by Ryan Casey
She was just like the others. That familiarity about her—the way she was leaning against the wall. Tears of blood had poured down her fair-skinned cheeks from her bloodied eye sockets. On her lap, the contents of her sliced-up insides rested. She sat in a coppery pool of her own blood. The smell of her emptied bowels combined with the sick from the guy who found her was inescapable, no matter how much aftershave Brian sprayed onto his sleeve or Vaseline he rubbed under his nose.
“Janine Ainscough,” Brad said. “Aged twelve.”
Brian stepped closer to Janine. “How do you know her name already?”
“Name tag in her coat,” Brad said.
Brian looked at the blue mac she was wearing. Saw the washed-out ink on the little label poking from her neck. “Contacted the parents?”
“They contacted us. Said their little girl didn’t come home last night. And although she likes staying out late, she always comes home. Always.”
Brian looked at the holes in her eye sockets, blood and bone fragment visibly chopped at. “She’s not naked. Not like the others.”
“Panties and jeans missing. Just left us with a coat.”
“Why would he do that?” Brian asked.
“Who?”
“The killer. Why would he leave anything that might trace back to him somehow?”
Brad sighed. Crouched down beside Brian and stared at the girl with glassy detachment. “Maybe he’s getting confident. After what happened with Patrick Selter.”
The name made Brian’s stomach lurch. He was wondering how long it would be before Brad, or anyone, brought up that elephant in the room. Patrick Selter plunged to his death yesterday. Patrick Selter, who was seen leaving the Booths toilets where Beth Turner’s butchered body was found. Patrick Selter, who was a notorious child-porn filming paedophile. Patrick Selter, who had Beth Turner’s earring in his possession. Who lived just down the road from Sam Betts.
“Patrick Selter was involved somehow,” Brian said. He leaned around the side of Janine Ainscough. Peeked at her ear, tried not to see her as a human but as a model or something. Anything to keep the distance between them. “Just because another kid is dead doesn’t mean Patrick Selter wasn’t involved.”
Brad shuffled from side to side a little. Looked down at the dusty, bloody floor.
“What?”
His eyes met Brian’s. He sighed. “What it does mean is he isn’t the Eye Snatcher.”
“Can you not call him that, please?”
“Whatever. You’ll be calling him that in no time too. It just… All this. It means we’re back to square one. The Selter route, I’m not sure how much further that’s gonna lead us. We’re back to the beginning.”
Brian slipped on some prosthetic gloves and moved some of Janine Ainscough’s sweat-drenched blonde hair from in front of her right ear. “Not quite back to the beginning,” he said.
He didn’t have to say any more to Brad. He knew Brad understood. “The earring. Right.” A silver one in her left ear, none in her right.
“Our killer likes jewellery.”
“A lot of people like jewellery.”
Brian disregarded Brad’s quips. “Sam Betts’ ear piercing was found across the road from where Adrian West frequents. Beth Turner’s earring was found on the mattress of Patrick Selter’s little sex dungeon. Our killer likes collecting, but he also likes dropping them. Leaving little breadcrumbs for some reason. If we can find Janine’s earring, it’ll give us something else. Something big.”
“All fair and well saying that, but we’ve no clue where Janine’s earring is.”
Brian grunted in acknowledgement. Brad had a point. The earring might be something. It might lead them somewhere. But all they had right now were mights and maybes.
“Patrick Selter’s porn stash. Some of the officers need to go through those. If Beth Turner or Sam Betts or this girl are in those tapes, we know we’re onto something. And if anyone else is in those tapes, we know we need to go have a chat with them.”
Brian stood up. Stepped away from Janine Ainscough’s body. He couldn’t bring himself to stay here and stare at it for much longer. He made his way towards the doorway, towards the gathered crowd of police and people. Forensics were just arriving, so now they could do their part on the scene, but after the lack of evidence at the previous two murder scenes, Brian wasn’t holding out much hope.
“Shotgun not going through any of those tapes,” Brad said, disgust on his face.
