‘Yeah, but not exactly murder, is it?’ His eyes were bright with malice and dislike.
‘Charge him,’ she said to Mike.
Unfortunately, Latos was right. It wasn’t exactly murder. Motive – yes. But no proof. There was nothing to connect Dean with this place. And if his truant holidays had been spent here they would have found some sign – clothes, hair – someone would have seen him. She crossed the shop and caught one of the top piles of shoe boxes with her foot. A pair spilled out on to the floor. She picked one up. New, unlaced, the skein of laces pushed into the toe of the shoe. She stared at it.
She tried to telephone Caro when she arrived back at the station to find out whether she had received any response to the morning’s headline. But the secretary told her she had received a phone call first thing that morning and had gone out. She did not know when she would be back.
‘Was it anything to do with child murder?’
The secretary didn’t know. ‘Would you like me to ask Miss Penn to telephone you when she returns?’
Joanna said yes and put the phone down.
The Leeches’ house looked deserted apart from a black Mercedes estate car parked in the drive. Joanna glanced through the tinted window. The keys were still swinging. Whoever had driven it had only just arrived. She looked at Mike.
‘Do you think our legal beagle?’ she asked.
A plump domestic in a plastic apron over ski pants and slippers showed them into the living room where Gilly and Robin Leech sat together with the sombre-suited solicitor. He nodded at them curdy.
‘May I ask why you need to speak to my clients yet again?’
His voice was formal and Joanna knew he was just waiting for the police to make one mistake. Then all the weight of the British defence system which protected innocent and guilty so effectively would drop down on her head like a ton of bricks.
So she played the game and addressed her answer to him. ‘We are curious as to the nature of the relationship between Mr Ashford Leech and the dead boy,’ she said.
Gilly Leech leaned forward. She looked old and tired in a floral, brown dress of some silky material which reached almost down to her ankles. It rustled as she moved, giving her an effect of tired elegance. ‘What exactly are you implying, Inspector?’ Even her voice sounded old and defeated. Most of the fight had melted out of it.
‘All right then,’ Joanna said. ‘What did your husband die of, Mrs Leech?’
‘Is this relevant to your case, Inspector?’ The solicitor was determined to make his presence felt.
But Gilly Leech put a hand up as though to hold him back. ‘It’s all right, Don,’ she said. She bit her lip and stared at Joanna, then abruptly stood up.
‘Mother ...’ Robin Leech’s low voice sounded a warning. But Gilly Leech shot him a frosty look and he sat back in his chair.
Joanna stared at him. In sharp contrast to his mother he seemed to have gained confidence – whether from the presence of the solicitor or some other fact Joanna could not work out but he was sure of himself, cocksure. He pressed his lips together and gave Joanna a smug smile.
Gilly Leech was taking a framed photograph from the top of a polished antique bureau. She handed it to Joanna. ‘This was my husband,’ she said.
Joanna stared at the weak chin, the balding head so reminiscent of his son, and the long, bony nose. ‘What was the nature of the relationship between your husband and the dead boy?’ she asked bluntly.
Robin Leech stood up. ‘Bloody typical,’ he said. ‘Father – out of sheer goodness and charity – looks after some filthy little tykes and you come round here, sniffing for scandal.’
Joanna ignored him. ‘Well?’ She addressed Mrs Leech.
But the lady of the house retained her dignity. ‘He was fond of the boy.’
‘How fond?’ Mike asked.
‘Just a minute.’ The solicitor bounced up in his seat. ‘What are you getting at?’
‘We want the truth,’ Joanna said. ‘Your husband was friendly with Dean Tunstall. Dean is dead. Now two more children from The Nest are missing. Mrs Leech, I want to find those children before something happens to them.’
She looked angry. ‘This can’t have anything to do with my husband,’ she said. ‘He’s dead. You and your mob can’t touch him now.’
‘Exactly,’ the solicitor said smartly. ‘This can have no connection with Mr Leech.’
‘Two more children are missing?’ Robin Leech’s eyes were bright with curiosity.
‘Two other teenagers,’ Joanna said. ‘Police are searching for them now but we are very worried. If either of you know anything.’ The three people sat dumbly.
