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

by J. E. Mayhew

  Kath raised her voice. “I just want to clarify a few things about a current case I’m working on. It’s a bit delicate, considering you’ve been banged up recently, and I wouldn’t want the neighbours hearing…”

  “For God’s sake,” Hill hissed and pulled back the door. “Come on in, then, if you must.”

  “Thank you, Mr Hill,” Kath said, suppressing a smirk. “I won’t take up too much of your time, I promise you.” She stepped into the house.

  *****

  It was late afternoon and, once again, Blake stood at the back of the Percival house, staring out across the park. Rows of officers searched the ground in front of them. Mallachy O’Hare the Crime Scene Manager was already cursing over the number of dummies and children’s toys they’d found. “For the love of God, Will, tell me she didn’t use a dummy” he grumbled. “I don’t want to be testing all of these unless it’s absolutely necessary.”

  “I don’t know, Mallachy,” Blake said. “I’ll check.”

  It was clutter, Blake agreed. Half the junk found would belong to one of the hundreds of kids who passed through the park everyday. Door to door hadn’t revealed much, either. Most people were too intent on getting to work and school or hadn’t woken up when Florence vanished. Tasha Cook appeared beside him holding an e-cigarette. “Do you mind if I vape?”

  Blake shrugged. “Go ahead.” It always seemed odd to him. He’d never smoked and so didn’t understand the appeal. He thought vaping would be preferable to smoke because it smelt more pleasant but somehow, he still found it unpleasant despite the scent of strawberries or menthol. Still, Tasha Cook had a difficult job and he could see she needed to unwind. “Any sign of Florence’s dad?”

  Tasha shook her head. “Do you think he might have something to do with her disappearance?”

  “I don’t know, Tasha. Seems unlikely but it’s odd that he lied to Dockley about where he was going. I mean, what if the child fell ill or something? He’d never forgive himself. Believe me, I know what it’s like to lose a child…”

  “I know, Will,” Tasha said, quietly.

  “Sorry, Tasha,” Will said, clearing his throat. “It just makes me mad. How could someone just stand there staring into a stupid bloody phone while a three-year-old wanders into the road? And where’s this father?”

  “What do you make of the house?” Tasha said, expertly guiding Blake onto safer territory.

  “Too tidy by far,” Blake said. It’s like a child never even lived there.

  “In fairness lots of people like tidy kid free areas and confine toys to a playroom. There’s one room full of building blocks and those wooden train sets. I don’t know why but if you told me that Florence visited here every weekend, I’d believe you.”

  “It’s a bit odd, Tasha. What do you make of Dockley?”

  Tasha shrugged. “He seems genuinely upset. I don’t suppose there’s any problem with having a male nanny but…”

  “But?”

  “He doesn’t strike me as nanny material. I’d expect him to be more… I dunno… homely and practical, Ordinary. I mean, he looks and dresses more like a drama student or an artist… that could just be my own prejudice kicking in.”

  “I know what you mean. But it’s not his looks, it’s his demeanour. It’s something intangible and, as you say, something you can’t quite put your finger on. Shall we have another chat with him?”

  *****

  Leonard Hill’s house looked as innocuous as he did; it was rental beige and oatmeal from floor to ceiling. Nothing stood out that gave away his character. The three-piece suite was unremarkable, even the pictures on the walls were washed out seascapes, simple black ink horizons with squiggles for seagulls. A small West Highland Terrier lay curled up in front of the gas fire.

  Hill sat down in his armchair. He licked his thin lips. “So what d’you want? I haven’t been nowhere. I haven’t seen no one neither.” His voice was shrill and cracked. It reminded Kath of her grandmother.

  “You haven’t been out today at all Leonard?” Kath said.

  “No,” he said, giving his dog a sidelong glance. “Only to take the dog down to the playing fields. He had a little run, I picked up his poo and we came home. That’s it. I didn’t even look at anyone else.”

  “I never said you did,” Kath murmured. “You sound like you’ve got a guilty conscience, Leonard.”

  “I haven’t got a guilty conscience. I haven’t done nothing.”

  “No?” Kath said, darkly. “Never?”

