Innocent Blood (33 page)

‘No, the whole family are out today: that’s Gordon, Michelle, his second wife – lovely girl, she is – and the two kiddies. Gone to the beach and good luck to them. I’m sure they’ll enjoy it but it’s not for me. The days of wanting to feel sand between my toes have been replaced by a simple urge to have any feeling in the damn things. And anyway, the racing’s on this afternoon and I’ve got twenty quid on Paul’s Delight to win. Coffee?’

Fenwick hesitated. His body was crying out for caffeine but in his experience an old person’s idea of coffee was to show a kettle to the Nescafé jar and then drown any flavour that struggled to survive with too much skimmed milk.

‘I make it properly, trust me,’ Hannah laughed, ‘though I don’t blame you for being careful. Some of the stuff as gets served up at the centre is enough to turn you to drink. Talking of which it’s…’ she glanced at the clock on the mantelpiece which read ten twenty-three, ‘…almost eleven o’clock and I’m not due my medicine yet. Fancy a snifter? Good stuff, five star.’

‘I’m driving, thanks all the same.’

‘Suit yourself but you won’t mind if I do, will you?’

They went to sit in the sunny dining area that ran from the kitchen to sip strong black coffee, one with and one without a shot of brandy. Sunlight angled across the tiled floor onto the back of a black and white cat that was purring in the heat.

‘I realise that this might seem strange after all this time but—’

‘You’re here to ask about Paul. I saw on the news how you had to let the major go. I’m glad. He didn’t look like a killer to me.’

He was taken aback by the woman’s attitude. Where he had expected anger he had found relief instead.

‘But you want us to find your grandson’s killer, don’t you, Mrs Hill?’

‘It’s Hannah and no, I don’t. See, I’ve got something to tell you…’

And she did, at length. Hannah Hill repeated her story, word for word, enjoying his undivided attention. Fenwick tried to look respectful, even interested, but after the first few sentences he tuned out, realising that he had committed himself to wasting fifteen minutes of his time because of his urge for a decent coffee.

The listening stretched on; the cat went to sleep. Fenwick finished his coffee, made his excuses and left. Mrs Hill watched him go, smiling a little sadly, and then went to take her medicine.

Cooper and Nightingale were waiting for him in his temporary Harlden office to help him prepare a progress report for the ACC. Alison and Clive joined by phone. Fenwick told them of his fears for Sarah Hill’s sanity but didn’t bother to mention his frustrating meeting with her ex-mother-in-law. He was more certain than ever that the family hadn’t been involved in Paul’s disappearance. His father apparently had a solid alibi, the grandparents had been busy in London and the mother was genuinely deranged with grief, not guilt.

Cooper was making slow progress cross-checking those interviewed in 1982 with the major’s list of army acquaintances and Nightingale’s day hadn’t been much better.

‘Oliver Anchor wasn’t at home when I called and his mother virtually threw me out of the house. There’s definitely something going on there. I’ll need a warrant to get Oliver’s medical records because his doctor isn’t going to release them without one and as yet I haven’t enough to persuade a magistrate. But I’ve traced and spoken to some of Oliver’s friends from school. I got their names from Paul’s file. They told me Oliver was slow but otherwise fine until Paul disappeared then he had some sort of breakdown and was taken out of school completely. Oh, and I tried to interview the major again but was refused by his doctor. Said he was too poorly and to phone back before I visit again so as not to waste time.’

‘Not your day with the medical profession.’

‘Damn right.’

‘Clive, how about you?’ Fenwick directed his voice to the conference phone.

‘We’ve found a piece of old tyre at the copse that I’ve sent to the lab. Nothing else.’

‘Alison?’

‘We’re working through all the images taken from Watkins and Ball’s storage units. There are over ten thousand of them and we’re at the stage of simply sorting them into categories – those where the child is potentially recognisable, those where there are distinguishing features on the adult that might lead us to identify them and those where the background might tell us where the photo or video was taken. We’ve found one picture of what might be Ball’s tattoo but that was the highlight of the day. It’s going to be painstaking work and it’s frankly disgusting. I’ve had to excuse two of the team, they simply couldn’t cope.’

