Beyond Evil (25 page)

Sheldon jiggled the mouse to clear the screensaver and sat down. Once he had logged in, he brought up the intelligence system and typed in Lucy’s name. The pale screen of grids and boxes threw up three people, but the dates of birth narrowed it down pretty quickly. When he clicked on her details, he leaned forward to get a better view.

Christina was really Lucy Crane, he saw that straight away, except that some of her flirt was missing. It was a picture taken after she was arrested, with rings under her eyes and her hair dishevelled. There was no smile, just a tired and sullen glare at the camera, another kid caught doing something bad.

When Sheldon clicked on her personal details, her address was still listed as the children’s home they had just visited. It looked like she had kept out of trouble since she left.

He scrolled down to the intelligence file, and saw that it ended a couple of years earlier, when she turned seventeen. The entries before then were just as Marian described. Calls to the police from the home to report her missing, and then an entry to report that she had been found. A few men had been issued with Child Abduction Notices, where it was noted officially that the care home did not approve of her being with them, and one more time would mean a court appearance and a reputation as a paedophile. Apart from that, it was quiet.

Sheldon frowned and clicked on her antecedents, the list of her convictions and cautions. Lucy was only nineteen, and it was as Sheldon expected, filled with her route to a court appearance. A youth reprimand for theft, and then a final warning for criminal damage, followed by her climb up the ladder of youth sentences. A referral order for an assault, then an action plan order, followed by a supervision order. It was the usual trail of one more last chance, another failed attempt to reform a troubled youth. Sometimes they worked, sometimes they didn’t, and often it was the child who decided that there were better things to do.

It seemed like Lucy had got into scrapes when she was at the home, and then she stopped. The Youth Offending Team would call her a success. Or perhaps she had just learned that it was more fun to get other people into trouble. Leering men maybe, an outlet for her new-found power, tinged by anger from her earlier life experiences.

Sheldon was about to click off and admit defeat when he scrolled through to the
non-conviction disposals
, the list that was made up of acquittals or fixed penalty notices, sometimes cases that were investigated but never got as far as a charge. For Lucy, there was just one entry.

Six months earlier, Lucy had been arrested for shoplifting some booze from a late night grocery shop in Oulton. At least that put her in the right area. Penwortham was more than twenty miles away. The case was dropped before she got to court though.

Sheldon clicked on the related case file, which would consist of an incident log and a crime report, along with a record of the outcome. The witness statements would be held over in Oulton.

It was nothing remarkable. Lucy had been caught trying to leave the shop with a bottle of whisky hidden in her coat. Sheldon scrolled through the crime report, and as he got to the bottom, he saw an entry that said RNC, no public interest.

Released No Charge? Why was that?

He made a note of the custody number and searched the database for it. It wasn’t a long record. She was brought in and booked in, but she didn’t even get as far as an interview. There was an entry forty minutes after her arrival. A visit from CI Dixon, who spoke to Lucy in her cell.

Why was a chief inspector talking to a shoplifter in her cell?

The custody sergeant had done his job well. He had noted when Dixon went in and when she came out. He was looking after himself, making sure that if anything went wrong, it wasn’t going to come back to him. Dixon was in there for thirty minutes. Five minutes after that, Lucy was released, no charge.

Sheldon sat back and stared at the screen. Sometimes senior officers did interfere with suspects, particularly for minor things. It might be a deal, an exchange for information, or because the suspect was being looked at for something bigger. A sergeant would be used to that, but why Dixon? She didn’t work on a team dealing with informants or undercover work. Her job was to run the Oulton station, to argue her case for a bigger budget at headquarters and to allocate resources.

But it was the timing that bothered Sheldon, and he remembered how Dixon had been earlier. The way she had almost dropped her cigarettes when she saw Christina in the corridor. Or Lucy Crane, as Sheldon now knew her. There was something else going on. Something more personal.

He clicked off the computer and headed for the door. When he got to the car, he asked Ted, ‘How long ago was it that you were caught in the car with Lucy?’

