Next to Die (18 page)
Ronnie didn’t answer.
Joe dipped his head to try to catch Ronnie’s gaze. ‘Ronnie?’
He looked up.
Joe softened. ‘I’ve told you nothing you haven’t thought yourself, have I?’
Ronnie pulled a face. ‘So what do we do now?’
‘We find out more about Carrie, about how she worked, and who sent her clients. If we can find some people to testify about how she was moving in dangerous circles, we have a case theory.’
Ronnie looked more encouraged.
‘It won’t be easy, though, remember that. Expecting prostitutes to give evidence against a violent pimp, to help out someone they’ve never met, who plied her trade in a warm flat, not under the arches around Piccadilly, will be hard.’
‘But it’s all we’ve got,’ Ronnie said.
‘Yes, it’s all we’ve got.’
Sam took a deep breath. Ben Grant was in the room ahead. He remembered his instructions. Let Grant do the talking and don’t give anything away. Grant wanted Sam, but Sam didn’t want to fuel his fantasies. Let Grant masturbate over someone else’s words.
It had been the trial when Sam had last seen Grant, with Sam as a policeman in his parade dress in the witness box, Grant watching from the dock. Sam had not detected hatred from him, no resentment at being caught. Grant had seemed amused by the trial, his moment on the front pages, a tabloid anti-hero, but that only fuelled his arrogance. What would hurt Grant more would be when someone even more vile came along, making Grant’s chapter in a true crime compilation a few pages shorter.
The guard opened the door and Sam walked in. Ben Grant was standing by the window, his hands on the window ledge, watching the slow drift of the clouds painting white trails across the blue of late spring.
Sam set his notebook on the table and pulled back the chair. Grant knew he was there. It was just part of his game. It was only when Sam sat down that Grant turned.
Grant looked at Sam, and then at the notebook, before a smile spread slowly across his face. ‘It’s good to see you again, after all these years.’ He tilted his head. ‘I had to ask for you, because I knew they wouldn’t send a woman. They think it’s control, because it’s denying me, like a game.’
‘It’s not always about you,’ Sam said, looking at his notebook, trying to sound disinterested, writing the date and time at the top. ‘I came because you asked for me, but don’t read too much into it.’ When Grant pursed his lips, Sam smiled. ‘That’s right, you’re not so important anymore.’
Grant leaned against a wall, his arms folded, his jaw clenched.
Sam looked up and saw how he had changed. Remnants of the famous image were still there, the police photograph showing a round, boyish face and a small flick of dark hair across his forehead, with small eyes staring from behind dark-framed glasses, but there had been some changes too. Grant had lost some weight and the hair had grey tinges and was now cropped short. The glasses were gone too. He looked less of a threat, but Sam knew that size could be misleading.
Grant flicked his hand towards the window. ‘You’re thinking that I was dreaming of freedom when you came in. That’s what makes you sleep better, isn’t it, that monsters like me are kept away.’ It was his voice that had always been the biggest surprise. It was quiet, soft, almost with a hiss and the slightest hint of a lisp, but his eyes remained fixed, staring, his head tilted forward.
‘I wasn’t thinking anything.’
‘I don’t believe that,’ Grant said, shaking his head. ‘You see those bars as protection, maybe even revenge. I don’t. They are reminders of how many of us there are out there.’
‘“Us”?’
‘Beasts,’ Grant said, and a malevolent grin spread across his face, his voice acquiring a deeper snarl. ‘That’s the word you like, I suppose, because it makes me seem less human, as though I’m not like you.’
‘You are nothing like me,’ Sam said. He was trying to keep the hostility out of his voice, but it was hard, because thoughts of Ellie kept coming back to him, the victim of someone just like Ben Grant. ‘Sit down, please.’
Grant stayed on his feet for a few seconds, but then relented and scraped the chair on the floor as he sat down. He sat bolt upright, his hands on his legs. ‘So what do you want to know, Sam? You don’t mind first names, do you? You can call me Ben.’
Sam thought about what he could say about the missing girls, but then he thought of a different way to broach it. ‘What do you know about Carrie Smith?’
Grant’s eyelids fluttered for eyes a moment. ‘Carrie?’
