by Conrad Jones
“You’ll find him,” Tod said aggressively. “He’s got form I’m telling you. He must have a record. He’s a nutcase!”
“So you’ve said,” Annie said sarcastically. “Where did you meet him?”
“In a club.”
“Which club?”
“The State,” Tod answered reluctantly. “I had just spiked a girl’s drink and it turned out that he was watching every move that I made.” Tod sounded almost offended. “He knew what I was up to. He came over to me and made it very clear that if I didn’t invite him along with the girl, he would call the police. That was it. That was how we met.”
“So you took this girl where?” Annie said angrily.
“To a crappy hotel on the docks.”
“When was this?”
“A few years ago.”
“Her name?”
“Claire something.”
“Then what?”
“He had pictures of me,” Tod looked ashamed. “He said he would show my mother and if that didn’t work, he would hurt her.” He shook his head and sighed. “We met up every now and then and went for a few drinks. One thing led to another and we worked as a team. I didn’t want to go out as often as he did but he wouldn’t take no for an answer. He’s a psycho. I was terrified of him.”
“You obviously had a lot in common,” Stirling said. “Where does this scumbag live?”
“Formby somewhere,” Tod shrugged. “I never went there. I didn’t want anything to do with his private life like where he lived. He’s a very scary man.”
“But you chose to hunt and drug women with him in order to rape them.” Annie scoffed. “I would say you’re two peas from the same pod.”
“I can see how it looks,” Tod sighed. “You have to believe me. I didn’t kill anyone.”
“I don’t have to believe anything,” Annie said slowly. She pointed to the photographs again. “I believe what the evidence says and it tells me that you did kill these two women.”
“No, no, no!”Tod shook his head. “Rob Derry did this.”
“Have you got a number for him?”
“No.”
“Why not?”
“He calls me from payphones, he doesn’t use a mobile.”
“Do you have the number of the payphone?”
“Maybe, if I do it’s in my mobile.”
“How old is this Robert Derry?”
“I don’t know, fifties, maybe” Tod shrugged. “His name isn’t Robert.”
“What is his name?” Annie tutted. “You said he was called Rob.”
“Rob something,” he shrugged again. “I can’t remember. There’s a double ‘B’ or a double ‘R’ in it somewhere but he shortens it to Rob. He used to go on about it being an unusual name. I didn’t listen to him at times. Like I said, he was nuts.”
“We’ll take a look but I’m not convinced that he exists,” Annie said. “Was he in the club with you that night?”
“I don’t know to be honest.”
“You don’t know?”
“He said that he would make sure that Jackie Webb was in the car park,” Tod shrugged. “When I got there, she was in the stairwell.”
“How do you think she got there?”
“I didn’t ask.”
“Where did you meet up?”
“I picked him up further up Brownlow Hill.”
Annie and Stirling exchanged glances. The CCTV from the wine bar on the hill showed the car stopping. “You didn’t see him in the club?”
“No.”
“Come on, Tod,” Stirling pushed. “Why are you lying to us?”
“I’m not lying. I didn’t see him in there. I was focused on getting Jayne out of the club but I had no idea any of this was going to happen,” he pleaded. His eyes filled with tears again. “He must have done all this and then planted evidence,” Tod said angrily. “He’s setting me up!”
Stirling shook his head. “The evidence puts you at both scenes and you have the murder weapon and video evidence from the second scene at your home.”
“I wasn’t there. I’ve told you!” he raised his voice. “He must have broken in and planted the DVD in the player.” Tod looked at their faces in desperation. “It’s the only explanation.”
Sterling shook his head. “And the prints on the knife?”
“I don’t know.”
“Thumbprint?”
“I don’t know.”
“Semen?”
“I don’t know how my semen was at the second house!” Tod shouted in frustration.
“But you admitted having sex with them,” Annie pushed.
“I used a condom,” he said sarcastically. “I always use one. I’m not stupid.”
