“‘What about the boy?’
“‘The boy is a bit of a problem. We can’t allow a child to stay in the cells overnight, so he’ll have to go somewhere else; and for his own safety he’ll have to be accompanied by a policeman. We can smuggle him out of here in a van easily enough, in case we’re being watched by whoever’s after him, but it’s a question of where to take him. Is there any suitable accommodation that you have at your disposal – say, when homeless children suddenly turn up?’
“‘That doesn’t often happen in this part of the world, I’m glad to say – it’s more common in London. But of course we do have to take children into care unexpectedly – quite frequently, actually, if their parents are found unfit to look after them or there is only one parent and he or she is unexpectedly given a custodial sentence. If it’s late in the day, we can’t always find temporary foster parents. Sometimes we take children who’ve been stranded in some way to spend the night in the sick bay at Herrick Old House, near Sleaford. The sick bay’s quite a pleasant, self-contained unit and it keeps them away from the other children there until they’ve calmed down and we’ve decided what to do with them.’
“‘What’s it like, this place? Would there be space to accommodate a policeman as well?’
“‘Yes, if the warden will have him. I’m surprised you haven’t been to it – the inmates aren’t exactly angelic, so I would have expected you to have encountered a few of them. It’s on the site of old manor house, but essentially a Victorian workhouse, now run by the council as a children’s home. It’s a bit of a monstrosity, actually; but as I say, the sick bay’s OK. It’s been modernised. It’s in one of the wings, in a sort of mock turret. There are several beds in the dormitory and a kind of day-room. The whole thing’s quite self-contained – it was designed in case any of the children needed to be quarantined – and access is via a single stone staircase, though there is a fire escape, too.’
“‘So the policeman would be able to hear if someone was approaching?’
“I nodded. It was this simple question, not the Padgetts’ histrionics, that brought home to me the real danger that they were in.
“‘It sounds as if it will do. How do we get them in? Can you telephone someone?’
“I looked at my watch.
“‘It’s after 9 p.m.,’ I said. “The warden’s not always there at this time. She has a room at the house for when she does nights, but she doesn’t live in. If it’s one of the nights that she isn’t working, there will be a housemaster in charge.’
“‘Can you call them and see?’ He gestured to the telephone that stood on a shelf on the wall.
“I nodded again. ‘It’s all right,’ I said. ‘I’ve got the number programmed into my mobile.’
“‘Don’t give them all the details. Just say that we have a child who’s appearing before the juvenile court and we need to keep him in a safe place. Tell them that there’ll be a policeman with him, but don’t explain any further. We can pay for the accommodation, incidentally, if that helps.’
“‘OK.’
“I called the number and, after a couple of rings, one of the older children answered, but she fetched Eric Westerman quite quickly. He’s the senior housemaster there. I was quite pleased that it was him; he’s a matter-of-fact bloke and takes most things in his stride. He was fine about Thobias – less sure about the policeman – and asked me if I would come with them. We had the phone on speak, so that DC Carstairs could listen. He nodded vigorously, so I agreed to go as well, though I must say I was beginning to get really tired by then. I didn’t relish the prospect of a trip out to Sleaford. I was worried that you’d get home before me and be worried about me, too.”
“What did you tell the mother?”
“I just told her that the police would look after Thobias overnight and asked her to return to the police station tomorrow, at around 10.00 a.m., by which time I hoped the solicitor would have arrived. She’s given me her mobile number; I offered to call her tomorrow, to let her know when everything was ready, but she said that she wanted to come back as early as possible to check on Thobias.”
“Acting on behalf of Thobias sounds like a tough job! Are there special solicitors to represent children?”
“There are in London, but not here. Not enough cases. I’ve suggested that they ask Jack Lewis if he’s free. I’ve worked with him on quite a lot of probation cases; he’s gentle-mannered and prepared to listen to a child psychologist.”
“You will ask Marie, I suppose?”
“Yes, if she can come. I know you don’t like her, but she’s the best we’ve got in this area – and tough enough to stand up to the police if they start questioning too aggressively. She’ll probably get more information out of Thobias than they will, in any case.”
Alex nodded. Marie Krakowska was a big-boned Polish woman who called a spade a bloody shovel and had uncouth table manners. On the few occasions on which they had met – mainly at semi-social functions organised by Tom’s team – Alex had not hit it off with her. However, she knew that Tom respected Marie’s professionalism and she was prepared to accept his judgment. It was just that she could not imagine Marie winning the confidence of damaged children.
“What about Thobias?”
“I’m quite worried about him. DC Carstairs called in the policeman who’s looking after him tonight – PC Cooper. He was very good with the boy; either he’s got children himself, or he does a lot of youth work. But Thobias had completely turned in on himself. He wouldn’t speak to anyone and he kept hiding his head, either by covering his face with his hands and arms or by sitting facing the wall. He was still rocking himself, too; if he was sitting against the wall he hit the back of his head on it, or his forehead if he was facing it.”
“Poor kid! Did he go to Herrick Old House, then?”