‘Have you spoken to the Child Internet Protection Unit? They have lots of experience and they might even be willing to loan us an expert.’

‘They called me,’ Alison replied. ‘Our technical support team is meant to log any Internet-related paedophile material so I’ve made sure they’re following procedure.’

Fenwick finished the call, glad that Alison had done the right thing, but his face was grim as he looked up at the familiar faces of his old teammates.

‘The long and the short of it is we’re one day on and no further forward.’ Fenwick took a long swallow of cold coffee. ‘Oh joy. The ACC’s going to love this. We just have to hope that
CrimeNight
on Tuesday will give us the leads we need.’

The three men watched as the car burnt. A smell of gasoline mingled with the throat-catching stench of melting rubber, almost masking the sickly sweet smell of roasting flesh.

No one spoke. The time for recriminations and the apportionment of blame would come. For now they were united by the need to cover up a crime and destroy the evidence.

‘Twenty-four hours and it should be cool enough to break up. We can use the old silage pit on the farm; it’s abandoned and I can fill it in later.’

The older man, Nathan, spoke in a manner that suggested he was used to giving orders and being obeyed.

‘We’ll need transport.’ Of the three the tall man who called himself Joe was least comfortable. His eyes looked everywhere except at the corpse.

‘No problem. I have a trailer and jeep but I’m concerned about clearing up where it happened. Alec, I want you to go over there. Bryan’s given us directions and it’s better that a new face shows up; someone not known around here.’

Alec pulled his eyes reluctantly from the body in the car. The raised clenched fists, black against the flames in the interior, fascinated him.

‘It looks like he’s fighting it,’ he said, almost in awe of the power of the body in death.

‘Read your textbooks.’ Nathan was dismissive. ‘It’s called the pugilistic pose. The tendons tighten in the heat. Have you never seen a man baked in a tin?’ His casual reference to death in the oven of a tank on fire made Joe turn away.

‘Now get going. Bryan was hardly in a state to give us comfort that he didn’t leave something behind. We’ll meet at the house in three hours.’

He turned abruptly and walked away, leaving the two men to stare at each other. They waited until he’d disappeared from view until they spoke.

‘Arrogant prick! He doesn’t change, does he? Sometimes I think about putting him in his place, just once.’

‘Forget it, Alec. He’s the boss, like it or not. Anyway, this isn’t the time to argue. We need each other.’

‘Maybe,’ Alec didn’t sound convinced, ‘but if he’d chosen a better boy we wouldn’t be here now. He landed us with a little piss ant fighter. Prissy bastard; he deserved everything he—’

‘Shut up! Can’t you leave it alone? You’ve done nothing but complain since we arrived. If you hadn’t been so rough with the boy maybe we wouldn’t be here now with this…’ he gestured helplessly towards the car, ‘…cock-up,’ he finished, his words a whisper.

‘So now it’s all my fault, is it? Bloody typical. You don’t blame Bryan for failing to get rid of him when he had the chance; or Nathan for scaring him near to death in the pool. Oh no, it’s me again; always fucking me. It pisses me off.’

His fists clenched and took a step towards Joe.

‘Calm down, Alec. We’ve all had a hand in this. I just meant that…’ He paused, lost for words. ‘Never mind, forget I said it. You’re right, it was a cock-up from start to finish.’

‘Bloody right. What say you we just clear off right now, leave him to clear up his own mess?’

The same idea had occurred to Joe but he’d rejected it. Their best chance of getting away with what they’d done would be if the car and the body were never discovered. They were burning it miles from where Bryan had told them…it had happened. Even now, he couldn’t
quite believe the mess they were in and he certainly couldn’t bring himself to name their crime.

‘No. Our best chance is to stick together, like in the old days. None of us will talk and there’s a real possibility they’ll never find the boy. Even if they do there won’t be anything left to link him to us.’

‘His parents will miss him. How do we know that they won’t tell the police that Paul was friends with Bryan?’

