The Torment of Others (42 page)

At first, she’d just walked around Temple Fields, speaking to the officers who were still knocking on doors and canvassing passers-by. It never hurt to offer the troops a word of encouragement, to let them see you were putting in the hours, just like them. As she chatted to one of the young uniformed officers, she noticed Dee Smart slipping into a well-lit doorway opposite. Carol ended the conversation with a metaphorical pat on the back and headed across the street and into Stan’s Café.

Dee was already seated alone at a table with a mug of tea and a cigarette. Carol took the chair opposite and smiled. ‘Hi, Dee.’

Dee rolled her eyes. ‘Look, I’ve told you lot everything–you know more about me than my ex-husband. You’re very bad for business, you know that?’

‘And I appreciate your help, Dee. But something new’s come up that I wanted to run past you. Did Sandie ever mention someone called the Creeper?’

Dee stared at her, open mouth revealing an unappetizing array of ugly fillings and stained teeth. ‘The Creeper?’

Carol gave an apologetic shrug. ‘I know, it sounds ridiculous. But did Sandie ever talk about anyone by that name?’

Dee shook her head, incredulity in her expression.
‘You’re
asking
me
about the Creeper?’

Carol’s attention quickened. This wasn’t the reaction she’d expected. Dee’s incredulity was not sparked by the nickname but by the very fact that Carol was asking the question. ‘You know who I’m talking about,’ Carol said, knowing she was right.

Dee snorted. ‘You think I’m going to tell you, of all people?’

This wasn’t making any sense. ‘What do you mean, me of all people?’

Dee said nothing. She shifted in her chair, as if she wanted to put visible distance between herself and Carol.

Carol persisted. It would have been impossible for her to do otherwise. ‘Dee, if you know anything, anything at all, you’d better tell me. There’s a woman’s life at stake, and I’m not playing games. If I have to arrest you for police obstruction, I will.’

Dee crushed out her cigarette and stood up. ‘You think you frighten me with your threats? Listen, cop, there are people out there I’m a lot more scared of than I am of anything you can do to me. I don’t know what the fuck you’re on about, OK?’

Carol jumped to her feet, trying to get between Dee and the door. But Dee pushed her to one side and picked up speed. ‘Dee!’ Carol shouted. A hush fell on the café as every pair of eyes turned towards them.

‘Fuck off! I got nothing to say to you,’ Dee shouted desperately over her shoulder as she barged out of the door.

Carol flushed scarlet, aware she was the remaining centre of attention. She felt a touch on her arm and swung round, ready to rip into anyone who was willing to have a go. Tony?’ she said, taken aback. ‘I didn’t see you. Are you stalking me?’ She wondered for one mad moment if he was on some mission to protect her.

‘No, Carol. I’ve been walking and thinking.’ He steered her towards the corner table in the rear where he’d been nursing a coffee and absorbing the atmosphere when Carol had arrived. ‘You only had eyes for the woman you were talking to,’ he said.

‘That was Dee Smart.’

‘The one who shared the room with Sandie?’

Carol folded her arms across her chest. ‘I fucked that up so badly.’ She pursed her lips, furious with herself. ‘She knows something about the Creeper. As soon as I mentioned him, she freaked out. She knows something and she sure as hell isn’t going to tell me now.’

‘What exactly did she say?’

Carol closed her eyes and summoned to her service her gift of perfect recall. ‘She said, “You think I’m going to tell you, of all people?” And then she said, “You think you frighten me with your threats? Listen, cop, there are people out there I’m a lot more scared of than I am of anything you can do to me.”’

‘Interesting,’ Tony said.

‘Meaning what?’

‘Not sure yet. There’s something I’m close to, but I’m not quite there,’ he said slowly. Carol knew there was no point in pushing him. Even though his hypotheses sometimes sounded like the product of a mind deranged, he never put them forward till he was sure they had assumed the shape of validity. She’d just have to wait till he was ready, frustrating though that might be when a life was at stake.

‘It’d be nice if you could make it soon,’ she grumbled.

‘Do you want me to have a chat with Dee?’

