Blood Mist (Eve Clay)

by Mark Roberts

  ‘The Tanner family were in Mrs Patel’s address book.’

  Stone placed his cup and saucer down on the coffee table and stood up. He looked much older than he was in the huge framed mirror above the fireplace and the room behind him seemed twice as large. Nothing is as it seems. The words he wanted carving on his gravestone.

  ‘Can I have a little look around, Cecilia?’

  Before she could respond, he wandered out into the cavernous hallway. It was big enough to house his whole unkempt bachelor pad.

  ‘Why did you come here exactly, Detective Sergeant Stone?’ she asked as she followed him.

  ‘We’re trying to piece together as much information about the Patels as we can. When’s Mr Tanner home from work?’

  ‘It can be any hour.’

  ‘Where does he work?’

  ‘The Royal Hospital.’

  ‘Doctor?’

  ‘Management. That’s all I know,’ said Nurse Beaton. ‘He’s very secretive. He has strange ways.’

  Great, thought Stone. A direct link to the Patels, but she’s demented and he’s an odd bod. Daniel and Gillian Tanner, their names in neat, linked print in Kate Patel’s address book, from a time before dementia came to the Tanner’s home and before the storm unleashed itself in The Serpentine.

  ‘When will Becca and Dan be back?’

  ‘When they’re hungry.’

  ‘Have you got a direct number for Mr Tanner at the Royal?’

  ‘Yes, but I’m under strict instructions to use it only in the case of an emergency.’

  ‘This is an emergency, Cecilia. Give me his work number and I’ll deal with him.’

  The sound of something metal slithered from the shadows at the top of the stairs. Stone watched as a steel Slinky landed on a stair and pulled itself down onto the next level under its own shifting weight. The Slinky kept descending and was followed by a pair of bare feet and the hem of a white nightdress just above the ankles. Stone turned to the nurse.

  ‘Maisy?’ he asked.

  The girl stopped, hand on the banister, and peered at Stone for a fleeting moment. Then she turned and hurried back up the few steps to the upstairs landing.

  He’d seen her face for long enough to ask, ‘Maisy has learning difficulties?’

  Cecilia nodded. ‘She’s non-verbal.’ She handed him a piece of paper. ‘Mr Tanner’s work number.’

  The sound of a key turning in the lock.

  Becca and Dan raced into the hall, laughing, faces red and raw with cold, the freezing air pouring in with them. No sign of trauma or homicidal mania. Stone felt a surge of sympathy for them, growing up with the living death of a demented mother, a disabled sister and a father who sounded like a king-sized pain in the arse.

  Becca stopped, registered Stone’s presence with a quizzical frown.

  ‘He’s a police officer,’ explained Nurse Beaton.

  Stone focused on Becca. She was of a similar age to Alicia.

  ‘What’s this about?’ asked Dan.

  ‘Becca, do you know anyone called Alicia Patel?’

  Deadpan, she eyeballed Stone. ‘No, I don’t know an Alicia Patel.’

  ‘Is she a bank robber?’ asked Dan, smiling.

  ‘I wish she was,’ replied Stone.

  Neither of them reacted.

  ‘Sandy Patel?’

  ‘No,’ they spoke in harmony.

  ‘I don’t know anyone called Patel,’ said Dan.

  ‘I’ve never even heard of them.’ Becca directed the comment to her brother.

  ‘Keep your voices down, your mother’s sleeping,’ said Cecilia.

  Exuberance quashed, the teenagers tiptoed up the stairs to the safety of their rooms as Stone thanked Nurse Beaton and returned to the raw cold outside.

  As he walked into the gathering darkness, the streetlights fired up, glowing amber along the roadside. He sat behind the wheel of his car, took out his phone and pressed ‘Clay’ on speed dial. As he watched the front door of the house, he reminded himself of two home truths.

  Murderers, especially the most ruthless and prolific ones, seldom looked like murderers.

  And no one ever, ever thought that they would become a murder victim.

  39

  5.35 pm

  As she arrived outside the Drake family home in Barnham Drive, Clay picked up the call from Stone.

  ‘Where are you, Karl?’

  ‘Ullet Road. The Tanner family. On the surface everything looks normal. But there’s something bothering me and I can’t explain what it is. There’s a weird, weird atmosphere in the house.’

