Rodney smiled, his gaze wary. ‘I’m not telling you who she is. Nothing could come of it, and I made a promise to her.’
‘And your children still suffer.’
‘I can’t change that. Just think how they would feel if they found out that I’d sacrificed their happiness for another woman. Perhaps I went down a road I should have avoided, but now that I’m down it, things are best left how they are. Choices, Mr Grant, choices. That’s what we do in our lives. We make decisions, we pick a side, and we live with it. Like I’m doing.’
‘You haven’t told me much though. You’ve said you were framed and you’d been at a woman’s house you won’t name, but that’s it.’
‘That’s all there is to say.’
‘Do you see your children much?’
Rodney clenched his jaw. ‘Who would bring them to me?’
‘Whoever they went to live with.’
‘Their lives are better where they are. Leave them alone.’ He turned to wave at one of the guards. ‘We’re done here.’
Dan was taken aback by the sudden change.
Rodney stood up and began to walk out of the room, a guard walking to meet him.
Dan stood too but shouted after him. ‘You’re lying.’
Rodney stopped and turned.
Dan raised a finger towards him. ‘You’ve had twenty years and that’s the best you’ve got. You won’t name anyone, and you deflect, nothing more.’
‘I didn’t kill those children.’
‘But you’ll do nothing to prove that?’
‘My choice. Goodbye, Mr Grant.’ And with that he turned back towards the door and the waiting guard.
As he watched him go, Dan sighed. He didn’t believe Rodney Walker. He just didn’t know whether it mattered or not.
Chapter Thirty-Six
Dan pondered his visit to the prison as he loitered close to Carl Ogden’s house once more, this time in a small alley.
He’d avoided the office since his return to Highford, knowing that Barbara would be hankering for an update. It seemed like he’d spent the afternoon driving, so he’d gone straight home before returning to wait for Oggy. He’d watched the street succumb to darkness due to the absence of a street light, broken repeatedly to create a dangerous space in the shortcut from the bus stop on the main road to the estate. Dan had expected the area to be prowled by young men with not much to do, but it had started to rain, which must have kept them indoors.
He’d changed his clothes, in a dark hoody that he sometimes jogged in, and trainers, because he wanted to remain silent. He was waiting for Oggy, because he knew he was the key to it all. He was the one person in Highford who’d broken cover.
He’d been there for more than an hour, and was thinking of giving up, not sure if Oggy was there, when a door opened. There was a street light further along, and as the figure moved along the path to the street, Dan saw the same trousers as the night before, with OGGY in white down his leg. Forever the idiot.
Oggy had his coat zipped right up and he was huddled under a baseball cap, his shoulders bunched, the rain getting harder.
Dan stepped out of the shadows and began to follow.
Oggy was fifty yards ahead, Dan trying to keep pace, but not so close that he’d be noticed. He was helped by the rain. It gave him an excuse to keep his head down and it kept Oggy’s focus to the front.
They passed a parade of shops, some boarded up. A small supermarket protected by metal grilles. A betting shop, the lights inside bright, men on machines, blindly throwing in the little they had. A chip shop. There was a pub at the end, and Dan had dealt with many cases from there. Fights, stabbings, or the police raiding it occasionally, with most of the shoplifting staples, like bacon, coffee and cheese, sold in there, young addicts going from table to table. The other shops, the greengrocers and bakers, had long since closed down and never been replaced. Oggy kept on going though.
Dan was pleased about that. If Oggy had been merely going out for some cigarettes, Dan would have had to pass him and keep walking, his head down, hoping not to be noticed. He wanted to know where Oggy went, not where he shopped.
The street at the end crossed a piece of wasteland that had once been a factory but was now a spread of broken concrete and long grass, longer than a football field, with metal struts in places. It was in complete darkness, the terraced streets on the other side a distant glow. Oggy was heading for it.
Dan thought about stopping and turning back, but he’d come too far. He didn’t see Oggy as a physical threat, because he remembered how he’d backed down when Dan had stood up to him earlier that day. And Dan knew how people like Oggy thought. They spent their lives trying to avoid getting caught for whatever scam they were running. His first instinct would always be to run, to stay away.
The wasteland made it seem too obvious that he was following though. Walking along a street was a natural event. Crossing wasteland when fifty yards behind was another thing altogether.
But if he wanted to know who Oggy was speaking for, he had to do it.
Dan tried to keep to the edges, using the shadows of nearby fences to keep watch, Oggy taking a more direct line along a trampled route, what had now become a shortcut between two sections of town. He was heading for the streets beyond, not a clandestine meeting on the waste ground. At least that meant he could creep around less and just get to where Oggy was going.
There was a short alley leading from the open space to the terraced streets, which rose up the hillside in straight lines, a former access point for the factory. Oggy disappeared into it.
Dan jogged around the edges, separated from the pavement by a wall that had tumbled down in places, not wanting to be far behind, because Oggy could soon lose himself in the alleyways or disappear into one of the houses before Dan had the chance to see which one.
