‘Maybe she didn’t and Simpson’s lying. He wouldn’t be the first suspect to lie to us in a murder inquiry.’
‘Ain’t that the truth. Oh well, we’re not going to find answers to that or anything else sitting here on our arses.’ Rafferty fastened his seatbelt. ‘Let’s get back to the station. I’ll give Gerry Hanks a bell on the way and get him to put Simpson through the computer to check him out. Maybe he’s got a history of violent attacks on women.’
‘Clutching at straws, now, Joseph?’
‘I’ve got to clutch at something, man. I feel like the original drowning man.’
Of course, Rafferty’s straw-clutching exercise proved as fruitless as most others, when the answer came back in the negative.
‘Doesn’t necessarily mean anything,’ Rafferty said, mentally adjusting the goal posts as they drew up at the traffic lights near the police station. ‘Every murderer has to start somewhere.’
‘True, but you and I know they’ve usually shown signs of violence earlier.’
‘Maybe he did but we just didn’t catch him. Infallible we ain’t. Anyway, usually isn’t
always.
And none of the men in this case has a criminal record. Could be she just goaded one of them beyond endurance. I mean look at her poor husband, who chooses to walk the streets all day rather than go home to his wife. Look at the stepson who spends time after school at the library, studying, when he could work just as well at home. Our victim seems to have caused extreme reactions, at least amongst the men in her life. It’s the sort of behaviour liable to get a woman killed. I’m inclined to think that’s what happened in this case.’
They arrived back at the station. The morning dragged into lunchtime, then afternoon. They ate canteen sandwiches at their desks and studied more reports.
The phone broke the drowsy stillness of the post noon hour. Rafferty picked it up. ‘DI Rafferty. Oh, hello Mr Staveley,’ he said. ‘He’s what? When? Yesterday? And you’re only reporting it now?’ Rafferty listened for a few more seconds, then said, ‘We’ll be over directly,’ and put the phone down.
‘Guess what,’ he said to Llewellyn. ‘That was John Staveley. His son’s gone missing. Run away, it sounds like. Guilty conscience, do you think?’
‘Maybe he’s just overwrought. You know what teenagers are like with their topsy-turvy emotions.’
‘Mmm, maybe so. Anyway I said we’d go over there. There’s not a lot else happening, God knows.’ They put on their jackets and walked downstairs and out to the car park.
When they got to John Staveley’s house, he appeared utterly distraught — far more so than he had seemed after his wife’s murder. Was this another possible pointer to guilt, along with the fact that he and his wife hadn’t been getting on?
Staveley invited them into his living room and they all sat down. Llewellyn took out his ever-present notebook. Staveley ran his hands through his hair and said, ‘You’ve got to find him. I’m going out of my mind with worry. Kyle’s not a streetwise boy. Anything could happen to him.’
‘All right, Mr Staveley. Calm down. We’ll find him. Tell me what you know.’
‘He left for school as usual yesterday morning on his bike, with his school bag, but he never got there. I rang a couple of Kyle’s friends when he didn’t come home and they told me as much.’
‘I see. Was he wearing his school uniform?’
‘Yes, of course. I’d have noticed if he hadn’t been.’
‘Have you any idea where he might have gone?’
Staveley ran his hands through his hair again. By now, it was standing on end, and he shook his head. ‘I’ve rung everyone I can think of, but no one’s seen him. He could be anywhere. Anything could happen to him.’
‘Did he take any clothes with him?’
‘I suppose he must have. His schoolbooks are in his bedroom. He must have emptied them out of his bag and used it for his clothes. But I don’t know what he’s taken. He’s got a lot of stuff.’
‘Okay sir. Could you let me have a recent photo of Kyle?’
‘Yes. I’ve got his latest school photo. It’s on the mantelpiece. I’ll get it.’
He stood up and walked over to the fireplace, removed the photo from the frame and handed it to Rafferty. ‘I’d like it back.’
‘Of course, Sir. We’ll copy it and return it to you as soon as possible. While we’re here, we’ll need to see his bedroom.’
‘His bedroom? Why? You don’t think—?’
‘We don’t think anything yet, Sir, Rafferty told him. ‘It’s just routine. There may be something that will give us a clue to his whereabouts, that’s all.’
