by John Harvey
‘Tell us where he is, then, Shane.’
‘I don’t know, do I?’
‘Where you’re going to meet.’
‘We’re not. I’ve not heard from him, have I? I keep telling you. Okay? No matter how many times you ask, I can’t say no different. I don’t know where he is and I don’t fuckin’ care.’
His eye had stopped twitching, his hands were still. Watching, Elder knew the moment had passed. They’d had him, almost had him, and then lost him. It happened. Involuntarily, he brought his hand to his face to wipe away the spittle that earlier had run down his cheek.
35
Elder had first set eyes on Shane Donald in an amusement park in Skegness, Donald apprenticing himself to a man named Alan McKeirnan who was working as a mechanic with a travelling fair; apprenticing himself, it turned out, in more ways than one. Not so many weeks before, the fair having pitched up in Mablethorpe, the pair of them had taken a girl named Lucy Padmore, just sixteen, to the caravan where they were staying: quiet, secluded, just inland from the coast. Kept her there against her will for five days before burying her body in the dunes.
After Skegness, it was Rotherham, McKeirnan working in a garage on the Rawmarsh Road; living with Donald in a single basement room in the centre of the town. Earlier suspicion had turned into solid evidence. They kept the house under surveillance, hoping to take McKeirnan when he left for work, leaving Donald on his own. Less fuss, less confusion. It was Elder who followed Donald to the corner shop, out to get that day’s supply of milk, of cigarettes; a newspaper with the headline, Schoolgirl’s Killers Still on the Loose.
Shane Donald had still been a few weeks shy of seventeen.
Maybe the judge had taken the account of his life up to that point into consideration: a miserable, broken childhood; a hapless lad led astray. Mercy, if that’s what it was, shown in the length of the sentence, the brunt of the blame falling on McKeirnan.
Released into the care of the probation service, Donald had got into trouble again almost immediately; gone on the run with a girl named Angel Ryan, who had eventually given him up to the police, afraid for her own life, afraid for Donald’s if he remained at liberty.
Since then Elder had not set eyes on him until earlier that day.
If Keach were to contact him – a big if – he had no idea how Donald might respond. Besides which there was nothing to suggest that Keach was still in the vicinity. Sightings continued to come in, if sparingly, and all some distance away. Doncaster was the closest – a second time this, and being checked – then Manchester, down by the Albert Dock in Liverpool, a shopping centre in Burnley.
Elder had gone for a quick pint with a few of Sherbourne’s team – Billy Lavery, Simone Clarke, Jason Lake – and ended up staying for two. Fending off invitations to join them for a curry, he’d found his way to an Italian place in the Lace Market and taken a table in the far corner, away from the windows and grateful for his own company.
He had spoken to Katherine earlier that evening: ‘Dad, I’m okay. I’m fine.’ Her voice shrill, nervous, words tripping over each other, giving the lie. Elder had done his best to reassure her, while not wanting her to do anything that might be construed as careless, put herself at risk. But at risk from what? There was no suggestion that Keach was anything less than a hundred and fifty, two hundred miles away.
He was on his way back to the hotel when his mobile rang.
‘Tried calling you earlier,’ Alex Hadley said. ‘Couldn’t get through.’
‘What can I do for you?’
‘Your daughter. Some new evidence has emerged. It looks as if we’re going to have to speak to her again.’ She paused a moment, waiting for this to sink in. ‘After what you said the other day, I thought you’d like to be present.’
‘When’s this happening?’
‘Tomorrow morning. Around eleven.’
‘Holmes Road?’
‘Yes.’
‘I’ll be there.’
The temperature in Nottingham dropped that night by at least five degrees and come morning there was a cold wind out of the east. The walk from the hotel to the station took Elder past two shopping centres, one of which seemed to be partly closed, and the boarded-up branches of two well-known department stores. He counted five men and one woman sleeping rough, three Big Issue sellers, one busker playing a penny whistle, two out-and-out beggars. At the railway station he bought a coffee and a paper, went down on to the platform and boarded the waiting train.