‘Yes, Carrie. She was your most frequent visitor.’
‘You’ve just said it. She was my most frequent visitor. There you are, no secrets in this place.’
‘She’s gone missing.’
‘You say dead,’ Grant said, his tongue darting across his lip. ‘I read the papers. Ronnie has been charged with her murder. And Grace. Poor little thing. Never quite got to that perfect age.’
‘Do you know Ronnie?’ Sam asked, ignoring Grant’s attempt to goad him.
Grant didn’t say anything for a while. He rocked on the chair, staring at Sam, his eyes narrowing, a smile always just twitching at the corners of his mouth.
‘You insisted it was me,’ Sam said. ‘I’m here, so talk. What do you know?’
‘I’ll come to that,’ Grant said. ‘Let me tell you a story first.’
‘I’m not here to listen to you reminisce,’ Sam said. ‘If you haven’t got any information, I’ll go. I’m not here for your ego. I’m here to cover our backs, that’s all, so that if this is the one occasion when you had something to say that was worth writing down, I can make a note.’
Grant’s eyes were suddenly wide and fierce. ‘Fuck that, Detective. You’re here because I demanded it, and if you don’t speak to me with some respect, then I stay silent, and so remember that protecting yourself isn’t just about turning up. It’s about listening, and treating me with the fucking awe that you feel.’
There it was, Sam thought, the quick flip of the murderer, the menace just beneath the surface.
‘Awe?’ Sam said.
‘Yes, awe,’ Grant snapped. ‘I can guess your excitement today, coming back into my world. Tonight, you will go home and say, “Guess who I spoke to today”, and that pretty wife of yours will be so impressed that the answer is Ben Grant, and that’s why you’ll tell her, to impress her. She will want to know about me. What am I like? Did I scare you?’ He tapped his fingers quickly on the table, like a drum roll. ‘And she will get herself a little turned on by it, and so when she climbs on you tonight, all wet and horny for the first time in a while, she won’t be thinking of you. She will be thinking of this meeting, of me, wondering what it would be like to be here, locked in a room with me. So enjoy it, Detective.’
Sam leaned forward, both of his arms on the desk, his fingers clamped into tight fists. ‘Or maybe I will look at my daughters and thank God that you are in here, so that they are a little bit safer.’
As soon as the words came out, Sam knew he had given away too much. Grant’s eyes narrowed and a small flush crept up his cheeks.
‘What are they like, your little girls?’ Grant said, smiling, his mouth just a thin mean slit. ‘Would they be my type?’
Sam took some deep breaths. Stay in control, he told himself.
‘You don’t know anything, Grant,’ Sam said, and closed his notebook. ‘Carrie will stay missing. That’s fine. I don’t want to be here. You can get your kicks with someone else.’
As Sam got to his feet and went towards the door, Grant said, ‘Things have changed now.’
Sam stopped. ‘What do you mean?’
‘Another girl has gone missing. She looks nice. Long dark hair. Likes horse riding. Good family.’
Sam turned round.
‘You’re not here about Carrie, I know that,’ Grant said. ‘You want to know about the missing girls.’
‘How do you know about her family?’
‘I saw the news. I’ve got a television in my cell.’
‘There’s only been a release of her name and a photograph. How do you know the rest?’
‘I knew her father,’ Grant continued. ‘He’s a councillor, and a magistrate, and so he will have the ear of your Chief Constable and have strong words about you if you walk away now.’ Grant smirked. ‘So sit back down and indulge me, if you want to find her. She might still be alive, but not for long. Don’t you be the one who messes things up.’
Sam knew Grant was playing with him, making him think that he knew more about Julie McGovern’s disappearance. A formal press conference had not been held yet. There had been just enough information released to make the news bulletins on television and radio, a name and a photograph and her last known location, hoping that it might be enough to generate the right phone call. The media buzz would give the news conference proper coverage, and then it would hit the social networks. Launching a public appeal needed the brains of an advertiser.
Sam placed the notebook back onto the desk and sat down again. ‘This had better be good.’
‘It will be,’ Grant said, enjoying his moment.
