‘I want you to bear in mind Cathy Parker’s opinion, he might have been killed accidentally. However, the attempted destruction of the body was a deliberate act and we must view the case from that angle. The courts will hold judgement when we have gathered all of the facts.’ There was a muttering in the room and she held up her hand. ‘I know,’ she said. ‘Our top priority must now be to find the two missing children.’ She paused. ‘And obviously I am worried that Dean confided something to Jason and Kirsty. My one big fear is that for God knows what reason they not only know the identity of Dean’s killer but have made some contact with him.’ She stopped. ‘That does frighten me.’ And from the silence in the room she knew she was not alone.
She turned back to the board. ‘So for now we will run over the possible suspects. Keith Latos. He owns the sportswear shop at the top of the high street. We believe that the shoes Dean was wearing when he died came from there. He is the only stockist in Leek and they were nearly new shoes. It does not seem, that Dean left Leek in the few days before he died. Remember they were the wrong size, cross-laced. We are working on the assumption that they were shoplifted possibly some time on Saturday from the basket outside the shop.’
She frowned. There was something not quite right here. She let it go. She would have to ponder it later – after the briefing.
‘We’ve been through Latos’s books and it does seem that a pair of Reebok Reformers the same size as the pair Dean was wearing are missing from his shop. The shoes were almost new so we are keeping the option open that Latos is implicated in Dean’s last twenty-four hours. On the other hand, he could have stolen them. We know Dean was in the habit of shoplifting. He’s been charged on more than one occasion. Alternatively, he could have been given them and you can all draw your own conclusions from that particular scenario. We are still looking for Dean’s old trainers, black and red and very well worn. Size fives. I don’t need to remind you they are vital evidence. Latos is a known homosexual. He’s been brought in a few times for soliciting near the men’s public toilets, trying to invite young boys back to his flat, etc. He says he was at the opera on Sunday night with a friend called Martin Shane who he claims spent the night with him.’ She broke off to consult DC Greg Stanway. ‘Over to you, Greg.’
He stood up and shook his head. ‘Not much joy here, I’m afraid, ma’am. Shane claims he was at the opera with Latos until late Sunday night.’ He made an expression of disgust. ‘Started singing some of the bloody songs.’
‘And later?’
‘Says they had a skinful and he decided to stay the night at Latos’s flat.’ He pulled a notebook from his pocket. ‘I’ve got two statements to verify it,’ he said. ‘Man opposite couldn’t sleep. Got up at three and saw Shane’s car.’
Mike interrupted. ‘What sort of car?’
‘White Lada estate.’
Joanna and Mike looked at one another.
‘What was the other statement?’
She turned back to the board, to the second name on the list. ‘Next is Mark Riversdale. In charge of the children’s home, The Nest. No known homosexual connection. But we know he has an alcohol problem and has been under psychiatric care. A bit of a dark horse. Says he was out of the country before taking up this post. He could easily have taken Dean’s body to the moors – has no alibi for Sunday night. Kids heard his television on all night but didn’t see him. He can’t remember the programmes – says he fell asleep. I think he probably drinks all evening. We found a number of cans of Carlsberg Special Brew in his room. Did Dean disturb him? Did he threaten him with exposure about his drinking? Did Riversdale lose his rag – throttle the child?’ She looked around the room. ‘It’s possible. I certainly think we should speak to him again. He also drives a white Vauxhall Cavalier estate which fits in with the witness’s sighting of a long, pale car.’
A few police officers nodded.
‘I think we know where Dean used to go on his disappearances. He used to go to Leech’s place – probably to the stable flat. But the real question is – where did he go after Leech’s death? Where was his bolthole?’
‘Excuse me, ma’am?’ Roger Farthing spoke. ‘Couldn’t he have thieved all the things – the new clothes ... the shoes ...’
‘It was possible,’ she said, ‘but Maree and the other kids at the home all say he arrived back clean, washed, fed. Someone was looking after him. You know as well as I do, Roger, kids who have slept rough look rough.’
‘His mother?’
She frowned, tugged at a piece of stray hair, nibbled at her fingernail. ‘So where is she?’
No one had any answer to that.