Brian nodded in agreement. “I’m with you there. We need to question those close to Janine Ainscough, too. Her parents. Her friends. We need to find out where she was when she went missing. The sooner we can find that out, the sooner we can—”
“My daughter knows something! She saw something! She saw something!”
The police were struggling to hold a man with a gelled-up quiff of brown hair back. He was wearing a white shirt, which was unbuttoned at the top. Looked like a lawyer who enjoyed a few too many drinks on his lunch break.
Brad inhaled a lungful of the exhaust-fume-filled outdoor air. “I was gonna suggest some brunch, but after seeing that, I’m not so sure now.”
Brian focused on this guy as the police held him back, pushed him away. He looked eager. Desperate to share something. “Hold on a sec.”
He rushed down the steps of the derelict council flat and crossed under the police line.
“Let go of him,” Brian said to the short, stocky officer holding him back.
“But—”
“Just let go,” Brian said. “Don’t make me remind you of your bloody rank.”
The officer sighed. Let go of the man and lifted his hands.
Brian stepped up to the man. “What’s this you’re saying about your daughter?”
The man looked back at Brian with quivering lips, tired eyes. Smelled of booze. So he was right about the daytime drinking. “My daughter. My—my Harri. She’s her best friend. She’s…”
“You said your daughter knows something,” Brian said.
The man wiped some sleep out of his eyes. Nodded fast. “She… she was out playing with Janine last night and—and she—she saw him. She saw the man.”
“Which man?” Brian asked.
More quivering of this guy’s lips. “The man in the car outside our house. The—the man who was watching them play. The man who killed these children.”
Harri Johnson was sitting at her kitchen table with an untouched glass of orange juice in front of her.
Her dad, Stan Johnson, put a hand on Brian’s shoulder. “Go easy on her. Please. She’s… Janine’s her best friend. She’s mortified.”
Brian looked Stan in his tired, worried eyes. Nodded. Walked in through the kitchen doorway, leaving Brad outside to contact the department about getting CCTV for the surrounding area. Besides, Brian didn’t want Harri intimidated. One police officer was intimidating enough. Two was just painful, especially with what had happened to her best friend.
Harri looked up when Brian entered the well-lit kitchen area. She was wearing a blue hoodie and a black school skirt, with dark shoes on underneath. She looked pale, washed out. Safe to say she wasn’t going to school today—and who could blame her?
“Harri, is it?” Brian asked. He stopped in the middle of the white and black tiled kitchen floor.
Harri nodded. Fidgeted with her hands at the circular, light wood table.
“Harri, I’m Brian. Brian McDone. I’m a detective from down at the police station. Can I sit down?”
Harri looked at the vacant chair opposite Brian. Eyed it up, weighed up whether she should allow Brian into her comfort zone. That was the key with kids—make them feel secure and in control, always. Losing a friend to murder was a lot for anyone to go through, let alone a twelve-year-old, so Brian had to appreciate that. Respect that.
Harri nodded, and Brian pulled the chair back and sat down.
He rested his hands on the table. Tried not to stare at Harri, or freak her out in any way. Instead, he
looked around the kitchen for some kind of talking point. Looked at the bird calendar by the patio door. Looked out at the yard, where a basketball net dangled, worn and lifeless. Looked at the opposite side of the kitchen, where a little white hamster ran around on its cage wheel.
“That hamster yours?” Brian asked.
Harri nodded. Her eyes drifted away. She rubbed her hands. “He’s called Snowy.”
“Snowy. Nice name. I used to have a hamster. Want to know what her name was?”
Harri eyed Brian up unsure, then nodded.
“Hamster. Original, huh?”
Harri showed a flicker of a smile. Well, that was something at least.
Brian cleared his throat and leaned closer to Harri. “Harri, I… I’m very sorry about Janine. Really, I am. I have a kid your age. Davey. So I… I’m sorry.”
Harri’s expression dropped. Redness filled her eyes. “She… she should’ve walked me home. She should’ve… should’ve stayed at mine.”
