‘Father Edward also talked about important people in town who didn’t take kindly to anyone rocking the boat. Those were his exact words. I think he was hushed up.’
The two men did that annoying silent exchange, the one I was starting to think of as ‘What’s she on about now?’ I think Tom was about to speak when we heard footsteps, the door burst open, and DS Brown came in.
‘Fifty burials in Sabden this year,’ he announced. ‘A few more in the villages.’
Tom was still a disembodied head floating above the filing cabinets. ‘That’s a lot of graves to dig up,’ he said.
‘Hope you’re feeling fit, Flossie,’ Green said.
Brown swung round to face me. ‘How’s that press statement coming on?’
Tom beat me to it. ‘Drafted up and approved by the super, but I’ll have Elaine type it up in the morning. There’s some sort of special style that would take too long to explain to Florence.’
I’d spent over an hour battling with an old typewriter before Tom rescued me. I gave him a grateful smile.
Brown said, ‘That meeting finished yet?’
As if on cue, the door opened and Sharples came in.
‘How’d it go?’ Green asked the DI.
‘Usual bollocks.’ Sharples sniffed. ‘Everyone wanting answers. Earnshaw shooting his mouth off. Boss took a bit of a pasting. Luckily no mention of Patsy being … you know.’
‘Buried alive?’ Tom said, unnecessarily.
Sharples glared at him. ‘How’d you get on at the infirmary?’
Tom’s head vanished. He appeared round our side of the cabinets a couple of seconds later. ‘I spoke to one of the head anaesthetists, asked if it was possible to keep a kid that size unconscious and subdued for up to ten hours.’
‘And?’
‘Possible but tricky, he said, especially if you want her to wake up at the end of it.’ Tom was flicking through his notebook. ‘He thought the best way to do it would be with a benzodiazepine, such as diazepam, possibly combined with alcohol, maybe morphine.’
Sharples pulled his thinking face, a sort of contraction of the muscles around his eyes.
‘It would be risky, though.’ Tom leaned back against the cabinets and something fell down on the other side. ‘He said that several times. Unless someone really knew what he was doing, he’d be more likely to kill her.’
‘Maybe that was the plan,’ I said. ‘Maybe she was never expected to wake up.’
‘Seems a lot of trouble when you could put a pillow over her face,’ said Sharples. ‘And where would your average bloke get hold of … What was it again?’
‘Benzodiazepine,’ I said, when Tom struggled to find the place in his book. ‘It’s a common sedative. Sir, if you’ve got a minute, I made this.’
I pulled a rolled-up sheet of light card out of my desk drawer. ‘Sorry, it’s still very rough, but it’s a chart of the three children.’
The others gathered round, Sharples a split second behind the rest.
‘I’ve put their names along the top,’ I said, as I tried to get the thing to lie flat. ‘And then down the vertical axis, I’ve listed subjects they studied, their friends, their enemies, the clubs they belonged to, outside interests. I need a lot more information, but—’
‘What’s the point?’ asked Green, as it sprang back into a roll.
‘It’ll show us what they had in common.’ Tom helped me straighten it. ‘And that will point us towards who took them.’
‘There is one thing that’s come up already,’ I said. ‘Stephen Shorrock and Patsy Wood are both children of prominent trade-union officials. Susan Duxbury’s father is a known thief.’
I waited. No one spoke.
‘They’re all children of trouble-making parents,’ I said.
‘Three different mills, though,’ said Tom.
The door opened again and the station officer leaned in. He was out of breath. ‘Trouble at Perseverance Mill,’ he said. ‘We might have a man down. I can’t get anyone out there in less than fifteen.’
All four men strode back to their desks and grabbed car keys, wallets, warrant cards.
I said, ‘Do you want me to come?’
Sharples frowned. ‘I don’t think so.’
Tom stopped in the doorway. ‘Boss, the Shorrock family live by that mill. And Linda Shorrock has been a butty short of a picnic since Stephen went. If they’re involved, we might need someone to talk her down, make her a brew.’
Sharples gave a brief, curt nod. I grabbed my hat and jacket, and ran out after them.