  “Are you here to ask me questions about something specific, Detective Cryer?”

  “Where were you between the hours of six am and nine this morning, Leonard?”

  “I told you I was here, then I walked the dog and then I came home again. I’ve been sat on my arse ever since.”

  “Anyone who can verify that?”

  Leonard shook his head. “No. You’ll have to take my word for it. What’s this all about, anyway? Has a kiddie gone missing?”

  “What makes you say that, Leonard?”

  “Why else would you be bothering me?” Hill said, bitterly. “Every time some little darling goes wandering off, I get a visit from the police. There’s no apology when they turn up though, is there? No. I’ve only been here a few months and you lot haven’t left me alone.”

  “What playing fields did you go to? Not near a school, I hope.”

  Leonard blinked. “You can’t move for schools round here. I don’t know why they put me in this house. And no, I went over on the parkland behind the hospital for that very reason.”

  “But nobody saw you.”

  Hill licked his lips again. “I-I told you. All I was doing was walking the dog. What do you want me to do? Shout my name out to random strangers as I pass them by?

  “There’s no need for that tone of voice,” Kath muttered.

  “Isn’t there?” Hill snapped. “This is beginning to feel like harassment. You’re entitled to check my whereabouts, I get that. But this insinuation that I’m lying to you and your general manner aren’t very professional, in my opinion.”

  “Yeah, well, you can always make a complaint can’t you, Leonard?” Kath said, with a tight smile. “D’you own a car?”

  “Yes,” Hill said. Kath noticed his leg had started twitching. Either she was just agitating him or he was lying. It was hard to tell because he was right, she’d come into this interview on the bounce and put him on edge. “Why?”

  “Just useful for a quick check, to see if you were in the vicinity of Birkenhead Park today. Could you tell me the make, model and reg number, please?”

  “Yes, it’s a white VW Polo. RG10 KLD. They’re quite common. Lots of them about…” Hill looked pale and worried.

  “That’s a funny thing to say, Leonard,” Kath said. “I generally find that registration numbers are quite unique, whatever the make of car.”

  “I-I just know how this works. Someone says they saw a white VW Polo in the area and then you lot pounce on me and I spend the next three days being grilled about something I didn’t do.”

  Kath stood up. “Rest assured, Leonard. If I have even the slightest suspicion that you were down in Birkenhead Park this morning, I’ll be bringing you in for further questioning. But I’ll base my judgements on solid evidence, not hearsay. Goodbye. For now.”

  Hill watched her as she stalked back to her car. Kath’s skin was crawling. How could a man like that sound so injured? After what he’d done. He was hiding something, though, Kath was certain of it. She didn’t believe the story about walking the dog for one minute. If he was about in his car, an ANPR check would sort out just where he was this morning.

  “Are you a bizzie?” a voice called, startling Kath.

  She stopped to look at the man who had addressed her. He was rangy, and bony looking; all teeth and cheek bones with blond hair cropped to stubble length on his head. He wore grey tracksuit bottoms and matching hoodie.

  “I don’t see that it’s any of your business who I am,
” Kath said and turned to walk on.

  “Has Leonard been a bad boy?” the man said, shaking his head and tutting. “We’ve been keeping an eye on him.”

  “And who might ‘we’ be?”

  The man shrugged. “Just some concerned citizens, that’s all.”

  Kath’s heart lurched. “Listen,” she said in a low voice. “Just stay away from him. He hasn’t done anything and even if he had you shouldn’t do anything about it.”

  The man gave a sly grin and wiggled his eyebrows. “So you are a bizzie. I knew it. If he’s done anything, we’ve got a right to know. There are kids round here who can’t play out because of him.”

  “You don’t have a right to know anything but for your information, he hasn’t done a thing. I’ve just come to check up on him. So you’ve no need to worry.”

  He narrowed his eyes. “All the same, kind of odd isn’t it? You dropping in on him like that. Have you got kids?”

  Kath shook her head. “What’s that got to do with anything?”

  “If you did, you’d know how worried everyone is round here. A nonce like that living next to you. Eyeing up your kiddies. It’s only a matter of time. He won’t be here long.”