‘We have absolutely no evidence that there was any contact between Dean and his mother from the age of two. If there had been I’m sure she would have come forward by now. Unless ...’ She paused, released the lock of hair. ‘Unless she’s a woman so paranoid about the police she’s frightened to come forward.’
Mike cleared his throat. ‘No,’ he said decisively. ‘That’s going a bit far. Her kid’s dead. No one’s blaming her.’
Joanna bit her lip. ‘I wonder,’ she said. ‘If she had been the one who had been looking after him periodically ...’ She looked around the room. ‘She might have thought the social services would have pressured her to look after him.’
Mike agreed. ‘We could do with talking to her. Any luck with the papers?’
She shook her head. ‘Not so far, but I’ll try and get hold of Caro later on today. You see,’ she added, ‘she might even think we’d charge her with neglect or something similar.’
‘I doubt it.’ he said.
‘But you have to admit, Mike, people like her, who have abandoned their children, are naturally mistrustful of the police.’
‘True.’ He nodded.
‘Next in line is our “boy soldier”. We are sure that he was cruel to Dean – from an early age. He burned him with cigarettes. And yes ...’ she smiled, ‘our psychologist does make a connection with the attempted destruction of Dean’s body. He also, we believe, forcibly injected him with some drugs. He certainly displays psychopathic but not homosexual tendencies. However, again according to the criminal psychologist ...’ Someone spoke in the back and she glared. ‘Listen to me, laddie,’ she said. ‘Catching criminals is a serious business. Forensics and psychologists are the way forward. They are the smart way to know your criminal. It isn’t all physical – car chases up the high street at ninety miles an hour, scattering old ladies and prams like chickens before a tractor. Understand?’
The muttering softened and she carried on. ‘The psychologist is of the opinion that Dean’s murder was not psychopathic but homosexual. I know he had not been abused immediately prior to his murder – possibly not for some time before his death, maybe months according to the pathologist.’ She stopped. ‘The forensic psychologist had the idea the killing might even have been born out of Dean’s HIV status ... sexual frustration.’
Mike looked at her. ‘Why does he think he was a gay,’ he asked, ‘rather than a psychopath?’
‘Because there was no mutilation. No damage. I don’t like the phrase myself but it was a gentle murder – not done in hatred or temper. Again we have the pathologist’s opinion,’ she said. ‘It could have been an accident.’
There was another mutter at the back and she knew what they were saying – that a woman pathologist was being soft on a gay. A man would not have been so benevolent. She tightened her lips.
Mike was speaking. ‘A gentle murder ...’ He spoke in disgust. ‘Of a ten-year-old? Then burn the body?’
Again the team were muttering and in a way she shared their abhorrence of the particular phrase Cathy Parker had used. But the experts who analysed the victims of homicide knew what hatred and temper could do to the human body. And Dean’s had been unmarked – apart from the livid hand marks around his neck.
She continued. ‘The psychologist’s profile of the killer is a man who killed, then in horror at what he had done tried to eradicate it fro
m his mind and from the earth destroying by fire. Purging it if you want to be fanciful. It fits in with a homosexual but not – I repeat not – with a psychopath. It was, if you like, more of an execution. So Gary, the boy soldier, is in the clear. He didn’t do it. Don’t waste your energies there. He doesn’t even fit in–’
‘With the psychological profile,’ Mike chimed in. ‘Aren’t we taking too much notice of this psychological profile?’
‘I believe in them,’ she said defiantly. ‘I do. And remember the evidence of the officer on duty at the gate on Sunday night He was alert and guarding the entrance. The rest, as you know, is a high electric fence. Swinton was in the camp all night from three a.m. So ...’ She gazed around the room, ending at Mike’s taut features. ‘I know how you all feel. We’d love to get Swinton. But he didn’t do it.’
‘Sure?’ It was Mike.
She nodded. ‘Sure. He didn’t do it.’ She sighed. ‘Don’t worry,’ she said. ‘Swinton’s sort – we’ll get him in the end for something or other. He won’t stay clear of the law.’
‘Bash an old lady over the head?’
Again she sighed. ‘He’ll do something. Now let’s get on. We’re supposed to be going over this case together – swapping ideas.’