He’d left a message for Colin Sherbourne, explaining where he was going, asking him to keep in touch; failed to speak to Katherine directly and texted her instead. The news in the paper seemed mostly to be about Europe, Syria, the shenanigans of pop stars he’d never heard of, actors in television series he’d never see. Down near the foot of page 7 there was a single paragraph: Escaped murderer continuing to evade arrest. Followed by the briefest summary of Adam Keach’s crimes. Of the investigation into Anthony Winter’s murder there was nothing. No news was no news.
The train pulled into St Pancras five minutes ahead of schedule. Armed police were patrolling the concourse, either side of the Eurostar terminal, the security level still high after recent terrorist attacks in Paris and Marseilles, a couple of isolated incidents in the centre of London.
On his way down to the Underground he heard people speaking in French and Spanish, Urdu and Italian, Polish and Russian. The two young women sitting opposite him in the carriage wore skinny jeans, bright lipstick and black headscarves tightly covering their hair. At Euston a man got in wearing a kilt, rucksack on his back. At Camden, a nun. The only one showing the slightest sign of surprise at all this was Elder himself. He’d been down in Cornwall too long.
Katherine was waiting by the coffee barrow near the station entrance, take-out cup in her hands. She was wearing black trousers, a denim jacket over a black jumper, dirty white trainers on her feet. Her hair hung shapelessly around her face; her skin was pale, accentuating the darkness round her eyes. Elder wondered how many nights she’d gone without sleep.
She held the cup aside, allowing her father to give her a quick hug and a kiss on the cheek.
‘You’re early,’ she said, stepping back.
‘Just a few minutes.’
‘You want a coffee or anything?’
‘No, I’m fine.’
‘I can finish this on the way if you like.’
‘It’s okay.’ Elder looked at his watch. ‘We’ve time.’
‘D’you want to sit a minute, then?’
There were several seats, wooden with metal frames, most of them occupied. Drinkers, smokers, down-and-outs. The pair closest to the flower stall were free. Traffic moved slowly past, buses heading for North Finchley or Liverpool Street, Victoria or Parliament Hill Fields.
‘Have you any idea what this is about?’ Elder asked.
Katherine shook her head. ‘Just more questions, that’s all they said.’
A man with several days’ growth of beard and rheumy eyes stumbled towards them, holding out a hand. Katherine looked away. Elder gave him a hard stare and the man backed away, shaking his head.
‘Maybe we should go,’ Elder said.
‘Yes,’ said Katherine, ‘maybe we should.’
36
The officer at reception was expecting them. Alex Hadley met them on the landing, shook Elder’s hand, enquired about his journey without really listening to the response. A certain amount of deference due but no more.
As they were approaching the interview room, Hadley held back. ‘You might find some of this hard going.’
Elder nodded, stone-faced. ‘We’ll see.’
The room itself was airless, anonymous, little different from the many he had been in before. The other side of the table now, he waited for Katherine to be seated then pulled his chair in alongside her, the two police officers opposite. After they had all identified themselves, Katherine was, again, cautioned. Told, again, she could leave at any time.
<
br /> ‘I’d just like you to remind us, Katherine,’ Hadley began, ‘about your relationship with Anthony Winter.’
‘What d’you mean?’
‘The nature of that relationship, how would you describe it?’
‘I worked for him.’
‘As a model?’
‘Yes.’
‘A life model?’
‘Yes.’
‘And besides that?’
Katherine blinked, glanced at Elder, reached a hand up to her hair.
‘When we spoke before,’ Hadley said, ‘you suggested your relationship with Winter was also personal.’
A moment before answering. ‘Yes.’
‘Could you amplify that a little?’
Katherine pulled at a strand of hair. ‘We were friends.’
‘Friends?’
‘Yes.’
