by J. E. Mayhew
Percival nodded silently, but he had a haunted look about him.
“A couple of other things, if you could help clear them up. Brendan’s parents were convinced that the job you offered Brendan was an acting role. He told them he was playing a part and then suddenly it became a nannying post for which he wasn’t qualified in any way. Can you explain that?”
Roland glanced at Xanthe who glared back. “I don’t know what they thought the job was, but we were always clear that it would involve childcare,” she said. “Obviously, what went on in Brendan’s head would be a mystery to me. Now if there’s nothing else, Inspector…”
“There is one other thing I hoped you could clear up,” Blake said, not standing up. “I wondered if you could explain what you were doing at Geri Sharpe’s house last month.”
“I don’t know who you’re talking about,” Xanthe Percival said. “I think you’ve asked enough questions…”
Blake rubbed his forehead. “We have CCTV footage of you entering Geri Sharpe’s house on three occasions last month, Mrs Percival. Both of you. Geri Sharpe is the woman who was having a sexual relationship with Leonard Hill and the woman he’d arranged to meet him at the park on the day that Florence disappeared. She’s part of the Tor-Paedo vigilante group run by Ian Vale. I don’t think I’ve even started to ask enough questions. Do you want to help me out?”
Xanthe Percival’s mouth opened, and she sank onto the sofa. Roland Percival’s shoulders slumped. “I’m so tired of this.”
“Roland, don’t you dare,” Xanthe hissed.
“Oh, what’s the point, Xanthe? Do you think these people are stupid? Like you think everyone else is stupid? D’you think their… their… forensics won’t track us down? I told you it would never work and look, I was right.”
“She was never taken, was she?” Blake said. “Brendan was just play acting in the park that morning. A little drama to catch everyone’s attention and distract everyone. In fact Brendan had dropped Florence off with you that weekend. Everyone had their lines, you made sure of that, didn’t you Mr Percival?”
Roland Percival glared at his wife who sat fuming, crushed up at one end of the sofa, her arms folded. “We never got over the murder of our daughter, Blake. Imagine how you’d feel if your child’s killer walked free. You’d do anything to get justice. And the fact that he’s in and out of prison for committing all kinds of atrocities doesn’t make it any easier. Then Ian Vale approached us, asking if we were aware that Leonard Hill was back in the area.”
“Was it his idea to set Hill up?”
“Leonard Hill has never paid for what he did to my daughter,” Xanthe said, trembling with rage. “All we had to do was incriminate him, keep Flossy hidden here and then Ian could ‘find’ her in the garage and Hill would have been behind bars where he belonged.”
“It was an elaborate plan, Mrs Percival. They usually fail. As your husband says, we’re not stupid. So, did you pay Geri Sharpe to bring you a used condom after one of her sessions with Leonard Hill? And you actually rubbed that into a pair of Florence’s knickers?”
Roland Percival put his head in his hands. “Oh, God.”
“It was a moment’s work. Distasteful, unpleasant, but I wore Marigold gloves,” Xanthe Percival said, holding her chin up. “Nothing compared to the depravity he envisaged for my daughter. As for payment. We might have covered her expenses but she was glad to do it, once she knew what kind of a man Hill was.”
“So she took the Jiffy bag with the knickers, a lock of Florence’s hair which you took when she had her hair cut recently and the tissues, presumably used to staunch a cut knee or something and she put that under Hill’s mattress.”
“Yes. We wanted her to scatter the things around the house, but it seems like she panicked and stuffed them in the guest room while Hill was in the toilet,” Roland said. “Ridiculous to think it could have worked.”
Blake nodded. “If it’s any consolation, it was your care for Florence that gave you away.”
Xanthe looked confused. “What do you mean?”
“Unless Florence was wearing two pairs of knickers when she was abducted, there was no way she would have a nice clean fresh pair. Also, you hadn’t considered what the inside of that garage would look like if a small child had been kept in there for four days. I mean, Imagine the filth for a start.”
Xanthe’s mouth tightened and Blake thought he could hear her teeth crack.
