Child's Play (23 page)

Dave gave a laboured sigh. ‘Sorry if I happen to believe people can turn their lives round.'

‘And I don't?' Christ, if she didn't believe crims could redeem themselves, she was in the wrong job.

‘If the cap …' His lip twitched. ‘Slip of the tongue. Sorry.'

‘Not funny.' She opened her mouth to remonstrate, thought better of it. Maybe he had a point. Irrational maybe, but every time she recalled the second or two when her hand had touched Walker's shoulder, Sarah's skin crept. ‘Fair enough, Dave.' She shucked into her coat. ‘Forgive and forget. End of. Will you tell the mad bastard holding Caitlin? Or shall I?'

Dave caught up with her before she reached the door. ‘Point is – what's he going to do to her, boss?'

‘Point is, we need to nail him before he does anything else.' They waited for a gap in the traffic before crossing. Even on a Sunday, the main drag was busy. Sarah was half surprised to find the Audi still intact. Mind, she had parked in plain view.

‘Any ideas then, boss?' Dave fastened his seat belt.

She waited for a Tesco wagon to trundle past before pulling out. Home deliveries wasn't a bad notion. Not the point Dave was driving at though. She curved a lip. ‘I reckon we need a little help from our friends. In the fourth estate.' She'd decided to hold a news conference late afternoon. Go for broke. Make a direct appeal to the perp, try and get Nicola on board as well. The man had made contact twice with Caroline King, so he couldn't be that publicity shy. Control freaks had to dictate the pace, call the shots, she'd no doubt the abductor fitted that category. Given he had his own agenda, it would be a fine line between drawing him out and pissing him off. Instinct told her that even alluding to the babe-in-the-wood case was a no-no. Might be an idea to run it past the profiler they called in from time to time.

‘You and King mates now then, boss?' She heard the amused smirk in Mr Irony's voice.

‘Besties, Dave. 'Specially after this morning.' She told him the reporter's proposed deal – demand more like – about working the case alongside the police in return for interview master classes. ‘As if.'

‘Cheeky mare.' He sniffed. ‘Sounds more like “you scratch my back, I'll have a lifetime supply of free loofahs”.'

She cast him an old-fashioned look though got the drift. ‘I had to tell her I'd keep her in the loop.'

‘No way?' He was digging in a pocket.

‘Thing is, the perp's in touch with her, Dave. Could be useful. Plus she's sitting on a big exclusive. I can't risk anything getting out until we've collared the bastard. I know it goes against the grain but I'm going to have to keep her sweet.'

‘Talking of which.' He pulled out a bag. ‘Fancy one?'

The tell-tale grease marks said it all. ‘Doughnuts, Dave? Purlease.' The cop in her saw them as edible clichés.

‘Dunno what you mean, boss. They're power rings, these.'

‘I'll pass, thanks.' On the keeping King sweet front, she might as well throw it in. ‘By the way, Lois Lane knows where we were last night.' The chewing halted and she sensed his gaze on her.

‘And is that going to make a difference?'

‘I shouldn't think so, Dave.'
Only if she starts sniffing round, trying to make trouble.

‘I
only want to help, Mrs Walker.' Caroline King had more than a foot in the door. Both heels were planted on the sludge-coloured carpet in the cramped gloomy hall. The handily placed envelope on the table had been a great help providing the woman's moniker. Getting in had been comparatively easy; staying in was proving less so.

‘But you said you were Caitlin's friend. And now you tell me you're a reporter.' The woman looked fit to drop, clung on to the wall with one hand for support.

‘And I'm really, really sorry. I
so
hate ly— not telling the truth. Cross my heart.' She did with both arms, threw in a bright smile. ‘I'll be completely honest with you from now on.' The full beam usually worked but needed eye contact; Walker wouldn't meet her gaze.

‘No. I don't think so, dear. I think you'd better go now.'

‘That is
such
a shame.' Caroline's mock concern masked impatience. She knew she'd get there in the end, she always did. Boy had she been right about the place stinking. It wasn't just cat pee making her journo nose wrinkle. She sniffed news like there was no tomorrow. The murder of a child told by the killer fifty-something years on? Even without the abduction it was sensational stuff. If – no,
when
– she got this woman to open up, she'd have a story to die for. ‘You see, I really think I can help the police find Caitlin.'