‘I see. Yes, of course. Whatever will help. It’s first left at the top of the stairs.’
Rafferty and Llewellyn climbed to the first floor and entered Kyle’s bedroom. It was the usual teenage pit of disorder, with drawers pulled out and clothes and other belongings strewn about. It was difficult to know where to start.
Rafferty began with the drawers of the dresser but all it contained was jumpers and underwear. Next, he looked under the pillows and mattress, but there was nothing hidden under either. He took off the pillowcases, but all they contained was pillows. The wardrobe came next. He hunted through the pockets of jackets, anoraks and trousers and came up with nothing but fluff, used tissues and pieces of string. There wasn’t a clue to Kyle’s whereabouts anywhere in the room, so they returned downstairs.
‘I’ll need to talk to Kyle’s friends, Mr Staveley,’ Rafferty told him. ‘So if you could let me have their names and addresses. I presume they attend the same school as your son?’
‘Yes.
Elmhurst Comprehensive.
Their names are Jason Endecott and Andrew Prendergast.’ He supplied their home addresses and Llewellyn noted the details down. ‘He had other friends, friends he had made at his private school, but he doesn’t see them now. I think he’s ashamed to mix with them now he’s going to the Comprehensive.’
Rafferty gave a sympathetic nod. The teen years could be hellish even without the trauma of changing schools and having to make new friends. ‘You didn’t say why you left it so late to tell us about Kyle’s disappearance, Sir.’
Staveley rubbed an unsteady hand over his unshaven face and slumped further back into his armchair. ‘I—I suppose I was worried that it looked bad for Kyle. I thought you’d think he ran away because he was guilty. But he’s never been close to sudden death before. Neither have I for that matter. He’s just a boy. A frightened boy.’
Maybe he was, thought Rafferty but he chose to run away at a particularly pertinent time. It wasn’t necessarily a pointer to guilt — of course it wasn’t. And maybe Kyle was just a crazy, mixed up kid, but when they found him – if they found him – he would have a few questions to answer.
There was clearly nothing else to be learned here though. John Staveley couldn’t even tell them which of Kyle’s clothes were missing, and the boy’s bedroom had told them nothing. Maybe his friends, when questioned, would admit to knowing more than they’d told Kyle’s father.
They drove over to where Jason Endecott lived. Luckily, the boy was in, as his mother confirmed. Rafferty told her why he wanted to question her son and she led them up to Jason’s bedroom where he was working on his computer. Not that he could tell them any more than he’d told Staveley.
‘You’re sure Kyle didn’t say anything to you?’ Rafferty questioned.
‘Of course I’m sure. I’d tell you if I knew anything. Kyle said nothing to me, nothing at all.’
‘Okay, Jason.’ Rafferty produced a card and handed it to the boy. ‘But if you remember anything, please give me a ring.’
Jason nodded and shoved Rafferty’s card in his pocket. Mrs Endecott apologised for the fact that her son couldn’t be more helpful and showed them out.
‘Let’s get over to Kyle’s other friend, Andrew Prendergast.’ Rafferty said when she shut the front door behind them. ‘Maybe he knows more.’
But they were doomed to disappointment there, too, as Andrew Prendergast could tell them no more than Jason.
They went back to the station and Rafferty got Llewellyn to arrange for Kyle’s photo to be copied and sent to the media. He issued a statement to go with it. At a guess, he assumed that Kyle would have made for London. It was where most runaways headed. He sent officers to the local train station to see if Kyle had been spotted boarding a train to London. He also sent officers to the bus station to question the staff there and despatched a copy of Kyle’s photo to one of his contacts in the Met for circulation. Kyle had, according to his father, set off on his bike in his school uniform. But presumably, he would quickly have changed out of that as Elmhurst Comprehensive’s maroon blazer was pretty distinctive. Kyle would want to make himself as anonymous as possible.
And then there was the bike; had he taken it wherever he’d gone? Or had he dumped it somewhere? After ringing John Staveley and getting a description of the bike, he dispatched more officers to check the routes out of town that Kyle might have taken if he’d decided to hitch a ride and dump the bike. He’d covered every eventuality; now all he could do was await results.
There was still no sighting of Kyle by the next morning. John Staveley rang every hour on the hour, seeking answers, but Rafferty had none to give him. In any case, they couldn’t concentrate solely on Kyle Staveley, tempting as it might be. They still had other suspects, other possible motives to look into.
