Kyra had been the opposite, clinging to him in tears, and begging him not to move so far away. But he had no choice – the job at Rushbrooke was the only one he’d been able to get in his situation. Yes, it meant moving hundreds of miles away from Newark but jobs in caretaking were thin on the ground round there and he didn’t have the means or the time to retrain. At that point Gayle wanted him as far away from her as possible – he’d irrevocably broken her trust with all the debts he’d run up and it was only thanks to her parents that they hadn’t lost the house after he’d secretly remortgaged it behind her back and then defaulted on the payments.
‘Please don’t cry,’ she was saying to him now. ‘I hate it when you get upset.’
Alan had not once blamed Gayle for throwing him out. It was his actions that had destroyed their marriage, not hers. He also knew it could’ve been a hell of a lot worse: had she reported him to the police for fraudulently remortgaging the house the way her parents wanted her to, he probably would’ve been convicted and imprisoned. Banishment down south was a small price to pay by comparison.
‘I’m sorry,’ he said, darkening the grey marl hem of his T-shirt as he mopped his tears with it. ‘It’s just, hearing your voice after all this time . . . Freddie and the girls – I wish I could see them.’
‘They wish they could see you too. But listen, I have to be quick because I’m on my break. I’m calling because I wanted to check you’re okay. I heard about the boy dying and you being there. Are you okay?’
Alan was confused. ‘How do you know about that?’
The news had broken online but details were sparse and none of the reports mentioned him, the caretaker, being a witness. Not even the boy had been named.
‘I’ve had a call from someone you know, a man called Gus Campbell.’
Alan’s legs almost gave way.
‘You what?’
‘He said he worked—’
‘I know who he is,’ Alan interrupted frantically. ‘What did he say?’
‘He thought I should know, because it was obviously awful for you and you don’t have anyone in Mansell to support you. You and I aren’t exactly family any more, but is there anything I can do to help?’
‘No, no, there isn’t. But thank you. It’s good of you to call.’ He hoped he sounded appreciative but he was so livid he could barely speak. ‘Look, I’m sorry, I have to go. There’s something I have to do. Can I call you back on this number?’
‘Yes, of course.’
He called Gus the second Gayle hung up.
‘What the hell are you doing calling my ex?’ he shouted.
To his fury Gus chuckled.
‘Oh, I was just doing my rounds. Prominent councillor . . . tick. High-ranking police officer . . . tick. Star player for the local football team . . . tick. Half a dozen bosses of the town’s biggest firms . . . tick. Mother of the caretaker’s children who would be most upset if they knew what Daddy was up to . . . tick. It’s called getting my ducks in a row, Alan.’
For the first time Alan realized the enormity of what he’d done by helping Gus, and how widespread his prostitution racket was. Alan had never seen or met any of the punters involved – he’d always stayed out of that side of things – and was shocked at the list Gus had reeled off. These were men who had standing in Mansell, who people looked up to. Men with the power and influence to make his life even more hellish than Gus could.
‘How did you get her number?’
‘She’s down as your next of kin.’
Gus must’ve got hold of his personnel file. There was no level the man wouldn’t stoop to.
‘Please don’t involve my kids,’ Alan begged. ‘You’re a dad – how would you feel if I told yours?’
‘Don’t you even dare speak of my children,’ said Gus icily. ‘My family stays out of this.’
Alan had often wondered about Gus’s wife and whether she had any inkling of his business interests. He’d met her once, fleetingly, and was struck by what a looker she was. Gorgeous blonde – Gus was punching way above with her. It made Alan think that Gus couldn’t possibly sleep with the escorts he employed – with a wife like that waiting at home, why would he need to?
‘Why can’t mine be left alone too?’ he asked.
‘Alan, you’re in no position to barter. You never have been.’
Crushingly, he knew it was true. By the time it had dawned on him exactly what Gus had in mind for the Pavilion, it was too late to deny him access to it. He’d already banked the sizeable ‘arrangement fee’, as Gus called it. After that, his cooperation was secured not with cash but with the threat of losing his job, which he could ill afford to do. Whichever way he looked at it, Gus had him cornered.
