Blood of the Innocents

by Collett, Chris

  ‘Small businesses, that sort of thing,’ Hewitt replied. ‘There’s a sign on up the road.’

  ‘We should have a closer look,’ Mariner told Knox. ‘Meanwhile, I don’t want everyone tramping around here like a herd of elephants just yet. We need to cordon off the area and get a team down here ASAP to do a thorough search.’ He scanned the area. It wasn’t going to be easy. The surrounding ground had been left to go wild for years and the grass was dense and impenetrable, with some vicious-looking brambles and nettles. Added to which they’d need to cover the disused cottages. It was all going to take valuable time and manpower. Meanwhile, forensics could get down here and verify that the staining was indeed blood, though Mariner, from experience, was pretty sure that it was.

  He looked at his watch. Gone eight o’clock. By the time they could get anything organised it would be going on for nine and even at this time of year the light would start going. In this hostile terrain it would be a nightmare. Despite the urgency it would be better to have the light on their side to avoid missing anything. In only a few hours the sun would be coming up again.

  ‘OK, let’s get off here. We’ll need to get the area sealed off and do a thorough search first thing tomorrow.’ They trekked back along the narrow path to where the car was parked and Knox could call through to Granville Lane to organise securing the site. They were just about to leave when a distant roar greeted their ears and another vehicle appeared in the mouth of the clearing, with a lone driver. Seeing the assembled group he applied his brakes, clearly considering whether to continue or to turn and retreat. Before he could, Mariner approached, arm outstretched, holding out his warrant card, Knox at his heels. When he was near enough to be clearly identified, the car driver reacted with a resigned movement of the head and put on the handbrake.

  ‘DI Mariner, Mr—?’

  ‘Pryce, Shaun Pryce,’ the man obliged, indicating a degree of familiarity with this routine. ‘It’s all right. I’ll come back another time.’ He glanced up into the rear-view mirror as if to go, but Mariner was close enough to place both hands on the sill of the door.

  ‘Would you mind getting out of the car a minute, Mr Pryce?’

  Standing alongside Mariner, Shaun Pryce was considerably shorter than him, a wiry young man of about thirty, his platinum hair edged with lethal-looking ginger side-burns. Testosterone oozed from every pore, his stylishly crumpled combats and a faded black tank top displaying his muscular arms and shoulders to their fullest advantage, including a couple of elaborate tattoos. He saw Mariner looking at them.

  ‘My personal hommage to the Robster,’ he said, pronouncing the word with an exaggerated French accent. ‘That’s where you’ve seen them before. So what’s going on then?’ He grinned, exposing perfect, gleaming white teeth, his eyes roving from one to another of the policemen, distinctly cagey despite the outward charm. Leaning back on the car door, he was a picture of relaxation but, folding his arms, he kept a wary eye on Knox who was prowling around the battered VW Golf. Old and scruffy, the vehicle had bits of electrical equipment lying on the parcel shelf, including several coils of plastic sheathed wire. A St George’s flag sticker decorated the rear window.

  Mariner ignored the question. ‘What brings you here?’ he asked.

  ‘I saw the car and came to see what’s going on. I wanted to make sure it wasn’t kids messing about. One day they’ll set fire to the trees and the whole lot will go up.’

  No kids Mariner knew had access to a top of the range Vauxhall Vectra, he thought, but he didn’t pursue it.

  ‘So you’ve been here before,’ he said instead.

  Pryce shrugged. ‘A couple of times. It’s peaceful. Somewhere to come and unwind a bit.’ As if to sanction the rustic image, an evening blackbird chose that moment to begin its repetitive song. For many people, Mariner included, it might have been a credible response, but Shaun Pryce just didn’t look the type to derive his relaxation from a patch of scrubby, rubbish-strewn grass.

  Knox leaned in through the car’s passenger window and retrieved something from the back seat. ‘Come being the operative word, eh, Mr Pryce?’ The magazine he’d retrieved displayed a full montage of photographs of naked women striking far from modest poses. That was more like it.