‘Close friends?’
‘Yes.’
‘And this friendship, this close friendship, would you say it was physical?’
Another glance towards her father. ‘Yes, I suppose so.’
‘You suppose …?’
‘Yes. Yes, then. Yes.’
‘You were lovers?’
‘Yes.’
‘Up until the time of Winter’s unfortunate death?’
‘No.’
‘No?’
‘It finished before that.’
‘How long before?’
Katherine shifted sideways on her seat, shifted back. ‘A month. Six weeks. I’m not sure.’
Hadley let that slide. ‘And who ended the relationship, you or him? Or did it just come to a natural end?’
A breath, long and uneven. ‘Anthony did.’
‘Did he give a reason?’
‘No, not really.’
‘He must have said something.’
Katherine looked at her father.
Elder leaned forward. ‘Is there really something to be gained from this line of questioning?’
‘Yes, I think so. If you’ll bear with me a little longer.’
With a brief nod of the head, Elder leaned back.
Hadley refocused on Katherine, waiting.
‘He said … he said there was nothing more we could do for each other. It was … it was time to move on.’
‘And you were upset by that?’
Katherine nodded.
‘Katherine?’
‘Yes. Yes, of course I was.’
‘So upset that you cut your wrists?’
Katherine flinched. Elder rose partway from his chair. ‘I don’t see that has any relevance. Not to your investigation.’
Hadley held his gaze. ‘I’m trying to establish the strength of the relationship that existed between Anthony Winter and your daughter, in order to explain any later behaviour.’
‘What later behaviour?’
‘We’ll come to that in due course.’
‘Katherine,’ Alice Atkins said, speaking for the first time. ‘Would you like anything? Some water, maybe?’
Katherine shook her head.
‘You’re sure?’
‘Yes.’
‘And you’re okay to carry on?’
‘Yes.’
Hadley cleared her throat, glanced in Elder’s direction before speaking. ‘Would it be correct, Katherine, to say that your physical relationship with Anthony Winter was characterised by the giving and receiving of pain?’
Katherine screwed up her eyes, clenched her hands into tight little fists.
Elder began to protest but swallowed his words.
‘Katherine?’ Hadley said quietly.
‘No,’ the answer quieter still, eyes still closed. ‘No, that’s not right. I don’t know why you’re saying that.’
Hadley’s face opened into a faint smile. There, then gone. ‘Did you know that Winter was in the habit of filming the various sexual activities that took place both in his flat in Chalk Farm and in his studio?’
‘No.’ Eyes open wide, voice loud. ‘No, he couldn’t have.’
‘I’m afraid he did.’
‘He couldn’t have. I’d have known.’
‘There were hidden cameras in both locations. We found the results, some of them, on one of his computers. Others stored on a hard drive.’
‘But not me. Not with me. He wouldn’t have done that.’ She turned towards her father, alarmed.
Elder’s skin had gone cold. He smiled back at Katherine as reassuringly as he could; rested a hand for a moment on her arm.
Alice Atkins raised the lid of the laptop and, after a glance towards her boss, switched it on.
Katherine glanced helplessly back at her father, head shaking from side to side. ‘No, you can’t. Please, please. Don’t. Not in front of …’
As the first image appeared on the screen, she jammed her open hand into her mouth and bit down hard.
Elder slammed his fist on the table.
Alice pressed a key and the image disappeared.
Katherine was rocking backwards and forwards, tears running down her face and on to her neck, blood speckled across her mouth and cheek, divots of blood on the fleshy part of her hand between finger and thumb.
‘We’ll take a break,’ Hadley said, ‘and get that seen to. Continue later.’
‘What the holy fuck d’you think you’re doing?’
Elder had demanded to speak to Hadley alone and, reluctantly, she had agreed. They were standing in the car park at the rear of the station, Hadley, who never smoked, not since she was in her teens, with a cigarette she’d begged from Chris Phillips.
