Catch the Fallen Sparrow (11 page)

Riversdale flopped back into the chair. ‘Is this official?'

‘Off the record – at the moment,' Joanna said evenly, fighting away the wave of disgust.

‘He never complained,' Riversdale said. ‘He never said anything ...'

Mike moved forward. ‘But you had your suspicions?'

Riversdale nodded, cowed by the burly form of the detective sergeant.

Joanna took a deep breath in. ‘Can I get this quite straight?' she said carefully. ‘You were aware that Dean was being abused here – in the home. But you did nothing?'

Mark Riversdale dropped his eyes and looked suddenly shifty. ‘He never complained,' he said again. ‘The cigarette burns,' he began. ‘It was a sort of game with the kids. They'd see how much they could stand.'

‘And who was the ringleader of this sadistic game?'

‘He left,' Riversdale said, and suddenly it was clear to Joanna. The tattoos ... the grief when he had found the boy's body. Why? Because he had known him. She glanced at Mike and knew he had reached the same conclusion.

‘Swinton,'Joanna said quietly, and Riversdale nodded.

‘I was glad to see him go. There was nothing like that after he'd left.'

‘To join the army ... Glory be,' she muttered. ‘What an incestuous little murder investigation this is proving to be.' She stared at Riversdale. ‘Did you know he was the one who found Dean's body – still burning?'

Riversdale's face was ashen. ‘No,' he said hoarsely.

‘And the sexual abuse – was that down to him as well?'

Riversdale gulped. ‘I don't know,' he said hoarsely. ‘I don't know. I was never sure about the sexual abuse.' He looked defensive. ‘Without actual medical proof you can't be sure.'

‘But you suspected it?'

‘I wondered,' he said, and Joanna found herself staring at him. Had Mark Riversdale had a penchant for little boys? Was it this dirty little secret that had lured him to the post of warden at the children's home?

Under Joanna's stare he looked uncomfortable.

‘Rotten apples,' he said unexpectedly.

‘Pardon?'

‘I come from the West Country,' Riversdale said. ‘One rotten apple's enough to turn the whole barrel. It's the same with these kids in homes. You get one or two bad ones.' He sighed. ‘We did what we could. The trouble was the kids flatly refuse to testify. They won't say who it is. Result, you can never charge them with anything. But we knew it was him that did the burns.'

Before she left Joanna asked her final question. ‘A ring was found on Dean's finger.' She produced the ring, still in its SOC plastic bag. ‘We've traced it to the Leech family, Ashford Leech, the MP who died last year. Can you think of any connection between the Leech family and Dean?'

‘That's easy,' Mark Riversdale said. ‘He was a sort of benefactor of The Nest. He was very kind to Dean and Dean seemed genuinely fond of him. He was quite upset when Mr Leech died.'

‘How do you think Dean came to be wearing the ring, Mr Riversdale?'

Mark Riversdale looked puzzled. ‘I don't know,' he said. ‘I really don't know.'

‘There was a burglary last year at Mr Leech's home,' Joanna said. ‘It is believed that this ring was stolen then.'

Riversdale looked dubious. ‘I don't think he would have stolen from Mr Leech. He really liked him.' He gave a shy, tentative smile. ‘You see, the kids, they don't think it's wicked to thieve from shops and companies and things – but I don't really think Dean would have stolen something from someone he was so obviously fond of.'

‘And these shoes?'

Joanna put the Reeboks on the floor, still faintly bearing scorch marks.

Riversdale looked at them carefully. ‘I don't think they're Dean's,' he said. ‘He was due for a new pair of shoes. His were really old.'

‘Did he ever shoplift?'

Mark Riversdale seemed reluctant to answer.

‘The boy is dead,' Joanna said gently. ‘Don't worry – we aren't going to prosecute him ...'

Mark Riversdale nodded slowly. ‘I think he probably did. I've got no proof but I think he did.'

‘And where were you Sunday night/Monday morning?'

‘In,' he said quickly. ‘I stayed in all night.'

‘Witnesses?' Mike asked.

‘The kids.' Mark gave him a grin. ‘They'll soon tell you I was in all night. You can't hide much from them.'

