‘We could have read them in the dark, they were so glowing,’ Alec added. ‘But I shall continue coming anyway – oh, don’t get me wrong! The exercise is so good. And at my age that’s a consideration.’ He seemed about to say something else, but dropped to one knee to fiddle with his trainer laces.
Derek coughed. He was clearly embarrassed – had no doubt relied on his father to do the necessary. ‘Kate – there’s something I – we – wanted to mention to you. You being in the police, you’ll be used to the seedier side of life. Or we wouldn’t have raised it.’
‘That’s right.’ Alec straightened. ‘We’d have mentioned it to Paul or Giles. But the lads seem to get on well with you, and you might be – I don’t know, it might be easier for them to talk to you than to one of their officers.’
‘I’ll certainly do whatever I can,’ Kate prompted him.
‘It’s – this is really embarrassing.’
All three laughed. Kate waited.
‘It’s just that there seem to be some – well, I don’t know whether they’re photos or postcards going round. You know,’ Alec screwed his face up quite unexpectedly and added, ‘feelthy pictures,’ in a supposedly Middle-Eastern accent.
‘What sort?’
‘I haven’t seen them. But there was some giggling after Church Parade the other day. And a lot of furtive shoving into pockets. Reminded me of when I was ten, with Titbits or Picture Post, or something. Probably just a bit of silliness.’
Derek shook his head. ‘Photos, I’m afraid. Of boys. Naked, mostly. Some … with, with men …’
Kate hoped she looked calm and capable. But inside her head all sorts of alarm bells were ringing. ‘Perhaps we should talk about it indoors.’ Then she remembered. ‘Look, I’ve got a dinner appointment – work! – so I’ll have to call a halt to practice – with that carpark light broken they can hardly see anyway. Could one of you hang on out here until the last boy’s been collected? And then I can talk with whoever prefers …’
The men exchanged glances. Alec said, ‘I’ll hang on, shall I? While you talk, son?’
She shut the door of the little room they used as an office and flicked the catch. She perched on the corner of the desk. He leaned against the filing cabinet.
‘It is something serious, isn’t it?’
He fidgeted with a torn drawer label. ‘Yes and no. I mean nothing ever happened. I mean, it was before Giles’ time – the last minister was a crusty old bastard none of us would have dared approach. Not like Giles: I’m sure the kids could talk to him.’
She waited.
‘It was when I was a boy. There was a rash of this dirty photo business. Photos, not cards. Mostly harmless. Just naked boys. But if you pretended to giggle over them, you got shown some more. I think there was a sort of progression. I know some of those I saw eventually were – well, pretty obscene. With men. You know. I must have looked pretty furtive – Dad wormed it out of me in the end.’
It could be serious. It was one of the ways paedophiles started to groom little boys, according to Gail, the social worker. ‘Have you any idea who was circulating them?’
He shook his head. ‘One of the older boys, according to rumour. Maybe even an officer.’
‘An officer?’
He nodded. ‘It all stopped quite suddenly. Perhaps someone warned whoever it was.’
‘Or perhaps he left?’
‘I don’t know. I’m not even sure who the officers were then.’
‘Do you remember precisely what year this was, Derek?’ Damn it, she sounded just like a policewoman. Another part of her brain was racing – could this be why young Royston wasn’t happy at this chapel? Why his family had started to go to the one on the High Street? ‘This could be important.’
He shook his head. ‘I was a kid.’
‘Roughly?’
‘I must have been about twelve or thirteen. I can’t remember.’
‘Would there be records of the Brigade going back then – what, ten years?’
‘Should be. I suppose. You’ll have to ask Giles: as Minister, he’s in overall control, remember.’
She nodded.
‘What’ll you do?’ Derek asked. ‘You see, there was another rumour. That whoever it was did more than pass round photos. One camp. With one of the lads … Ah, that’ll be Dad.’ He turned to slip the catch.
‘There! That’s the last one off our hands. All the parents collected them in person.’
‘It’s getting as bad as the school run. You can’t move in my road at school starting and finishing time. When are the poor little buggers ever going to learn to walk?’ She pulled a face. ‘When we’ve cleaned this child molester off the streets, I suppose.’
