‘Your headline on the ring brought results.’
‘Really?’
‘Brought Robin Leech down on me like a ton of bricks.’
‘Power of the pen,’ Caro said lightly, then added, ‘When’s Matthew back?’
‘I don’t know – a couple of days.’
‘Mmm,’ she said. ‘And I wonder what will happen then.’
‘I don’t know,’ Joanna said shortly.
‘I’ll be in touch.’ And the line went dead.
Chapter Twelve
Joanna rose early to read the newspaper over breakfast, and propped it up against a carton of fresh orange juice. It was wonderful. A huge headline splashed over Tuesday’s front page: ‘Mother – where are you?’ Dean’s mother could not fail to see it. She scanned the first column. ‘We are anxious to contact you ... Would be willing to pay for your story ...’
Joanna grimaced into her bowl of muesli. It would bring her out of the woodwork – if she was alive. Not for the first time she pondered the value of the Press – not often acknowledged. Usually the law and the media clashed. But surely they could sometimes work to each other’s advantage?
She decided, as she parked her bicycle against the post and padlocked it, that she might as well speak to the Super before he asked to speak to her. He tended to view the media with a less enlightened attitude. She took a deep breath, knocked on his door and walked in. He was holding the paper flat on the desk.
‘Tell me, Piercy,’ he said. ‘Do you think this sort of thing is a good idea?’
In the few years she had worked as a DI in this force she had come to respect Arthur Colclough. A man in his fifties, she knew he had been instrumental in her appointment; and for that she owed him gratitude, acknowledgement and loyalty. There were not many senior officers who would have stuck their necks out and appointed a woman as a detective inspector when there were excellent male candidates. But the knowledge that he had favoured her made her even more responsible towards him. She could not let him down. She sat opposite him, took another glance at the photo of Dean’s smiling face that they knew now had hidden fear and loneliness. This was the worst aspect of the case. What hell had this child been through – with no one to help him? Maree and Mark Riversdale should have but they, like this mother and society, had failed him.
She looked up to meet the Super’s tiny, intelligent eyes, set in the plump face. ‘Yes,’ she said. ‘We’ve tried hard to find Dean’s mother. Two policemen have worked solidly to find her ever since we knew who he was. They’ve got nowhere. She wasn’t ever going to come to us. We need help, sir. And if it takes this to find her then yes, sir, I do think it’s a good idea.’
He nodded gravely, frowning and scratching his bald patch. ‘OK Piercy,’ he said. ‘Just be careful. Cleverer people than you have had the illusion they can use the Press to advantage. Some of them were wrong.’
‘I’ll be careful, sir.’
There was an uneasy silence and she was glad when the telephone rang. He answered it and handed it to her. It was Mike.
‘Joanna,’ he said, his voice tight, ‘we’ve just had a phone call from The Nest. Jason Fogg and Kirsty. They’ve both left — gone missing. Nobody’s seen them since we were there. Their beds weren’t slept in.’
It was rare during a case to feel the cold clamp of panic. She looked up at Arthur Colclough. ‘Two children missing, sir, from the home.’
His face sagged. ‘God, Piercy,’ he said, ‘God.’
Professional pride seemed irrelevant now. ‘Do you want to call in help, sir?’ she asked.
He shook his head, gave her a brief, preoccupied smile. ‘No,’ he said. ‘Extra men but you remain in charge. You will get results.’
She wished she felt as confident. As she stood up to leave he walked with her to the door and touched her shoulder. ‘I trust you, Piercy,’ he said.
Mike drove her to The Nest. Already the driveway was blocked with police cars. She and Mike threaded their way through them and walked up the steps to the front door. A uniformed officer was standing at the top. He said good morning and gave her a quick glance of sympathy. She knew that look. It said, ‘I wouldn’t be in your shoes for status, for salary, for stripes.’ Once or twice she had given a senior officer exactly the same look.
Maree and Mark were talking to Scottie.
‘I think it’s my fault,’ Maree said. She had been crying. Her face was streaked with tears. She looked like an unhappy little elf in her black leggings, scarlet, baggy jumper and flat ankle boots. She sniffed.
