by Carol Wyer
‘Did she name the boyfriend? Was it the same name as used by Carrie?’
‘No, sir.’
‘I understand you believe there are similarities. However, she might have made up the story about a new man solely to antagonise Mr Josephs.’ That thought had crossed Robyn’s mind but she’d discounted it. Flint tapped the statement.
‘The fact she received a Facebook message identical to the one Amber received is a concern, but until we have more evidence that she’s actually missing, and hasn’t gone off for a few days’ holiday to get over splitting up with her boyfriend, or isn’t deliberately trying to “make him sweat”, we can’t jump to conclusions.’ He sniffed again. ‘I want you to concentrate on finding the person or persons responsible for the deaths of Amber Dalton and Carrie Miller. That is your priority. For the moment, I want you to deploy all your resources on that. Carrie Miller was found six days ago. Are we clear?’
Robyn nodded. Flint wasn’t going to be swayed. She’d do as he suggested but she wasn’t going to let Siobhan Connors be the killer’s third victim.
‘We’re interviewing Logan Crompton in the next half-hour, sir.’
‘You think he’s our man?’
He’s the only person we’ve been able to link to the two girls. I’ll keep you informed, sir.’
He replied with a curt nod.
She dialled Ross as soon as she left Flint’s office. ‘Ross, you’ll keep looking for her, won’t you?’
‘You bet,’ was all he said. She could hear the determination in his voice. Ross believed in her, and for now that was enough.
She strode outside and breathed in the cold air. Louisa Mulholland would have let her pursue her enquiries. Louisa hadn’t always agreed with Robyn’s methods, but she’d rarely doubted her instincts. Maybe she should look at transferring to Yorkshire. Flint was never going to warm to her and she couldn’t be stifled like this. She thought she could hear Davies’s voice, ‘Do what you believe is right.’ He’d always told her that. He’d trusted her instincts too. Flint needed proof they were dealing with somebody who could strike again and Robyn knew his next victim was going to be Siobhan. She’d get the proof she needed to convince Flint of that. She dialled another number.
‘Harry, can you examine Carrie Miller for me again? Concentrate on her forehead. I want to know if any flesh might have been cut away from it.’ She snapped off her phone. Now she’d deal with the bouncer at the nightclub. She was not going to let another girl die.
Thirty-Eight
Mitz shoved his head around the door. ‘He’s here.’
‘Good. Have you set up the recording equipment?’
‘All done. I’ll meet you in interview room two.’
Robyn pushed back her chair. She was eager to speak to Logan Crompton, the bouncer at Stardust nightclub.
Anna was going through pages and pages of Facebook posts, hunting for anything that would give them a clue as to why and how Carrie, Amber and now Siobhan were connected.
‘Still no luck,’ she said, as Robyn rose to interview Logan.
‘Stick at it, Anna. I have confidence that if there’s anything important there, you’ll spot it. While you’re scrolling through, check out Stardust nightclub and see if any of them mention it.’
Logan Crompton filled the plastic chair he sat on, beefy arms folded, thighs rubbing against each other. He wore the uniform of a biker: boots, jeans, a knotted neckerchief around his throat, T-shirt over which he sported a leather gilet. A heavy leather jacket hung on the back of his chair. His head turned as Robyn entered the room.
‘Finally, I can find out what this is all about,’ he said, hazel eyes boring into hers. ‘Whatever it is, it’s a mistake. I haven’t done anything.’
His voice was soft, and in spite of his gruff exterior, his face was smooth and clean-shaven – a pleasant face with arched eyebrows that looked quizzically at her.
‘I’m sorry about this, Mr Crompton. We have to ask you a few questions.’
He shrugged. ‘Do I need a lawyer?’
‘That’s up to you, sir, but at the moment, you’ve not been charged with anything. This is merely to ascertain information relating to our enquiries.’
‘Which means what, exactly?’
Robyn gave him a short smile. ‘Would you mind if we record this?’
He waved an arm at her. ‘Go ahead. I haven’t committed any crime, so why not. Now, what’s this all about?’