A thought crossed his mind. ‘If you know a copper, why not get him to make the rest of them finish up at the school?’
‘Too many questions would be asked. He’s important, you see. A VIP in the ranks.’
Alan felt even worse hearing that.
‘Gus, you’ve got to do something,’ he said desperately. ‘I’ve told the police the boy’s death was an accident. There’s nothing else I can do now.’
‘Was it?’
‘Was it what?’
‘An accident.’
‘Well, not exactly –’
Gus made an ‘uh-uh’ sound like a game-show buzzer going off.
‘Wrong answer! If you’re going to lie, Alan, at least be consistent. Look, mate,’ he said, suddenly conciliatory, ‘you’ve done the right thing and I’m grateful. Keep sticking to your story and before you know it we’ll have the Pavilion up and running again and things will be back to normal.’
‘No, no way,’ Alan exclaimed. ‘Find somewhere else, Gus. It’s too risky now.’
‘Why? The Pavilion is perfect.’
‘It’s inside a school. Can’t you see how fucked up that is?’
‘Of course I can. But that’s why I’m chairman of the governors and you’re not – because I recognize a perk of the job when I see one.’
18
There was a strange man sitting at Maggie’s desk when she arrived in CID. She slowed her pace as she approached, giving herself time to digest his appearance. He was younger than her, late twenties at most, with cropped brown hair and heavy, black-framed glasses. He was wearing a mismatched suit of navy trousers and dark grey jacket with a crisp white shirt and a visitor’s pass on a lanyard in lieu of a tie. He had the rumpled air of a college lecturer about him.
She was about to say hello when Renshaw intercepted her.
‘Need a quick word,’ she said, ushering Maggie towards the water cooler at the rear of the office.
‘It’s been decided there should be two FLOs on this case, given the sensitive nature of it,’ she said.
‘Oh, right.’
Usually DI Gant called ahead to warn her someone was joining her but she wasn’t unduly concerned. Force guidelines stated that FLOs should work in pairs wherever possible because of the 24/7 nature of the job and the strain of being sent into emotionally charged households for weeks or even months at a time. Two FLOs could give each other a break and offer support if things got tough.
‘I know you enjoyed working alone on your last case so I hope you don’t mind,’ said Renshaw.
‘That was down to cutbacks. I’m fine to partner up,’ Maggie reassured her. ‘It’ll be good to have someone to bounce off.’
‘Good, because that’s your new partner,’ grinned Renshaw, head jerking towards the man at Maggie’s desk. ‘DC Jamie Byford. Fast-tracked into CID straight from uni, been a detective for a few years, but this is his first case as a FLO.’
Now Maggie was less enamoured. She didn’t want to be saddled with a rookie. Why hadn’t Gant warned her himself?
‘I know he’s a newbie but make sure you share the load with him, okay? This case is a tough one because it involves kids and it’s important none of us take on more than we can handle. You must say if you find it hard.’
Maggie
frowned. Was it her imagination or did that little speech sound unnaturally stilted, as though Renshaw was repeating words that weren’t her own?
‘You’ve never been this bothered about me before,’ she said suspiciously, thinking back to her conversation with Umpire yesterday, when he had urged her to rethink her involvement. Would he have dared to share his concerns behind her back? She’d like to think not, but if he hadn’t, where else was Renshaw’s sudden empathy coming from?
‘Has someone said something to you?’ she asked.
‘Don’t be so paranoid – of course not. This is a big case for me and I need you on the ball to make me look good.’
Maggie wasn’t convinced but let the matter drop.
‘Come on, I’ll introduce you,’ said Renshaw.
Byford got to his feet as they walked up.
‘Maggie, this is DC Byford. Or do you prefer Jamie?’
‘Byford’s fine. You must be DC Neville. Good to meet you.’ He had a deep, sonorous voice with no discernible accent and no trace of a smile on his lips as they shook hands.
