He read.
I’m not mad but I don’t get it. You go on and on about how you’re going to do it, but then right at the end you bottle it. Last night, I knew you really wanted to, but again, here you are, for another cycle of misery.
He put the paper down. ‘She’s baiting him.’
‘Exactly. See what you make of this one then.’ She passed over another sheet, jabbing at where she’d made notes in the margin.
Just make a noose and stand on a chair. Once you start swinging, you can’t back out. A couple of minutes and it’s all done. No pain, except all the pain you’ll no longer have.
Dan raised it in the air. ‘How long after this did the boy kill himself?’
‘The same night. His parents went out, so he acted. Looped a tow rope around a beam in the garage, made a noose, and kicked himself off a chair, just like she instructed. And he was on the phone to her when he did it. That’s probably what stopped her from being prosecuted, because she told the police she’d been screaming at him not to do it, but he wouldn’t listen.’
‘And your guess is?’
‘She was encouraging him. But how can you prove it? She’s the only witness to the conversation. The rest got written off as two outsiders making stupid chatter. That’s not what his mother thinks, and it led to Leoni leaving the estate, which is when she moved to Highford. That’s why Mark Roberts was here. He was following Leoni’s trail, and I totally understand why. It’s a great angle, murderous genes. He’d been to see her mother, Rodney’s ex-wife, and he found out the same things I did. It makes total sense.’
‘And someone wanted to stop him.’
‘Exactly. And who’s the obvious person? Leoni Walker, that’s who. If he was pursuing her, she might have told him that she wanted to keep her identity a secret, so she’d meet him somewhere quiet and dark. It all fits.’
‘And it would explain why the laptop would go missing,’ Dan said, more animated now, his mind clearing. ‘Didn’t you say that a woman had been to the cottage where he’d stayed? We’d assumed that it was Barbara, but it might have been Leoni, looking for whatever evidence he’d found. She was getting rid of the evidence.’
Jayne grinned. ‘Damn, we’re good.’
He smiled. ‘We are,’ and then, ‘I’ve missed you. Us, I’ve missed us.’
That surprised her. ‘Me too, but there wasn’t really an us. Just me and you, separate.’
‘I don’t want it to be like that anymore.’
Jayne’s eyes narrowed. ‘This is the wine talking.’
‘No, it’s me talking because of the wine, but it’s what I think.’
Jayne thought of the previous times she’d tried to seduce him, and he’d always pulled away. She’d felt rejected, hurt. She didn’t want to feel that again.
But the desire had never gone away.
Jayne moved to stand next to him. ‘We’ve been close to this before. How do I know you won’t back away?’
He kissed her.
His lips were soft, tasted of stale wine, but she could feel his need in the urgency of his kiss.
She responded, her hand in his hair, the yearn inside wanting to make it happen too quickly.
She pulled away. ‘If you back off again, I’ll never speak to you again.’
‘Are you threatening me into bed?’
‘If that’s what it takes.’
‘This is a big step. It’ll change us.’
‘There’s something you’ve got to know first. About Chris and me and last night.’
‘I don’t need to know anything. If we do this, everything changes from now. The past won’t matter. Our past. Your past.’ He walked ahead and took her hand. ‘Come with me.’
She hesitated for a moment, before following him to the bedroom.
As he took off his top, she undressed slowly, strangely nervous.
This time, there was no going back.
Chapter Fifty-Two
Dan snapped awake. There was the sound of movement in his bedroom. He wasn’t sure if he’d heard it in his dream or if there was someone there. The room was in complete darkness, so he listened out, just to make sure. He glanced across to his alarm clock. Six-thirty.
He was about to go back to sleep when he heard someone stumble and mutter, ‘Shit.’
He sat upright and clicked on his light, ready to attack, his mind alert even if his body felt like it was moving too stiffly.
It was Jayne, holding her foot and wincing, squinting into the light.
She was wearing one of his T-shirts. Memories of the night before came back. Good memories.
He flopped back down and rubbed his eyes. ‘What are you doing?’
She sat on the bed and rubbed her foot. ‘I thought of something and I had to look into it, but I didn’t want to wake you. I’ve been working on it for an hour, and I was coming in to see if you were awake, and I bloody well stubbed my foot on the end of your bed.’
‘At this time?’
‘It was niggling me, something about this Leoni Walker thing, and my mind must have worked it out as I was sleeping.’
‘And you had to find out right now?’
She teased out the tangles in her hair. ‘What if I’d fallen asleep and forgotten?’
He put his head back and sighed. ‘I’m not going back to sleep, I can tell.’
She grinned and pulled the covers back to climb in. ‘It doesn’t mean I have to get up, if we’re staying awake.’
He laughed, despite his tiredness, and put his arm round her as she put her head on his chest. ‘I’d forgotten the chaos you bring, but just take it easy. We’re both bruised and battered.’
He felt her smile against his skin. ‘You miss it, admit it.’
‘I wasn’t the one who deserted us.’
‘There wasn’t an us, that was the problem.’
‘There was, in its own way. How is Manchester, anyway?’
She paused before she answered. ‘It’s not quite been the new start I’d hoped for.’
