DC Park came in and saw Cyril staring at the letters. “Would you like a ‘P’ Sir? Playing Countdown?”
Cyril laughed. “Be a bit easier, Stuart, believe me. Anything?”
“Lady saw nothing, she just found the jar in her trolley and then the contents. The car park and shop CCTV has gone for analysis. Should be with us by the end of shift.
“I’ve been through Tony’s social media pages, his phone record stops the evening of his disappearance. The phone was turned off or destroyed some time before midnight when a number of calls from his frantic parents went to the number.”
“The letters are a key…but…” Cyril’s mobile rang interrupting his sentence.
“She’s here?” Cyril asked. “I’m on my way down.” Cyril covered the mouthpiece and looked at Stuart. “Woman’s called in to say that her daughter was given a jar of honey at the Country Show. Says she noticed it contained something so she threw it away, didn’t open it.” He spoke again into the phone. “I’ll need a WPC with me.”
***
Mrs Wilson waited in the reception area. A glass of water had been placed on the coffee table.
“Mrs Wilson?” Cyril asked. He noticed that he had startled her. She seemed deep in thought.
“Sorry. Thank you for waiting. I’m DCI Bennett and this is WPC Stapleton.” Cyril showed her through to a more private lounge area. “Now, I believe you or your daughter received a jar of honey from a stranger?”
“Yes, yes, my daughter. One minute she was with me, the next, she’d gone. It’s not like her; she’s normally shy. She told me that a man called her. He was holding out the jar. She said that she gave him a kiss and he gave her the jar of honey. She still says he was very kind and nice. This isn’t making sense, is it?”
“If it’s any consolation, this happened to other little girls on two occasions over the weekend that we know about. They experienced the same. This may sound an irrelevance considering the circumstances but it’s very important, can you describe the label on the jar, Mrs Wilson?”
She laughed and relaxed a little. The irony is, it was called Bee’s Kiss Honey. The label seemed hand written. There was something in the honey, goodness knows what, so I threw it away. I thought nothing of it until hearing the news and your request for information. Strange, made me go all fluttery.”
“Two things, did your daughter describe the man?”
“Mr Bennett, she’s six. She said that he was kind, that he had a white beard and twinkly eyes.”
“Where did you dispose of the jar?”
“I put it in the first litterbin that we came to.”
Cyril looked at the WPC and then returned his gaze to look at Mrs Wilson. “You did the right thing.” He smiled lying to be polite. “Again thanks. We have your details but I don’t think we’ll need to see you again. If you’d like one of our Community Police Officers to pop in with some ‘Stranger Danger’ picture books and chat to…?”
“Emilie.”
“…Chat to Emilie I’d be happy to organise that. We have your contact details.” Cyril smiled and stood. “Thank you again, Mrs Wilson.”
Stuart Park was still in the incident room when Cyril returned.
“Same jar and label as before but unfortunately the mother disposed of it at the Show Ground. Check who had the contract for waste disposal for the Country Show; see if a recycling programme was used. If it’s tendered to an outside contractor then check where glass or general waste was taken. Long shot but you just might find the proverbial needle.”
***
Liz and Owen arrived at their final interview. Capthorne Avenue backed onto a trailer park. Liz looked into the overgrown garden and pulled a face at Owen.
“I don’t think Alan Titchmarsh is home or has been for a few years! Let’s get it over with.”
They eased past a dilapidated car that almost blocked the driveway, sitting unloved and partially hidden under a blue tarpaulin. The net curtain twitched before they reached the door. Both Liz and Owen saw the movement and waited for the door to open. A large lady appeared with a distinctly sour demeanour.
“We’re buying nowt at the door so ya can bugger off!”
Liz looked at Owen and a cynical smile broke across her lips as if inviting Owen to speak. He didn’t, he simply removed his I.D. and held it up for the woman to read.
“Jesus, what’s he done now?”
“Are you Sonya James?”
The woman backed away a little and nodded.