Ted did some quick calculations in his head. ‘Just over five months ago.’

Not long after Lucy was released by Dixon, Sheldon thought.

He climbed into the driver seat. ‘We need to get back to Oulton.’

Charlie turned around in the hallway. There were sounds behind him, people in the living room, everyone suddenly aware that he was there. The way out was blocked by the shadow of a man, large and threatening. It wasn’t just his size that told Charlie that he was in trouble. It was his readiness. Charlie hadn’t had a fight since he was at school, and the spread of the man’s arms and the gleam of his teeth as he grinned told Charlie that he would enjoy whatever came next.

There was movement from the living room. Charlie looked round and saw the man he had spoken to the day before, with the wild black hair surrounded by teenagers.

‘Charlie Barker,’ he said, laughter in his voice.

‘Who are you?’ Charlie said, trying to watch the man in the hallway at the same time.

The man with the wild hair stepped closer. ‘I thought you’d lost interest in us?’

Charlie looked past the man and into the living room. Donia was there, kneeling down, a young woman holding on to her hair, making Donia grimace. ‘What are you doing to her?’

‘Don’t worry about her. She looks like she could give us some fun. She’s safe, for the moment.’

Charlie got the smell of cannabis and unwashed clothes as the man stood in front of him.

‘Fun? What do you mean?’ Charlie said, and then looked down. There was a knife in the man’s hand, the blade protruding from his clenched fist. The shock was like a kick to his stomach. ‘You killed Amelia and Billy.’

The man tilted his head, amused. ‘They wrote their own destinies, don’t you think?’ he said. ‘Now you can write yours.’

Charlie closed his eyes. He swallowed when he felt the prick of the blade in his neck. When he opened them slowly, the large man had his arm stretched out, and Charlie could feel moisture on his skin. He didn’t know if it was blood or sweat.

‘You know what we want,’ the man said.

‘I don’t know what you mean.’

‘Don’t be foolish, Mr Barker. Amelia tried to keep her secret, but everyone has a pain threshold.’ He nodded slowly. ‘She was good, better than Billy, but it ended just the same. So we want the footage. Where is it?’

‘What footage?’

The blade pressed in more, making Charlie wince.

‘The video of Billy,’ the man said coldly, the laughter gone from his voice.

‘You took them,’ Charlie said, his mouth dry, swallowing hard.

‘Not the original, but you know that,’ he said. ‘We’ve just got copies put onto discs. I want the original footage, and any copies that are left.’

Charlie took no comfort from the fact that he had guessed right. He tried to think of what to say, but his mind was confused by adrenaline, so that all of his thoughts rushed him at once. He knew the original footage would most likely be in the office safe, but he remembered the sight of Amelia, and how she had ended up.

‘We use an off-site facility for things like that,’ Charlie said, hoping that they couldn’t detect the lie. ‘We keep the child witness videos there, and only Amelia or I can get access. We are the only signatories.’

Charlie closed his eyes again and felt the rise and fall of his chest, his heart beating hard. If they believed him, they would have to keep him alive.

‘And if you or Amelia couldn’t go to the facility anymore?’

‘The child witness videos belong to the prosecution, not us. We have them just for the trial. Everything we have stored there would be sent to the prosecution.’

Charlie opened his eyes and saw the two men exchange glances and shrugs. The blade moved from his skin, just a fraction, but it was enough of an opening.

He stamped hard on the big man’s foot and pushed at him, the surprise move giving Charlie an advantage. He bolted towards the door. Someone shouted. There was the rumble of heavy boots. Charlie’s hands were slick on the latch as he panicked, but he was able to turn it and pull the door open as someone came up behind him. He ran through and slammed the door shut, so that the chasing figure banged into the glass, knocking Charlie onto the landing, the door slamming shut. It gave him more time.

He thumped the light button and ran for the stairs. He had little idea of what he was doing. There were shouts from the flat, and all he knew was that he had to get away, driven by panic and instinct.

