Catalyst (40 page)

Jad didn't answer; just looked away.

“Okay, let's get it over with,” said Clive, pushing the documents across the table and placing a pen in front of Jad.

After he'd signed them, Jad stood up and stretched. “Is that it?”

“Yes, that's it. Except to say it's been decided that we won't release details of your illness yet. We think it's best to wait until your profile has diminished somewhat. At the moment it's even bigger than your ego. Thank God we don't have to wait for
that
to reduce in size.”

He put the papers back into the case and rose to leave. There was no proffered hand this time, limp or otherwise. He pressed a button at the side of the door, the warden opened it and he left with deliberate haste.

Jo was already waiting at her desk when David arrived at Parkside. She followed him into his office, checking her watch – 8.15 pm.

“Christ, Jo. We might as well move in here permanently. What have we got?”

“A Mrs Gayle Lucas got in touch with Romford police this afternoon; this was even before we'd put out the kids' names. Said she was worried that the boys might be her nephews. Apparently, eight weeks ago her sister and brother-in-law – Mary and Winston Enderby – had asked for the use of their caravan at Long Beach Caravan Site near Southend and had turned up at her house without the children to pick up the key. She asked where the boys were and was told they were staying with friends. It seems her sister was very vague about it, but Mrs Lucas knew about the problems they'd had with the children and thought perhaps they'd been taken into care or custody or something and that her sister just didn't want to tell her. Then with the news over the weekend about the two brothers, along with their descriptions, she put two and two together.”

“And we've picked them up?”

“Yes, they're already here, waiting in Room Four. I spoke to Sergeant Clark Morden, the detaining officer at Romford. They picked them up at the caravan at… ” she checked her notes “… 7:10 this evening. They hadn't heard of the Meadow Village thing, and Morden said that when he explained the circumstances, they seemed more upset at being found than being bereaved.”

David shook his head. “Okay, we'd best get down there to talk to them. Have they had coffee and such?”

“Yes, they've been made as comfortable as possible.”

They joined the couple in the same room where they had interviewed John Deverall, and made the appropriate introductions. The Enderbys were both small and slim, and dressed casually in lightweight outdoor clothes, as if they had been planning an evening stroll when the police had picked them up. They looked a picture of total despair, each with a frightened, apprehensive look in their eyes; nothing like the troublesome neighbours that Jerry Grainger had described.

“Would you mind if we recorded this?” asked Jo. “It saves us a lot of writing and you a lot of reading later.” The couple nodded.

David and Jo didn't need to ask many questions; the words came pouring out of Mary Enderby.

“We knew something like this was going to happen. It was the only way it was going to end.”

“What was… ?”

“Dillon. The way he was. Completely out of control. We tried everything, didn't we, Winston? He was really bright at school. At first he used to read, do his homework, everything. We did our best to encourage him and get him interested in hobbies and the like – sport mainly. Winston took him fishing, to football matches; even got him interested in climbing – he was a good climber, wasn't he Winston? And he got really in to fishing when he was Joaquin's age – entered a couple of competitions – for juniors, like.

“But as he got older, he got ridiculed and bullied for doing that sort of thing. Winston kept trying to encourage him, didn't you Winston?”

“Like pissing in the wind.” Her husband so far had been sitting with his head bowed in a posture of abject misery, and didn't move to answer his wife.

“But Dillon just turned on him. Actually pushed him away and punched him when he was trying to talk to him.” She reached across and took her husband's hand. He gripped it tightly. “Anyway, he joined the gang about a year or so ago, for his own protection as much as anything, at the time. But soon we were hearing all the bad things he was doing… ”

She broke down and the tears came. Winston sat up and put his arm around her. “What can you do,” he said, “when trying to get them doing something useful actually puts them in danger? Parents are supposed to make sure their children are safe.”

David shook his head. “I don't know, Mr Enderby. I don't know what you can do. I'm so sorry.” After a pause he went on. “And Joaquin. What about him?”

Mary composed herself. “He just idolised Dillon. Wanted to be like him. You know, all the kids on the estate looking up to you and that. He'd do exactly what Dillon told him, even though sometimes you could tell, he'd just want to stay home and play.” She began to cry again.

“What did you do about the children?” asked Jo. “Did you try and get some help with them? Report what was happening to anybody?”

“We didn't have to,” said Winston, bitterly. “We had half the neighbourhood reporting them.”

“Well, it must have been bad for them all,” said Mary. “All the noise; you and Dillon fighting. The police always round… ”

“Aye, and me pissed all the time,” said Winston, quietly, fighting back his own tears.

No-one spoke for a while, then Jo asked, “I understand the boys were away from home quite a lot?”

“All but left home,” said Winston. “No idea where they were most of the time. We went to the police ourselves, you know. They said they couldn't do anything unless we could show that they'd done something wrong. I mean – Joaquin was seven yours old, for fuck's sake! Oh yes, and they told us they just needed a firm hand. What a joke!”