‘Ssh!’ Even in the solitude of the woods Joe looked over his shoulder at the mention of Paul and Bryan’s names.

‘He told us never to mention him again, not even among ourselves. Look,’ he glanced at his watch, ‘you’d best get over to Wyndham Wood like he said and make sure it’s all clear while it’s still light.’

‘Don’t you try to give the fucking orders now!’ Alec moved in, closing the gap between their chests. Joe raised his hands, palms out – ‘peace’.

‘OK, OK but you’ll do a better check than I will.’

Alec shrugged and lit a cigarette. When he’d smoked enough to demonstrate his independence he left without a word. His companion stayed behind and waited for the flames to die down. Only then did he turn his eyes to the front passenger seat. To his relief the silhouette was crumbling. Ashes to ashes.

He listened to the two messages a second time as he swirled the ice around his glass, chilling the whisky. They’d been waiting for him on his return from a three-day golfing break.

‘Maidment here. I must see you. They’ve just let me out. The old charges against me have been dropped but they’ve rearrested me as an accomplice. Look, you promised me it was an accident but
…
’
There was a long pause and the listener could imagine Maidment ‘getting to grips’, as he’d have put it. The pips went and there was the sound of movement.
‘…There’s more but I don’t want to leave it on that damn machine. Call me at home when you get this.’

The man had no intention of calling. He knew the police could requisition phone records. They might even have a tap at Maidment’s house if they suspected him of being an accomplice. He deleted the message and drank deeply, enjoying the feel of the spirit as it burnt its way down his throat. That was one of the many joys of living a single life. When his wife had finally had enough and left him he’d felt nothing but relief. Even though they’d barely seen each other towards the end of their sham of a marriage the fact that she was around somewhere had always depressed his spirits. Now he was alone and enjoyed every hour of his freedom.

He took another drink, draining the glass except for the clinking ice, and rose to pour another measure. The bottles of spirit were arranged on a trolley to the side of French windows that looked out on his magnificent garden. After leaving the army he’d invested his savings wisely in both legal and illegal ventures. The illegal investments in particular had done well and he could afford the large house and the services of the married couple who saw to his needs while remaining virtually invisible. Just the way he liked it.

He refreshed his glass and added another ice cube from the insulated bucket that was filled daily at five-thirty by the housekeeper before she left, his supper already cooking slowly in the kitchen. His drinks had to be ice cold, a habit he’d fallen into while in the tropics. As he waited for the liquor to chill he stared out at the swimming pool, covered now for the evening.

Maidment’s message echoed in his mind. He’d sounded most unlike himself and that had worried him even before he’d listened to the second call. Perhaps he should have moved years ago, put some distance between himself and the past. That he hadn’t done so he realised was partly due to pride. He had a name in the local community and he was damned if he was going to let some scruffy tart of a boy drive him away because of an accident.

It was an accident, he told himself. The kid had been feisty and rebellious from the moment he’d arrived. Trust Bryan Taylor to screw up so badly. There was nothing to link them, he’d made very sure of that, and no physical evidence remained. He’d watched it burn, and then Joe and Alec had helped him to pulverise and bury the ash. Ball was now safely beyond the reach of the police and Joe – or Joseph as he now insisted on calling himself, as if a return to his biblical name could somehow expunge his guilt – well, Joe’s arrest had been a huge shock. He’d been preparing his finances, ready to leave the country, when a chance remark at the golf club had reassured him. ‘Poor old Joseph’ had had a complete, and probably irreversible, breakdown and was under sedation in a prison hospital, barely conscious. How he’d laughed about that when he’d returned to the privacy of his home! Now, there was only Maidment left to worry about.

He should remain safe provided Maidment kept his head. Even the second message need not be a cause for concern. He turned around and walked back to his machine. The disembodied voice that filled his drawing room had the unmistakable lilt of a local Sussex accent.

‘Ah, this is Sergeant Cooper here. I wonder if I might come and see you, sir. It’s in connection with the disappearance of Paul Hill. You were interviewed at the time and I know we’ve re-interviewed you since but there are some additional questions we now need to ask.’