‘Call me Maggie. Good to meet you too,’ she said.
‘There’s a briefing now,’ said Renshaw. ‘Maggie will show you where to go.’
‘Once it’s done, I’ll bring you up to speed on where I am with the victimology,’ said Maggie. ‘Do you want tea or coffee before we go in?’
‘Water’s fine.’
The briefing was to the point, with the most significant new information being what Maggie had to report about the fight between Poppy and Benji at school and the comment left on Facebook that implied violence within the Hepworth household.
‘Imogen Tyler thought the children were close, but the fight suggests that might not be the case,’ Renshaw extrapolated. ‘I want every single one of their classmates interviewed to find out if the fight between them was an isolated incident or not. Let’s also ask if Poppy Hepworth has form for lamping other kids. Teachers can’t see everything that goes on in the playground but kids might. Nath, that’s your job for today.’
‘How am I going to interview twenty-eight kids if the school’s still shut?’ Nathan asked grumpily. ‘I can’t go round their houses, it’ll take ages.’
‘Talk to the headteacher and see if she can get the parents to bring their kids into school today at timed intervals,’ said Renshaw. ‘You can whittle it down to seven interviews if you speak to them in batches of four. If any of the kids say anything of significance, we can do a one-to-one follow-up interview.’
Nathan pretended he couldn’t work out Renshaw’s mathematics and made a show of counting the sum on his fingers. The rest of them laughed, but Byford sat stony-faced and Maggie hoped his lack of response wasn’t an indication of dour things to come.
His wasn’t the only unfamiliar face in the incident room that morning – DC Karl Burton had also joined them, seconded overnight from another division by the Superintendent.
‘The Hepworths are bringing Poppy back in for questioning this morning, so I’ll raise the fight at school and see how she reacts,’ Renshaw added.
‘Aren’t you forgetting something?’ piped up Byford suddenly. ‘Even if the kids say there was a history of bullying, what does it matter if our only eyewitness is saying the death was an accident? It’s irrelevant.’
Maggie was surprised by the snotty way Byford addressed Renshaw – underlined by him lounging so far back in his seat he looked like he was about to take a nap – but she wasn’t surprised when Renshaw glowered at him as though she could cheerfully strangle him. The DS might look serene with her immaculate suits and shiny, always brushed hair – something Maggie coveted, seeing as hers could go days without being acquainted with a comb – but beneath that haughty poise lay a temper so blistering it could strip wallpaper.
‘It matters,’ Renshaw seethed, ‘because one, I don’t believe his new account, and two, even if he’s telling the truth I still want proof Poppy Hepworth is capable of hurting another kid. Deliberate or not, I believe she’s culpable for Benji’s death and I intend to build a case against her. Being a kid doesn’t mean she’s off the hook.’
Nathan finished his counting.
‘I’ll be stuck at school all day,’ he moaned.
Renshaw smirked. ‘Best take a packed lunch then.’
19
The room wasn’t at all what Julia had imagined. Her expectations were moulded by the police dramas she’d watched on TV and she assumed Poppy would be interviewed across a table in a small, bleak, windowless room. Instead they were in a suite with a sofa and two armchairs, floor cushions, brightly patterned rugs, and an array of toys occupying one corner, which Poppy ignored.
‘This is our ABE suite,’ said DS Renshaw, inviting them to take a seat. Poppy sat ramrod straight between her parents.
‘What does that stand for?’ asked Ewan.
‘Achieving Best Evidence,’ said Renshaw. ‘We want Poppy to feel as relaxed as possible while we talk and this is much nicer than the rooms we interview grown-ups in.’ She said this to Poppy with a smile but was rewarded with a blank look. ‘We’ll get started as soon as DC Burton joins us.’
The wait, although less than a minute, was interminable. Julia fidgeted in her seat, crossing and uncrossing her legs and tucking her hair behind her ears. She had left it uncombed after showering and the natural kink she normally blow-dried straight was doing its unruly best to get in her eyes. By contrast Poppy and Ewan sat perfectly still.
