Shooting Elvis (24 page)

I winked at her as I dunked mine, saying, ‘We’re not offered these normally; you’ll have to come more often.’

‘They’re for special visitors only,’ Gilbert said. ‘Proper sports people, not washed-up ex-footballers who never made the grade in the first place.’

I said, ‘Ouch!’ and reached for another one.

‘So you don’t think there’s any link with the two other cases, Charlie?’ Gilbert was saying.

I shook my head and mumbled a no. When I’d swallowed my biscuit I went on, ‘According to Sonia our man is about five-foot six and slightly built. When they tried hoisting a body over the toilet it was possible for one man to do it, but difficult. The murderer is fairly powerful, we think.’

Sonia looked pale. ‘Were you thinking I’d been attacked by the murderer of those other two?’ she asked.

‘No,’ I assured her. ‘We considered it, but you were attacked by a nutcase who’s been stalking you. He’s nothing to do with the others.’

‘What’s this about cars in the car park?’ Gilbert asked.

‘It’s a favourite place for dog-walkers,’ I told him. ‘They go there every night. We’ll see who’s
there this evening, ask what they saw, the usual stuff. One woman in particular speaks to us. She may have seen something.’ I couldn’t resist adding, ‘You know what women are like,’ which earned me a scowl from Sonia.

I took her over the road for a late lunch and then we collected her car. After she’d driven off I had a look for tyre prints but the ground was as hard as bell metal, so I had a wander into the wood. It was a different place. The trees were newly into full leaf and the sun was lancing down through the canopy, like the light through a stained glass window in a cathedral. I thought of the poem from my schooldays, about dappled things, but couldn’t remember any of it. I’d have to make a return visit, sometime. Gerard Manley Hopkins, I believe it was.

I found the fallen tree we jumped over, near where Sonia said she’d tripped. Mud from our trainers was dried on top of the trunk. A wood pigeon ceased its monotonous calling as I approached, then rattled away through the branches. I wafted away a bumble-bee that came enquiring. About fifteen yards further on was the place where he’d felled her with a wire across the track. It was downhill, and she’d have been running flat out, galloping recklessly, her long legs raking over the ground as she rejoiced in the sheer joy of it. Poor kid would have hit the deck like a ton of bricks. I sat on the log and quietly fumed.
Someone was going to pay for this.

I didn’t find anything. You never do. Task force had been and gone, and if there’d been anything to find, they’d have done it. I walked back to the car and drove to the nick.

Dave and Maggie volunteered to interview the
dog-walkers
. ‘There’s three or four of them at that time,’ I told them. It was nearly five o’clock, and the office was full. Spirits were high, with everybody sharing the relief I’d felt when I saw Sonia limping out of the darkness. ‘The only one I remember,’ I continued, ‘is a woman in a Citroën Picasso who has one of those Scotties. A white one.’

‘Vicious little things,’ Eddie said. ‘Got bitten by one, long time ago.’

‘Little dogs are the worst,’ Brendan informed us. ‘I was once bitten by a shih-tzu.’

‘What’s a shih-tzu?’ George asked.

‘It’s a zoo with only a budgie and a white mouse,’ Dave informed him.

Dave rang me. I’d grounded Sonia, forbidden her to train for at least three days. Events caught up with her, reaction struck, and she was in bed when I arrived home. I lay alongside her, on top of the duvet, for an hour, holding her close. Like I said, it’s all about gratitude. I made us pork fillet, roast potatoes and vegetables, and we’d just finished eating when he called.

‘She didn’t turn up, Charlie,’ he reported.

‘Damn!’ I said. ‘That’s a set back. What about the others?’

‘One German shepherd, one spaniel and one mongrel. They’ve all seen the woman in question, but none of them know her. They’re all strangers to each other. Some of them come quite a distance to walk the dog there.’

‘What about other cars?’ I asked.

‘A red one, sometimes, two of them reported. Oldish, possibly a Nissan. Didn’t see the driver. I’ve asked them to think about it, let us know. And we’ll do a follow-up, of course.’

‘Of course,’ I said. ‘I wonder what happened to the woman with the Scottie.’

‘Possibly had a night off. We’ll find her tomorrow.’

We couldn’t keep it out of the
Gazette
, but were too late to include an appeal for the woman with the dog to come forward, so we asked local radio to do the job. I couldn’t imagine her listening to their mixture of football, rap, football, phone-ins and football, but it was the best we could do. And she may have grandkids who listen.