  “Well, if anything happens to him, you’ll be the first person I’ll look for,” Kath said. “Now go about your business and leave him alone.”

  Kath watched the man pull his hood up and saunter down the road. On one level, she had some sympathy for the guy, but she had a nasty feeling that she was going to see more of him.

  Chapter 8

  After a few hours researching old newspapers in the Central Library, Jeff Blake decided that maybe it was worth his while to visit Kyle Quinlan’s sister. He knew that in one way, Gambles was just antagonising Will, but Jeff couldn’t deny that the whole Quinlan angle could make for interesting reading. The search for a lost friend, delving into the dark corners of the Merseyside underworld to find him with who knew what result. Jeff could see a Netflix true crime docudrama script forming in his head. Quite where Will fitted into this, he didn’t know but Jeff had to make a living; he had a paying tenant in his London flat and that covered his living expenses up here but he had little spare cash. If Jeff could make this work, he’d be set for life.

  He phoned the number on Gambles’ scribbled notes and waited. After a few moments, a voice answered. “Hi Jeffrey, I’ve been expecting a call.”

  “Oh, is this Leslee Quinlan?”

  “Of course. I expect you’ve been at the library doing some background checks so I’ll see you in half an hour, yeah?”

  Taken by surprise, Jeff glanced down at the address on the notes. Leslee lived in Oxton. “Erm… yes, that should be fine…”

  “Good. I’ll get the kettle on.”

  Jeff ended the call and leafed thoughtfully through Gambles’ notes. Was he being taken for a ride in some way? Gambles was slippery and had a very high opinion of himself. If this was some weird plan to make the killer seem like some evil genius, then Jeff wasn’t having it. He gathered up his papers, stuffed them in his satchel and hurried out to find a taxi.

  Leslee Quinlan’s house was quite breath-taking. It was a perfectly restored Victorian Villa on Shrewsbury Road, with immaculate gardens. Jeff marvelled at the stained-glass door and the clean engineering brick. It looked as though it had been built yesterday. He reached for the bell-pull but the door opened and a woman smiled at him. She was in her forties, maybe, slight and dark-haired, with fine features. Jeff wondered if she was married before he could block the thought.

  “Jeffrey,” Leslee Quinlan said. “Josh said you’d like to speak to me.”

  Jeff couldn’t help but frown. She was talking about Gambles as if he was a family friend instead of a sadistic multiple murderer. “Yes. I hope I’m not intruding.”

  “God no. Come in. I’ll make you a cup of tea. Milk? Sugar?”

  “Both please. Two spoons.”

  “And there’s me thinking you were sweet enough,” she said wrinkling her nose.

  Jeff felt himself redden. He was usually the fount of all cheesy flirtatious comments. He followed her through the house, wondering whether he should have taken his shoes off as his feet sank into the plush, cream carpet. They passed polished panelled walls and tasteful hangings. Here and there a plant stood sentry in a corner.

  “The house is beautiful,” Jeff said as they entered a large kitchen-diner.

  “Yes, I have a property development business, it gives me the pick of the crop. I fell in love with this place a few years ago and kept it for myself.”

  “A big house for one person,” Jeff said, wanting to kick himself the moment the words left his lips.

  Leslee raised one sculpted eyebrow. “I’m rarely alone, Jeffrey,” she said. “I have lots of friends. Maybe you could be one of them.”

  “That would be very nice,” Jeff said, grining, as she passed him a cup of tea. “So, how do you know Josh Gambles?”

  “I think you know. He’s a friend of my brother, Kyle Quinlan. Oh, I know what he’s done. I wouldn’t invite him round for tea and biscuits. Not without several bodyguards, but my brother had a lot of time for him and that counts for something.”

  “Josh Gambles seems to think that your brother has vanished.”

  Leslee hugged herself and shivered. “He just disappeared about six years ago. He was working for a guy called Harry Thorpe…”

  “Doing what?”

  “Ask no questions, Jeffrey,” Leslee said, raising her eyebrows. “That’s my motto, anyway. Let’s just say it wasn’t anything legal. He’d just separated from his wife at the time…”

  “Laura…”

  “I believe you’ve met her,” Leslee said, her voice flat.