‘Let’s go back to the things Dean stole, shall we?’
Immediately Gilly Leech looked wary. ‘Why?’
‘Don’t play games with me.’
The solicitor gave a squeak. ‘This constitutes threatening behaviour.’
Joanna ignored him. ‘There was another reason you wanted to play down the connection between your husband and Dean Tunstall, wasn’t there?’
Gilly was in a panic and gaped at Joanna.
‘He was buggering him, wasn’t he?’
The solicitor chipped in. ‘My client reserves the right to remain silent.’
‘Dean stole the things, didn’t he?’
Then Gilly Leech surprised her. She held her head up high. ‘It was my belief,’ she said, ‘that Ashford gave those things to Dean.’ She stopped. ‘For what reason I could never work out.’
‘That wasn’t all he gave, was it?’
Even the solicitor could hardly fail to miss the aggression in Mike’s voice.
‘I don’t know what you mean.’
‘Ever heard of the Aids virus, Mrs Leech?’
She blinked at him.
Joanna walked towards the grand piano and picked up the picture of a smiling young woman in a university cap and gown. ‘Your daughter, I believe.’
Now Gilly Leech really was dumbfounded. She gaped at Joanna and it was her son who stepped forward. ‘Fleur is in America,’ he said sharply.
‘Did your daughter have a son?’
‘No ...’ Gilly Leech looked shocked. ‘Fleur – no. Never.’
‘But we believe your husband pretended to Dean that he was his daughter’s son.’
The solicitor stood up. ‘Prove it,’ he said, ‘or defend your allegation in a court of law.’
‘The jewellery that was stolen,’ Joanna said softly. ‘Cheap stuff. Your daughter’s?’
‘Possibly.’ Gilly Leech spoke through stiff lips.
‘Well, thank you, Mrs Leech.’ Joanna stood up to leave. ‘You’ve been a great help.’
Herbert Machin stared at the two police officers from underneath his navy bobble hat. ‘What night did you say?’
Detective Sergeant Hannah Beardmore had a gentle, patient voice. Brought up on the moorlands she found their slow pace natural. ‘It was Sunday night,’ she said, ‘the night before Newcastle market day. I think you usually go there.’
He looked aggressively at her. ‘Who says?’ he asked.
‘The landlady from the Winking Man.’
‘Nosy old tart, she is,’ the farmer said fiercely.
‘But is it true?’
‘What we want to know is’ – Alan King was a native of Birmingham and less patient than his moorland colleague – ‘did you hear anything on Sunday night?’
‘Night afore market,’ the old farmer said. ‘Aye, I think I did.’
‘Think carefully,’ Hannah said. ‘What did you hear, exactly?’
He was silent for a few moments, screwing up his eyes to aid concentration. ‘It were about three or four,’ he said at last. ‘I heard a car headin’ for Flash but –’ He stopped. ‘It turned round. It didn’t come past the farm. It turned.’
‘Where did it turn?’
‘In my driveway.’
‘Did you look out of the window?’
Herbert Machin chuckled and shook his head. �
��It were bloody cold that time of mornin’ I tucked me ’ead under blankets.’
The disappointment was acute. Neither of the police officers was old enough or experienced enough to have learned not to depend too much on witnesses seeing things, remembering them or being sure. And if every witness who had looked the other way had, instead, looked the right way and remembered exactly who and what they had seen, then could swear to it in the witness box, the crime solution rate would have doubled.
They all went outside to study the drive but it was sloppy with cow dung and many cars and tractors had passed this way. There was nothing to be gained here.
Herbert Machin stared around the yard. ‘What’s the ’urry anyway?’
‘Two more children are missing from the children’s home,’ Hannah said. ‘We’re concerned for their safety.’
Herbert Machin made a face. ‘I don’t blame these kids for runnin’ off,’ he said. ‘Them places – isn’t much of an ’ome, is it?’
And this, the police found, was the prevailing view of the moorlands people.
Chapter Thirteen
In the army they believed in summary punishment. Somehow someone had got wind of the way Swinton had treated the children at The Nest. First came the humiliation. They had stripped him naked. Then they tied him, spreadeagled, to his bunk and dragged on their cigarettes until they glowed – bright red.
