Fever of the Bone (16 page)

‘What? He doesn’t trust me? What does he think I’m going to do with them?’

‘I don’t know. I’m just telling you what he said.’ Ambrose’s hands were tight on the steering wheel. His discomfort was like a vibration in the air.

‘It’s not because he’s worried I’m going to sell them to the
Daily Mail
,’ Tony said, irritated out of proportion to the offence. ‘It’s about control. He’s afraid of losing control of his investigation.’ He threw his hands in the air. ‘I can’t work like this. It’s a waste of my energy to get caught up in this sort of pettiness. Look, Alvin, I work the way I work. I can’t concentrate the way I need to if I’ve got somebody looking over my shoulder. I need to be away from the bustle, the running around. I need to study this stuff and I need to do it on my terms.’

‘I get that,’ Ambrose said. ‘The DI isn’t used to working with somebody like you.’

‘Then he needs to get on the learning curve,’ Tony said. ‘It might help if he was keener to meet me face to face. Can you sort this out, or do I need to talk to him?’

‘Leave it with me,’ Ambrose muttered. ‘I’ll see what I can do.’ They travelled the rest of the way in silence, Tony trying to bury everything that was standing between him and the next step of this process of discovery. Right now, all that mattered was drawing the Maidments out of their pain so they could tell him what he needed to know.

The man who opened the door held himself stiff and brittle as a dried reed. Ambrose introduced them and they followed Paul Maidment into the living room. Tony had often heard it said that people took grief differently. He wasn’t sure he agreed. They might outwardly react in different ways, but when you got right down to it, what grief did was tear your life in half. Life before your loss and life after your loss. There was always a disconnect. Some people let it all hang out, some people rammed it into a hole deep inside and rolled a heavy stone over it, some people pretended it wasn’t happening. But speak to them years later and they were always able to date memories in terms of their loss. ‘Your dad was still alive then,’ or ‘That was after our Margaret died.’ It was as precise as BC and AD. Come to think of it, that had been about grief and loss too, whatever your views on the authenticity of Jesus as the son of God.

In his role as a profiler, he mostly got to meet people when they were on the wrong side of the chasm of grief. He seldom knew what they’d been like before their lives had been torn in half. But he could often make an educated guess at what had existed on the other side of the gap. His consciousness of what had been lost formed a crucial part of his ability to empathise with where they were now, stranded in unfamiliar territory, trying to make sense of the map with part of the compass missing.

His first impression of Paul Maidment was of a man who had decided to draw a line under his daughter’s death and move on. It was a decision he was clearly struggling to stick to. At this point, Tony thought, he was close to going under for the third time.

‘My wife . . . she’ll be down in a minute,’ he said, looking around him with the air of someone who is seeing his environment for the first time and isn’t quite sure how he got there.

‘You went back to work today,’ Tony said.

Maidment looked startled. ‘Yes. I thought . . . There’s too much to be done, I can’t leave it to anyone else. Business . . . it’s really not good just now. And we don’t need to lose the business on top of . . .’ He tailed off, distracted and distressed.

‘It’s not your fault. This would have happened whether you’d been home or not,’ Tony said. ‘You and Tania, you’re not to blame for this.’

Maidment glared at Tony. ‘How can you say that? Everybody says the internet’s dangerous for teenagers. We should have taken better care of her.’

‘It wouldn’t have made any difference. Predators like this, they’re determined. Short of locking Jennifer up and never letting her communicate with anyone else, there was nothing you could have done to stop this.’ Tony leaned forward, drawing Paul Maidment into his space. ‘You need to forgive yourselves.’

‘Forgive ourselves?’ The woman’s voice came from behind him, slightly slurred from drink or drugs. ‘What the hell do you know about it? You’ve lost a child, have you?’

Maidment buried his head in his hands. His wife moved to the centre of the room with the exaggerated care of someone who is sufficiently in control to know they are slightly out of it. She looked at Tony. ‘You’ll be the shrink, then. I thought it was your job to analyse the bastard who killed my daughter, not us.’

‘I’m Tony Hill, Mrs Maidment. I’m here so I can learn a bit more about Jennifer.’

‘You’re a bit late for that.’ She subsided into the nearest chair. Her face was a mask of perfectly applied make-up but her hair was tangled and unkempt. ‘A bit late to get to know my lovely girl.’ Her voice trembled a little under the careful articulation.

