She couldn’t miss Ed’s sigh of frustration. ‘No, I wanted to tell you how much I miss you – both of you.’
‘Hah. Well I didn’t for a minute think it would just be me.’ She closed her eyes, horrified at how she was behaving, but with so much emotion bottled up inside, she had to let it out.
‘Stop this, Nat. Look, there’s something I’ve been trying to avoid telling you, something I know is going to hurt you. It’s the reason I’ve kept secrets from you, but I’ve never lied. Since you left, though, and more than anything given the reason why you left, I don’t think I’ve got much choice.’
‘Stop talking in bloody riddles, Ed. Tell me what you need to say. But I’m giving you warning now that if you’re about to admit to anything to do with teenage girls, nothing – absolutely nothing – that you say by way of an excuse is going to influence me.’
‘Oh for fuck’s sake, Natalie!’ Ed rarely used expletives when he was talking to her, and she knew he had to be seriously stressed.
‘Go on, then. Say what you’ve got to say. But remember that I’m at work, so keep it brief.’
‘I’m not going to talk to you on the phone. What I have to say has to be face-to-face. I need you to meet me somewhere – just you. No Scarlett.’
Ed waited, giving her time to think. If she had any evidence at all that he had touched Scarlett she wouldn’t hesitate to report him, but Scarlett was adamant that nothing had happened, and despite Natalie’s suspicions that Ed had been grooming her daughter, she had held off voicing those to anyone else until she had something more concrete to go on. That had to be because deep down she didn’t want to believe it. Was she burying her head in the sand? She had to find out once and for all who this man really was, and perhaps this was her opportunity.
‘When?’ she asked, unable to soften her voice and forcing herself to keep all her barriers in place.
‘Can you do Friday night? I’m on lates until then.’
‘What time? Where?’
‘I’ll come into town, but it will have to be at about nine o’clock, if that’s okay. There’s a meeting I’ve got to go to after my shift, but I do need to talk to you and it won’t wait any longer.’
Ed gave Natalie the name of a bar in central Manchester that wasn’t too far from where they lived.
‘I’ll be there.’
‘Thanks, love.’ Ed’s voice softened, and she wasn’t sure whether he thought he had won a minor victory.
‘Don’t thank me, Ed. I don’t trust you. Not one inch. I’m coming because I want to know what cock-and-bull story you are going to invent to try to save your skin. But it had better be good because I’m more furious, more disgusted, than you can possibly imagine.’
Natalie hung up, wanting to be proud of keeping her distance from Ed, but feeling strangely ashamed of herself.
53
The room that Scarlett saw in front of her was nothing like she had imagined. It appeared to be a little wider than their living room, with a single window – the missing window – at the far end. A large double bed jutted into the room, and a sofa against the opposite wall faced the bed.
But it wasn’t the furnishings that caused Scarlett’s eyes to widen; it was the decoration. The walls were covered with murals. Behind the bed were scenes that looked to her untutored eye to be from Roman times, but on the opposite wall were views through trompe l’oeil windows to landscapes of beach and mountain. The vibrant colours leaped from the plaster, and Scarlett turned round and round on the spot, taking in the views, her lips parted in amazement. She walked further into the room and looked up to a ceiling painted with clouds – some white and fluffy, others black and threatening.
What was this place?
She hesitantly approached the opulently covered bed, reaching out to stroke the dark blue sheets with the backs of her fingers. They were so soft, so fine and light. Surely they were silk? An even darker blue throw was spread haphazardly over the bed, as if tossed on, not folded and neatly smoothed over the bottom third of the bed like hers at home. Somehow the careless wrinkles in the velvety fabric made it seem elegant, decadent.
Who had been laughing in this beautiful room? And then pleading. Why?
Scarlett pulled her phone from the back pocket of her jeans. She had to take a photo of this to show her mum. She would never believe it.
She backed towards the curtain, one slow step at a time, trying to get as much of the room in shot as possible. The vague whiff of a scent she had thought she recognised earlier seemed stronger as she took a final step backwards. She almost had the whole of the bed and two of the walls in shot.
Though the thin fabric of her T-shirt she felt a warmth on her back and leaned further into it to widen her shot.
She met solid resistance, her shoulders coming to rest on the source of the heat.
Scarlett gasped as she recognised the obstruction for what it was – another human body.
Before she had a chance to scream, two arms circled her from behind, one covering her mouth, one pinning her body to his.
54
Tom looked up from the screen of his laptop at the sound of a sharp rap on his open door and knew, before his eyes caught sight of the gleaming white shirt, that this had to be Keith.
‘Excuse me, sir, but DI Robinson thought it might be useful if we had a quick chat about Sergeant Gray. Would now present an convenient moment?’
‘It certainly would, Keith. Come in and take a seat. Is Becky joining us?’
Keith looked slightly flustered. ‘She is, sir, but she’s making you a drink.’
‘Good. I hope she’s making one for you too.’
Keith’s eyes opened wide at this idea, and Tom wondered what he had to do to make this guy relax. Were he and Becky so intimidating that Sergeant Sims felt he had to be permanently on his mettle? But he was efficient in his own way, and that was all that counted.