Swinton screwed his head round and watched them disdainfully. It was only when they turned him over and sizzled the cigarette against the tip of his penis that he uttered a low moan. Tom boy clutched on to the doorpost, terrified they would notice him, yet not quite able to bring himself to abandon his only friend. But if he went for the officers he knew that they would delay their arrival – both out of dislike for Swinton and also because they believed in this ‘justice’.
‘Jesu Crist,’ he muttered, ‘oh, Jesu Crist.’
When the officer arrived to deliver Swinton to the police station he found Tom boy crying and Swinton, still tied up, alone in the bunkhouse.
He threw some clothes towards the rigidly angry Swinton and loosened the knots around his wrists and ankles. Swinton’s chest was heaving with fury. ‘Bastards,’ he muttered over and over again.
‘We want you down the nick.’ PC Farthing could muster up not a scrap of sympathy for the soldier.
Joanna decided Swinton looked even more surly than usual, grim-faced, eyes stuck on the floor. She switched the tape recorder on.
‘Gary, we already know that you assaulted Dean on more than one occasion.’
He nodded, chewing slowly on his gum.
‘Did you kill him?’
For a moment Gary Swinton stopped chewing his gum, then he gave a few, rapid bites and looked up. ‘You can’t be trying to pin this on me,’ he said. ‘You bloody can’t. I was with people all night when that kid was murdered.’
Mike leaned over him. ‘What time was Dean murdered?’
Gary gave a few fast open-mouthed chews. ‘You can’t catch me like that,’ he said. ‘I don’t bloody know. All I do know is that the fire was still burning. But it hadn’t got to him all ...’ He thought for a moment. ‘His hand was cold,’ he remembered.
‘You’d been fond of burning Dean.’
Swinton looked worried. ‘That was different,’ he protested.
‘Yes it was, wasn’t it?’ Mike stared at him. ‘Dean was alive then. He would have felt the pain. You recognized the scent of burning flesh, didn’t you?’
Swinton whipped round. ‘You can’t bloody well prove it,’ he said.
‘Other kids will act as witnesses.’
Then Joanna glanced at Mike, the same thought hitting them both at the same time.
Swinton was still nonchalantly chewing his gum, cow-like, slow and rhythmic. Like Chinese water torture it was beginning to irritate Joanna.
‘The other kids,’ Swinton said slowly, ‘they wouldn’t grass on me. We’re all in it together.’
She felt angry then but knew to display that anger towards Swinton would not touch him. He was too used to it. Instead she checked her dislike of him.
‘So you made this child’s life a misery,’ she said. Swinton chewed his gum. ‘Were you buggering him too?’
He leered at her. ‘I ain’t queer,’ he said. ‘Ask any of the birds at the disco.’ He grinned. She could see the gum through his teeth. ‘They should know.’ He leaned right back in his chair. ‘Quite a reputation I got with the ladies.’
‘Really,’ she said coolly, ‘I’d never have guessed it.’
‘Want me to prove it?’
‘I don’t think so,’ she said.
Mike chipped in. ‘Dean wasn’t touched in the last year, Swinton,’ he said. ‘I think you left The Nest about six months ago.’
Swinton swivelled round and stared at Mike. ‘You accusing me, copper?’
And there the law protected him, but they needed to threaten him – to use a lever ...
Joanna took over. ‘Well, if it wasn’t you, Gary,’ she said sweetly, ‘who was it?’
He stared at her and she knew he was rattled. And his mind began working fast.
‘ ’Is grandfather,’ he said. ‘This bloke what used to come for ’im.’
Mike touched the table with his fist. ‘Are you lying, Swinton?’
The soldier boy shook his head slowly, stopped chewing his gum, stared hard at Mike. Eyeball to eyeball it was a battle.
‘I ain’t lyin’,’ he said disdainfully.
‘Did you see the man?’ Joanna asked.
Swinton turned his stare on her. ‘Yes,’ he said, ‘I did.’ The description he gave matched Ashford Leech perfectly and the photograph they had dug up from an old newspaper gave the same response.
