Concrete Evidence (31 page)

“You’re not going to believe this, Guv,” Stirling muttered as he neared and looked at the photograph in her hand.

“Nothing would surprise me right now.” Annie couldn’t take her eyes from the picture.

“The last person to borrow the book was Simon Barton.”

“Oh, no,” Annie said beneath her breath. Her stomach twisted. A gut wrenching ache gripped her insides. “Do you recognise this?”

“Crosby Beach,” Stirling said. Their eyes met for a moment, the significance of the place not lost on either. He pointed to the shadows on the sand. “The sun is behind him. This is the photographer and this,” he paused.

Annie looked at him and nodded. “It’s one of the Iron Men.”       

      “We’re going to need the dogs again,” Stirling muttered as he began to dial again. “We’ll lose the light in a few hours; I’ll book them for first light tomorrow. Annie nodded although she still couldn’t take her gaze from the Polaroid.              

                                   CHAPTER 34

              The sun was hidden behind thick grey clouds as Stirling walked along the sand. The Iron Men stood stoic as the tide swept in over them, driven by a strong wind. Seagulls combed the sandbanks for tidbits and stranded jellyfish. Their efforts were becoming more frantic as the sea claimed their feeding grounds. He could hear the dogs from the K-9 unit coming closer. “We’ll get them to sweep from the dunes over there, to the tree line first,” Stirling said studying a copy of the Polaroid.

              “Good,” Alec said pulling his coat tightly around him. He eyed the eerie Iron Man that stood silently between himself and Stirling. Cockles and barnacles encrusted the metal from the chest down. They were standing on the exact spot that the photograph had been taken. “How many uniformed officers have we drafted in?”

              “Fourteen men, Guv. I didn’t want to go overboard,” he waved to the dog handler as he spoke. “It’s been four years. There won’t be anything left on the surface but if we find anything, we’ll need them.”

              “Where’s the DI?”

              “She’s walking the tree line already, Guv.”

              Alec nodded and looked along the beach. Only the bleak statues closest to the shore were visible now, their brethren in varying stages of submergence. He turned his back to the biting wind and walked towards the dunes. The memories of the Butcher investigation drifted back to him. The case had been a web of murder, lies and unresolved puzzles. Brendon Ryder had kidnapped, raped and murdered at will before taking Stirling’s pregnant girlfriend hostage, being shot dead in the process. His stepfather, a major player in the UK drug world had been murdered in Amsterdam. His demise had left a rift in the underworld that had been filled quickly by young wannabies who fought each other brutally to fill the void and claim the millions at stake. The death toll was still rising, a legacy of the Ryder family. Was Tod Harris a fan of the Butcher, a Brendon Ryder groupie or was he just another sexual predator? “You could drive yourself mad trying to work it out, Alec,” he whispered to himself. He pulled his sleeves over his hands to keep the wind from them and headed inshore.

              Alec reached the path that led between the dunes towards the trees. One of the dog handlers waved to him from a steep sandy incline. Alec stopped for a moment unsure if it was a greeting or a signal that he had found something. The dog was still on the move sniffing excitedly, innocently unaware of the gruesome nature of his job. “I hope we’re wrong this time,” Annie’s voice disturbed his thoughts. She was wrapped up tightly in a thick black bubble jacket. “Although it would be nice to give their families some closure.”

              “Sadly, I think you are right, Annie,” Alec smiled thinly. “Emilia Harris must have thought the same.” Annie looked out to sea. The huge offshore wind-farm looked alien yet fascinating against the darkening clouds. Alec could see that she was troubled. “What’s on your mind?”

              “I don’t know really,” she wiped a tear from her good eye. The wind was making it weep. “I couldn’t sleep last night. I was mulling things over in my mind.”

              “Sounds familiar.”

              “Perks of the job, eh?”

              “Oh, yes,” Alec smiled. “It’s up there with alcoholism, depression, drug addiction and divorce. Anyway?”

              “I had to wonder at how Emilia Harris put two and two together when she found the book.”

              Alec nodded and shrugged. “We had questioned her about the missing boys,” he shrugged. “Finding a children’s novel might have been enough for her to join the dots.”

              “Maybe,” Annie seemed to dismiss her concern. Her mobile rang and she smiled thoughtfully at Alec before answering. “DI Jones.”

              “Annie, it’s Kathy.”

              “Hey,” Annie said. “It’s windy here so you’ll have to speak up.”

              “I heard that you were back at Crosby Beach,” Kathy spoke softly. “I don’t envy you.”

              “Thanks,” Annie said. “Have you got something for me?”

              “Yes. The fingerprints are back on our John Doe.”

              “Who is he?”

              “His name is Brian Taylor.”

              “Have you passed this on to MIT?”

              “Becky has the details,” Kathy explained. “She said she would run a detailed search and call you straightaway. I’ll leave you to it, good luck.”

              “Thanks.”

              “Progress?” Alec asked. He checked his own screen for messages but he had no signal.

              “Let me make a call and then I’ll know more,” Annie held up her hand. She dialled Becky’s direct line.

              “DC Sebastian.”

              “Becky, it’s Annie.”

              “I was about to call you, Guv.” Becky said. “Brian Taylor, thirty five years old, unemployed, son of Charlotte Taylor, who lives next door to Emilia Harris’s sister.”

              “Next door to Simon Barton?”

              “Yes.”

              “What have we got on him?”

