Sorcerer

by Menon, David

  ‘You should start a problem page in a magazine’ said Jeff.

  ‘I just think that sometimes us girls would be better off accepting our men for what they are and not what we’d like them to be. We’d all be much happier if we did. But look, why all these questions about Ian?’

  ‘One of the boys who was in care at Pembroke House twenty-odd years ago made a complaint that he’d been physically abused and brutally sexually assaulted there. Ian Hayward was the copper he made the complaint to and according to Wiseman he told him to go away and forget it’.

  ‘You can’t be serious?’

  ‘Wiseman has now given us a sworn statement and we know from the files that his complaint was never recorded’.

  ‘Oh’ said June, surprised. ‘But I still can’t believe that Ian was deliberately up to something. There must be some explanation for why he never recorded that complaint. Have you tackled him about it?’

  ‘Oh yes’.

  ‘And what did he say?’

  ‘Well this was before we had Wiseman’s sworn statement but he said that he didn’t remember any such complaint. I’ve thought a lot about it and I just can’t see why he wouldn’t record it, June. What legitimate reason would he have?’

  ‘I don’t know but I won’t say anything if I see him’ said June. ‘But you look done in, mate’.

  Jeff rubbed his face in his hands. ‘Toby didn’t settle very easily last night. I was up quite a bit with him’.

  ‘You’re doing your best, Jeff’ said June. ‘I know it can’t be easy being a single Dad but you’re doing a lot better than some who would’ve taken to the booze or taken off altogether’.

  ‘Yeah, well, Toby is my son and my life revolves around him. It always will do’.

  ‘Have you got time for a coffee and a chat? It is still early’

  Jeff looked at his watch. ‘Not really but seeing as it’s you I’ve got about ten minutes before I’ll need to get back to continue building a case against a husband and wife team of evil, twisted bastards’.

  ‘Then there’s the issue of the potentially bent chief superintendent’.

  ‘Yeah, thanks for reminding me about that, June. I’d almost forgotten’.

  Jack White was going to be sixty next birthday. He slipped out of his four poster bed and wandered nonchalantly into his en-suite bathroom. He needed to take a pee. He stood at the toilet and looked straight down whilst holding his penis. It was a straight look down. There was no beer belly to obscure his view of nature’s call. His stomach was firm, his upper legs solid. His nipples were still fixed closely to his chest. They hadn’t slipped their way into being man boobs. He ran a hand across himself. His chest hairs were now totally grey but the hair on his head was still full and was only peppered with grey rather than overwhelmed by it. He allowed himself to think that he didn’t look bad for his age.

  He had a shower and then dressed in a button-down collar, long sleeved white shirt and dark green cord trousers. Then he walked across the upstairs hallway of his large house and knocked on the door to one of the spare bedrooms. He smiled when he heard a grunt come from inside and knew that Doreen was awake though not necessarily of this world.

  ‘Morning!’ he greeted cheerfully as he popped his head round the door. He liked having Doreen to stay especially in the late evening when they usually set the world to rights over several glasses of scotch, or early in the morning when the presence of company made the day seem just that little bit more promising.

  ‘Fuck off!’

  Jack laughed. ‘You shouldn’t be using language like that. You’re a lady of advancing years’.

  ‘Well you’ll be a gentleman of no further years if you carry on pouring scotch down me on top of all the wine we had with dinner. Not to mention the champagne before’.

  ‘Oh yeah, I really had to force it down you, didn’t I’.

  ‘You shouldn’t put such temptation in my way, Jack. You know I’m useless at resisting’. She lifted her head from under the duvet and yawned rather dramatically. ‘What time is it, anyway?’

  ‘Nearly ten o’clock’ Jack replied. ‘I’m going to make us some brunch’.

  ‘Scrambled eggs with salmon like you normally make it?’

  ‘Amongst other things’

  ‘I’ll be right there. And get the coffee on’.

  ‘Yes your royal highness’.

  ‘Shouldn’t that be the other way round?’