“May we come in?”
Owen went in first; this time his lack of manners was justified. The strong smell of wet dog and fried food stung their nostrils. Owen looked at the chaos of the sitting room and remained in the hallway.
“Did you have a food outlet at The Stray Fair?”
She nodded. Since seeing Owen’s I.D. she had apparently turned mute.
“I take it that your spot at the Fair was…” Owen showed her the plan and photographs. “…here. Is that correct?”
“Yes, there. Wasn’t a good location really. Barton’s had best ‘un but then he paid that bit more. He didn’t open on a couple of days, had some technical problems.” She chuckled. “Couldn’t happen to a nicer chap. We did alright. What’s up any road?”
‘We? You were not serving alone, you employed someone?”
“I had two helpers, part time, friends like. They help me and I help them. It can get a bit busy. I need someone doing tea, coffee whilst I concentrate on the food, so they did split shifts like.”
“Pay tax, did they? Everything legal and above board?” Liz asked in the most unthreatening manner but she knew it was a Trojan horse question.
There was a long pause as Sonya’s facial colour changed. “They’re friends, they helped for nowt like friends do.”
“Did you give free fizzy drinks with food, Sonya?”
“Funny you should ask that, we did. A guy gave us a crate of drinks, said it was an energy drink under trial and that they’d be interviewing people they saw with the plastic bottle. We had about twenty-four, maybe a few more, not sure now. Gave us a tenner for handing it out. I tried one and it were crap.”
“Did it have a name this energy drink?”
“Ichor, remember it as clear as day. Thought it’d not do as well as others with such a daft name. Looked cheap too. Oh aye, he said to give it only to teenagers, not adults and only to lads ‘cos that were the market they were targeting.” She lifted her shoulders. “For a tenner I’d ‘ve drunk the bloody lot myself.”
“Two things. I want the names and addresses of your helper friends and I want you to give me a full description of this chap who gave you the drinks to distribute and any documentation that he gave you.”
“Last question’s easy ‘cos he gave me nowt only the drinks and a tenner. You know it’s a long time since. I think I can describe him and I’d love it if you could leave my friends out of this.”
Owen shook his head. “Here or the station? Your call.”
“OK! We’ll do it here. I really didn’t have the time to chat to him. He just dumped them on the floor and handed over the tenner. One thing I did notice though, he was a bit of a ‘fairy’.”
“Sorry?”
“Tha knows, a bit gay like. Had a small, white goatee beard, glasses and a peaked cap with the name of the drink on it. He was at the van door for only a few minutes. I had folks to serve. One thing for sure he was tall, I’d say about six foot and slim.”
Owen looked at Liz and they both knew what each was thinking.
“Your friends’ names…now!”
Liz and Owen sat in the car; Owen smelled the sleeve of his jacket. “Great! Can you smell that?”
“Can smell nothing other than that house. I swear my shoes were sticking to the carpet. If the lad bought food from her, I’m not surprised he threw up.”
“So, we have a man in disguise.”
Chapter Seven
Early September
The informal five-a-side was in
tense even though the match was drawing to a close.
“Next goal wins!” shouted one of the players.
Carl Granger kicked the ball from the imaginary wing and found the head of ‘Curly’ Brewer and from that point on, the game was finished, it was a certain goal.
“Bloody hell, Pelter, ya daft, blind sod, I could’ve saved that with my knob end!”
“If ya think I’m divin’ in this, Stotty,” he grumbled, pointing at the muddy grass, “when I’ve my good stuff on, you’ve another think coming. You go in goal if you’re not happy.”
Carl and Brewer just laughed and gave each other a celebratory hug. A tall figure crossed The Stray and watched the game briefly before dropping the plastic bottle next to the screwed-up jacket that formed one of the far goal ‘posts’. He quickly turned and walked away. The sound of laughter diminished until it blended with the noise of the far traffic. All the boys were watching the antics at the other goal and as they were playing goalie-when-needed, the opposite goal where the lone spectator once stood was empty.