“The text messages were a stroke of genius, though,” he continued. “She must have sent them when he was in the bathroom too and then looked at them on Hill’s phone so that they didn’t show as new. That made it look like he had time to harm Florence. Even if he’d seen the messages, the worst he would do was delete them.”
“It was too elaborate and unnecessary,” Roland said, wearily. “But Xanthe has held that grudge for twenty years. She wouldn’t let it go.”
“The trouble with you is you’ve no backbone,” Xanthe spat. “Hill deserved it. How can you just accept that the killer of your own flesh and blood is walking free?”
“Because I was never convinced, in my heart of hearts, that Hill did kill Undine, and neither were you, Xanthe,” Roland sighed, shaking his head. “We’ve lied to ourselves all these years. Otherwise we’d have gone to the police with our suspicions about Paul and Undine.”
“So you covered up for Paul and put pressure on Tanya Ellman even though you suspected your son was guilty of drowning your daughter?”
Roland Percival looked tormented. “And what was I to do? Lose both children? Paul was all I had left. All my hopes and aspirations wrapped up in that one boy. Besides I wasn’t certain he’d had a hand in Undine’s death.”
“It was Leonard Hill,” Xanthe sobbed.
“It was only when Flossy came on the scene that we realised what a dangerous person our own son was. Xanthe, you’ve seen how Paul treats Samantha, how he looks at Flossy with that cold detachment. The same way he used to look at Undine.”
Tears spilled down Xanthe Percival’s cheeks and she trembled with rage. “That’s ridiculous… no…”
“You built up a hatred of Leonard Hill to smother our fear of our own son,” Roland said. He sighed and looked out of the window. “So, Mr Blake. What happens now?”
Blake paused, trying to gather his thoughts. “We’ll have to arrest you and take you down to the station,” he said. “We’ll take statements, gather more evidence. It’ll be up to the Crown Prosecution Service and maybe the courts to decide what happens then.”
“And what about Paul?” Roland said. “Do you think he killed Brendan?”
Blake shrugged. “Do you?”
Roland stared at Blake, concerned etched across his wrinkled face. “Inspector, if I were you, I’d find my son quickly and bring him in. When he finds out about this, he’ll be a danger to us all.”
Chapter 40
Paul Percival crouched behind a low wall and watched as Tasha Cook escorted Sam Percival and Florence into Sam’s parents’ house. Mr Hughes, clutching a small Yorkie in his big meaty hands had to step back to let them in. Paul clenched his teeth and he could feel the blood pulsing around his temples. “Bastards,” he hissed. His wife, his daughter being taken away from him without any consultation or discussion. Even Tasha Cook had swapped sides. She was meant to be his Family Liaison Officer when this all kicked off. The door clicked shut, leaving Paul crouched in the dark, empty street.
Paul couldn’t forget the look in Cook’s eyes at the hospital, when she told him to go home. A thinly veiled distain. It was Sam who had poisoned everyone’s mind against him. She’d stolen his daughter from him and told them lies about him. It wouldn’t surprise him if she hadn’t planned it all in the first place.
Paul caught his breath. He stood up and had to steady himself against the wall for a moment as the full realisation hit him. She had planned all this. Dockley must have been working with her all the time. He could easily have hidden Flossy and waited for Samantha to escape
from the clinic and come and get her. Sam knew Paul well enough to realise that he’d catch on and interrogate Dockley. Maybe she’d even factored in that Paul might get violent if Dockley provoked him enough. That would weigh against him in a family court, if they were battling for custody, wouldn’t it? It was all so clear now. “The conniving bitch,” Paul muttered under his breath. To think, he’d taken her away from all this squalor and set her up in a beautiful house, given her a gorgeous daughter and she threw it all back in his face. No, it was worse than that, she’d actively plotted against him. The evidence was there.
Watching the upstairs windows flick on in the house, Paul considered his options. Right then, he felt like stuffing a petrol-soaked rag through the letter box and setting the whole house on fire. But he did what he’d done when Dockley had died, he stifled the rage and panic and let ice fill his veins. Sam wasn’t going anywhere. Tasha Cook would come out soon and Paul didn’t want to be seen hanging round here. He would be back in the morning and deal with Sam then.
