Swanson was puffing away furiously. ‘I don’t know. Is it relevant?’
‘It could be.’
Swanson fell silent.
Tyler again edged forward in his seat. ‘Do you think’ he said, ‘that supporting the wrong football team is a good enough reason for beating someone to death?’
Tyler wound up the session, but indicated that he might need to visit again. The news seemed to come as a nasty shock to Phillip Swanson, who, on extinguishing his cigarette, promptly fumbled for another.
As Tyler walked out to his car, in the cooling evening air, he felt the sense of relief that comes from leaving a place of intense suffering.
20
‘Anything interesting to report?’ Tyler asked Mills, ringing on his mobile.
Mills mentioned Hillman’s pat presentation of what he was confident would turn out to be a rock-solid alibi.
‘That’s the trouble with detectives,’ laughed Tyler. ‘We have such suspicious minds.’
‘How did you get on with Swanson?’
‘Good question. If I’d told him we were investigating the murder of the man in the moon, I think he would have looked guilty. So many layers of it, it’s hard to know if the man’s a serial killer or in need of a change of profession. He also has a penchant for the convenient option. He fancies the late Steven Jenkins for the death of Alan Dale.’
‘That would be convenient.’
‘Swanson tried hard to distance himself from the rest of his class. Portrayed himself as having little to do with any of them, then and now.’
‘Seems to be a common theme.’
‘Hillman, too?’
‘The loner who got on with his work. Eyes down all the way to the Houses of Parliament.’
‘See no evil, eh? Sounds like a natural. Anyway, I’m outside the offices of Mr Robert Wild.’
‘Offices?’
‘Make that doss house. Do you know Tunstall at all?’
‘Coming from Longton, how could I?’
‘Sarcasm suits you – did anybody ever tell you that?’
‘My wife might have mentioned it.’
‘Right, it’s getting late. I’ll see Wild and call it a night.’
‘I was down to see Douglas Marley. I called the hostel and Marley won’t be going anywhere. Is tomorrow okay on that one?’
‘Tomorrow’s fine.’
‘I’ll write up a full report, but one other thing I should tell you. About the incident Sheila Dale mentioned – Jenkins and Hillman in trouble and getting a thrashing off Wise.’
‘What about it?’
‘Hillman has no recollection. He said he never got sent to Wise for anything, and of course he would never have picked on or bullied anyone.’
‘What were you even thinking about suggesting such a thing?’ said Tyler. ‘I think I’ll visit the school again in the morning. They might have records.’
‘What kind of school did you go to, sir?’
‘One that kept records.’
‘Got your name in the book, did you?’
‘That’s classified, I’m afraid. Goodnight.’
Robert Wild appeared friendlier and more coherent than Tyler had imagined. The inside of the house was as inviting as the outside, but the company was an improvement on what he had left behind in Audley. There was roguishness to Robert Wild, but a sense of humour laced it.
Wild reckoned he’d had his share of life’s problems, what with difficult women and people over the years plying him with just about every variety of drugs and drink that the world, or at least the city, had to offer. But he was turning his life around, he said, working for a local builder. ‘Suits me, you see, working. I don’t get into bother when I’ve got plenty on. And working with that slave driving bastard – sorry about that, officer.’
‘Are you trying to give up cursing, too, in this new life of yours?’
Wild laughed, and it was toothy and infectious.
Tyler started the time travel, whisking the tanned imp back to River Trent High. A familiar pattern emerged straight away.
‘Didn’t have much to do with any of them, tell you the truth.’
A class full of loners, thought Tyler. But was that a teacher’s dream or nightmare?
‘Wood was a bit of a laugh, bit of a nutter. Always going on about Stoke City. I used to go to the match myself, same as the old man at home, but you get bored with it.’
‘Bored watching football?’
‘Well, no, I don’t mean that so much. But when you’re younger you get obsessed sometimes, some do, at any rate. Like, fanatical, you know. Take it a bit too serious. I mean, it’s only a bloody game, when all’s said and done. Anyway, I’m closer to the Vale now, living up this way.’