Alec looked at her: ‘You don’t suppose he and this business are connected?’
She shook her head. ‘I don’t know. But I promise you this, I shall treat what you’ve told me as seriously as if they are.’
Maureen’s fiancé was a handsome man in his early forties, a CID Superintendent, as it turned out. Maureen introduced him with evident pride: although they’d worked in the same station for months, they’d met socially on an OU Psychology course.
‘There was this woman saying how civilised Philip was. As if police officers weren’t! I didn’t dare say I was a sergeant. Anyway, I thought he was civilised too.’
‘And Maureen is, despite being a sergeant,’ Philip added.
The developments in the rape case included another attempted rape and another small stab wound, not unlike Kate’s. This time the victim was an African-Caribbean who had a family prepared to support her whatever had happened. Whether as a consequence or not, she was much more forthcoming, and had furiously alleged her attackers were African-Caribbean too. She was equally furious that none of them were on police files.
‘She swears she’ll know them again,’ Philip added. ‘And has promised to yell blue murder if she sees them.’
‘Trouble is, I wouldn’t put it past her to have a go at them,’ Maureen said. ‘I did warn her. “Don’t even think of acting on your own,” I said.’
Kate grimaced. ‘That’s exactly what I’ve been doing,’ she said. And found herself pouring out the story of her travels round Kings Heath and its environs and the official reaction. ‘No names, no pack-drill,’ she added, pouring lager all round.
‘No need for names. There’s a certain CID inspector whose charm and wit are renowned throughout the whole West Midlands,’ Maureen said.
‘But when it comes down to it, he’s a good copper,’ Philip amended.
‘Usually. But this same anonymous inspector only sent me down to Devon. Well, it’s a nice place, Devon. Except the case he said I was providing information on was nothing like ours. And the information was curiously incomplete.’
‘Talk to him about it,’ Philip said. ‘Maybe someone told him to amend it.’
‘Bloody hell! You’d have me talk to the next fifty bus when it’s at full tilt down the High Street, would you?’
‘Since full tilt down the High Street is usually one mile an hour, you might be all right. But I take your point. Trouble is, if no one says anything, nothing gets done. Have you thought about talking to your DCI? Or a senior woman colleague?’
‘’Course I have. But there’s a fine line between talking things over and grassing someone up.’
They nodded.
‘Trouble is, he’s now absolutely vetoed any sort of surveillance of this house, and even if the DCI weren’t off sick, I don’t see how I could go over his head.’
‘If it’s on our patch, Philip could do something. Couldn’t you?’
He grimaced. ‘I was hoping you wouldn’t say that. But we’re not laid low with food poisoning. And our CID like to keep abreast of what’s happening round here. Tell you what, Kate, have some more naan, no more talking shop, and, I’ll think about it. I can’t say fairer than that.’
Kate smiled. ‘Indeed you can’t. No, no more naan, thanks. And now, just to improve lif
e, I’ve got this problem with the Boys’ Brigade. I suppose you’ve never heard any rumours about Braysfield Road Baptists, have you?’
Graham. She had to talk to Graham. She couldn’t let Philip do anything without Graham’s approval. All he’d authorised was finding the house. Setting up a surveillance operation after Cope had specifically vetoed it was quite another matter. And then there was the business at the chapel. She had to phone, and this time, whatever the consequences, she had to leave a message.
Deciding was easy, of course. Doing it another matter. It was a good job she’d got into the habit of rehearsing difficult conversations in a loo beforehand. And a good job the Manse loo was away from the bedrooms. All the same, she wasn’t entirely satisfied with the cool, business-like tone of her voice as she left messages on both his home and his mobile numbers.
She’d have liked to start talking to Giles, but he and Maz were already in bed when she’d got back. She half thought about tapping on their door to see if they were awake. But it was late, and they got little enough time together. The morning would have to do.
Chapter Twenty-Six
As Kate opened the Manse front door to leave for work, Giles was standing on the step, patting his jacket pockets to check for keys. He was so grey and drained that Kate’s urgent questions died on her lips. She touched his arm. ‘Giles?’