“Yes. Marlene helped us get him to his feet and PC Cooper took him to a back entrance with a blanket over his head. We put him straight into a police van. The police vehicle compound is surrounded by a high fence – I’m sure that no-one could have seen him getting into it, even without the blanket. There was a driver as well as PC Cooper – it hadn’t occurred to me, but he wouldn’t have wanted to take a police vehicle with him to keep overnight at the children’s home. He sat in the rear of the van with Thobias.”
“It all seems so surreal! Did you go with them?”
“No, I didn’t, in the end. DC Carstairs said that if I were to follow the van in the car, I’d only be drawing attention to myself. I rang Eric again and he was fine about it – I think it had just taken a while for him to adjust to the idea of having them there. I said that I would go and see him soon – even if the police won’t let me tell him much, he deserves some kind of explanation, not to mention thanks.”
“So that was the last that you saw of them?”
“Yes; but I’ve heard from both Eric and PC Cooper. They got there safely and are installed in the sick bay. Thobias went straight to bed, apparently. Eric persuaded him to drink some warm milk that contained a mild sedative, so I hope that he’ll get some rest.”
“What happens next?”
“I’m not entirely sure. DC Carstairs will call me tomorrow. He’s going to contact Jack Lewis and I’ll get in touch with Marie first thing. My guess is that we’ll then all meet again at the police station. They’ll probably have already collected Thobias from the home by then – I hope so, because that’s what I told Marlene. She’ll be there as well, of course.”
“I’m so sorry that you have to get involved in all of this . . . and I’m desperately worried that you might be in danger as well.”
“It’s my job; and I doubt if I’m in danger from the people who are after Thobias. In my admittedly limited experience of criminal gangs, they won’t waste time on peripherals such as me; not unless I try to obstruct them in some way. I’m finding it all much more difficult than I woul
d have expected, though. It’s probably because the kids I deal with have not often been involved in organised crime. It makes me feel sick to think of it – and grubby, somehow. Corrupting a little kid like Thobias and then terrifying him out of his wits. The whole thing stinks.”
Alex looked at Tom intently. The day’s events had been momentous for both of them, though she knew that she couldn’t tell Tom that. She sensed that they had reached a watershed in their lives. If she acted quickly, perhaps she could set them on a different course together.
Tom met her eye.
“Why are you looking like that?”
“Tom,” said Alex, “have you ever thought about doing something else? You’ve given enough years of your life to other people. As you say, situations like today’s really bring it home to you how squalid it all is. Isn’t it really time to let someone else take the reins now? Would you like perhaps to consider setting up a business together instead?”
“What sort of business?” said Tom warily.
“It’s something I’ve mentioned before – I’ve been thinking about it again lately.”
“If you mean that archaeological curating notion, you can forget it. I don’t see how it could conceivably give us an income long-term, unless we were prepared to move around the countryside living in the vicinity of museums that needed help. And, quite frankly, I don’t relish that sort of life – or that sort of work. I’ve tried to explain to you before: things don’t interest me, even very ancient and hallowed things. It’s people that I care about.”
“You don’t have to sound so shirty!”
“I suppose I don’t; but you could have chosen a better moment. When I say that the job makes me feel sullied, it’s on behalf of children like Thobias who have never stood a chance. Thobias and kids like him need my help. If anything, what’s happened today makes me more determined than ever to keep on being there for them.”
Chapter Twenty
Tim had just spent an hour making a half-hearted attack on his in-tray. Extreme ennui made him go in search of coffee, as much for the exercise as the end result. He hoped he had covered all the urgent items pending, because he wanted to arrange to spend the afternoon at the cottage with Jane Halliwell.
As he rounded the corner to the corridor that led past the interview rooms, he came upon a group of people bunched together. They were completely obstructing his route. He saw immediately that one of them was Andy Carstairs. Andy had just opened the door to the interview room and was trying to shepherd the others in. As Tim walked closer to them, he saw that Gary Cooper was also one of the party. He was holding a small black boy by the hand. A very large black woman – presumably the child’s mother – was holding his other hand. She was flanked by an equally large woman with a china-doll complexion and white-blonde hair brushed back off her face. This woman was perhaps the most incongruous of the whole group. She was dressed in a kind of peasant bodice, which was cut low on her protuberant bosom, and a floor-length skirt that might have been fashioned from a horse-blanket. Her large, broad feet were shod in black lace-up boots. Tim had never seen her before, he was sure of that. Bringing up the rear were a wily little man with a lined face and thick, unruly hair that stuck out at right angles from his head in silvery tufts and a rather flabby middle-aged man with sad brown eyes and a placating expression. He was dressed much more casually than all of the others except the boy. No prizes for guessing who he is, thought Tim. He has ‘social worker’ written all over him.
Andy Carstairs continued to hold open the door for this motley group until he had ushered them all in. Tim caught his eye.
“Interesting bunch you’ve got there, Andy,” said Tim, sotto voce. “Presumably it’s the kid that’s in trouble? Are you sure you’ve gathered enough people to support him? What’s he done, anyway?”
Andy smiled at the sarcasm.
