Concrete Evidence (43 page)

              “I remember him,” Tod nodded slowly. “He was a nasty man.” 

              “He travelled to Spain two days after Simon Barton went missing,” Annie added. His reaction was strange. He seemed confused but almost amused. “Do you know anything about that?”

              “No.” His face remained unmoved but his eyes smiled. “Why are you asking me about him?”

              “Because he represented you and this man, Brian Taylor around the same time. Do you remember Brain Taylor?”

              “No.” Tod looked disinterested. His mind was somewhere else. He was nervous and fidgeting. “I’ve never met the man.”

              “I’ll tell you about him shall I?” Annie pressed on. “Peter Barton shot and killed Brian Taylor because he thought that he was involved in Simon Barton’s abduction,” Annie put another photo down. Tod stared blankly at the image. “Both you and Taylor were represented by Geoff Ryder, which is an unusual coincidence. What do think about that?”

              “Ask Barton,” Tod sneered. “He pulled the trigger.”

              “Brian Taylor told Barton that you had Simon’s library book. He said that you had kept it as a souvenir,” she paused and lowered her tone, “you kept it as trophy. We know you like to keep trophies don’t we?”

              “I kept women’s knickers. Nothing else.” He snapped. “I’ve told you that I didn’t touch those kids.”

              “But the book ended up at your home. So did his underpants.” Annie pushed. “I don’t think that you have explained that satisfactorily.”

              “Nothing to do with me. Barton planted them while I was in Benidorm.”

              “I’m not buying that,” Annie sat back and folded her arms.

              “I thought you said that you would get these charges dropped. You said we could answer everything but the rape charges.” Tod shook his head and turned to Graff. “Why is she still banging on about these kids?”

              Graff shuffled his papers and blushed. “My client has offered his defence on this matter. This Peter Barton chap is an ex-intelligence office from the Met and as such, he is forensically aware and more than capable of planting evidence. Tod is the victim of an elaborate setup.”

              “Elaborate?” Stirling scoffed. “He’s delusional and if you have told him there’s any chance of convincing a jury otherwise, then you’re delusional too.”

              “Find Barton,” Tod snapped. “I’m sick of this. How many times can I answer the same questions?”        

“We’re determined to find Simon and we think that you know where he’s buried.” Annie changed tack.

“‘Find Simon’, did you say?” Graff looked confused and removed his glasses. “I thought that you had found him.”

“We thought that we had too. We thought he was buried on Crosby Beach but it turns out the he isn’t one of the bodies that we discovered.”

              “Really?” Tod smiled sarcastically. “You must be very disappointed. I suppose you’ll be pinning their murders on me regardless. So, I have a library book and you don’t have a body?”

              “You think this is a game?”

              “Life is all a game,” Tod sighed. “You win some and you lose some.”

“Are you winning, Tod?”

“Do I look like I’m winning,” he said pointing to the bruises around his eyes. “I don’t mind losing when we’re playing on an even pitch but I’m being fucked over here.”

“Have you ever been to America?” Annie changed tack.

“No, why?” he looked confused.

“Just a question,” Annie smiled thinly. “Did you travel to Benidorm with Geoff Ryder?”

“Never.”

“Did you ever meet up with him there?”

“Never.”
Twitch.

“Did you know that he had a villa there?”

“No.”

“Can I ask why you’re questioning my client about Geoff Ryder?” Graff interrupted.

              “He left the country two days after Simon Barton vanished and his body isn’t buried with James Goodwin,” Annie said sternly. “The other victim is James’s brother.”

“I still do not see the connection to my client and Geoff Ryder.”

“We received information from a good source that Ryder may have orchestrated things.”

“A good source?” Tod snorted.

“Would this source be Barton?” Graff raised his eyebrows in surprise. “Are the MIT using wanted murderers as informants now, Inspector?”

“We need to investigate every avenue.” Annie blushed a little. “We wanted to give Tod the opportunity to come clean and allow us to find Simon and let his family have some closure and lay him to rest and if Ryder was involved, then we need to investigate that too.” She paused. “Tod may not have been ‘in charge’ of the situation.”

              Tod smiled sourly. “You’re on a fishing trip,” he scoffed. “I didn’t kill any kids. Peter Barton is your psycho, not me. Are you deaf?”

              “I can’t accept your version, Tod. We have new evidence that you were involved.”

              “Bullshit!”

              “What type of evidence?” Graff asked angrily.  

“The best kind, DNA.” Annie said with a narrow smile.

“You cannot be serious.” Tod looked like he had been smacked in the face. “That is not possible.”

“We can prove you were involved in burying James Goodwin and his brother.”

Tod smiled nervously and shook his head. He giggled and then he laughed hysterically. Annie and Stirling swapped glances and waited patiently for his laughter to subside. When he finally stopped, he wiped tears from his eyes and sighed. “That’s the funniest thing I’ve heard in a long time.” He shrugged and turned to Graff. “Is there anything that I haven’t done?” he chuckled. “I can’t take anything they say seriously anymore. You don’t listen do you?”

              “Clearly not,” Graff shifted uncomfortable. He coughed to clear his throat. “Have you anything more than circumstantial evidence for accusing my client of this murder too?”

              “Yes,” Tod sighed. “More bullshit is what they have!”

              “Not at all.” Annie said flatly. “We found a hair in James Goodwin’s nasal passage.” She placed a picture of the corpse onto the table. “You can see from this picture that the breathing tubes were still attached inside his nose. I’m afraid a hair was stuck in the adhesive that you used.” Tod flushed red and he swallowed hard. His eyes darted from the photo to Annie. “The hair was yours, Tod. The DNA matches completely.” She tapped the photo. “You prepared this young boy to be buried alive in the sand.”

