He gave a wry look and together they entered the interview room again. ‘All right, Gary,’ she said. ‘Thank you. You’re free to leave.’
For a moment he sat, quite frozen, as though he did not trust what he’d heard. Then without another word he stood up and bolted through the door.
Chapter Eleven
The time when she missed Matthew most was when she was away from work – at home, alone and in the middle of the night when all was quiet and deeper thoughts intruded. What were his true feelings towards her? Had their love been based on warm ice? On deceit, excitement and furtive meetings that had blessed her, the ‘other woman’, with an illusion of glamour.
And if she was brutally honest with herself there were other thoughts too. Matthew had been the world’s most exciting and intelligent lover – now and then. Their meetings had been infrequent and treasured, each second lived twice over. The sick thought that pervaded her now was did she honestly want a full-time lover? A husband? Someone always there. Demanding? Or had one of the magic reasons she had been so magnetized by Matthew Levin been his intermittence?
And now the worry had woken her. She climbed out of bed and stepped under the shower. It was time to face Monday and her mood was not improved by knowing she had set most of this day aside to speak to the children from The Nest. Maree’s presence had been arranged and it was thought better that she, Mike and a policewoman (she had chosen PC Cheryl Smith for her acuteness) should interview the children one at a time in familiar surroundings – in the living room of the children’s home. However, as she was sitting at her breakfast bar, drinking the first coffee of the day, the telephone rang. It was the Chief Superintendent and he sounded irritable.
‘Good morning, sir.’
‘I hope you haven’t bitten off more than you can chew, Piercy,’ he said sharply, ‘because I’ve got Ashford Leech’s son here breathing fire. Says you’ve been harassing his aged mother. And’, he said ominously, ‘for some reason you’ve decided to make public the ring connection.’
She thought how Wagnerian the phrase sounded ... ‘She isn’t aged, sir,’ Joanna protested, but the Chief was definitely not interested in discussing the relationship of Anno Domini to Gilly Leech.
‘You’d better come down here, Piercy,’ he said. ‘He wants to speak to the officer in charge. And he’s brought his solicitor.’
‘Suits me,’ she said. ‘I needed to speak to him anyway.’
‘And use the car. It’s quicker. And I don’t want you turning up in those bloody black shiny cycling shorts.’
She agreed to use the car and felt decidedly resentful towards Robin Leech for upsetting her routine. She left a message for Mike then – at the station. Would he arrange for the ring to be released from forensics and also would he delay the children’s interviews for an hour.
She finished dressing, applied two-minute make-up and headed for the station, giving her bike a reluctant glance as she got into her car. She picked out Robin Leech’s car easily enough in the car park, a rather battered cream Range Rover slewed across two parking spaces. He had obviously arrived in a hurry or a temper – or both.
He stood up as she walked in, a tall, thin man with wide nostrils and thinning hair. The man sitting at his side was presumably his solicitor.
Joanna introduced herself and Robin Leech slapped the desk with the newspaper. ‘Are you responsible for this?’
She glanced at the headline. Dead MP’s ring found on murdered boy’s finger ... Caroline had surpassed herself with tabloid headlines.
Joanna sighed and looked at the solicitor. ‘I don’t think there’s any problem with this, is there?’
Robin Leech snorted. ‘No problem?’ he said. ‘Blackening the family name? This little squirt burgles our house – steals our property – then goes and gets himself murdered. And you have the effrontery to drag our family into it?’
‘Mr Leech,’ she said severely, ‘I didn’t drag you into this. The ring on Dean’s finger was your father’s.’ She unfolded the paper and scanned the article. ‘As far as I can see there isn’t anything here to which you can object.’
He opened his mouth then shut it again.
‘If you object to certain facts being made public I suggest you take it up with the Press Complaints Authority – not the police.’
‘Harassment then,’ the solicitor said. He was about the same age as Leech. Perhaps an old school friend. He was dark-eyed, dark-suited, with slicked-back hair and a cocksure manner, balancing a large black briefcase on bony knees.
These two, Joanna decided, looked down on the rest of the world as humans do ants. She ignored him. ‘Shall we go into my office now the introductions are over?’