But she wasn’t there Wednesday or Thursday evening, and she didn’t come forward. It was another juggling act, dividing myself between the two cases. We were doing repeat interviews on the murder case, and still investigating Jermaine Lapetite’s contacts, but not making much progress.
I put Dave in charge of Sonia’s attack, but that was only for official consumption and to keep him away from Eddie. I was keeping a close eye on things myself.

Friday morning I rang the
Gazette
and asked to speak to the chief photographer. We’ve met a few times, and he’s always been helpful.

‘Do you use a digital camera?’ I asked him, after the usual pleasantries.

‘These days, we all use one,’ he told me. ‘Wouldn’t be without it.’

‘After the Oldfield 10K race you published some photos of the finish, including one of Sonia Thornton and myself.’

‘I remember it,’ he said.

‘Can you remember if you cropped it?’

‘I can’t remember, but I can assure you that I almost certainly did. Do you want me to dig it out for you?’

‘That was my next question.’

‘No problem. Do you have an email address?’

Technology. This was where I came unstuck. ‘Um, would it be possible for me to come to the
Gazette
?’ I asked. ‘Then maybe I can look at anything else you may have.’

‘No problem. When are you coming?’

‘Ten minutes?’

Ten minutes was OK, so I was soon in his tiny corner, scattered with documents, photos, camera paraphernalia and bags to carry it all in. A flat
screen VDU was showing a screensaver of a crashing surf, but in pride of place above his desk was a photo of Princess Diana, taken when she came to open the new children’s wing at Heckley General, back in ’93. She looked gorgeous.

He pulled another chair next to his for me and shoved a CD into his computer. After a few clicks thumbnails of all the pictures that he’d taken at the race came into view and he asked me which ones I was interested in.

I scanned the mosaic of tiny images until I found a familiar one. ‘There,’ I said, pointing.

He clicked on it, the thumbnails vanished and a new, full size picture began to scan down the screen. In seconds I was faced with a photograph of Sonia and myself as I’d seen it in the paper over two weeks ago, but I wasn’t looking at us. I was looking at the man standing to the left of Sonia, half-turned to gaze at her, one arm reaching out so he could touch her elbow. His mouth was stretched in a wide, adoring grin, but I couldn’t see his eyes because the sun was reflecting off the lenses of his wire-rimmed spectacles. An icy hand gripped my stomach and squeezed, and a muscle in my throat started to twitch.

‘Him,’ I croaked, and my hand was shaking as I pointed. ‘Can you blow him up for me, please?’

He brought the man to the centre of the screen and zoomed in on him. I took a copy of the sketch I’d done from my pocket and held it alongside the VDU.

‘How does that look?’ I said.

‘Pretty good,’ he agreed.

‘Can I have a print of that, please? And a disc with it on?’

‘No problem. Is there a story in it for us?’

‘You bet there is.’

Sunday I took a day off and we drove to Kilnsey in the Dales. Kilnsey Crag was a great spot to watch climbers dealing with a huge limestone overhang, back in the days when they carried Rawlbolts with them and could have scaled a cooling tower. Now sanity prevails and the sport has reverted to more natural methods. We crossed the Wharfe and hiked up over Featherbed Moss onto Conistone Moor, through the lines of shake holes and disused mineshafts. The shake holes are depressions in the ground caused by the limestone being dissolved or reacting with elements in the sandstone that underlies it in places. That’s the theory. The miners were looking for lead. It started with the Romans and lasted until about 150 years ago. It’s impossible to imagine that the moors once rang to the sound of miners’ clogs on the rocky tracks, but they must have done. The desperation that made them want to burrow underground, following the vein so they could feed their families, is beyond belief. Now, potholers go down there for amusement. The whole area is like a giant Gruyère cheese, riddled with holes, more porous than a string vest.

‘How did they know where the lead was?’ Sonia asked, after I’d given her the fifty-cent history lesson.

‘I don’t know,’ I replied. ‘They were clever people. Something about the landscape, or the geology, told them that it was probably here.’

The idea was to have a break, a change of scenery, and to leave the traumas of the week behind, but inevitably we talked about things. We were eating our sandwiches, seated on some rocks, when Sonia raised the subject.

‘I’ve been thinking, Charlie,’ she said.

‘What about?’

‘That car. At the golf course. I think I remember it, unless the idea has been planted in my head. But I can see it. A dull red colour, shabby. It was there two or three times when we left. I’m sure of it.’

