When the Music's Over (42 page)

“Well, that's what it feels like. You've no idea what it's like. You'd have to be me to understand.” He tapped the center of his chest. “My dad told me that when he was a kid, people used to say we lived ten in a room and ate KiteKat by choice. Like we were animals or something. But we had a culture. We had a religion. We had morals. You see these young white girls today in their short skirts and torn stockings, looking like prostitutes, talking and swearing like they do, the language they use, drinking in the street, having sex whenever they feel like it, taking drugs. They're just rubbish. If any of our daughters behaved like that, we'd kill them.”

“Well, that's another issue, and not one that concerns us here. All we're interested in is whether you killed Mimsy.”

“I didn't.”

“So you say. There must have been something about the girls you liked, no matter that you say they were rubbish, seeing as you spent so much time with them. Let's get back to the parties, Sunny. Especially the young girls.”

“They were all up for it. We didn't make nobody do anything they didn't want.”

“That's a matter of opinion.”

“It's you lot who let them run wild in the first place. Where are their parents when they're out drinking and taking drugs and having sex till all hours? When they come to us, they're already fully trained sluts. We don't have to force them to do anything. And there were no drugs involved.”

“Two of the girls are cocaine addicts,” Annie said. “Susan and Kathleen. And Mimosa was on ketamine the night she was raped and killed.”

“I don't know anything about no ketamine.”

“Isn't it true that Mimosa wanted to leave your little group? Isn't it true she wanted her own life back? Maybe she had somewhere to go, had found someone else? She wanted her freedom.”

“She was free to go whenever and wherever she wanted.”

“Where's Jade, Sunny? Where's Carol Fisher?”

“How should I know? And it's not my fault if they make a bad lifestyle choice and take drugs.”

“It is if you supplied them, got them hooked in the first place.”

“I told you. No drugs.”

“So our men won't find anything incriminating in your flat?”

“They will find nothing.”

“Very well,” said Annie. “Now you've decided to tell the truth, Sunny, what about Tariq Jinnah?”

“What about him?”

“Was he one of your drug connections?”

“I don't know what you're talking about. I know Tariq slightly, yes, from the community center. He bought food from my restaurant sometimes. That's all.”

“Come on, Sunny. We think he was one of the people responsible for the attack on one of my officers. A female, alone, four men.”

Sunny spread his hands. “What can I say. They're hotheads, Tariq and his friends. Young people today. That's why I have little to do with them. They do odd jobs for me, that's all. They have their own businesses going on, and I suppose they wanted to scare the police away.”

“Well, they went the right way about it, didn't they?”

“As I said. They are hotheads. Young and foolhardy.”

“They not only knew that she was a police officer, but they also knew what she looked like, even down to the color of her hair in the pitch-dark,” Annie said. “As far as I know, you, Faisal and Ismail were the only ones we talked to on the Strip. Not Tariq or his friends. Did you describe us to them?”

“I might have mentioned something,” Sunny mumbled.

“Now we're getting somewhere.”

“But I didn't tell them to do anything. Just, you know, keep an eye out, scare you off if you came around asking questions.”

“Why did you want us scared off? What were you afraid we'd find out?”

“Nothing. We just like to be left alone. Most cops aren't interested in what goes on around here, anyway. They don't bother us.”

“Bother you doing what?”

“Just living our lives, you know.”

“So you admit you set Tariq and his mates the task of keeping an eye open for me and ‘Ginger'?”

Sunny nodded.

“How did it work?”

“They were driving around the estate and Tariq saw a green Corsa.”

“You knew that DC Masterson drove such a car?”

“I saw you and her drive away in it the other night.”

“So what did Tariq do?”

“He rang me, and I told him to wait there until you came back. Just to stand around the car, you know, but not to do anything.”

“A warning?”

“Sort of.”

“And that's all?”

“That's all. Nothing more. They have their own interests to protect. I'm not responsible for them or their actions. I suggest you talk to them about it.”

“We will,” said Banks. “No worry. We'll have them in custody, too, soon. Anyway, we'll get back to that later. For the moment, perhaps you can tell us what happened that Tuesday night, when Mimsy got into the van?”

“It was no different from usual. I had some cousins dropping by, and they offered to give Mimsy a lift. She wanted to see her girlfriends in Dewsbury. That's all.”

“Are you sure that's the only reason she went with them in the van?”

“Yes, of course.”

