Touch dcs-1

by Mark Sennen

  ‘Thanks mate,’ Riley said. ‘Thought I was a goner for a moment.’

  The nursery in Ivybridge was the third they had visited so far that morning, but Riley still hadn’t got used to the stench of urine in the baby and toddler rooms.

  ‘Don’t know how you manage at home, the smell from the shit and piss makes me gag.’

  ‘Oh, once you’ve got past the thousand nappy milestone you get used to it. The first poo they do is the worst. Long, black, sticky and stinks like you wouldn’t believe.’

  ‘One would be bad enough, but a thousand! Never going to happen to me for sure.’

  ‘I can see Ms Meadows looking lovely with a couple of kids in her arms.’ Enders winked. ‘And I hear she was in town last night at that new tapas bar. With a handsome black guy. Now I wonder-’

  ‘How did you…?’

  Enders dropped out of Riley’s line of sight onto his haunches to talk to a little boy hugging a big pink teddy bear. Riley smiled to himself. Enders was right, and not just about the fact he had been on a date last night. Julie Meadows would look beautiful holding a baby, his baby. Then he shook his head. Broody, him? Mr notch-em-up-on-the-bed-post-new-girl-each-month Riley? Yes, quite possibly. Still, he reckoned he could do without the smells.

  Alice Nash worked at Cotton Socks so the nursery had been visited before, but not by members of the Zebo team. Savage had insisted the work places relating to the four dead and missing girls should be visited or revisited. This time by the same people.

  ‘I want the same pairs of eyes at all the locations to see if we can find something missing from the stuff we are putting on the system.’

  ‘What is this, ma’am, Kindergarten Cop?’ Riley had asked.

  ‘Without the muscles, yes,’ Savage said, smiling. ‘Now get along the both of you.’

  The task had turned out to be a tedious one as there seemed to be nothing of much interest at any of the places they visited, but Riley was pleased Savage had picked on him. It showed she had the confidence in him to come up trumps when everything else appeared to be failing.

  Riley looked around the nursery and shook his head. Maybe DI Savage had misplaced her faith in him. The place seemed pretty much the same as the others they had been to and nothing stuck out to him as an obvious clue. In the entrance hall the same pictures of the smiling staff and a group picture of all the babies and children, notices about the dates for the nativity, something about a case of hand, foot and mouth disease — which Riley thought sounded serious — a ‘thank you’ for the money raised for this year’s Children in Need appeal, a copy of a recent OfSTED report…

  The layouts were similar too. Some elements might be transposed, an item or room added or missing, but the basic theme remained the same. Which was part of the problem. Usually he would look for something distinctive, something out of the ordinary, something out of place. That was what clues were after all: a footprint in a flowerbed, a car parked in an odd location, a fingerprint they couldn’t eliminate. Here they were searching for something or someone common to all the nurseries.

  Enders sprung back to his feet again, reading Riley’s mind like he often seemed able to.

  ‘Play equipment suppliers?’

  ‘On the list and being checked.’

  ‘Then I reckon we are soon on to the parents.

  ‘That will be a hell of a job.’

  ‘A hell of a fuss too. Especially if the brass decide to go with a DNA sweep.’

  Didn’t bear thinking about, Riley thought. The problem of coordinating that kind of action across the city, possibly farther afield too, would be huge. The DNA trawl would involve hundreds of parents, perhaps thousands, and the outcry about civil liberties would be deafening. Many people would refuse to be tested and those would have to be interviewed and eliminated in other ways. Then there was the issue of missing someone or eliminating the killer by mistake or through fraud.

  At each nursery they had talked to the owners and workers, but so far there had been nothing much of note. One thing Riley had picked up on was the high turnover of staff. Five of the girls Rosina had worked with at Tina’s Teds had left, along with a couple from Little Angels, Kelly Donal’s place. Even Robins, the establishment where Simone Ashton had worked had lost a member of staff in the six weeks since she had gone missing. Riley didn’t know if the high turnover was relevant or not, but it meant there would always be fresh faces around. He mentioned the fact to Enders.

