by Mark Sennen
Parker nodded, but appeared nervous once more. Savage told him he needn’t worry, there’d be support for him throughout the process. He had nothing to fear from his father any more.
Outside, Savage and Calter stood by their car for a moment. The suburban estate was the epitome of normal. A mother pushed a baby in a buggy while a toddler trotted along beside her. Three doors up, a Tesco delivery driver was unloading the crates from his van while chatting to an elderly woman. Who could possibly know that inside number seventeen was a man who’d been part of such an appalling set of events?
‘I could do with a coffee and a bite to eat, ma’am,’ Calter said. ‘Shall we?’
Savage turned back to the house, thinking of Parker alone in there with his memories. Why had he kept quiet for so long? Was it simply fear? Maybe there was a misguided sense of loyalty. Abusers often cast a spell over their victims and the situation was only compounded when there was a familial relationship. Brenden’s father had dominated life at the home and dominated his son. He’d made the boy believe he was responsible for the death of Jason Caldwell. Now it was time for him to pay.
‘Sorry, Jane.’ Savage shook her head. ‘We’ve got unfinished business with Frank Parker.’
Finding Ned Stone, Riley thought, was going to be easier said than done. The guy was on the radar for the Lacuna case involving at least one child killing, and yet, so far, there’d been no sign of the man. Collier was philosophical about the lack of progress.
‘He’ll turn up,’ Collier said as he studied the EvoFIT image. ‘Jason’s mother gave us the names of a few of Stone’s mates and we’ve had officers round to visit them on several occasions. Nothing yet, but it’s only a matter of time.’
‘Right.’ Riley nodded. He left Enders to get a list of Stone’s friends from Collier and went out into the corridor.
Police work could be frustrating, especially when waiting for a known suspect to make an appearance. But Collier was right, short of sealing off the city and conducting a street-by-street, house-by-house search, there was little they could do.
Or was there?
Riley reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out his phone. He scrolled through his contacts until he came to a number labelled ‘Car repairs’. He pressed ‘Call’ and a few seconds later someone answered.
‘Darius,’ a gruff voice said. ‘How’s life?’
The voice belonged to Kenny Fallon. The city’s number- one gangster. A man who Riley had done business with before, as had DI Savage and DI Davies. Dealing with Fallon was going way over a line DSupt Hardin had drawn, a line, which if crossed, meant the end of your police career and quite possibly a prison sentence to boot.
‘Kenny,’ Riley said. ‘I need a favour.’
At the other end of the line, Fallon chuckled. ‘You know I’d do anything to help the police. Nothing like turkeys voting for Christmas, is it?’
‘It’s not criminal, not even dodgy.’
‘Well, that’s all right then. Wouldn’t want to do anything illegal, would I? Not me. I’m one hundred per cent legit.’
‘I need to find somebody urgently.’
‘Really?’ More laughter. ‘I thought you were shacked up with that tasty bird who works with those kids on the Swilly? She’s moved in with you, hasn’t she? You’ll be playing happy families soon, mark my words.’
‘Not a woman, a bloke.’ Riley cursed to himself as Fallon began to wind him up. Swinging both ways now, was he? Uncle Kenny didn’t mind, Fallon assured him, but that was no way to treat the lovely Julie.
Fallon, it appeared, knew all about him and his personal life, but that wasn’t surprising. Davies had told Riley that if a dog so much as cocked his leg outside of one of Fallon’s clubs the man would know. He had a finger in every pie in the city and was on first-name terms with half a dozen police officers, several councillors and at least one MP. The dangers of dealing with him were obvious. He knew everything about you and, Riley suspected, with one word could bring your world crashing down.
‘Ned Stone,’ Riley said. ‘We’ve marked his card as being involved in the murder of the vicar. We also want to question him about the death of Liam Clough and the disappearance of Jason Hobb.’
‘And you can’t find him, is that it?’ Fallon tutted. ‘You need the help of an upstanding member of the public.’