She sat behind her desk, opposite both men. ‘You want to make an official complaint about harassment?’ she asked
The solicitor drew out a wired notepad and pencil, rested it on the desk and leaned back. ‘My client wants to know the purpose of your questions,’ he said.
‘Just a minute,’ Joanna said quickly, ‘who exactly is your client – Mr Robin Leech or Mrs Gilly Leech?’
‘I act for the family,’ the solicitor said haughtily.
‘And what exactly is your complaint against the police?’
‘My client – Mr Robin Leech –’ the solicitor spoke clearly, ‘is anxious. He has volunteered to come here today to make a statement. He wants to make that statement and then for the police to leave him and his family alone. He does not want further police visits to Rock House. They upset his mother.’
‘Well, hang on a minute.’ Joanna’s hackles were beginning to rise. She could feel a slow prickle at the back of her neck. ‘A ring believed to belong to your father, Mr Leech, was found on the dead boy’s finger. We know also that your father and this boy were acquainted.’
‘Lies ...’ Robin Leech was really breathing fire now. ‘Damned bloody lies.’
Joanna stared hard at him. ‘Mr Leech,’ she said, ‘the dead boy was from the children’s home – The Nest. We know that your father entertained these children from time to time at your family home. We know this. Your mother has told us. So has Mr Riversdale, warden of the home. This is not conjecture – this is fact. Now, we are not suggesting there was anything improper about this association, Mr Leech. We believe it was through your father’s role as a local benefactor.’
The flattery had its desired effect. Robin Leech visibly relaxed. His solicitor smirked. Fool police, the look said.
‘That’s right,’ Robin burbled. ‘That’s right. As an MP he took his duties very seriously ... Father was a benefactor.’
‘However,’ Joanna said, knowing this was more boggy ground, ‘we are just slightly curious about the burglary following which the ring was noted to be missing.’
The solicitor cleared his throat. ‘What do you mean, “slightly curious”?’ he asked.
‘We’re not prepared to say at the moment,’ Joanna said, ‘but we will need to speak to Mrs Leech again at some point.’
‘About the burglary?’ Robin demanded.
‘Yes,’ she said.
‘Then I must insist ...’ the solicitor puffed out his chest, ‘that I be present during all interviews with either Mrs Gilly Leech or Mr Robin Leech.’
Joanna gave him one of her most winning smiles. ‘Certainly,’ she said. ‘Now, Mr Leech, could you just tell me ...’ She pushed across the desk the photograph of Dean Tunstall.
Robin Leech visibly winced.
‘Do you know this boy?’ she asked.
He found it difficult to look at and she had to ask him again. Then he stuttered – No, he didn’t think so.
‘And where were you on Sunday night?’
‘At home.’
‘Alone?’
‘Yes,’ he said angrily, ‘I was bloody well alone – watching the telly, if you must know ...’ He was blustering. ‘I watched the damned film. Stupid thing – New York ... murder ... the usual sort of rubbish.’
‘Then why watch it?’ s
he asked conversationally.
He glowered at her.
‘You live with your mother?’ she asked.
He nodded. ‘Yes – and no. When my marriage broke up I ... we had the stables converted into a two-bedroomed flat. I live there – alone.
She nodded. ‘Lucky you had some stables.’
The sarcasm was not wasted on him. ‘Yes, it is,’ he said defiantly.
‘No cardboard city for you.’
The solicitor fidgeted.
‘Just one more thing,’ she said, knowing the answer. ‘What car do you drive?’
‘It’s outside,’ he said. ‘A cream Range Rover.’
The solicitor moved again. ‘May I ask why you want to know this?’
She looked coolly at him. ‘Just routine,’ she said.
Robin Leech shot her a furious look.
Joanna stood up. ‘Well, that’s all for now.’ Again she gave both men a broad smile, shook hands with them in turn. ‘Thank you very, very much for calling in.’ She could have been a successful society hostess thanking them for coming to dinner. And it made both men she noticed, quickly discount her as a force to be reckoned with.
She spoke then to the solicitor. ‘I will want to speak to both the Leeches again,’ she said, still in the same ‘society’ tone. ‘But I will certainly let you know.’