  ‘If you returned to a nursery after a few months you would be sure to find some new girls.’

  ‘You mean staff turnover in these places is a factor?’

  ‘Yes, but I still can’t fathom why a nursery? Last time I took a gander out of the window at the station I spotted some new girls. Every hour hundreds of them pass by that I have never seen before.’

  ‘Yeah, I play the same game. Especially in the summer when you can see down their tops. Don’t make a habit of it mind.’

  ‘Better not, Patrick. You know the boss. If she catches you she’ll cut your bollocks off and feed them to the tourists in a pasty.’

  ‘Ouch.’ Enders squirmed, as if he possessed rather too vivid an imagination. ‘Anyway I don’t buy that, Darius. It is something to do with this fetish business. Polaroid infants or whatever you called it.’

  Riley started to correct Enders’s terminology when he realised it was a wind up.

  ‘Very funny. But you might just be onto something with your little joke. Polaroid infant. What about the picture found inside the Donal girl? The photograph turned out to be ancient, didn’t it?’

  ‘Thirty years old.’

  ‘Looked like Rosina Olivarez?’

  ‘You are saying the girl in the picture was a nanny?’

  ‘Not saying, speculating. The girl in the picture meant something to the killer because she looked like Rosina. Rosina was a child care worker so maybe the girl in the picture was too.’

  ‘Darius my boy,’ Enders shook his head. ‘I have finally worked out why my career is stuck on some dead-end branch line while you are fast-tracked to stardom. It’s because you’re on L S bloody D.’

  Chapter 28

  He watched the rockets climb skyward and burst in crimson blooms, the bangs coming seconds later. For a moment or two he continued to stare up at where they had exploded, looking at the empty patch of sky now filled with nothing but a background of twinkling stars. A short life, he thought, but a spectacular end.

  Harry stood on Plymouth Hoe, the place where he had done so much watching, not quite believing he was taking such a risk. Now though, the time for watching was over. Now it was time for action.

  Action, Harry?

  Lucy still buzzed in his head even though he had dumped her. This time he had managed to carry out his plan and leave her exactly where he had wanted to leave Trinny. She would give the God bods something to think about, for sure. Fearing that, like Trinny, Lucy wouldn’t stop speaking simply because they were apart, he decided to shut her up for good. After he had pushed the big knife down into her stomach, pressing hard so it went right in where babies grew, he used the blade on her mouth. It seemed to have made no difference. He couldn’t quite understand why she still pestered him since she knew she was not the chosen one.

  But neither is Emma.

  No, Emma was proving to be a disappointment.

  I told you so.

  Lucy would know, being a little slut herself.

  Slut is a very strong word.

  True, but Lucy was a very naughty girl.

  And you, Harry, what are you?

  Harry thought for a moment. He was just Harry. Like Mitchell once said, being yourself is all you can ever be, so don’t try to fight it. And Mitchell had done being anything now. But that really was for the best. As for himself, he hadn’t even started yet.

  On the Hoe throngs of people were watching the fireworks, chomping on burgers, enjoying themselves. Harry stood next to the lighthouse, trying to look anonymous, and looked out across
the stillness of the Sound where little lights flashed on and off in random patterns. Red, green, white. Harry had no idea what they meant, but he suspected they contained some sort of message to mariners warning of hazards.

  Keep away, Harry is here.

  The mariners were quite safe, he reflected. But for someone else the danger was real enough. Harry peered round the curved wall of the lighthouse and tried to spot his target.

  My boyfriend!

  Shush, Lucy! Harry thought, even though he knew nobody could hear her annoying wittering.

  Sorry, I should have said my ex-boyfriend. I am yours now, Harry. Forever.

  He looked round the side of the lighthouse again and he could see a figure standing all alone over by the sea wall. The boy lived in one of the student blocks in town and Harry had followed him from there to the Hoe. On the way the boy stopped for a drink at a trendy little bar on Derry’s Cross. All on his own in the bar he had looked so sad. But he would be, losing Lucy like that, not knowing where or why she had gone. Now he gazed out across the inky black water and of what he was thinking Harry had no idea.