‘Perhaps I’ll follow you, now that I don’t appear to have a business. I could start again there. I’ll even make a job for you, if you want one.’
‘But I’ve fucked the boss now. Is that ethical?’
He teased her hair with his finger. ‘You’re making it sound as if I didn’t want this. Us. I’ve thought about it often but stopped myself. Last night was, well, what I always wanted, even if I never showed it.’
‘Me too.’
He kissed her on her head. ‘Tell me about this thought of yours.’
She moved off his chest and propped herself on her elbows. ‘You remember I said that Mark Roberts had followed the trail, from Brampton to Leoni and all the way to Highford, because it was my theory that Mark was writing about how murder runs in the family? Well, another reason occurred to me, but I just couldn’t put it all together, as if the answer was there swirling around me but I was unable to grab it.’
‘And now you have?’
‘It jerked me awake and it made so much sense.’
‘Do we need coffee for this?’
‘No, I like it like this.’
‘Spill then.’
She shuffled around to make herself more comfortable. ‘Last night, I said that Mark must have been writing about how murder runs in the family, but that must be wrong if Mark got all excited when he was in Brampton about Rodney being innocent, because if Rodney didn’t murder anyone, there’s no bad gene to pass down. This meant it had to be something else.’
‘But you also said that Mark may not have had any clear idea what he was writing about, that it was a first draft and he was still working it out, changing his ideas.’
‘I was both wrong and right the first time.’
‘It’s very early for all of this and my brain can’t quite work out what you’re talking about.’
‘It’s simple. Mark followed Leoni to Highford, and whatever he found out cost him his life. At the same time, he thinks Rodney is innocent. He’s alwa
ys thought that.’
Dan sat upright and rubbed his eyes. ‘It feels like you’re going somewhere with this, make it quick.’
‘Come on, seriously? It’s so obvious. It was Leoni. It was her. Was always her.’
‘It was her who did what?’
‘She killed those children.’
‘What? Shit, is that what you’re really saying? Seriously? No.’
She wagged her finger. ‘You’re getting it now. Why else would Mark Roberts think that Rodney was innocent? Because he’d discovered that someone else must have done it. And who else? Rodney was arrested because his car was near where Ruby’s body was buried, and because Ruby’s belt and blood were found in his garage and in his car, so we know it was someone in that house. And don’t forget William’s blood on the seat belt clasp. The police thought it was Rodney buckling in one of the children, but what if it was a child all the time? The blood was there because it was on Leoni’s hands.’
‘Perhaps Rodney is guilty and Mark was getting it wrong?’
‘It’s possible, but we know other things too. Ruby’s brother thinks he’s innocent.’
‘Chris?’
She pulled a face. ‘Yes, him. He saw Rodney on the rugby field when his sister was missing. He was persuaded not to say anything, but he still believes it.’
‘How old was Leoni then?’
‘Ten.’
‘You’re saying that Rodney covered up for murders committed by a ten-year-old girl?’
‘It’s happened before with children that young. That’s what I’ve been doing, researching child murderers. And we know something else about Leoni. She’s been implicated in another death. The suicide in Wakefield. Pushed and pushed until he hanged himself. Think about it and it makes so much sense. Leoni is a killer and she’s never stopped. She’s just got more subtle.’
‘And Rodney?’
‘Covering up for her. Prison and everything. He’s as guilty as her, in his own way. He knew she’d committed the first murder and didn’t say anything. How does a father cope with that? And then he buried the body of a small girl, almost kept her away from her family forever. He was a coward.’
‘But not a murderer?’
‘No, not a killer.’
Dan wanted to tell her to stop getting carried away, that ten-year-old girls don’t commit murder, but he knew that wasn’t correct.
‘All right, come on, let’s look at this.’
Jayne grinned and bounded towards the door. ‘I’ll put the kettle on as you get dressed. On one condition though.’
‘Which is what?’
‘That when we’ve looked, we go back to bed. We’ve waited too long for this.’
As she closed the door, he stretched and laughed to himself. Jayne made his life more complicated somehow, but she always made it more interesting.
And he was loving every minute of it.
Chapter Fifty-Three
Porter threw the ball again and watched as Freddie scampered after it. His pleasure was so simple, the unbridled joy of a spaniel, his tongue lolling as he ran, growling at the ball, before bringing it back to him, dropping it on the floor and panting.
The walk usually invigorated him, whatever time of year. Either during the bitter winds of winter or in the brighter days of summer, the long sweep of the headland and the constant swell of the tide made him glad he’d never moved away. It used to be his favourite part of the day, alone with his thoughts and memories, basking in the glow of his favourite part of the world.
But, today, it felt hollow.
He picked up the ball and put it in his pocket. He wasn’t in the mood for the game. Instead, he wandered towards the cliff edge, ragged and uneven, eroding every year. The tarmac path that had once been a long way from it was now at risk of tumbling to the sand and pebbles below.
The sea spread out in front of him, growing as he got closer, occupying his whole view. There was a boat in the far distance, one of the Russian factory ships that anchored off the coast sometimes. The town was in the distance, the grey churn of the sea pounding against the sea wall, brightened by white spray.