“The three men had sex with her, Sunny.”

“So? That's her business. I wasn't there.”

“I think it's yours. I think you asked the men to punish her for being disobedient, for wanting to leave.”

“No way.”

Banks riffled through his papers. “Zahid Bhatti, Younis Qazi and Masood Chaudhri. Do those names mean anything to you?”

Sunny's jaw dropped, and his eyes opened wide. “How did you—?”

“Police work, Sunny. Good old police work. Well, do you know them?”

Sunny swallowed and nodded.

“That's good,” said Banks. “They'll be here soon, when West Yorkshire are through with them, and they seem willing to help us with our inquiries. I have to say, they leave a lot to be desired when it comes to getting rid of the evidence.”

“Look,” said Sunny, a pleading tone coming into his voice. “You have to understand how it is with us. Our culture. Things are different.”

“You're doing it again, aren't you?” said Annie.

“What?”

“That race card thing. Go on. Tell us how you're different, then.”

“We owed them one, right? The cousins. And she was it. Mimsy. They took a fancy to her. Girls are a kind of currency. There's an exchange rate, and it keeps changing. Some days it's in your favor, and some days it's not. We were repaying a debt, that's all it was. There was no punishment.”

“That's an interesting cultural difference,” said Annie. Glancing at Banks. “We'll have to remember to take it up with PC Jawanda back at the police station, but I think I know what he'll tell me.”

“What?”

“That it's a load of bollocks. That every culture, every ethnic group, has its bad elements, its rotten apples, its psychos and sexual predators. I know mine does. I suspect that yours is no different.”

Sunny scowled. “Nobody assaulted her. She was up for it, right enough.”

“How do you know that? You said you weren't there.”

“Zahid told me.”

“You've talked with your cousins since the incident?”

“Sure. They're family. We talk on the telephone often.”

“Of course she was ‘up for it,'” Annie cut in. “She had enough ketamine in her to fell a horse.”

“If she did, I don't know where she got that. It's nothing to do with me.”

“Maybe your cousins supplied it?” Banks suggested.

“I don't know.”

“What did Zahid tell you happened?”

“She got a bit frisky, like. My cousins are only human. It was like pass the parcel, that's all. They didn't kill anyone. They just fucked her. Then all they did was throw her out of the van. It was just a bit of fun.”

“So your cousins admitted to throwing Mimsy out of the van?”

“Yeah. But it was just for a laugh. She was just a silly little white slut. It was a bit of fun.”

“Fun?” Annie said. “Fun? Throwing a young girl out of a moving van naked and stoned in the middle of the night in the middle of nowhere. That's your idea of fun?”

“They slowed down. They told me they slowed down. She wasn't hurt when she left the van. And it was a warm night.”

“How did you feel about that?”

“I don't know. I wasn't there. It was nothing to do with me.”

“But she was one of your girls. Your girlfriend, in fact. Weren't you angry to hear that she had been treated so disrespectfully?” Annie asked.

“I'm not possessive. It's not—”

“I know,” Banks cut in. “It's a cultural thing. But are you sure you
weren't just a little bit jealous? Are you sure you didn't head out after them, and when you saw Mimsy walking back up that lane, you got out and gave her a good thrashing?”

“No! You can't say that!”

“Just asking, Sunny. What did you do after the van left Wytherton?”

“Nothing. I went to bed. I watched TV.”

“Which is it?”

“I watched TV in bed.”

“Alone? Well, I suppose you would be, with your girlfriend gone to have sex with three of your cousins, wouldn't you? Unless you had Jade or Kirsty or Mel to keep you company. Did you, Sunny?”

“No. I was alone.”

“That's not much of an alibi.”

“I didn't know I'd need one. How could I know they'd throw her out of the van and she'd be on the road?”

“Why did they throw her out of the van? Did they tell you?”

“She was weirding out on them. The K, I suppose. They couldn't deal with her no more, she was like a wild animal, so they chucked her out. They didn't mean to hurt her.”

“Was it because she wouldn't consent to commit certain sex acts?”

“Come again?”

“She wouldn't let them do what they wanted to her.”

“She'd let anybody do anything to her when she was off her face like that.”

“How do you know, Sunny? You said you had nothing to do with ketamine, with drugs.”

“You're twisting my words.”

“How am I twisting your words?”

“What about the other girls?” Annie asked.

“They're all the same.”

