Innocent Lies (Reissue)

by Chris Collett

  Hewitt crossed the bridge to where the path broadened out slightly on the other side. ‘This is where Lily said she saw the action and that was where we found the phone, lying just there,’ he said, pointing to an area of longish grass just to the side of what would have been a path. ‘And that’s what I thought might be blood.’ Initially camouflaged by shade, on closer inspection there was no missing the stains, which were as dark as creosote on the yellowing grass. Mariner’s first thought was how Sue, Hewitt’s partner, could have overlooked them.

  ‘But where’s our dog?’ he murmured to himself. ‘Is there a way down here from the station?’ he asked looking up at the chain-link fence that separated them from the platforms and car park two hundred or so yards away.

  ‘I think there used to be,’ said Hewitt ‘But I wouldn’t know where exactly it comes out. I can’t imagine that anybody uses it anymore because since the factory was demolished it wouldn’t go anywhere. The industrial units block off the other side. If you wanted to get to Birchill Lane it would be much simpler to walk along the road instead.’

  But considerably longer, thought Mariner making a visual sweep through 360 degrees. As a walker he was accustomed to scouring overgrown tracts of land for signs of a thoroughfare. Many times he’d come to a so-called public footpath across a field that some uncooperative farmer had planted over in the hope of discouraging ramblers. Only a few weekends ago he’d had to battle his way through a field of maize that had grown taller than him and completely obscured the right of way.

  Generally speaking he wasn’t alone in his determination and there were others who wouldn’t be deterred, which meant that usually, as in this case, a soft line marking out the faintest traces of human disturbance could be seen. Nettles and cow parsley stems that elsewhere were waist-high had been snapped and crushed, the long grass swept over. He struck out along it a little way and was proved right. Though not well-used and with hardly a break in the solid foliage, it was a definite path, recently forged down from the back of the station to where they now stood and frequented perhaps three or four times since the early summer. The logical destination would be the cluster of low-level pre-fabricated units a quarter of a mile away, but the greenery in that direction looked undisturbed. ‘What have we got there?’ Mariner asked.

  ‘Small businesses, that sort of thing,’ Hewitt replied. ‘There’s a sign up on the road.’

  ‘We should have a closer look,’ Mariner told Knox. ‘Meanwhile, I don’t want everyone tramping around here like a herd of elephants just yet. We need to cordon off the area and get a team down here ASAP to do a thorough search.’ He scanned the area. It wasn’t going to be easy. The surrounding ground had been left to go wild for years and the grass was dense and impenetrable with some vicious looking brambles and nettles. Added to which they’d need to cover the disused cottages. It was all going to take valuable time and manpower. Meanwhile forensics could verify if the staining was indeed blood, though Mariner, from experience, was pretty sure that it was.

  He looked at his watch. Gone eight o’clock. By the time they could get anything organised it would be getting on for nine and even at this time of year, the light would start going. In this hostile terrain it would be a nightmare. Despite the urgency, it would be better to have the light on their side to avoid missing anything. In only a few hours the sun would be coming up again.

  ‘Okay, let’s go,’ he said to Knox. ‘We’ll get the area sealed off and do a thorough search first thing tomorrow.’ They trekked back along the narrow path to where the car was parked and Knox could call through to Granville Lane to organise securing the site. They were just about to leave when a distant roar greeted their ears and another vehicle appeared in the mouth of the clearing, with a lone driver. Seeing the assembled group he applied his brakes, clearly considering whether to continue or to turn and retreat. Before he could decide, Mariner approached, arm outstretched, holding out his warrant card, Knox at his heels. When he was near enough to be clearly identified, the driver reacted with a resigned movement of the head and put on the hand brake.

  ‘DI Mariner, Mr—?’ Mariner bent to look in at the open driver’s window.

  ‘Pryce, Shaun Pryce,’ the man obliged. ‘It’s all right. I’ll come back another time.’ He glanced up into the rear-view mirror as if to go, but Mariner had both hands on the sill of the door.

  ‘Would you mind getting out of the car a minute, Mr Pryce?’

  Standing alongside Mariner, Shaun Pryce was considerably shorter, a wiry young man of about thirty, his cropped platinum hair edged with lethal looking ginger sideburns. Testosterone oozed from every pore, his stylishly crumpled combats and faded black tank top displaying his muscular arms and shoulders to their fullest advantage, including a couple of elaborate tattoos. He saw Mariner looking at them.