Tyler remembered what Mills had told him about the city’s football rivalry.
‘You mean Port Vale?’
Wild nodded. ‘You not from round here?’
‘I’m learning.’
‘Try this for size: Chuck a bow aggen a woe, yed it, kick it an bost it.’
Tyler looked suitably baffled. ‘Not Latin, is it?’
‘Old pottery slang. It’s about throwing a ball against a wall, heading the ball, kicking it and bursting it. Something like that.’
‘I see. Like I say, I’m learning. It may take a little time, by the sound of it.’
‘Well, good luck: it takes a fucking – sorry, it takes a lifetime.’
Hoarse laughter followed, and Tyler couldn’t help but smile.
‘I mean, all that aggro over football, makes no sense. Women – now there’s a reason for a good punch-up.’ More laughter and apologies followed, and DCI Tyler tried to steer a course back to the investigation.
‘Don’t remember Alan Dale at all,’ said Wild. ‘Long time ago.’
But despite the years, he seemed to remember Marley, Swanson, Hillman and Jenkins, in turn, despite having ‘little to do with any of them’.
‘Marley was a character all right. Thick as a brick, he was. You could lead him into anything. Always getting the stick off Wise, that one. Water off a duck’s arse, though. Where there’s no sense there’s no feeling, isn’t that what they say ..?’
‘… Swanson was a bit daft too, come to think of it, but not as bad as Marley. I mean, Marley was just fucking crackers, whereas I think Swanson had a bit of an edge to him …’
‘… Martin Hillman was a strange one. Hard to suss him out, to be honest with you. Kept his head down, did that one. Bit different from the others. One of those where you could never be sure what was going on, what they might be thinking. But I heard he was doing alright. Can’t think who told me. Good luck to him, I say …’
‘… Steve Jenkins, yes I remember Steve. He was a bit daft, too. Not Marley-daft, of course, nobody’s that daft. But he was daft enough. I think he had a few trips to see Wisey, too, but then who didn’t? I think we were all head cases in them days, the bloody lot of us. It was the seventies, crazy times.’
Wild grinned, remembering a past life.
‘Maybe what’s-his-name, the one who did well—’
‘Martin Hillman, you mean?’ said Tyler.
‘Him, yes. Maybe he was the exception.’
‘Was he ever in trouble with Mr Wise?’
‘Who knows? It didn’t take much, same as I said. But to be honest, I don’t think he was the sort to get in bother.’
‘Too much of an angel?’
Robert Wild laughed. ‘I wouldn’t say that about any of us. No, I don’t mean that he was goody-goody, more that, oh, I don’t know what I’m saying. Maybe he was just a bit too clever. The clever ones never get caught, do they?’
‘That’s an interesting thought,’ said Tyler. ‘Are you aware that Steven Jenkins was found murdered?’
‘Bloody hell, yes, I am, as a matter of fact,’ said Wild, a little taken aback by the abruptness of the question. ‘On the news. I was thinking, I’m sure I knew someone once with that name. When I realised it was local, I thought: I bet it
must be him. Well, bloody hellfire – if you’ll pardon the French.’
It seemed a long shot that Robert Wild might recall the time of Alan Dale going missing, but then police work was often full of surprises. Tyler asked the question.
Becoming lost in thought, his eyes closed, and squeezing away at his temples for all he was worth, Wild said at last, ‘Now you mention it, bloody hell, yes. That lad did go missing. Hey, they gave him a hard time, some of them. There was a fat kid in the class, too, can’t think of his name.’
‘Anthony Turnock?’
‘Could be, I can’t remember. But he certainly got some, I tell you – the fat ones always did. I remember – that’s right – I remember them taking that other lad, what’s-his-name?’
‘Alan Dale.’
