by Sally Rigby
‘And you do, I suppose. Come on, spill,’ Doug said.
Frank looked at her. ‘Guv?’
‘Yes, I do know who you’re referring to and, yes, it’s true,’ she said, trying to keep the emotion from her voice.
‘Who is it?’ Doug demanded.
‘Dick—’
‘Frank,’ Whitney snapped, giving him a warning look. She didn’t want the nickname to be known to Brian and Meena.
‘Detective Superintendent Douglas,’ Frank, replied a smirk on his face.
‘Chief Superintendent,’ Whitney corrected.
‘Oh …’ Frank said.
‘That’s enough with the gossip.’ She turned and marched to her office.
Maybe she’d talk to Frank, Doug and Ellie separately and warn them about discussing Douglas and, in particular, her nickname for him, in front of Brian and Meena. It was tricky as Brian was their superior officer, but she knew the officers well enough to trust them not to make things difficult for her.
She hadn’t gone out of her way to tell the team the nickname she’d given him, but when they were working on the Carriage Killer case with two of the Regional Force detectives and Douglas interfered, they’d overheard her referring to him as such. It had been a source of amusement to the team, especially when they were socialising, away from the office.
She sat behind her desk and pulled out her phone to call George.
‘It’s me,’ she said when George answered. ‘We’ve almost certainly identified the man waiting outside the gates of the school, he’s currently inside for murder.’
‘Interesting,’ George said.
‘Yes, that’s what I thought. Once I’ve got confirmation it’s him I’m going to arrange for us to visit him tomorrow. I’m hoping you can come with me, as I’ve already given Brian something else to do.’
‘Yes, I’m available. What time should I pick you up?’
‘I’ll let you know once it’s confirmed.’
Chapter 14
George sat in her car in the visitors’ car park, strumming her fingers on the steering wheel. Where was Whitney? She’d been waiting for ten minutes already. There wasn’t even a pleasant view to occupy her as the new station was on the edge of the city and part of an industrial area.
Five minutes later, when George was just about to pick up the phone and call, Whitney arrived and hitched herself up into the car.
‘Why is it that all car manufacturers assume anyone getting into a four-wheel-drive car is tall? It’s most annoying.’ She wriggled into the seat. ‘Sorry, I’m late. The time got away from me.’
Where are we heading?’
‘Brentwood Prison in Nottingham.’
A long drive. That pleased her immediately.
‘I know the place, it’s just off the motorway.’
‘We’re lucky we’ve managed to secure an interview with Shaw so quickly because these places can be a law unto themselves sometimes.’
‘Did the press conference produce anything?’
‘According to Meena, who worked on the phones until ten last night, we’ve had various sightings of the girls in 1980, in places all over the country. Nothing useful so far, but she’s following up anything that comes through. I also had confirmation last night from Brian that Shaw was the man Kathleen Henderson saw talking to the girls.’
‘I assumed that had been the case, or you would have cancelled our visit today.’
‘True.’ Whitney stroked the dashboard. ‘I still can’t get used to this new car of yours. How are you enjoying it?’
‘I wish I’d bought it sooner. It’s responsive, grips well, and accelerates like a dream,’ she said, turning to face Whitney and smiling.
‘You’re such a petrolhead.’
‘You’re absolutely right.’ She sucked in a contented breath, started the engine and headed out of the car park.
The drive to the prison took just over forty minutes, and the motorway stretch was particularly enjoyable as she was able to put her foot down.
‘This isn’t an old prison, by the looks of it,’ George said, as they arrived.
From the outside it looked like several large three-storey warehouses, with tiny windows every few metres.
‘It was built ten years ago. It’s classed as a category C, which is for those who aren’t eligible for an open prison but are unlikely to try to escape.’
‘If Shaw’s been incarcerated for murder, wouldn’t that make him a maximum-security prisoner?’
‘They must have assessed him as being suitable for being housed here. Remember, he’s in his late sixties so it’s not like he’d be able to scale the walls and make a dash for it.’