‘And I’m very sorry about that,’ Tony said. ‘Maybe you can help me. How would you describe her?’

Tania Maidment’s eyes grew moist. ‘Beautiful. Clever. Kind. That’s what everyone says about their dead child, isn’t it? But it was true about Jennifer. She was no trouble. I’m not stupid enough to say things like “we were each other’s best friend” or “we were like sisters”, because we weren’t. I was her parent, her mother. Mostly, we got on. Mostly she told me what she was doing and who she was doing it with. Nine days ago I’d have said she always told me. But obviously I was wrong. So I might have been wrong about all the other stuff too. Who knows any more?’

Maidment raised his head, tears sparkling on his cheeks. ‘She was all of those things. And more too. We dreamed of a child like Jennifer. Bright, talented, good fun. And that’s what we got. A dream daughter. And now the dream’s gone, and it’s worse than if it had never come true.’

There was a long silence. Tony could find nothing to say that didn’t seem banal. It was Ambrose who broke the moment. ‘There’s nothing we can do to bring Jennifer back, but we are determined to find the person who killed her. That’s why Dr Hill’s here.’

Grateful for the way in, Tony said, ‘I know you’ve already spoken to the police, but I wanted to ask you what Jennifer said about RigMarole. How she talked about it, what she said she used it for.’

‘She went on about it for ages,’ her mother said. ‘You know that thing they do, teenagers? “Mum, everybody’s got—” whatever it is. And you ask around and actually, nobody has whatever it is, they’re all just desperate to get it. She was like that with RigMarole, dying to have her own account. Claire was the same. I spoke to her mum and we talked it over with the girls. We said they could both have an account, provided that they installed all the privacy controls.’

‘Which they did,’ Maidment said bitterly. ‘And that lasted for a matter of days. Just long enough for us all to be convinced they were being responsible about it.’

‘They were being responsible as they saw it, Paul,’ Tania said. ‘They just didn’t understand the risks. You don’t at that age. You think you’re invulnerable.’ Her voice crashed and broke, catching in her throat like a crumb going down the wrong way.

‘Did she ever say anything that suggested there might be something going on that made her uncomfortable with Rig?’

The both shook their heads. ‘She loved it,’ Maidment said. ‘She said it was like it opened the world up for her and Claire. And of course, we all assumed that was in a good way.’

‘Had she ever met anyone previously that she’d got to know online?’

Maidment shook his head and Tania nodded. ‘You never said anything about that,’ he said, the accusation inescapable.

‘That’s because it was completely innocuous,’ Tania said. ‘Her and Claire met up with a couple of girls from Solihull. They went for an afternoon out at Selfridges in Birmingham. I spoke to the mother of one of the girls beforehand. They had a good laugh and said they’d do it again.’

‘When was this?’ Tony asked.

‘About three months ago.’

‘And it was just the four of them? You’re sure of that?’

‘Of course I am. I even asked Claire again. After you lot started going on about RigMarole. She swore there had been nobody else involved.’

But someone else could have electronically eavesdropped the arrangements. There could have been a fifth pair of eyes taking in everything they did. It would have taken a crueller man than Tony to voice those thoughts. ‘Jennifer sounds like a very sensible girl.’

‘She was,’ Tania said softly, her fingers stroking the arm of her chair as if it were her daughter’s hair. ‘Not in a boring, goody-two-shoes way. She had too much spirit for that. But she knew the world could be a dangerous place.’ Her face crumpled. ‘She was so precious to us. Our only child. I made sure she understood that there were times when it made sense to be cautious.’

‘I understand that,’ Tony said. ‘So what would entice her to meet someone in secret? What would make her ignore her good sense and meet a stranger? What would tempt her so much she had to lie to her best friend? I mean, we all lie to our parents from time to time, that’s the way the world works. But teenage girls don’t lie to their best mates without a very pressing reason. And I’m struggling to think what that might be. Was there anything - anything at all - that Jennifer wanted so badly she’d throw caution and good sense out of the window?’

The Maidments looked at each other, nonplussed. ‘I can’t think of anything,’ Tania said.

‘What about boys? Could there have been somebody she was infatuated with? Somebody who could have persuaded her to keep him secret?’

