Blood of the Innocents (2 page)

Anna chattered on, oblivious. ‘That might look like loads in there, but it’ll be nowhere near enough to keep us going for a whole day. This Saturday we’re targeting Harborne and Bearwood, asking all the shops if they’ve got anything to donate.’

‘I’m not sure if that’s legal.’

‘We’re only asking them. They’re at liberty to say no.’ She smiled one of her most persuasive smiles.

‘Same as me then; Hobson’s choice.’ Mariner sat on the edge of the bed to tie his laces.

‘You could donate something,’ she said suddenly as the thought occurred. ‘Granville Lane, I mean.’

‘What, like a CS canister signed by the chief superintendent? That would be a coup for an adventurous five-year-old.’

‘A weekend for two in the cell block? Or a set of hand-cuffs. I can think of a few couples who’d go for that.’ Her smile was pure mischief. ‘There must be something. What about a tour of the nick?’

‘I’ll give it some thought,’ said Mariner. ‘In all the spare time I’ll have on Saturday.’

‘Poor old you. Look, this is the least I can do. Manor Park has been a lifeline for me.’

‘I know.’ God, she was gorgeous, even with a face like that on her. And she was right. Manor Park had made a huge difference to her life, and his.

‘Shall I give you a call when we’ve finished?’ she said. ‘We could go out somewhere to eat.’

He sighed. ‘I suppose it’ll have to do.’ Fully dressed, he leaned over and gave her a slow parting kiss. ‘I’ll talk to you soon.’

But driving back to the station Mariner couldn’t shake off the creeping sense of dissatisfaction. He hadn’t meant to sound so aggrieved. His reaction was especially ironic given that Anna’s independence had been, for him, one of the big attractions in the first place. It had been liberating to be with a woman who had more obligations than he did, and who wasn’t constantly checking up on him. But somewhere recently the balance had shifted and increasingly the relationship seemed to be only on her terms.

In the beginning her commitment to Jamie had made it inevitable, and Mariner had waited patiently while Anna did what she felt was right by her younger brother. But now with regular respite care Jamie was becoming more independent, and Mariner had always assumed that in consequence they’d get more time together. Instead, she just seemed to find other things to occupy her, such as this round of frenetic fundraising. The fact that she was completely open and honest about her intentions, giving him absolutely no reason to feel threatened, nor casting him as the selfish one, only salted the wound. This was a new experience. Having always been used to being more needed than needy, he found that the reversal wasn’t a comfortable one.

 

The air conditioning had made his car just about tolerable by the time he pulled into the station car park, and he’d have liked to have languished a while in the relative cool. But, glancing up, he caught sight of a familiar figure pacing the pavement outside the main doors, dragging anxiously on a cigarette. He got out and walked over to her.

‘Colleen?’

The young woman turned to flick ash on to the pavement. ‘You took your time.’

‘I was out on a call.’ Shagging my girlfriend, but we won’t go into that. ‘What’s up?’

‘It’s my Ricky,’ she said. ‘He didn’t come home last night.’

Here we go again, thought Mariner, but he said nothing and hoped that his face had stayed in neutral. Mariner had known Colleen Skeet for more than ten years, back when he was in uniform and her husband used her as a punch bag on a regular basis. She must be in her mid-thirties now, though she still looked little more than a kid herself, small and painfully thin, her mousy hair pulled back from a pale, freckled face into a tight ponytail. Today, only the dark circles beneath her eyes betrayed her age and the degree of her anxiety.

‘Have you reported it in there?’ Mariner nodded towards the station.

‘They said I could talk to someone. But I wanted to wait for you.’

‘Well, here I am. Let’s go inside. It’s cooler.’

‘I can’t smoke in there.’

‘You can smoke in an interview room.’

‘You don’t like it though.’

‘Christ, Colleen, when did you start considering my sensibilities?’ It raised a weak smile and Mariner pushed open the door. ‘Come on.’

 

‘So tell me what’s happened.’ The interview room was eight feet square, with a tiny window, no air and Colleen was putting a flame to her third Marlboro Light. She was right. Mariner didn’t like it. But for her sake he put up with it. Doing his public duty.

‘Ronnie turned up,’ she said, blowing out smoke. She was sitting back in her seat, one hand cupped beneath an elbow. ‘He was there Saturday afternoon when I got home from work.’