Banks glanced at Annie. The disgust was clear to see on her face. “Well, DI Cabbot,” he said, “I think that's all the questions for the moment. Why don't we put Sunny here in a nice comfortable cell while we gather the rest of the statements and see what the teams have stumbled across in their searches?”

“Wait a minute. What do you mean, cell? I've told you what I know, haven't I? I've cooperated. We're done. You've got to let me go now.” He looked despairingly at Haroon Malik. “Tell them they can't do this.” The lawyer remained impassive.

“But we haven't finished with you yet,” said Annie. “Not by a long chalk.”

A
SEA FRET SHROUDED XANADU THE SECOND TIME
Banks and Winsome paid a visit to Danny Caxton. This time they were ushered by the young servant into a large white room with a white grand piano at its center. The mist nuzzled up against the French doors. Three navy blue leather armchairs were arranged around a huge open fireplace, though there was no fire burning. Caxton wore a white shirt and a yellow herringbone sweater fastened by its sleeves around his neck. They sat down, and there was no offer of refreshments.

“It's good of you to see us, Mr. Caxton,” Banks said.

“Goodness has nothing to do with it. If I thought I had a choice, do you think you'd have got through the gates?” Caxton sipped an amber-colored drink from a crystal glass. Banks thought he caught a whiff of expensive and old single malt whisky.

“Where's Mr. Feldman?”

“Don't worry, he's within hailing distance. I think I can handle you, but if I need him, I'll give him a shout.”

“Fine,” said Banks. He gave Winsome the nod, and she took out her notebook. “I just wanted to follow up on the little chat we had last time.”

“It wasn't a little chat. You were damned insulting. Not as bad as
that mate of yours I had over here yesterday. At least I assume he's a mate. Fellow called Burgess. Nasty piece of work.”

“Mr. Burgess is coordinating the investigation through the NCA,” Banks said. “As I'm sure he told you, we're exploring many avenues.”

“Fishing expedition is more like it. Seeing what muck you can rake up from publicity-hungry bitches who think they can sell their stories to the
News of the World
for a few thousand quid.”

“Sorry to disappoint you, Mr. Caxton, but the
News of the World
no longer exists.”

“Well, let's be thankful for small mercies. Still, it's no matter. One goes, another one springs up to take its place. Like weeds. Like coppers. What do you want now?”

“Some new information's come up.”

Caxton cocked his head to one side. “New information? Like what?”

“Tony Monaghan.”

“Who? Are you trying to insinuate that I assaulted men as well as women?”

“Come off it, Mr. Caxton. Don't play the innocent with me. You should remember Tony Monaghan. He worked for you from 1966 to 1967 until he was found stabbed to death in a public convenience in Leeds.”

“Ah,
that
Tony Monaghan. Well, yes, I do vaguely remember him, I suppose mostly because of the terrible thing that happened to him.” He put his index finger to his cheek. “As I remember he was a homosexual, wasn't he? Found dead in a place known to be frequented by that sort of character.”

“How did you know that?”

“Oh, come, come, you don't think you can trip me up like that, do you? It was in the papers at the time.”

“Did the police talk to you?”

“There may have been a brief conversation. After all, Monaghan worked for me on contract. I knew nothing that could help them.”

“Of course not. But then you knew the chief constable well, didn't you?”

“Ted Crammond and I were friends, yes.”

“So you remember him all right?”

“I remember my friends. I did a bit of fund-raising for the local police. You'll find it all on record.”

“Oh, we have,” said Banks. “But that was about all we found on record. Do you know that the investigation into Mr. Monaghan's murder was abandoned just over two weeks after his death?”

“I didn't keep track of it. You can't blame me for the police's inability to catch the killer.”

“Oh, but I think we can. I don't think there was much of an attempt made. I think it would have led police far too close to you, so you had a word in your friend's ear.”

Caxton narrowed his eyes. “Mr. Banks, that sounds to me very close to a slanderous attack on my character.”

“Then call in Mr. Feldman. Did you have any idea that Mr. Monaghan was homosexual?”

“None at all. I never asked him, and he never said. I must say there were no obvious signs in the way he dressed or talked or walked.”

“And you already knew he was interested in girls, didn't you?”

“I what?”

“Well, you see, Mr. Caxton, the important thing here is that our complainant remembers Mr. Monaghan as being the other man who raped her in your suite at the Majestic Hotel in Blackpool on the nineteenth of August 1967. She picked his photograph out of the newspaper.”