‘Lastly is Robin Leech.’ She frowned. ‘My opinion is it was either Leech or Latos. One or the other – although I really don’t know what their motive was.’ She sighed then grinned. ‘Too deep for me, just an ordinary copper. There’s more here too than meets the eye. A lot of cloud and questions. Unfortunately, he’s one of those people who arm themselves to the teeth with a solicitor who advises them of their right to silence. There are a number of lies being put across our path by this entire family, who are blessed with the comfortable illusion that they are above the common law of the land. Thank goodness the daughter’s abroad. At least one of them is safely out of it. Mother and son have admitted lying about the supposed burglary and Ashford Leech’s HIV. I think it is more than likely that he caught it through homosexuality although there’s nothing on record – no convictions or cautions. But I’m curious. If Leech gave him the ring what about the other things? Did Dean steal the photograph album to peep at and further the illusion of a family? Let’s just think.’ She sat down to talk to Mike for a moment.
‘We know Dean went to Rock House on a number of occasions. Robin Leech said he lived at Chester over those years and they never actually met. Quite honestly, I’m sceptical, Mike. I think we might consider driving there and speaking to Mrs Leech Junior about her husband. I’m curious about the breakdown of their marriage.’
Mike looked at her. ‘I can’t really see what that might have to do with it.’
She shrugged her shoulder. ‘I know,’ she said. ‘But unless you follow up all the leads you never quite know where one might have led.’ She touched his arm. ‘I’m sure we will eventually find out which one of them did it. But that isn’t enough for me, Mike. I want to know why. What drove someone to kill this boy?’
He grinned at her. ‘Sort of police analyst.’
She laughed and he joined her, the warmth of their shared humour reached the rest of the room.
King nudged Cheryl Smith. ‘They’re getting on all right these days ...’ He grinned. ‘Bit different from a couple of months ago.’
She nodded. ‘Better make sure Mrs Korpanski doesn’t get wind of it.’ She laughed and drew her finger across her throat. ‘She suffers with the green-eyed monsters.’
Joanna cleared her throat. ‘And remember,’ she said, ‘Robin Leech drives a cream Range Rover. Also he lives alone and has no alibi.’
She paused to think for a moment. ‘Then there is Gilly, Mrs Leech. I think she has some more answers for us.’ She scanned the roomful of faces. ‘How much was she a party to Dean’s abduction and abuse?’ She met Cheryl Smith’s eyes. ‘Yes,’ she said, ‘unpleasant, isn’t it? But she wouldn’t be the first woman to be party to such exploitation, would she? Was the burglary story concocted for just such an occasion?
‘The last point I want to impress on you is the two children missing from the home. Jason and Kirsty.’ She gave a brief description of the two children and handed round copies of their photographs. ‘Obviously it’s vital we find them – the sooner the better.’ Heads nodded in agreement.
‘Now then – before we go out there I want to remind you all what we’re looking for. Clothes with petrol splashed on them – maybe scorch marks, boxes of matches, lighters ... Hair ... Remember Dean’s was quite close cut – and recently. It was golden in colour. She smiled. ‘Then there was the coat ... Wilderness Collection, expensive, green oilskin with a scarlet, tartan lining. A black, woollen glove – twin to the one we found scorched on the moor. Also Dean’s old shoes, the ones he was wearing when he left The Nest, cheap trainers, well-worn, size fives, black and red with the word Bronx written on the side.’
When the police officers had filed out Joanna spoke to Mike. ‘What do you think, Mike?’ she asked. ‘Should I apply for a warrant to search Rock House, and Robin Leech’s stable flat?’
‘He’ll make it very difficult, he said. ‘Why not wait a day or two – see what crops up?’
‘I don’t like it,’ she said. ‘We’re only holding back because of who he is and because he’s articulate enough to make a fuss – write to the papers, make a formal complaint.’ She sighed and stared out of the window. ‘What if the two children are there?’
