‘What did you say?’
‘Obviously, I asked him what had happened. He told me that the kid was dead, and that I needed to get to the cottage. He told me that I had to come and get the boy and deal with the mess.’
‘What did you do?’
‘I woke Bill up, and we drove to the cottage.’
‘Who was there when you arrived?’
‘Grenville was the only one still there. The others had all gone.’
‘Where was Evan Jenkins?’
‘He was upstairs, lying dead on a mattress.’
‘Did Slater say what had happened?’
‘He told me that the boy had come round while someone was having sex with him. The men in the room panicked, and somebody injected him again. It was the second injection that killed him. The dirty bastards didn’t realise until the end that the poor kid was dead.’
‘What do you mean, “until the end”?’
‘Until they’d all had their turn. Until they’d all had sex with him.’
Clenching his fists below the table, Glen fought to remain composed. Through tight lips, he said, ‘You said the boy came round. Had he been drugged?’
‘Yes, the kids were always drugged. One of Slater’s friends brought this stuff he used at work. The kids would be out of it, but not unconscious. They hadn’t got a clue what was happening to them, but they were still conscious.’
‘What was the drug?’
‘It was some fancy-sounding name. It wasn’t street-bought crap; it was a proper drug that doctors use.’
‘Do you know who that friend is?’
‘I don’t know his name, but he’s in the book. His initials are W.B.’
‘What did you do with Evan Jenkins?’
‘I got Bill to carry him out to the minibus.’
‘Then what?’
‘Then I drove to the nearest woods I could find. I drove off the main road and told Bill to get the kid out and bury him.’
For the first time, Rob Buxton spoke. ‘Why did you do this, Caroline?’
‘I just panicked. I had to get rid of the kid.’
‘I meant, why did you take boys to these men to be abused?’
‘I don’t know. All I did, really, was turn a blind eye to what was going on at the cottage. Most of the kids never complained, and Slater paid me well. It seemed like easy money.’
‘What about the boys? What about their safety?’
She shrugged.
‘They were supposed to be in your care, Caroline.’
‘What do you want me to say, Detective?’
‘When we question Grenville Slater, what do you think he’s going to say about your allegations?’
‘This is what I meant at the beginning, when I spoke about the real truth. Slater will definitely try to lay the blame for all this on me. I’m not stupid; I can see how it looks. Mayflower Cottage is in my name; the names are all in my address book; the money goes into my account; I supplied the boys; I supplied Evan Jenkins; I supplied the drugs. That’s why I’m talking to you now, Detective. I need you to understand that I wasn’t the main instigator of all this. It was Slater. I don’t know what my husband has already said to you, but I’m sure he’ll back me up about Slater. If you can find all the men on that list, they’ll tell you it was Slater who organised everything, and that it was him who contacted them about the parties, not me.’
‘Is there anything else you want to tell me, Caroline?’
‘Yes, there is. The only other person I know by name from that list is Councillor Leonard Mellor. I recognised him at one of the first parties I went to. I’d seen his face in the local paper. He helped me to buy the cottage and was always at every party. He was the one who always told Slater to make sure I took Evan Jenkins to the parties.’
Rob Buxton closed the interview and turned off the tape recorder.
77
1 July 1986
Grosvenor Road, Retford
It was getting dark as Rachel Moore parked the CID car directly outside 23 Grosvenor Road, Retford. The home address of Stewart Ainsworth.
She turned to Tina Prowse and said, ‘Well, that doesn’t look too promising, does it?’
The small, terraced house was in total darkness.
The hardwood door had a small window three-quarters of the way up. Rachel pressed her nose to the glass and peered inside. The door would have opened on to a hallway with the stairs going off to the right. She could see the door into the living room was wide open.
There were no sounds coming from inside.
No television, no radio.
Nothing.
Taking the car key in her right hand, Rachel used it to bang loudly on the glass of the front door. It made a shrill knock that would have been clearly heard throughout the house.
There was no reply.
Rachel went over to the neighbour’s door and knocked.
Eventually, a light came on, and the door was answered by a young woman. She opened the door with her index finger pressed to her lips. She said quietly, ‘Shhhh, I’ve only just managed to get the little one asleep.’
Rachel got out her warrant card, introduced herself and said in hushed tones, ‘I’m really sorry to disturb you when it’s so late. I hope we haven’t woken your baby, but we really need to speak to your neighbour, Mr Ainsworth.’
The young woman said, ‘I haven’t seen Stewart for a couple of days now. Generally, if his car isn’t on the street, he’s out.’
‘What sort of car does he have?’
‘I’m sorry, I’m not very good at cars. It’s only a small one … Italian, I think.’
‘Okay, thanks for your help, and sorry to disturb you.’
The young woman closed her front door softly.
Rachel turned to Tina and said, ‘Is it me, or are you getting a sense of déjà vu here too?’
‘I know what you mean. It’s like Fred Barnes and Jack Williams all over again.’
‘The mystery blonde at the pub when Barnes went missing. Williams disappearing into thin air, and now Ainsworth doing a vanishing trick as well.’