  Plenty more fish, hey, Harry?

  Not for him there won’t be, Harry thought. Now he had dumped Lucy the final act needed to be completed and he had made plans. Soon he would take the boy on a journey. A journey from which the young man would not return.

  Harry walked from the lighthouse across the grass, hardly a glance as he dodged a gaggle of overweight and half-naked teenage girls. Great curves of flesh, fluttering eyelids and red lips teasing ketchup soaked fries. He smiled to himself and trotted down the steps to the road, pausing for a car. Down here, below the plateau of the Hoe, it was quieter, just one or two people hurrying up the road to see the display. He crossed over to the wall, some hundred metres away from the boyfriend. He walked along the pavement towards him, just another patron heading down to the puke-filled streets of the Barbican. Nearer now and he realised the lad stood right next to one of the openings in the wall, which led to the maze of terraces below. There was a cafe to the right — closed — and to the left little paths weaved along the top of the steep cliffs and amongst low scrub. No one would be down there at this time of day. Harry looked back at the Hoe where the firework display was reaching a crescendo. A myriad of rockets streamed into the air and all heads craned skywards, eyes fixated on the colourful patterns being painted onto the black canvas. Harry turned to the boy. He appeared to be the only person not interested in the display as he faced out to sea as if looking for some answer out on the inky brine. Harry moved closer.

  ‘Excuse me? Could you tell me the-’

  The figure turned to face him and Harry brought what he was holding in his left hand up level with the boy’s eyes. Flash!

  ‘What the fuck?’

  The boy’s arms went up to shield himself and he knocked the camera from Harry’s hand. It didn’t make any difference because with the other hand low down Harry thrust the kitchen knife forward. Sheffield steel glided through Far Eastern cotton and into Devon flesh. A strange gurgle came as the boy opened his mouth, but he did not scream. Harry was disappointed the boy’s face showed no sign of surprise. Never mind, there would be plenty of time for surprises later. Like there had been with Forester.

  Harry wheeled the boy around and pushed him through the gap in the wall, bustling him to the ground in the darkness on the other side. He flung the knife seaward and brought out a couple of cable ties from his pocket. He pulled the boy’s arms behind him and secured the wrists with a satisfying zip sound. Then he secured one around the boy’s ankles. Finally he took the leather gag out and fastened it, pulling the buckle tight with his knee on the back of the boy’s skull. It was all over in a few seconds and Harry dragged the groaning lump ten metres along the path and left him concealed under a small bush.

  Nice work, Harry! I never liked him much anyway.

  ‘Thank you, Luce.’ He realised he had said the words aloud and wondered if he wasn’t going a little bit crazy.

  Harry went back to where he had attacked the boy and scrabbled around on the ground looking for his camera, but it had bounced away off the path and down the cliff to the sea below. Never mind, the thing was only a point-and-shoot. Now for the car. He walked back towards where he had parked it, thinking all the time how easy the job had been.

  But why, Harry? He was so ordinary, he hadn’t done anything, he wasn’t doing any harm.

  He touched Lucy, that was why. The same way Forester soiled Trinny and Mitchell ruined Carmel. People couldn’t be allowed to get away with doing things like that. Not when they involved his girls.

  Do you mean he fucked me?

  Yes. He spoilt her. Lucy had been Harry’s girl. He sat on her lap when he was little and she had been supposed to be pure for him to love. He had given her a chance, but sadly it had turned out she was dirty. Like the rest of them.

  You knew I had a boyfriend. Did you think that meant just holding hands?

  He knew boyfriends did more than just hold hands but he had been appalled at what it had turned Lucy into.

  Harry, my love, you are mad.

  Mad, yes. Quite probably.

  Harry took fifteen minutes to walk back to his car, all the time with Lucy still whispering in his head about a world populated only with sluts. Ignoring her he got in the car and drove round to get the body. The road up along the seafront was a one-way street so to get to the gap in the wall he had to first drive round through the Barbican and that’s when he saw the flashing lights.

  Not red or green or white like the ones out in the Sound, but blue.

  That’s OK, he thought, probably sorting out some ruck outside a bar.