‘He’s a case, Kenny. You’ll have heard what happened to Tim Benedict. As for the lads …’
‘Not too fussed about the vicar, but the boys? He’s well out of order there.’
‘So you’ll see what you can do?’
‘I’ll sort him, Darius. Don’t you fret.’
‘We need to question him, Kenny. No violence. I just need to know where he is, right?’
Riley waited for a reply, but none was forthcoming.
‘Kenny?’ Collier had just stepped out into the corridor, so Riley turned away and faced the wall. ‘Kenny?’
Then he hung up.
As a tool, the belt buckle was pretty ineffectual, but it was all Jason had. He tapped around the sides of the box until he found a hollow sound on one wall, reasoning there might be some sort of void there. If the box was buried underground, he didn’t want to break through the roof and cause a cave-in. Better to cut through on one side and then dig up from there.
At first he tried scraping away at the wood to see if he could make some kind of hole, but that didn’t work. Next he began to score lines in a rectangle shape, the idea being to gradually wear through the wood until he could cut out a panel. Once the panel was removed he’d be able to dig his way sideways and then up.
The work was slow and tedious. He kept the torch off most of the time, only allowing himself a few seconds’ light every now and then so he could check on his progress. After several hours he’d scored a deep gash on all sides of the rectangle but was still not through the wall. He worked on until tiredness overcame him. He slept fitfully for a while and then consumed another chocolate bar. With renewed energy he started again and after a while he felt the point of the buckle slip through the wood. He flicked the torch on and through the slit he’d made he saw soil.
Yes!
For the first time since he’d been captured, a glimmer of hope came over him. He switched the torch off and began to scrape again, this time working furiously at the wood. An odour of earth and decaying vegetable matter seeped into the box, but Jason didn’t care. After another hour the panel split on one side and he was able to ease the wood inward until it broke away. A quick flash with the torch revealed a mass of soil and stones beyond.
Now the going was much easier. He used his hands to pull the earth and stones into the box and piled the debris up one end. Soon he’d excavated a chamber almost large enough to crouch in. A few more minutes’ work and he’d be able to begin digging upward.
Jason clawed at the wall of soil, releasing a large stone behind which lay a plank of wood. For a moment he wondered what the plank was doing buried underground, but then he carried on. If he could get the plank out, he might be able to use it as a digging tool. His fingers worked their way around the edge of the plank and he yanked it free, one end of the rotten wood splintering as he did so.
There was a wash of air and the smell of something putrid. He gagged and then reached for the torch. The beam flicked on and he played the light where the wooden plank had been. A void lay beyond. This could be a way out, he thought. The passage could be some sort of tunnel to the surface.
He crawled forward, sticking his head through into the space, his hands pushing on something which cracked as it yielded. He pulled the torch to the front and shone the beam into the void.
In the white light the corpse appeared colourless, like a zombie from a black and white horror movie. Jason glanced down. His right hand had broken through the dried skin of the stomach and he felt something liquid ooze over his fingers. He gagged as the stench rose from the corpse and a thick vapour of decay reached the back of his throat. He scrabbled away as fast as h
e could, retreating into the box and huddling in the corner. Too late he realised he’d left the torch behind, aware of the light beginning to dim as the batteries died.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Hope Cove, South Hams, Devon. Wednesday 28th October. 11.50 a.m.
The plan to confront Frank Parker was a simple one. Savage and Calter would go to the house while backup waited in a patrol car out of sight down the lane. Parker would be questioned and possibly arrested. Also in the patrol car was Luke Farrell, the FLO. He’d be staying with Mrs Parker if her husband was taken away, ostensibly to offer support. He’d also be finding out whether she’d been complicit in the abuse or in the murder of Jason Caldwell.
The weather had turned blustery. Out in the bay beyond Hope Cove the strong breeze whipped spray from the wave crests and foam streaked the surface of the sea. As they stood outside Parker’s place, they felt the force of the wind.
‘Nice view, ma’am,’ Calter said, gazing out towards the horizon. ‘But bleak, hey?’
Savage nodded and they went through the gate and climbed the steps to the front porch. A rap brought Mrs Parker to the door.