Mitz spoke clearly: ‘Interview with Mr Logan Crompton begins at eleven twenty a.m. Officers present: Sergeant Mitz Patel and DI Robyn Carter.’
‘Mr Crompton, are you currently employed at Stardust nightclub in Derby?’
‘Yes. I work there Friday and Saturday nights. I’m actually a landscape gardener by trade, but at weekends I’m on the door at the nightclub, especially this time of the year. Not many gardening jobs about.’
‘How long have you worked at the nightclub?’
Logan sat back. ‘I suppose two years, on and off.’
‘Do you recognise this girl?’
Robyn pushed a photograph of Carrie Miller towards the man who swallowed and shifted in his chair. ‘Yes.’
‘Where have you seen her?’
‘She came to the nightclub a few times.’
Mitz spoke up. ‘DI Carter has just shown Mr Compton a photograph of Carrie Miller.’
‘How well did you know this girl, Carrie Miller?’
‘Not very well. She and her mate turned up at the club one Friday and asked to be let in. They didn’t have any ID. It wasn’t too busy in there that night, so I let them in.’
‘Did you not suspect they might have been underage?’
‘No. Not at all. They certainly looked old enough to come in. They said they’d forgotten their ID. I wouldn’t have let her in if I’d thought she was underage. Was she?’
Robyn ignored his question, her eyes never leaving his face. ‘Mr Crompton, did you, in return for allowing her entry into the nightclub, ever have sex with Miss Miller?’
Logan spluttered, his eyes bulged in their sockets and his face went pink. ‘No. Absolutely not. I wouldn’t. Is that what she told you? The lying cow. Believe me, I didn’t.’
‘Did you accept sexual favours of any description from Miss Miller?’
A deep blue vein pulsed in his temple. ‘No. What do you mean “sexual favours”? I didn’t touch her.’
Robyn ignored his protests of innocence, continuing with her rapid-fire questions. ‘Did you allow Miss Miller to perform sexual acts on your person?’
‘You’re kidding me? She’s making this all up. I want a lawyer brought in, and we’ll put an end to this. She’ll tell the truth then.’
‘And what is the truth, Mr Crompton?’
‘She threw herself at me. I was having a cigarette at the back of the nightclub and she came outside. She was all over me. I had to push her away. She asked me if I thought she was attractive and I said yes, she was. I only told her that to get rid of her. She was tipsy and I didn’t want any histrionics from her.’
‘So you took advantage of the fact she was drunk?’
‘No! No way. I told her she should find her friend and go home.’
‘And how did she respond?’
Logan flushed crimson red and swallowed again. ‘She reached up and tried to put her arms around my neck but I pushed her off. Then she just dropped to her knees, reached for my flies and pulled down the zip.’
He cricked his neck from side to side. ‘Whatever she told you is a lie. I didn’t let her do anything.’
‘You’re telling me an attractive young woman flirts with you, then in a dark alley behind the nightclub offers herself to you, and you did nothing?’
Logan looked at his hands, and finally looked up. ‘I told her to go home. I told her I was married.’
‘But, according to our records, you aren’t married.’
He shook his head. ‘I figured she’d buzz off if she thought I was married.’
‘Mr Compton, did Miss Miller perform fellatio on you?’
‘Am I being charged with raping her?’
‘No, Mr Compton. I asked you a question.’
‘She didn’t.’
‘I’m afraid we have good reason to believe she did. And that you accepted it as reward for allowing her into the nightclub.’
His voice rose once more. ‘I didn’t. I mean she didn’t perform fellatio on me. I told you what really happened. I honestly thought she was eighteen and she’d forgotten her ID. Have you seen her? She looks at least eighteen. What’s going on here?’
‘Please calm down, Mr Compton. There are only a few more questions. Look at this picture for me and tell me if you recognise the girl.’
Robyn pushed forward the photograph of Amber Dalton. He shook his head, eyes wide. ‘No. I haven’t seen her. I don’t know her.’
‘Mr Compton has been shown a photograph of Amber Dalton.’
‘And how about this young woman?’ Robyn revealed the photograph of Siobhan Connors. The man let out a groan.