‘I was pretty harsh with them yesterday ... told them they must tell me what was going on – who Dean had been with when he’d run away.’ She sniffed again and wiped her nose inelegantly on her sleeve. ‘I know they knew,’ she said, ‘all the time. And they wouldn’t tell me anything.’ She dropped on to the sofa. ‘I thought those kids trusted me.’
‘It wasn’t their secret,’ Joanna said. ‘It was Dean’s. Perhaps misguided loyalty.’
‘And perhaps they were shit scared,’ Mike said harshly. ‘They knew what had happened to Dean.’
‘What time did you speak to them?’
‘As soon as you’d left,’ Maree said. ‘I was with them until seven – maybe eight – trying to gain their confidence.’
‘That’s the way you lot bloody well work,’ Mike exploded. ‘Don’t you ever realize? It’s no good with these sorts of kids. They just laugh at you.’
Maree looked angry. ‘I think I know Jason and Kirsty a damned sight better than you do.’
‘Did they tell you anything?’
‘A cock-and-bull story ... They were making it up as they went along. A fairy story.’
‘What fairy story?’ Joanna felt cold.
Maree looked at her. ‘The usual rubbish,’ she said angrily. ‘If you must know it was the same old story that’s trotted out to most of these kids. And they want to believe it so much that however pathetic we might find it they swallow it whole. Dean believed – because it was fed to him – that part of his family had turned up. Whoever it was was obviously abusing him. But he was given money and things, expensive things. To him this was love – the love of a family – something he had never known. But it gave him confidence and that certain swagger.’
‘Leech?’ Joanna’s voice was low. The disgust she felt for the cruel trick made her feel sick.
Joanna turned to Mark Riversdale who was standing, staring out of the window, a dreamy, vague expression on his face.
‘When did you last see Kirsty and Jason?’ Joanna asked.
He came to abruptly, shuddered. Joanna noticed his hands were shaking, he swayed slightly as though blown by an invisible breeze.
‘Tennish,’ he said. ‘They were watching TV together, sitting on the sofa. They went upstairs around ten.’
‘That was the last you saw of them?’
He nodded.
‘When did you notice they were missing, Mr Riversdale?’
He blinked. ‘This morning,’ he said. They were late down for breakfast. I went up to their rooms.’ He paused, wriggled his glasses up his nose. ‘Their beds were neat. They must have gone last night.’ He gave a quiet hiccup and it was then that Joanna realized he was drunk.
As they watched he slowly sank down on to the floor, his plump face bemused, a crumpled heap, clutching at the curtains.
Joanna turned her attention back to Maree O’Rourke. ‘Did they say anything else – anything at all?’
She frowned and her face moved forwards a little as though propelled by the concentration, then she looked up. ‘They said the person claimed to be his grandfather,’ she said. ‘He said he was his real mother’s father. That the woman who claimed to be his mother was a foster parent – that his real mother was unable to look after him because she had to travel a lot with her job. That Ms Tunstall had been asked to look after him but was no good. So it was decided he should go into council care and that this so-called grandfather should visit him.’ She looked apologe
tic. ‘I’m sorry. It’s all lies. It’s a measure of how gullible Dean was and how very much he wanted to believe he had a family who loved him.’
‘What if it’s true?’ Joanna said softly. ‘What if it’s all true?’
The four people in the room were silent. It was Joanna who broke the silence. She crossed the room and found DC Alan King who was leading the SOC team.
‘I want this place searched,’ she said, ‘from top to bottom. Especially any places where Jason and Kirsty or Dean might have hidden something. And while you’re at it, don’t forget Riversdale’s room and car. If there is anything to be found I want it bagged. Fingerprint any good surfaces.’ She glanced at the slumped figure in the corner.
‘Get his to exclude them – and everyone else here. We should be able to find the two missing teenagers’ prints.’
She was silent all the way back to the station. And this time there was an air of tension at the briefing. The casual camaraderie was gone. The strain showed on all their faces. Two more children were missing. An arrest was vital. There was an urgency now. Not a corpse to be dealt with but two children they had met and questioned.