Annie looked at Stirling and smiled. “You’re not stupid?” she sat back and folded her arms. Tod glared back at her. “If you expect us to believe your story, you’re beyond stupid, Tod.”
“My client is admitting to the rapes but he’s denying murder, Inspector,” Bartlet interrupted.
“You have heard of the term ‘concrete evidence’?” Annie sighed. “We’ve got it and your client is going down.”
“I’m being set up! Rob Derry killed them.”
“You’re throwing up shadows, nothing more.”
“I’m innocent!”
“Innocent?” Annie frowned and sat back. She folded her arms. “Are you tripping?” she snapped. “How many women have you slipped roofies to and raped, Tod?” Annie asked changing the direction of the attack.
“I don’t know.”
“Oh come on!”
“I don’t know.”
“There are eighteen pairs of underwear in that file and we’ll find out who they belong to,” she frowned, “if it takes me the next ten years we’ll find them.” Tod looked angry and confused. The pain from his back was becoming unbearable. His hands were shaking visibly. Another tear trickled from the corner of one eye. “You’re a sick rapist, Tod.”
“I’m not a murderer. Those pictures are just twisted.”
“Drugging women for sex is about as twisted as you can get but I have to say that I was surprised by the young boys’ underpants,” Annie flicked to the back of the file and placed it in front of Bartlet. She turned pale and threw Tod a glance that expressed her disgust for him. “Raping adults is one thing but kids?”
“What?” Tod closed his eyes and then opened them again to look at the file. He blinked as if he was seeing something that he couldn’t fathom. “I have never seen those before in my life,” he snarled. “You’ve planted them in there!” his face twisted in anger. “Now that is just wrong!” he shifted awkwardly in his seat. “I am not a paedophile, young boys?” he asked incredulously. “Never!”
“Explain it then, Tod.”
“I’m being set up, that’s what it is,” he stammered. “Rob Derry has set me up.”
“Why would he do that?”
“I don’t know!”
“How would he know about your precious collection of underwear?” Stirling asked.
Tod thought for a few seconds, a look of confusion on his face, “I honestly don’t know.”
“Did you ever show him this file?”
“No.”
“Did you ever talk to him about it,” Stirling pressed, “You know, bragging about your souvenirs?”
“No!”
Annie took a photograph of Peter Barton and placed it on the table. “Do you know this man?”
Tod glanced at the picture and then leaned over to look closer. “His face is familiar,” he muttered. Recognition sparked in his eyes. “Wait a minute, I know him. Didn’t he kill that kid from Halewood a few years back?”
“Yes, not far from your mother’s house.” Annie nodded and took the picture away. “Do you know him?”
“No. I know of him.” He insisted. “He was all over the news. I’ve never met him.”
“You’re sure that you don’t know him?”
“I’m sure.”
“A few days ago
, he blew his own brains out with a shotgun.”
“Good!” Tod snapped. “He was a paedophile. Why would I give a toss about him?”
“Funny!” Stirling turned to Annie. “We didn’t find any kid’s underwear at Barton’s house did we?” he held up the file again. “We did find two pairs at your house. Who is the paedophile?”
“Bullshit!” Tod shouted. “I have never seen those before today.” He turned to Bartlet. “I’m being set up here. You can see that can’t you?”
“We need to talk alone,” she answered flatly.
“I don’t believe a word you’re saying and neither does your brief,” Annie said thoughtfully. It was a long shot that Tod would identify Barton as the mysterious accomplice. Not that she believed for certain that there was one. “You’re a murderer, a rapist and a paedophile. They’ll love you in jail.”
“You can go and fuck yourself, you goggle eyed freak,” he turned purple and snarled at Annie. “This is a fix up. I’m not saying another word to you. Screw you, you bastards!”