  As the cold night tightened, Clay got out of her car and headed for the Drakes’ front door. ‘Ask Hendricks to organise a dig into the Tanners’ background.’

  As she spoke, Clay had the clearest sensation that she was being watched. She eyed the front of the house. There was no one there. The curtains were drawn.

  ‘Eve? Eve, are you all right?’

  ‘Yeah. I’ve got to go.’

  She closed the call down and pressed record on her iPhone.

  At the front door, she heard the thump of a ball against an upstairs wall and the bump as it bounced onto the floor. Wall. Floor. Bump. Bump. Silence. Regular as a slow heartbeat.

  She rang the bell. The ball game stopped.

  A light came on in the hall but the door stayed shut.

  ‘Who is it?’ It was Coral’s voice, Faith’s older sister, seventeen years old and nervous in her own home as so many other people would be when darkness gripped the city.

  ‘It’s DCI Eve Clay.’

  ‘Yes, yes.’

  A lock was unbolted, the door opened. With one eye, Coral looked out at Clay. Behind her, Faith walked down the stairs.

  As Coral closed the door after Clay, she whispered, ‘You will go easy on her, won’t you? Faith’s scared to death, the poor little thing.’

  ‘Does your mother know about this?’ asked Clay.

  Coral shook her head. ‘We can’t call her when she’s at work. She’s doing a double shift. We’re a single-parent family.’

  Clay followed Coral into the front room. Faith was standing at the window. The little girl looked as if she had been crying and her face was red. She turned away.

  ‘Come and sit next to your sister,’ said Clay.

  The TV was off. In the fireplace, lights glowed through the plastic replica of burning logs and coals, but they gave off no heat.

  Coral guided Faith by the hand to the sofa. Clay shivered as she knelt down on the floor in front of Faith so she could make direct eye contact. She noticed how thin both girls were and wondered if, like so many young females, they felt obliged to be celebrity-slim.

  ‘Is there something you want to tell me, Faith?’ she asked.

  Silence. Outside a speeding car hit a speed bump and the crash was like a bell tolling in the night.

  ‘Faith,’ said Coral. ‘Just tell the truth. Tell DCI Clay what you told me.’

  ‘I’m scared.’

  ‘Don’t be scared, Faith,’ said Clay. ‘If you tell me the truth, you’ll be helping me and I’ll protect you with all the powers I have.’

  ‘It’s about Mrs Harry’s mobile phone. Nokia Eseries E63. Black with a silver-and-black on/off button and tiny little letters and numbers. I know who stole it.’

  Lines of energy shot up and down Clay’s spine as Faith sobbed into her sister’s arms.

  ‘Coral, do you know who took Mrs Harry’s mobile phone?’ Clay pressed.

  ‘Yes, I do.’

  ‘Faith,’ said Clay, ‘do you want your sister to speak for you?’

  ‘Yes.’

  Clay held Coral’s unblinking gaze. ‘Give me a name, Coral?’

  ‘Jon Pearson. Jon and Faith were the last two children to be picked up on Friday.’

  ‘Where does he live?’

  ‘Five minutes from here.’

  ‘What’s his address?’

  Faith spoke, but, through broken sobs, it was unintelligible.
>
  Coral picked up Faith’s blue book bag. She reached inside it and showed Clay a piece of paper with a childish drawing of a penis and a girl licking it.

  ‘There’s more to this than just a phone,’ said Coral. ‘He’s been drawing obscene pictures and writing filthy messages and forcing them on her. He’s harassing her.’

  ‘I will deal with any related issues, Coral, but for now I need Jon Pearson’s address. Immediately.’

  ‘Sev-ven,’ Faith managed to say.

  ‘Go on,’ urged Clay. Coral wrapped both arms around her sister.

  ‘Ravenna Way.’

  ‘Do you know why she didn’t tell me this morning?’ asked Clay.

  ‘She’s scared to death of him.’

  Clay stopped recording and, making her way rapidly to the front door, called Hendricks. She opened the front door, was aware of someone behind her, watching. Hendricks connected.

  ‘I’ve got a name and address for the person who took Mrs Harry’s mobile phone.’

  ‘Jon Pearson’s threatened Faith with all kinds of horrific things,’ said Coral.