“How extraordinary.”

“You think so? Why?”

“She certainly has an active imagination, I'll say that for her, whoever she is. Is one rapist not enough for her that she has to pick another one out of an old newspaper?”

Winsome looked up from her notebook at him, a mixture of puzzlement and disgust on her face. Caxton grinned. “Oh-oh, I can see your sergeant here doesn't approve of my flippancy.”

“It's hardly a time to be flippant, sir,” said Winsome.

Caxton leaned forward. Banks tensed, feeling a sense of threat and aggression in the gesture. Caxton's mouth was twisted almost into a snarl. “Oh, I disagree, young lady. It's a perfect time to be flippant,
when you have such absurd, ludicrous accusations being thrown at you. Have you considered for a moment what your victim here has to gain by telling such outrageous stories about me?”

“She has nothing to gain,” said Banks. “None of them do. Except maybe a bit of peace of mind, a sense of justice.”

“Justice? Well, how public-spirited.”

“And don't you think it's odd that she picked Tony Monaghan, of all the people who had their pictures in the paper around that time? And that Monaghan was an employee of yours? Quite a coincidence.”

Caxton shrugged. “That's all it is. Coincidences happen. I'm sorry Mr. Monaghan was killed, but it was nothing to do with me.”

“Were you and Tony Monaghan on good terms?”

Caxton frowned. “As far as I can recall. As I said, I barely even remember him. It was a long time ago, and we didn't live in each other's pockets. After all, he was my employee. I like to think of myself as a generous and amiable employer, but one can't let the staff get too close and personal, can one.”

“I wouldn't know,” said Banks. “What was his role?”

“This and that. Everything to do with public relations, media, fans, events and promotion. Charity drives. The lot.”

“Invaluable?”

“Replaceable. Obviously, as I had to replace him.”

“Who with?”

Caxton waved his hand in irritation at the question. “I can't remember. Chris or Vinny or some such oik.”

“From the same advertising agency?”

“I wouldn't know. I didn't handle that side of the business. I was busy enough just keeping people entertained. Making them laugh, smile, cry. You should try it. It's harder than you think.”

“Oh, I try my best,” said Banks. “I've managed to get a few laughs out of you, at any rate. But I should think you've made far more people cry.”

“Laughs at the ridiculous things you've been accusing me of. I'll grant you that.”

“Did you murder Tony Monaghan?”

“What? First I'm a rapist, now I'm a murderer. Should I be shouting for Benny?”

“I don't mean personally, with your own hands. You wouldn't do that. I doubt you'd have the guts. But did you order it done?”

“Why would I do something like that? This is beyond a joke, even to me. And I've got a sense of humor.”

Banks leaned back in his chair. “I don't know why it should seem so ridiculous,” he said. “A man in your employ is murdered just two months after you raped a fourteen-year-old girl in a Blackpool hotel. And he was with you there. He raped her after you did. I can see all sorts of possibilities in that little scenario. Blackmail, for example? Or a sudden attack of conscience, no money involved, but a desperate need to get things off his chest? Can't you see the possibilities, DS Jackman?”

Winsome looked Caxton in the eye. “I certainly can, guv. Get that sort of thing all the time.”

“Do you know who the two men who carried his body across the park to the toilets were?” Banks asked.

“Now you've lost me.”

“Two men were seen carrying another between them. They looked like boxers or wrestlers, maybe bouncers. No necks. Who were they? You might as well tell us. We'll find out, you know, then we'll prove a connection.”

“Now I
really
don't know what you're talking about.” Caxton looked from one to the other, and there was nothing pleasant about his fixed smile. The Man with the Big Smile was not happy, and if Banks wasn't mistaken, he was even a trifle worried. He put his hands on the arms of the chair and pushed himself to his feet. In that gesture, it was possible to see him as an old man, struggling with stiffening joints and frail bones. “Well, interesting as all this has been,” Caxton said, slightly out of breath, “I have only two words to say to you.
Prove it
. And now, if you don't mind, it's time for my nap. If there's anything else, I'll call Mr. Feldman in and you can talk to him about it.”

Banks and Winsome stood. “No, that'll be fine,” said Banks. “We're finished anyway.”

“I very much think you are. I'd like to say I'm sorry you had such a wasted journey, but I can't really mouth the words with any degree of honesty.”