Mariner shook his head in despair. ‘Why do you let him in?’

‘He’s the father of my kids.’ Her eye contact was fleeting, defensive. ‘Whatever he might have done, he’s still their dad. He’d brought Ricky the new Man U shirt, when I’d already said he couldn’t have another one.’

‘All the options round here and he still supports Man U?’ Mariner shook his head sadly. ‘That lad’s got no sense of loyalty.’

‘Ronnie was spinning all sorts of yarns, you know, all the usual crap about how he’d sort things out and one day he’d come home and we could be a real family.’

‘I hope you didn’t fall for it.’

‘What do you think? He’d already had a drink. Ricky knows it’s all rubbish too, but underneath it all he really wants to believe him. Ronnie might not have been the best husband but he was good with Ricky; taking him fishing and to the football. Ricky would love to have his dad back and us be a happy family again.’

‘Wasn’t all that happy as I remember it,’ said Mariner.

‘You know what I mean. Anyway, Ronnie stayed all day Sunday, took Ricky down the social club with him, stopped the night. On the sofa.’ She emphasised those words. ‘When we got up Monday morning, Ronnie had done his disappearing act. Ricky was disappointed but I thought he’d get over it. I mean, it’s not the first time, is it? When he was little it didn’t seem to matter so much; he had me. But now he’s growing up. He sees his mates going off to the match or down the pub with their dads and he knows he’s missing out.’

‘How old is he now?’

‘Fifteen, the kind of age where he needs a man about.’ She looked up at Mariner, catching him off guard. ‘You must remember that.’

Mariner had forgotten how well Colleen knew him. A moment of indiscretion in the dead of night, when she was going through a bad patch; her second beating within a fortnight. ‘My dad used to hit me too,’ she’d blurted out, through swollen lips, as they’d sat beside each other in A&E. ‘I must deserve it.’

‘That’s rubbish,’ he said. ‘Nobody deserves this.’

She’d laughed, a short bitter laugh. ‘Yeah, I don’t suppose your old man ever laid a finger on you.’

‘No,’ he admitted. ‘But that’s only because I’ve no idea who or where he is.’

She’d looked at him differently after that.

‘It’s too long ago,’ he lied now. ‘I’ve forgotten.’ And in his case there had never been any question of his dad turning up. He wondered if having a dad who comes and goes was worse than having one who’s non-existent.

‘Anyway,’ Colleen went on, ‘Ricky went off to school as usual Monday morning, a bit quiet but I never thought anything of it. He wasn’t there when I got home from work that night. He must have come in after I’d gone to bed. Then last night, he didn’t come in at all. His bed hasn’t been slept in.’

‘Ricky has done this before,’ Mariner reminded her gently. ‘Gone off.’

‘Not like this. A couple of times he’s stayed out all day at the weekend, and sometimes late after school, too.’ She leaned in towards Mariner, urgency written all over her features. ‘But he’s never been out all night. First thing, I got a call from the school asking where he was because he hadn’t turned up. When they talked to his friends - and that didn’t take long - they hadn’t seen him since yesterday afternoon. They got let out early because of the heat. Ricky hasn’t stayed out this long since before Ronnie left us.’

‘No.’ The times Ricky had disappeared before were the occasions when he’d been an unwilling witness to his dad laying into his mum. As gentle as his dad was violent, Ricky hadn’t stood a chance. The last time he’d run away it had been in shame because he hadn’t been able to protect his mother when she’d needed it. He’d been ten years old. Afterwards, Mariner had spent a lot of time with the boy, trying to reassure him that it wasn’t his fault. They’d got to know each other pretty well, too.

‘When Ricky stays out all day, have you any idea where it is he “goes off” to?’ Mariner asked.

Colleen shrugged. ‘It’s not with his mates. And when I ask him he just says “around”. Typical teenager.’

‘How’s Kelly?’ In the past it was Colleen’s older daughter who’d been the real headache, disappearing for days at a time.

‘Kelly’s settled down now. She’s got a baby of her own and a nice fella.’

‘Are you sure Ricky hasn’t taken a leaf out of her book?’

‘Ricky’s different: he’s quiet, sensitive. He’s never stayed away all night. And he never misses school. Something’s happened to him.’