              “I didn’t!” Tod shouted. “I drugged a few women and raped them. The rest of this shit is just sick and I had nothing to do with it!”

              “For God’s sake.”  Graff shook his head and looked angrily at Tod. He picked up his notes from their previous meeting and ripped them in half. “I’m lost for words,” he muttered. 

“What is wrong with you?” Tod snapped at his brief. “It’s just another part of the setup by Peter Barton.” His eyes filled with tears. “I don’t believe this is happening to me.” His bottom lip quivered. “What can I do to make you believe me that he’s setting me up?” He tried to stand up but the chains held him. The prison officers stepped forward and pressed him back into his seat. “Get your hands off me!” he whined. Annie gestured for the guards to release their grip. Reluctantly, they stepped back. “Listen to me,” he tried to calm himself and lowered his voice. “Inspector, I know you’re an intelligent woman and I know that you must despise me for what I did to those women,” he looked at her, his eyes pleading like a puppy. “It was wrong and I deserve to go to jail for what I did to them but I did not kill anyone. Not those women and not those two boys. Honestly I don’t know anything about it.” He tried to smile. Another tear broke free. “What can I say that will make you consider that what I’m saying could be true?”

“Nothing.” Annie said coldly.

“Then there’s no point in me saying anything else is there?” Tod looked desperate. “What is the point if you won’t consider the possibilities?” He looked from Stirling to Annie. “What is the point?”

“You could tell us where Simon is and if Geoff Ryder is involved in anyway.”

He sat back and folded his arms. “I would have to be involved to be able to tell you who was involved, Inspector.” He shrugged.

“Was Ryder involved?”

“No comment,” Tod said slowly. “There is no point in us talking again until you have interviewed Peter Barton and I can’t see that happening anytime soon. I won’t say another word. Take me back to my cell please, officer.”

“We won’t be coming back, Tod,” Annie snapped. “We have enough to proceed.”

“Proceed away, Inspector,” he smiled. His face appeared to relax. “The game is over anyway,” he chuckled. Tears streamed down his cheeks yet there was a twisted smile on his face. The prison officers held his arms and led him to the gate. As they turned the key, Tod turned. “Hey, Inspector,” he looked at Annie. His eyes bored into her. “I take back what I said. I’ve never met Peter Barton,” he sniggered. “Geoff Ryder is Rob Derry.”

“Oh, really?” Annie said with mock interest. She twisted the pen in her hand and looked at Stirling. He shook his head and made a circular motion with his index finger near his temple.

“Cuckoo!” Stirling whistled.

“So Peter Barton isn’t Derry anymore?” Annie sighed.

“I lied.”

“You lie all the time.”

“Not this time.”

“Why would we listen to a word you say?”

“You don’t listen to a word I say. You never have,” he turned away but paused again. “Do you know what he always said to me when we were partying with a drugged woman?”

“Partying?” Annie raised her eyebrows. “The term is rape.”

“Call it what you like,” he shrugged. “Do you know what he used to say?”

“No.”

“He used to say, ‘Tod, we like women and we’re bad men, for drugging them but do you have any regrets or remorse the next day? Do you ever feel guilty?’” he paused and smiled. “He would ask me, ‘when you look in the mirror, what looks back at you?’”

Annie realised the significance immediately. She frowned as she mulled it over. “Did Geoff Ryder really say that to you, Tod or was it Rob Derry or Peter Barton or maybe it was the tooth fairy?” she grimaced. “Or more likely, is it what you ask yourself when you’re alone at night?”

“What looks back at you, Annie?” Tod said flatly. His eyes seemed to glaze over. “I bet you don’t like mirrors much, do you?”

“I like them just fine,” Annie lied.

        CHAPTER 52

                            Peter Barton studied the map and sipped his coffee. The drive to the south coast had been simple and the ferry voyage to Bilbao was uneventful. The search of the Jeep by customs officers had been cursory at best and his forged documents were good enough not to attract a second glance. The change in his appearance was drastic enough for him to go unrecognised. The drive across Spain to Benidorm had been relaxing. The weather had improved as his journey progressed and although the winter months were nearing, the sky was blue and the sun had warmth in its rays. The roads through the resort were busy and the many zebra crossings bustled with tourists wearing shorts and sunglasses while the Spanish were wrapped up in jeans and winter coats. He travelled up the quieter roads that led out of the resort for an hour before he found the villa on a quiet back road in a wooded area high in the hills. It was the perfect place to retire from the rat race; it was also the perfect place to hide.

              He watched the villa from the woods but there was no sign of life at first. When he saw a plume of white smoke climbing skyward he walked deeper into the trees so that he could get a view of the rear garden. A high fence blocked his view but he could smell wood burning on the breeze. He could see a low double garage tucked away at the corner of the property and he edged carefully towards it. The closer he was, the more the wall obscured his view. He scanned the trees and found a sycamore that looked climbable. Shinning up a few metres, he could see a Mercedes with UK plates was parked on the driveway at the rear of the bungalow. It looked unused and was covered with a thin film of sand and dust. As night descended, he went back to the Jeep to prepare.

                                          ********************     

              Tod Harris closed his eyes and let the hot water wash away the tension in his neck. The sound of gushing water echoed through the empty washroom. He soaped himself with shower gel and then rubbed it into his thick black hair. The bubbles ran down the lines of his torso and legs before forming a soapy white puddle beneath his feet. He could hear the prison officers that were protecting him chatting at the door of the showers. The water soothed his shattered nerves although he knew that the relief wouldn’t be permanent. It was just a few minutes of peace from the world of anguish that he found himself in. The water stopped without warning and he cursed as the cold air touched his skin.