She drew the smoke down into her lungs and slowly exhaled. ‘Pursuing a line of inquiry.’
‘Treating my daughter as if she were a suspect. A hostile witness at best.’
‘Just trying to get at the truth.’
‘The truth is, Katherine had nothing to do with Winter’s death and you know that.’
‘Do I?’
‘You really think she could have been in any way responsible?’
‘I think there are questions about her involvement that remain unanswered.’
‘Christ!’ Elder swung his head away, looked up at the sky.
‘What?’
‘You ever listen to what you’re saying? You sound like some bloody automaton.’
‘It’s about maintaining a level of detachment. Not getting emotionally involved. I thought you’d have known.’
‘Yes? Well, you’ve got that off to a fucking T and no mistake.’
‘I’ll take that as a compliment, even though that’s not how it was intended. And I do realise how difficult it must be for you to do the same. These circumstances especially.’ Another pull at the cigarette. ‘If you’d like to arrange for someone else, someone less close, more detached, to take your place as an appropriate adult, then I’m sure it can be managed.’
Elder shook his head.
‘You’re sure?’
‘Sure.’
‘There may be other things which come up that you’re going to find difficult to hear.’
Elder looked at her before speaking. ‘You can push so far and no further. Anything more aggressive and I’m going to suggest in the strongest possible terms she takes the option to leave.’
‘You really think that would be good advice?’
‘If you don’t like it, charge her.’
‘You think I won’t?’
‘I think if you were going to, you’d have done so already. I think you’re still trying to force the pieces together and finding they just don’t fit.’
Hadley took a last drag on her cigarette. ‘Time we were getting back inside.’
Katherine’s face was unnaturally pale; her hand bandaged and resting in her lap.
‘Katherine,’ Hadley said, ‘are you feeling okay to continue?’
‘Yes.’
Elder nodded agreement. He’d done his best to suggest to Katherine she should make what she justifiably could out of the injury to her hand and put off the remainder of the interv
iew until later, possibly the following day, but she had wanted to get it over.
‘And I must remind you,’ Hadley said, ‘that you are still under caution.’
‘I know.’
‘Good. Well, then I’d like to ask you about the last time you say you saw Anthony Winter – which would be the Monday, I think you said? The Monday before the exhibition …’
‘Yes.’
‘The Monday before he died.’
Katherine made no reply.
‘You went to the studio at his invitation to see the paintings for which you’d earlier been posing?’
‘That’s right.’
‘And while you were there, did anything else happen? Looking at the paintings aside.’
‘I’m sorry, I don’t know what you mean.’
‘Did anything happen between the two of you, yourself and Anthony Winter?’
‘We …’ Pulling at her hair, avoiding her father’s eye. ‘We made love.’
‘You had sex?’
‘Yes.’
‘You had sex on the day bed in the studio?’
‘Yes.’
‘And on the floor.’
‘I don’t know. I don’t remember.’
‘You don’t remember?’
‘No.’
‘Perhaps you can remember what else took place? When you were both making love on the floor?’
‘No!’
‘Not something involving the chain?’
‘What?’
‘The chain, Katherine. The same chain as in the painting. You don’t remember Winter taking hold of it and fastening it across your body?’
Katherine let out an anguished cry.
Elder was on his feet. ‘All right, this is going to stop, right now. I assume you know this as it’s all there on tape, along with the time and the date. So asking my daughter those details can only be for the purpose of breaking her down even further in the hope that she’ll admit to something she didn’t do.’
‘Or it could be,’ Hadley said, ‘in order to establish, once and for all, how it came about that, in addition to her prints, there are multiple traces of your daughter’s DNA on the implement that was used to murder Anthony Winter.’
Elder slowly sat back down.
‘Katherine,’ Hadley said, calmer now, ‘there’s just one more thing. When you were here before we asked you to look at two sequences taken from CCTV cameras close to Winter’s studio. Do you remember?’
