Sugar & Spice (12 page)

54

With the file under his arm containing the cuttings on Bristow, and a copy of
Top Gear in his other hand, Matt joined the kid in their usual seat at the rear
of Cafe Nero.
Still full from the fish and chips lunch with Jeremy Isaac he declined the offer
of a muffin. They chatted casually about the weather and the rubbish on TV.
Anything but the purpose of their rendezvous. They left together, Matt carrying
a copy of The Guardian handed over from the boy, Danny feigning interest in a
Clarkson article about speed cameras.
Matt walked back to his flat, slipped the brown envelope from within the
broadsheet’s pages and withdrew the print-off of Bristow’s PNC file with a
satisfied expression. Another great piece of research from the boy wonder.
Danny cycled home and ran upstairs to his bedroom. He slipped the autograph card
from the magazine, which went promptly in the bin. He brought down his album
from the shelf, inserting the new entry in place. He sat back in his seat,
satisfied with the exchange.
Broadmoor inmates were notoriously difficult to access, but Matt had yet to let
him down.
Peter Sutcliffe, the Yorkshire Ripper, now held pride of place in his autograph
album.

55

“Can we get in now, Daddy?”
Randall turned off the taps and dipped his hand through the bubbles to test the
water. He ran the cold tap again and nodded to the Dynamite Twins. Three
evenings a week Randall took responsibility for seeing the twins ate their tea
and got to bed on time. Bath times were every other night.
Tamara and Natalie were flinging their clothes to the ground with the carefree
abandon that only six year olossess. One of the twins began to clamber over the
side of the bath while the other struggled determinedly with a stubborn sock.
Automatically Randall reached his hands beneath her arms, holding her chest for
support as he lifted her gently into the water. He’d done it a thousand times
before, without a second thought.
Have you ever touched your daughters, Greg? Their breasts? Their genitals?
However insignificant it might have seemed at the time?
He released his hands, recoiling upright and Tamara fell the few remaining
inches into the water, sending a wave of frothy bubbles over the floor.
Unhurt but shaken, she looked at her father, eyes wide with surprise and
confusion. “What’s wrong, Daddy?”
Randall put on a smile and laughed the incident away, wrapping a towel around
Natasha before lifting her into the bath opposite her sister. The towel slipped
into the water alongside her, soaking up the bubbles, to the girls’ delight, and
for the twins, at least, the moment passed.
He looked at the two girls, barely visible through the froth, oblivious to the
turmoil in their father’s mind. It had been a mistake, he was convinced now. The
voice of Dr Quinlan on the phone had been reassuring. Quietly understanding. But
when he’d left the Foundation, after the session with that woman, he’d felt
sick.
Nervous.
Worried.
Despite Reynolds’ assurances of confidentiality he had been waiting for the
knock at the door ever since. The police. Social workers. Educational
psychologists. God only knows who else.
Coming to take away the Dynamite Twins.
To take him away from them.
Natalie was tugging at his sleeve. He snapped his mind back to the present.
“Yes poppet, what’s up?”
“Aren’t you coming in with us, Daddy?”
“Yes, come in, Daddy. Come on, before all the bubbles pop,” Tamara encored,
throwing a handful of froth at him.
He wiped the bubbles from his face with a flannel.
“No, not tonight, sweet-pies. I think you’re getting a bit old for that now,
aren’t you?”
“No!” the girls assured him as one. “Come on. Please, Daddy, please.”
Tamara stood up precariously, reaching out to her father. Instinctively he
reached out to steady her. Self-consciously he stopped himself. Tamara stood,
waiting, confused by his reaction. He watched the soapy bubbles slide down her
naked body, gleaming in the light.
The twins chanted for him to join them. “Daddy in the bath! Daddy in the
bath!”
He forced a laugh. “No, not tonight, girls. You’ll be seven next birthday. Big
girls don’t share baths with their daddies.”
“Yes they do,” Natalie assured him. “Stacie does, and so does Tina. And
they’re already seven. We went to their parties, didn’t we, 'Mara.”
Randall collected a ball of froth in his hands and placed it gently on Tamara’s
head. She brushed it off with a giggle.
“Oh yes? How do you know that?” He struggled to sound casual.
“We talked about it in class today.”
It was like being struck by lightning. His face paled. He felt faint. His knees
were buckling beneath him. He grabbed the side of the bath to steady himself,
trying to control the tremor in his voice. “What do you mean, you talked in
class?
“With our teacher, Mrs Hollis.”
His heart missed several beats, his pulse racing, his face flushed. He grabbed
the nearest girl by the wrist and pulled her towards him, his voice sharp,
menacing.
“When was this? What did you tell her?”