The door to Donia’s flat flew open as Charlie reached the stairs. There were people coming after him. He couldn’t stop. His hand slid along the painted rail as he ran, his feet banging on each step. He stole a glance upwards. The large man was running along the landing and got to the top of the stairs as Charlie reached the bottom. Charlie didn’t stop to get a good look.

As Charlie ran along the landing below, just two flights to go, something metallic flew at him. He didn’t have a chance to avoid it, and he cried out as it stuck into his shoulder, only the shoulder pads in his suit stopping it from sticking too far in. He yanked on it and winced with pain as it came out.

He got to the next stairs, and thought he was losing the race. There were more people running after him, loud shouts in the confined space of the stairway that turned quickly into screeches of rage.

Charlie looked back. The large man looked strong, his teeth set in a grimace behind a goatee beard, his biceps bulging from the black T-shirt that was tight to his chest.

Someone opened a flat door, probably curious about the noise, but closed it quickly again. Charlie’s feet skipped down the next set of stairs, barely touching each step, his skin hot against the stair rail as his hand ran along it. The chasing feet were quicker, hitting the top step before Charlie had got to the bottom. All Charlie could do was try to go faster as he dashed along the landing and then turned to go down the stairs. He was breathless from fright and exertion. As he rushed for the final set of stairs, he saw the front door ahead and tried to speed up, but when he was halfway down, one of his feet missed a step. He skidded forward, his arms flailing for balance.

Charlie stumbled into the hallway, his hands and knees hitting the floor, but he couldn’t stop. The footsteps were getting closer, and so he ran at the front door, the street visible as the orange glow of streetlamps through the glass panel.

The night air outside turned the sweat on his forehead cold but Charlie kept on running, his shoes making loud slaps on the tarmac, his arms pumping hard, his throat hoarse with effort. The door banged behind him, but as Charlie ran down the street, he couldn’t hear his pursuers anymore.

He looked back. The small group in black were emerging onto the street, watching Charlie as he got further down the street. One of them went towards a white van. Were they going to chase him in that?

Charlie ran across the road and into an alleyway, too narrow for the van. He didn’t want to stop yet, just in case they appeared round the corner on foot, but as the evening echoed with the sound of shoes pounding hard on the bricks under his feet, he began to realise that he was alone.

As he rounded a corner where the alley emerged onto another terraced street, Charlie stopped to put his head against the wall. His chest ached with effort as he gulped down air, and sweat streaked down his temples. The pain in his shoulder began to make itself known as sharp jolts, and once he was able to straighten himself, he looked at his jacket. There was a tear and a dark stain. It looked like blood.

He put his back against the wall and looked upwards and blinked at the stars. He let his breathing get back to normal and then started walking across the road, heading for the shelter of another alley, where it was long and dark, no streetlights, just chinks of light that came from the houses that backed onto it, and the occasional glow of a side street.

He had to keep moving though, and so Charlie hobbled along, wincing, his shoulder sending sharp jolts of pain. He thought about Donia. She was in danger now. He had to help her, but then he realised how little he knew about her. Why would anyone believe him? Julie’s phone call earlier told him that he was someone, and he knew how blinkered investigations could get when the police fixated on a suspect.

Charlie had worked out where he was going next. He just needed to get there without being seen.

John was walking round the house, checking each window, when he saw her.

He shouted, banged on the window, but it was no use. It was Dawn, running across the field, her hair streaming behind her, pausing only by the Seven Sisters, just for a moment, touching one of the stones. Then she looked back and set off again, before heading for the wall.

‘Shit! No, you don’t,’ he shouted, and then he bolted towards the stairs, taking them two at a time. People called his name in the house, curious, but he kept going. Dawn must have heard him as he ran out of the house, because she looked round, but it just made her run faster, sprinting for the tumbledown section of the wall.

His footsteps were loud in his ears as he ran, and he remembered to avoid the traps. As he went past the Seven Sisters, Dawn was scrambling over the wall, crying, sounding desperate, heading into the woods and making for the path.