flows down, then you lose feeling?’

‘I didn’t tell them that. I guessed they’d figure it out sooner or later. Either that or one of them would lose an ear.’

The two women laughed together. ‘Boys.’

Diane took out a flask from a canvas bag and held it up. ‘Do you want some tea?’

‘No, I’m all right, it’s not that cold actually. Maybe we’ll have another mild winter?’

The other woman unscrewed the cup, pouring the steaming liquid into it before reattaching the stopper to the flask. ‘I’d take less rain and more cold. And it’s dark by four.’

Rachel looked up to the sky, which had barely changed from a light murky grey all day. ‘What have you got them for Christmas?’ she asked.

‘Andrew wants some computer games which we’ve half-sorted, although one of them apparently isn’t out yet. His dad knows what’s going on with those. Matthew wants a new bike.’

‘What happened to his old one?’

‘Don’t ask.’

Rachel smiled, knowing from experience that the answer could be anything.

‘What about yours?’ Diane added.

‘Marcus has decided he’s too old for toys and bikes now he’s a teenager. He only turned thirteen last month. He said he wanted cash but I told him I’d give him vouchers instead.’

Diane laughed, cradling the plastic cup from the flask. ‘You know what that means, don’t you?’

‘What?’

‘Girls.’

Rachel grinned. ‘I think he’d run a mile if a girl even tried to speak to him.’

She was still keeping an eye on her two sons playing on the roundabout. They had swapped positions and Lloyd was now pushing Marcus. She wondered how much longer they would play together openly before one or both of them started to barricade themselves in their bedroom in between temper tantrums. It couldn’t be longer than a few months at most and, from what some of her friends talked about, she was privileged her thirteen-year-old son even acknowledged her existence. She quite liked the fact he was a bit immature and could still be amused by a trip to the park.

Diane finished drinking her tea and screwed the cup back onto the flask. ‘What have you got for Lloyd?’

‘Oh, he’s definitely still into toys, he’s only eleven. I’ve got him some robot thing, which he’ll probably break within an hour, then some football stuff.’

‘Are they staying with you or their dad on Christmas Day?’

‘Me for Christmas Eve and Day, then they’re off with Adrian for three days.’

The four boys were now passing a football around as a street light slowly started to flicker above the bench where the two women were sitting, as if considering whether it was dark enough to come on.

Rachel looked at her watch. ‘We should probably head back but it’s been good catching up. It’s just a shame we’re both so busy all the time plus, give it a week, and it’ll be dark at this time so no more park after school.’

Although it was time to leave, neither of the women moved as they watched their children contently kicking the ball around. Aside from some older teenagers standing around smoking at the far end of the grass, the park was deserted, the boys’ laughs echoing around.

‘Right, it really is time to go,’ Rachel said, getting up. She shouted to the boys: ‘Marcus, Lloyd, come on now.’ The younger son turned but, as he did, his brother was in the process of kicking the ball to him. It skimmed through the air, smashing into Lloyd’s face as he spun back, sending him falling.

Rachel saw the incident unfold in slow motion and dashed towards her youngest. He was sitting on the muddy grass holding his nose, his eyes wide, his face a mixture of blood and soil. Marcus dashed across. ‘I’m sorry,’ he said. ‘I didn’t mean to.’ Rachel felt a little in shock herself as the other boys and Diane joined them.

‘Are you all right?’ she asked. For a moment it looked as if Lloyd was about to cry but then he took his hands away from his face and smiled widely, blood dripping from his top lip to the bottom.

‘Quick, get a photo on your phone,’ he said to his mother. ‘This is well cool.’

Rachel looked back at him with a mixture of puzzlement and sympathy. ‘Doesn’t it hurt?’

‘Yeah, but get a picture first, I want to show everyone at school. David Baker reckons he fell off a rollercoaster once and landed on his head. He reckoned there was blood everywhere but I think he’s making it up. I bet this looks well good.’

As the boy’s mother reluctantly took her phone out of her bag she failed to notice the silhouetted figure standing close to the park gates.

The person squinted into the distance wondering what exactly had happened to Lloyd Corless to make everyone run over to him. Whatever it was, it wouldn’t be long before he and his mother were parted.