Catch the Fallen Sparrow (21 page)

‘I want this place searched,' she said, ‘from top to bottom. Especially any places where Jason and Kirsty or Dean might have hidden something. And while you're at it, don't forget Riversdale's room and car. If there is anything to be found I want it bagged. Fingerprint any good surfaces.' She glanced at the slumped figure in the corner.

‘Get his to exclude them – and everyone else here. We should be able to find the two missing teenagers' prints.'

She was silent all the way back to the station. And this time there was an air of tension at the briefing. The casual camaraderie was gone. The strain showed on all their faces. Two more children were missing. An arrest was vital. There was an urgency now. Not a corpse to be dealt with but two children they had met and questioned.

‘The first point is that these two children are missing. They went last night. It is possible they knew the identity of the murderer. We can assume they have absconded, hidden in a safe place or approached the killer. We are sure that the person who abused Dean sexually was a man. We also believe that the person who burned and supplied Dean with drugs was Gary Swinton. We want to talk to Private Swinton. I want him brought in for questioning later on this afternoon.

‘We have a list of suspects. We know someone claimed to be Dean's grandfather.' She stopped. ‘Unless, of course, he was lying. But I believe more of Dean's so-called “stories” were the truth than people around him credited. I also believe this person was Ashford Leech. So the regular abuser cannot have been the killer.'

‘I have spoken to the criminal psychologist.' A ripple ran around the room. ‘Listen, you lot,' she said crisply, ‘we need all the help we can get. Two children are out there. We don't even know whether they are alive or dead. Understand? We are looking for a man – probably between twenty-five and fifty. He is physically fit, lives alone, is a homosexual, probably ashamed of his leanings. He might have been married. He is a local person – someone the boy trusted – with evidence that he was comfortably off, probably without children of his own.'

She glanced at Roger Farthing. ‘Keith Latos,' she said, ‘the man who owns the sports shop.' She perched herself on the edge of the desk. ‘There are a number of points which make him a likely suspect. Firstly, he lives alone. He would have been able to tempt Dean with expensive sports goods from his shop. Secondly, he is a known homosexual with a documented penchant for young boys.' She met each person's eyes. ‘We search there this afternoon. And I want two of you to speak to Martin Shane, Keith's boyfriend, the man he claims he was with the night of the murder.'

She paused. ‘However, he is not the only fish in the bowl.' Again she paused to lend her words weight. ‘I'm very curious about the connection with Ashford Leech. Why should he have spent this time with the children from The Nest? It wasn't publicized. If anything, he kept this particular light well under a bushel. Dean was wearing Leech's ring. And although we have absolutely no evidence that Leech was a homosexual we believe he might have died of Aids. Drug addict or homosexual ... whichever he was he kept it well hidden. Apart from a minor traffic offence he has no record. He can't be the killer. He's been dead for months but it seems likely that he is the “grandfather” Dean boasted of. Dean has absconded, according to Mark Riversdale, five times in the last eighteen months, each time for longer and longer periods. The last time he was missing for over a week.' She stopped, convinced of something. ‘Ashford Leech might have been the abuser. It wasn't a dead man who strangled that kid and set his body alight. If it wasn't Ashford Leech – who was it – and why? The abuse had stopped – both physical and mental. He was free. But still he kept wandering, staying somewhere. So who was looking after him, buying him expensive shoes, caring for him for long periods? Who and why?' She glanced around the room. ‘Anyone got any ideas?'

There was a silence, then Mike frowned. ‘Was he blackmailing someone?'

She met his eyes. ‘Maybe,' she said.

‘What about Robin Leech?'

She shook her head. ‘We know of no connection between them. In fact, as far as we know, he never even met Dean.'

‘Pity,' Mike muttered.

‘It
is
a pity. I would have loved to have nailed him to the tree. ‘However,' she said reluctantly, ‘this is a personal indulgence. And I can't afford it.' She looked back around the room.