‘I’ve been waiting for this,’ Green said, as Tom sped out of the car park. Sharples was in the passenger seat. I was squeezed in the back between the two sergeants.
‘Torch and pitchforks,’ muttered Brown.
‘Do we know who’s injured?’ I asked.
No one answered. Sharples was talking directly to Control on the radio. ‘How many cars can you get out there? … Well, find some more. And let the boss know. He said he was heading home.’
We saw the start of the trouble while we were still a hundred yards away. People were in the middle of the main road, on the corner with Jubilee Street, looking towards the mill building. Some of them scarpered when they saw us, but most ran towards the mill, not away from it.
‘That’s Randy,’ said Tom.
The uniformed constable leaning against the corner wall was missing his helmet, his hand pressed to his temple. Tom pulled up and the men piled out.
‘Flossie, I think you should stay where you are,’ Green called back. Ignoring him, I ran to Randy as the others walked towards the corner. Randy had blood running down from his temple and looked ghastly pale in the lamplight.
‘Come and sit down.’ Sliding my arm under his shoulders, I tried to steer him towards the car. ‘What happened?’
He resisted. ‘Some bastard threw a brick at me. I’m fine, though.’
Randy and I walked to the corner and joined the others. Jubilee Street was not much more than a hundred yards long, culminating in the mill.
‘Terry Parker’s in the mill, sir,’ Randy said. ‘Doors are locked. That lot can’t get in for the moment, but there’s plenty of them trying.’
There were no streetlights on the street and none around the mill. What little light that was left in the sky wasn’t reaching this neglected corner of town. Even so, I could see around fifty people at the mill gates. Mainly men. The women and children were still in their houses. I could see them too, anxious faces lining every window, some of the bolder ones on doorsteps.
‘Terry Parker’s had a couple of cautions for hanging around kids’ playgrounds,’ Randy said, to no one in particular. ‘Years ago, but folk have long memories.’
We’d been spotted. I could see people nudging each other, looking our way. A kid set off running towards the mill.
‘Doing your job for you!’ someone yelled at us from a doorway.
‘Bloody perverts, should be strung up!’ shouted another.
‘Why now?’ Sharples said to Randy. ‘Why’s it kicking off now?’
‘The bin men found Stephen’s shoe in Terry’s backyard,’ Randy replied. ‘One of them took it to the pub to find Jim Shorrock half cut and surrounded by his mates. They all charged over to Terry’s house, but he slipped out the back and into the mill. He’s locked himself in, but it’s only a matter of time before this lot break down the door.’
‘He used to be the caretaker, didn’t he?’ Brown said. ‘Must have hung on to some keys.’
At that moment, there came a loud crash as the padlock broke and the mill gates were flung open. The crowd pressed forward.
Sharples said, ‘Randy, get back to the car and get on to Control. We need back-up now, and we need the fire brigade and a couple of ambulances. Lovelady, go with him.’
‘Sir, I could go round the back—’
He didn’t give me a chance. ‘I’m not having a woman injured on my watch. Get back in the car.’
‘With
respect, sir, I know this mill and—’
He darted close. ‘Enough!’ Tiny drops of spit hit my face. ‘This will be dangerous enough without a jumped-up swanker of a schoolgirl hanging on to our coat-tails. Now move. Randy, make sure she stays with you. You three, let’s go.’
Tom gave me his keys and then the four men ran forward, shouting, ‘Police! Everyone stay where you are!’ Randy dragged me back towards the car. I glanced over my shoulder to see my four colleagues trying to push and shove their way through the crowd. They were surrounded in seconds.
‘Urgent assistance required. Repeat, urgent assistance. Four officers in jeopardy.’ Randy looked on the verge of fainting, but he relayed the message as required. I thought for a moment, then reached beneath the driver’s seat and pulled it forward.
‘What are you doing?’ said Randy, as I turned on the ignition.
‘He told us to stay in the car. He didn’t tell us to stay in a parked car.’
The street ahead was empty. Most of the crowd had gone into the mill yard, and those who’d hung back stayed on their doorsteps as we drove past, lights on full beam. At the bottom of the street, we passed an old warehouse that had been converted to a church, but the doors were closed and the building was in darkness. I drove in through the mill gates and to the edge of the crowd. Some moved out of our way. Not all. When I couldn’t go any further, I pulled on the handbrake and the people closed in.