“You, erm… Your dad. He tells me you saw something last night. Saw someone.”
“I was out playing with—with Janine and Stacey’s gang,” she said. “At… It was late. Half eleven. Too late. And… and I wanted them to walk me home because Stacey and the others were on bikes, but they didn’t. And I… I saw him outside the house.”
Her eyes widened. She gripped the edge of the table tighter.
“It’s okay, Harri. You’re here in your home now. You’re safe. I promise. This man, what did he… did you see his face?”
Harri nodded, then shook her head, then nodded again. “Yes. No. I… I saw him in the car. He was—he was bald, I think.”
Brian thought about Harri’s words. The bald man in the car outside her house on Walton Road. Walton Road, which was just around the corner from Long Lane, where Janine Ainscough was found. “And what was it about this man that made you feel… well. How did he make you feel?”
Harri stared beyond Brian. Shook with fear, squeezed her hands together. “Just the… Everything was quiet. The whole road was quiet. And—and he was in his car. The lights were bright. And I thought he was watching me but… but when I looked back I realised he wasn’t watching me. He was watching Stacey and… he was watching Janine. All the way down the road, he was watching Janine.”
Her voice went croaky and she started to sob.
Brian reached over and patted her on her shoulder and she flinched. From the hallway, Brian heard the creaking footsteps of Stan Johnson, no doubt listening in to check Brian wasn’t pushing his daughter too much.
“Is there anything else you remember about the car?” Brian asked. “Or… or about the man in the car? Anything at all?”
Janine’s sobs turned into full blown chesty cries. “I… I don’t know. I just want… I just want Janine back. I just want my best friend back.”
The kitchen door opened as Harri’s crying got louder. Stan walked in, disapproval on his face at Brian.
Brian scraped his chair away from the table. Stood up. Watched Stan as he comforted his daughter, whispered into her ear, reassured her everything was going to be okay.
“Thanks for talking to me, Harri. I really appreciate it.”
“What now?” Stan asked.
Brian scratched the back of his head. Truth be told, he hadn’t got as much information from Harri as he’d hoped. “We check CCTV. Look for any signs of this man your daughter tells us about.”
He stepped out of the kitchen, headed back to the lounge with its rich cream walls, its luscious blue carpet, its mantlepieces filled with photo after photo of Harri, of Stan, of the rest of the family.
Brian stopped. Looked back. “One more thing. One of Janine’s earrings was missing when we found her. The silver ones. Did she—”
“She always wore them,” Harri sobbed. “She—she didn’t even take them off for P.E. She’d never take them off.”
Brian nodded. Just what he expected. “Thanks. I’ll be in touch. Sorry again for your loss.”
He walked out of the front door of the Johnson household and onto Walton Road. The rain was coming down lightly again, and the traffic was relatively busy for a late Monday morning.
Brian walked down the concrete pathway. Opened up the door to Brad’s black Honda, which was parked on the kerb. Perched himself in the passenger seat as the smell of a McDonalds breakfast filled his belly with hunger.
“Not sick enough to buy yourself a Maccies then, eh?”
He looked at Brad and he saw that look. That look Brad always had when he’d figured something out, usually something Brian hadn’t figured yet.
“What is it?” Brian asked.
The corners of Brad’s smile twitched.
“Come on, you bastard. Speak up. What’s—”
“Good news or bad news?”
Brian shrugged. “Both.”
“Got the CCTV results back. Bad news is, we’ve got a blind spot outside the Long Lane council houses.”
“Fucking blind spots. Let me guess—council funded CCTV?”
“Bingo. But there’s good news, too.”
Brad looked out of the car window. The rain tumbled down heavier, making the inside of the car feel like some kind of relaxation booth.
“Brad, spit it out. You know I don’t like this dicking around business.”
“We ran checks on the outside of the Johnson house like you asked. And we’ve got a car waiting outside the house with its lights on full beam. It’s there when Harri walks past, stays there for another five minutes, then it drives off in the direction Janine went missing.”
“And?”