‘I know,’ I agreed. ‘I can see it too. It was
forlorn-looking
, as if abandoned. I’m supposed to be the observant one, but I didn’t take any notice of it.’

‘Do you think you’ll catch him?’

‘Yeah. We’ll get him through the photos.’

‘Then what will happen?’

‘Uh!’ I snorted. ‘That’s when the problems will start. If he doesn’t plead guilty he’ll say you led him on. It won’t be easy for you.’

‘But I’ve never met him before. Well, I didn’t think I had. It’s all in his mind.’

‘I don’t think it will come to that. It won’t if I get my hands on him first, that’s for sure. Let’s change
the subject. There’s a rather nice tea shop in Burnsall. How’s the knee shaping up?’

‘No problem,’ she said.

‘Right, then. It’s your turn to carry the rucksack.’

Dave rang just before the gruesome bit at the end of
Seven
. Brad Pitt has his gun on the killer, and you’re doing the maths. Two more, you’re thinking. Two more, but which two out of the three of them? Then he opens the box…

Except Dave rang.

‘Hiya, Shagnasty,’ I said. ‘Great timing.’

‘You weren’t…were you?’

‘No, we’re watching a video. What can I do you for?’

‘I found her, the woman,’ he replied.

‘The dog-walker?’

‘Who else?’

‘That’s brilliant! When was this?’

‘She came this afternoon. She remembers seeing the red car on several occasions, but never saw the driver. And never looked at the number, of course. I said you’d probably want to talk to her tomorrow.’

‘That’s great, Dave. I hope you haven’t spent all weekend skulking round the golf course.’

‘Of course I have. That’s what I do best. See you in the morning.’

‘See you then.’

I put the phone down and turned to Sonia. ‘Dave’s found that woman with the Scottie, and she
remembers a red car. Doesn’t help much, but it’s another piece of the jigsaw. If he has no plausible reason to be there it all helps to indicate he was stalking you.’

We started the video again and watched the credits scroll up the screen. When we got to Mr Pitt’s secretary I hit the rewind button, switched the telly off and asked Sonia if she’d like a drink of any sort.

She said, ‘I wonder if the pictures came out.’

‘What pictures?’

‘The ones she took in the car park, the other night.’

It was like a big light went on in my brain. You work at a case, get nowhere, then suddenly it all falls into place. Someone in charge decides that you’ve made the effort and deserve the reward, so he pushes a pile of goodies your way.

‘The photos!’ I gasped. ‘I forgot the photos!’ I grabbed the phone and dialled Dave’s number.

‘It’s me,’ I began. ‘About a fortnight ago the woman with the dog took a photo of Sonia, in the car park. Then I took one of the two of them together, on her camera. The cars were in the background. I’m sure of it. Get round there as early as is decent and get the film or whatever off her. Please.’

‘Is that you, Charlie?’

‘Did you hear me?’

‘It’s as good as done.’

‘Thanks. I’ll remember you in my will.’

The sanctity of marriage is a thing of the past, if the statistics are anything to go by. Every week there are about a dozen wedding photos in the
Gazette
. At least six of them have the couple’s children on them, and four of the remaining couples already share the same address. The brief captions don’t indicate which are second or third marriages, and there’s little to indicate how long each one will last. And for every wedding there are two other people deciding to move in together, to see how things work out. Usually, they don’t.

All this is bad news for us. Kids are being brought into the world and raised without a regular man in the house. A succession of uncles is a poor substitute for a dad who’s always there to help you build a kite or pull out a loose tooth. Or, more likely these days, to debate the possibilities of intergalactic travel or the rival merits of X-wing fighters and Millennium Falcons. The kids run wild, without fear of authority, and we reluctantly feed them into the legal system that blights them for the rest of their stunted lives.

But it’s not all bad news. For every broken marriage or failed relationship there’s an aggrieved partner. Usually, but not always, it’s a woman left to raise the kids while dad sneaks off somewhere out of reach of the Child Support Agency. She struggles along for a year or two, the resentment gradually building up inside her, until one night, when the kids are playing up and she’s too tired to
deal with them, she reaches for the phone and dials Crimestoppers. Revenge, plus a small fee, helps ease the burden. More than a few murderers have fallen into our welcoming laps that way, plus a steady succession of burglars and other felons. But mainly it’s drug dealers.