The Reckoning

by Jane Casey

  ‘How did she know about it?’

  ‘She was invited by someone she’d met on the Internet. We don’t know who this person was, although we’ve made strenuous efforts to trace them, as you might imagine. The account they were using seems to have been shut down and Cheyenne didn’t keep much on her computer, probably because she was told not to. We only know about this individual from a message that Cheyenne forwarded to her friends to show off.’

  I looked across the room to where Derwent was standing and caught his eye. I mouthed, ‘Forgrave?’

  He shrugged, but he looked concerned.

  ‘Was she being groomed?’ Colin Vale asked.

  ‘Looks like it. I’ve sent the message to the Child Exploitation and Online Protection centre and they confirmed it had all the hallmarks they would look for. The tone is flirtatious – comments about her appearance, her choice of clothing and so forth. And the person, who went by the name of Kyle, asked her to be sure to keep their messages secret to make it more special.’

  ‘Manipulative,’ Derwent commented, glancing in my direction again. It was strikingly similar to what he had found out earlier about Forgrave’s crimes. If alarm bells hadn’t been ringing before, they definitely were now.

  ‘How do we know this person was the source of the invitation?’ Rob asked.

  ‘We’re going by what Cheyenne told her friends. She was extremely nervous at the prospect of going to the club, because she was going to meet “Kyle” for the first time. And we have a copy of the invitation because one of my officers thought to hit the reprint button on her printer. Luckily for us it was the last thing she printed.’ Marla allowed herself a small satisfied smile as she took a piece of paper out of her folder and held it out to Liv. I leaned over to look at it, seeing a pair of masked skulls at the top of the page.

  ‘What’s the logo?’

  ‘That’s the organisers, The Brothers Grim. They’ve done a few different events, they told me – flash mobs, pop-up shops and galleries. Very trendy. Very popular with the bright young things.’

  I was reading the wording of the invitation. Dancing and debauchery, as Derwent had said. ‘It looks as if they were planning an orgy.’

  DCI Redmond shrugged. ‘I think they would have chosen a more comfortable venue if that had been on the cards. Take it from me, the warehouse is exceptionally draughty.’

  ‘Okay, but this is definitely for adults, isn’t it? This isn’t aimed at teenagers.’

  ‘The organisers didn’t specifically say that those who attended had to be over eighteen. They didn’t need to, as they didn’t have a licence in the first place. They also didn’t place many controls on who attended. The invitation was passed on by word of mouth and they limited the numbers on the night, making sure that there weren’t more than two hundred people there at any one time. But by all accounts it was an older crowd – mid-twenties, mostly.’

  ‘Any chance of getting a list of those who attended?’ Colin again.

  ‘We’ve tried. We’ve been using social media to reach out to those who might have been there. We launched a Facebook appeal that’s had a fair bit of attention and we also got on Twitter. Considering the way the invitation was circulated, we thought the best way to contact those who attended was via the Internet.’

  ‘I haven’t seen anything about her in the conventional media,’ Belcott said.

  DCI Redmond looked uneasily at Godley, who stood up. ‘A decision was taken – not by us, I might add – that this was an opportunity to put pressure on John Skinner to return to the UK.’

  ‘You used Cheyenne as bait. You went soft on the investigation so he would come back.’ I had been thinking it, but it was Liv who said it, and she sounded as disgusted as I felt.

  ‘That’s not the case. DCI Redmond has been working extremely hard to locate her. But there was a belief that if John Skinner was sufficiently worried about his daughter, he might return. Which was, in fact, what happened.’

  ‘And three men died before we worked out he was here.’ I didn’t bother to keep the bitterness out of my voice. I felt protective of my victims, even more so because of why they had died. I was glad that I didn’t have to add Forgrave to their number. I was quite comfortable with not caring for him in the least.

  ‘They were paedophiles, though,’ Belcott said. ‘Let’s not get too upset about it.’ I couldn’t look at him.

  ‘It wasn’t our choice.’ Godley’s voice was flat. End of discussion. I recalled the strain he had been under for the previous days and could accept that he hadn’t wanted to go that route. ‘Besides, the media would have focused on her father, not on Cheyenne. We didn’t want the complications that would have brought to the investigation.’