  Clay glanced back at her, then directed her attention to Hendricks. ‘I’m round the corner from 7 Ravenna Way, Belle Vale. You know it, Bill?’ She opened the door and stepped outside.

  ‘It’s sick and disgusting what he’s said he’ll do to her.’ Coral followed her to the front door.

  ‘Coral.’ Clay turned. ‘I’ll deal with all that later, I promise, but I’m dealing with this now, OK?’

  ‘OK. But I don’t understand how a ten-year-old can know such sick things.’

  Clay made her way to her car. ‘I’ll meet you there, Bill. Bring Riley. Call the duty magistrate and have them issue a search warrant.’

  As she pulled away towards the junction with Childwall Valley Road, Clay glanced back. The sisters were in the doorway, watching from the step, lit by the dull glow of their narrow hall. And though it was dark, it seemed to Clay that they were both crying, holding on to each other as if they were in danger of drowning in thin air.

  40

  5.35 pm

  A phone call to Daniel Tanner’s direct line at the Royal Liverpool University Hospital had drawn a blank. In his car outside the Tanners’ home, Stone had counted forty rings with no reply and no answer machine kicking in.

  On his way into reception at the Royal Hospital, a lard-faced man in a wheelchair with bilateral amputations and an unlit cigarette dangling from the corner of his mouth caught Stone’s eye.

  ‘Got a light, mate?’

  Stone patted his chest, three fast beats. ‘Fresh out, mate.’

  ‘Arsehole.’

  ‘Yes I’ve got one of them, but it’s currently on a break.’

  He showed his warrant card to the pretty blonde receptionist, her smile fixed, which reminded Stone that a course of teeth whitening could be the first step towards reviving his dormant love life.

  ‘I’m looking for a Daniel Tanner.’

  She typed quickly onto her laptop and said, ‘Extension 3431. Want me to call him?’

  ‘What floor?

  ‘Eight.’

  ‘Thanks.’ He smiled back, tight-lipped, and moved through the bodies that milled around him, trying Tanner’s number again.

  After several rings, extension 3431 picked up.

  ‘Hello?’ A male voice.

  ‘I’d like to speak to Daniel Tanner, please.’

  ‘So would I. He showed up for work this morning and went home with a contagious stomach bug at nine o’clock.’

  Stone’s undefined suspicion about the Tanners twitched into a hunch.

  ‘Who am I speaking to, please?’

  ‘Detective Sergeant Karl Stone. Who are you?’

  ‘Mr David Passmore. Vascular consultant. Daniel’s our unit manager.’

  ‘And you haven’t seen him since nine o’clock?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘He didn’t report back in for duty?’

  ‘He’s never off sick. He finds excuses to stay late. I think he prefers being at work to being at home. He looked upset. He’s a man who doesn’t show much emotion, but he was off-kilter this morning. I think the stomach bug was an excuse to get out.’

  ‘Where would he go if he wasn’t at home?’

  ‘No idea. He only speaks when he has to and never talks about anything but work. But now, Detective Sergeant, I have to go. I’m due in theatre, emergency aneurysm.’

  On his way back to the multi-storey car park, Stone dialled the Tanners’ home landline.

  ‘Hi.’

  ‘Becca, it’s DS Stone, the policeman—’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Is your dad home yet?’

  A fully lit double-decker bus, the number 10, sprayed salty water into Stone’s path.

  ‘He doesn’t get in till around seven.’

  ‘Have you got my number, Becca?’

  ‘It’s on the display. Do you want me to get him to call you when he gets in?’

  ‘Yes, please. Tell him to call me. It’s very important.’

  ‘Becca! Becca! Becca!’ Her brother’s voice called in the background, loud and urgent. ‘Come and see the telly now!’

  Stone heard her moving towards the television set, the sound growing louder the closer she came.

  ‘As soon as your Dad gets in, Becca.’

  ‘Becca, look!’

  Stone heard the steady drone of a television set.

  ‘That copper said, Do you know Alicia Patel?’

  ‘Oh my God!’ said Becca. ‘That girl you mentioned, Alicia Patel – her picture’s, like, on telly right now.’

  ‘She was murdered last night, Becca. It’s that serious. Please. As soon as your father arrives home, tell him to call me. And if he won’t, for any reason, you call me and let me know he’s home. I won’t blow you up to your dad. Can you do that for me?’