‘Please note,' she said, raising her voice now, ‘we've had reports from forensics about the samples we found on the moor. The piece of green cotton was waxed. It came from a waxed jacket, olive green. But even better the red wool also came from the jacket, from the lining. The only time the two materials are matched together is in a very expensive coat – the Wilderness Collection, it's called. They aren't sold anywhere in Leek except at one outfitter – Grunwelds. Two of you get a list of customers who have bought a Wilderness coat from there in the last few years. Cheryl ...? she looked at the young WPC, ‘I think it's time to get “Queen Alice” down from the moors. Show her a few cars. Let's see if we can narrow the field a bit from the long, pale car. I want a couple of you to speak to Herbert Machin, the farmer. The murderer used that road. It goes right past the farm and ends at Flash. Please see if he saw or heard anything – anything at all that would pin down the time the car went along that road. Tyre tracks, any markings.'

She looked at Mike. ‘I think we should call on the Leech household. Can you give them a ring?'

She made a face. ‘They'll probably want their solicitor. We'll be round the minute we've sorted out Keith Latos's flat. Above all,' she said soberly, ‘find those children. We want them back safe and sound. My instinct is that they've “done a runner”. I don't think they've been abducted. The trouble is that we don't know where they are. The person who killed Dean obviously knows a great deal more than we do about these children's habits. He may know where their hiding places are. I don't want him finding them before we do. So look everywhere.' She stopped, frowning. ‘And good luck.'

As the force clattered out of the room Phil Scott stepped forward. ‘What time do you want Private Swinton down?'

‘Late,' she said. ‘After lunch.' She licked her lips. ‘I get the feeling this morning will be rather busy.'

She picked up the telephone and dialled.

Cathy Parker answered the other end. ‘Yes,' she said quietly to Joanna's question. ‘Of course – once we'd found the signs we did test. Dean was HIV positive.'

Joanna put the phone back on the cradle with a cold feeling of outrage. Murder in two ways.

‘Lucky for you, Leech,' she said furiously, ‘lucky for you you're dead.' She knew otherwise she would have used every single power – every single dirty trick – to have him exposed. But he hadn't killed Dean ...

Six officers had been assigned to the search of Keith Latos's shop and by the time Joanna arrived they were well into the task. Boxes and boxes of shoes had been opened, all the cupboards emptied.

DC Greg Stanway held up a pile of magazines. ‘Take a look at these,' he said. ‘Under the counter.'

They were filthy, degrading homosexual magazines, mostly printed in Dutch or German. But words were not the reason Keith had bought them. It was the pictures; and many depicted young boys under the age of consent in graphic sexual poses.

‘Well, we've got him on these at least,' she said, putting them down in disgust. ‘Have you found anything else?'

‘Not here,' he said. Just shoes and other sports stuff.'

‘Where is he?' she asked grimly.

She found the owner of the shop upstairs, in his flat, watching the proceedings with his arms tightly folded.

He looked angrily at her when she walked in. ‘What in sod's name is going on?'

She sighed. ‘Mr Latos,' she said, ‘we are trying to find two children who are missing. We have reason to believe their disappearance might be connected with the murder of Dean Tunstall.'

‘I didn't even know the boy.' He was close to tears. ‘I told you. I didn't recognize his picture –' He stopped. ‘It's always the same. One slip up – that's all. Then you've got the cops on your tail all your bloody life.' He took a step nearer Joanna. ‘I told you. I didn't know him.'

She met his gaze steadily. ‘Then you have nothing to worry about, Mr Latos.'

His eyes narrowed and he sneered at her. ‘Oh yes, I do. If you lot don't find anything you'll plant it here. Don't think I'm naive ... I know what you do. You plant it.'

It was a statement she met almost every time now ... Planting of evidence. She wearied of the accusation.

‘Mr Latos,' she said crisply, ‘I never planted anything in my life except primroses, daffodils and tulips. If you have nothing here to connect you with the murder of Dean and the disappearance of the other two children you have absolutely nothing to fear. Understand?'

He looked sulky and sat down on the sofa, watching the police work through the room. ‘Put everything back tidy,' he said nastily. ‘The way you found it.'

But apart from a quantity of pornographic videos, magazines, one or two books and some extremely unhealthy ‘sex aids' nothing was found in the search of the flat and an hour later they were almost finished.