‘Death-bed,’ he said briefly. ‘A child.’
‘I’m so sorry.’ She must wait, then. But then she thought of Danny and Dean – even of Tim, arguing with Maz about porridge – and changed her mind. ‘Look, I know this isn’t a good time to ask you this. But I’m going to anyway, because it involves other children.’ She stepped back into the house with him. ‘Alec and Derek say you’re the one who’ll have the records of the BB. Right?’
He nodded. ‘I suppose – yes, they’re in the files, somewhere. Why?’
‘I need to know who was in and who was running the BB about ten to twelve years ago.’
He shrugged off his jacket. ‘I’ll dig them out for you. But if you want quick answers, ask Paul – he’s got a wonderful memory.’
‘But he wouldn’t have been here then, surely.’
‘Oh, yes. He and Maz had been in this congregation years before I came on the scene. Brummies born and bred.’
‘But –’
‘We met and married years before I entered the ministry, remember. Up in Sunderland. Maz always wanted to come back to Birmingham. It was just a miracle that I was asked to take on the ministry here.’
‘And you did it wonderfully, love.’ Maz emerged from the kitchen, putting her arm round his waist.
Robin used to like Kate to do that. He’d grasp the hand and pull it tight.
Giles dotted a kiss on Maz’s forehead. ‘I was just saying, if Kate wants BB information, Paul’s her man. But I’ll dig out the files, Kate. For this evening. Is that coffee I smell?’
‘You couldn’t possibly do it now?’
His face tightened. Maz spoke for him. ‘He’ll do it as soon as he can, Kate – isn’t that good enough?’
Kate took a breath. ‘It may be so important I’ll come home from work to pick them up as soon as you’ve found them. You’ve got my number. I know I’m off the Richter scale for insensitivity, but please understand children’s lives could be at risk.’
‘Why don’t you simply ask Paul, if it’s so urgent?’
Maz’s question was reasonable. So why was it so impossible to answer?
‘I don’t want to involve anyone except you two. It’s as confidential as that.’
‘Come off it: you don’t expect Paul not to know about it? The BB’s his life.’
‘Maz, believe me, I’m not one for dramatic secrets. But at this moment, it’s imperative that this is kept quiet. I didn’t want to spell it out, but I’m going to have to. Someone has alleged that there may have been sexual – shall we call it malpractice? – in the Brigade some years ago. It may be a vicious rumour, in which case clearly no one should know about it. It may be the truth, in which case the first thing the perpetrator should know about it is my boss fingering his collar.’
Maz still glared, her mouth tight with anger. Giles covered his face.
‘Well before your time, Giles,’ Kate reminded him. ‘You can’t hold yourself responsible for things that happened then.’
‘No,’ he said. ‘But what if they were to recur?’
Kate pounced: ‘What makes you ask that?’
He shook his head. ‘Sorry. I’ve been up since two. No, I suppose I was just panicking – it’s what everyone in charge of young people dreads, isn’t it?’
Kate’s mobile phone chirruped. ‘Excuse me. Yes?’
‘Don’t know where you are, Power.’ Cope’s voice sounded strained. ‘But you’d better get your arse in fast. I seem to have picked up that bug. You’re in charge, woman – answerable to Superintendent Gordon. OK?’
Answerable to the Invisible Man, more like.
‘Sir!’ She took a breath. ‘I think I’ve found something important in the paedophile case, Sir. Can I press on?’
‘Do what you fucking want – oh, shit –’
Kate turned back to them. ‘I’ve got to go. I’m sorry to be so – so pressing. But believe me – those files could be a matter of life and death.’
Giles nodded: ‘D’you want to wait? As soon as I’ve had a coffee …’
‘Can’t you see he’s all in? A few more hours won’t make any difference, surely to goodness! Let him sleep a couple of hours before he turns the loft upside down!’
At least if she went in by bus she could sit and think, and God knew that she’d not move much more quickly in a car. And buses had the advantage of bus lanes.