  ‘Ha bloody ha. I so get you confused with Victoria Wood’.

  Jack and Doreen had been close friends for nearly thirty years. He’d gone to work in her office at the engineering plant in Salford that he ended up the chairman and owner of after working his way up through a combination of luck and making all the right choices with the chances that came his way. A couple of years ago he’d sold the company to a group of Chinese investors and made a sum so tidy he was even cagey with Doreen about just how much he’d made from the deal. It had not been a bad outcome considering. His parents had thrown him out forty years ago when he told them he was gay and he’d clawed his way up to the top. But losing the support of his family hadn’t been the only price he’d paid for all the material wealth that now surrounded him. He’d had plenty of sex but he’d grown to live without the touch, the tenderness, the hand to hold and he’d grown used to having nothing except an empty house to come home to. He wasn’t short of friends. He had a good life. But he was lonely and the gay life was obsessed with youth and though he was still full of energy and not ready to even contemplate retirement from lustful activity just yet, he did realize that he was heading at speed towards ending his days alone. He had everything and yet he had nothing at the same time. He was a poor little rich boy with all that money and nobody to love.

  ‘My God!’ he exclaimed when Doreen sauntered into the kitchen in her night dress and robe. ‘You look decidedly second hand. Shall I arrange a little nip and tuck for this afternoon?’

  ‘I only stay friends with you because you’re loaded’.

  ‘And of course you and Roger are so poor’.

  ‘We are compared to you, money bags’ she said whilst tearing into a croissant that was in the basket on the table. ‘Now where’s that coffee?’

  ‘Don’t you want a juice of some kind first?’

  ‘Pink grapefruit?’

  ‘I read your mind’ said Jack as he poured some pink grapefruit juice that he’d just squeezed into a glass and handed it to her.

  ‘Oh I don’t want to be hungover today’ she groaned.

  ‘It’s a bit late for that, love’.

  ‘Roger’s Dad is coming over tonight and I’m doing dinner’.

  ‘You like Roger’s Dad’.

  ‘Yes I know but that’s not the point’ she insisted. ‘I could just do with curling up on the sofa’.

  ‘You have turned into such a lightweight’.

  ‘It’s what acting your age does for you’ said Doreen. ‘You should try it sometime’.

  Jack’s house in Alderley Edge was at the end of a long lane and on the edge of land belonging to the farm next door. It was an old stables that he’d had converted and the floor to ceiling windows in his kitchen, which was the size of a small house in itself, meant that anybody coming up the hill from the main road could be seen for quite some time before they turned into the drive. The house was secluded rather than isolated and on one side only a clump of trees separated his place from the line of semi-detached villa type houses that traced a line down to the main road.

  ‘Here’s your lift’ said Jack as he spotted Roger’s car coming up the hill.

  ‘I can only just see him’ said Doreen, squinting into the morning sunlight. ‘My eyes haven’t kicked into gear properly yet’.

  A few minutes later, Doreen’s husband Roger let himself in through the big main door at the front and walked into the kitchen. He was armed with a stack of that day’s newspapers which he placed on the edge of the kitchen table. They were all news hounds and would soon slowly start devouri
ng them.

  ‘Room for another?’ asked Roger as he eyed all the food Jack had prepared.

  ‘Need you ask?’ said Jack. ‘I’ve made more than enough for three. Sit yourself down and I’ll put some more coffee on. And see if you can breathe any life into our desperate housewife here’.

  ‘I’ve been trying to do that for the last thirty years’ quipped Roger.

  ‘Would you two stop talking about me as if I wasn’t here’ Doreen protested. ‘That is such a boy thing’.

  ‘Oh that’s right’ said Jack. ‘Women on the other hand stab each other in the back whilst they’re not looking. That’s far more mature and up front’.

  Doreen stuck her tongue out at him.

  ‘Christ!’ Roger exclaimed. ‘I’ll need to go to alcoholics anonymous if you come near me with that today. How much did you two have last night?’