‘I told you,' Latos sneered as Joanna walked down the stairs, back into the shop, ‘there's nothing to find.'

‘We can charge you under the Criminal Justices Act, 1988,' she said. ‘In case you aren't terribly well informed the law covers the possession of an indecent photograph of a child. And if you didn't know, Mr Latos, that means someone under the age of sixteen. Understand?'

‘Yeah, but not exactly murder, is it?' His eyes were bright with malice and dislike.

‘Charge him,' she said to Mike.

Unfortunately, Latos was right. It wasn't exactly murder. Motive – yes. But no proof. There was nothing to connect Dean with this place. And if his truant holidays had been spent here they would have found some sign – clothes, hair – someone would have seen him. She crossed the shop and caught one of the top piles of shoe boxes with her foot. A pair spilled out on to the floor. She picked one up. New, unlaced, the skein of laces pushed into the toe of the shoe. She stared at it.

She tried to telephone Caro when she arrived back at the station to find out whether she had received any response to the morning's headline. But the secretary told her she had received a phone call first thing that morning and had gone out. She did not know when she would be back.

‘Was it anything to do with child murder?'

The secretary didn't know. ‘Would you like me to ask Miss Penn to telephone you when she returns?'

Joanna said yes and put the phone down.

The Leeches' house looked deserted apart from a black Mercedes estate car parked in the drive. Joanna glanced through the tinted window. The keys were still swinging. Whoever had driven it had only just arrived. She looked at Mike.

‘Do you think our legal beagle?' she asked.

A plump domestic in a plastic apron over ski pants and slippers showed them into the living room where Gilly and Robin Leech sat together with the sombre-suited solicitor. He nodded at them curdy.

‘May I ask why you need to speak to my clients yet again?'

His voice was formal and Joanna knew he was just waiting for the police to make one mistake. Then all the weight of the British defence system which protected innocent and guilty so effectively would drop down on her head like a ton of bricks.

So she played the game and addressed her answer to him. ‘We are curious as to the nature of the relationship between Mr Ashford Leech and the dead boy,' she said.

Gilly Leech leaned forward. She looked old and tired in a floral, brown dress of some silky material which reached almost down to her ankles. It rustled as she moved, giving her an effect of tired elegance. ‘What exactly are you implying, Inspector?' Even her voice sounded old and defeated. Most of the fight had melted out of it.

‘All right then,' Joanna said. ‘What did your husband die of, Mrs Leech?'

‘Is this relevant to your case, Inspector?' The solicitor was determined to make his presence felt.

But Gilly Leech put a hand up as though to hold him back. ‘It's all right, Don,' she said. She bit her lip and stared at Joanna, then abruptly stood up.

‘Mother ...' Robin Leech's low voice sounded a warning. But Gilly Leech shot him a frosty look and he sat back in his chair.

Joanna stared at him. In sharp contrast to his mother he seemed to have gained confidence – whether from the presence of the solicitor or some other fact Joanna could not work out but he was sure of himself, cocksure. He pressed his lips together and gave Joanna a smug smile.

Gilly Leech was taking a framed photograph from the top of a polished antique bureau. She handed it to Joanna. ‘This was my husband,' she said.

Joanna stared at the weak chin, the balding head so reminiscent of his son, and the long, bony nose. ‘What was the nature of the relationship between your husband and the dead boy?' she asked bluntly.

Robin Leech stood up. ‘Bloody typical,' he said. ‘Father – out of sheer goodness and charity – looks after some filthy little tykes and you come round here, sniffing for scandal.'

Joanna ignored him. ‘Well?' She addressed Mrs Leech.

But the lady of the house retained her dignity. ‘He was fond of the boy.'

‘How fond?' Mike asked.

‘Just a minute.' The solicitor bounced up in his seat. ‘What are you getting at?'

‘We want the truth,' Joanna said. ‘Your husband was friendly with Dean Tunstall. Dean is dead. Now two more children from The Nest are missing. Mrs Leech, I want to find those children before something happens to them.'