‘The first point is that these two children are missing. They went last night. It is possible they knew the identity of the murderer. We can assume they have absconded, hidden in a safe place or approached the killer. We are sure that the person who abused Dean sexually was a man. We also believe that the person who burned and supplied Dean with drugs was Gary Swinton. We want to talk to Private Swinton. I want him brought in for questioning later on this afternoon.
‘We have a list of suspects. We know someone claimed to be Dean’s grandfather.’ She stopped. ‘Unless, of course, he was lying. But I believe more of Dean’s so-called “stories” were the truth than people around him credited. I also believe this person was Ashford Leech. So the regular abuser cannot have been the killer.’
‘I have spoken to the criminal psychologist.’ A ripple ran around the room. ‘Listen, you lot,’ she said crisply, ‘we need all the help we can get. Two children are out there. We don’t even know whether they are alive or dead. Understand? We are looking for a man – probably between twenty-five and fifty. He is physically fit, lives alone, is a homosexual, probably ashamed of his leanings. He might have been married. He is a local person – someone the boy trusted – with evidence that he was comfortably off, probably without children of his own.’
She glanced at Roger Farthing. ‘Keith Latos,’ she said, ‘the man who owns the sports shop.’ She perched herself on the edge of the desk. ‘There are a number of points which make him a likely suspect. Firstly, he lives alone. He would have been able to tempt Dean with expensive sports goods from his shop. Secondly, he is a known homosexual with a documented penchant for young boys.’ She met each person’s eyes. ‘We search there this afternoon. And I want two of you to speak to Martin Shane, Keith’s boyfriend, the man he claims he was with the night of the murder.’
She paused. ‘However, he is not the only fish in the bowl.’ Again she paused to lend her words weight. ‘I’m very curious about the connection with Ashford Leech. Why should he have spent this time with the children from The Nest? It wasn’t publicized. If anything, he kept this particular light well under a bushel. Dean was wearing Leech’s ring. And although we have absolutely no evidence that Leech was a homosexual we believe he might have died of Aids. Drug addict or homosexual ... whichever he was he kept it well hidden. Apart from a minor traffic offence he has no record. He can’t be the killer. He’s been dead for months but it seems likely that he is the “grandfather” Dean boasted of. Dean has absconded, according to Mark Riversdale, five times in the last eighteen months, each time for longer and longer periods. The last time he was missing for over a week.’ She stopped, convinced of something. ‘Ashford Leech might have been the abuser. It wasn’t a dead man who strangled that kid and set his body alight. If it wasn’t Ashford Leech – who was it – and why? The abuse had stopped – both physical and mental. He was free. But still he kept wandering, staying somewhere. So who was looking after him, buying him expensive shoes, caring for him for long periods? Who and why?’ She glanced around the room. ‘Anyone got any ideas?’
There was a silence, then Mike frowned. ‘Was he blackmailing someone?’
She met his eyes. ‘Maybe,’ she said.
‘What about Robin Leech?’
She shook her head. ‘We know of no connection between them. In fact, as far as we know, he never even met Dean.’
‘Pity,’ Mike muttered.
‘It is a pity. I would have loved to have nailed him to the tree. ‘However,’ she said reluctantly, ‘this is a personal indulgence. And I can’t afford it.’ She looked back around the room.
‘Please note,’ she said, raising her voice now, ‘we’ve had reports from forensics about the samples we found on the moor. The piece of green cotton was waxed. It came from a waxed jacket, olive green. But even better the red wool also came from the jacket, from the lining. The only time the two materials are matched together is in a very expensive coat – the Wilderness Collection, it’s called. They aren’t sold anywhere in Leek except at one outfitter – Grunwelds. Two of you get a list of customers who have bought a Wilderness coat from there in the last few years. Cheryl ...? she looked at the young WPC, ‘I think it’s time to get “Queen Alice” down from the moors. Show her a few cars. Let’s see if we can narrow the field a bit from the long, pale car. I want a couple of you to speak to Herbert Machin, the farmer. The murderer used that road. It goes right past the farm and ends at Flash. Please see if he saw or heard anything – anything at all that would pin down the time the car went along that road. Tyre tracks, any markings.’