“As if it was all our fault,” said Mary. “Anyway, we'd just about given up, couldn't face it any longer. So we asked Gayle – my sister – if we could borrow her caravan. We tried to find the boys – we planned to take Joaquin with us – but they were nowhere… ”

“We thought if we got Joaquin away from the estate, there might still be a chance for him,” said Winston. “You, know, while there was still time. But we couldn't find them, and, well, we went anyway. We just meant to be away for a few days, but… Everyone is going to think we're really bad parents aren't they?” His voice broke. “I just don't know what else we could have done.”

“For what it's worth, Mr Enderby,” said David, “I for one don't think you are bad parents. And, like you, I don't know what else you could have done.” He only just managed to stop himself from adding, ‘but there was a bloody lot more that we could have done.'

“As Winston said, we only intended to go there for perhaps a week at the most,” said Mary. “But it was so peaceful. We managed to get passes so we could go walking on the island, Winston did some fishing – even got a little job down by the jetty at Shoeton Point helping with the boats – repairs and such. And another thing,” she went on, “he hasn't touched a drop since we've been there, right love?”

Winston nodded. “That's right.”

They were all silent again for some moments.

“Would you be able to provide us with names and addresses of Dillon's and Joaquin's friends?” asked Jo. “We've probably seen them already in the door-to-door enquiries we've been making, but it would be useful to know anyway.”

Mary and Winston looked at each other. There was no hiding the anxiety in their eyes. “No, I'm afraid we don't know their names,” said Winston. “They never mentioned any one in particular, and anyway, they all seemed to live out on the streets.”

David and Jo said nothing, hoping the silence would encourage a different response. “Okay,” David said at last. “If you do think of anything or anyone, please call me or Detective Sergeant Cottrell.” They each handed over a card with their contact details. “In the meantime, we'll take you home and request that you stay there until we find Joaquin. It could be that without Dillon, he may try to return home. And speaking of Dillon, I'm afraid I'm going to require you to identify your other son at the morgue. Either one or both of you will be fine. I'm very sorry to have to ask.”

“No, we understand,” said Winston. “I'll do it right away, if someone could stay with Mary until I get back.”

“I'll do that, Mr Enderby,” said Jo. “We'll take Mrs Enderby home and drive you there afterwards.”

It was after 10.00 pm when David and Jo finally left the station. To end the day, they each drove the couple of miles to Meadow Village and parked round the back of the pub.

The Dog and Duck had been externally resurrected with new window panes and replacement double doors at the front. Inside it felt like the morgue David had just visited. Not that it was deserted – there were quite a number of people in the main bar – but no-one was talking. People were sitting around, with glazed expressions directed at full pints most of which, given the lack of anything that looked like a decent head, must have been standing there untouched for some considerable time.

Jed Smithers nodded his recognition when David approached the bar. Jed was an impressive-looking character; mid-thirties, tall and well-built, with a shaved head and stubble beard. He had broad shoulders, a flat stomach and looked like he worked out quite a lot.

“What can I get you, Chief Inspector?” He inclined his head at Jo with an appreciative smile. “Your assistant scrubs up well,” he added, oblivious to the mild racist inference in the remark.

Jo smiled back politely, not understanding the joke but enjoying the attention.

“This is Detective Sergeant Cottrell,” said David. “DC Shakhir's got time off for good behaviour.”

He ordered a pint of bitter and a half of cider and looked around the bar as Jed pulled them.

“You've done well to open up again in less than two days, Jed,” he said, “and it was important you did. The village needed this, needed to see they can survive. How've people been?”

“A lot better today than yesterday. Sunday was worse than a wake, as if people just had to come to check that it was all true but didn't really want to be here. I wasn't actually open, but nobody wanted a drink, anyway. I've not opened the back room again yet. Not sure what to do; that's where Emily got hit in the throat.” He shook his head sadly, then walked off along the bar to serve someone else.

David and Jo took their drinks and went through into the snug next to the main bar. It was empty. They sat in silence for a few minutes.

“What did you make of Mr and Mrs Enderby?” asked David.

“I liked them, a lot,” she replied. “And I feel so sorry for them, as well. I really believe they did their best; that it wasn't their fault. What do you do when you know that if your kids look anything like being half-decent, they'll get beaten to a pulp every time they go out? How can you deal with that?”

“I agree,” said David. “It's too bloody easy to say ‘they just need a firm hand.' Can you imagine how they must have felt going to the police for help and being told that – after they'd tried absolutely bloody everything? First Alma Deverall – daren't come to us because she knew we'd let her down and then, as if to prove she was bloody right, these people
do
come to us and – guess what – we bloody well let them down! What the bloody hell do we get paid for, for Christ's sake?

“You're getting on your ‘bloody' roll again, sir,” said Jo. “Have another pint and relax; I'll drive you home and get a taxi back here to pick my car up… ”

“Thanks, Jo… ”

“… on expenses!” she added.

“But of course,” he said, smiling now and relaxing already. “Tell you what; get me a large Macallan instead.”

Jo raised her eyebrows.