His town. He’d dedicated his working life to keeping it safe. Did that count for anything when he looked back? He’d once thought it had, but when he looked at himself now, he was just another old man walking his dog. Life carried on and all he’d seen had faded into history.
And all that he’d learned couldn’t be erased.
He patted his thigh to beckon Freddie towards him before setting off for home.
His head was down most of the way, lost in thought. Freddie sensed it, not playing and yapping like normal but just trudging alongside.
When Porter got in, he went straight to the living room and sat down.
Linda was watching television, her legs curled up on the sofa, glued to some reality show about people competing to be the best at whatever hobby they had. They’d each found their own space, their need to be together long gone.
She pressed the pause button and eyed him with curiosity. ‘What’s going on?’
‘What do you mean?’
‘You never sit in here. This is our life. You sit in your room, with your sport and your films, and this is mine, for what I want to watch. But you’re sitting there, your coat on, swinging that dog lead like there’s something you want to tell me.’
Freddie slumped at his feet. He leaned forward to stroke his head and said, ‘We had good careers, didn’t we?’
‘What are you talking about?’
‘Just that. You were a good teacher. I was a good copper. Our kids are great, all making their way in the world. We did the right things, tried to live good lives, so we’ve every right to be proud.’
She clicked off the television. ‘Andrew, what is going on?’
‘I was just musing, looking back. Tell me this though: why was I a good copper?’
She furrowed her brow before answering, ‘Because you saw your job as a service to the community, not just a job. You were honest. You wanted to protect people.’
‘Were you proud of me?’
‘Of course I was, the same as you were proud of me.’
‘And that’s important, isn’t it, to do the right thing, to protect people?’
‘That’s why you did it.’
‘But what if trying to protect the community means doing the wrong thing?’
She eyed him closely before saying, ‘That’s different. You start by doing the right thing and see where it leads you.’
‘But what if it threatens what we have?’
‘Andrew, what is it? Are you being blackmailed or threatened?’
He shook his head. ‘Just thinking.’
‘Well, don’t, if it means you forget about what is most important to you. Your family, what we have. No, damn, what we are, and what your children think of you. I don’t know what’s troubling you, what old case has jumped up again, but what is in the past can’t be changed. I get it, policing got rough sometimes, but it was a different time. If you did the wrong thing, even if for the right reason, it’s too late to change it. You can’t go back.’
‘And what if other people are trying to do it, to look again at the past?’
She sat forward, her gaze harder now. ‘You decide what’s the most important. Righting some long-forgotten wrong, or protecting those closest to you, because all you have left is us.’
He stood and went to take off his coat. ‘Thank you. Your pupils must have got a lot from you. And our kids.’
‘Andrew, what’s going on?’
‘Nothing. Just looking back.’
As he closed the door and listened as the television went back on, he wondered at his next step. Dare he take it?
More importantly, dare he not take it?
Chapter Fifty-Four
As Dan went into the living room, he saw the remnants of the night before. There were papers scattered across the floor, dirty glasses alongside. His computer was on, the light on his printer blinking r
ed. She’d used up all the paper.
At least the place looked lived in.
He caught his reflection in a mirror. His hair was dishevelled and there were dark rings under his eyes, his stubble showing. It was too early for this.
He opened the curtains. ‘Let’s have some light,’ he said, before wincing at the brightness of the sun, low and sharp along the water, the old mill further along the canal still in silhouette.
She passed him a coffee and told him to sit down. ‘You’re very good at telling me what to do. Now, it’s my turn.’
He did as he was ordered, as Jayne knelt on the floor to gather up the papers before she joined him on the sofa.
‘I know you think the idea of Leoni killing children is crazy, but it’s nothing new,’ she said, waving the papers at him. ‘Children have been killing other children for centuries. We’ve all heard of James Bulger, tortured and killed by two angel-faced ten-year-olds. That was just a few years before Rodney’s case, but there are so many others. Take Mary Bell.’
‘I’ve heard of her, but don’t know much about her.’
‘Oh, she was a real young psycho. She killed two small boys: one, four years old, and the other, three. This was back in the sixties, in Newcastle, when she was just eleven. It was sadistic stuff, and she revelled in it. She went to the home of the first boy she killed, and when she was told that he was dead, she asked to see him in his coffin. She’d scratched her initials into the body of the three-year-old. Can you imagine that, at eleven?’
‘What reason did she give?’
‘She didn’t really, but she had a really bad upbringing. Neglected by her parents, abused at times by clients who paid for sex with her mother, but that doesn’t explain everything. She lived in a poor part of town, with a lot of people having social problems, but they didn’t go around killing toddlers. Mary was different though. Cold, manipulative. Do you know what she said to the guards who were looking after her? “I like hurting things that can’t fight back.” Can you imagine that? Look at Mary Bell and then look at Leoni Walker and the pattern fits. William and Ruby were both younger than her, less able to fight back. And what about the boy who killed himself? Quiet, sensitive, a victim of school bullies. His whole life was about not fighting back.’
The Innocent Ones Page 23