After passing through the barrier, they went into the entrance and signed themselves in. They were escorted to a small room with a light wooden table and four plastic chairs, two either side.
Shaw was already in there, seated behind the table wearing handcuffs, his hands resting on the table. He was small, with a pale, gaunt face. His hair was fine and grey, and what little he had left was cut short. Despite having faded, the tattoo of an eagle on his neck was still evident. He had LOVE and HATE tattooed across his fingers. Those, too, had faded.
When they walked in, he looked at them, the expression on his face blank. Genuine or fake. She would soon find out.
Whitney turned to the officer who was with them. ‘You can wait outside.’ He left, and they sat down opposite Shaw. ‘Hello, Reg. My name’s Detective Chief Inspector Walker and this is Dr Cavendish, she’s a forensic psychologist. We’ve come to speak to you about some murders that took place in 1980.’ He eyed them suspiciously but remained silent. ‘They were sixteen-year-old girls and their names were Anita Bailey and Jayne Kennedy.’
His eyes flickered, becoming more alert. ‘You can’t pin it on me,’ he said, his voice gravelly.
‘Nobody said we were. You were one of the last people to have seen the girls alive, talking to them outside the gates at St Paul’s school on 7 May 1980. What was your conversation about?’
‘Errr … that’s a long time ago,’ he said, glancing up as if he was trying to remember.
His attempt to act blasé was in fact telling her the complete opposite. He knew exactly what Whitney was talking about.
‘Yes,’ Whitney said.
‘I dunno,’ he said shrugging.
‘You were identified by a student from the school. She saw you talking to Jayne and Anita. Do you admit to being there at the time?’
‘Yeah. Maybe. I can’t remember. I was probably off my head on something.’
‘The witness didn’t say you looked out of it,’ Whitney said.
‘How the fuck would they know?’ He stared directly at them.
‘Do you admit to knowing Anita Bailey and Jayne Kennedy?’ Whitney asked.
‘That depends.’ He leant back in his chair, a self-satisfied expression on his face. ‘I might suddenly remember something, if it’s worth it.’
‘I’m not in a position to be able to authorise anything,’ Whitney said, her voice flat.
Every criminal thought they had a right to bargain. It was extremely frustrating and annoyed Whitney immensely. She blamed it on all the police dramas on TV.
‘I want out of here to see my family before it’s too late.’ His eyes glazed over.
Something was upsetting him.
‘Before what’s too late?’ Whitney asked.
‘My wife’s got cancer. She’s dying and I want to be with her.’
‘I can’t offer you a deal, that only happens on TV, but if you’re up for parole, I can let the board know you’ve helped us,’ Whitney said.
‘It’s not enough.’ He shook his head.
‘It’s all I can offer, and it’s better than nothing,’ Whitney said.
He was silent for a while, staring at them both. ‘Okay. I’ll tell you what I know. But you’d better put in a good word for me.’ He sat upright in his chair, resting his arms on the table.
‘Do you r
emember Anita and Jayne?’ Whitney asked, as she pulled out a notepad and pen from her pocket and put them on the table in front of her.
‘What’s that for?’ He nodded at them.
‘To record your answers to my questions?’
‘Like a statement?’ He clenched his fists.
‘No. It’s not a statement. It’s a record of our conversation for my use only.’
‘Well it better not be, because I’m not signing nothing.’
‘Understood. Now, let’s get back to my question. Anita and Jayne, what can you tell me about them?’
‘Before I say anything, I want you to promise that you’re not going to do me because of their age.’ His eyes darted from Whitney to George.
‘For goodness sake, we’re talking decades ago so, unless you were involved in their deaths, then the statute of limitations has passed. Our sole aim is to identify who killed them and you might be in possession of some vital information.’
George nudged Whitney with her foot. Getting riled wasn’t going to work if they wanted to learn more about the girls. Shaw had the upper hand, whether he realised it or not.