‘You!’ Mrs Parker peered through the gap, seemingly unwilling to open the door more than a couple of inches. ‘We’ve told you everything. Go away!’
‘We need to speak to your husband,’ Savage said. ‘Is he in?’
Mrs Parker pulled the door open. ‘Same room as before. Same time. Ten minutes. OK?’
‘This won’t take ten minutes, Mrs Parker.’ Savage walked in and down the hallway, swinging left into the living room. Parker was standing by the mantelpiece staring at the picture of the young boy. Savage could see the family resemblance now. The boy was Brenden Parker aged twelve or thirteen. As she moved across the room, she wondered if she’d missed something before. Should she have been able to deduce the boy’s suffering from the cold look in his eyes?
‘Inspector Savage?’ Parker turned from the mantelpiece and slid across the floor towards her. ‘Oh, I see you’ve brought a friend.’
‘Detective Constable Jane Calter,’ Savage said as Calter came and stood alongside. ‘We’ve found human remains concealed at Woodland Heights. We have reason to believe you know how those remains got there.’
‘I see.’ Parker stood stock-still in the middle of the room. ‘And might I ask what leads you to such a conclusion?’
‘We’ll come to that later. Do you deny burying Jason Caldwell in the cellar?’
Parker turned and gazed back at the mantelpiece. He appeared to be studying the picture of Brenden once more. Then he retreated to one of the armchairs and sat down.
‘No,’ Parker said. ‘To be honest, I’m glad you’ve found out. I’ve had to keep the secret for all these years.’
‘Why, Mr Parker?’
‘For my son.’ Parker glanced at the picture on the mantelpiece again. ‘You see, he killed Jason Caldwell.’
‘Brenden?’ Savage tried to act surprised, as if she didn’t already know. ‘I think you’d better explain, Mr Parker. Tell us the whole story.’
‘Yes. The whole story.’ Parker sat rigid in the chair for several seconds before letting out a long breath. ‘The night the boys went missing was no different than any other. It was summer, so most of them had been out playing until dusk. The boys went to bed and I did my rounds. There was nothing amiss. I think I read a little and then we – that’s my wife and I – went to bed. The first I knew of any trouble was a knock at the bedroom door at some time after two in the morning. Brenden stood there with blood all over him. He was dripping wet.’
‘He’d been down at the cove?’
‘Yes. He told me Liam and Jason had been down there too and there’d been an argument. He said Liam had stabbed Jason.’
‘Liam?’
‘Yes, but I’m afraid to say I didn’t believe him.’ Parker hung his head for a moment. ‘You see, Brenden is a habitual liar. He takes after his mother. I could see the blood on his clothing, I could see the pocketknife in his right hand. I knew he’d been the one doing the stabbing.’
‘So you covered up for him?’
‘Not just for him. For the good of everybody. To save the home. It was about reputation, Inspector. This sort of thing could have closed us down. I decided no good would come from reporting the incident. The boys at the home were very fragile. Any kind of disruption to their way of life would have caused them problems.’
‘But there was disruption. A huge search for the boys.’
‘Yes, but nothing like what would have happened.’
‘So how did the body get in the cellar?’
‘I enlisted the help of Mr Samuel. At first he was reluctant and wanted to go to the police. I told him that the home would be closed, that he’d lose his job and that the boys would be taken away and the group split up. That won him round. We retrieved the body from the beach and took it to some woodland nearby. Wrapped the corpse in plastic and bound it with parcel tape. Several months later we brought the body back and buried it in an old sump in the cellar. We used the fact the place was prone to flooding as an excuse to lay concrete down there.’ Parker shook his head. ‘I can still remember the feel of the body through the plastic. Swimming in liquid it was. Foul-smelling. And the flies. Jesus, I’ll never forget the flies. It was November, but unseasonably warm, and thousands of them filled the cellar.’
‘And nobody else at the home knew?’