  Unembarrassed by the find, Pryce smirked. ‘You know how it is. I have a high sex drive,’ he said. ‘I’m sure you can be a bit of a wanker sometimes, Officer.’ He was deliberately baiting Knox. He was playing with fire. Muscles bunched around Knox’s jaw, but he kept control.

  ‘Where exactly do you do this unwinding?’ Mariner asked. ‘It must be a bit stuffy in the car in this weather.’

  ‘Just around.’ Pryce glanced around the general area, none of which looked the least bit inviting.

  ‘Ever go on to the reservoir itself?’ Mariner nodded towards the path they’d found.

  Pryce shook his head. ‘No.’

  ‘Never? Why not?’

  ‘No point. Why walk half a mile through the jungle when everything I need is here.’

  ‘When was the last time you were here?’

  ‘I couldn’t really say. Like I told you, it’s only occasionally. ’

  ‘Try to think.’

  ‘Couple of weeks ago, maybe.’

  ‘Can you be a bit more precise?’

  ‘I can’t honestly remember.’ He glanced at his watch, a hint that he’d like to go now.

  ‘What time of day was it?’

  ‘After work.’

  ‘And what sort of work is it that you do, Mr Pryce?’

  ‘Actually, I’m an actor.’ So that as why he was enjoying this so much. Kid thought he was in an episode of The Bill. ‘I’m resting at the moment, except for a bit of modelling but—’

  ‘Been in anything I’d have seen?’ challenged Knox.

  ‘As I said, mostly modelling work, although I’ve been up for an audition for Jimmy Porter at the Rep.’

  ‘I thought you said you came down here after work.’

  ‘When I’m resting I do electrics. I’m working on an extension.’

  ‘Nearby?’

  ‘Just up the road.’

  ‘Ever seen anyone else down here?’

  Pryce laughed. ‘That’s the whole fucking point. It’s private.’

  ‘Have you ever owned a dog, Mr Pryce?’

  Understandably perhaps, the question took Pryce by surprise. ‘No.’

  Knox opened the driver’s door for Pryce to get in.

  ‘Aren’t you going to tell me what’s going on?’ he asked.

  ‘No.’

  But Knox did take details of where he was working before they allowed him to get into his car and watch him reverse skilfully out of the clearing, right hand down at precisely the right point.

  ‘Thinks he’s God’s gift,’ said Knox, bitterly.

  ‘Were you thinking what I was thinking?’

  ‘That flag of St George was conspicuous in the back window of his car.’

  ‘He might not have put it there of course,’ said Mariner. ‘It’s a pretty old car. He seemed more New Age than National Front to me.’

  ‘That hair, though. Would have made any Aryan proud.’

  ‘Even though it was dyed. What do you think?’

  ‘He admitted himself, he’s a little tosser. He didn’t come down to check us out, he was surprised to see us. He braked as he came into the clearing.’

  ‘And he’s been here more than a few times,’ Mariner agreed. ‘That space isn’t an easy one to reverse out of, avoiding the potholes, and he did it like a pro. Nor would I rule out him going on to the reservoir itself. How else would he know it’s a half a mile of jungle unless he’s been through it? No. Shaun Pryce wasn’t telling us anything like the truth. The question is, is it because he knows something or is he hiding something? Just for the record, check whether we’ve got him on our books.’

  ‘What for?’

  ‘I don’t know, but I think Shaun Pryce might be the kind of cocky little bugger who likes to
play games.’

  They took a last look around, but there was nothing more to be gained here. ‘OK, let’s knock it on the head for tonight and get some sleep while we still can,’ said Mariner. ‘We’ll start the search first thing in the morning.’ Knox didn’t offer any resistance.

  It was nearly ten when Mariner was ready to leave Granville Lane. He tried to phone Anna to let her know what was going on, but was wasting his time: all he got was her answering machine. It irritated him disproportionately. He looked up to see Tony Knox doing nothing more useful than staring into space. ‘Do you want a lift home?’ he asked. Mariner half expected a rebuttal, but for once Knox took the sensible option.

  ‘Fancy a drink?’ Mariner added, when they got to the car.

  ‘All right.’

  ‘Spoken like a man who has nothing better to do,’ said Mariner. ‘How could I fail to be flattered?’