‘Him, yes. They were taking him down to that park they sometimes played football in. I used to go that way home sometimes myself, living in Stoke, though most times I cut straight down the bank. You won’t know where I mean, not being local, I suppose.’
‘Was this close to the time Alan Dale went missing?’
‘God, now you’re asking. Now you are asking.’
Tyler leaned forward, blood buzzing, beating the deep reserves of tiredness and frustration back.
‘You say that they were taking him down to the park, Mr Wild?’
‘To tell you the truth, now I think about it, I was going that way a few times round about then.’ He gave the detective a coy smile and looked about to wink at him for good measure. ‘I was a bit keen on one of the girls who lived backing onto the park. It was worth the detour, know what I mean?’
Now he did wink, but seeing that Tyler was less than conspiratorial, he rubbed at his eye as though the wink had been the result of a foreign object that had mysteriously blown in.
‘When you say, ‘taking him down to the park’, would you say that he was going willingly?’
‘I don’t get you.’
‘What I mean is: was Alan Dale being taken against his will?’
Wild, still rubbing at his eye, looked uneasy. ‘I was a bit distracted, you might say. Like I said, I had other things on my mind.’
‘Of course, I understand,’ said Tyler. ‘I don’t suppose you can remember who was taking Alan Dale to the park?’
Wild thought for a moment, his fingers back at his temples. ‘Steve Jenkins was definitely one of them.’ He nodded, confirming the point. ‘Definitely Jenks. I think Marley and Swanson were there too.’
‘Anybody else?’
‘It was a long time ago, and, like I say, I wasn’t exactly taking that much notice.’
‘But you did notice,’ said Tyler. ‘Thirty years later, and you remember that at least three boys from your class were taking Alan Dale down by the park. I think that is a remarkable feat of memory.’
Wild grinned. ‘Why, thank you – thank you very much, sir.’
‘My pleasure,’ said Tyler. But though Robert Wild seemed eager enough to please, despite trying a few more angles, a few more ways to dislodge the blocks that the years might have put in the way of the man’s powers of recall, Tyler couldn’t seem to get any further.
It was time to call it a night; get some rest and see how things were adding up come the fresh light of a new day. He made a final recap, but Wild still wasn’t making any connection between the deaths of the two ex-classmates.
As the two men stood up, Wild seemed to freeze, his face exhibiting an expression of dumb amazement. ‘Now I get it,’ he said. ‘You think that Steve killed that lad and now somebody’s killed Steve for it?’
Tyler didn’t comment. He watched something unfolding, forming on the man’s sun-scorched face. ‘Thinking about it, when they were taking that lad down by the park, it was close to the time it happened. I’m sure of it.’
‘Close to the time what happened, Mr Wild?’
‘I remember the headmaster in assembly, old Wisey, saying that the police wanted to speak to us – all the kids, I mean. They wanted to know who was doing what and where. I was worried about telling them what I was up to, I can tell you.’
He seemed about to try out another wink, but had a brief rub at his eye instead.
‘But I tell you the God’s honest truth: I never put the two things together before. I mean, him going missing and them taking him down that path. ’Cos they were up to something, you could tell. Suppose I should have done something about it, looking back and all that. But you know how it is.’
Tyler knew but remained silent on the matter. He watched what might have been fleeting regret register on Wild’s life-kissed features. But quickly the emotion transfigured into another memory from that long ago, eventful day, and the beginnings of a smile shone through, quickly dampened when he caught the detective’s eye.
‘And you think somebody got Steve for killing him? Wow.’
Tyler gave it a final shot. ‘Can you recall who else might have been walking down that path with Alan Dale? You’ve mentioned Steven Jenkins, Phillip Swanson and Douglas Marley.’
‘Shit!’
‘Excuse me?’
‘Sorry about that. It’s just …’
‘Please go on, Mr Wild.’
‘It’s just that – you don’t think Marley and Swanson had anything to do with Steve’s death, do you?’
‘What do you think, Mr Wild?’