  ‘Are we sure that this online boyfriend isn’t a front for one of Skinner’s enemies?’ Rob asked. ‘Attacking his daughter would be the ideal way to get revenge on him, and I imagine there are a fair few people who would like the chance.’

  ‘That’s one of the reasons I’m glad this team is joining the investigation. We’re drowning in information and I don’t have time to work out what’s important.’ Marla Redmond smiled slightly. ‘You’re more familiar with Skinner than we are. We thought it would be worth having a look in the files to see who might be pissed off with him.’

  ‘It’d be easier to count the people who aren’t.’ Peter Belcott folded his arms and rested them on his belly, looking smug for no reason I could think, except that smugness was his default setting.

  ‘That’s why we need your help,’ the DCI said patiently. ‘You have a better chance of spotting the genuine enemies.’ She looked at Liv. ‘You’re right. Cheyenne was bait. But she’s also a missing teenager. And however streetwise she may be, she is still a child. With every minute that passes, we have less chance of finding her alive. Gayle Skinner is the wife of a known criminal and she enjoys the lifestyle that’s given her, but don’t think that means she doesn’t care about her daughter. I don’t want to have to go and tell her that we’ve found a body and I’m damned if I’m going to do less than my best to find Cheyenne, regardless of who her father is.’

  I found myself liking Marla Redmond. She had clearly been fighting that particular battle for the past couple of days, and maybe that explained the strain on her face. I was sure that her priority was the girl, first and foremost.

  ‘What about if she’s just run away?’ Belcott was holding the picture. ‘She looks a lot older than fourteen and if she’s anything like her old man, I bet she’s a stubborn one.’

  ‘We’ve considered that too. However, we can’t see why she would need to. She lives with her mother in a nice big detached house on a quiet leafy street. According to Gayle, they got on very well, and according to me, she was allowed to get away with far too much. Gayle had no problem with letting her go into London overnight, for instance, although she did think Cheyenne was staying with a friend. Cheyenne and her mum do everything together, from shopping to visiting tanning salons, and I just can’t Cheyenne leaving home and not making any contact with her mother for almost a week.’

  ‘What’s she wearing around her neck?’ DS Bryce held up the photograph and pointed to a silver chain just visible under her shirt, weighted into a V by something that hung out of sight.

  ‘Now that is interesting. It’s a white gold oval pendant ringed with diamonds. She always wears it, apparently. The pendant has a religious image on it – a picture of the Virgin Mary, I’m told. It’s double-sided; the back is set with twelve diamonds and has an M surmounted with a cross engraved on it. It’s a traditional piece of jewellery for Roman Catholics but this particular pendant is unique. It was made for her, a gift to mark her confirmation.’

  I stifled a snort. What DCI Redmond had described was a blinged-up version of a Miraculous Medal, as worn by pious Catholics the world over. I had had one myself when I was in school, but mine had been plain silver, modest and discreet, as they tended to be. All that could be said for Cheyenne’s version was that it s
ounded distinctive.

  Godley took over. ‘I’ll be allocating tasks to those of you who are free to work on this operation. Some of it will be file sifting, I’m afraid, but I also want to re-interview family and friends, plus our potential witnesses, and take a look at the warehouse. It’s no reflection on the work done already.’ He glanced at Marla Redmond, who was looking pink. It couldn’t be pleasant to have a senior officer take over your case just when you were out of ideas and resources. She would be feeling the pressure. I hoped like hell I never ended up in a similar position. ‘I want anyone who’s available to give your names to DI Derwent, please. Some of you will be going over to Brixton to work with DCI Redmond’s team. Please bear in mind that DCI Redmond is the lead investigator in this case and take your direction from her.’

  ‘What about Skinner?’ Belcott asked.

  ‘We’re going to interview him shortly. He’s been nicked for the three murders that DI Derwent was investigating.’ Godley scanned the room until his gaze fell on me. ‘Maeve, you can sit in.’

  I was surprised to be singled out and not a little embarrassed, especially since Belcott was glaring at me with the full force of his considerable capacity for resentment. On the other hand, it was an opportunity not to be missed. And it wasn’t as if I hadn’t worked for it. I had seen far too much of John Skinner’s work over the previous few days not to want to look him in the eye when he explained himself.

