Cruelty Has A Human Heart: A DCI Will Blake Novel (DCI Will Blake Crime Mystery Thrillers Book 4)

by J. E. Mayhew

  “Of course,” Percival said, breathing out slowly. “Forgive me, I didn’t mean to berate you. It’s just that she’s such a trusting little child. If anything happened, I’d never forgive myself.”

  “So, can you tell me a little about Samantha?”

  “Yes. I was never sure quite how she snared Paul. I mean she was pretty enough, but she had none of the social graces that he had. She came from a different circle entirely…”

  “A different circle?”

  “Socially. Paul is a merchant banker, we sent him to a good school. Samantha’s family are from the North End of Birkenhead, shop workers with no education. She only had to open her mouth at the golf club, and everyone knew she didn’t belong there.”

  “I see,” Blake said, suppressing his distaste at Percival’s snobbery. “So Samantha never fitted in with Paul’s friends?”

  “There was something odd about her from the start but, we didn’t find out until later.”

  “Find out what?”

  “She had epilepsy, Mr Blake. She kept it quiet from Paul and all of us. I mean it was controlled by medication but to keep that quiet…”

  Blake shrugged. Percival’s lack of care towards his daughter-in-law was beginning to grate. “Some might say that it was none of your business, Mr Percival and how does that have any bearing on her personality?”

  “Well, it didn’t until she found out she was pregnant and came off her medication. The absence seizures became very apparent. She would stare off into space as if she was in another world. It was so embarrassing.”

  “Embarrassing? Forgive me, Mr Percival, but that strikes me as a harsh judgement. I’d imagine Samantha found it more distressing.”

  “She never realised until we told her later,” Percival snorted. “She went back on the medication when Flossy was born but apparently these things are finely balanced and whatever caused her absences was hard to control.”

  “So she went to this clinic to get her seizures back under control?”

  “Oh it got much worse than that, Mr Blake. We could put up with her condition, but she became moody and depressed. Couldn’t handle the baby. Paul found her having an absence whilst bathing the poor mite. Florence could have drowned. We suspected that she was hurting Florence, too. There were bruises and cuts she couldn’t explain.”

  “Did you contact Social Services?”

  “No. Of course we didn’t. Paul didn’t want social workers traipsing in and out of the house telling him what to do. We tried a succession of nannies to assist Samantha, but she became obsessed with the idea that they were sleeping with Paul. There was no reasoning with her. She became hysterical. It became untenable. Finally, Paul persuaded her to check herself into The Pines Clinic.”

  “You didn’t consult your local GP first?”

  “The clinicians at The Pines are the best money can buy, Paul found the place himself.” Roland Percival looked darkly at Blake. “Quite how she’s got out, I don’t know.”

  “Do you think she’ll come back here?”

  “She’s a Wirral girl, Mr Blake. Where else would she go? This is where her family are. And her child.”

  “And if Samantha has got Florence?”

  “Then I genuinely fear for Flossy’s safety. She’s unhinged, God knows what she is capable of. Time is running out for her.”

  *****

  He sat alone in the bedroom with his head in his hands. It had been even better than the last time. The real thing. Not one of his twisted fantasies. So why did he feel so guilty? It was perfectly natural. There are those who would say it was immoral, but they were trapped in the dark ages. It had been fun at first. They were both laughing and playing. But then it had all gone wrong.

  Suddenly she hadn’t liked it. Wanted it to stop but it was too late for that. He was already on his way, so to speak. Now she was gone. And she wasn’t coming back.

  Tears coursed down his cheeks, even as his heart thumped at the memory of what had just happened. What was he going to do?

  Chapter 6

  Bodies crammed the Major Incident Room. Blake felt the usual tumble of nerves in his gut. He could cope with most things, but a missing child was his worst nightmare. He wanted to find Flossy Percival right away. There were systems in place to make searches more efficient and likely to succeed but galvanising large groups into action felt like wading through treacle.