“Two one, Pelter, Scott said next goal wins!” they shouted.
Scott grumbled angry that he’d made that call. “One more and that’s it?”
“Loser!” the opposition chanted before running up and patting him on the back. “Tomorrow, we’ll have a rematch. It’s getting late. I’m off.”
The spectator stood some distance away propped against one of the many trees that ran down Stray Rein on either side of the narrow road. Here The Stray was cut twice, once by Stray Rein, the narrow road that linked the large collection of houses to the A6040 and by the main Leeds to Harrogate railway that sat low in the tree-lined cutting. A small, grassed bridge allowed crossing of the cut.
“Is this anyone’s?” Pelter held up the plastic bottle. “It was on my jacket.”
“It’s probably yours. You don’t remember putting it there. Can’t see the ball heading towards the nets and he can’t remember what he brought with him!” The boys laughed.
Pelter held it up; it was full. He just lifted his shoulders and laughed. “Anyone want a swig?”
Carl Granger took it and twisted off the top before putting it to his lips. He tipped back his head and drank half the bottle.
“Bloody hell, Granger! Leave some!” Pelter grabbed back the bottle.
“That’s foul!” Carl Granger exclaimed wiping his mouth. “No wonder you’re crap at football if you drink that.” He bent down untangling the clothing that had formed the goal post, tossing a jumper to Curly before slipping his own over his shoulders.
Pelter finished the bottle and then threw it in the air before kicking it. Curly picked it up and proceeded to try to keep it in the air by kicking it. They applauded when he managed twenty kicks.
“Put it in the bin, I’m off.”
The spectator watched Pelter jog off across Stray Rein heading for the grassed footbridge that crossed the railway cutting. The others dispersed in other directions. Carl picked up the plastic bottle and looked at the label. He suddenly felt a wave of nausea rise in the pit of his stomach. He let the bottle drop grabbing his abdomen.
It was then that the spectator made the decision. He moved away from the tree and crossed to retrieve the plastic bottle that lay in the grass before following the boy.
***
Cyril sat with his feet resting on a cushion that was perched on the coffee table. He was reading a book on northern artists, A Northern School Revisited. A glass of Black Sheep beer sat to his right and the mellow sound of Classic FM drifted from the radio. So far, it had been a confusing week in which they seemed to have produced more questions than answers. He could not settle. He was neither taking in the music nor the written word. His mind tumbled across a minefield of different facts. Something was eluding him from one of the earlier missing person cases, he was sure of that. It would take another three hours of thought and a second beer before his phone rang putting an end to his evening at home and his dilemma.
“Bennett.”
It was Stuart Park.
“We have another missing youth. Fourteen years old, last seen over two hours ago. Should have been home at eight.”
Cyril looked at his watch, shook it and looked again. It was ten fifty-five.
“Call’s out and patrols are looking. His mobile’s dead, last call just before eight to home to say he was just on his way. Never arrived.”
“Send a car. I’m coming in.”
***
Above the moans and sniffles it was clearly visible, it didn’t take much finding, it was as clear as it always was, there, in the youth’s eyes, that cocktail of fear, confusion and uncertainty. Carl Granger vomited for the fifth time into the bucket that sat on his lap; very little appeared, his spontaneous retching produced only the dribbles of green bile that clung, web-like, from his lips, leaving fine strings of saliva. Sweat beaded his forehead.
“I take it, my young friend, that you didn’t like my energy drink? But then it’s not for mere mortals like your young self. Seems to work perfectly well for me.”
Carl shook his head as he tried desperately to move his arms but they were bound to what looked like a wooden chair. The steel room seemed chilled and Carl shivered, more from dehydration than fear. A bottle of water was placed to his lips and he sipped eagerly before spluttering.
“Slowly, take your time. You have lots of time now, lots and lots.”
***
Cyril went straight to the incident room. Stuart was waiting with a full description of the boy.