‘She comes to the nightclub. Irish girl. I haven’t had sex with her either. She’s never forgotten her ID to my knowledge. Please, what is this about?’
‘Mr Compton, do you have a tattoo of a deer on your arm?’
Deep creases appeared in his smooth brow. ‘Yes.’
‘Have you any other tattoos?’
‘I’ve got a bow and arrow on my wrist,’ he said, lifting his left arm and revealing a neat black tattoo, ‘and an eagle from my right shoulder, all the way down my back. Why?’
‘Do you hunt, Mr Compton?’
‘These are the weirdest questions. What have they got to do with anything?’
‘Answer the question, please. The sooner we get through these, the sooner we can move on.’
‘I shoot birds, pigeons and rabbits with an air rifle. Now and again. My father taught me to shoot when I was young. He’s a farmer.’
‘What’s the significance of these tattoos, then?’
‘No significance. I watch a lot of nature documentaries and am quite taken with both species. They’re beautiful, powerful creatures. I decided I wanted to have them tattooed on my body. There’s no law against that, is there? Am I helping you with your enquiries or are you looking to charge me, because I’m getting uncomfortable here and I don’t understand why you’re asking me these questions.’
Robyn maintained her steely gaze. ‘You’re assisting us, sir. Does the name Orion mean anything to you?’
‘It’s a star, isn’t it?’
‘Horus?’
‘What? Are you taking the mickey? I don’t know who she is.’
‘Wōden?’
‘Is that even English?’
Robyn gave a small huff in acknowledgement, sat back and crossed her legs. ‘Have you met or had dealings with a woman called Joanne Hutchinson?’
Logan shook his head slowly, trying to keep up with the questions. ‘Not a name I’ve come across. What does she look like?’
‘She’s in her thirties, blonde hair, slim, speaks very well.’
He shrugged. ‘Can’t say she rings any bells. Is she saying I’ve tried it on with her too?’ He studied his hands once more and sighed again.
‘Thank you. Mr Compton, I’d like to ask you again about Siobhan Connors. Did you ever communicate with her?’
‘I spoke to her on a couple of occasions. She used to say hi.’
‘Nothing more?’
‘She asked me for a cigarette one time. She was supposed to have given up smoking but couldn’t manage without a nicotine fix. We chatted about how hard it was to give up.’
‘Did she make any sexual advances to you?’
He placed his forearms on the table, held his hands out and shook his head. ‘No, she went inside the nightclub. I didn’t see her again. I haven’t seen her for a while. Last time, she was with a brunette. Both dolled up and worse for wear. Not seen them for a while.’
‘Were you working at the nightclub on Friday the thirteenth?’
‘Last Friday I was off with that stomach bug that’s been doing the rounds.’
‘You didn’t go to Stardust nightclub that night?’
‘No, as I said, I was sick. Started puking on Friday morning. Was totally wiped out until Sunday afternoon.’
‘Did anybody visit you during this time? Anybody who can corroborate this?’
He sighed, long and noisily. ‘Are you going to explain why I’m here? These questions are beginning to get tiring. And do I need a lawyer? Are you charging me with anything?’
‘We’re pretty much done, Mr Compton. And thank you for your cooperation. I want to go back to earlier when you denied having sex with Carrie Miller. I’m afraid we have strong reason to suspect that she did indeed, perform sexual acts with you. Have you anything you’d like to add to your earlier statement?’
‘For the last time, nothing happened.’ His nostrils flared as he spoke. ‘She unzipped my flies before I realised what she was up to, and tried to get to my pecker. I pushed her away. She fell onto her backside and swore at me. I pulled up my zip, lifted her onto her feet and told her I was getting a taxi for her. She kicked me in the shin and swore again. Said she could get her own taxi. She didn’t come back after that.’
‘Thank you.’ Robyn nodded.
Logan let out a groan. ‘I wish I’d never let her into the damn nightclub. She’s making it all up. Fetch her in. I don’t know why she’s accusing me of this. Nothing happened. I swear on my life.’