The two men filed out and minutes later she heard the splutter of a broken silencer.
Mike looked curiously at her as she walked out of her office. ‘So?’ he said.
She chewed her lip. ‘I can’t see a motive,’ she said, ‘not even a connection at the moment. He denies knowing Dean.’ She clapped him on the shoulder.
‘But I’d love to get forensics on to that Range Rover.’ She sighed. ‘Why does the law protect the guilty so completely? Surely one would think if he is innocent he’d be only too delighted to help the police with their enquiries. But oh no ...’
Mike grinned at her. ‘Police training video,’ he mocked.
‘Sod you,’ she said. ‘I feel like breaking rules today.’
‘Not today. Not with minors. The Super would blow your brains out.’
She gave a long, shuddering yawn.
‘No sleep again?’ he asked.
She shook her head. ‘I keep thinking, cases are always like this. They prey on your mind until they’re solved. Come on. Time to get to The Nest.’
As they drove along the Ashbourne road he filled her in with the details. ‘I suppose Leech is a suspect.’
She nodded. ‘I’d just love to get him dancing on hot coals. There are a few things that bring him to mind. He was the son of his father. That might have given him reason to wish Dean Tunstall out of the way. I dare say exposure – especially posthumous exposure – to the Leech family of unsavoury exploits might have been a potent threat. People like that care more about position and a pure reputation than they do about money or morals. Also the Leechs knew that there was a risk Dean might have contracted Aids if he had been abused by Ashford Leech deceased. Also ...’ she glanced at the DS, ‘he drives a cream Range Rover.’
He nodded.
‘Do we think we could get Alice Rutter to identify it?’
He met her eyes. ‘It’s worth a try.’
‘That’s what I thought. I’ll pick her up tomorrow.’ She laughed suddenly. ‘At the cave.’
Mike looked at her curiously. ‘You seem very relaxed, Jo.’
‘Yes,’ she said. ‘Because we’re getting there, Mike. We’re closing in.’ She met his eyes and felt herself flush. ‘I’m sorry. I must sound overconfident.’
He shook his head. ‘No.’
‘By the way ... I’ve applied for a warrant to search Keith Latos’s flat and shop. I’m not very happy about him.’ She frowned. ‘I’m sure he’s been lying.’
Mike looked up. ‘What about?’
‘The shoes. They weren’t quite as new as they looked. Clean – yes. New – no. I know it’s a stab in the dark, but I don’t think Dean stole them. I think they might have belonged to someone. If he stole them it was not from a shop but from another person.’
‘Doesn’t that take the heat off Latos?’
‘No. He stays on the list.’
Mike nodded.
‘The one thing we do know,’ she said, ‘is that Dean almost certainly didn’t buy them. He didn’t have the money.’ She looked over at him. ‘Either someone bought them for him – the same person who fed, clothed, cared for him on his mysterious disappearances – or he stole them from someone.’
‘Have we anyone else in the inquiry?’
She shook her head. ‘The uniformed boys have worked really hard, but I can’t say they’ve come up with anything.’
As they neared the large Victorian house, she said, ‘Just fill me in on the children here.’
‘There should be eight,’ he said, ‘but as we know two left earlier on this year. They haven’t, as yet, been replaced.’ He paused. ‘Three of the children are quite young. I think we might find it tricky to get accepted statements from them.’
‘Their names?’
‘The youngest is a little girl called Sonya. She’s four years old, half black. Next is Shirley and she is five. Then comes Timmy who’s eight but he’s retarded with a mental age of five.’
‘And the older children?’
‘Jason and Kirsty,’ he said. ‘Fourteen and thirteen and a half respectively. Unfortunately, from what Eve heard they aren’t exactly the police force’s greatest fans.’
She sighed. ‘Well, if Dean had access to drugs,’ she said, ‘it’s likely they do too.’
They pulled in to the gravelled drive of the children’s home and knocked on the front door. It was flung open by Maree, who looked very angry. ‘Where the bloody hell have you been?’ she demanded. ‘I’ve been here nearly an hour. I’ve a load of work to do.’
‘I’m sorry,’ Joanna said. ‘I did send a message. I was involved with a possible witness.’