She tried to pull together her ideas by jotting them down, but the bus bucked so much her writing would be illegible. And the man sitting next to her was peering at her hieroglyphics – it would be just her luck if he could read what she couldn’t. So she sat and stared ahead.
The question that most taxed her was why she didn’t want Paul involved. She’d no reason to believe he’d blab – but his tendency to excessive helpfulness could be a problem. Remember how he wanted to run the football training. And now he was busy sorting out her house. No, Paul would have to interfere – he couldn’t help it. And like the posters used to say, careless talk costs lives.
The person she most needed to talk to was Graham, of course. A sympathetic ear, ready with constructive suggestions. She couldn’t weep that Cope was stricken with the bug. Funny that it should be so much later than the others – it seemed to eliminate the canteen. And she must find out about Sally – hospital suggested complications. She felt cold. Not gynaecological complications, please. Colin – she hoped he’d be back. And then there was the matter of Selby and his Patience.
‘Graham!’ Her face must have shown her surprise and relief.
‘My office, please, DS Power. Now.’
She stared. His mouth was moving but the words didn’t make sense.
‘Now.’ He turned on his heel and strode off.
She had no option but to follow. She’d never heard him use that tone, not even the first time he summoned her that had been simple authority – this sounded like cold anger. Colin, back at his desk but still pale, raised exaggerated eyebrows. Selby clicked and dragged his mouse. She’d have to sort that out. She registered that Reg was looking serious, that there was no Sally.
The walk to his office seemed very long. The door was closed when she arrived. She tapped. Waited.
‘Come!’
She stood to attention in front of him, a naughty fourth-former. He was seated at his desk, and leaned forward, as if to spring across the desk at her. Then he stood, confronting her. ‘How dare you? How dare you?’
There was nothing to say, was there? Not until she knew how she’d offended.
‘I come back off sick leave to find this!’ He flicked an answerphone tape across the desk. ‘Keeping me informed, are you? Wanting m
y advice? Well, my advice is to keep our squad’s work within our squad and not go running to someone else to sort out our problems. Have you any idea how this will look to – to other people? What does it say about the way I organise things that I can’t re-deploy people if necessary? At very least you should have asked Cope.’
‘I did. The flea’s still in my ear.’ Perhaps a weak joke would remind him that they had a friendship growing.
It didn’t.
‘And little Ms Power can’t take no for an answer. Or, more likely, not no, but just wait until we can sort it. For goodness’ sake, you’re like a child of four wanting its ice cream now.’
She said nothing. She registered facts: he was white, the bruises ugly browns and yellows. The inflamed eye now looked simply bloodshot. She was shaking: there was distress, but also anger at the injustice of her treatment. Graham, of all people, behaving like a jealous schoolgirl. Why on earth wasn’t he simply welcoming what she’d done? It was no more than she’d done before – as a sergeant, she had the authority to ask other areas, other forces, indeed, for support.
He turned to the window, shoving his hands in his pockets. Then he withdrew them, folding his arms tightly across his chest.
There was no point in demeaning herself by offering what he’d see as excuses. And he was in the wrong, she was sure of it. Was it some sort of delayed shock? A row with his wife? Perhaps it hadn’t been the most tactful thing in the world to leave messages on his home answerphone. She waited a few moments, and left, closing the door very quietly.
However she tried to school her expression her face didn’t feel right. In any case, as long as she was waiting for the call from Giles, she couldn’t settle.
Reg looked across at her. ‘Ah, he has his moods, does the Gaffer. Just keep your head down and say nothing: he’ll be OK in a day or two.’
Her head was certainly down when Graham appeared, wanting to talk to Colin.
She pounced when the phone rang. Giles must have had time to sort out the files by now. But it was a personal call for Reg. He snapped down the phone at the caller and slammed down the hand-set.
She got up. It was one thing to be hurt dreadfully by someone’s temper – it was horribly like Robin’s when his wife had been on the phone – but another to let it get in the way of the job. If Giles’s sleepless night was no excuse for not searching for the files, how could she chicken out and not tell Graham about them? If he yelled, she’d just have to yell more loudly. She hung round in the corridor outside the office, waiting to intercept him.
Power on Her Own Page 22