56

“Daddy, you’re hurting me.” Natalie struggled against his grip, frightened.
Bewildered.
Randall let go instantly. He reached out to Natalie to comfort her but she
backed away, confused, in tears.
Tamara looked on, horrified, at a loss to understand the transformation in her
father. Her bottom lip quivered, wide, confused eyes flooding with tears.
“Natalie, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to hurt you.” He struggled to control his
voice. “Are you okay, precious?”
The girl nodded, but his strained smile was not reciprocated. He took her arm
and gently massaged her wrist.
“Here, this will make it better. I’m really sorry, poppet. Tamara, you tell me
what happened at school. Who was asking you these questions?”
Tamara ventured a hesitant response, not knowing what was wrong, fearing she
might upset her father again. “It was just Mrs. Hollis, Daddy. And a police
lady.”
“A police lady?” He could feel the blood pulsing in his temple. The veins
stood out on his forearms. They knew. That woman Reynolds. She must have told
them!
He fought for control, clutching Natalie’s wrist. “Who did they speak to
first? You or your sister?”
Confused. Not understanding. “All of us, of course.”
“All of you? What do you mean? Tamara, tell Daddy exactly what happened.”
“Why?”
“Just bloody tell me!”
Both girls were in tears. Natalie found her voice first, bottom lip trembling.
“It was the whole class, together. The police lady talked to us about
strangers. About how children have to be careful.”
His throat was dry. “Go on, poppet. It’s okay. Just tell Daddy what
happened.”
“About how we mustn’t go off with strangers or get in their cars or take
sweets off them.”
“And we must never let anyone touch us anywhere. Especially not our
privates,” Tamara added, a smile returning to her face.
Natalie laughed nervously. “That was when Tina Burton said that she’d seen her
daddy’s willy.”
“And the police lady asked how,” Tamara added, giggling at the memory. “So
Tina told her.”
Randall held his breath. “That she shared a bath with her daddy?”
Tamara nodded. “Uh-huh. Then Natalie said that’s what we do, and so did some
other kids. Bobby Wilson did, and Cathy – “
“And what did this police lady say when you told her that? Did she ask you
anything else?” Randall kept the smile on his face, just.
“No. She said it was okay to have a bath with mummies or daddies but not with
strangers.”
He felt a weight lift from his mind. “And that was it?”
“Uh-huh. Why, Daddy?”
All smiles. “Because Daddy’s interested, of course. Why else? Daddy likes to
know what the Dynamite Twins get up to at school. Is your arm okay now, Natalie?
I didn’t mean to hold it so hard. I’m sorry, poppet. Do you forgive me?”
“It hurts a little bit. Can we have some ice-cream when we get out?” Natalie
knew when she was on to a good thing.
“Course you can, sweetness. The Dynamite Twins can have anything they want. If
you get out now you can have an extra scoop each.”
“We haven’t done our hair yet,” Tamara protested.
“We’ll do it next time. Mummy won’t mind. Here, you first, Tamara.” He held
out a towel and wrapped it round the girl as she stood up, lifted her out and
placed her gently to the ground. She stood upright with her arms in the air,
waiting to be towelled dry.
“Now listen,” he said as he lifted Natalie alongside her sister, “tonight
I want you both to dry yourselves on your own, alright? Then if teacher ever
asks you can say you’re big girls and don’t need Daddy to dry you, okay?”
The girls exchanged glances, unsure how to react. What was the point of being
six if you had to dry yourselves after a bath? You might as well be a grown-up!
“Okay. But you have to get the ice-cream ready,” Tamara bargained.
“Three scoops each for the Dynamite Twins! The most beautiful girls in the
world.”
But he refrained from the customary hug and kiss that usually followed such an
exclamation. There would have to be some changes from now on. Changes in the way
he treated the girls. How he held them. How he touched them. Even what he said
to them.
Life wouldn’t be worth living if anything ever happed to the twins.
And maybe, just maybe, he’d broach the subject with Bethan.

57

“Claire! I wasn’t expecting you.”
That much was obvious. The suspicion was instant. “I’m sorry. You’re busy. I
should have rang first.” She stood in the doorway, uncertain how to react.
“Please, come in. It’s just… I was working, that’s all.”
She followed him through, feeling uncomfortable. “I was just out for a walk.
Ended up here. I saw your car…” Why was she justifying herself like this?
She often called in unannounced. She had a key. “I won’t stay.”
“No, no, it’s okay.” Matt was in control again. “Coffee?”
“You’re sure it’s no bother? I don’t want you missing a deadline.” She
scanned the room for evidence that anyone else had been there. It was an
open-plan apartment. Only the bedroom and bathroom were private. The bedroom
door was open.
Did he have a girl in the bathroom? She dismissed the thought. He wouldn’t. Not
Matt. Especially not now.
She felt guilty. Since Rebecca’s murder she’d been very cool towards him.
Towards all men.
He understood that, surely?
It would take time.
“Nice walk?” He set the percolator in action.
“Fine.” She saw the anxious glances towards the desk, where papers lay
spread out in front of the computer. A tablet of scribbled shorthand lay next to
them. A full, cold cup occupied the coaster on the corner. Anything that caused
a coffee to go un-drunk had to be serious.
“There’s a lovely breeze coming off the sea. The harbour’s busy too. A
beautiful yacht was pulling in as I arrived. It must have sailed past. Did you
see it?” She manoeuvred herself casually around the room, picking up the
binoculars, her mind elsewhere. She found herself drawn to the work he had
obviously been engrossed in when she arrived. His nervous glances towards the
desk only served to sharpen her interest.
The percolator began bubbling.
“I didn’t notice. What type of yacht?”
“Just a yacht. Looks like you’ve been busy?”
“It’s nothing. Just some background research.” He made his way to the desk,
shut down the computer and began gathering the papers together. It wasn’t quite
casual enough. Claire was hooked.
The phone rang. Claire was nearest, but Matt leapt across the room and grabbed
it before she could move.
“Burford. Oh, Mac, it’s you. Yes. Tomorrow. Hold on.” He gestured to Claire.
“Throw us a pen, love.”
There was one on the desk. She moved across and picked it up, about to take it
to him. She changed her mind and threw it. A deliberately poor shot. He stooped
to pick it up.
“Claire, don’t…” He spoke quickly into the receiver. “Mac, I’ll call you
back.”
Claire was staring at one of the sheets of paper she had picked up. A computer
print out. She recognised the name. Thomas Martin Bristow.
A hand was on her arm, leading her away. His other hand took the papers and put
them back on the desk. “Claire, please.”
“What’s going on, Matt? It’s about Rebecca, isn’t it?”
“The coffee’s nearly ready.”
“Matt, what’s happened?”
Matt was firm but reassuring. “I need the caffeine, even if you don’t. I’ll
explain everything in a minute. Please.”