  No Harry, look where they are heading!

  Lucy was right and he followed the police car through the Barbican and up round the curve of Madeira Road toward the Hoe. There were more blue lights and Harry spotted another police car and an ambulance. He swung past at a crawl and could see paramedics attending to someone on a stretcher.

  God moves in mysterious ways, Harry thought, but sometimes the bastard didn’t get it.

  Harry! It was your fault, you didn’t hide the body well enough, or somebody saw us.

  Us? What was Lucy talking about?

  Yes, Harry. Us. We are an item.

  Harry couldn’t believe what he was hearing. He had told Lucy again and again that she was not the one.

  I know, but I want to help you. So I have decided to stay with you for a while longer since you can’t be trusted on your own.

  Blimey, Harry thought. That was an understatement.

  He headed back up past the Hoe and then down into town again and along Bretonside, intending to return to the cottage. At one point he nearly knocked down a group of girls. Bare legs and heels, push up bras and quivering hemispheres of white temptation.

  Sluts, Harry. A world full of sluts!

  Maybe Lucy was right, but where could he go to find someone pure enough? Emma was sixteen and yet she had turned out to be a little tart.

  Younger, Harry, younger.

  Younger? Younger than Emma? He didn’t like that, it was disgusting, illegal. What did Lucy think he was?’

  Mad, Harry, you said so yourself. But don’t worry, I can help you. Together we can do anything.

  Anything?

  Yes. Just think. You can do anything, have everything!

  Lucy was beginning to sound like Mitchell, Harry thought, as the car sped along Embankment Road and out across Laira Bridge. The Plym glided by beneath, black, glossy and shimmering in the starlight like the PVC skirt on one of the girls he had just seen.

  We can find her, Harry. But not in this town. There is nothing pure here. But don’t worry, if all else fails I have got an idea.

  Chapter 29

  St Michaels Church, Malstead Down. Saturday 6th November. 9.12 am

  Jean Sotherwell was quite aware of the kerfuffle surrounding her monopoly of the flower arranging at St Michaels, but to let on would be to stoop
to the level of her detractors which would never do. After all, only one woman in the village had the required skills and artistic flair to please the Rector, not to mention the dear Lord of course, and if Hilary Osbourne, the old crone, couldn’t accept the fact then tough. She should stick to her simple ArrowWord magazines and those mindless reality TV programmes she wittered on about. However, Jean thought in a moment of contrition, the good Lord did insist on loving one’s enemy as thine own brother. But she found it so especially hard when they were ignorant and stupid.

  It had been the same in her career as a nurse. She enjoyed caring for the injured, ill and dying when those people were clever, witty, and imaginative. The ignorant, simple-minded majority had been more of a challenge. Their rude manners, boorish behaviour and incessant demands often got to her, and she had questioned her vocation and at times her faith. Still, her working days were over now and at the final tally she thought the real good she had done would outweigh the bad thoughts. And her good deeds hadn’t finished yet, she reminded herself.

  A year or two ago she had been involved in a campaign to clear up the dog mess that these days seemed to be everywhere. The campaign went national and she had featured not only on Spotlight — the local news show — but also on the BBC News At Ten. Huw Edwards had interviewed her and for weeks afterwards she was entertaining friends with descriptions of what it was like to be a media celebrity. Of course the campaign might never have amounted to much if it hadn’t been that her son-in-law was the Chief Constable of Devon and Cornwall Police, but then he was her son-in-law, wasn’t he?

  Once the dust settled she had handed over the running of the campaign to other people, partly because it had taken up too much of her precious time. That was how Hilary Osbourne had managed to muscle in on the flower rota and that could not be allowed to happen again.

  Today’s arranging would be extra special because she had come up with an idea for an imaginative display for the lead into Christmas. She would use autumn colours for the backdrop to a fresh display she would create each week. She would spend the morning completing the arrangement and then it would be there for the next two months for all to see. The congregation would be stunned on Sunday and the Rector was sure to mention her in his sermon. Hilary Osbourne, the smelly old trout, would be forced to give up any pretence she had to ascend to Jean’s position.