Carol considered. It probably wasn’t such a bad idea. ‘You think you might get somewhere?’

He spread his hands in a self-deprecating gesture. ‘Well, I’m not a cop. And I’m not a woman.’

She couldn’t resist. ‘I had noticed.’

He pulled a face. ‘Maybe Dee will too.’ He pushed his chair back.

‘Tony…’ Carol began.

He gave her a quizzical look. ‘Yes?’

She sighed. ‘Nothing. It’ll keep. This isn’t the place.’

He glanced around. ‘I see what you mean. Later, then.’

She watched him leave, wondering when exactly would be the right moment to tell Tony she thought his boss might be a serial killer.

Sam Evans didn’t believe in luck. Suckers believed in luck. He believed in hard work, preparing the ground and seizing the moment. That was the difference between making it big and never getting off the slow track to nowhere. So you had to go looking for whatever it was that would give you the edge. And that was what Evans had been doing all day. He was desperate to get off Carol Jordan’s shit list. He didn’t mind undermining her, but he didn’t want her trying that on him. Besides, although he craved the attention of his bosses, this was definitely the wrong kind of attention and he needed to make it history, and fast. So in spite of the repetitiveness of his task, he’d had his antennae tuned for that little something a bit out of the ordinary. Tony Hill’s account of Tyler and the Creeper seemed to offer the breakthrough he’d been looking for. It would be good to find someone who fitted the bill.

It had grown dark and chill on the streets of Temple Fields yet still he hadn’t found a crack he could pry open. But just when he had almost given up hope, he felt that prickle along his hairline that told him he was on to something. He’d stopped a bleary-eyed young hooker and thrust Paula’s picture under her nose. She’d looked away too hastily and shivered. Evans was prepared to bet that it wasn’t because of the cold night air.

‘Let’s go for a drink, you and me,’ he said, taking her elbow and steering her into the nearest pub. Luckily for him it was low-life enough not to be bothered by his choice of company. He found a table near the back of the room and asked her what she wanted to drink.

When he came back with the Bacardi Breezer and his own pint of Guinness, she was still there. ‘So, how come you know Paula?’ he asked.

She swigged from the bottle and wiped her mouth with the back of her hand. It made her look about twelve. ‘She was nice to me after Jackie died. She reminded me of Jackie, you know? Like, kind. But still a no-shit.’

‘That’s Paula all right. So, what’s your name?’ He placed a hand flat on his chest. ‘I’m Sam.’

‘Hi, Sammy. I’m Honey. So, has he got Paula, then? The geezer that did Jackie?’ She dug a pack of cigarettes out and offered him one.

‘Looks that way.’

‘So you’re really out to get him now, then?’

‘We were always out to get him. I expect Paula told you that.’

Honey shrugged one shoulder. ‘So she said. But, like, I knew you wasn’t going to get your knickers in too much of a twist about a pair of dead prossies.’

‘You knew Jackie?’

Honey sighed out a thin stream of smoke. ‘That’s why Paula wanted to talk to me. To see if I knew anything about who’d topped her. She even got me to look at some photos of geezers. But there wasn’t anybody I knew.’

Evans wasn’t about to let it go. ‘You’ve had time to think since then, though. Have you remembered Jackie being scared of anybody?’

Honey gave him a derisive look. ‘In this game, you’d be daft if you weren’t scared out your mind half the time.’

‘But was there anyone in particular that bothered Jackie?’ Evans swirled his glass nonchalantly, making the creamy head stick to the inside.

‘After I spoke to Paula, I remembered Jackie once warned me off a punter. I was going to get in his car and she practically dragged me out. Said he’d smacked her about one time and dumped her without paying.’

The door to the bar opened and Jan Shields walked in. Evans caught her out of the corner of his peripheral vision and gently shook his head. Either she didn’t see the gesture or she had something that wouldn’t wait. She headed towards them. ‘What kind of car?’ Evans asked quickly.

‘One of them big four-wheel-drive jeep things. A black one.’