  The silence in the room was beginning to fragment around the edges, as various muttered conversations started up. Marla Redmond turned to Godley, who bent his head to listen to her. He was nodding courteously as she spoke, but I had a feeling that he had moved on already. The next challenge for him was dealing with John Skinner without letting him get the advantage as he had the previous day. Godley would be determined not to give in to his emotions this time, but it was easier said than done, and the muscle that flickered in his jaw told me he was on edge.

  ‘Well, that worked out nicely,’ Liv said. ‘You getting to sit in on the interview, I mean.’

  I grinned. ‘Just think, I could be stuck reading the files on him.’

  ‘Don’t. You know that’s what I’m going to end up doing.’

  ‘At least with Skinner they make interesting reading,’ I offered, but she rolled her eyes, then got up and went to join the queue in front of Derwent. It looked as if he was going to be there for a while, taking names and allocating duties. I would let him take the lead on discussing Forgrave with the boss, I decided. Jumping in ahead of him would make me exceedingly unpopular, I had no doubt.

  Outside the meeting room I waited diffidently while Godley said goodbye to DCI Redmond. I didn’t want to move too far away in case I missed my chance to go to the interview room with him and Derwent, but I didn’t want to listen in on his conversation either. I became aware that someone was standing behind me, leaning against the wall, and turned to find myself altogether too close to Peter Belcott.

  ‘What do you want?’

  ‘I want to know why Godley’s so keen on you.’ He spoke softly and I felt his breath on my face, warm and stale even at that hour of the morning. I turned away a little, repulsed. ‘What’s going on, Maeve? Do you suck him off? Is that it? Give a little head to get ahead?’

  ‘For fuck’s sake, of course not.’

  ‘Strange how you always seem to be the one who gets the good jobs, isn’t it?’

  ‘Who else wanted to work on the dead paedophiles, Peter? You? I don’t remember a great deal of enthusiasm. It was a shit job and it turned out to be more exciting than anyone expected.’ I shrugged. ‘What can I tell you? Maybe I’m just lucky.’

  ‘I don’t believe in luck.’

  ‘Stop looking for a conspiracy. There isn’t one.’ I spoke flatly, knowing that Belcott was quite capable of spreading the rumour that I was involved with Godley, and that my colleagues would be delighted to believe it.

  He stepped even closer, his voice so low that only I could hear it. ‘I just want you to know that you’re only here to fulfil the diversity criteria. Godley probably wants you in the room so you can distract Skinner by flashing your tits at him.’

  ‘Get a hobby, Peter. And leave me alone.’ I made myself sound unconcerned although my flesh was crawling. I was loath to admit it, even to myself, but Belcott had a knack of speaking to my deepest fears – that I was only included in the team as a makeweight, that whatever interest anyone senior showed in my career was motivated by something baser than the desire to encourage a promising young officer. And it didn’t help that just this morning Derwent had used me for exactly the purpose Belcott had mentioned. I would be seriously deluded if I thought that of Godley, however.

  ‘Is everything okay?’ Rob, pausing beside us, his eyebrows raised.

  ‘Never better, mate.’ Belcott slipped past me and I nodded at Rob to tell him that it was all right, nothing for him to worry about, nothing to see here, move along. He didn’t look totally convinced but he walked away, holding the door open for DCI Redmond and following her out. Godley had made a good choice. Rob could be trusted to liaise with the local CID without ruffling anyone’s feathers, which was more than could be said for some of the team.

  Godley turned and saw me. ‘Maeve, good. We’ll go down to the interview rooms and get things set up. When Josh is finished here, he can collect John Skinner for us.’

  ‘Are you sure that’s a good idea?’ I asked tentatively, but I was genuinely concerned.

  Godley looked surprised, turning to look at me as he went through the door and headed for the stairs. ‘Why?’

  ‘Yesterday, before you arrived at William Forgrave’s flat, DI Derwent was pretty hostile towards Mr Skinner.’ I shrank from telling Godley the specifics, but I was fairly sure he knew what I was implying.

  ‘Don’t worry about Josh. He’s a total professional. He behaved a lot better than I did yesterday.’