  ‘We both reached a point where enough was not enough, Roger. Now do you have a problem with that, dear?’

  ‘Absolutely not my little spring flower’ said Roger. ‘I watched the football on the telly in peace and had the remote control to myself all night. Bloody magic! Every married woman should have a gay man best friend. It takes so much pressure off their poor weary husband’.

  Roger had also worked for the same engineering firm as Jack and Doreen and he’d taken early retirement along with his wife just before Jack had sold the company. Jack had negotiated good terms for all those who’d wanted to leave the firm at that time. He wouldn’t have been happy selling it to the new Chinese owners otherwise. All through their working life, Roger and Doreen had been careful to be discreet about the fact that they were mates with the man who became the big boss although it became a bit of an open secret. The company had only employed about five hundred people and it was hard to keep things like that quiet. The three of them had grown so comfortable with each other that silences were never awkward and they treated each other’s houses as extensions of their own homes. Roger had sometimes been jealous of the bond between Doreen and Jack but he’d soon realized that there was nothing for him to worry about. He could trust them implicitly.

  ‘By the way’ said Roger between mouthfuls of Jack’s spinach and feta cheese omelette. His scrambled eggs and salmon were supposed to be his signature dish but Roger preferred the omelette. ‘When I stopped off in the village to pick up the papers I heard some interesting news with regard to what’s alleged to have been happening up at that Pembroke House near the University. The police want to question George Griffin’.

  The words fell on the room like hail stones in a storm. He looked up at Jack and Doreen who were exchanging looks with each other. Jack looked like someone had stepped over his grave.

  ‘What have I said?’ asked Roger.

  ‘Nothing, sweetheart’ said Doreen. ‘It’s just that Jack used to know the family’.

  ‘I didn’t know that’ said Roger.

  ‘I knew them a long time ago, Roger’ said Jack.

  ‘They retired out to Spain’ said Doreen. She licked her lips after another drink of coffee. ‘Somewhere near Alicante I think. They’ve been down there quite a few years now’.

  ‘What’s Mary’s son’s name? Ed, isn’t it?’

  ‘That’s right’ said Doreen. ‘He kept his family name of Lake which was the name of his father and Mary’s first husband’.

  ‘Wait a minute?’ said Roger. ‘Didn’t they have a daughter too?’

  ‘She was Griffin’s daughter from his first marriage’ Jack confirmed. ‘Her name was Anne’.

  ‘Is she still local?’

  ‘Nobody knows’ said Doreen. ‘She disappeared over twenty years ago’.

  Jeff and Rebecca were sitting at the conference table in Jeff’s office reviewing progress on the investigation. Two members of the squad had been to see Ed Lake who’d confirmed that he was the step-son of George Griffin but that he didn’t know of any alleged ill treatment of the boys at Pembroke House. The officers concerned however were convinced that Ed Lake was hiding something but they couldn’t decide if it would be incriminating to himself or to his step-father. On that basis, Jeff decided he would go and see Ed himself.

  ‘Okay’ said Jeff. ‘I take it we haven’t been able to contact George Griffin himself?’

  ‘No, sir’ Rebecca answered. ‘Our Spanish colleagues in Alicante went round to the Griffin’s house but neighbours told them they’d gone away for a little holiday. They investigated further and found that flight records show that George and Mary Griffin caught an Iberia flight to Madrid with a connection to Brussels last Tuesday afternoon’.

  ‘The day after it hit the media that the skeletons had been found at Pembroke House’ said Jeff. ‘Interesting. What did they do when they got to Brussels?’

  ‘They hired a car at Brussels airport and I’ve contacted the Belgian police to see if they can find out where they went. They may have crossed the border into the Netherlands, Germany, or France. It might take some time to track them down but they both have mobile phones so we’re tracking those’.

  ‘Why would they go to Brussels, I wonder?’ said Jeff.

  ‘They may have friends there, boss?’ said Wright.