‘Don’t forget, Ainsworth was supposedly going on a hot date. That’s twice a woman has been involved in the vanishing trick.’
‘Well, he’s obviously not here.’
‘No, he isn’t, and I’ve got to phone the boss in the morning with an update on our enquiries so far. I’ll be standing there saying, “Sorry, sir, but we’ve achieved a big fat zero.”’
‘Good luck with that, Tina. Don’t worry, I’ll be standing there next to you; we can share the bollocking.’
78
1 July 1986
Mansfield Police Station, Nottinghamshire
It was getting late.
Danny sat alone in his office, slowly taking stock of the day’s events.
After the admissions made by Caroline and Bill Short, things had progressed at a lightning pace. The interview teams dealing with the men from the list had all been informed of the sinister events at the cottage near Bleasby.
Every one of the men arrested that morning initially either made no comment when questioned, or made total denials.
As the day progressed and they were interviewed further, and slowly drip-fed evidence that tied them to Caroline Short and Grenville Slater, it became apparent to them, and their solicitors, that they could no longer deny their involvement in the terrible events at the cottage.
Slowly, one by one, the men began to tell the detectives the sordid truth.
Every single one of them claimed to have only taken a minor part in the prolonged abuse of Evan Jenkins.
No one admitted administering the second injection of the drug supplied by William Baxter to quieten the boy. Several of the men hinted that the injection had been clumsily administered in haste by a panicking Lenny Mellor.
The only person who had maintained a stony silence throughout his interviews was Grenville Slater. The evidence provided by the other people involved in the paedophile ring h
e’d organised, purely for profit, would see him sent to prison for a long time.
Danny didn’t care if he never uttered a word during interview. There was more than enough evidence to convict him. The arrogant, evil bastard was fucked.
There was a knock on the office door.
Bill Wainwright stuck his head around the door and said, ‘I wondered if you’d still be here, Danny. Sounds like congratulations are in order.’
‘Come in, Bill. Do you want a brew?’
‘I think something a little stronger would be more appropriate.’
Danny pulled open the bottom drawer of his desk and took out the half-full bottle of Bushmills and two tumbler glasses.
He placed the glasses on his desk, unscrewed the cap of the bottle and poured two generous drinks.
He handed one of the glasses to Bill Wainwright and said, ‘Here’s to the result, not the job.’
‘Definitely. I’ll drink to that.’
Both men took a sip of the fiery Irish whiskey and sat down.
Bill said, ‘Have you got them all now?’
‘There’s just William Baxter still to arrest. He’s the anaesthetist, who supplied the drugs to stupefy the kids as they were abused. He’s currently out of the country, on holiday in the Maldives, with his wife. From what the other offenders have said during interview, it’s apparent that Baxter was one of the main organisers of the group. Everything was set up and arranged by him and Grenville Slater. I’ll feel better when he’s safely in custody as well. His flight’s scheduled to arrive at Manchester Airport tomorrow. I’ve got Andy Wills and Jeff Williams travelling up to Manchester tonight. They will be at the airport, ready to arrest him as soon as he gets through passport control. I’ve already informed Special Branch at the airport, and they’ve agreed to take Baxter into a side room when he goes through. Our detectives can then arrest him away from the public.’
‘It’s all come together extremely fast, Danny.’
‘We had a bit of luck. It was the activities of a low-level drug dealer that first got us looking seriously at Caroline Short. Then we dropped lucky again when we were able to get the Regional Crime Squad to carry out round-the-clock surveillance on both her and her husband, Bill. It was that surveillance that subsequently identified Mayflower Cottage at Bleasby. We just had that bit of luck you need, to get everything falling into place, on an enquiry like this.’
‘You’re being far too modest. It came together quickly because it was managed right, and those opportunities that did present themselves were taken advantage of in the correct way. I’ve just popped in to let you know that the chief constable is very much looking forward to the press release tomorrow morning, outlining the success of the operation. He’s an extremely happy man.’
‘Well, that makes a nice change. What time’s the press conference in the morning?’
‘It’s scheduled for eleven o’clock. Why?’
‘I want to go and see Tania Jenkins before the press conference is broadcast on TV. I want to tell her personally what happened to her boy, and to let her know the people responsible for his death are going to be behind bars for a very long time.’
‘Not a pleasant task, Danny, but I suppose with rank comes responsibility.’
‘I know what you mean, but I feel she deserves to hear it from me. I promised her I would keep her informed, so I will.’
‘How’s everything else? How’s married life treating you?’
‘I’m enjoying every minute. I’m very lucky; Sue’s a lovely lady.’
‘So, will we soon be hearing the sound of tiny feet?’
Danny said nothing, but his silence spoke volumes.
Bill, as usual, was very sharp on the uptake. ‘No, don’t tell me she’s expecting already? That’s wonderful news.’ He beamed and raised his glass towards Danny.
Danny touched the glass with his own, and both men took another sip of the whiskey.