  They stopped off at the Boat, Mariner’s local, where tonight the garden seemed the most comfortable option. Even with a pint in front of him, Knox’s reticence continued and ten minutes in, Mariner half-wished they hadn’t bothered. ‘We’ve been married too long,’ he said, in an attempt at levity. ‘Nothing to say to each other any more.’

  Knox grimaced, before draining his glass. ‘One more before the bell?’

  Mariner had hardly started his. ‘OK,’ he said, and gulped it down. What a waste. Minutes later, Knox was back with two pints and a whisky chaser for himself. ‘It’s been a long day,’ he said.

  Mariner wasn’t about to disagree. ‘Cheers,’ he said, before the silence set in again.

  ‘So how do you think it got there?’ said Knox suddenly.

  ‘What?’ Mariner was startled by the unprecedented verbosity.

  ‘Yasmin Akram’s phone,’ Knox went on. ‘It’s on the other side of the track from where she would catch the Birmingham train.’

  Mariner pounced on the interest. ‘I’ve been thinking about that. She must have dropped it,’ he said. ‘Someone else picked it up and took it there. If we’re certain that she got on the train it’s the only possibility.’

  At last Knox appeared to engage. ‘Well, we are certain, aren’t we? The CCTV footage at this end is pretty clear. We all saw her getting on the train. You can’t argue with that.’

  ‘I wouldn’t mind looking at it again.’

  ‘What for? We’ve no reason to think that she didn’t board that train. Why the hell would she have been going down to the reservoir? There’s nothing there.’

  ‘Bearing in mind what Dr Shah has now told us, there already seems to be plenty we don’t know about Yasmin. And what did you think about Paul Hewitt? Is he straight?’

  ‘It was just a chance discovery. He and his partner were led to it and there must be plenty of other people involved who’ll be able to corroborate that.’

  Mariner was inclined to agree. ‘It will be easy enough to check with the nursing home and with his partner, Sue.’

  ‘Your version’s much more likely. Someone else picked up Yasmin’s phone and took it to the bridge.’

  ‘So how does that fit with what Lily saw?’

  ‘If she saw anything. Hewitt implied that the old girl might not have all her marbles.’

  ‘The bloodstains are there all right.’

  ‘Except that we don’t know for certain that they are blood.’

  Knox was right. They’d need forensic confirmation that it was blood. If it was human blood, the next step would be to get a DNA sample from the Akrams to make a comparison. He didn’t relish that prospect one little bit.

  ‘It could just be that whoever picked up Yasmin’s phone was the guy who Lily saw beating the dog,’ Knox said, now fully engaged in the discussion.

  ‘And I wouldn’t rule out Shaun Pryce from all this, either.’

  ‘Do you think he’s the mystery man? We now know that Yasmin could have been seeing someone. She could have arranged to meet him anywhere between here and the station.’

  But Knox picked on the obvious flaw. ‘Except how would Pryce have known Yasmin? She’s a schoolkid, he’s an out of work actor and part time leckie.’

  Mariner sighed. ‘And we don’t know for certain that there is any mystery man. Yasmin could have invented him in an attempt to be more sophisticated than she really is. We haven’t talked to Suzanne yet and I got the impression of some pretty fierce competition going on between the two of them.’

  ‘I do love a simple, straightforward case,’ said Knox, wryly.

  Mariner frowned. ‘Ever had one?’

  The thought was enough to render Knox sullen and morose all over again, and by the time Mariner dropped him off outside his house he was back to his monosyllabic self. Mariner offered a silent plea for Theresa to come back soon.

  Mariner himself took the briefing at six the next morning at the entrance to what had become, overnight, the official reservoir car park. As much manpower as was possible had been mustered to conduct the second search, packing the areas with bodies. A new buzz in the air had been created by the discovery of the phone: introducing, thank God, a point of focus at last. As DCI Fiske was quick to point out, if didn’t negate the possibility of Yasmin getting on the train as usual, but suddenly the options had opened up again. The relevant portion of the map showing the reservoir had been enlarged, circulated and apportioned, and Mariner split the group into teams of three to ensure that every square metre would be covered. ‘We’ll start with the more accessible areas: the land around, then if we need to, the water itself.’