  DC Andrew Kinnear sat in his usual seat alongside DI Kath Cryer. Kath was a large bubbly woman with a voice that set Blake’s teeth on edge, but she had a sharp mind and Blake valued her incisive observations. DS Vikki Chinn leaned against a wall close by and DC Alex Manikas stood next to her, silent and watchful as ever. The rest of the group consisted of detectives and uniformed officers all chatting and checking through papers. This was a big operation and could go national if Samantha Percival had taken Florence out of the area. If it was the mother who had taken the little girl and not some random child abductor. Blake shuddered at the thought. He would need every officer on this case and time was against them.

  “Okay people, listen up,” Blake said, clapping his hands. As ever he immediately felt ridiculous doing that, as if he was a primary school teacher bringing a class to order. Nobody else seemed to worry and the room settled down. “Three-year-old Florence Percival went missing earlier this morning in Birkenhead Park. Her nanny, Brendan Dockley got a bit too involved with his phone and when he looked up, the girl had vanished.”

  “Any witnesses, sir?” DS Vikki Chinn asked.

  “Two boys from Birkenhead Park School. Apparently, they were bunking off and saw Dockley running about screaming. Apart from that, nobody seems to have seen anything. Alex, can you and Vikki speak to the two boys, see what you can find out? Also, check any CCTV on Ashville Road and the surrounding area.”

  Manikas nodded. “Will do.”

  “We need to put out an appeal, too.”

  “Local media have been contacted, sir,” Kinnear said.

  “Are we putting any pressure on this Dockley character?” Kath Cryer asked. “Last one to see her. Just saying.”

  “Yes, that does merit further investigation, Kath. I think we need to question Dockley further and do a background check on him. We have a team searching the house but I don’t think he realises he’s a suspect yet. I’m still struggling with the fact that his phone held his attention more than the child did, even though he knew she was prone to running off.”

  “What about the father, sir?” Manikas said. “Isn’t it a bit weird that he’s gone off the radar? There’s something going on there, surely.”

  “I know, Alex. I wouldn’t normally put a public request for information out before parents are aware but as both of them are AWOL, I don’t have any choice. Florence’s grandparents are trying to get in touch with Paul Percival. Hopefully he’ll surface somewhere soon.”

  “What about the mother, sir?”

  “She assaulted her doctor and stole a white BMW 5 series saloon. The registration is distinctive, D0C 60. Guess who owned the car.”

  “Classy,” Kath Cryer said, sniffing. “I never get personalised registration numbers.”

  “I think they’re cool,” Kinnear said.

  Kath gave Kinnear a nudge. “You would, soft lad. Waste of money, I reckon.” Blake allowed himself a smile. It always surprised him that those two got on, now. They’d been at each other’s throats until Kath took a bullet for Kinnear. Since then, they seemed to have a secret code which meant that Cryer could needle Kinnear and give him a hard time or the other way around but nobody else could. Cryer had become quite protective of Kinnear. Apparently, Kath and her boyfriend had even been out on the town with Kinnear and his husband.

  “We’re searching for the car and Police Scotland are keen to have a word with Samantha about pinning the doctor’s hand to a desk with a paper knife. I’m concerned that the mother has come down to Wirral and has taken Florence, but we need to keep an open mind, too. Apparently, she poses a threat to the littl
e girl but so might other personalities in the area. Alex can you speak to the doctor at The Pines Clinic?”

  Alex Manikas nodded and made a note.

  “You want me to organise a check of known paedophiles in the area, boss?” Kath said. Blake could see the fire in her eyes and wondered for a moment whether it was wise to let her loose. Mind you, he couldn’t think of anyone better to do the job thoroughly.

  “Yes please, Kath. Tread carefully, though. If the public get wind of any suggestion that we’re pulling-in known paedos there’ll be a lynch mob.”

  Kath nodded. “Don’t worry, I’ll be discreet.”

  “We’ve got door-to-door going on and the park is being combed for any evidence. The press is going to be in on this and we want their help. I assume we have up-to-date photographs of Florence.”