Walker rubbed a hand over her face. Plain, unprepossessing, anyone looking less like a child killer Caroline couldn't imagine. But that was part of the beauty. This woman could pass unnoticed in every street, every gathering, yet she had a unique story. Caroline didn't just want to get inside her sodding sitting room; she wanted temporary residence inside her head. Then tell the world what secrets, thoughts and emotions lurked there.

‘Look, if you don't mind, I've had a rather trying time of late.'

Had quite a few trying times if you asked Caroline. ‘Of course, Mrs Walker.' Mentally bracing herself, she gave the woman's arm a gentle squeeze. ‘I was only thinking of Caitlin … being at the mercy of a man like that.'

‘Like what?' The voice snapped; her gaze locked on to Caroline. Alzheimer's? No way. Caroline reckoned Nicola had been telling porkies. Fleetingly she registered something in the woman's eyes that sent a shiver down her spine. The pause it gave was momentary, she told herself not to be stupid. Glancing round conspiratorially, she lowered her voice. ‘I shouldn't really tell you this, Mrs Walker, but … the abductor's been sending me messages. He wants me … Are you—?' She shot out both arms to steady the woman. ‘There you go. Look, forget I said a word. I'll just wait until you've got your breath back and I'll be on my way.' Another pat, another concerned smile. If that didn't open more doors, Caroline would begin to suspect she was losing her touch.

‘You'd better come through, dear. I need to sit down.'

Bingo. Full house – well, bungalow.

‘Let me help.' Caroline linked arms with the woman. ‘Lean on me, Mrs Walker.'

Losing her touch? Yeah right.

‘Come sit next to me when you're done?' Caitlin pulled a face behind his back as she patted the mattress. ‘I hate being on my own.'

‘You've changed your tune all of a sudden.' Monkey man, still divvying up fish and chips, turned his head, flicked her a casual glance. ‘Hungry?'

‘Starving.' Switching on a smile, she circled a hand over her stomach. Its wild churning meant even keeping water down would be a big ask. Nerves not nausea. Given the size of the challenge she'd set herself. Changing the tune was part of it. From screw-you to screw-me. Only the segue had to be a lot subtler, her performance faultless.

‘Why don't you give me a name I can call you?' She twisted a strand of hair between her fingers. ‘Monkey man's so lame. And it's not very nice, is it?'

He stood gazing down for a few seconds before handing over her share. ‘You want to play nice now, eh?'

‘Yeah, why not?' She held his gaze as she nibbled a chip. ‘No sense biting the hand that feeds you, is there?' It wasn't the greatest line, but she giggled anyway. ‘Not to mention clothes.' She stroked her fingers down a slender thigh. ‘The jeans fit great by the way. I should've said thanks. You taking a pew, or what?'

He shrugged. ‘Shove over a bit then.'

She did, but not too far. ‘Go on then. What shall I call you?'

‘Stick with monkey man. I kinda like it.'

Weirdo.
‘I wouldn't tell the police or anything, y'know.' His shrug said ‘who-gives-a-fuck?' Caitlin interpreted it as another sign he had no intention of letting her go. ‘Hey, it's not fair. You've got more than me.' Playful, teasing, she leaned across to snatch a chip, made sure a boob brushed against his arm.

He batted her hand. ‘Life's not fair, is it? I thought the cuttings made that clear.' She knew what he meant but a discussion of crime and punishment would hardly lead to bedtime stories.

‘Sorry.' Licking grease off her fingers. ‘It was only a little joke.' She caught the smell of fish on his breath. The guy was gross. How could anyone make so much noise eating? She hoped to God she'd be able to go through with it when the time came.

‘Lighten up a bit, hey?' Very gently she tapped him on the forearm. ‘It's OK for you. You get to go out. I'm stuck here with only the walls for company.' And the odd spider. Hop-along was still doing the not-so-rounds up there. ‘What's happening in the world?

‘Don't worry, it's still spinning.'

‘Time goes so slow though. Any chance you could bring some DVDs in? I love movies. How about you?' He turned his mouth down, non committal. She ploughed on regardless as they ate, reeling off favourite films, actors, précised the
Twilight
plot: man bites girl. She played to her audience with verve, threw in impersonations and extravagant hand gestures, all the while casting covert glances at his face. He cracked the occasional smile, made the odd comment. He seemed edgier than of late though. ‘Hey.' She laid her hand on his shoulder. ‘How about you grab popcorn, hot dogs, ice cream?'

