The Innocent Ones

by The Innocent Ones (retail) (epub)

  ‘But you’re going to talk?’

  He stepped away and took a few deep breaths. The old ladies were whispering to each other. ‘Cafe round the corner,’ he said, and set off walking.

  Jayne followed, always keeping him ahead, getting ready to run in case he turned violent.

  They were heading towards the seafront again, but on the other side of the harbour to the one she’d been on the day before. The sand stretched long and smooth in front of an old seaside hall with a glass roof, the sort that once housed variety acts but had started to look old and scruffy and used for eighties popstars on revival tours.

  The cafe was a seaside fish-and-chips type of place, with fish stencilled onto large windows and sugar in glass decanters.

  Sean held the door open and went in after her, selecting a table as far away from the counter as possible. There were no other customers.

  He raised his hand to the man behind the counter, who’d been reading a newspaper, and shouted, ‘Full English.’

  ‘Make that two,’ Jayne said.

  ‘You’re paying.’

  She scoffed. ‘How do you work that out? You bloody well assaulted me.’

  ‘And the police are where?’

  ‘Is that all that matters, whether you’ll go to court? What about what you actually did?’ She jabbed a finger towards her black eye. ‘Do you really think this was all right?’

  He stared at the table for a few seconds before saying, ‘Are you going to the police?’

  ‘Give me one reason why I shouldn’t?’

  ‘I’ll talk to you if you don’t. If they arrest me, they’ll put bail conditions on me not to speak to you.’

  Jayne sat back. ‘You really are a bastard.’

  ‘No,’ he said. ‘I’m just a grieving father who is sick of being used.’

  There it was, the pitiful whine, the one Jimmy had used whenever he hit her, trying to become the victim, to make it her fault. ‘You could have fucking killed me.’

  He inhaled and his eyes filled with tears.

  Jayne turned to look out of the window. She’d had her fill of tearful apologies from men.

  The road was quiet outside. No rush hour in Brampton. There were a few strollers but it seemed as if they had nowhere special to go. A group of men trudged towards the harbour with fishing rods and tackle bags, heading for a day out on the sea in a hired boat.

  Her thoughts were interrupted by the clatter of plates and their breakfast arriving.

  It was a good spread and her stomach rumbled.

  Just as she picked up her knife and fork, he put his hand out and grabbed hers. ‘I’m sorry. Really sorry. I didn’t know what you wanted, and I’d been drinking, and thinking about it just got me all wound up.’

  ‘Just eat.’ She snatched her hand away.

  They both ate in silence, the only sound the scrape of their cutlery on the plates, until they were both done.

  Jayne drank her tea from a chipped mug, too milky, too weak. ‘You’re going to tell me everything I want to know. Do you understand? You try to keep anything back and I go to the police.’

  He nodded but didn’t look up.

  ‘Tell me about the reporter. Mark Roberts.’

  ‘He was upsetting everyone, asking all those questions. That’s all I heard, that there was this reporter in town making trouble, talking to people in pubs, going to the newspaper office, making out like that sick bastard Walker hadn’t done it. It gets back to me, you know.’

  ‘Did he say why he thought that?’

  ‘Not to me, but why should he? I didn’t matter to him, but there are always people ready to speak up for Rodney, and if enough people speak, others start to listen. After all, what are we? Just the bad parents, that’s all, the drunk who let his kid wander off.’

  ‘That isn’t how it is.’

  ‘Isn’t it? I remember how it was and I’ve heard the whispers. What about the other family? Their girl wandered off with Rodney Walker as well, but no one calls them bad parents. But no, they’re respectable doctors and they couldn’t have been careless, not people like that. But what was I, apart from some lowlife from some small-town nowhere?’

  Jayne put her mug down. ‘Do you know what I see? Self-pity, that’s what. I don’t blame you, your son was murdered, but all of this whining ended up with me looking like this,’ and she pointed at her face. ‘Beaten up, my ribs aching, waking up this morning covered in blood and bruises, so don’t expect me to be bubbling over with compassion. Did Rodney Walker kill your son? Are you sure of that?’