“Last CCTV frames show Janine Ainscough walking down Long Lane. At almost the exact same time, this silver Ka disappears into the blind spot too. Doesn’t resurface for a good half hour.”
Brian frowned. “Please tell me you’ve got a match on the car.”
Brad smiled. “You’re not gonna believe whose car that is.”
When Brad told Brian, the whole case clicked into place in a staggering way.
TWENTY-FIVE
Andrew Wilkinson lived in a large country manor just outside of Goosnargh.
Brad drove through the tall, iron gates, which were ajar already, made his way across the winding driveway and towards the big grey house. The place was impressive as hell. Fountains in the yard, the house itself made of old grey brick.
“No wonder he gave up the teaching gig so easily,” Brad muttered.
He pulled up just outside Andrew Wilkinson’s steps.
“No wonder he thought he could get away with something like this,” Brian said.
They both got out of the car, stepped onto the gravel.
“How we gonna approach this?” Brad asked, locking the car door.
“Like we approach any criminal. We have some fun with them, we tell them what we’ve got, and then we take them into the station.”
Brad shook his head. Smiled. “Too cruel, Brian.”
“Don’t pretend you don’t enjoy it.”
They made their way up the concrete steps towards Andrew Wilkinson’s house. Truth be told, Brian had always suspected that something was off about Andrew Wilkinson. There was his presence at Jean Betts’ the night and the nights after her son went missing. A disappearance on the night of the murder. And then the evidence: his car, outside Harri Johnson’s house last night when Janine Ainscough was murdered.
His car entering the CCTV blind spot just as Janine stepped into it.
His car not surfacing for another half an hour.
Brian knocked on the door.
“Place like this not have a doorbell?” Brad said, disapproval in his voice. “You’d think the first thing they’d put into a place like this is a doorbell.”
Brian listened for the sound of footsteps. Didn’t hear a thing.
He knocked again, looked around the grounds. Andrew Wilkinson would have no problem sneaking out of the back door of a place this grandiose. And the woodlands behind the house, he could hide in the
re for days before the police even got close to finding him.
There were a few discrepancies. Harri Johnson had said she’d seen a bald man driving the car that was confirmed registered to Andrew Wilkinson. But then when Brian had asked her again, she’d said she wasn’t sure. When you were as frightened as she was, a little cloudiness could be forgiven.
Brian went to knock again when he heard the locks rattling the other side of the door.
He exchanged a glance with Brad. By the look on Brad’s face, Brad too was expecting some kind of chase to catch Andrew Wilkinson. Yet here he was opening up the front door. Well, assuming it was him, of course.
The door creaked open.
It was Andrew Wilkinson.
He was wearing a white T-shirt with a V-neck and slim jogging bottoms. Had nothing on his feet. His hair was curly and messy, like he’d just woken up. Judging by the smell of sweat emanating from him too, he probably had.
He looked at Brian and Brad with a furrowed brow. “Can I help you?”
Brian nodded. “Andrew Wilkinson. You’ll remember us from—”
“McDone,” he said. “And Richards, was it?”
“Detective Inspector McDone and Detective Sergeant Richards, considering the circumstances.”
Andrew Wilkinson looked uneasily between the two of them. “Like I said. Can I help you?”
“Nice place you’ve got here,” Brad said. He looked up at the front of the house. “Must be a heck of a mortgage.”
“Yeah, well… I inherited a large estate. I… You aren’t here to ask me about my house. What’s the problem?”
Brian stuck his hand into the pocket of his Wood Wood coat that Hannah had bought him last Christmas. He reached for the CCTV screen-prints he’d picked up from the station before heading down here. “Drive a car, Andrew?”
Andrew narrowed his eyes. “Yes. I… Well. It’s been in for service—”
“A silver Ka?”
Shuffling of Andrew’s feet. “Yes. That’s… I do have a silver Ka, yes.”
Brian looked at Brad. Nodded. Smiled at him. “He does drive a silver Ka then.”
“Glad to get that cleared up,” Brad said.