‘Everyone knew about the concreting, obviously, but not about the body. Only myself, Brenden, my wife and Samuel. We explained the flies as being a result of a fractured sewer pipe. On the night of the disappearance, Samuel suggested the tale about the boys swimming out to sea and drowning, since that’s what appeared to have happened to Liam. If his body was ever found, it would lend credence to the entire story. To be honest, I didn’t hold out much hope everything would work out, but after the initial search, the investigation seemed to mysteriously wind down and from then on the police only made perfunctory visits.’
Hardin needed to hear this, Savage thought. When he’d shown the photograph of the minister to his superior, a train of events had been set in motion. As soon as the boys had gone missing, calls had been made, favours called in and the case had been put on the back burner. The end result was that Operation Curlew had been doomed to fail from the outset.
Frank Parker’s story was plausible, but she didn’t buy it. She guessed what had actually happened was that Parker had gone down to the cove and been presented with a terrible dilemma: if he’d brought Jason back to the home and taken him to hospital, questions would undoubtedly have been asked. Jason may well have spilled the beans about what was going on at the home. The other option was far less risky. He could simply kill the boy, leaving his son to believe he alone was responsible.
‘I’m sorry, Mr Parker, I don’t believe you.’ Savage nodded at Calter and the DC moved forward extracting a pair of handcuffs from her jacket pocket.
‘Frank Parker,’ Calter said. ‘I’m arresting you on suspicion of the murder of Jason Caldwell. You don’t have to say anything, but it may harm your defence if you don’t mention something which you later rely on in court. Anything you say may be given in evidence.’
Parker shook his head, but he turned round when Calter asked him to. He cupped his hands behind his back and they led him out into the corridor.
Mrs Parker hovered near the front door. ‘Frank?’
‘Don’t worry,’ Parker said. ‘We’ll have this nonsense sorted in no time.’
‘No!’ Mrs Parker moved to the centre of the corridor, hunched forward with a back arched like a cat about to spring into action. ‘This isn’t your fault. You tried to do your best by the boy and now look what’s happened.’
‘Edie! Silence, woman!’
Mrs Parker cowered and slumped to one side of the corridor as if Parker had kicked her in the ribs. Calter pushed Parker forward and Savage followed. As they traipsed down the steps, a scream came from behind them. Mrs
Parker stood on the threshold with her hands reaching towards the sky.
‘God, I beseech you, what have you done? Frank is innocent!’
Luke Farrell was waiting at the gate and as Calter put Parker in the back of the squad car he came across to Savage.
‘Ma’am?’ Farrell glanced up the steps. ‘Should I?’
‘No,’ Savage said, following his gaze to where Mrs Parker clawed at the air. ‘I don’t think you can help her. We’ll question Mr Parker first and then see about bringing her in.’
‘Your call.’ Farrell shook his head. ‘But in my book it’s a good one.’
En route to the custody centre at Charles Cross Police Station, tailing the patrol car with Frank Parker in, Savage took a call from DS Riley. Ned Stone, apparently, was now implicated in the murder of Tim Benedict. She listened as Riley told her about the new evidence surrounding Stone and then made a judgement call.
‘Let them book Parker in,’ she said to Calter, gesturing at the car in front. ‘We need to talk to Darius.’
At Crownhill, she met Riley in the crime suite. Collier hovered in the background, voicing his concern about the congruence of the two investigations.
‘You’ve got Stone pegged for this vicar killing?’ Savage asked Riley.
‘He’s definitely implicated in the disappearance of Perry Sleet, which means he connected somehow with Tim Benedict’s death.’
Riley explained about the use of a Taser in both kidnappings and how Stone, Benedict and Sleet were linked together through Sarah Hannaford.
‘Benedict was a curate where she lived and Sleet a neighbour’s son.’
‘Where was this?’ Savage said.
‘Somewhere over near Salcombe.’ Riley glanced at his notes. ‘Bolberry.’
‘Bolberry? Shit, Darius, that’s next door to the Woodland Heights children’s home. Ned Stone was a resident at the home, albeit before Jason Caldwell and Liam Hayskith went missing. Why didn’t you make the connection to Operation Curlew?’