Danny said, ‘We’ve only just found out, Bill, so it’s early days. I’d appreciate it if you didn’t say anything to anyone just yet.’
Bill smiled. ‘Mum’s the word. Literally!’
He burst out laughing at his own joke.
When his laughter subsided, he became serious again and said, ‘What about your other cases?’
‘We’re pretty clear at the moment. Now this case has reached a conclusion, I want to devote more time to locating the elusive Jimmy Wade. I’ve had two detectives up at Rampton working on the case while the rest of the Unit has been busy working the Jenkins enquiry. I’m expecting an update from them in the morning. Hopefully, they’ll have been able to make some progress. I’ve always had this nagging suspicion that Wade stayed local. I know it doesn’t make any sense, but I’ve always had a feeling that he’s still around here somewhere.’
‘Well, keep me posted. I won’t delay you getting home to your lovely wife any longer. Please pass on my congratulations to Sue. Goodnight, Danny.’
‘I will do. Night, Bill.’
Five minutes later, Danny swallowed the last of the whiskey in his glass. He slipped his jacket on, switched off the office light and went home.
79
2 July 1986
South Lodge, Retford
The first rays of the morning sun were beginning to stream into the master bedroom at South Lodge. A naked Melissa Braithwaite snuggled into the side of Jimmy Wade as they lay together in the huge double bed.
They had awoken thirty minutes before and had immediately made love. Now spent, they cuddled together, enjoying the feel of skin-to-skin contact and a post-coital cigarette.
Melissa had finished her cigarette and had stubbed the butt out in the ashtray on the drawers, next to her side of the bed.
With her right hand, she began to slowly caress Wade’s stomach, just below his navel. She made small circles on his skin, softly drawing them with her fingernails.
It was something she knew Wade enjoyed.
As she caressed him, she said, ‘I think we’re making a massive mistake going after this detective. It’s one thing getting even with the other three; nobody’s even missed them yet. If you abduct and kill a police officer, everyone in the country will be searching for you. Let’s just get away to Ireland and start a new life while we can.’
Wade remained silent; he lay on his back, staring blankly at the ceiling.
A week or so ago, he wouldn’t have tolerated Melissa having any sort of opinion, let alone having the audacity to express it.
He had noticed a distinct change in her over the last few days.
Although lucid and able to articulate herself, she looked slightly unhinged. There was an intense, almost manic, look in her eyes.
She also fidgeted constantly and appeared very on edge.
Wade put the change in her down to the magnificent job he had done in breaking her spirit. He believed Braithwaite was now on the verge of either a full nervous breakdown or, worse, insanity.
He reached over to the ashtray on the bedside drawer next to him and retrieved his half-smoked cigarette. He took a long drag, blew the smoke towards the ceiling, and said, ‘Maybe you’re right. Rachel Moore is yesterday’s news. I suppose I could get by if I never saw her again. I was thinking about her last night, and I’ve already won. I’m already enjoying the freedom that she, and the other cops, tried to deny me.’
He felt Melissa’s fingernails dig a little deeper in approval. The small circles she drew with her nails moved ever closer to his manhood.
He said, ‘I’ll get rid of Ainsworth’s car later today. Then we can start making plans and getting things in place, ready to go to Ireland later this week.’
The fingernails had worked their magic; Wade felt a familiar stirring.
He stubbed out his cigarette in the ashtray and said, ‘In the meantime, come here, you.’
He turned over in bed to face Melissa, who immediately kissed him hard on the mouth.
She then whispered softly, ‘I love you.’
80
>
2 July 1986
Retford Police Station, Nottinghamshire
Throughout their time working together on the Wade enquiry, Tina Prowse and Rachel Moore had used the CID office at Retford Police Station as a base.
All their enquiries were in this part of the county. It made sense to go on and off duty there rather than travelling to Mansfield every day before driving to the Retford area.
Today was no different. The two detectives had arrived bright and early at the police station in the bustling market town.
They had walked in at just after seven thirty, and the CID office was still empty. The first local detectives usually arrived for duty at around eight thirty in the morning.
From the moment they had first arrived at the station, the local officers had made Tina and Rachel feel welcome. They had told them to use the station and the facilities as they would their own.
In response to the offer, both detectives had made a cash donation to the CID office tea fund. That way, they could help themselves to a hot drink whenever they wanted one.
As Rachel poured the hot water from the kettle into two mugs, she said, ‘How many sugars do you take in coffee?’
‘It’s one, and if you still need to ask me that after all the time we’ve worked together, you need to make the drinks more often.’
Tina smiled at Rachel, her weak attempt at humour masking her own nervousness.
She wasn’t looking forward to making the phone call to DCI Flint later.
Although they had been diligent in their enquiries into the escape of Jimmy Wade, they hadn’t made much progress.
Rachel handed the mug of steaming hot coffee to Tina, and picking up on her colleague’s mood, she said, ‘Stop worrying. Danny will be fine. He’s not an ogre!’
‘I know that, but we haven’t made much progress, have we?’
A Cold Grave: A DCI Danny Flint Book Page 27