‘Yeah, well ...’ the girl said grudgingly, ‘the kids were getting upset. You know what they’re like.’
‘Not as well as you do,’ Joanna said.
Maree grinned and swept her fingers through her hair. ‘Sorry,’ she said. ‘Sorry. Always was a bit fiery. Bark, as you might say. No bite – I assure you.’
‘Good,’ Mike said.
‘I really came to find out a little more about the children.’
‘There isn’t a lot of point you talking to the little ones,’ she said. ‘Sonya, Shirley and Timmy won’t know anything. You’ll get far more out of Jason and Kirsty. They were pretty thick with Dean.’
‘And Mr Riversdale?’
‘You want to speak to him too? Again?’
Joanna nodded.
‘He’s out at the moment. I think he’ll be back though. Soon.’ She gave a rueful smile. ‘Shopping.’
The three youngest were peeping at them through the banisters ... wide-eyed and innocent they scuttled up the stairs, giggling, as soon as Mike looked up at them.
They saw Kirsty first. ‘Thirteen and a half,’ she said defiantly when Joanna asked her age. She was a small girl with a tight, mean mouth, a heart-shaped face and the green, intelligent eyes of a cat. Today she was wearing thick mascara and a smudge of bright lipstick. The lipstick seemed to add a touch of bravado to the childish face.
‘You were Dean’s friend?’
‘Course.’ Kirsty leaned back on the sofa, her arm extended along the back. ‘We all was. I liked little Dean. He was cute.’
‘Was anybody hurting him?’
‘What do you mean?’
Joanna glanced at the social worker. Maree filled the gap. ‘Was anybody ever cruel to him?’
‘To Dean – no.’ The girl was indignant.
‘We know,’ Joanna said cautiously, ‘that someone was. There were marks.’
The girl looked less defiant. ‘You don’t mean the tattoos, do you? Jason does the tattoos.’ She held her hands out proudly. ‘He did mine.’ S
he grinned. ‘Professional, aren’t they?’
Joanna raised her eyebrows. ‘Very, but I don’t mean those. I mean the cigarette burns.’
Kirsty looked at the floor. ‘I don’t know about those,’ she said. She gave a helpless glance at Maree. ‘I can’t really say.’
‘Was it Gary?’ Joanna asked. ‘Gary Swinton?’
The girl tightened her lips. ‘It made us brave. Brave so we could stand bein’ hurt.’ She blinked. ‘Dean was brave, you know – really brave. He never shouted out – not once. Not like me. I didn’t like it,’ she said slowly then closed her eyes. ‘The smell, you know.’ Her gaze fixed on Joanna. ‘Burnin’.’ She shrugged her shoulders. ‘Anyway, he’s gone now.’
Maree gave a quiet sound of protest. ‘Why didn’t you say anything?’
Kirsty gave her a disconcertingly clear stare. ‘What could you do? It’d only ’ave made things worse. Where else was we goin’ to go? Enquiries,’ she muttered. ‘People askin’. No way.
‘Anyway ... He’s gone. Last year some time. He’s in the army now,’ she said proudly. ‘I’ve seen him. Round the town. So it does work, don’t it? It does make you brave.’ And with a curious attempt at logic she said, ‘They wouldn’t have ’im in the army, would they, if he weren’t brave.’
No one in the room had an answer to that. ‘Kirsty.’ Joanna spoke gently. ‘Somebody killed Dean. They murdered him and then tried to burn his body. We want very badly to find out who it was. When we ask you all these questions it’s only to find out who it was. Do you understand?’
‘Course,’ the girl said.
‘Kirsty,’ Joanna tried again, ‘when Dean used to disappear someone looked after him, didn’t they?’
The girl blinked. ‘I don’t know.’
Maree tried next. ‘Kirsty,’ she said, ‘someone must have looked after Dean. He was always clean when he came back. He had money in his pocket. Sometimes he had new clothes. Who bought them for him?’
The girl looked from one to the other. ‘You don’t understand, do you? Dean was close with his secrets. He never told no one. All we knew was he went to his family.’
‘But he had no family,’ Maree replied. ‘His mother abandoned him when he was two.’
Catch the Fallen Sparrow Page 14