‘Oh, I don’t know about anything like that. I haven’t seen any of these people in ages, and it was all—’
‘Yes,’ said Tyler. ‘It was a long time ago. What about Martin Hillman? Might he have been there?’
‘I don’t think he lived down that way.’
‘But could he have been there that afternoon?’
‘You never know. Quite a lot of kids went down to the park in the summer, but Hillman didn’t usually get involved in stuff like that. Too bright, know what I mean. Not the sort who’d get his hands dirty. Be at home working on his career, I would have thought.’
Not the sort who’d get his hands dirty, thought Tyler. He wondered how much Wild remembered about that dark horse.
‘How many were with Alan Dale that afternoon, Mr Wild?’
He was rubbing at his eye again. ‘Like I say, I was a bit, you know …’
‘Distracted, yes, I realise that. More than three, would you say?’
‘I would think so.’
‘As many as six?’
‘Possibly. No more than that.’
Tyler asked for the name of the young lady who had been the cause of Wild’s distraction on that long-ago summer afternoon.
Wild had the name clearly tattooed on his heart.
‘Pam,’ he said. ‘Pamela Scott. Say, I’m not likely to get into any trouble on account of … any goings on?’
‘I think a complaint would have been put in by now,’ said Tyler. ‘I wouldn’t worry unduly on that score.’
‘I wonder what Pam’s doing these days.’
Tyler was wondering the same thing.
That night Tyler dreamed of the perfect murder.
He arose one sun-filled morning, bought a train ticket to a faraway city where a man lived alone in a house with a red door on a quiet street. He had done his research discreetly, and from a distance, so the man would have no idea that later that day he would have a visitor from the past.
A boy he had tormented; a boy who had survived the torment and grown to be a man.
Tyler rode the train that beautiful day, and he got off at the town where the man lived. He had thought about this day for so long, rehearsed the course of it so many times behind closed eyes, and everything went like clockwork.
Walking down the street where the man lived, the bright red door at the end came into sight, and the boy who had become a man found that his heart was racing. He knocked on the door and waited, the blood thumping so heavily in his chest that he thought the other man’s neighbours must hear it.
At last the man came to the door.
The strong, animal looks had gone, replaced by a frai
lty so pathetic and unexpected it made Jim Tyler want to laugh.
Had the years alone done this? Or had imagination raised this creature so high, only for the cold splash of reality to bring him down from a stature he had never really claimed? Or was he, Jim, looking, in reality, at the same thing but through different eyes, no longer the helpless child?
The man didn’t recognise him and, baffled, asked if he could help. Tyler asked if he might be allowed inside the property. The man questioned him and Tyler said that he had some important business to discuss. This thin man appeared so kindly that for a moment Tyler wondered if he had come to the right address.
He was invited inside.
The house, so neat and inviting from the outside, with its brightly painted red front door, was on the inside a grim prison from which, by the pallor of the man, there appeared little hope of escape.
Once inside, and with the front door, that deceiving bright red front door, firmly closed against the outside world, Tyler said that he had known the man many years ago, as a boy.
It took a few moments, but at last the recognition broke through. Yes, the man remembered him.
But something wasn’t right.
The man ought to be full of foreboding, realising at last what he had done and the price to be paid for it.
Yet none of this was happening.
The man offered refreshments, as though it was a thing of wonder that an old friend from the past should go to such trouble to look him up and visit.
Tyler’s plan began to unravel. A lifetime’s hate had brought him here. It was a perfect plan and a simple one. But as he stood there, it was all changing.
Jim Tyler was facing the most difficult decision of his life.
While the man went into what perhaps had once passed for a kitchen, to make the drinks, Tyler tried to make up his mind. Could he go through with it? Should he turn around now and leave, the mystery remaining behind him forever?
He asked himself the question: Had things really been so bad?
Had he exaggerated his past – was he insane, a psychopathic killer working out some deranged fantasy?
What if he sat down with the man, confronted him about the past, and see what happened next?
Red is the Colour Page 13