*****
Blake stood outside the old house, rain slicking his hair to his scalp and trickling down his neck. He hadn’t expected to find Laura here. Once he’d got the slip of paper from Dirkin and Cavanagh, he wanted nothing more than to jump into his car and race over to North Wales to catch her but duty had stopped him. He cursed himself. Kath could have confronted the Percival’s with the truth and he could have been over here but, no, he had to do everything himself.
The house was dark and locked with no sign of anyone inside. He’d had a job getting through the perimeter wall and had to leave his car parked down on the road. After a bit of snooping around in the shadows, tripping over and cursing, Blake had found a gap in the defences and squeezed through.
He had searched around the outside of the house, using his phone as a torch and found fresh food scraps and packaging in the bin. There was an old case, covered in dirt and he wondered if that had come from under the patio behind Laura’s old house. Nobody moved around inside and there were no cars parked on the gravel drive.
It occurred to Blake that Laura may be inside, unconscious or worse. Pressing his face against the glass, he peered through the windows, but could see nothing more than the shadowy outlines of the furniture. Even though the house stood on the side of a bleak hill, in its own grounds, Blake glanced around to see if anyone was watching him and then jabbed his elbow through the front door window. The old glass tinkled to the floor inside and he let himself in.
The cold house smelt damp, but a hint of cooking lingered in the air. Some cut flowers stood proud and fresh in a vase by the door. Someone had been here very recently. He stepped into the nearest room and switched the light on, dazzling himself for a moment. A long, polished mahogany dining table surrounded by matching chairs filled this room. Place mats lay in front of each chair but no cutlery. The room looked forlorn and empty. Blake switched the light off and went back into the hall. His phone began to buzz. It was a number he didn’t recognise but he answered, standing in the darkness once more.
“Will? It’s me. Laura.”
“My God, Laura, where have you been? Are you okay? I was worried sick. The blood outside your door and the case. What’s going on?”
“Will, just listen. I’m okay and I’m safe…”
“Great. Where are you? I’ll come and get you…”
“No. I’m sorry, I can’t explain but I’m going to have to go away for a while.”
“What? Laura, what are you on about? Listen, if you’re in trouble, we can work it out. I can help.”
“No, Will, you can’t. I just need to get away for a while and let things cool down…”
“What things? What’s going on? Was it to do with the digging at the back of your old house? Is it something to do with Kyle Quinlan? I’m at the house in North Wales, I tracked you down…”
Laura gave a short, sad laugh. “Ever the policeman, Will. The less you know, the better. That way you won’t come searching for me and stir things up.”
“Honestly, Laura, Cavanagh doesn’t have a clue what was in that hole. And he certainly hasn’t linked it to you…”
“And it’s best it stays that way. Keep Cavanagh in blissful ignorance. But if I stay that won’t happen.”
“I’ll keep looking for you. I won’t rest…”
“Just stop, Will. Listen. I love you. I loved what we had but if I stay, it’ll never work. That’s all I can say. It’s better that I just leave. Maybe one day, I can come back. This isn’t your fault, Will but it’s also something you can’t fix. So please don’t try.”
“It’s Thorpe, isn’t it? He’s after you because of the money Kyle Quinlan stole,” Blake said. “I know all about it, Laura… and I don’t care. You aren’t the same person, you’ve changed.”
There was a pause and Blake thought he heard Laura sniffling up tears. “It wasn’t Kyle who stole that money from Thorpe. It was me. Kyle was transporting it and I beat him up and stole it. He left rather than admit what had happened. But those chickens have come home to roost. I’m sorry. I can’t stay. Don’t try and find me.”
“Laura! Laura wait…” Blake stared at the phone and then tried to dial the number back, but it was dead.