‘I had nothing to do with their deaths, before you start accusing me.’
Nothing on his face led her to think otherwise.
‘Duly noted,’ Whitney replied, her voice much calmer. ‘Now tell me about the girls and your connection with them.’
‘They were selling for me at the school. It was a nice little earner for all of us.’
‘What did they sell?’ Whitney asked.
‘Speed and weed, not the hard stuff.’
‘When you met the girls the day they went missing, what did you talk about?’
‘I wasn’t lying before. I can’t remember.’ He pulled his arms in towards his body.
Classic lying behaviour.
‘After they disappeared, did you wonder where they were? Did you try to contact them?’
‘I don’t remember.’
He remained unnaturally still, and she nudged Whitney gently with her foot to let her know that, in her opinion, he wasn’t telling the truth.
‘I don’t believe you,’ Whitney said. ‘If you’re not prepared to be honest with me, then you can forget me putting in a good word to the parole board.’
‘It’s the truth,’ he insisted.
‘Last chance. If you don’t want to tell me what you were talking about, then tell me what you did after your meeting with Anita and Jayne.’
‘I was with another kid from their school. A boy … now I remember.’ He tilted his head to one side. ‘I didn’t see them again because this boy started selling for me. He was better than them. The girls were a right pain in the arse, and I didn’t trust them.’
‘Suddenly, you’re remembering all of this,’ Whitney said, arching an eyebrow.
‘At my age the memory isn’t great.’ He tapped the side of his head.
‘How long were you with this boy?’ Whitney asked, jotting down some notes.
‘All afternoon, then I went home to the missus.’
‘What’s the name of this boy?’
‘Nigel.’
‘Do you know his last name?’ Whitney asked.
‘No. But you’ll find him with a name like Nigel. He went to St Paul’s.’
‘How old was he when he worked for you?’ Whitney asked.
‘No idea. Fifteen or sixteen, maybe.’
‘And he’ll be able to vouch for you?’
‘If he remembers.’
‘How long did this Nigel sell drugs for you?’
‘Not long. I got done for robbery and went inside for two years. I stopped dealing when I came out.’ He paused. ‘For a while.’
‘Did you contact Nigel after your release?’
‘No.’ He folded his arms across his chest. ‘That’s it. You get no more from me. Are you going to help me get out of here so I can see my wife?’
‘We’ll be checking your story once we’ve found this Nigel. Then we’ll be in touch.’
‘Make sure you do.’
They left the interview room and the prison. Once they were in the car Whitney turned to her.
‘What do you think, was he telling the truth?’ Whitney said.
‘Eventually.’
‘Do you think he was responsible for their deaths?’
‘His body language didn’t indicate he was, but you would still need to confirm it.’
‘I’ll get Ellie to track down the student he said he was with, and we’ll interview him.’
Chapter 15
Whitney was sitting at her desk with George peering over her shoulder, while they read the pathology report from Claire and Leon. The date of deaths were recorded as 7 May 1980 as that was the day the girls were last seen, and there were no scientific tests available which could be more precise.
She glanced up and saw Ellie heading towards them. She beckoned for her to come in.
‘Guv, I’ve found Nigel Young. He was the only Nigel in the school at that time, which made him easy to locate.’
‘Excellent. Any chance he lives close by?’
‘Yes. He’s in Great Underwood.’
Whitney knew the village. It was twenty miles north of Lenchester. ‘What else did you discover?’
‘He’s married with a family and is an optometrist. He has his own practice in the city. I’ve checked and it’s open until five.’
‘Okay, we’ll go out to see him now. Thanks, Ellie.’
After the officer had left, Whitney grabbed her coat from the peg on the back of her door and headed into the incident room, with George following.
As they got in there, Brian walked in with Doug.
‘I’m glad to have caught you, guv,’ he said, as he approached them. ‘We’ve visited the house where Shaw’s wife lives, but she wasn’t there. I thought we’d try again in a little while.’