  ‘God, yeah, of course. Oh my God, all six of them. Yeah. I will. Honest to God.’

  41

  5.47 pm

  In moving to Liverpool from her five-bedroom detached house in St Helens, Mrs Pearson, mother of three boys and widow of a paedophile, had found a good place to hide.

  Ravenna Way was buried in a warren of almost identical streets in Belle Vale. Grey houses faced and neighboured each other and there was no sign of anyone or anything moving. Clay drove slowly, looking at odd numbers and counting down from the mid thirties. The place felt like a ghost town.

  Outside number seven, two cars pulled up behind her. In her wing mirror, Clay watched Hendricks and Riley emerge.

  She got out.

  ‘I’ve got the warrant,’ said Hendricks, showing his phone. ‘Duty magistrate emailed it to me.’

  In the dark, the wooden gate of the tiny front garden creaked as Clay stepped onto the path. She knocked.

  Behind the pane of frosted glass, a light went on and a woman’s figure headed towards the front door.

  ‘Who is it?’ She sounded utterly sick and tired of life.

  ‘Police.’

  ‘Oh God, no, not again.’

  ‘Our brethren have clearly visited this flock before,’ said Clay.

  Mrs Pearson opened the door, her black hair parted along a line of grey roots and her face pinched and creased from years of heavy smoking. She made way for Clay, Hendricks and Riley to enter the small hall.

  ‘What have they been up to now?’ she shouted towards the front room. ‘I said, what have the stupid good-for-nothings been up to now?’

  Silence was their answer.

  A TV played too loudly, MTV headache music.

  ‘Turn that down now!’ For a small, prematurely withered woman, Mrs Pearson had a loud voice and whoever was watching the box obeyed immediately without objection.

  ‘I don’t know what’s gone on in Belle Vale Shopping Centre today and I don’t care either. Robbie and Vincent have been home all day.’

  Clay opened the door to the front room.

  Two teenage boys were slumped on separate arm
chairs, bathed in the vivid shifting colours of a dance-music DVD. The floor was littered with empty Lucozade bottles and grease-smeared paper bags from Sayers. Clay switched on the light and both boys turned to face her, blinking. The room hummed with the closed-in smell of two adolescent boys.

  Clay sniffed the air. ‘I think they may well have been in all day.’

  They squinted.

  ‘What the fuck?’

  ‘Who are yah?’

  Clay motioned to Riley, who walked into the room.

  ‘OK, turn the TV off altogether, boys,’ said Riley. She blocked the doorway and the TV was turned off.

  ‘It’s Jon we’ve come to see,’ said Clay.

  ‘Jon?’

  Hendricks showed Mrs Pearson the warrant on his phone.

  ‘What for?’

  ‘Where is Jon?’

  ‘In his room upstairs.’

  Clay started up the stairs. One of the teenagers called, ‘What’s going on?’

  ‘Sit down now!’ Riley’s voice, sharp as a razor and ready to slash.

  Mrs Pearson hurried up the stairs after Clay. ‘He’s not like his brothers. He’s a good boy. They were all good when we lived in St Helens. I blame Liverpool. I blame the people round here.’

  Clay indicated one of four doors on the small landing. ‘This his room?’

  ‘What’s he done?’

  ‘We’re investigating the theft of a mobile phone.’

  ‘Jon wouldn’t dare do a thing like that. He’s frightened of the police. Not like his brothers. He cries and hides in his bedroom when the police call here.’

  Clay knocked on the bedroom door. ‘Jon Pearson?’

  ‘He’s frightened of his own shadow, for God’s sake.’

  ‘Yeah.’ A timid little voice, babyish and full of uncertainty, filtered through the door.

  ‘Tell him to open the door,’ said Clay.

  Mrs Pearson opened the door.

  A ten-year-old boy dressed in Power Rangers pyjamas that he’d outgrown and with a dishevelled mop of red hair stood in the middle of the room.

  ‘Who’s she, Mum?’

  ‘My name is Eve Clay and I’m a police officer with Merseyside Police.’

  He looked bewildered and his eyes filled up immediately.

  ‘We have a warrant to search your house, Jon. That means we can take up every floorboard until we find the thing we are looking for. You can make this much easier for everyone.’