‘She’d have told Claire,’ Tania said. ‘I know they talked about the boys they fancied. Telling Claire wouldn’t have counted as breaking a promise.’

She was probably right, he thought. What she was describing was standard operating procedure for females, particularly teenagers. Tony got to his feet. There was nothing more for him there. The police had already searched Jennifer’s room. It would be too disturbed now to tell him anything useful. ‘If you think of anything, call me,’ he said, handing Paul Maidment a card with his mobile number. ‘Or if you just want to talk about Jennifer. I’m happy to listen.’ The Maidments both looked nonplussed at the abrupt ending to the conversation. Tony thought they probably expected an extended outpouring of compassion. But what would be the point of that? He couldn’t make them feel better, even if they wanted to. Still, Tania Maidment wasn’t taking anything lying down right now.

‘That’s it?’ she said. ‘Five minutes of your precious time and you’re out of here? How the hell can you have learned anything about my daughter in five minutes?’

Tony was startled. The recently bereaved who wanted to lash out generally picked on the police, not him. He was accustomed to sympathising with Carol, not taking it on the chin himself. ‘I’ve been doing this a long time,’ he said, trying not to sound defensive. ‘I’ll be talking to her friend Claire, I’ll be reading her emails. You’re just one of the sources for my picture of Jennifer.’

Tania looked as if he’d knocked the wind out of her. She made a noise that on another day might have been a contemptuous snort. ‘That’s what it’s come to, is it? I’m just one of the sources for my daughter’s life.’

‘I’m sorry,’ Tony said abruptly. Staying would merely prolong the immediate pain for the Maidments. His only value to them lay elsewhere. So he simply nodded to them both and walked from the room leaving Ambrose to scramble after him.

The detective caught him up halfway to the car. ‘That was a bit hairy,’ he said. ‘I think they thought you were a bit curt.’

‘I’m not good at small talk. I said what I needed to. They’ve got something to think about now. That might shake something loose in their memories. Sometimes what I do, it looks brutal. But it works. Tomorrow, I want to talk to Claire. Jennifer might have spoken to her.’ He gave a wry smile. ‘I promise to play nice.’

‘What do you want to do now?’ Ambrose asked.

‘I want to read the messages you got from her computer. Why don’t you drop me at my hotel and bring me the paperwork as soon as you can persuade your boss that if he wants to get what his budget is paying for he should let me do things the way that works for me.’ He put a hand on Ambrose’s arm, realising how brusque he had sounded. He still got it wrong more often than he liked when it came to responding like normal people. ‘I really appreciate your help with this. It’s not easy to explain how the profiling works. But it does involve thinking myself inside someone else’s skin. I don’t like being around other people when I’m going there.’

Ambrose ran a hand over his smooth skull, his eyes troubled. ‘I don’t imagine you do. Tell you the truth, it’s all a bit spooky to me. But you’re the expert.’

He spoke as if that were something to be pleased about. Tony stared up at the Maidments’ house, wondering what sort of messy head had wrecked their lives. Soon he’d have to pry his way in there and find out. It wasn’t an enticing prospect. For a brief moment, he missed Carol Jordan so much it made him feel nauseous. He turned back to Ambrose. ‘Somebody has to be.’

Paula watched another adolescent boy slouch out of the small room they’d been allocated to conduct interviews in. ‘Were you like that when you were fourteen?’ she asked Kevin.

‘Are you kidding? My mother would have slapped me if I’d spoken to an adult like that. What I can’t decide is whether it’s a generation thing or a class thing. Seems to me that working-class lads have got an attitude too, but there’s something different about these pillocks. I don’t know if it’s a sense of entitlement or what, but they’re really pissing me off.’

Paula knew exactly what he meant. She’d been in schools after kids had died in knife attacks, the sudden nightmare that seemed to happen out of nowhere, almost at random. She’d felt that sense of shock that permeated the corridors, seen the anxiety on teenage faces as they wondered whether death was going to touch them next, heard the fear under the defiance in pupils’ voices. There was none of that here. It was as if Daniel’s death was something that had happened far from them - an item on the news, something parents talked about as a remote threat. The only person who’d seemed at all upset was Daniel’s form teacher. Even the headmaster of William Makepeace had behaved as if this were a minor inconvenience rather than a tragedy. ‘If I had kids, this is the last place I’d be sending them,’ she said.