58

She waited in impatient silence while he brought the coffees over. She ignored
hers. She had a thousand questions, but couldn’t manage any of them.
“I was going to tell you tonight, Claire. It’s not definite yet. Nothing
official. I thought that might have been the confirmation. Pitman said he’d ring
the moment he had any news.”
Claire looked at him bewildered. He was making no sense.
“It started a few days ago. I got wind that Jeremy Isaac, Bristow’s solicitor,
was talking with Conrad Buckmasr, the barrister.” He saw from Claire’s face
that the name meant nothing to her. “He’s an aggressive London lawyer. Young,
ambitious, anti-establishment. Impressive track record. That’s why I met with
Isaac yesterday. Off the record.”
“Off?”
“Contempt of Court Act, ’81. I’m not allowed to report anything that might
prejudice the trial. But Isaac agreed to talk to me in a personal capacity.
Because of my relationship with Rebecca. With you… And because he wants a
sympathetic reporter on his side.”
“Sympathetic? You? I don’t understand, Matt.”
“Nor did I. But I figured someone will end up with the inside story, so why
not us? At least that way we’d have some control over what gets printed.”
Claire looked unconvinced. “He gave you these papers?”
“God, no. He’d be struck off. No, we just talked. About Bristow.”
“And?”
“Isaac thinks he’s innocent. Believes it, I mean, not just playing Rumpole.
You know other children have been reported missing recently…”
“I saw the Crimewatch special last night. The two girls in Wales. The boy in
Humberside. But they said there was nothing to connect them.”
Matt took her hand. “Bear with me. It’ll make more sense if I tell it in
order.” He downed the coffee in one. “Isaac said if I looked at the evidence
objectively it would be obvious Bristow had nothing to do with Rebecca. I was
going through the material when you arrived.”
“I’m so sorry, Matt. I thought for a minute…”
He missed the point. “I was going to tell you, but not yet. I wanted to be
sure. There may be nothing to it. It’s just…”
“Just what, Matt?”
“It’s like Isaac said. Only the death of another child will put Bristow in the
clear.”
“Oh God, they’ve found a body.”
“It’s not official yet. There’s nothing at all to connect it with Rebecca at
this stage.”
Claire clutched at his arm. “So what’s happened, Matt? You have to tell me.”
“They think they’ve found a body in a canal. In Cheshire.”
“Oh my God.”
He clutched her hand tight. “There’s a police news blackout. Pitman rang
shortly before you arrived. I’m still waiting for confirmation.”
“Another girl?”
“We don’t know. It might be an accident.”
“You don’t believe that, Matt.”
“I’ve just got this feeling about Bristow, Claire. Isaac was very…
convincing. Or at least convinced. Hence the homework.”
“Can we do anything?”
“Just sit and wait.”
“Can I?” She picked up the press reports and read through them in silence.
Matt reached across. “This is his Police record. Last convictions were for
indecent assault. Before that a few lesser indecency charges, also with kids. A
caution, and two convictions for indecent images. I’ve also got the registration
details of his ice-cream van from DVLA, for what that’s worth. My guess is he
used it to entice kids with, but again, that was a long time ago.”
The phone rang and he pounced on the receiver. “Burford. Dave, at last. Is
it… God, no.” The tone of his voice filled in the gaps for what Claire
couldn’t hear. “Jesus. Are they… How long before… No, that’s okay. You’ll
let me know as soon as… Thanks, Dave. I owe you.”
He scribbled notes in shorthand, his face ashen. Claire looked on anxiously.
Finally he put down the receiver and looked at the floor, struggling to repeat
the news.
“Two of them. Together. Two girls. The kids’ nails were painted. Yellow. Just
like… Just like Rebecca.” He clutched Claire’s hand tightly.
There was silence, then through the tears Claire asked, “Where does that leave
Bristow?”
Matt replied almost without thinking. “A very wealthy man.”