  Protective overalls, scythes and secateurs had been provided to assist with the mammoth task of hacking back the undergrowth, making the search party took like Ground Force on the rampage. The sun was already climbing steadily and Mariner had arranged for bottled water to be delivered: he didn’t want anyone collapsing with dehydration.

  Yasmin’s phone was already at the lab where it would be checked for fingerprints and any messages analysed. Fortunately, on a case like this, it would take priority and could be rushed through in twenty-four hours. Mariner sincerely hoped they wouldn’t come across anything more sinister or conclusive first.

  With the search begun under the supervisory eye of DS Mark ‘Jack’ Russell, Mariner took Knox and went to the nursing home to talk to Lily, the woman who had witnessed the attack. St Clare’s retirement home had exactly the kind of stale hint-of-urine aroma that seemed to go with the territory. ‘God, I hate these places,’ Knox said.

  ‘One of our fastest growing industries,’ remarked Mariner.

  ‘But what’s the point of festering away for years in a place like this. What kind of life is it? We’re all living too long.’

  His supporting argument was right in front of them. The office they’d been asked to wait in overlooked a kind of sun lounge, where high-backed easy chairs were clustered, most accommodating an elderly resident, even at this early hour. It was probably the same as hospitals, Mariner thought, everyone roused at the crack of dawn whether they liked it or not. Close to the TV, two elderly ladies stared fixedly at some kind of morning chat show, although whether either of them was actually watching it was impossible to tell. A uniformed nurse came and spoke to one of them. Painfully slowly, she helped the old woman to her feet and they shuffled out of the room, arm in arm. The girl looked about sixteen. What age was that to be carrying out intimate tasks for people old enough to be her grandparents? Mariner tried to envisage his mother in a place like this, but he couldn’t. She’d be the world’s worst resident. ‘They’re all white,’ he said, suddenly noticing the fact. ‘Mohammed Akram’s mother won’t end up in one of these.’

  ‘Mr Mariner? I’m Nora.’ The woman who breezed in was the member of staff Lily had confided in. A solid woman of around fifty, Norah’s substantial bulk and bosom were held in by the starched blue nurse’s uniform apparently worn by all the staff. ‘Do you mind if we go outside? I’m gasping for a fag.’ Gasping was the word. As they walked, she wheezed in rhythm with her stride, leaving Marine
r wondering how she could cope with such a physically demanding job. They stood outside the front door, under a dripping lime, as traffic roared by on Birchill Road just a few yards away.

  ‘Can you tell us what happened last Tuesday afternoon?’

  Nora tapped half an inch of ash on to the path. ‘It was tea-time. Lily was in the dining room, along with all the other residents when she said she didn’t feel well. As she’s still fairly independent we suggested that she should go back to her room and have a lie down. When I went up a little later to check on her, she was standing transfixed, in the middle of the room, staring out of the window. She was in some distress. I thought she’d had a funny turn or something, but when I asked if she was all right she grabbed my arm and said we mustn’t under any circumstances let Casper out because she’d just seen a wicked man beating a dog to death down by the reservoir. I got her to show me, but of course, when we looked out of the window there was nothing to see.

  ‘I didn’t think any more of it then because although, generally speaking, Lily’s one of our more lucid clients, she does have her moments. Casper was the cat she left behind when she moved in here four years ago, so she was clearly getting a bit confused. When I reminded her of this she realised her mistake, but I could see that something had upset her. I thought it was over and forgotten but a few days later, Lily said she hadn’t been able to sleep for thinking about it, so I asked her to show me again where she’d seen it.

  ‘She told me exactly the same story and the description of what she saw didn’t change. She insisted that she’d seen this man and that the poor dog could only be dead. As it was bothering her so much, I thought the least I could do was humour her and call the RSPCA. They’d be able to go and have a look and confirm that there was no dead dog. And Lily would be reassured to know that she’d been mistaken. There was nothing to lose.’ She looked from one to the other of them and her voice dropped to a whisper. ‘The man I spoke to said they found blood.’