  ‘Of course he did. Who else?’

  ‘Blame Rodney then, not yourself.’

  ‘Not everyone thinks that.’

  ‘About you, or Rodney?’

  ‘Rodney, of course. That’s why the reporter got so excited.’

  ‘What did he say? Something brought him to Brampton and then to Highford and we need to know what.’

  ‘I don’t know about Highford, don’t even know where it is, but I heard it was the brother of the other kid whose body they found, Ruby. Chris Overfield, he’s called. He was the one who got him going.’

  ‘Where do they live?’

  ‘You can’t miss the parents’ house. Big one on the road out of town. They’ve even called it Ruby, named their bloody house after her. We all deal with it in our own way, I suppose.’

  ‘And Chris, Ruby’s brother?’

  ‘On some shiny estate somewhere.’

  ‘Do you know the address?’

  ‘Why would I know it? We’re not exactly close.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘He’s in the police. Don’t you get it? I’m the sort of person he locks up. He’s no time for me.’

  ‘Hang on, you’re saying that the brother of Walker’s second victim is a copper, and he thinks that Porter got the wrong man?’

  Sean grinned. ‘Yeah. A bit bloody awkward, don’t you think? The town’s most notorious person, and a copper wants him free. You couldn’t write it.’

  ‘Mark Roberts was trying his hardest though.’

  Jayne drained her tea and went towards the door.

  Sean shouted after her, ‘Don’t you be blabbing about last night. We had a deal.’

  ‘Just keep out of my way,’ she said.

  As she tasted the sea air on her lips, she smiled. The case was getting interesting. More than that though, for the first time in months she felt the thrill of doing something worthwhile. She felt alive.

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Computer discs were spread across his office floor as Dan rooted through his files.

  They’d always had a way of dealing with discs at Molloys. They were placed into envelopes and stapled to the inside flap of the paper files. Even though the criminal justice system had gone digital and paperless, most firms still printed off the statements they were sent, which meant that a physical file was needed, and until recently video footage was served on discs.

  He’d gone through the files that were still before the court, and then the drawers that held the finalised cases that were awaiting payment, and ripped off the envelopes. It would be a job for Margaret later, to replace them, but he didn’t have time to go through them slowly. He needed to know who’d threatened him, and why.

  It had taken him nearly an hour so far, replacing each disc and watching enough of it to know that it wasn’t the one that had played in his head earlier that day.

  As the last disc whirred into life, showing the outside of a terraced street, he still hadn’t found it. He remembered the case, and if he let it run it would show nothing more than someone scratching a car, a woman’s hand running along the side and moving up and down, following the exact line of a deep scratch that was later photographed by the police. This was no Saturday-night brawl.

  He had to go the cellar, where the dead files were kept.

  It smelled damp as he went in, the air filled with the clicks of strip lighting coming to life. His nose itched from the dust that coated t
he files, some going back six years, each shuffling along to their designated destruction date, all in date order.

  He wouldn’t have to go back the full six years. The memory of the trousers was more recent than that.

  Dan moved along the shelves, his hand feeling the inside of each file cover for the rigid shape of a disc. Whenever he found one, he looked at the file and tried to remember what it was about.

  It took him ten minutes, but he knew it as soon as he saw it.

  Five defendants, all fighting. His client was one of the five, the other four represented by a different firm, including Carl Ogden. Otherwise known as Oggy.

  Dan took the file with him and rushed back upstairs.

  Once it was loaded, the familiar scene played out. Five men fighting, lit by the glare of the nearest takeaway, and what was most vivid was the way the artificial light made the letters down one of the fighter’s tracksuit bottoms stand out, the word OGGY spelled out in glowing white.

  Oggy had been all ego, so he’d had his nickname emblazoned down the legs of plain black joggers, wanting to be known around the town, which had made it so easy to identify him when the police investigated. Dan remembered how he’d behaved in court, arrogant and surly, adopting the fake gangsta look of cocked head and narrowed eyes.