The connection sparked in Evans’ mind:
Aidan fucking Hart.
He’d been right and Jordan had been wrong. If he fitted the frame as this Creeper that Tony Hill reckoned was involved in the murders, that alibi didn’t necessarily clear him. ‘You don’t know what make?’ he asked urgently. ‘What model?’

Honey cast her eyes upwards. ‘Do I look like somebody who knows about cars, Sammy?’

Jan arrived at the table and sat down. Honey jumped as if she’d been stroked with a cattle prod. She grabbed for her fags and began to slide off the banquette. Jan put up a hand to stop her. ‘It’s all right, Honey, I’m not wearing my Vice hat. Nothing so trivial.’

Honey ducked under the hand. ‘Yeah, well, I’ve got my rent to earn. See ya, Sammy.’

‘Shit,’ he said as Honey disappeared back to the streets. ‘I thought I was getting somewhere with that one.’

Jan looked apologetic. ‘Sorry, mate. My past working Vice has its downsides as well as its advantages. How’re you doing?’

Evans pushed the remains of his drink away from him. He wasn’t about to share his ideas with anybody else. ‘Getting nowhere slowly. You?’

‘Likewise. Nobody’s ever heard of Tony Hill’s Creeper. Not a hooker, not a pimp, not a punter. Waste of time, if you ask me.’

Evans got to his feet. ‘So, nothing new there, then. Let’s go make some more people miserable.’

Jan fell into step beside him. ‘I keep seeing Paula’s face. It’s as if she’s haunting me. Like I’ve failed her.’

‘What do you think the chances are of us getting her back alive?’

Jan closed her eyes momentarily, as if a stab of pain had hit her. ‘My honest opinion?’

‘Yeah.’

‘I think Tony Hill’s full of shit. I think she’s dead already.’

Kevin closed the door of the interview room behind him. He’d just spent forty minutes with the last of the three Park Rangers they’d arrested on suspicion of murder. He’d been determined to interview all three himself, in spite of the complaints of the duty solicitors about being kept waiting. But he hadn’t found a single discrepancy in their stories to offer any leverage. Nick Sanders, Callum Donaldson and Pete Siveright all denied having taken the photographs of Swindale.

They’d been happy enough to identify the other shots they had taken, but they were all adamant that they hadn’t photographed the secret dale. They’d all denied ever having seen Tim Golding or Guy Lefevre other than via the media. They all claimed their worksheets would show they’d been nowhere near Bradfield on the day of his abduction. That in itself was pretty worthless, however, since they all finished work at six and neither boy had been taken till after seven. Plenty of time to get from the Peak Park to Bradfield.

Bronwen Scott followed him out of the room. The solicitor looked depressingly fresh and alert. ‘You’ve got nothing on my client,’ she said. ‘I’m going to make representations to the custody sergeant that Callum Donaldson should be released.’

Kevin leaned against the wall. As always when he was tired, his skin had paled to the colour of milk, his freckles standing out like miniature stigmata. ‘Nobody’s going anywhere till we get the results of the searches that Derbyshire Police are carrying out on our behalf.’

‘That could take hours,’ she protested.

‘So go home. We’ll call you when we’re ready with the outcome of those searches and to reinterview,’ he said, not bothering to hide his hostility. ‘One of those three men abducted and killed two young boys. So your convenience isn’t very high on my list of priorities, Ms Scott.’

She raised her eyebrows. ‘I had hoped that DCI Jordan might introduce the concept of civility round here. Clearly I was wrong.’ She swept past him towards the custody suite. As she reached the door, the custody sergeant yanked it open.

‘Kevin,’ he shouted, ‘I’ve got some DC from Buxton on the line for you.’

Bronwen Scott turned as he hurried down the corridor. Her mouth looked as if she’d just bitten a pickle. Kevin enjoyed beaming broadly at her as he brushed past. ‘Looks like you might not have so long to wait after all.’ He snatched up the phone and introduced himself. For a couple of minutes he listened, saying nothing more than, ‘Yeah…yeah…’ Finally, he said, ‘Give me that make and model and serial number again.’ He reached for a pen and paper and scribbled down the details. Then: ‘Thanks, mate. I owe you one. Let me have the paperwork soon as.’