  “All sorted, sir,” Kinnear said, holding up a picture of the girl. “Roland Percival supplied this one. It was only taken last week after she had her hair cut.”

  “Great. We’ll need one of the parents, too. We need to find them but remember, try not to give the impression that they are suspects. I’ll be making a statement to go out as soon as possible. Right. Let’s get going. We need to find this little girl as quickly as possible.”

  *****

  Dr Gillespie sounded more than a little peeved to be talking to the police again. Alex Manikas heard the man’s frustrated sigh and felt his heart sink a little. It was hard to get information out of a witness after the fourth or fifth retelling and often, all you got was a version of events that seemed rehearsed or learnt off by heart rather than a genuine account.

  “I’m sorry to trouble you with this again, Dr Gillespie but we’re concerned that Samantha Percival will be heading our way and we need all the information we can get. Could you tell me in your own words what happened?”

  “I don’t see why you can’t read the local police reports, detective but if you insist, I’ll do my best. Samantha has been with us for several months, almost a year, in fact and, whilst making some progress, she had relapsed recently…”

  “What was the nature of her complaint?”

  “Paranoia and delusion. She was convinced that we were holding her captive. All we were asking her to do was meet with the Percival family to discuss what was in her best interests before she made any decisions. She could have discharged herself at any time. There was no need to assault me and steal my car. I have nerve damage in my left hand now and I’m in great pain, not to mention the trauma of being attacked.”

  “What about her epilepsy?”

  “We mainly treat mental illnesses, detective. Epilepsy isn’t a mental illness. We worked with Samantha’s own doctors and managed to control her absences. It was easier once she had a regular routine. Hormones, stress and broken sleep patterns can upset medication regimes, but Samantha’s condition wasn’t intractable.”

  “Was Samantha normally a violent woman?”

  “I have a hole in my hand, detective,” Gillespie said. Manikas tried not to let the man’s tone grate on him. “You’d take that as a sign of a violent nature, would you not?”

  “I mean was she in the habit of being violent? In circumstances that maybe didn’t warrant it?”

  “The Percival family did report that she was apt to fly off the handle but we didn’t see any major sign of that until the other day,” Gillespie said, grudgingly. As an afterthought, he added, “of course there were the marks on the wee bairn…”

  “Florence, her daughter? Was there evidence that Samantha had hurt the little girl?”

  “I never met the child but there were reports of bruising and cuts. Paul Percival had saved the girl from drowning in the bath…”

  “But that wasn’t a violent outburst, was it? She was having an absence seizure, right?”

  “Perhaps,” Gillespie conceded. “But we saw moments of irritation, flashes of annoyance here, too.”

  “So, in your opinion, does Samantha Percival pose a risk to her daughter?”

  “Without a doubt. If she’s troubled enough to drive a paper knife through my hand, I would say she could easily harm her daughter, either intentionally or by accident. If she has taken Florence, then I would be deeply concerned.”

  “What about Samantha’s family? Do you have any contact with them, at all?”

  “Why would I speak with them?” the doctor sounded irritated. “It was the Percivals who paid for her care. As far as I know, Samantha’s family had no interest in her. I don’t really see what they would have contributed.”

  Alex concluded the phone call and stared thoughtfully at the file. A paperclip held a picture of Sam Percival to the inside cover alongside one of Florence. Samantha had her tobacco brown hair in tight ringlets in the picture, whereas Florence’s was wrestled into two short pigtails. There was no denying the family resemblance. They had the same round face, the same frown line between the eyebrows and the same intense, dark eyes. “I wonder where you both are,” Alex muttered, quietly.

  Chapter 7

  Of the five hundred or so sex offenders in the area, Kath Cryer had narrowed her list down to just ten men. Most of the people on the register had been charged with offences that didn’t involve children, many were sexual assault or exposure or even couples up to shenanigans in local parks or the backs of cars. Of the offenders likely to be a risk to children, some were currently being held at her majesty’s pleasure. Only three had attempted to abduct a child in the past. One of those had recently come out of prison and lived fairly local to the park.

