Catch the Fallen Sparrow (16 page)

Joanna frowned. ‘This is difficult, isn't it?' she said slowly. ‘Abuse of a young boy would normally imply a man. But please all of you remember it does not have to be the abuser who killed Dean and set his body alight. Remember – he had not suffered abuse for some time before his death. No,' she said, ‘it does not have to be a man but I am strongly suspicious that it was.' She scanned the room full of police.

‘The second thing is I do need to talk to the other children from the home – I believe there are five of them. They will almost certainly want a social worker there as well as the warden.' She caught sight of Cheryl Smith. ‘Perhaps you and DC King can set that up – probably this afternoon. Also, did any of you know that two people inhabit a cave on the Roaches?'

Phil Scott gave a sharp exclamation. ‘I'd forgotten about them,' he said. ‘I thought they were evicted a few years ago.'

Joanna sighed. ‘You can imagine ...' she said. ‘We've been up there for a few days and didn't even know they were probably watching us – let alone the fact that it is a distinct possibility that they saw part of the crime, at least the attempted destruction of Dean's body, if not the actual murder act itself.' She sighed again. ‘You can imagine how incompetent it will make us look if this fact comes to light.'

Around the room they nodded with dropped shoulders. Police incompetence ... It was the one phrase hurled at them from all quarters – general public, officers in charge, the Press.

‘Well, somehow we've missed them on the moors. I believe they are still there. DS Mike Korpanski and I intend driving out there later on this morning and speaking to them. I'd also like to talk to the landlord of the Winking Man and his wife, and I want you,' she looked at the two PCs in the corner, ‘to keep trying to find Dean's mother. How far have you got?'

One of them stood up. ‘We had an address in Plymouth,' he said, ‘but she left there two years ago, owing rent. We've got a couple of friends but she seems to have been rootless. No one's seen her for two years.'

‘Keep trying,' she said.

One of the young policemen stood up. ‘Why? She hasn't even seen him since he was tiny.'

Joanna held her finger up. ‘I'll tell you why,' she said. ‘We don't know yet who Dean's father was – whether he had any family. And besides that, don't any of you feel a woman has the right to know whether her child is alive or dead?'

Not one of them had an answer to that and when they had all filed out of the room Joanna asked Mike, ‘Do you believe two people can survive up there in a cave?'

‘I don't know ...' He looked confused. ‘I suppose the only thing we can do is to climb the Roaches and see. By the way, Jo,' he said, ‘message came this morning from the coroner's office. The inquest's been set for next Monday.'

‘And there will be the police and the social worker, the warden. No family, Mike,' she said. ‘No mother, father, brothers or sisters.'

For once it was light, fresh and golden on the moors – and as clear as ice. As they climbed towards the crag and the Winking Man, Joanna could see far below, the wide spread of moorland, a distant town, dotted farms and the men combing the east face of the rock. She and Mike climbed towards the black hole which marked the mouth of the cave. It was a stiff climb and the wind whipped their faces as they gained height, howling around them like a banshee. They were both panting as they reached the ledge. Joanna turned near the top and looked back. It was an excellent vantage point. From here she could see both sides of the rock and yet not be seen. They climbed a few feet further and turned to face the tiny mouth that marked the entrance to the cave, hidden from below by a headstone of rock. It was only then that she realized they had been watched – probably all the time.

‘Good mornin'.'

The woman looked monstrously huge. Only later Joanna discovered this was an illusion created by layers of thick, filthy clothes that blended perfectly with the stone. Her hair was granite grey, straggling below her shoulders, topped by a dirty red bobble hat. Her eyes were hostile.

‘I seen you before,' the woman said.

‘Last night.'

The woman nodded.

‘Are you Alice Rutter?' she asked, having to shout the words to be heard above the wind whipping across the grey stones.

The woman agreed warily. ‘Police, are you?'

Joanna nodded. ‘That's right,' she said, and instinctively knew this sharp-eyed woman with iron strength to her body and iron will in her character held at least part of the answer.

She indicated the mouth of the cave. ‘Is Jonathan at home?' she asked, but Alice was reluctant to invite her in. Instead she scowled.

‘There's no reason for you to talk to him,' she said. ‘He slept.'