Annie felt the sting of his insult but tried to push it from her mind. She needed to keep her head clear. She looked at Stirling and shrugged. “Like I said,” she smiled coldly and picked up the file. “I’ll find out who every single one of those people are, starting with the young boys.” She paused for effect. “Obviously we’ll have to question those close to you first to see if the boys are related to you,” she paused for his reaction. His eyes widened. “Are they nephews or neighbours’ children?”
He looked stunned. “No of course not,” his voice was a whisper. “I don’t know them.”
“We’ll have to question everyone connected to you to track down who these boys are.” Annie sighed and shook her head. “We’ll have to start with your mother of course,” Annie looked him in the eyes. “Imagine how she’ll feel having to look at a little boy’s underwear.” She paused again. Tod was shaking. “Your poor old mother,” Annie sighed again. “She will be mortified won’t she, Tod?” The reality of what his family would think of him hit home. His eyes widened in horror. As she watched his discomfort growing to epic proportions, Annie felt a surge of adrenalin. ‘Goggle eyed freak,’ am I? She thought.
“Don’t do that!” he shouted. Spittle flew from his lips.
“We have to, Tod. Unless you want to tell us who they are?”
“I don’t know!” his voice was panicked. “Please don’t show these to my mother,” he pleaded. “Please!”
“Charge him,” she said standing up.
Tod Harris let out a wail of anguish. “Fucking bitch!” It was animal like. He banged his forehead on the table but nobody paid him any attention. There wasn’t much sympathy in the room.
CHAPTER 29
Annie twisted the bottle and felt the top crack open. Ideally, she would have left the Merlot to breath for an hour or so but tonight the need to drink outweighed the need to improve the taste. She poured a third of the bottle into her glass and took a long sip, closing her eyes as she swallowed. She released a deep breath and felt the stress of the last week flowing out of her. Not all of it, just enough to feel normal for a few moments. She picked up a side plate that she had prepared. There was a selection of mixed cheeses, dark chocolate and salted biscuits. She carried the wine in one hand and the plate in the other. Annie walked into the living room and put her supper down onto a low marble coffee table. As she sat down, the leather couch felt cool on her bare legs. Her dressing gown felt loose and comfortable. The towel around her head was warm and damp and her freshly washed hair smelled of apples. The television screen was blank and the sound of Emile Sande drifted from her CD system. ‘I’ll be your clown, behind the glass.’
She slipped a piece of chocolate on top of a slice of cheese and put them into her mouth, leaning back into the cushioned leather; she closed her eyes and chewed slowly. The flavours complemented one another and she wallowed in the taste explosion. It was a rare moment of personal pleasure. A stolen minute of selfishness, a snippet of peace and quiet in a life filled with horror and grief. She sat forward and washed it down with a mouthful of wine and opened her laptop.
She logged onto the city’s missing person’s site and narrowed her search to males under the age of eleven. A copy of the photograph found in Harris’s souvenir file sat next to her computer. She sighed as the list of the missing filled three columns on the first page, which went back only three months. The faces on the page were a mixture of family photos and custody suite images. She resisted the urge to read each profile. If she started, she would be there all night. She scrolled back in time, six months, twelve months, two years, three years. Nothing. Bland pictures, blank faces and a few lines of information was all that remained of them. Each page was just more of the same. The faces of the lost and the missing. Some would be alive and some would be dead. Each one had a family somewhere, however distantly related they were. Each had a different story but the one thing that they had in common was that they had disappeared. Annie knew that they couldn’t all be sleeping in cardboard boxes under railway arches and there weren’t enough park benches on the planet to accommodate all the missing. ‘Where are they all?’