*****
There was too much noise in the custody suite reception as Leonard Hill tried to count his change. He was certain that he’d had five pounds forty-seven in loose change and now he could only see five forty. A drunk young man in a baseball cap kept singing and it put Leonard off. His other belongings had been intact but he was damned if he was going to let them steal money off him. Just along the counter from him, an old homeless man leaned his head on the cold surface. “I’m not guilty, I’m not guilty,” he said, over and over again. A uniformed officer was trying to get some sense out of the old man. Leonard gave the young singer a sidelong glance and shook his head, returning to his money.
“Are you ready to sign for your belongings, Mr Hill?” the woman behind the counter said.
“No. There’s some missing.” There’d been no apology, no explanation. Just a ‘more facts have come to light. You can go home. We’ll be in touch.’ Leonard had asked them about the DNA evidence in his house and how it had got there but they just said that they ‘weren’t at liberty to disclose any more information at this time.’
“What’s missing?” the woman behind the counter said.
“Seven pence. Someone’s stolen it… ah, no, wait.. here it is…”
He was at liberty and about time, too. He knew who was responsible for this, that bloody Geri Sharpe. She’d led him on and then stitched him up good and proper. Clearly, they’d spoken to her. But she was just a puppet and he knew who was pulling the strings.
“When do I get my laptop back?” he asked.
The woman shrugged. “I don’t know, Mr Hill,” she said, frostily. “You’ll need to speak to the investigating officer about that.”
The drunk singer started up again, the off-key notes drilling into his head. Leonard gritted his teeth. It would be hard to relax as long as the police had his laptop. He was good with computers and he’d buried his photos and videos deep but they weren’t impossible to find.
“I need it for work, you see,” he lied. He was exhausted but knew what would welcome him when he got home. After being searched thoroughly and things turned over, cupboards and drawers left open, his house would be a mess outside and in. Everything would be in the wrong place. The whole house would feel like it had been picked up and shaken. At least tidying up would keep him occupied while he worked out what he was going to do about Geri Sharpe.
That’s what he’d thought, anyway. But then someone called his name and he turned to see Detective Inspector Kath Cryer strutting towards him. In his opinion, she was too big a woman to be wearing those heels. Her feet looked like pig’s trotters squashed into the shoes. He’d be glad to see the back of her.
“Well, I didn’t expect you, detective,” Hill said, trying to sound brave but his voic
e shook. “Come to say goodbye?”
“No,” Cryer said, giving a pained smile. Her eyes looked dead and flat.
“So what can I do for you?”
“What do you think, Leonard?”
“I’m rubbish at guessing games, I don’t know.”
“We’ve just had an email from the tech people who were having a look at your laptop, Leonard. We’ve got some images that are quite… unpleasant. Would you mind coming back to the interview room and explaining how they ended up on your computer?”
“Do I have to?”
Cryer shook her head. “No, I can arrest you here and now for having indecent images of children on your laptop if you want.”
“No,” he said in a low voice. “No, I don’t want that.” Hill looked at the floor. Tears blurred his vision. It was over and he’d been caught again and the only person he could blame this time was himself.
Chapter 41
The red spots on Martin’s cheeks were a rare sign. It meant that he’d gone from ‘annoyed’ to ‘about to tear a new hole in you verbally’ but was restraining himself. Blake wondered if the Superintendent was going to have some kind of stroke.
“So, let me get this straight,” Martin said, massaging the bridge of his nose, pushing his glasses onto his furrowed forehead... “It wasn’t Leonard Hill who kidnapped Florence Percival but her own grandparents…”
“And a couple from an online vigilante group,” Blake said, trying not to relish Martin’s discomfort. “They did it to frame Hill, who Roland and Xanthe Percival mistakenly believed had killed their daughter twenty years ago.”
“Mistakenly,” Martin said.
“Roland Percival confessed to helping Tanya Ellman fabricate an alibi for Paul Percival. It looks to me like Paul murdered his own sister but we have no concrete evidence.”
Martin pulled his reading glasses off. “No concrete evidence. It’s never simple with you, is it, Will? We’ve got a press conference lined up this morning and I was all ready to step out there and tell them that we’d found the girl, arrested the paedophile and patted a conscientious member of the public on the head. But no. Instead I come in this morning to find we’re charging the entire Percival family and the local hero who found the girl!”