‘You weren’t flattered, aroused in any way?’
Another lengthy sigh escaped his nostrils. ‘I wasn’t at all interested in her, or any of the girls who come to the club.’ He placed his hands in his lap. ‘I’m gay. I have a boyfriend and we’ve been in a steady relationship for almost a year. He’ll vouch that I was sick on Friday. He’ll also tell you that I wouldn’t have attacked any of these women. You’ve got the wrong man. So whatever Miss Miller has told you is an out and out lie. Now, if you want to charge me with molestation or rape or whatever, then please allow me my phone call – one of my neighbours is a lawyer and I’d like to ring him.’
Thirty-Nine
Florence curled into a ball on her bed and hugged a large soft teddy bear. Tears dampened its head. What was the matter with her? She’d rowed with her best friend and told her to piss off. She was torn between ringing her to say sorry and still fuming. If she apologised, Amélie would certainly forgive her, but it would be the same old thing when they got back to school on Monday. Florence would, at some point in the day, be overcome with jealousy and hate Amélie for little reason other than she was a better person.
Florence despised her body. No matter how little she ate, she still looked fat compared to the leggy Amélie with her perfectly skinny body and shining dark hair, and no matter how much effort she put into learning, she was still one of the thickest in the class.
She didn’t fancy Mr Chambers. She liked him, but that was different, so why had she got so prickly when Amélie was teasing her? It was down to Hunter. Hunter was almost the same age as Mr Chambers. Florence had been kidding herself when she thought she could have a boyfriend like him. He was way too old for her. Even with her make-up and her grown-up outfits, she was still only thirteen and she’d been living in a fairy tale believing she could be his girlfriend.
Up until today, Florence had been harbouring fantasies about meeting Hunter in real life, holding his hand, sitting on a park bench and perhaps kissing. She wasn’t even sure how to go about that. She’d researched online but nothing prepared you for proper kissing. The reality was she simply had no idea how to act like an adult and, if he wanted to do more than kiss her, maybe touch her boobs… the thought thrilled and frightened her.
She was going to have to finish it with him and tell him today that she couldn’t meet him. She’d make up an excuse about how she was moving away for her job. Then she wouldn’t use the app again. It was pointless when you were
only thirteen. She would have to wait. Tomorrow she’d be ugly, boring, stupid Florence without anyone to make her feel better about herself. She hugged the bear into her chest and sobbed angry tears. When she was spent, she washed her face and stared out of the window. Below, her mother was barking instructions at a new rider who sat high in her saddle, nervously clutching the reins. Too tight, Florence thought. The girl needed to relax. Her mother’s strident voice probably didn’t help. Christine Hallows was not a quiet woman.
Florence had deliberately turned her mobile off after school on Friday and now she saw Amélie had called three times and sent six text messages. She deleted them all without reading them. She needed a break from Amélie. They’d been friends for too long and now Florence felt stifled by her. She’d be okay on her own. A reminder popped up. It was time to talk to Hunter. She positioned herself comfortably on the bed, pillow propping her back, and opened the Fox or Dog app. There were a couple of dog emojis and somebody had asked if she had spots. They were freckles. One girl calling herself LaBelle18, had been crude about Florence’s ginger hair. Florence had felt so indignant she’d retaliated and left a rude response.
At least I don’t look like a pig with a moustache.
She regretted it as soon as she’d posted the comment, but it was too late to remove it. LaBelle18 deserved it, she reasoned. She checked her profile picture once more. She didn’t look as grown up or as beautiful as she first thought. It was now obvious she was a little girl pretending to be a big one. She was nothing more than the fraud others had accused her of being. She chewed on her lip. Hunter was online and free to chat. She inhaled deeply and set her profile to online. Hunter greeted her:
Hunter: Hey. How’s it going?
Kitten: Okay.
Hunter: Sure it is?
Kitten: Not had a good day. Feeling a bit low. There are some horrid comments about me on my profile page.
Hunter: Ignore them all. You’re beautiful. They’re from girls who’re jealous, that’s all. You’re here with me now. That should make you feel better.