An hour later her eyes were sore and her head ached. She had munched her way through her supper and swallowed the last drop of wine. She was tired. Emile Sande had sung her album twice and was starting again for the third time. Annie stood up and towelled her hair. Once she would have done it in front of the mirror but not anymore. Mirrors were still not in favour. All bar one in the house had been replaced with modern black and white prints. She shook her hair loose and walked into the kitchen to recharge her glass. The white tiles felt cold beneath her bare feet. She tipped another third of the bottle into the glass unsure if she could stay awake long enough to finish it. Sleep was calling her but she wanted to give it another half an hour at least before she gave up and climbed the stairs. She took a long sip of merlot and headed back into the living room. She paused at the CD player and invited Adele to perform for a while. The melancholy in her voice took her away from the search for a moment. ‘But I set fire to the rain, watched it pour as I touched your face. Well it burned as I cried, cause I heard it screaming out your name, your name,’ Annie sang along with the track, her feet moving slowly to the beat. Her eyes closed and her hips swaying in time. She could have stayed there all night listening to her voice but she had work to do.
Annie sighed and slumped back down onto the couch. She sipped her wine and clicked onto the next page of lost children. She wondered if she would be as good at her job if she’d had children of her own. She doubted it. How could a mother sit and look through pages of faces without thinking about her own offspring? They were all someone’s sons. Sometimes she wondered if the job had made her tough or if she was born cold. How else could she do her job without breaking, drowning beneath the sea of dross that she had to swim through every day? She slurped another mouthful of merlot and clicked to another page. She swallowed the wine with a gulp and sat up straight. The shape of the eyes was the same. The nose and mouth were identical. The boy in the picture was looking right back at her. Annie clicked on his tab and read the information. The date of his disappearance rang alarm bells in her mind. She reached for her mobile and dialled.
“Annie?” Alec answered. “I thought I told you to get some sleep.”
“Sorry it’s so late, Guv,” Annie said excitedly. “The boy in the photograph is James Goodwin, aged ten. Reported missing from a care home in Childwall the same day that Simon Barton was abducted. He was from a travelling community, in and out of the care system for years and a serial runaway.”
“Any indication that his disappearance is connected to the Barton kid?”
“I’m looking at the missing persons website, Guv,” she shook her head and sipped more wine. “There are hardly any details. We need to speak to DI Haig at Halewood to see if there was any link. Barton was from a good family, decent school, nice home so I can see why his case attracted the news
and Goodwin’s didn’t.” She sipped the wine again. “Care home runaways are a dozen a day. The fact is, Tod Harris has his picture and his underwear in his collection and he has never been recovered.”
“God almighty,” Alec sighed. “We should do the world a favour and string him up from the bars in his cell.”
“By the bollocks!”
“Language, Inspector,” Alec joked.
“I’ll call Haig first thing in the morning, Guv.”
“Good work, Annie.”
“Thanks.”
“Get some sleep. That’s an order.”
“One more glass of wine and I’ll sleep.”
“Have two just to be sure,” Alec smiled. “Goodnight, Annie.” Alec hung up. Annie looked at James Goodwin’s face once more and then turned off her laptop. Enough was enough for one night. She sat back and closed her eyes, emptying the wine glass as she did so. Adele was mourning the loss of yet another boyfriend but she was adamant that one day she would find someone just like him. ‘Don’t forget me, I pray,’ she crooned. Annie wondered if James Goodwin had been forgotten and if he had, by whom.
CHAPTER 30
Kathy Brooks was wrapping up her autopsy. It was about as straightforward as it could be. The cause of death didn’t need to be explored blindly. The lack of facial features and skull above the bottom jaw made it simple. Massive head trauma caused by a twelve bore shotgun being placed into the mouth and discharged. That would do it every time. The internal organs had shown signs of alcohol abuse and the lungs were stained and blackened by smoking but he would have lived for decades. The death was a clear suicide.
Still, procedures had to be followed. Weights and measurements were recorded. Incisions made, the organs removed and weighed. Blood samples were drawn for analysis and fingerprints were taken to be crosschecked. It should have been a simple one. She had an indication of who the victim was and the cause of death was obvious. Peter Barton was already in the system. He had done time. Checking her findings was the last part of the procedure.