‘According to Shaw she has cancer so when you do see her, be gentle.’
‘Will do.’
‘Dr Cavendish and I are heading out to see Nigel Young, who Shaw said he was with for the rest of the afternoon after he’d spoken to the girls. Young is another ex-student from St Paul’s and he’s now an optometrist in Lenchester.’
‘He goes from hanging out with drug dealers to becoming a professional person. That’s novel,’ Brian said, arching an eyebrow.
‘But not unheard of. We’ll find out more when we see him. He’s also a potential suspect.’
‘You think it was him and Shaw?’
‘It’s a possibility. When you speak to Shaw’s wife, ask if she remembers the girls and Nigel Young.’
‘Okay, guv. I’ll also find out if she can vouch for Shaw later in the afternoon after he left Young, though that’s a long shot after all that time.’
‘A long shot, plus we don’t know the exact time they died. But it’s still worth asking, she might provide us with some useful information. We’ll see you later.’
They left the station and drove into the city centre to Nigel Young’s practice. It was a flashy showroom selling expensive designer glasses. He must be doing well for himself.
‘Hello,’ Whitney said to the woman behind the reception desk. ‘I’m Detective Chief Inspector Walker and this is Dr Cavendish. We’re here to see Nigel Young.’
‘He’s in the middle of an eye examination and can’t be disturbed.’
‘How long will it take?’ Whitney asked.
‘It shouldn’t be much longer, but he does have an appointment straight after.’
‘He’ll have to see us first.’
They walked away from the desk and she stared at the rows of frames.
‘I hate to admit it, but I’m going to need reading glasses soon. I can’t see as well as I used to,’ Whitney said.
‘That’s your age,’ George said.
‘Thank you very much, you really know how to make a girl feel good about herself,’ she said, giving a wry smile.
‘It’s true. Our eyesight deteriorates as w
e get older. You’re no different from anyone else, so no need to feel bad about it.’ George leant in and picked up a pair of oval frames and held them in front of her. ‘These will suit the shape of your face, why don’t you try them.’
As Whitney took them, she glanced at the price. ‘What? Four hundred pounds? I think I’ll pick up some cheap magnifying glasses from the chemist the next time I’m passing.’
‘They’re not very good for you as—’
A door to the rear of the reception opened, and a man came out. After he’d paid, the receptionist scurried into the room he’d been in. She returned in less than a minute.
‘Mr Young can see you now.’
‘Thank you,’ Whitney said as they walked past her.
As they entered the examination room, a tall man with dark hair streaked with grey, stood.
‘Has something happened to my family?’ he asked, the lines around his eyes tight. ‘My receptionist should have interrupted.’
‘We’re not here about your family. ‘We’re investigating the deaths of two sixteen-year-old girls whose bodies were recently found at Oak Tree Farm,’ Whitney said, closing the door behind them.
‘Yes, I know the deaths you’re referring to, I saw them reported on the news.’
‘Do you remember Anita Bailey and Jayne Kennedy?’
‘They went to my school, but we weren’t friends.’
‘They disappeared on the 7 May 1980. What can you tell me about that day?’
‘That day?’ he replied frowning. ‘I’m sorry, I have no recollection of my movements all those years ago. My memory is shocking, as my wife will confirm. In fact, I can barely remember what we had for dinner last night.’ He gave that I’m just a helpless man shrug, that she believed some women found attractive, but it drove her mad.
‘Perhaps I can help jog your memory. Earlier we interviewed Reginald Shaw and he informed us that you were together during the afternoon of that day.’
The colour leached from his face and he dropped down on his chair, his hands fidgeting in his lap. Whitney and George took a seat opposite.
‘Look,’ Young said, leaning forward and staring at her intently. ‘The time you’re referring to is a part of my life that I have buried. Nobody knows about my past, especially that I was connected to Shaw. A drug dealer and murderer.’