No, that was another thing: Ricky didn’t miss school. The boy’s genetic make-up was a mystery. Against the odds, he was a studious kid with big ambitions and the common sense to know what he had to do to achieve them.

‘Is everything all right at school? Nobody’s giving him a hard time?’

‘No.’

‘He hasn’t fallen out with his mates?’

She snorted. ‘He hasn’t got many to fall out with. You know Ricky, he keeps himself to himself.’

‘Any girlfriends on the scene?’

‘No.’

‘What about you?’ Mariner asked. ‘Are you seeing anyone?’

‘A guy called Steve. He’s a friend.’ A touch of defiance crept in. ‘A good friend. We’ve been together nearly a year.’

‘Does Steve get on all right with the kids?’

‘Yes. No. He finds Ricky hard because he’s always got an answer for everything, always coming out with these long words. But he wouldn’t be enough to make Ricky stay out all night. I know it.’ She stubbed out her cigarette in a final gesture of defiance.

‘All right, we’ll ask around and see what we can dig up,’ said Mariner. ‘I’m sure Ricky will turn up with a good explanation for all this. I want you to go home. Let me know if you hear anything and we’ll keep you posted. And try not to worry, eh?’

She snapped the Zippo and sucked the weak flame into her fifth cigarette. ‘Easy for you to say.’

 

Showing Colleen out, Mariner stood for a few moments breathing deeply, taking advantage of the relatively clean air while he was outside. Ricky Skeet was a puzzle. The disappearing act was out of character, but then he was fifteen: a difficult age even without the unsettled home life. Colleen was right to be worried, but the chances were that seeing his dad again had provoked emotions that he couldn’t handle and that in the fullness of time, when he’d got over the turmoil, Ricky would turn up. The kid probably just needed some space. Mariner heard the door behind him swing open. It was Delrose, the civilian receptionist.

‘DCI’s looking for you,’ she called. ‘And he seems to be getting a bit impatient.’ Well, wasn’t this developing into a perfect day? What a shame Anna’s pitch at the festival wasn’t the wet sponge stall. Suddenly he had in mind a prime target. His mood deteriorating with every pace, Mariner went straight to the DCI’s office and knocked on the door.

‘Come.’ The request was barely audible but Mariner went in anyway. As Acting Detective Chief Inspector Gavin Fiske looked up from his desk, Mariner was reminded of a tortoise emerging from its shell, blinking slowly with a smile that didn’t hang around long enough to reach his eyes. His movements were slow and calculated, like those of a reptile conserving energy in the heat. A fly buzzed around the room and it would have been no surprise to Mariner to see the DCI flick out a long tongue to catch it.

As smooth as Jack Coleman was rough, Fiske was a good ten years younger than Mariner; all designer suits and Samsonite briefcase, with just the right amount of gel styling his hair and doubtless a bathroom cabinet full of ‘male grooming products’ at home. His bag for the gym sat conspicuously on the floor of his office, the habit reflected in the toned physique but not the unhealthy, pallid complexion. Mariner could never understand the logic of paying hundreds of pounds for the privilege of walking on a machine in a room full of sweaty bodies when the same effect could be achieved in the fresh air and changing landscape of the countryside. How could MTV ever seriously complete with the stunning view over the vale of Evesham from the top of Breedon?

In the three weeks that Fiske had been in the station covering while Jack Coleman was seconded to Complaints Investigation Bureau on an internal investigation, he’d already acquired a nickname. The first time Mariner had heard him referred to as ‘Fido’ he didn’t get it.

‘Thinks he’s the big I Am,’ a staff sergeant enlightened him. ‘Like the dog food.’

‘Ah,’ Mariner had said. ‘And I’d assumed it was because he thinks he’s the dog’s bollocks.’

‘Glad you could find a window,’ Fiske said. It took a couple of seconds for Mariner to work out what he meant. The consensus was that Fiske had risen so quickly through the ranks partly due to his snappy vocabulary. He could ring-fence like no other and he was the first man Mariner had come across who regularly diarised, something that sounded to him like a complex medical procedure. What Fiske didn’t yet appreciate was that though the buzz words might impress interview panels, in the real world they had the potential to make him a laughing stock. He’d walked into his first briefing at Granville Lane deporting a shield of ignorant self-confidence that had temporarily protected him from the sniggers that greeted his lexical repertoire, but that wouldn’t hold for long. Mariner couldn’t wait.