Cry of the Children (16 page)

‘We have one woman among our leading suspects. I don't think she did it. Correction: I hope she didn't do it. I must have picked up that unprofessional approach from Bert Hook. This is a woman of low IQ who hasn't had much out of life. But if I look at things objectively, I know quite well that that's the springboard for a lot of violent crimes.'

‘You mean Big Julie?'

He glanced at her sharply. She said, ‘This is what happens when you have a child murder on your doorstep, John. One of the teachers is the same age as Julie and has known her for years. She lives within a hundred yards of her. The gossip gets round pretty quickly when the great detective John Lambert comes calling. Julie might even have spread the news herself; she doesn't often have anything to make her the centre of attention.'

Christine was on to things quickly, as she so often was. Now John Lambert wondered among many other wonderings why he so often underestimated his wife. ‘Perhaps I should have asked you about Julie earlier.'

Christine shook her head. ‘I don't know her, except by repute. There was a time twenty-five years ago, when I was working full-time at the comprehensive, when Julie Foster might have come through into my class. But she was removed before then and placed in a special school. I don't think she had many behavioural problems, but she had a low IQ and was easily led. She grew up in a council home. She didn't have much going for her.'

‘And still doesn't, by the looks of where she lives and what she does. I'd say she's had a raw deal from life, but we see a lot of those in CID. Julie's got an old car, which she's obviously very proud of.'

If Christine saw the implications of that, she chose not to comment; instead, she switched the subject. ‘The papers say Lucy's father isn't living with her mother any more. I suppose you've had to investigate him.'

‘We have. And he's another inadequate, in a different way from Big Julie Foster. He's by no means stupid, but he was missing his daughter and his wife before this happened. I don't think he was coping very well. But that applies to a lot of people, male or female, when a marriage or partnership splits up.'

‘According to our local paper, his wife's new man was with Lucy when she was snatched at the fair.'

John frowned his annoyance. Items of information that hadn't been released by the police press officer were now appearing. That was inevitable when a local crime was discussed by all and sundry with wide-eared newshounds around. In this case, it was unlikely that a copper had sold stuff to the media – that was one of Lambert's particular
bêtes noires
about the modern police service. ‘There's no evidence for an arrest, though equally we've not been able to clear him yet. There's something a little odd about Matthew Boyd, but that doesn't make him a killer. It might pay him to stay clear of Oldford, though; the local witch-hunters come out in force after a death like this.'

‘There've been statistics in the press about the number of active paedophiles in the country. It's quite appalling.'

‘It is indeed. The numbers of people collecting child pornography on computers are depressing. We're policing a sick society.' John sighed, knowing he was speaking and sounding like an old man. He had no illusions about ‘good old days'; there had been far more beatings of wives and children when he had been a fresh-faced young copper on the beat. Nevertheless, he found the numbers of people from all divisions of society who were interested in sex involving helpless children deeply depressing. He said, ‘As you'd expect, the team has interviewed a number of suspected paedophiles. We've been able to clear all but one. Bert and I saw him yesterday. Very discreetly, I hope. He hasn't any convictions, but rumours travel fast; we don't want the local vigilantes breaking his windows and daubing slogans on his house.'

‘Especially if he didn't do it.'

‘Especially if he didn't do it, as you say. He probably didn't, though Bert and I both found him a creepy sod. I expect we'd have felt that anyway, knowing what he'd done in the past. When a paedophile has a smooth and educated appearance, it probably just makes you more suspicious. Very unfair, really.'

Christine thought that he didn't seem to care too much about being unfair. It must be difficult to be fair when you were with someone who you knew had done unspeakable things with children. She shuddered a little, surprising herself with the movement; she hadn't been ready for it. She said hastily, ‘You took someone in from the fairground, didn't you?'

‘How on earth did you know that?'