  ‘Yes and those friends could also be involved in their hideous trade in some way. If Ronnie Wiseman is right, and I think we both agree he is, then the Griffin’s may have had contacts all over Europe with regard to selling their so-called films’.

  ‘I’ll get someone to look into the trade in underage porn going back over the last twenty years’ said Rebecca. ‘It won’t be a great job but it needs to be done’.

  ‘Now to the human remains’ said Jeff. ‘According to June Hawkins the male adult was almost certainly hanged and the male child suffered a trauma to his skull which would’ve meant he died of a blow to the head, probably administered by something like an iron bar. Now why would anyone want to kill a child like that? June has also now confirmed her earlier estimation that the remains all date back about twenty years which coincides with the end of the period when Griffin was the manager and just before the home closed down’.

  ‘So we could be after him for murder as well as sadistic child abuse, sir?’ said Rebecca.

  ‘Yes’ Jeff confirmed. ‘Just the sort of bloke you’d love to get friendly with down the pub. Now I know we’ve been looking into the cases of boys between the ages of five and nine who went missing in the Greater Manchester area around that time and who’ve never been traced?’

  ‘Yes and there’s nothing in the local records that would fit’ said Rebecca. ‘So I’m going nationwide with it and it’s the same story for the adult male’.

  ‘Who are you getting from the squad to lead up these lines of enquiry by the way?’

  ‘DS Wright and DS Masters, sir’.

  Jeff raised his eyebrows. ‘You’re brave. I thought they couldn’t stand each other?’

  ‘I like mixing cocktails, sir’ said Rebecca. ‘Besides, they’re grown men and they’re part of a team that’s investigating stuff that’s much bigger than whatever sulks they have with each other. I’m not going to separate them. They have to work together effectively and with professionalism. End of’

  ‘I like your style, Becky’ said Jeff. ‘Keep me posted on how it all works out’.

  ‘Do you think the victims might be father and son, sir?’ asked Rebecca.

  ‘I think it’s a credible possibility, yes’ said Jeff. ‘Then there’s the photograph of the toddler. Somebody knows who he is and why his picture was there. Again, we need to look at all cases of missing toddlers about the age of two from that period. Can you add that to your list for the pair of warring detectives?’

  Rebecca laughed. ‘Yes’.

  ‘Good. But if those skeletons were father and son, how did they come to find themselves in that situation? Could it be that the father found out what had been happening to his son whilst he’d been in care and went to sort it out but instead he ended up having the tables turned on him by Griffin?’

  �
��Well we now have the full staff and resident lists for the Griffin years’ said Jeff. ‘I’m going to tell the rest of the squad that I want everyone on those lists contacted and in terms of the former residents they will need to tread very carefully. They’re not going to want to talk to us if they feel pressured in any way. And in the meantime we now have the sworn statement from Ronnie Wiseman detailing his allegations against George Griffin and the staff at Pembroke. I think that gives us enough to bring him in so that should be our main focus. Now, bring me up to date on the property developers who were planning to make some cash out of the converting of Pembroke House into apartments?’

  ‘Sir’ Rebecca began. ‘I interviewed the man who bought Pembroke House from Manchester city council. He’s clean. Just your average high tax bracket property developer but who may have lost a bundle in Pembroke’.

  ‘The poor baby’.

  ‘I know, sir, my heart bled too when he started whining about it. But we can count him out of any involvement here. He was only two when Pembroke was closed down’.

  ‘All that money at such a young age’ said Jeff, shaking her head.

  ‘His parents have been in business for years, sir, and they gave him his initial start up cash’.

  ‘So he was born with a silver spoon in his mouth and the poor bastards who got sent to Pembroke weren’t. Why are some people born with everything and make even more whilst others are born with nothing and end up with even less? That’s why I’m not religious because none of them have been able to explain that to me’.

  ‘I agree’ said Rebecca who’d never had much time for organized religion. ‘But with regard to the investigation … Griffin is the key to everything here, isn’t he?’