‘Please tell me what this achieved,’ said Randy, as we sat, engine running, surrounded by drunk, angry men. A stone landed on the roof and I flinched for Tom’s paintwork.
Jumped-up swanker of a schoolgirl. Was that really what they all thought of me?
A few yards ahead of us, Sharples and the others were standing in front of the mill doors, facing the crowd. Tom’s headlights were powerful, lighting up much of the dim yard, and I took a quick glance around. A high stone wall, a few outbuildings. From this angle, we couldn’t see the rear gates I’d climbed over that morning.
The four detectives looked uninjured but not unscathed. The lapel of Tom’s jacket had been torn. Gusty looked like he’d run into a hurricane.
‘They can see what they’re doing now,’ I said.
‘Yeah, all targets have become a lot easier to hit,’ Randy said.
Not waiting to consider whether he might be right, I got out of the car. As I made my way towards the mill, the men circling the car let me through, but grudgingly.
‘Go home, lass – there’s nowt for you here,’ I heard a voice say.
I pushed my way through the crowd of men towards the mill doors, sensing Randy behind me, as Sharples opened his mouth.
‘This ‘ere door’s three inches of solid oak with cast-iron fittings,’ he yelled. ‘Same around the back. I know that because my dad worked here up until the day it closed. Nobody is getting through it without a key, and I’m willing to bet nobody here has one. So why don’t you all turn round, go back to the pub, or your nice warm beds, and let us do our jobs?’
‘You’re not doing your bloody jobs, are you? Not with animals like Parker on the loose!’
Randy and I reached the front and turned to face the crowd, taking our place next to the others. I heard Sharples swear under his breath.
The headlights of Tom’s car shone on us, and much of the mill building, but cast the faces before us into shadow. We could barely see the men threatening us, only their eyes, gleaming. There were eyes everywhere, it seemed. In the crowd, in the windows of the nearby houses, everywhere the glint of watching eyes.
He’s here. The thought came out of nowhere, but there was no dismissing it. Somewhere in this crowd of angry, frightened men was the cold heart of a killer. He was here. He was enjoying this, taking pride in his work.
Someone at the back started to chant, quietly but insistently, ‘Bring him out. Bring him out.’
‘He’s a filthy, rotten pervert!’ someone shouted.
‘Happen he is,’ Sharples yelled back. ‘But he’s my filthy, rotten pervert to deal with how I see fit. Now turn round and go home before I arrest the whole sodding lot of you.’
The crowd seemed to be getting bigger all the time as more and more people slipped in through the gates. I was searching faces, looking for the gleam in a pair of eyes that seemed different. Amid all these blazing eyes, I was looking for ice.
‘Bring him out. Bring him out.’ More voices had joined in. It was like a drumbeat, soft but menacing, and growing in volume. Soon it would reach the point where nothing could be heard above it and then we’d have lost what little control we had.
‘Jim Shorrock!’ Sharples shouted at the crowd. ‘I know you’re at the bottom of this. Where are you, man?’
The line at the front broke apart and a man stepped forward. I’d seen him at the station after Stephen vanished. A thin, wiry man in his late thirties. His hair was blond and slightly too long. His nose was a little narrow, and a little crooked; his mouth twisted when he talked. He was the grown-up image of Stephen. He stepped forward, directly in front of Sharples, until the two men were only inches apart. They faced each other like a pair of prizefighters. Sharples was older, smaller and thinner, but he wasn’t going to back down.
Then Shorrock’s face took on a look I can only describe as disgust. He said, ‘Do you have any bloody idea what this is doing to me?’
Sharples opened his mouth, but I beat him to it.
‘Yes,’ I said, and I think both men were so surprised to hear me speak that it gained me an extra few seconds. ‘You’re heartbroken.’
Shorrock’s head turned. His pale eyes glared down at me. His upper lip curled.