  ‘My personal homage to the Robster,’ he said, pronouncing the word with an exaggerated French accent. ‘That’s where you’ve seen them before. So what’s going on then?’ he grinned, exposing perfect, gleaming white teeth, his eyes roving from one to the other of the policemen and Hewitt loitering in the background. Leaning back on the car door and folding his arms, Pryce was a picture of nonchalance, but kept a wary eye on Knox who was prowling around the battered VW Golf. Old and scruffy, the vehicle had bits of electrical equipment lying on the parcel shelf, including several coils of plastic sheathed wire. A flag of St George sticker decorated the rear window.

  ‘What brings you here?’ Mariner asked, ignoring the question.

  ‘I saw the car and came to see what’s going on,’ said Pryce. ‘I wanted to make sure it wasn’t kids messing about. One day they’ll set fire to the trees and the whole lot will go up.’

  He was lying. No kids Mariner knew had access to a top-of-the-range Vauxhall Vectra, and it was unlikely that Pryce could have seen it from the road, but he let it go. ‘So you’ve been here before,’ he said instead.

  Pryce shrugged. ‘A couple of times. It’s peaceful. Somewhere to come and unwind a bit.’ As if to authenticate this pastoral image, an evening blackbird chose that moment to begin its repetitive song. For many people, Mariner included, Pryce’s response might have been credible, but he just didn’t look the type to derive his relaxation from a patch of scrubby rubbish-strewn grass.

  Knox leaned in through the car’s passenger window and retrieved something from the back seat. ‘Come being the operative word, eh?’ The magazine he’d retrieved displayed a full montage of photographs of naked women striking far from modest poses. That was more like it.

  Unembarrassed by the find, Pryce smirked. ‘You know how it is. I have a high sex drive,’ he said, all innocence. ‘I’m sure you can be a bit of a wanker sometimes, officer.’

  ‘Where exactly do you do this unwinding?’ Mariner asked. ‘It must be a bit stuffy in the car this weather.’

  ‘Just around.’ Pryce’s glance took in the general area, none of which looked the least bit inviting.

  ‘Ever go onto the reservoir itself?’ Mariner nodded towards the path they’d found.

  Pryce shook his head. ‘No.’ He said it too quickly.

  ‘Never?’ Mariner queried. ‘Why not?’

  ‘No point. Why walk half a mile through the jungle when everything I need is here.’

  ‘And when was the last time?’

  ‘I couldn’t really say. Like I told you, it’s only occasionally. Couple of weeks ago, maybe.’

  ‘Can you be a bit more precise?’ Mariner pressed.

  ‘I can’t honestly remember.’ Pryce glanced at his watch, anxious to go now.

  ‘What time of day was it?’ Mariner persisted.

  ‘After work.’

  ‘And what sort of work is it that you do, Mr Pryce?’

  ‘Actually, I’m an actor.’ So that was why he was enjoying this so much. Kid thought he was in an episode of The Bill. ‘I’m resting at the moment, except for a bit of modelling but—’

  ‘Been in anything I’d have seen?’ challeng
ed Knox.

  ‘As I said, mostly modelling work, although I’ve been up for an audition for Jimmy Porter at the Rep.’

  ‘I thought you said you came down here after work,’ Mariner reminded him.

  ‘When I’m resting I do electrics. I’m working on an extension.’

  ‘Nearby?’

  ‘Just up the road.’

  ‘Ever seen anyone else down here?’

  Pryce laughed. ‘That’s the whole fucking point. It’s private.’

  ‘Have you ever owned a dog, Mr Pryce?’

  Understandably perhaps, the question took Pryce by surprise. ‘No.’

  Mariner opened the driver’s door for him to get in.

  ‘Aren’t you going to tell me what’s going on?’ he asked.

  ‘No.’

  But Knox did take details of where he was working before they allowed him to get into his car and watched him reverse skilfully out of the clearing, and at speed.

  ‘Thinks he’s God’s gift,’ said Knox bitterly. ‘And that flag of St George was conspicuous in the back window of his car.’