This time it was PC Roger Farthing who struck gold at the traditional gent’s outfitters halfway along the high street. Sitting in the centre of the shop window, artistically draped with its scarlet, tartan lining displayed bright as a beacon, was an olive green, wax jacket and even before he stepped closer to the window PC Farthing could see the logo – the three mountain peaks and the name, Wilderness. Smiling he pushed open the glass door.
‘Good morning,’ he said.
The owner was a small man with pale eyes and a tape measure draped around his neck. He looked warily at the six-and-a-half-foot tall policeman.
‘Morning,’ he said.
‘The coat in the window?’ Roger Farthing asked casually. ‘Sell many, do you?’
‘Not so many of those,’ the owner replied carefully. ‘They’re a bit expensive. And they can get one for half the price at the market. Not as good quality,’ he added quickly, ‘but most people don’t recognize quality.’
‘How many have you sold in the past year?’
The man thought for a minute then crossed to the rack, counted the coats swinging on the rail, scratched his head. ‘Five,’ he said. ‘I ordered eight – two of each size. I’ve three left.’
‘Do you remember who you sold the five to?’ Farthing asked.
The man met his eyes. ‘Why?’
‘I can’t say exactly at the moment,’ Farthing explained. ‘But all I can tell you is it’s part of a serious investigation.’
‘Not to do with that kid, is it?’
‘It might be.’
The man leafed through his book, pulled a notepad towards him, wrote five names. ‘I’ve a good memory,’ he said. ‘Leek is a small town. It’s an expensive coat and I don’t hold with murdering kids...’
Farthing glanced down at the list of names. Top of the list was Robin Leech.
Alice Rutter walked into the police station at five o’clock in the afternoon, ignored the officer at the entrance and demanded to see ‘the lady officer in charge.’ She flatly refused to speak to anyone else.
She seemed even more out of place here in the small, tidy office with its brick-wall view than she did up on the moors with a background of storms and weather, light and shade, dawn, dusk and the rocks. There she looked a wild woman, a troglodyte woman of nature, a throw-back to the man who surely must have been half-ape, half-human. Here, in the small modern office, she looked merely dirty, scruffy and unhygienic. And as she walked in through the door Joanna felt a wave of nausea at the unwashed scent.
‘I’ve come because I know
I must help you,’ Alice said slowly. ‘ ’E didna want me to come. Said I would not be able to ’elp you. I dunna know. But the child is dead.’
Joanna waited and Alice sat down stiffly in one of the armchairs, fingering the imitation plastic.
Joanna faced her. ‘We want you to help us identify the car,’ she said clearly. ‘Do you remember? You recalled it was a long, white car.’
Alice shook her head slowly. ‘Light, I said. I did not remember it as bein’ white.’ She looked at Joanna. ‘If I ’elp, you must promise me. No tryin’ to get us out of the Rock.’
‘It isn’t up to me,’ Joanna said. ‘We won’t evict you. It would be social workers who worried you might not be safe up there.’
‘Pah.’ For a short moment Joanna thought Alice might spit. Instead she sat silent, chewing her lips. Then she sighed and stared out of the window at the wall. ‘Why do they put a window where there is nothing to see?’
‘There was something to see once,’ Joanna replied, looking in the same direction. ‘They had to build some more cells. There was nowhere else to put people. I’ve lost my view,’ she said ruefully, ‘but I still have ventilation.’
Alice shook her head slowly. ‘That isn’t ventilation. Ventilation’s air. Clean air. Not dust and filth from cars.’ She looked again at Joanna. ‘I can’t breathe down here,’ she said. ‘It would be cruel to take us away from the moor. We belong there.’
Joanna nodded. ‘I know, Alice.’
There was a moment of empathy between them then Alice licked her lips. ‘It might come again,’ she said.
‘What?’
‘The car.’
‘How would you know if it was the same car?’
Alice Rutter blinked. ‘I know sounds,’ she said. ‘The lapwing pretending to have a broken wing to protect its young, fox cubs lonely and frightened for their mother. Kestrel hungry for food. Sounds tell me all. And the car is loud and broken.’
Joanna stood up, the embryo of an idea taking shape. ‘Would you let me drive you around Leek?’ she asked. ‘Tell me if you see a car like the one ... or hear something similar?’
Catch the Fallen Sparrow Page 18