The wall got higher as it got closer to the brick terraces, so Dan couldn’t see where Oggy had gone. He sped up. The long grass made his trousers wet and the ground was slippery underfoot. He worried about stumbling over a discarded piece of metal, his night ending with a twisted ankle, but he reached the edge of the alleyway and flattened himself against the wall. He looked more like a crook than the person he was following, and he half‑expected to see blue flashing lights, the police there to investigate his activities following an anonymous call.
He took a few deep breaths, fear fluttering his stomach, before peering round the corner of the wall. The sound of rain was heavy on his jacket, his hands slick on the bricks. The streets came into view slowly, the wet tarmac reflecting the orange glow of the street lights. Cars lined the kerb, nose to bumper, half on the pavements, just feet from the front doors.
Oggy was gone.
Dan straightened and cursed to himself. How could he have gone so far so quickly?
There was a noise behind him, footsteps rushing, more than one set.
He tried to turn, but they were on him before he could do anything, punches to his head knocking him to the ground. He landed heavily, but straight away his fight instinct took over, kicking out with his feet, shouting, scrambling backwards.
He realised it was a trap, that they’d been waiting for him. But there wasn’t much time to think of anything else. Someone came at him and kicked out, and a heavily booted foot thudded into the side of his head.
The world blurred as he groaned and flopped backwards. His head cracked on the ground.
The sounds were indistinct now. They were near him, yet it sounded as if they were far away. He was jolted as someone went through his pockets. His mind urged him to push them away, but his body didn’t respond. His face was wet, but it was more than rain. As he tried to wipe his face, the moisture was warmer, slicker.
Whoever was there stood, happy with what they had.
Dan hoisted himself onto his haunches, grunting, but someone laughed, before launching another kick, catching him in the ribs, making him cough out the last of his air.
He fell to the floor and knew
that the battle was lost before it had ever really got started. He rested his forehead on the wet ground and wished for it to end, but someone grabbed his hair and yanked his head upwards. That was when he saw it.
The glint of a sharp blade.
Dan tried to pull away and scrabble to his feet again, but he was still too dazed. His eyes regained some focus just in time to see a fist heading towards him.
His vision exploded into white flashes. All he could hear was the sound of the blood in his head moving quickly and the rasp of his breaths. The ground was cold and wet against his face, but he was unable to move.
He tried to open his eyes, but he couldn’t. He couldn’t make his body do anything he wanted.
Then there was what felt like a punch to his side, but he knew it was more than that, from the way his skin felt suddenly wet under his clothes. He remembered the knife, but he couldn’t fight against it.
The world began to fade, and he wondered about Jayne. He’d brought her into this. He had to get her to stay away.
And then he stopped thinking altogether.
Chapter Thirty-Seven
Jayne was surprised at how nervous she’d been as she got ready. She hadn’t brought many clothes, and certainly nothing for what she’d call a date.
Was it a date? She was unsure, but the flutters in her stomach told her how she was thinking about it.
She’d paused with the foundation and make-up brush, wanting to conceal her bruises and black eye, but in the end she thought it would look worse, that she was covering up for a man’s violence. She’d done enough of that in the past and didn’t want the evening ruined by sideways glances and whispers from the other tables.
She arrived late to the restaurant, a fish restaurant, on the other side of the harbour to her hotel, and he’d been staring out of the floor-to-ceiling windows towards the fishing boats twinkling and swaying in the darkness, strings of lights moving like Christmas trees in the breeze.
He behaved like a gentleman, standing when she approached the table and taking her coat. He’d already ordered the wine, white, but she didn’t mind the small acts of chivalry. Against a history of violence and a succession of meaningless one-night stands, it felt sort of charming.
The evening had been small talk at first, just jokes about other people in the restaurant and then chatter about cases Chris had been involved in. It was as if they were avoiding the subject of why Jayne was in Brampton.
They were halfway through the main course – fish, of course – when her attention was drawn again to the harbour. There were shouts and bangs as the catches were thrown onto the pier, a spotlight glaring. Gulls cried overhead, as always, looking for scraps and throwaways.
Chris followed her gaze. ‘Not as many as there used to be. There were plenty of trawlers when I was growing up, and I’ve heard tales of how wild it got when they returned from seven days out at sea, but it just became too hard to make a living.’
‘The world changes.’
‘But does it improve? This town used to be vibrant. Now, it’s all pubs and second-hand shops.’
‘It’s not too great away from here. The place where I used to live, Highford, is just like this, except it doesn’t get the sea views.’
‘Where is it?’
‘In the hills. That’s the best way to describe it. It’s a place you chance upon rather than choose to go there.’
‘You said used to.’
‘I headed for the bright city lights. Manchester.’
‘Is it what you expected?’
She pulled a face. ‘It’s as if everyone else gets the brightness. I’m not sure I’ve found what I’m looking for yet.’
‘I get the feeling that Brampton isn’t it.’
She smiled. ‘I can see why people like it. It’s pretty and scenic. A bit cut off from everywhere though, and I want to go somewhere that isn’t always battling against hard times.’
‘You could leave Manchester.’
‘You could leave Brampton.’