  ‘He might not have put it there,’ said Mariner. ‘It’s a pretty old car. He seemed more new age than National Front to me.’

  ‘That hair though. Would have made any Aryan proud. Even though it was dyed. What do you think, boss?’

  ‘As he admitted himself, he’s a little tosser,’ said Mariner. ‘He didn’t come down to check us out, he was surprised to see us. He braked as he came into the clearing.’

  ‘And he’s been here more than a few times,’ Knox agreed. ‘Not easy to reverse out avoiding those potholes, but he did it like a pro. I wouldn’t rule out him going right onto the reservoir either. How else would he know it’s half a mile of jungle unless he’s been through it?’

  ‘No. Shaun Pryce wasn’t telling us anything like the truth,’ said Mariner. ‘The question is, is it because he knows something or is he hiding something else? Let’s see if we’ve got him on our books.’

  ‘Are we looking for anything special?’

  ‘I don’t know, but I think Shaun Pryce might be the kind of cocky little bugger who likes to play games.’

  They took a last look around, but there was nothing more to be gained here. ‘Okay, let’s knock it on the head for tonight and get some sleep while we still can,’ said Mariner. ‘We’ll start the search first thing in the morning.’

  * * *

  It was nearly ten by the time Mariner was ready to leave Granville Lane. He tried to phone Anna to let her know what was going on, but was wasting his time; all he got was her answering machine. It irritated him disproportionately. Looking up, he saw that Tony Knox was doing nothing more useful than staring into space. ‘Do you want a lift home?’ he asked. Mariner half-expected him to refuse, but this time Knox took the sensible option.

  ‘Fancy a drink?’ Mariner added, when they got to the car.

  ‘All right.’

  ‘Spoken like a man who has nothing better to do,’ said Mariner. ‘How could I fail to be flattered?’

  They stopped off at The Boatman, Mariner’s local, where tonight the garden seemed the most comfortable option. Even with a pint in front of him Knox’s reticence continued and Mariner half-wished they hadn’t bothered. ‘We’ve been married too long,’ he said, in an attempt at levity. ‘Nothing to say to each other any more.’

  Knox grimaced, before draining his glass. ‘One more before the bell?’

  Mariner had hardly started his. ‘Okay,’ he said, and gulped it down. What a waste. Minutes later Knox was back with two pints and a whisky chaser for himself. ‘It’s been a long day,’ he said.

  Mariner had no room to disagree. ‘Cheers,’ he said, before the silence set in again. ‘So how do you think it got there?’ said Knox suddenly.

  ‘What?’ Mariner was startled by the unprecedented verbosity.

  ‘Yasmin Akram’s phone,’ Knox went on. ‘It’s on the other side of the track from where she would catch the Birmingham train.’

  ‘She must have dropped it,’ said Mariner. ‘Someone else picked it up and took it there. If we’re certain that she got on the train it’s the only possibility.’

  At last Knox appeared to engage. ‘Well, we are certain, aren’t we? The CCTV footage at this end is pretty clear. We all saw her getting on the train. You can’t argue with that.’

  ‘I wouldn’t mind looking at that footage again though,’ said Mariner.

  ‘What for? We’ve no reason to think that she didn’t board that train. Why the hell would she have been going down to the reservoir? There’s nothing there.’

  ‘Bearing in mind what Dr Shah has now told us, there already seems to be plenty we don’t know about Yasmin. And what did you think about Paul Hewitt? Is he straight?’

  ‘It was just a chance discovery. He and his partner were led to it and there must be plenty of other people involved who’ll be able to corroborate that.’

  Mariner was inclined to agree. ‘It will be easy enough to check with the nursing home and with his partner, Sue.’

  ‘I think it’s much more likely someone else picked up Yasmin’s phone and took it to the bridge,’ said Knox.

  ‘So how does that fit with what Lillian saw?’

  ‘If she saw anything. Hewitt implied that the old girl might not have all her marbles.’

  ‘The bloodstains are there all right.’

  ‘Except that we don’t know for certain that they are blood.’

  Knox was right. They’d need forensic confirmation that it was human blood and if it was, the next step would be to get a DNA sample from the Akrams to make a comparison. He didn’t relish that prospect one little bit.