“SOCO team’s at The Stray now and the area has been sealed. They’ve found traces of vomit in surrounding areas either side of Stray Rein where the lads were playing. We await DNA and toxicology results from the samples. We’re interviewing the boys who Carl’s parents believe were playing football with their son. One’s been taken to A and E with what appears to be severe vomiting. ”
Cyril never understood his total aversion to vomit. He could deal with most things, and in his career he had witnessed most things, but for some reason vomit, even his own, proved a total anathema.
Stuart produced Google Earth on the interactive screen and pointed to the area.
“The markers for the found samples are here, here and…here. You can see that they’re on either side of the road. It appears we have multiple victims. One crossed the railway cutting here. That sample was from Peter Lee, the kids know him as Pelter. He lives on West End Avenue, so he was heading in that general direction. He’s presently in A and E. I’ve somebody there now; initial medical thoughts are that he is suffering from severe food poisoning. Our missing lad is Carl Granger, aged fourteen. You can see he was heading in the opposite direction. All the addresses are on file. The Grangers refused an offer for an officer to remain with them overnight.”
“Any witnesses other than the lads? Anyone see anything?”
Stuart shook his head. “I’ve a couple of officers doing general door to door and we’ve recorded the registration numbers of the cars parked down Stray Rein. They’re being checked.”
“Get alerts out and get the phones manned A.S.A.P. I’ll go and see the missing boy’s parents. I’ll take a WPC driver. I’ve had a couple of beers. Get Owen and Liz in as soon as. Good work, thanks. When are you off?”
Stuart looked at his watch. “Two hours ago. I’ll go when Owen comes in.”
Cyril smiled and put a hand on Stuart’s shoulder before picking up the file and scanning for the address. “What you’d give for a nine till five!”
“We’d both hate it,” Stuart replied. “and you know it.”
“Call if there’s anything.”
“Nearly forgot, we’ve tracked down the glass recycling container from the Showground. It’s in the hands of a private contractor and fortunately still at the depot. They’ve put it to one side. I’ve requested Forensics to go through it but that can’t happen for another twelve hours. There’s a lot of glass, Sir, so what state a honey jar will be in is anyone’s guess. Gen
eral waste has gone to recycle or landfill disposal.”
Cyril only smiled. “Get someone to keep on top of that. Thanks.”
***
The lights were on when Cyril arrived at the home of Carl Granger. A young woman was standing at the window staring out, her arms wrapped around her body as if seeking reassurance.
Cyril didn’t need to knock; the door was opened as he approached. He could see the slight optimism in the eyes of the man he assumed to be Mr Granger.
“DCI Bennett. Mr Granger?”
No, I’m his brother. Don is in the back. Anything?”
“Nothing as yet but …” Cyril stepped inside followed by the WPC.
Don looked up as Cyril entered. “You’ve not found the first missing lad and how long’s that been? So what’s the chance of finding our boy?”
The maelstrom of human emotion erupted, part anger, part frustration but the general feeling was that of desperate helplessness.
“I have just a few questions, Mr Granger. Please be assured we’re working hard to locate Carl and ensure he’s returned home safely. One of the boys who was with Carl is attending A and E suffering from a severe stomach upset. Was Carl fine when he left home?”
“He had his tea and went out. I like to see him enjoy the school holidays, there’s only a week left. I prefer it if he’s out with his mates rather than tied to his computer.”
“Did you all eat the same thing?”
“Sorry?”
“Important that you answer this accurately. Did you all eat the same meal and is anyone feeling ill or any sickness?”
“We all had the same thing. We had a chicken salad and we had a few chips. We’re worried sick but everyone’s fine, nobody’s thrown-up if that’s what you’re asking. He was fine when he left. Fine when he rang to say he was just leaving The Stray. He even joked, that I should put the kettle on and get the biscuits ready!”
Flesh Evidence: a heart-stopping crime thriller Page 4