  The irony was that of the five defendants, Oggy had been the only one convicted. Dan’s own client had argued mistaken identity, the footage too indistinct in relation to the facial features. Oggy had maintained that he hadn’t been present but had been wearing the same trousers when arrested and had been unable to come up with an alibi.

  He might have stood a chance, but because the police had seized the trousers seen in the footage, all photographed, he’d had some more made. He’d turned up for his trial wearing them. Criminals made the job of the prosecution so much easier by their own stupidity.

  Oggy had been represented by the other firm, but that didn’t matter because the charge sheets for all had been sent out. Dan rummaged through the file until he found them, and at the top of Oggy’s was his address.

  Dan smiled. Highford was too small to play at being the big man and hope to remain anonymous.

  Now, he had a name and an address.

  He checked his watch. He would just have to be late for court. He wanted answers, and Carl Ogden would provide them.

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Jayne sat in her car and stared out of the windscreen.

  She’d found a place overlooking the sea, an ancient arcade behind her that operated more like a museum, filled by penny falls that creaked into action and handle-operated fruit machines. A bingo stand was empty, netting over the prizes of dusty old teddy bears, and a dodgem car circuit stood unused at the rear. The beach in front of her was filled with dog walkers, heads bent into the breeze.

  Jayne thought it had seemed a good place to meet because it was the sort of area where people sat in their cars and stared out as they shared a hot flask.

  A police car pulled up next to her. One occupant. A male officer in his late twenties. Chris Overfield, right on time.

  He had been easy to track down, a quick call to his station and a minor stroke of luck when they said he was on duty. As he stepped out of the car, she raised an eyebrow. It was a cliché, but tall, dark and handsome fitted, his body lean under his police shirt, his hair cropped close, his cheekbones sharp.

  She wound down her window. ‘PC Overfield, I presume.’ She was sure she blushed.

  He put his hand on the car roof and leaned in. A sweet scent drifted towards her, his cologne surprising her. His radio squawked, held on to his shirt by a clip. ‘What do you want?’ He was examining her bruises as he said it.

  ‘The same as you, I understand. To find out who really killed your sister.’

  He straightened and put his hand on his hips, his lips pursed, his brow furrowed. He seemed to make his mind up, because he came around to the passenger side and climbed in, making her car rock.

  ‘What’s your interest?’

  She was distracted by his hands, large and strong as they gripped his thighs. No wedding ring.

  ‘There was a reporter here a few months ago,’ she said. ‘Mark Roberts. He was murdered, and we represent his killer.’

  ‘Alleged killer, I presume?’

  ‘So he says.’

  ‘I remember him, and I read about his murder.’

  ‘And I know you spoke to him, because I know what you told him.’

  His eyes narrowed. ‘Which was what?’

  ‘That Rodney Walker didn’t murder your sister.’ She raised an eyebrow. ‘It’s a small town and people talk.’

  He looked towards the sea for a few seconds, as if working out his response, how much he should say. ‘Do you think his murder is connected to my sister’s case?’

  ‘We don’t know yet, but he came here and then ended up in Highford, where he was murdered.’

  He took a deep breath through his nose. ‘This makes it awkward for me. I know it’s my sister, but I can’t get involved because of the job. Nothing I can say or do will bring her back, and I’m the one who has to live in the here and now.’

  ‘Just tell me what you know. I don’t have to disclose that you told me.’

  He thought about that for a few seconds. ‘I’ve always thought it was strange that no one spoke up for him, Rodney Walker, not even himself.’

  ‘The jury said he killed your sister, and William not long before.’

  ‘And they got it wrong, you see, because I don’t think he did it.’

  Although she was expecting it, it was a hell of a thing to say. ‘Why?’

  ‘Because on the day Ruby went missing, I saw him. Rodney. He never left the park.’

  ‘You’re an eyewitness? Wow. Chris. I can call you Chris?’

  ‘Sure.’

  ‘Tell me what you told Mark Roberts.’