“Not my fault that we need all of them,” he said. “The copper is extra – and would probably actually rather be somewhere else. He’s already spent the night looking after the kid. But the kid’s traumatised by what’s happened to him and he’s rather taken a shine to PC Cooper, so we’re hoping that he’ll be able to help us get some sense out of him. You can guess why the others are there: child-friendly solicitor, child-friendly educational psychologist, child-friendly social worker, and the kid’s mother. It won’t be my fault if he doesn’t get off.”
“But get off what? Either he’s done something serious, or you’ve got a real sledgehammer and nut situation there.”
Andy Carstairs looked guilty.
“Superintendent Thornton made me promise not to bother you about it. He says he wants you to focus exclusively on the lady archaeologist.”
Tim guessed immediately.
“He’s not here on drugs charges by any chance, is he?”
“Not exactly – look, sir, I have to go now,” he said, as the elderly man’s head poked round the door. “I’ll tell you more later – confidentially, if that’s all right with you.”
Tim realised that the old man was watching him, so he nodded and walked on. Inside he was seething. It was one thing having Thornton remove him from a drugs case because he thought his time could be spent more profitably (and even if Tim disagreed with this, he had already realised that there was a lot more to the McRae disappearance than trying to find a confused old lady who had somehow wandered off); it was quite another to tell him that his hunch that there was a major drugs cartel operating in the area was a figment of his imagination if there was clear evidence to the contrary. There could be few other explanations for Andy Carstairs’ having assembled all those people in an interview room and provided police protection for the child the night before. He was annoyed with Andy, too. Did he think that Tim would be stupid enough to believe that it took six adults to question a juvenile about some petty offence? ‘Not exactly’, indeed! He would ask Andy what his game was at the first available opportunity.
As he entered the canteen, he almost collided with Superintendent Thornton. This was a surprise. Thornton was rarely to be encountered in such egalitarian surroundings; he preferred to get the women in his detail to wait on him. Less surprising was that when he met Tim’s eye, he looked away again in a decidedly shifty manner.
“Ah, DI Yates,” he said, quickly recovering his composure and eyeing Tim severely. “Did you receive my press release?”
“No, sir,” said Tim. “But I’ve only just left my office. If you’ve sent it, I expect it will be waiting for me when I get back. I’ll turn it round as quickly as I can.”
“No need for that – I’m really just showing it to you as a courtesy, for information. No time to be lost, you see. I’ve already sent it to the main newspapers.”
Tim’s pale complexion flushed scarlet.
“But I thought that you wanted me to approve it?”
“I should have appreciated that if you’d been there, certainly; but, as I say, time was of the essence. I want to avoid having the press pack here if I can. No time for them at present and I don’t want anyone to let something slip that we don’t want to get out. Much better to keep them informed at one remove.”
Tim decided not to retort; it would only take his mind off more important things. On one level, he could even concede that Thornton was right. The Superintendent had overcome his embarrassment now. He was still barring Tim’s passage to the canteen.
“What are your plans for today?”
“I’ve been catching up with some desk-work. I want to spend the afternoon at Helpston with Claudia McRae’s companion.”
“Good idea!” The Superintendent was a little too ready with his approval.
“Incidentally, sir . . .” said Tim.
“Yes?”
“Do you know anything about what’s going on in the large interview room this morning?”
“What? Oh. I believe that DC Carstairs is dealing with a young of
fender.”
“Not drugs-related, is it?”
“Now don’t start on that tack again, DI Yates. You’ve got enough to do without bothering with DC Carstairs’ workload. I recommend that you get off to Helpston as soon as you can. I don’t want Roy Little breathing down my neck.”
Chapter Twenty-One
Tim had intended to ask Juliet to accompany him and Jane Halliwell to Claudia McRae’s cottage, but at the last minute he changed his mind and decided that he would go by himself. He could not explain his reason for this, especially not to Juliet, who had been carrying out mundane enquiries to support the investigation for practically the whole of the previous two days and was understandably miffed to have been denied this more interesting task. But he had an uneasy feeling about Jane – she was almost too good to be true, yet oddly inauthentic; and, although Juliet had found the short film that showed Jane at some kind of right-wing meeting, he knew that she did not altogether share his concerns about her. Juliet normally had a sharp eye for detail and a finely-tuned sense of mood and integrity. He told her that he had every confidence in her ability to pick up on unusual reactions that Jane might display. Nevertheless, he wanted to observe Jane for himself as she entered the cottage for the first time since her return. He also wanted Juliet to try to find out more about the passengers on the Norwegian cruise and, if possible, to establish whether Jane had gone ashore for any length of time. And there was more work to be done with Forensics.
“You are so much better at all that nitty gritty stuff than I am,” he said, smiling sheepishly. “You know that I’d only lose my temper.”
Juliet frowned, but managed the ghost of a smile before she walked away.
Tim had no sooner left than the telephone on his desk began to ring. Juliet knew that eventually it would divert to either the desk sergeant or to Tim’s mobile, but since she was near she decided to answer it.
“Good afternoon. Detective Inspector Yates’s telephone.”
Almost Love Page 17