I stepped a little closer to him. The same surprise that had temporarily silenced the two men had struck me too now – what was I thinking? – but I knew I couldn’t back down. ‘Your heart is breaking because you miss your son so much,’ I said. ‘And you can’t bear to see your wife grieving. You’re furious with us because we haven’t found him yet, and you’re angry with yourself too, because you think you could have done something different, although you couldn’t – you weren’t to blame in any way.’
Shorrock’s eyes narrowed, and he seemed to lean towards me.
‘And you’re scared,’ I went on quickly. ‘Because you want more than anything to help him and you don’t know how. We feel all that too, Mr Shorrock. Not as much as you, I know, but we do. Don’t we, sir?’
A second’s silence.
‘Aye, Florence, we do,’ Sharples said, and I realised that the chanting had stopped.
‘Is that the shoe?’ I spotted something in Jim Shorrock’s pocket and reached out my hand. ‘May I?’ When he didn’t object, I took the small, slim plimsoll and held it up. ‘It’s navy blue, like Stephen’s,’ I said. ‘And it does have white laces.’ I turned it over and checked the number on the underside. ‘But I don’t think this is Stephen’s shoe, Mr Shorrock. This is a size eight, and Stephen takes a size seven.’ I glanced sideways at Sharples. ‘I read the file a few times, sir. I have a good memory for things like that. I’m sure Stephen’s plimsoll was a size seven.’
Shorrock took a deep breath that was only a whisper away from a sob and I saw his whole body tremble. I passed the shoe to one side and felt someone take it from me as I took Shorrock’s arm.
‘Come on, now. You need to be at home.’ I turned him round to face the gate. ‘Your wife needs you, and your other children do too. You should be with your family. I’ll put the kettle on, make you a nice cup of tea. Gentlemen, can you let us through, please?’
The crowd fell away as Shorrock and I, arm in arm, set off towards the gate, moving to one side to get round Tom’s car. Behind, I heard Sharples say, ‘Randy, go with her.’ As we passed through the yard gates, I could hear clattering footsteps, the sound of heavy, steel-capped boots on cobbles, as the men of Jubilee Street followed us out.
I didn’t look back. Like Orpheus fleeing the underworld, I had a feeling that if I turned round, it would all go wrong, that the cro
wd would fire up again and that we’d finish the night with a lynching. So we kept going, and before I knew it, we were in the back room of the Shorrock house, halfway down the street.
By this time, I was shaking too. Jumped-up swanker of a schoolgirl? I’d just proved him right. I was going to be in so much trouble.
Linda Shorrock was sitting in front of the stove, staring through its open door to the embers within. She barely looked up. Jim sank onto the other chair, while Randy went upstairs to check on the kids. I found the kettle, put tea directly into oversized mugs and poured the boiling water onto it, the way I’d seen people at the station make their tea. I added sugar and milk, and then crouched to press a mug into Linda’s hand. She grabbed at me, spilling hot tea over both of us.
‘He comes to me in my sleep,’ she said, and her eyes were wide and desperate. ‘Pawing at me. Tugging at my hair, saying, “Help me, Mam. I want to come home.”‘
It was all I could do not to cry out – the tea was scalding hot – but more had gone on her hands and she’d hardly noticed. I put the mug down and she grasped both my wrists.
‘I’m so sorry we haven’t found him yet,’ I said. ‘But we won’t stop looking.’ I glanced over at Jim, but he barely seemed conscious. ‘We’ll never stop,’ I added, as Randy appeared from upstairs and gave me a nod.
‘He’s close, I can feel it.’ Linda was still holding on to me. ‘He hasn’t run away. He’s somewhere close and all he wants to do is come home.’
I caught Randy’s eye and knew what he was thinking. When these people found out what had happened to Patsy, their misery would know no limits.
‘Let the girl go.’ Jim turned to his wife. ‘Go on now, lass – you’ve got a job to do. We’ll be OK.’
I looked at Randy again and he nodded. There was nothing more we could do for the Shorrock family, except find their son.
Randy and I walked back down an empty street. People were still up and out, but they watched us from doorways, from the pavement.
‘We brought Terry in when Stephen went missing,’ Randy said. ‘Known nonce, lived in Stephen’s street – why wouldn’t we? He had alibis for that evening. We ruled him out.’
The Craftsman Page 12