The door opened and a young man in T-shirt and jeans came into the room carrying a few bottles of water and a carton of Ribena, which he gave to Poppy.
‘Thought you might like this,’ he said. ‘I’m DC Burton but you can call me Karl.’
Poppy gave him a shy look, then said ‘thank you’. They were the first words she’d spoken all morning and the fact that he’d managed to elicit a response forced Julia to bite back her objection to the Ribena. Now was hardly the time to fuss about tooth decay and sugar intake.
‘Poppy, we’ve asked you to come in because we still need to know what happened yesterday morning at school. You haven’t been arrested, just so you’re clear about that,’ said DS Renshaw.
Despite the assurance, Julia couldn’t shake off the feeling that the police had already decided Poppy was to blame and it worried her that they hadn’t sought legal advice. She had tried to, but Ewan went ballistic when he found her on her laptop looking up the names of local solicitors who dealt with juvenile crime just before they were due to leave for the station. He accused her of thinking that Poppy was guilty and said she should be ashamed of herself. She’d tried to argue that it was folly to face the police for a second time without any legal advice but he wouldn’t back down. So in the end she did.
When Poppy didn’t respond, Renshaw nodded to Burton, who took a swig of water from one of the bottles, then set it down by his feet. He leaned forward and rested his elbows on his knees.
‘Do you like school, Poppy?’ he asked.
‘Well, she’s in the top—’ Julia began, but Renshaw held a hand up to stop her.
‘Please, Mrs Hepworth. We need Poppy to answer.’
Julia sank back in her seat, cheeks burning at the rebuke.
‘I wasn’t a fan of it myself. I hated being stuck inside a classroom,’ Burton added. ‘I was only happy when it was break time and I could be outside playing with my mates.’
Julia felt Poppy stir beside her.
‘The only subject I liked was PE,’ he went on. ‘What’s your favourite?’
‘Science,’ came the reply, so quietly that Julia had to strain to hear it. ‘I like it when we do experiments.’
Ewan caught Julia’s eye. She thought, like her, he’d be relieved that Poppy was talking – the sooner they cleared this up and went home the better – but he looked anxious.
‘What sort of experiments?’
With some gentle coaxing, Burton got Poppy to talk about her favourite science test, which involved Fairy Liquid, a bal
loon and a sewing needle.
‘You mean you stuck a pin right through the balloon and it didn’t burst?’ Burton blurted out. ‘That’s impossible!’
‘It’s not,’ said Poppy, smiling. ‘The washing-up liquid you coat on top is what stops it popping.’
Tears suddenly pricked Julia’s eyes as she watched her daughter grow more animated as she explained the experiment to Burton. How could her beautiful, clever, funny little girl have ended up being questioned in a police station over the death of another child? Of all the nightmare scenarios her imagination had conjured up to scare her with since becoming a parent – illness, road accident, stranger-danger – never once had it occurred to her that her children might end up on the wrong side of the law. Aware Renshaw was staring at her, Julia blinked the tears away and straightened up in her seat.
‘Were you due to do science yesterday morning? Is that why you were at school early, because you were keen to get started?’
Poppy hesitated, then shook her head.
‘We need you to answer out loud,’ said Renshaw. ‘Remember at the start I told you we were going to record the interview? The audio can’t tell if you only nod.’
‘No,’ said Poppy tremulously. ‘That’s not why I went in early.’
‘So why did you?’ asked Burton, not taking his eyes off hers.
‘Benji asked me to.’
Julia held her breath, unable to drag her gaze away from her daughter.
‘What reason did he give?’
When Poppy hesitated, Ewan stepped in. ‘It’s okay, honey; just tell them.’
‘Benji said he’d worked out how to get into the building site and that it was really cool because you could climb on stuff. I thought it sounded cool, so I said I’d go with him.’
‘Where did you meet?’
Ewan again prompted her when she clammed up.
‘Tell the truth,’ he urged.
‘It was by that new housing estate at the back of the school. There’s a gap in the fence that comes out by the playing field.’
False Witness Page 8