  ‘It could just be that whoever picked up Yasmin’s phone was the guy who Lillian saw beating the dog,’ Knox said, at last beginning to give it some real thought.

  ‘I wouldn’t rule out Shaun Pryce’s involvement either,’ said Mariner ‘We know now that Yasmin was probably seeing someone. Do you think he could be our mystery man? She could have arranged to meet him anywhere between here and the station.’

  But Knox picked on the obvious flaw. ‘How would Pryce have known Yasmin? She’s a school kid, he’s an out-of-work actor and part-time leckie.’

  Mariner sighed. ‘And we still don’t know for certain that there is a man. Yasmin could have invented him in an effort to appear more sophisticated than she really is. We haven’t talked to Suzanne yet and it sounds as if there could be some competition going on between the two of them.’

  ‘I do love a simple, straightforward case,’ said Knox wryly.

  Mariner scoffed. ‘What’s one of those?’

  The thought was enough to render Knox sullen and morose all over again, and by the time Mariner dropped him off outside his house he was back to his monosyllabic self.

  Mariner offered up a silent plea for Theresa to come back soon.

  * * *

  Mariner himself took the briefing at six the next morning, at the entrance to what had become overnight the official reservoir car park. As much manpower as possible had been mustered to conduct the second search and the area was packed with personnel. Finding Yasmin’s phone had generated a new buzz of anticipation, introducing — thank God — a point of focus at last. As Fiske was quick to point out, it didn’t negate the possibility of Yasmin getting on the train as usual, but suddenly the options had opened up again. The relevant portion of the map showing the reservoir had been enlarged and circulated, and Mariner split the group into teams of three to ensure that every square inch would be covered. ‘We’ll start with the more accessible areas; the land around, then if we need to, the water itself.’ Though with the mud undisturbed that wasn’t looking likely, and he was hoping it wouldn’t be necessary.

  Protective overalls, scythes and secateurs had been provided to assist with the mammoth task of hacking back the undergrowth, making the search party look like Ground Force on the rampage. The sun was already climbing steadily and Mariner had arrang
ed for bottled water to be delivered. He didn’t want anyone collapsing with dehydration.

  Yasmin’s phone was already at the lab where it would be checked for fingerprints and any messages analysed. Fortunately on a case like this it would take priority and could be rushed through in twenty-four hours. Mariner sincerely hoped they wouldn’t come across anything more conclusive first.

  CHAPTER 15

  With the search underway, beneath the supervisory eye of DS Mark ‘Jack’ Russell, Mariner took Knox and went to the nursing home to talk to Lily, the woman who had witnessed the attack.

  St Clare’s retirement home had exactly the kind of stale hint-of-urine aroma that Mariner would have expected. Sharing his wavelength, Knox shuddered. ‘God, I hate these places,’ he said.

  ‘One of our fastest growing industries,’ remarked Mariner.

  ‘But what’s the point of festering away for years in a place like this? What kind of life is it? We’re all living too long.’

  His supporting argument was right in front of them. The office they’d been asked to wait in overlooked a kind of sun lounge, where high-backed easy chairs were grouped — most of them accommodating an elderly resident, even at this early hour. It was probably like hospitals, Mariner thought, everyone roused at the crack of dawn whether they liked it or not. Close to the TV two elderly ladies stared fixedly at some kind of morning chat show, although whether either of them was actually watching was impossible to tell. A uniformed nurse came and spoke to one of them. She looked about sixteen, ludicrously young to be carrying out intimate tasks for people who must be old enough to be her grandparents. Mariner wondered how his mother would get on in a place like this, but somehow he couldn’t picture it. She’d be the world’s worst resident. ‘They’re all white,’ he said, suddenly noticing the fact. ‘Mohammed Akram’s mother won’t end up in a place like this.’

  ‘Mr Mariner? I’m Nora.’ The woman who breezed in was the member of staff Lily had confided in. A sensible, solid woman of around fifty, Nora’s considerable bulk was contained by the starched blue nurse’s uniform worn by all the staff. ‘Do you mind if we go outside? I’m gasping for a fag.’ Gasping was the word. As they walked, Nora wheezed in rhythm with her stride, leaving Mariner wondering how she coped with such a physically demanding job. They stood outside the front door in the shade of a dripping lime as traffic roared by on Birchill Lane just a few yards away.