Tom realised that Keith was still standing, waiting to be asked to sit down, so he indicated a chair with his hand, and Keith pushed the door to and took a seat, his files arranged neatly on his tightly clamped knees.
Before they had the chance to start, Becky nudged the door open again with her hip and came in bearing two mugs in one hand and one in the other. Her bag looked perilously close to slipping off her shoulder and upsetting the delicate balancing act.
‘I know you said you didn’t want one, Keith, but I made it just in case.’ She plonked the mugs down on the desk and took the other chair, pulling a notebook and pen from her bag. ‘We only need about five minutes of your time, boss, but I think you’re going to find this quite interesting.’
Tom picked up his mug of coffee with both hands and leaned back in his chair. ‘Okay. I’m listening.’
Becky looked at Keith and nodded. ‘Over to you, Keith.’
Keith opened a file of neatly aligned papers. ‘I did as you asked, sir, and looked at the case that Sergeant Gray was working on when he was here at force HQ. As Superintendent Stanley correctly said, he was part of a joint operation, and he was especially relevant to the team because he’d been a detective on a sex trafficking case in which a group of men were grooming vulnerable young women. It was quite a scandal at the time. It was felt that the knowledge and experience gained had to be shared throughout the Greater Manchester force. That was Sergeant Gray’s role.’
‘He would have been fairly low down the command chain, though,’ Tom said, ‘so it’s hard to see how this would have had anything to do with his death. What’s the timeline?’
‘He left Operation Sphere six months before he was killed, so it does seem unlikely that it was related. But that’s not entirely the point.’
Tom was slightly baffled and felt that Keith was going around the houses to get to something. But he had the other man’s measure by now and knew that the only option was to let him tell it in his own way.
‘The point is potentially rather more related to Jennifer Bale.’
Now Tom was interested, and he co
uld feel Becky watching, waiting for his response. He glanced at her. Her eyes were bright with that glow of excitement they always got when she thought she might be on to something. Even Keith had paused for effect.
‘One of the cases the first team handled as part of Operation Sphere was that of a young girl, Amber Blackwood, fifteen years old. She had called Crimestoppers initially, because she wanted to remain anonymous. She reported that she’d been targeted by a man. According to the report, he told her he was a photographer and thought she would be a perfect model for a client.’
Becky butted in. ‘We know it’s an old story, boss, but each new generation of young girls presents the next pool of prospects, and not all of them are armed with the ability to recognise they’re being had. Particularly those significantly less well developed than their friends, who possibly feel that boys their own age don’t find them attractive.’
‘You mean like Jennifer Bale,’ Tom said. It was a statement, not a question.
‘Precisely. Anyway, Keith will fill you in on this girl.’ Becky turned to Keith and gave the sergeant a nod to continue.
‘After she’d spoken to Crimestoppers, Amber agreed to give a full statement, but she didn’t want her parents to know. She said the man had seemed absolutely genuine, and he’d suggested they meet in the middle of the day or after school in a public place such as a coffee shop or café, where they could talk and he could show her some of the photos he’d taken for magazines.’
‘So she didn’t tell her parents.’ Tom knew what was coming.
‘No, sir. She said she knew her parents would forbid it. They were very strict.’
‘Religious?’ Tom was beginning to think he could see a connection, but a moment later his hopes were dashed.
‘No, apparently not at all. But the dad was a bit of a bully, and the whole family – wife included – were scared stiff of him. Amber said she and the man had a couple of meetings in public places, but then he said she had to go to his studio with him, where he could take some proper photos. To start with, it seemed fine. She was asked to change into an outfit that seemed decent enough, and the man left the room. Gradually, though, he asked her for slightly different photos, and he was flattering her, buying her presents, saying how attractive he found her.’
‘Okay, I think we’ve got the idea. The photos got more and more revealing and no doubt she was persuaded to have sex with him, etcetera, etcetera.’
‘Yes and no,’ Keith said. ‘Amber didn’t want it to go that far. She was going to say no to him – to stop going to the studio. Then she got an email. It seems he had some other shots – shots of her getting changed. He had insisted that models never wear underwear because the lines show through the clothes, but he had always gone out of the room while she got changed. When she refused to have sex with him he sent her a photo. A photo of herself naked. She had no idea how he’d taken the picture, but unless she did what he asked, it was going to be posted on social media.’
‘I think technology is going to be the death of me,’ Tom said. ‘Hidden cameras, remotely operated, social media destroying the dignity and reputation of anyone and everyone, kids especially. After this girl had been coerced into having sex with him, no doubt he would have invited friends round or sold her on.’ He felt the rapidly cooling coffee turn stale in his mouth.
‘The investigating team reported that the main focus did seem to be the photos, at least initially, rather than grooming Amber for prostitution. It’s true the man was demanding to have sex with her, but he told her he wanted more pictures like the one he’d sent her – this time posed. All naked, of course. He said he could make her a real star. He told her that sex would help her lose her inhibitions. We don’t know if he would have taken it further because she stopped it in time.’
Becky’s nose wrinkled, and Tom knew she would much prefer to deal with a gangland murder than cope with this type of crime.