Later that morning Joanna met a few of the investigating officers in the incident room and began filling them in about the interview with the warden of the home.

‘So – we know a little about Dean's life and will soon find out more from the social worker. He was ten years old – his eleventh birthday would have been in three months' time – on Christmas Eve.'

Those few words seemed to penetrate the entire room deeper than all the forensic evidence that had been spread in front of them – all the photographs ... The officers sat motionless, stopped writing, stopped whispering, stopped looking at one another. They stared at the floor. This brought Dean to the level of their own children – birthdays, Christmas Eve ... Santa Claus ... presents. Someone cleared his throat noisily. A pall hung over the room.

‘The burns were done by a boy in the home. Surprise, surprise, when he left the home he joined the army as a boy soldier. Three guesses as to his name.'

She turned to the board, pointed out Gary Swinton. ‘Coincidence?' she said. ‘One hell of a coincidence. And we still don't know who put the little bunch of flowers beside the body.
Someone
put them there. Murderers don't usually make little bouquets of flowers to put by their victims, do they? So who was it?'

There was a short silence. Then someone spoke. ‘What about the shoes, ma'am?'

Joanna nodded. ‘Thanks to PC Farthing we think we have a lead on the shoes. The owner of the sports shop has denied knowing Dean, but from his books it seems probable that a pair of Reeboks answering the description and sizing are missing from his stock. Two things here. Dean might have stolen them. Mark Riversdale, warden at the – home, has admitted Dean was not above some shoplifting. He could have stolen them.

They were in a wire basket outside the shop. Alternatively, Dean could have been given them by someone else. Certainly someone was in the habit of looking after this young lad on frequent occasions. Please remember the sports shop sells its shoes laced parallel. Dean's were laced criss-crossed. They were newish shoes. Someone – possibly Dean – threaded the laces again. Also – and I don't want you to start reading too much into this – Keith Latos, the man who owns the sports shop, has a record for soliciting young boys. He is a known paedophile.'

‘Why don't you bloody arrest the pervert now?' The voice came from the back, from a young DC – Greg Stanway.

‘Prove it, can you?'

‘No,' he said, ‘but you might search his premises before he gets rid of anything.'

‘We haven't got the evidence to get a warrant,' Joanna said, appalled. ‘God,' she appealed to the room, ‘is this how far the force has gone – genetic coding, 1995 ... For God's sake, this isn't good enough. We don't nab the nearest gay and bung him in the cells for murder ... The CPS expect a case.'

‘And if we can't get one?' The voice from the back was persistent. ‘He gets off scot and does another kid in?'

‘He gets off “scot” if we don't have enough to convict him,' Joanna said.

‘So he's your top suspect?'

‘Not yet, no.' She gave a quick, helpless glance at Mike.

‘Forensic evidence,' he prompted.

‘Forensic evidence shows that Dean was murdered elsewhere. His body was moved after death. The pattern of lividity proves that his body lay on its side for a number of hours then he was laid on his back on the moor before being set alight. By the way, the propellant used was petrol. Unfortunately, not much of a clue but remember it. Gallon containers, I know, are common but one was certainly used to pour petrol over Dean's clothes ...' She glanced at the picture of the small white body lying motionless on the mortuary slab. ‘The shoes were clean. Luckily no petrol splashed on the shoes – otherwise they would certainly have been destroyed, and with them a valuable piece of evidence. It was quite windy early on that morning. We think the murderer stood to the side of the body, to the west, the wind behind him – which is why most of the petrol was blown on to the surrounding grass. Forensics did uncover a few fibres of a dark red wool from his sweatshirt. They could be carpet fibres. Possibly from a car boot. He had to be transported to the moors somehow. But the fibres could be from clothing or even upholstery or a rug.'

She blinked. ‘Incidentally, the shoes were the wrong size. Dean's feet were fives. The Reeboks size sevens. If he did steal them he stole the wrong size. We think the jeans weren't his either. They were Jason's.'