For an instant, her husband was his bristling alter ego of a quarter of a century ago. She smiled and put her hand upon his taut forearm. ‘You were seen, John, yesterday morning at the fairground. Everyone is upset about Lucy, especially now that it's murder, but it's still the most exciting thing that's happened in Oldford for years. When one person sees what's going on, it passes round very quickly, often with colourful additions.'

‘Well, the addition someone's made this time is that the man was taken in. He wasn't arrested. He was questioned at the fairground, in a place selected by him, and then sent about his business, which in this case was demolishing the rides and stowing them on the lorries for transportation to their next venue.'

‘Cleared, then. I'm glad about that.' Christine was habitually on the side of the much maligned younger generation.

‘Not quite cleared. He's a young thug with unhealthy sexual appetites and a capacity for violence. But there are a lot of those around and most of them tangle with the police sooner or later. We've no evidence to arrest him, but we'll be back to have more words with him, unless we turn up something pretty quickly.'

He was looking very worn, thought Christine. This case was affecting him more than any other she could recall. But that was probably to his credit. John was like a battle-hardened soldier who was still capable of being disturbed by some killing that was especially appalling. She said, attempting to lighten his mood, ‘You'll need a psychiatrist yourself, when this is over.'

‘I've called one in. Well, a psychologist, actually. I'm meeting the forensic psychologist who is now a resource available to all senior crime investigators tomorrow morning. We need all the help we can get.'

Christine knew all about police scepticism when it came to trick cyclists. She said with only a hint of irony, ‘It's marvellous how open-minded and receptive the modern senior policeman can be.'

Anthea Gibson allowed Matt Boyd back into her house. Everything seemed to happen in slow motion as she stood back and allowed him to move past her into the hall.

The man who knew so much about her, who knew her body intimately, who last week she had so wanted to share her life, seemed at this moment a stranger in her house. He behaved like one. He stood awkwardly behind a chair in her kitchen, so that she had to say to him, ‘You'd better sit down.' She tried to force a smile and found that she could not do that.

Matt said, ‘I've got calls to make in this area over the next day or two. I thought I should come and see how you were coping.'

‘I'm coping. Just about. I was at Lisa's until today. That's my sister. You haven't met her.'

‘No.' He struggled desperately for something to say. ‘I've heard you speak of her.'

She was looking at the table as she said, ‘Have the police bothered you again?'

‘No. Not since I went to the station with them on Sunday morning. I expect it was just routine. They had to eliminate me from their enquiries. As I was the last person known to have been with—' He stopped abruptly, wondering how he could have allowed himself to arrive here.

‘With the deceased. That's what they'd call it now, isn't it? With the deceased.' She gave a huge sigh, as if she could breathe out with it all her tensions. ‘Do you want to stay here tonight?'

She'd surprised them both with the question. He said, ‘I don't know. I hadn't really thought about it. Do you want me to do that?'

Anthea wondered if it was true that he hadn't really thought about it. He must surely have considered the possibility of spending the night with her when he'd decided to come here and ring her bell. ‘You can stay if you like. I might not want to sleep with you.'

‘No, of course not. That's understood.' They were like nervous teenagers, he thought, yet they now had more between them than most couples who'd been married for many years. He reached across the table and put his hand on top of hers, trying to ignore how cold, how alien, it felt. ‘I want to be with you. I want to help you, if you'll let me.'

Anthea wondered how much he meant that, how much he was merely throwing the appropriate words across the table at her. She seemed to have lost any capacity to weigh these things and make judgements. Perhaps all her emotions had atrophied with the removal of Lucy from her life. Last week she'd been worried that this man wasn't committing enough of himself to her, had been anxious for him to become a greater part of her life. Now he seemed a stranger. Perhaps she wanted to keep him a stranger. But she wasn't sure of that or of anything else. She said dully, ‘I'll get us something to eat.'