‘Did they catch the bastard?’
Keith shook his head. ‘Sadly not. Somehow the man seems to have got wind of what was happening. Nobody knows how, but there must have been a leak. It took some time to identify the location of the studio. Apparently Amber was told it was essential that it remained a secret so that the photographer, a guy who called himself Jed, wasn’t inundated with girls knocking on his door. So each time she was due for a session she was picked up by another man – a short fat man, she said – and had to lie down on the back seat of a car so she couldn’t see where she was going. She was taken into the building via a back entrance. When they finally found the fake studio he was using – an apartment in an old converted hotel right in the centre of town – the place was empty.’
‘Bugger,’ Tom said. ‘So that was that?’
‘I’m afraid so. But as they never caught him, and according to DI Robinson there are some similarities with Jennifer Bale’s case, we thought you should know.’
‘We don’t have much of a description of the man seen watching Jennifer on the school playing field,’ Becky added, ‘but from what we do have, there seems to be a similarity in body type. We have a much more comprehensive description from Amber, of course. There’s a chance it’s the same guy, and he’s started up again in a different location.’
‘Did we ever get to see the photograph he sent to Amber Blackwood?’
Keith looked as if he couldn’t understand the relevance of this request.
Tom swallowed his irritation. ‘I wondered about the background, Keith. There were some very specific items of interest in the background of Jennifer’s photo – wall paintings, to be precise – and I wondered whether there was anything similar in the other case.’
Keith looked sheepish. ‘I see. Unfortunately the photograph was deleted from the private message that he sent her. It was never on her computer, and because there wasn’t a court case it was difficult to get access to the social media company’s servers. You know how it is.’
‘I do indeed,’ Tom said. He sat forward and rested his forearms on his desk. ‘It’s certainly very interesting, Keith, and thanks for bringing this to our attention. Where did Amber Blackwood meet this toerag?’
‘She was on a school trip to an art gallery. The man approached her there in full view of her friends and teachers. That was one reason she believed him to be genuine.’
A smart operator, Tom thought. He wondered how many other girls were under this man’s spell.
‘What about her school? I suppose it would be asking too much for her to have gone to the same school as Jennifer?’
‘Yes, sorry about that. She went to a school in north Manchester, definitely not the same school as Jennifer Bale. I think it was in Failsworth, but I’ll check that out for you.’
‘Add it to the file, but if this is the way he operates and it’s the same guy, it could explain what happened to Jennifer. Flatters her at the swimming pool, takes legitimate photos of her, but when she doesn’t do what he wants he threatens her with the pictures from his hidden cameras. After that, I guess it’s plain sailing for him.’
55
Scarlett was rigid with terror as the arms circled her body, holding her tight. The hand dropped from her mouth and plucked the phone from her fingers.
‘No photos.’ The voice was gruff, the anger barely contained. But she knew who it was. Lewis.
He had known about this room all the time, and now she was in there with him, and nobody had a clue where she was, not even sweaty Martin. He could tie her up, keep her there forever, starve her to death. Anything.
She had to get out.
She could scream, but who would hear her? Their apartment was empty, and the only near neighbour was Lewis himself. She tried to fight free of him, and suddenly Lewis dropped his arms and took a step back.
‘Turn round and look at me, Scarlett,’ he said. His voice had lost none of its edge, and she could feel sweat running down her back, cold now that the warmth of his body had been removed. She wished she hadn’t been so bored that she had thought it
would be exciting to investigate a secret room. She should have realised that if it was hidden it was dangerous.
She turned to face him, her eyes not quite meeting his.
‘What are you doing here?’ His voice felt like a razor blade slicing into her.
Scarlett cleared her throat and looked down. ‘I heard someone in here yesterday. I was worried. They didn’t sound very happy, so I thought I might be able to help.’
‘How did you get in?’ Lewis’s eyes, when Scarlett dared to glance at them, were black and furious. She looked down again.
‘I took the key. Martin was asleep.’ Her voice was little more than a whisper.
‘So nobody knows you’re here. Is that right?’ His tone had changed. He seemed to be amused, knowing that nobody was coming to her rescue.
A burst of adrenaline punched through Scarlett’s fear. ‘No, that’s not right. I told my dad I was going to check it out. And he’s a policeman.’
‘Oh, right. And PC Daddy gave you his blessing to break into someone else’s property, did he?’
Scarlett felt her cheeks go hot. ‘He knew something had to be done.’
Lewis laughed. ‘There’s only one problem with that, little girl. You told me that there was just you and your mum in the apartment next door. So where’s Daddy, then?’
Scarlett thought quickly. ‘They’re divorced. But I still see my dad all the time. In fact he’s coming round at lunchtime, so I’d better be going.’
She tried to step past Lewis, but he held out one arm and she didn’t dare touch him.
‘Don’t you want to know what this place is, Scarlett? Come on, a young investigator like you must be interested.’
She said nothing. All she wanted was to get out of this room, and get out alive.
‘It’s a photographic studio,’ he said. ‘I take photos for magazines – pictures of girls like you, looking beautiful.’
‘So whose is this apartment?’
The Sixth Window Page 22