  Kath shivered. She had a particular dislike of this kind of offender. Many criminals were people who got caught up in wrongdoing. They made bad choices but didn’t necessarily set out to be a thief or even a murderer. There was something particularly insidious about a predatory paedophile. In her book, they were people who deliberately chose to harm innocent children. They didn’t stumble into it and it caused huge amounts of damage. She knew that from personal experience. People like that didn’t deserve a quiet life or a second chance in her book. She’d pass some of the names onto the team but she wanted to eyeball this one who had just got out of the clink herself.

  She printed off the list of names and addresses and stood up. “Right, I’m off to ruffle a few feathers,” she said to Kinnear who sat at the next desk squinting at a computer screen. “Wish me luck.”

  “Have fun,” Kinnear said.

  “Oh, I will,” she muttered and headed for the car park.

  It was raining outside, a cold November drizzle. Liverpool buzzed with activity as people hurried to get their Christmas shopping. Kath hadn’t even started hers. She pushed that thought away. It’d all get done somehow. Not that Theo, her partner would help much. He was a last-minute online shopper. Kath’s present had arrived on January the fifth last time. It was a bread maker. Dozy bugger. She grinned. He could have got one of them from Argos and saved himself the earache she gave him. Not that she even wanted a bread maker. They’d passed it on to a friend as a wedding present three months later.

  Kath looked at the name of the recently fledged jailbird. Leonard Hill. He had been in prison up until a few months ago and lived out on the Woodchurch Estate, just a few minutes’ drive from Birkenhead. He was the suspect who lived nearest to the crime scene. In Kath’s mind, it was just possible that he couldn’t resist temptation on his doorstep. He was certainly worth checking out.

  The traffic snaked its way out of town and Kath listened to the thump and squeak of her windscreen wipers rather than having any music on. She barely noticed the cars around her, stopping and starting automatically at lights and running on autopilot as her thoughts ran back to her past. Back to the Memorial Hall in Bebington when she was a girl. And Mr Freeman. Maybe that’s why she was so eager to eyeball this man. A confrontation she never had but should have done.

  The satnav declared that she had reached her destination and Kath shook herself from her daydream, cursing herself. It was a wonder she hadn’t crashed. The Woodchur
ch estate was a huge development built in the 1940s. Its roads were wide with grass verges and green spaces. A few football flags fluttered out of bedroom windows here and there, declaring allegiance to Liverpool, Everton or Tranmere Rovers. When she was a little girl, the Woodchurch estate had quite a reputation for crime and depravation but it was quiet these days. It had its problems like anywhere else but nothing like the mid-eighties.

  Linley Road lay on the Arrowe Park side of the estate where the housing was denser. The dwellings were more recent and had wooden fencing around their front gardens or low walls. Some were privately owned, others clearly rented and poorly maintained. The front gardens caught in a state of constant debate about who should weed them and clear the debris that the wind dumped behind the low walls. Hill’s house looked innocuous and tidy, with grey blinds shielding the windows. It declared ‘nothing to see here, move along please,’ but Kath knew otherwise.

  Kath parked the car a little higher up the road and climbed out. Her wrist ached a little and she tugged at the splint, a reminder of the shotgun blast that nearly killed her last year. Curtains began to twitch the moment she walked down the road towards Leonard Hill’s house. She knocked on the door and waited. At last it creaked open a crack and Hill peered out.

  He looked older than Kath had expected. According to HOLMES, Hill was a man in his thirties. The man in front of her was stooped and pot-bellied. A greying frizz of hair clung to the top of his head like candy floss. He had a hangdog look about him, deep jowls and droopy bags under his eyes. His face was tanned and he wore a red polo shirt and jeans. For a dangerous paedophile, he seemed rather a pathetic man. But then they always did.

  “Mr Hill? My name’s Detective Inspector Kath Cryer of Merseyside Police. I’d like to ask you a few questions, can I come in?”

  Hill didn’t open the door any wider. “What about?”