“I wouldn't say it's been wasted,” Banks said, as he and Winsome started heading for the door, past the classical rape scenes. “In fact, it's been most informative.”

“Make sure you don't lose your way home in the fog,” Caxton called out after them.

“Don't worry,” Banks called back. “We won't.”

ANNIE KNEW
that Doug Wilson must be as tired as the rest of the team. He may have felt at times like a spare part in the events of the last week or so, but he had spent a great deal of time in a darkened room with a couple of DCs from County HQ watching hours of boring CCTV footage of the roads around Bradham Lane and the Strip in Wytherton. They had got nothing from the latter. Either the cameras weren't working, there weren't any or the drives had been reused since Mimosa Moffat's departure. And they had got too much from the former, wasting hours tracking down cars and their owners, checking movements, alibis, police records. Apart from the stolen car, finally found burned out in a quarry outside Ripon, and the white van possibly used to carry Mimosa Moffat, they had found nothing of interest. They were still trying to find the car thief, with the help of the Ripon police, but to no avail. And the car was such a mess that there was unlikely to be much useful evidence in the remains.

So they were left with Jim Nuttall, rare auto parts supplier of Stockton-on-Tees, who had lied about being on the road at the time of Mimosa's ordeal, delivering a shipment to a dealer in Southampton. And that was why Annie was sitting in the passenger seat of a police Skoda with Wilson driving, on the busy A66 east of the A1, shortly after her interview with Sunny Rana. She thought Doug needed to get out of the darkened room for a while, and he seemed more than willing to accompany her.

There was nothing else she could be doing at the moment. Everything was in hand. The preliminary search of Sunny's flat had uncovered
small quantities of heroin, cocaine, marijuana and ecstasy, but no ketamine. Sunny's accomplices—Faisal Sabzwari, Ismail Hossaini and Hassan Azizi—along with the three cousins from Dewsbury, were busy telling their stories to detective constables and sergeants who probably had far better interviewing techniques than either Annie or Banks. Three of the Wytherton girls were in Eastvale now, in the “rape suite” especially designed for victims of sexual assault, with dim lighting and soothing music playing softly in the background. Their stories were slowly being coaxed out of them under promises of anonymity. There was really nothing to do but let the procedures follow their course and find out why Jim Nuttall had lied to Doug Wilson about the day he had made his deliveries.

Two things still worried Annie. Nobody seemed able to find Jade, and despite the successes and revelations of the past few hours, she still had no idea who had killed Mimosa Moffat. Sunny, or one of his colleagues, might have done it, but no cars caught on the CCTV had been identified with any of them—not even one of Ismail's taxis—and motive still remained a problem. Still, Sunny had no alibi, had the use of Ismail's minicabs, and as he was the leader, he might have had his own reasons to dish out punishment to Mimosa. Perhaps a punishment that had gone too far. They would keep at him, and if he had done it, Annie was sure that he would crack and confess eventually. For the moment, he was stewing in his cell. One of the Moffats might have done it, though Albert had an alibi, and Annie ruled out Lenny and Johnny. Which left Sinead. Junkie or not, she had kicked up a fuss, quite rightly, about the counselor who had messed with her daughter, so if she had found out about Sunny, she might have gone after him, too. The problem was that it was Mimosa who had been killed, not Sunny or any of his friends. Annie thought maybe Sinead lost it with her daughter, but the idea was beginning to seem farfetched.

They found Jim Nuttall working in his garage on an old Morris Minor station wagon, the kind with the wooden frame around the back and sides that Annie's father used to drive when she was a child. It had been an antique even then. The garage was a lot tidier and cleaner than most garages Annie had seen. You didn't feel you'd end
up with a grease or oil stain no matter what surface you touched, and the racks of parts were clearly labeled and, she noticed, ran in alphabetical order by make of car and name of part. It smelled of rubber, oil and sheared metal, a mix Annie really didn't mind at all. There was something comforting about it.

The door at the back led through to an office, and that was where Nuttall took them, for a brew. The office, which smelled the same as the garage, was cramped and looked out on a backyard piled with rusted car parts, mostly tires, bumpers, radiator fronts and doors. There were two hard-backed chairs opposite Nuttall's, which sat behind the desk, and they eased themselves in. The office was a bit less tidy than the garage, but not much. Nuttall himself was a middle-aged man in a dark blue overall, a little overweight, thinning on top.