It was unnecessary to ask Alice when he slept.

Joanna sat down on a small flat depression in the rock. Alice leaned against the crag.

‘I want to know who killed the boy,' Joanna said baldly.

Alice nodded very slowly.

‘He was very young, had had a short and unhappy life,' Joanna continued. She could not rush this interview. It must be taken at Alice's pace and that was slow. But at least in this high hollow they were out of the blast of the wind. She glanced at Mike, sitting on a projection, watching the old woman with disbelieving eyes.

Alice was staring down the hill where the police were walking the forensic line. ‘At least they be in the right place this time,' she said, chuckling.

Behind her Joanna could hear Mike shuffling his feet impatiently and knew he was thinking of wasted police hours, of forensic evidence blown away in the wind. But this would not help them now.

‘What did you see?'

‘The boy was already dead,' Alice said, her eyes misted and sad. ‘I would have stopped him burnin' him if he had moved.' She stopped for a while, and pursed her lips up. ‘I knew he was dead when they got out of the car. Swung him over his shoulder, he did, like a dead sheep. Then he walked –'

‘The car,' Mike interrupted. ‘What make was it?'

She looked at him without understanding. ‘How the 'ell should I know? It were barely dawn and I don't know different shapes of a car.'

‘Colour?' Joanna asked gently.

‘I think it were pale,' Alice said slowly.

‘White?' Mike asked.

But Alice shook her head. ‘I couldn't say,' she said. ‘Maybe.'

‘Then what?'

‘Brought him up the bank. I was hid behind the rock, watching him.'

‘You're sure it was a man?'

But again Alice shook her head. ‘Had one of them hats on what covers your face,' she said. ‘Something to do with the Crimea.'

They both stared at her puzzled, then it dawned on Joanna. ‘Balaclava?' she asked.

Alice nodded. ‘That's it,' she said. ‘I couldn't see no face. And he was wearin' one of them thick thorn-proof coats, trousers and Wellington boots. So it might have not bin a man. I can't swear and I can't say who it was but I did see.'

‘Then what?' Joanna was finding it hard to swallow her disappointment.

‘The person dropped the body,' Alice said. ‘There.'

‘That wasn't where it was found.' Mike sounded sceptical.

‘Wait for me,' Alice said slowly. ‘I haven't finished.'

‘So?'

‘The stupid fool. He tried to fire the body along the gully, but the wind was howlin' up. It burned then blew out. But I can prove it.' She nodded down towards the police chain. ‘They'll see burnin' there.'

‘Then what?'

‘He picks the child up,' Alice said. ‘The early sun caught his hair. It was like gold.' She closed her eyes. ‘Like golden seaweed swaying and blown in the wind. He carried him down the side of the bank and when he tried to fire the child again he burned bright for a while and the person ran. I heard the car move. Like an old 'orse it was. Coughin' and noise-makin'.'

Joanna gave a loud sigh. ‘Please, Alice. Can you tell me anything – anything at all about the car?'

Alice screwed up her face in tight thought. ‘It were a long one,' she said eventually. ‘Long.'

Mike gave a short curse and Joanna knew exactly what he was thinking. So near and yet no nearer. She had seen it – and could tell them nothing except that it was a long, pale, noisy car.

‘Then what?' she suddenly asked. ‘Alice, why didn't you try to put the fire out?'

‘For three reasons,' Alice said, holding up three filthy fingers. ‘One, I got no water. Two, I knowed that child were dead. I went and looked at 'im.'

‘And put the posy of flowers there?'

‘I sells them sometimes in the market,' Alice said shyly. ‘ 'Twas all I 'ad for the child.'

‘And what was the third reason?' Mike asked.

‘The soldiers came,' Alice said, looking at him. ‘With their noise and their painted faces and their creepin'. And they found 'im.'

‘Did you know him?'

Alice shook her head. ‘No,' she said, ‘I did not. He were a pretty one but I never seen 'im before.'

The wind howled through the short curling bracken and Joanna found herself staring at another face so filthy it reminded her of the soldiers wearing their camouflage paint. In a wild setting this man looked even more wild – and mad – with his straggling hair and thick, black beard. And he too was wearing a huge greatcoat, tied around his middle with string. It could only be Jonathan Rutter.