  He put his head back against the headrest. ‘I was only ten. I used to like the summer fair at the rugby club, because my dad was on the committee. He’d stopped playing by then, his medical practice taking up too much time, but he bore the scars. A mangled ear, a bent nose, but he loved that club. Every year, the summer fair was a big deal. I was hanging round the clubhouse and I could see Ruby running around. She felt safe, we thought she was safe, because our dad was king around there and we were in a familiar place. We spent so many Sunday mornings there, and I was old enough to remember my dad playing. I remember what Ruby was wearing as if I were seeing it on television. White jeans and a red belt, a pink Spice Girls t-shirt, and bright red shoes. She stood out. I knew Rodney as well, because I was at school with his daughter, and I saw him on the field, walking around.’

  ‘What was he doing?’

  ‘Just that, walking around. He was on his own, and he did look strange in some ways, examining the crowd. People said that’s how he was. Strange, always loitering and watching. The point is that he was there when Ruby was there, and he was still there when she was gone. I saw him when we were searching, because he was acting weird again, not joining in.’

  ‘Was that guilt?’ Jayne said. ‘He’d taken Ruby back to his garage and kept her there. He lived nearby, right behind the field. He could have been back and forth, deflecting suspicion, putting himself where the search was.’

  ‘That was the case theory, but I always knew that was wrong, because when I thought back, I realised he’d always been there. He’d been on the wrong side of the field to his house, too far away.’

  ‘You must have made a mistake. Why would you be watching him to remember him?’

  ‘For the same reason that everyone else thought he was guilty, that he was behaving weird, but that just meant I kept watching him. A classmate’s dad acting a bit mad, I was bound to watch him.’

  ‘Did you tell anyone about this?’

  ‘Of course I did, because I knew they had the wrong man. I told my mum, and I begged her to tell the police. She wouldn’t at first, too upset by what had happened, but she t
hought it would help me somehow. The police came to see me.’

  ‘Andrew Porter?’

  ‘That’s him. Our wonderful retired Chief Inspector. He wasn’t interested though. I was just a kid. By this time, Ruby’s body had been found and Rodney was locked up. There was no way they were going to let a ten-year-old kid ruin their case. As far as they were concerned, he’d murdered two children. I was told to stay quiet.’

  ‘And did you?’

  ‘Not privately, and I’ve told Porter since, once he retired, but he patronises me, just about pats me on the hand.’

  ‘And then Mark Roberts came along and you told him your story?’

  ‘That’s exactly it. I was at my parents’ house at the time, just clearing some stuff out, and he turned up wanting a quote.’ He smiled. ‘I gave him a little more. I told him my story. He was there just for background, but by the time he left he was wondering whether there was another story. A bigger one.’

  ‘How did Mark react?’

  ‘Sceptical at first, but he spoke to Porter and seemed to change his mind.’

  ‘How come?’

  ‘I don’t know, except that he started to get more excited about it. At last, there was someone who believed me.’

  ‘And now he’s been silenced.’

  ‘Yeah, funny that.’ He turned towards her. ‘Does that help you in any way?’

  ‘Yes, and no. It’s made everything more complicated, but I don’t know where to begin.’

  ‘With Porter. If you’re going to follow Mark Roberts’s trail, you follow it from me to him.’

  ‘I’ve got to speak to Rodney’s lawyer. What’s he like?’

  ‘Runs a one-man-band type of firm. Represents most of the local toe-rags, but I think he was out of his depth with Rodney.’

  ‘What about your parents? Will they talk to me?’

  Chris shook his head. ‘They’re convinced Rodney’s guilty. They won’t thank you for raking it up again.’

  ‘They were both doctors, so I was told. Do they both still practise?’

  ‘My father does. My mother gave it up. She was a GP but couldn’t stand the sympathy. She couldn’t do a surgery without someone wanting to tell her how they understood, but they didn’t. They never could. And the ones who stayed silent still saw her differently. Wary somehow.’ He furrowed his brow. ‘One more thing.’