Cooper had signed off by leaving his telephone number and a request that his call be returned as soon as possible. The question was, should he do so or stall for more time? It would be useful to know what Maidment had to say before he spoke to the police again but on the other hand to delay might look suspicious. He sipped his drink ruminatively then reached out towards the receiver. The phone rang as he touched it, making him jump and slosh whisky onto his favourite rug, the one he’d bought in Tashkent.

‘Sod it.’

He let the machine pick up.

‘It’s me again, Maidment. Look I
—
’

‘Yes, what do you want?’ His tone was brusque.

‘I left you a message.’

‘I’ve heard it.’

‘I…yes, nurse, I’ll only be a minute…I’m in hospital, not meant to use the phone at all today but I needed to talk to you.’

‘About?’ He didn’t bother to ask why Maidment was in hospital or to wish him well. In fact it would be convenient if the old sod died, quite frankly.

‘While I was being interviewed by the police they asked me some odd questions, very odd. Do you recall that you needed a new parking permit the first year I was secretary?’

‘What? Have you received a blow to the head?’

‘The permit – you needed a new one.’ Maidment was insistent.

‘You really do have the most ridiculous memory for trivia.’

‘It was in August 1981. I need to know for sure.’

‘I have no idea. Why?’

‘Well, the police asked me whether I’d issued any replacements.’

The glass in his hand had grown so cold that his fingers turned white. He stared at them as he tried to ease his grip.

‘What did you say to them?’

‘That I might have done but couldn’t be certain.’

‘I fail to see the significance of this.’

‘But the thing is they asked about
1981
.’ The major’s voice dropped to a whisper. ‘The Hill boy vanished in 1982 so it couldn’t have been connected with that.’

‘Exactly.’

‘But another boy disappeared in 1981, didn’t he?’ The voice was so low he could barely hear it. ‘The boy whose remains they found earlier this year; his name was Malcolm Eagleton.’

Mention of the name ran like a shockwave through his body. The glass fell in slow motion from his numbed fingers and bounced on the carpet without breaking. He watched as the contents spilt out in a widening stain across his rug.

‘Did you hear me? I need to know, did you have anything to do with his death?’

‘I heard you. This is absolute nonsense. For heaven’s sake, get a grip, man. Say nothing to the police until we’ve spoken face to face. When can that be?’

‘They want to keep me in a week—’

‘Call me from a payphone as soon as you’re out of hospital and we can agree where to meet up.’ The ice was starting to melt. It would leave a water mark. ‘In the meantime, don’t bother phoning me again.’

As he replaced the receiver his hand was shaking. He really should get a cloth and mop up the spill but he didn’t move. Part of his mind regretted the irreparable damage to a unique and valuable antique but even as it did so another part was calculating how quickly he would be able to leave all this behind and start afresh if he had to.

He cleared the answerphone tape and pulled it out to destroy. All the time his mind, usually so cold and logical, was spinning at the implications of what Maidment had said. He’d almost forgotten the Eagleton boy, considering him an early, clumsy mistake. It was Paul who had dominated his thinking for the past twenty-five years; Paul who had become idealised as the perfect boy in his fantasies; and Paul whom he had always considered his likely nemesis. Not silly Malcolm, who’d turned out to be such a disappointment.

There was now no question of returning the police call until he had spoken to Maidment but he would need a reason to explain why he’d ignored it. He was only just back from his long weekend. Perhaps if he went away again at once it would work as an excuse. But where?

The idea when it came to him brought a smile to his face. Not only would he be able to lie low for a few days he would also be able to indulge himself with his latest boy for as long as he liked. If time was running out and he’d have to move on, he reasoned, there was no longer any need to go easy on young Sam, was there? Once he’d finished with him it really didn’t matter what happened next but it would satisfy his innate possessiveness to know that nobody else would be able to enjoy him. Decision made, he went in search of a cloth in an attempt to rescue his precious rug.