‘Please bear in mind,' she said quietly, ‘this boy was the victim of repeated abuse. In all our enquiries I want you to remember this. Someone – probably someone close to the boy – was molesting him. I want you to be aware of this fact. Unfortunately, it might not even have always been the same person. Different people might have been the perpetrators at different periods in the boy's life. Also it would be an erroneous assumption to make the killer and the molester one and the same person. According to forensics, Dean had not been touched for a long period – a number of months, possibly up to a year. For some reason the abuse had stopped. Now whether Dean was getting older, objected, and this led to his killing – or whether we are talking about two different people remains to be seen. In other words don't rule out anyone because they aren't a known homosexual with a tendency to young boys. It could lose us the killer.' She glanced at Greg Stanway. ‘And don't just home in on all the people who have a record for sexual crime. Keep your minds as well as your eyes open.'

A few of the uniformed boys at the rear of the room moved uncomfortably. Joanna stopped talking for a moment. Something was pricking the back of her mind. Keithy Latos ... It was a phrase he had used. He had a regular friend now. Perhaps he hadn't needed a small boy any more. Perhaps the boy had become an embarrassment. She glanced at Mike and decided she would talk to him later. For now she should continue with the briefing.

‘Have we got a lead on a car yet?'

‘Nothing,' she said. ‘There were no tyre tracks at the nearest point to where Dean's body was found. The road behind the Winking Man, however, is much quieter. The car would not necessarily have had to pull off the road to dump the body. I rather think this was the route the killer took. But as yet the inch-by-inch boys have not found anything to support this theory.' She made a face. ‘It's a very wide moor. We're also a bit disappointed that there were no recent footprints by the body. The ground is soft but rather springy and we haven't got much there.'

‘Now tell us about the ring, Phil.'

Phil Scott stood up, faced the front. ‘It's been difficult,' he said. ‘The ring was reported stolen last December by the then MP Ashford Leech. He claimed, at the time, that the ring had been stolen after a house break-in. Between ourselves ...' He looked round at the ring of faces. ‘Between ourselves,' he repeated, ‘there wasn't any sign of a break-in. It was all very fishy. There were a couple of things wrong. He claimed they'd got in through the bedroom window. But the window had been smashed while it was open. Fragments of glass were both inside the house and on the glass roof they would have had to have climbed to get in this way – while the back door was open.' The atmosphere in the room was still.

Scottie carried on. ‘The things that were taken in this rather strange burglary were very odd. A photograph album and this ring.' He hesitated. ‘When there was a telly, a video – even money. Also there was a car parked right outside. You know how they hate company. So why go when there's obviously someone in?' Again he paused – for effect. ‘And lastly the alarm never went off. Funny, says my sarge to me. We did wonder if it was an insurance job – or something. But old Leech – he wasn't that stupid. We all know burglars just grab the first thing that their greasy little fists close on. They don't climb glass roofs, pass silver photo frames, leave the telly, the video, tiny antique miniatures that any old snark knows are worth a fortune and damned easy to turn into cash.

‘Lastly – and to my mind most suspicious – he rang up a couple of days later and said he didn't want us to continue with the investigation.'

Someone at the back cleared their throat. ‘And now his ring has been found on a dead boy. Perhaps we'd better speak to the Right Honourable Ashford Leech.'

Phil Scott shook his head. ‘No can do,' he said. ‘He's dead.'

The words had their effect. Each one of the ring of faces looked puzzled now. But Phil Scott had one more card up his sleeve. ‘He died six months ago,' he said. ‘Bronchopneumonia was on the death certificate. I've spoken to the coroner. He seemed young to die of pneumonia. The coroner told me confidentially that whatever appeared on the death certificate Ashford Leech died of Aids, or, to quote him, he died of an Aids-related disease.'

The ripple that went round the room now was tangible as well as audible. In the force they had a hetero horror of HIV. Phil Scott sat down, his dramatic effect complete. Joanna sighed and knew this promised to be another murky case.

When the briefing had broken up she spoke to Mike. ‘Did I handle this prejudice thing a bit roughly, Mike?'

‘Jo,' he said, ‘give the lads a break. You know as well as I do it's the way their minds are bound to work.'

‘It doesn't solve crime though,' she said.

He looked at her quizzically. ‘Doesn't it?'