‘ ’E drove some great white estate car,’ Swinton said – strangely anxious to please. ‘I think I saw him a couple of months ago.’
Joanna looked at Mike. Both felt a distinct shiver. Dead men don’t drive cars and Swinton obviously did not know Leech was dead.
‘What sort of car?’ Mike asked.
Swinton shrugged his shoulders. ‘Don’t know,’ he said. Joanna decided to try to rope him in on the investigation. She leaned across the table and offered Swinton a cigarette.
He stared at it with distaste. ‘No thanks. I’ll have one later.’ Then, taking advantage of this new-found comradeship, he leaned back in his chair and grinned, the gap between his front teeth giving him an oddly wicked air. ‘Any chance of a coffee?’
Gritting his teeth Mike stood up.
While he was gone Joanna tried her luck.
‘Gary,’ she said, smiling, ‘we’ve had a bit of bad luck.’
His gaze swivelled round to her.
‘We probably won’t press charges, you know – not over the cigarette burns,’ she said smoothly. ‘After all, the children are safe now, aren’t they?’
He looked suspiciously at her.
‘I mean, you’ve left the home.’
He nodded.
‘But – unfortunately ...’ Mike returned with the coffee. ‘Unfortunately, Jason and Kirsty are missing.’
Swinton actually looked concerned. ‘Since when?’ he asked sharply.
‘They went yesterday morning.’ Joanna stopped. ‘We’re very worried about them, Gary. Do you have any idea where they might be?’
He drank his coffee, frowning into the cup.
Joanna tried again. ‘Do you know any of their hideouts?’
‘Only the moors,’ he said. ‘That’s all I know.’
Mike bent over him. ‘In this weather?’ he said. ‘Have they got some shelter?’
‘Not as I know of.’
Joanna sighed. She had been sure Swinton would be able to help them.
‘OK,’ she said. ‘Thanks.’
‘Can I go now?’
Wearily she nodded.
When he had gone Joanna turned to Mike. ‘Where are they, Mike? Have we been barking up the wrong tree? Is something happening to them? Is there someo
ne we’ve let go who is guilty? Are we about to find two more bodies like Dean’s?’
‘Hey, don’t let it get to you. Jo,’ he said roughly. ‘It’s a job. You’re human. I’m human. We all are.’
‘The Press don’t quite see it like that,’ she said.
‘Talking of the Press, what’s happened to your blonde friend from London? The one with the eye-catching headlines?’
‘Seems to have disappeared,’ she said, then she touched him lightly on the shoulder. ‘Come on. We’re booked for a briefing. And, Mike,’ she added, ‘thanks.’
He gave a sheepish grin.
She stood at the front of the briefing room, facing her team – Phil Scott, Roger Farthing, Cheryl Smith, Alan King, Mike and the other uniformed officers lent for the investigation. ‘I think we’re getting close to four suspects – all of them male. I’ll just run over them. Please remember the legal phrases – mens rea, actus rea. The guilty mind, the guilty act. If any of you have anything to add, don’t hesitate. Jason Fogg and Kirsty are both missing. We presume they are together. Although it’s possible they have absconded from the children’s home – both have done this before. We’ve alerted police forces countrywide, faxed descriptions to every force. They may have absconded to escape questioning from both the police and Maree, their social worker. However, bear in mind it is also possible they might know something we don’t. They may well know the identity of the murderer. They might even have approached him. So they could come to harm. I am very, very anxious that they are found and brought back as quickly as possible. The Super’s offered me an extra ten uniformed help. They’ll be doing the house-to-house searches and helping collate some of the information on the computer. But we are the original team and I want us to be clear what we are doing. As yet we have dug up quite a bit of dirt and circumstantial evidence but nothing conclusive. But we are getting there. Ashford Leech was the person who posed as his grandfather, regularly abused him and incidentally infected him with Aids. Leech died and the abuse stopped. But Dean continued a friendship. A platonic friendship. This might have been because the “friend” suspected Dean was HIV positive. The person may have been a woman, a homosexual man – or even a heterosexual man.
Catch the Fallen Sparrow Page 17