She opened a can of soup, cut up some of the bread that Lisa had bought for her from the good Gloucester bakery. Matt tried to help, buttering the bread awkwardly and trying to do exactly the things she told him to do. ‘I'm not very good in the kitchen,' he said with a nervous giggle. ‘But then you already knew that, didn't you?'

She didn't respond, but carried on with what she was doing as if she hadn't heard him. Last week, she'd have said daringly that it wasn't his skill in the kitchen that attracted her, and they'd have laughed together at her bawdiness. Now she was trying to think, but she couldn't make her brain work. Did she want this man in her house? Did she want this man in her bed? Surely her heart as well as her mind should have some emotional reaction to those questions? But she moved around her kitchen like an automaton and felt as much emotion as a robot.

She watched Matt Boyd down his soup, then set scrambled egg on toast in the place she had set for him, with a smaller portion for herself opposite. She didn't feel at all hungry. A few minutes later, she looked down at her plate and was surprised to find that it was empty. She had spoken to him whilst he ate and he had replied to her, but she had no idea what either of them had said.

He said, ‘I'll go now, if you like.'

She watched the red second hand going round on the big kitchen clock. Dean had bought that for her, when he had still lived here. It took her a full half-minute to realize that Matt was waiting for a reply. As as if she was offering medical advice to him, she said, ‘No, I think it would be best if you stay.'

They went into the lounge and he tried to talk to her. But she sat like a stranger in the armchair with the tall back which she used when she was alone. Only last week, she had curled up with his arm round her on the sofa where he sat now, folding her body comfortably into his as they watched television. He was glad when she said he could switch the box on, because he was finding any sort of talk very difficult. He made comments on the programmes, but she replied mostly in monosyllables.

Matt Boyd wondered how he was going to end this and get out, if he had to do that. There was a place he could stay in the town. He'd had bed and breakfast there two or three times, in the days before he'd known Anthea. But he wanted to stay here – wanted to stay now far more than he would have wanted to last week. He couldn't think why.

It was half past nine when Anthea Gibson said abruptly, ‘You can stay the night here, if you want to.'

Matt licked his lips. ‘Thank you. I'd like that.'

‘But I won't want to make love.' She stopped abruptly and continued staring glassily at the television.

‘No. That's understood. You said it earlier, I think.' He made it as emphatic as he could, but she didn't offer any other words for him to bite on. He said desperately, ‘I understand that completely.'

A long time later, when he had given up any hope of a response, she said quietly, ‘Well, that's OK, then.'

She said she would have a hot drink and he made them tea, finding relief in the simple movements around the kitchen. She stayed in the sitting room and he seized the moment to move quickly out to the car and bring in his overnight case. He handed over her mug of tea, then sat down on the sofa with his own. He said, ‘There's no need for the spare room. I'll sleep down here on the sofa. I don't want to be any trouble.' He thought he caught the slightest nod of agreement from her, but he couldn't be sure of that.

She went upstairs and he undressed swiftly, ridiculously embarrassed by the thought of Anthea appearing; she had seen him undress many times before. He was glad there was a downstairs cloakroom in the small house; he would have felt he was intruding if he'd had to go upstairs. He put his pyjamas on and prepared to lie down on the sofa. It was plenty long enough for him, but he wished he had asked her for a duvet or a blanket. He'd have to make do with cushions. He wasn't going to disturb her again.

Then she was suddenly standing in the doorway in a long white nightdress. She looked like mad Lady Macbeth in the school play in which he'd been a soldier long years ago. She said, ‘I think you should come into my bed now.'

It was a command, not a query, but one he was happy enough to obey. He followed her up the stairs, feeling guilty that she should now seem more desirable to him than she had done when Lucy was here. He lay beside her in the big bed, carefully avoiding contact, feeling the tenseness seep away inevitably as the heat from their bodies warmed the chill sheets. He fancied that she moved a fraction nearer to him. He rolled on to his side and put an arm tentatively around her. She did not respond, but she did not resist. Presently, against his expectations, they slept.