‘I shouldn't get your hopes up if I were you.' He screwed the wrappings, tossed them in a corner.

‘Why not?' Casual but his words had sent a chill down her spine.

‘You might not be here much longer.'

Shit. ‘Great. That means I'll get to see Mum again.'

‘Course you will.' Smiling, he got to his feet, patted her shoulder. She saw a flake of fish lodged in the lying bastard's teeth. ‘Laters, babe. I've got a few things need sorting.'

‘You're not going, are you? I hate being on my own in this place. Gives me the creeps.'

‘And I care because?'

Knob end.
She dropped her head. ‘I thought you did, just a little.' Could she force a tear or two? Oh, yes. And a shudder.

‘Come on, Caitlin, don't cry.' He reached out a hand but didn't touch her this time. ‘I won't be long.'

‘Go then. Leave me. You don't care.'

‘Look, I'll try and pick up a film for you, OK?'

‘Promise?' She counted five before lifting her head, meeting his gaze. ‘Is there any chance I could clean up a bit? I know I'd feel better. The wipes are almost gone and—'

‘I'll bring you a bowl, heat some water. Next time I'm back.' He smiled. ‘That do you?'

‘Ace.' She pursed her lips. ‘A mirror, too?'

He shook his head. ‘I'll see.'

You bet you will, arse wipe.
She heard the key in the lock, his footsteps fade. Finally relaxed. Thank God, he'd gone, hopefully he'd shower, smarten up a bit before getting back. She'd seen the gleam in his eye, the way he ran his gaze over her body. She had no doubt he was warming to her, but he hadn't yet got the hots. No point going off half-cock.

Caitlin smiled. The performance had only been a curtain raiser for the second act.

Slowly, slowly catchy fucking monkey man.

Nicola Reynolds opened the front door wearing a winter coat and a face like thunder. ‘I was just on the way out.'

‘No worries.' Sarah gave a tight smile. ‘I'll give you—'

‘I've got transport, thanks all the same.' She made to close the door. Difficult with Harries' size ten in the frame.

‘A lift to the station. Do it there.' Sarah folded her arms. ‘You've got ten seconds to change your mind.'

Without a word she stepped back, flung the coat on the stairs, stormed down the hall. Sarah and Dave shrugged in sync before tailing through to the kitchen. He muttered some sarky line about Rizlas. Sarah glanced at the luridly stained dishes in the sink, didn't need detective powers to suss Reynolds' partiality to Indian food. She was already slumped at the table, legs crossed, arms clamped. Sarah and Dave took the same seats they'd used the first night. The DI picked a hair off her skirt. Dave opened his notebook. Sarah was curious to see how or if Reynolds would break the silence as well as how long it would take. Twelve seconds.

‘Get on with it then.' Snarling, Reynolds reached for the inevitable nicotine hit. Sarah stifled a sigh then breathed one of relief. The smoker was fresh out of fags. She screwed the pack, chucked it across the room. If deprivation made her any jumpier, God help them. She was like a human pressure cooker with no safety valve. Her current heightened state made those first-night nerves look laid back and she'd been on a knife edge then.

Again, Sarah was surprised Reynolds hadn't asked about developments, her seeming indifference to the inquiry. ‘Why didn't you tell us about the message?' If she'd not been looking out for it, she'd have missed the momentary darkening in Reynolds' eyes, the tightening of the lips. The question had hit home and then some.

‘What message?' She twisted a silver ring round her wedding finger. The tremor in her hands made her apparent nonchalance risible.

‘Coat. Now.' Sarah pushed back the chair. ‘I'm not playing games; we'll do this at the nick.'

‘Please. No.' Her voice was very near a scream of fear. She'd raised both palms to back up the plea. ‘You don't understand.'

‘Damn right, I don't.' The cooler the tone, the closer Sarah was to snapping. Right now, arctic was an under-statement. ‘I don't understand why you're obstructing
my
inquiry into
your
daughter's disappearance. I don't understand why you rarely answer my questions and I don't understand why – when you do – you seem incapable of telling the truth.'