She looked at Mike. ‘I think we should call on the Leech household. Can you give them a ring?’
She made a face. ‘They’ll probably want their solicitor. We’ll be round the minute we’ve sorted out Keith Latos’s flat. Above all,’ she said soberly, ‘find those children. We want them back safe and sound. My instinct is that they’ve “done a runner”. I don’t think they’ve been abducted. The trouble is that we don’t know where they are. The person who killed Dean obviously knows a great deal more than we do about these children’s habits. He may know where their hiding places are. I don’t want him finding them before we do. So look everywhere.’ She stopped, frowning. ‘And good luck.’
As the force clattered out of the room Phil Scott stepped forward. ‘What time do you want Private Swinton down?’
‘Late,’ she said. ‘After lunch.’ She licked her lips. ‘I get the feeling this morning will be rather busy.’
She picked up the telephone and dialled.
Cathy Parker answered the other end. ‘Yes,’ she said quietly to Joanna’s question. ‘Of course – once we’d found the signs we did test. Dean was HIV positive.’
Joanna put the phone back on the cradle with a cold feeling of outrage. Murder in two ways.
‘Lucky for you, Leech,’ she said furiously, ‘lucky for you you’re dead.’ She knew otherwise she would have used every single power – every single dirty trick – to have him exposed. But he hadn’t killed Dean ...
Six officers had been assigned to the search of Keith Latos’s shop and by the time Joanna arrived they were well into the task. Boxes and boxes of shoes had been opened, all the cupboards emptied.
DC Greg Stanway held up a pile of magazines. ‘Take a look at these,’ he said. ‘Under the counter.’
They were filthy, degrading homosexual magazines, mostly printed in Dutch or German. But words were not the reason Keith had bought them. It was the pictures; and many depicted young boys under the age of consent in graphic sexual poses.
‘Well, we’ve got him on these at least,’ she said, putting them down in disgust. ‘Have you found anything else?’
‘Not here,’ he said. Just shoes and other sports stuff.’
‘Where is he?’ she asked grimly.
She found the owner o
f the shop upstairs, in his flat, watching the proceedings with his arms tightly folded.
He looked angrily at her when she walked in. ‘What in sod’s name is going on?’
She sighed. ‘Mr Latos,’ she said, ‘we are trying to find two children who are missing. We have reason to believe their disappearance might be connected with the murder of Dean Tunstall.’
‘I didn’t even know the boy.’ He was close to tears. ‘I told you. I didn’t recognize his picture –’ He stopped. ‘It’s always the same. One slip up – that’s all. Then you’ve got the cops on your tail all your bloody life.’ He took a step nearer Joanna. ‘I told you. I didn’t know him.’
She met his gaze steadily. ‘Then you have nothing to worry about, Mr Latos.’
His eyes narrowed and he sneered at her. ‘Oh yes, I do. If you lot don’t find anything you’ll plant it here. Don’t think I’m naive ... I know what you do. You plant it.’
It was a statement she met almost every time now ... Planting of evidence. She wearied of the accusation.
‘Mr Latos,’ she said crisply, ‘I never planted anything in my life except primroses, daffodils and tulips. If you have nothing here to connect you with the murder of Dean and the disappearance of the other two children you have absolutely nothing to fear. Understand?’
He looked sulky and sat down on the sofa, watching the police work through the room. ‘Put everything back tidy,’ he said nastily. ‘The way you found it.’
But apart from a quantity of pornographic videos, magazines, one or two books and some extremely unhealthy ‘sex aids’ nothing was found in the search of the flat and an hour later they were almost finished.
‘I told you,’ Latos sneered as Joanna walked down the stairs, back into the shop, ‘there’s nothing to find.’
‘We can charge you under the Criminal Justices Act, 1988,’ she said. ‘In case you aren’t terribly well informed the law covers the possession of an indecent photograph of a child. And if you didn’t know, Mr Latos, that means someone under the age of sixteen. Understand?’
Catch the Fallen Sparrow Page 16