              “He’s on the sex offenders register.”

              “For?”

              “Possession of indecent images.”

              “Was he spoken to during the Barton investigation?”

              “No, Guv. He lived in London at the time but I’ll keep digging.”

              “Thanks, Becky.” Annie ended the call. She turned to Alec. “Peter Barton shot a man called Brian Taylor. His mother lived next door to his aunt and he’s on the register.”

              “So Peter Barton was questioning him about Simon?” Alec raised his eyebrows. “Maybe Barton was innocent after all.”

              “Maybe he was but he isn’t now is he?” Annie blinked to move sand from her eye. The wind was whipping the grains into tiny stinging projectiles.  

              “Guv!”

              Alec turned towards the trees. Stirling waved a hand calling them over. Next to him one of the search dogs was sat down wagging his tail and a few metres away, the second dog was doing the same thing. “Jesus,” Alec whispered into the breeze.

                                                                 CHAPTER 35

              Tod Harris stared at his feet as he walked into the interview room wearing standard prison jeans and a pale blue canvas shirt, escorted by two burly prison officers. His hands were cuffed behind his back until he reached the table. The guards restrained his arms while they fastened the cuffs to the anchor beneath the table and he sat hunched in a chair. His eyes were red and puffy, dark circles and heavy bruising had spread beneath them. Wads of cotton wool protruded from his nostrils, congealed blood had soaked through them. He didn’t look up at any point. There wasn’t an ounce of arrogance about his demeanor; he looked shattered and broken. The sound of slamming doors and angry voices drifted through from the prison.

              Stirling squeezed his wide frame into the chair opposite him and handed a thick file to Annie. “DI Jones,” Annie nodded to the brief across the table. “This is DS Stirling.” She smiled. “Kate Bartlett didn’t have the stomach for it then?”

              “She’s doing more magistrate cases nowadays,” the brief lied. His bald head reflected the glare of the lights and tiny beads of perspiration formed on his mottled pink dome. “I’m Ken Graff,” he said with a nervous nod. “I’ll be representing Mr Harris from now on.” He placed his hands on the table and smiled thinly. “My client is very upset at the moment. His mother’s death has been very traumatic for him.”

“Traumatic?” Stirling muttered. He glanced at Annie. “Have you seen the crime scene photographs?”

Graff blushed and nodded. He cleared his throat nervously. “I need you to keep in mind that his mental and physical condition is fragile at best.” He took off his glasses. “How can we help?”

              “Do you recognise this picture, Tod?” Annie asked. She slid a Polaroid towards him. Tod’s eyes didn’t move from the floor. Annie noticed an egg shaped swelling on his temple. “Your mother found it inside a book at her home not long before she took her own life.” Tod looked up momentarily with blank eyes and then looked away again. “She left me this note,” she continued. His eyes flickered up for a second. “Would you like to read it?”

              Silence.

              “Tod?”

              Graff looked at his client. “I don’t think my client is in any fit state to continue, Inspector,” he sat back and sighed. “You can see from his face that he’s been attacked and injured.”

“Has he made a complaint against anyone?”

“No.” Graff sighed. “He claims that he fell in the showers but I would have thought that it is obvious that he’s been attacked by another inmate.”

              “That happens a lot in here,” Stirling shrugged. “Especially to rapists and paedophiles,” an icy smile crossed his lips. “Only another fifty years or so to go, Tod.” Tod seemed to sink in on himself. His eyes remained fixed to the floor. “Karma is a bitch isn’t it?”

              “I don’t think that’s helpful,” Graff said calmly.

              “I don’t really care what you think,” Stirling said flatly. Graff looked insulted and shook his head but he chose not to counter the remark. “In fact, I couldn’t care any less.”

              “Charming.”

              “Have you ever seen this book, Tod?” Annie asked. Tod looked at the book and shook his head imperceptibly. “Tod?”

              “I don’t think that you’re going to get anywhere here, Inspector,” Graff said gruffly. His jowls wobbled as he spoke. “He’s practically catatonic.” He took a silk handkerchief from his pocket and wiped the sweat from his brow. “He’s clearly traumatised by his mother’s suicide.”

              “She didn’t kill herself,” Tod murmured. He looked at Annie for a second. “She wouldn’t kill herself.”

              “What did you say?” Annie asked surprised.

              “She didn’t kill herself. I told you that he would visit her.”

              “Rob Derry?” Annie rolled her eyes at the ceiling.

              “I told you but you wouldn’t listen. He got to her!”

              “What makes you think that?”

              “She hated suicides.”

              “People crack beneath the strain sometimes.”

              “She was a Catholic.”

              “Read the note, Tod,” Stirling said pushing a copy across the table. “What you did is enough to test anyone’s faith no matter how strong it is.”

Tod glanced at the note scared to read what was in it. He shook his head. “No.”

              “In the note she says that she found this book hidden in her house,” she paused. “Did you hide it from her, Tod?” Annie pointed to it. “And this Polaroid was inside it.” Tod looked blankly at them both, no expression on his face. His reaction was zombielike. “The book was borrowed from a library by Simon Barton three days before he disappeared.” She placed a picture of the young boy onto the table. “It was four years ago,” she looked at his eyes. “Do you recognise him?”

“Yes.” Tod whispered.

“You do?”

“From the television.”

“The television.” Annie sighed. “Did you see this boy in real life?”

“No.”

“Are you sure?”

“Positive.”