The man stared at her woodenly.

Alice made a few deft gestures before turning back to Joanna. ‘He can't tell you anythin',' she said. ‘ 'E slept right through.'

Jonathan glanced at his wife and gave a slow, toothy grin which gave him an idiot look.

Joanna shrugged her shoulders. She was inclined to believe Alice. There was nothing to be gained from him.

‘Why do you live here?' she asked. ‘It's cold and exposed and dangerous. You could die in the snow.'

Alice nodded sagely. ‘People do,' she agreed. ‘Four people one year but they weren't in a cave else they would have lived. They was in a car.' She stopped speaking for a moment and stared out over the huge basin of the valley – all the time a slow, affectionate grin moving across her face. ‘This is our kingdom,' she said. ‘Our country. They try and make us ordinary and live down there.' She looked contemptuously at the toy-town of Leek. ‘Social workers said we could 'ave a flat down there.' She spat sharply on the ground. ‘ 'Ow would we live in a flat?' she asked the wide panorama. ‘After livin' 'ere all our lives. We got no 'lectricity. We got no 'ot water. But we got the silence and I'd rather 'ave that any day. While we can, Mrs Policeman, we'll stay 'ere.'

Joanna sighed. She was unsure of the legal position of the Rutters choosing to live here but she would lay a bet it was giving some virtuous social worker sleepless nights.

She touched Alice's shoulder. ‘Thank you,' she said. ‘If you do remember anything else, please get in touch with me.' She laid a white card on the woman's hand and Alice stared at it with a wry smile.

‘Apart from decoration,' she said, ‘there ain't no point me 'avin' this. I never learned readin'.'

‘So what have we got?' Mike said scornfully as they dropped back down the hill. ‘A couple of loons and no information.'

‘Not quite.'

‘A long car,' Mike said.

‘An estate car?' Joanna queried. ‘I'll take Alice into town and ask her to point out similar vehicles. It was a noisy car. Remember the barmaid at the Winking Man said she thought it was Herbert's Land Rover. Also, Mike, we know what the killer was wearing and even more important the route he or she took over the moors and why. I don't think we've done too badly. We are getting somewhere.' She smiled. ‘It might not be quite fast enough for you but I'm more interested in final results and a conviction than in speed.'

He grinned at her. ‘So I've noticed.' Then he paused at the foot of the hill. ‘What are the odds on Private Swinton?'

She looked at him. ‘They would be high,' she said. ‘But we both know it's impossible. Army security. He can't have been in two places at once. And there is no way he got out of the barracks, came back and got into his bunk. He didn't do it. Finding the body was pure coincidence.'

‘Why didn't he tell us he knew Dean then?'

‘Come on, Mike,' she said, ‘you know that type. Help the police? They'd as soon throw a drowning man a life-buoy. He knew we'd get the boy's identity sooner or later. However, I still want to question him.'

Eloise was sitting in the cafe bar, drinking Coca-Cola. Jane and Matthew were watching. Suddenly the child looked up self-consciously. Why had they stopped arguing? For two days now there had been peace – almost a truce between them. She sucked noisily through her straw and was quickly reprimanded by her mother.

‘Manners,' Jane said, but mildly.

She swivelled her glance up to her father. He was staring out to sea as though he were a hundred miles from here. And he was far away, dreaming.

‘I want to sit on your lap, Daddy.'

Matthew gave a shudder, quickly disguising it as a jerky laugh. ‘You're far too big a girl to be sitting on your daddy's lap.'

Eloise's lower lip hung down. ‘I want to.'

And Matthew gave in, held his arms out and Eloise struggled to tuck her long legs around him.

Jane's face grew hard. ‘Just one more whole day of the holiday,' she said. ‘Then we fly on the next day.'

Eloise clapped her hands like a toddler. ‘Goodee,' she said. ‘And I can soon be riding Sparky.'

‘Yes,' Jane said firmly.

They were holding tin bowls, lined up in the mess. Withers started first – on cue – prompted by a wink from Private Holt. He jostled Swinton. ‘They know who the kid is, Swinton.'