Joe needed a break. He was already becoming consumed by Ronnie’s case. He had read the papers over and over, each time hoping something new would jump out at him, but it didn’t. All he saw was a strong circumstantial case. It just needed two bodies to make it airtight. Joe just needed two live people to make it disappear.
He put his head in his hands and as he closed his eyes, Ellie came back to him. She did that when he wasn’t expecting it, almost as if he could only keep her away if he willed it that way. She was the shadow over his life, the wrench of guilt that threatened to overwhelm him if he didn’t focus on keeping it at bay.
He thought of that day fifteen years earlier, and he saw her again, Ellie walking, her headphones on, oblivious, turning into the gravel path that took her between the trees that would lead her back to their house. Joe had been a long way behind her, but he had seen her. And there was a man there, and each time Joe thought of him, his image burned into his mind a little more. Sharp blue eyes, like squints, and a blond fringe under his hood, turning to follow Ellie. And it wasn’t just the image of the man that burned into his memory. It was his own weakness, how he had watched her and had done nothing. That was his shame. His secret.
He jolted as he opened his eyes. His forehead felt clammy. The memory did that to him. It didn’t fade with time, a smothering wave of darkness that engulfed him whenever he forgot to hold it back. He could have stopped her killer. He could have saved her.
Joe allowed his breaths to slow down as he tried to focus on Ronnie’s case.
Monica had been given the job of driving Ronnie home, Gina with her, so that they could speak to Terry Day’s neighbours on the way back. They might know more of what went on that day, when Carrie went missing. If someone else had carried Carrie’s body out of the house, someone might have seen it. More importantly, he wanted to know what they might say if the police ever got round to speaking to them. And despite what Ronnie said, Joe wasn’t ready to give up on Terry Day.
Ronnie’s information about Carrie selling her body gave Joe a new angle. He tried to work out how he could find out more about that. His mind skimmed through the active files he had, whether he could exploit any of them to get access to the seedier side of the city. Then he smiled. There was one.
He went to his cabinet and pulled out the file he was looking for. It was an assault case and the victim had called Joe a fortnight earlier, wanting to drop the case. It wasn’t as simple as that though, because the prosecution might force the victim to go ahead if they were tipped off about his reluctance. Joe had backed off from speaking to him, it might be a set-up, but he had told his client, who had told him to set up a meeting. The assault case was routine, but Joe’s client moved in the right circles to know what was going in with the prostitutes in the city. If Joe could arrange the meeting, where the options could be more easily explained, his client would owe him a favour.
Joe scoured the file for the victim’s number and then dialled. When it was answered, he said, ‘Daniel? It’s Joe Parker, from Honeywells. You called me not long ago. I’ve spoken to my client. He is willing to listen to you. Can you get into town now?’ When Daniel agreed, Joe said, ‘Go to the Acropolis café, behind Bridge Street.’
When he hung up, he called his client and told him where to be. They had talked about this but Joe had advised him against it. The risks were too great. There was something in it for Joe now.
It would be some time before the meeting, and Joe found it hard to concentrate. He could do some work on other cases, but alone in his office, his fingers tapped on the desk and his mind went back to the evening before.
His feelings towards Kim had moved on from memories of their few college intimacies and been replaced by their occasional conflicts as lawyers on opposing sides. There had been coffees together and parties at barristers’ chambers, and he had spent plenty of time with her in court, enjoying tense exchanges and then a flirt and a talk between cases, but the evening before had been the first time since college that it had been just Kim. Had it reawakened old feelings, or was it something else? The gap in his life that made him browse singles’ websites?
Joe stared at his phone. He wanted to call Kim, just to check that they were still on for later, that nothing had changed, but then he stopped himself. What was he hoping for? That she would change her mind, and then he could remind himself that romance just wasn’t for him? That was nothing to do with Kim. But when he thought of her, as he had done through the day, he felt that familiar crawl in his stomach and butterfly flutters. The images of Kim in his head, how he saw her whenever they came across each other in the courtroom, were all mixed up with older memories, of her heavy breaths, of her moving on him, the comedown afterwards, Kim lying naked in his arms.
Then he realised something else – that for as long as he thought about Kim, he felt some of his darkness lift.