As they ate, Chris talked about Brampton, what it had been like to grow up there, just filling in the gaps in conversation. Jayne enjoyed listening to him. She liked his enthusiasm, the way his eyes lit up when he spoke, even if she knew it covered a deep sadness over his sister. Jayne started to think further ahead, wondering what would happen when the meal ended. She knew which way she wanted it to go.
Chris sat back and took a drink of wine. ‘Let’s talk about you.’
She laughed. ‘No, let’s not.’
‘Come on. What made you become an investigator?’
She looked towards the boats again, not yet ready to disclose her history. There was something calming about him, though, reassuring. And he was attractive too, his teeth white and straight, his eyes bright whenever he smiled. She didn’t think telling him how her last boyfriend had ended up on the wrong end of the knife she was holding would be a good way to spend the evening.
‘I was at a loose end,’ she said. ‘I knew a lawyer and he suggested it.’ It was a version of the truth.
‘And how do you find it?’
‘Like most jobs, sometimes routine, sometimes interesting. I’d taken some time away from it, working in a supermarket, but my services were needed again, so ta-da, here I am. Now it’s my turn. Did you join the police because of Ruby?’
He let out a deep sigh. ‘I saw what one person’s violence can do to a family. The victim isn’t the only one who’s hurt. My parents were never the same. They became vacant. That’s the only way I can describe it. Whoever killed her took away a part of them, and me, and that piece is never put back. All it takes is something on the news about a missing child, or Ruby’s birthday or Christmas, and my mother cries. Not in front of me, because she pretends that life moves on, because that’s what everyone says, that time heals, but it doesn’t. She got used to the pain, that’s all, but it’s always there, just beneath the surface.’
Jayne reached out and put her hand over his. He looked at it for a few moments before putting his other hand on hers. His grip was strong. She blushed, which surprised her.
‘And your father?’
‘He became reflective. That’s the best way I can describe it. In the same way that my mother cries, he goes for long walks or stares into the garden. He became smaller when she was killed. Not physically, but in himself, because in his eyes he’d failed in the one thing he thinks he should have done, and that was to protect Ruby.’
‘And you wanted to protect others, by joining the police?’
‘That was the idea. I’ve learned that it isn’t as simple as that. People are complicated and too many see us as the problem, not the solution.’
‘But you still help some. You can’t rescue everyone, just like your father couldn’t protect Ruby from everything. Sometimes life just turns out badly. You can’t make plans. Like this, tonight,’ and she squeezed his hand, ‘I thought I was coming to some small dead-end town, and here I am, enjoying a meal with you.’
‘I’m enjoying it too.’ He leaned in. ‘Where next? Brampton doesn’t have much of a nightlife.’
‘Do you live far away?’
‘A short walk.’
‘Let’s get a bottle and go to yours.’
‘I don’t normally feel attracted to people with black eyes and swollen cheekbones.’
‘Just be gentle with me,’ she said, and laughed as she scraped her chair back.
They didn’t say much as they walked. He put his arm round her. She pushed him away. ‘Don’t squeeze my ribs.’
They held hands instead, tentative and shy, until they reached his small cottage on a narrow crescent, with small windows and low doors.
‘It’s an old fisherman’s cottage,’ he said, as he took her coat and hung it up. ‘Built before the Victorian tourist boom.’
‘I like it. Quaint.’
As she walked into the room, the first thing she saw was a picture of Ruby, who she recognised from her Internet research. It was the prominent p
icture in the house.
She went over to it.
Ruby looked so innocent, in a patterned dress, sitting in long meadow grass. The sunlight behind her made her hair glow.
‘That was a month before she was murdered,’ he said, coming up behind her. ‘Mum and Dad arranged for a photographer to take the pictures. She was so pretty, my mum thought she could be a child model, which is why they had the photographs done.’
‘What did Ruby think of that?’
‘She was a young child. She didn’t think much about anything.’
‘I’m sorry.’
‘What are sorry for you?’
‘For your loss.’
He took her hands. ‘It was a long time ago. I keep her picture there to remember the good times, not the grief that followed. It’s… what’s the word? Cathartic, that’s it.’ He pulled her away from the picture. ‘I’ve got some wine in the fridge. I’ll get some glasses.’
‘Wine can wait.’ And she kissed him, standing on her tiptoes to reach him.
His kiss was gentle as he responded, until Jayne’s became firmer, her need driving her, wanting him to take her to his bed, to feel her body on his, his hands pinning hers down.
As he led her upstairs, neither of them said a word.
Chapter Thirty-Eight
Dan became aware of movement around him. There was a light in his face and hands were on him.
He grimaced and tried to roll over, an instinctive reaction, but someone pushed him back down again. Pain flashed across his forehead.
‘It’s all right,’ a voice said. ‘Stay still.’
As the world came into view, he felt the steady rock of an ambulance as someone clambered into it.
‘What’s going on?’ His voice was a croak.
‘We’re taking you to hospital. You can tell us what happened. What’s your name?’
Dan knew it, or at least he thought he did, but it eluded him for a moment, like grasping at shadows. He thought hard until he remembered it. ‘Dan. Dan Grant.’
‘What day is it, Dan?’
The Innocent Ones Page 17