  “You don’t sound too impressed.”

  “He vanished and she moved out of their house. Nobody really knows where she went for those intervening years but suddenly, she’s back on the scene and dating your brother. I’ve always thought she knew something about his disappearance.”

  “And what do you think has happened to your brother?”

  “I suspect he’s dead. I reported him missing, of course but nobody did anything. They told me: ‘He’s a grown man, can look after himself. Maybe he started a new life somewhere else after his divorce…’”

  “A lot of that is true,” Jeff said. “People do just walk out of their lives and if you say he was tangled up in something illegal, then maybe he needed to leave town.”

  Leslee Quinlan pouted her pink lip. “Poor Jeffrey. You don’t want to believe that your brother’s favourite girl could be a killer.”

  “Having met her,” Jeff said, with a smile, “it is hard to imagine.”

  “That’s because the Laura Vexley you see now isn’t the Laura Quinlan I knew. Let me educate you a little, Jeffrey Blake.”

  *****

  Laura paced back and forth in the living room. She was sure it was him. But how was that possible? She looked at the phone and bit her lip. She should phone Will, let him know. But how would he react? Maybe she imagined it. Since his name had been raised again, Laura had been on edge. It brought back so many unhappy memories. Could she just be hallucinating? Or could it have been someone who just looked like him? I mean, she didn’t see properly into the car, the windows were slightly tinted, and it was gloomy.

  She ran her fingers through Charlie’s fur. She needed to calm down. Quinlan was gone and the police had lost interest in him. Nobody needed to know any more. She could put the past behind her. She hoped.

  Chapter 9

  The November sky darkened and the noise of kids coming home from school and the nearby sixth form college filled the air. Brendan Dockley sat in the same seat as before and Blake sat opposite him. Around them, Crime Scene Investigators searched the house for anything that might give them a clue to Florence’s whereabouts. Blake had persuaded Roland Percival that he should go back and look after his wife rather than watch the team turn over the house and, in the end, the old man agreed.<
br />
  “I don’t know what they think they’re looking for,” Dockley said. “Why aren’t they out there looking for Florence?”

  “We have several teams doing that, Mr Dockley. Can I ask, how did you come to be employed as the nanny here?”

  “There was a job advertised and I applied for it, of course. Florence’s grandparents specified a male nanny, so there wasn’t a massive amount of competition.”

  “Her grandparents employed you?” Tasha said.

  “Yeah, they interviewed me and everything. Apparently, Paul was mad busy and distracted by Samantha’s… problems… if you see what I mean.”

  Blake cut in. “Why do you think they wanted a male nanny? I mean, it’s quite unusual. Not unheard of, but Mr Percival struck me as fairly old-fashioned. Seems a bit out there for them to employ a man to look after their granddaughter.”

  “I suppose,” Dockley began and then paused, gathering his thoughts. “I heard that Samantha was the jealous type. She’d accused Paul of having affairs with previous women who had come in to help. I dunno, maybe they thought having a male as a nanny would short-circuit all that. It would stop her worrying.”

  “I see,” Blake said, nodding. “Makes sense, I suppose. You said before that Florence has developed a habit of running off recently. Why do you think that is?”

  “I dunno,” Dockley said, guilt clearly plaguing him. “Look, maybe I’m not cut out for this job. I’m not all that attentive, if I’m honest. I’m more distractible than the kid. Maybe she did it to get my attention…”

  “So where did you train as a nanny?” Tasha asked. “Surely you had some opportunity to decide whether this was the job for you.”

  Dockley pursed his lips and looked from Blake to Tasha. “You have to train?”

  “You need childcare and first aid qualifications. You need to be registered with the local authority, too. Are you telling me that you aren’t?”

  “I didn’t know. I just saw the job and applied! The Percivals didn’t seem too bothered. They said they’d see how I got on and then help me with training later on.”

  “But you need insurance and a criminal background check,” Blake said. Dockley almost flinched when he spoke. “Is there something else you want to tell us, Brendan?”