  I shook my head. ‘That was different. You were provoked. He was just aggressive from the get-go.’

  ‘He’s that sort of person. That’s one reason why I keep him around.’ Godley grinned and I caught a glimpse of the rule-bending copper he had once been. ‘Besides, I think John Skinner might benefit from a bit of a chat that’s not in the presence of his legal representatives, don’t you?’

  ‘I don’t know what you mean,’ I said sedately and he laughed.

  ‘Keep it that way. Josh could be a very bad influence on you. Stick to doing things by the book.’

  I followed him down the stairs, not sure whether to be pleased or not. I wasn’t one of those officers who had joined the police because it was the biggest gang around; I genuinely wanted to do the right thing, the right way. And I had thought Godley was the same – that he was faithful to the fairness that was supposed to underpin our work. I was getting a not-wholly welcome insight into what really motivated him. I wasn’t sure I liked it.

  What I really didn’t like, though, was being told that rule breaking wasn’t for me. It was one thing for me to decide to stay on the straight and narrow, and another for Godley to tell me to mind my own business. There was a hint of condescension in it that I recognised from Derwent’s more strident put-downs and I wondered exactly how much he had been able to influence Godley since he had joined the team. I had always thought Godley was the sort of person who knew his own mind and couldn’t be swayed by anyone else’s opinion, but he had been under intense pressure recently, and it looked to me as if Derwent had taken advantage of that.

  All in all, I was in a thoughtful mood as we arranged the chairs in the interview room; two for Skinner and his legal representative and two for Derwent and Godley across the table. My place was by the door, which I didn’t mind at all. I didn’t want to catch Skinner’s eye.

  As soon as we had set up, Godley despatched me to retrieve Skinner’s solicitor from reception. As it happened, he was the only person waiting there, which was fortunate because he was not what I was expecting. He was much younger, for starters –
mid-thirties, I estimated. He was balding but kept his hair short to make up for it, and his features were pleasantly hawkish. Two other things completely wrong-footed me: the hole pierced in one ear, and the fact that he had been whiling away the time by playing Angry Birds on his iPhone. It just seemed altogether too human.

  ‘Mark Whittaker.’ He jumped up and held out his hand. I introduced myself, noticing the extremely expensive dark suit that fitted him to perfection, the crisp white shirt, the silk tie and gold cufflinks. Clearly, representing John Skinner was a rewarding business.

  ‘How’s John this morning?’ Mark had an Essex twang and the cheeky chappy charm to go with it. Again, definitely not what I had been expecting.

  ‘I don’t know, I’m afraid. I haven’t seen him since yesterday.’

  ‘We had a long day.’ He sounded pretty relaxed given that his client had been charged with murder, among other things. ‘I bet he slept well. I didn’t. Too much to do.’

  ‘Have you represented him for long?’

  ‘About ten years.’ He must have seen me looking surprised because he grinned. ‘He’s a friend of the family.’

  ‘Nice friend.’

  ‘John’s all right.’

  I had three murder victims who would disagree with that but there was no point in arguing.

  ‘I don’t mean to be nosy, but what happened to you? Car accident, was it?’

  ‘I tripped.’

  He whistled soundlessly. ‘Looks nasty. You should have taken some time off work.’

  ‘And miss this? I don’t think so.’

  I pushed open the door and ushered him in. Godley had obviously met him before and the two of them made polite conversation while we waited for Derwent. It was all pleasant enough but I sensed a slight reserve in Godley and recognised that Whittaker’s easy manner might not be the whole story. Friend of the family or not, Skinner would want a lawyer who was as tough as he was himself.

  A prisoner as important as Skinner should have been moved around the nick with an escort of officers, but Derwent was alone when he came in with Skinner. He had him cuffed, though, and was walking close behind him with one hand on the bar between his wrists. Only I could see what he was doing, holding it up a couple of inches higher than what would be comfortable for Skinner. It was an easy way to ensure compliance and intimidate the subject, and Skinner’s shoulders were rigid with tension. I wondered what Derwent had said to him while he was unobserved – and what else he had done. He unlocked the cuffs and took them off, slipping them into his pocket as Skinner rubbed his wrists, then skirted the table to join Godley.