The fingerprints in the Staveleys’ kitchen and the other rooms revealed a wealth of information. Those of two of Adrienne’s male friends: Gary Oldfield and Michael Peacock were much in evidence, as were those of the family and nearest neighbour, of course.
Rafferty was aghast to discover that Abra’s fingerprints were found in the kitchen and other rooms. What had she been doing there? Had she known the dead woman? He was stunned also to find she had a criminal record for drug possession. He hadn’t known she had a drug problem. He was so discombobulated that he barely heard Llewellyn’s comments concerning the several prints that they were unable to identify. His answers were reflex ones, scarcely passing through his brain on their way to his lips.
‘Perhaps they’re from Kyle’s friends,’ Llewellyn suggested.
‘I can’t see him bringing his friends home to that house,’ Rafferty replied as he sat back in his chair and picked up his cup, his mind a whirl of conflicting thoughts. ‘He didn’t like spending time there himself, so he wouldn’t want to subject his friends to his stepmother’s presumed lack of welcome. It’s my guess he would go to his friends’ houses rather than the reverse.’
Slowly, Llewellyn nodded. ‘Mmm, you’re probably right. Still I think we should get their prints just to eliminate them.’
‘Do that. And while you’re organising that, I’ll go and break the happy news of Kyle’s disappearance to the super.’ He’d been trying to come up with a reason to put this off as he knew the kind of reception the news would receive.
However, when no good excuse occurred to him, he said, ‘Wish me luck, as it’s not going to go down too well.’
Rafferty was right. Superintendent Bradley was not best pleased: to hear him you’d think Rafferty had supplied Kyle with his train fare himself.
‘Surely the boy gave some indication of his intentions?’ Bradley questioned once Rafferty had sat down and broken the bad news.
‘Not to me he didn’t. And his father seemed just as surprised as I was. He wasn’t even able to tell me which of the boy’s clothes were missing. He’s been no help at all and neither have Kyle’s two school friends. He kept his plans very close to his chest.’
‘Well, find him, Rafferty. You’ve had his photo circulated among the media at least?’
‘Of course.’ Stung by the implication of incompetence, Rafferty’s reply was brusque. He found himself staring beyond the super to the wall behind him. The wall was a testimonial to Bradley’s monumental ego, covered as it was with photos of him with various local and national worthies, the broadest of grins on his fat face. Rafferty had never seen him grin like that.
‘I suppose that’s something, but. I’m not pleased with the way this case is progressing — or should I say not progressing? I want to see some movement and I want to see it soon. Do you understand me?’
‘Yes, sir,’ was Rafferty’s sullen reply.
‘Get off, then and get me some results. Someone must have seen Mrs Staveley’s killer. Someone must have seen this boy, this Kyle. It’s up to you to find them. I want some action on this, Rafferty. I’ve got Region breathing down my neck on this one.’
Rafferty just stopped himself from slamming the door behind him. ‘Bloody man,’ he muttered to himself as he walked up the stairs. ‘Why couldn’t he get promoted to Region and out of my hair?’
‘Talking to yourself young Rafferty? asked Bill Beard, the reception desk constable as he walked down the stairs towards him. ‘They say that’s the first sign of madness.’
‘Who’d wonder at it? I’ve just been in to see the not-so-super and he chewed me out and then some. The man expects miracles and evidence produced out of thin air. Jesus Christ I ain’t.’
‘He’s brass, me duck.’ Beard was generous with his endearments, even when addressing senior officers. He was something of an institution at the station, having been there longer than anyone else. ‘What can you expect?’
Rafferty shrugged. ‘Nothing, I suppose.’
‘Then you won’t be disappointed, will you?’
Rafferty sniffed and made for his office, his mind in turmoil as he wondered how best to tackle Abra about her presence in the death house, not to mention how to conceal the fact of her presence there from the rest of the team.
He’d have to share this information with Llewellyn as he knew there was no way he could keep it from him. Besides, Abra was Dafyd’s cousin, so Rafferty thought it only fair that he should share the burden of unwanted knowledge.
But what to do about it was down to him. He wished he had some notion of what action he might take.
Chapter Ten
Kyle Staveley had still not been found by the next day, in spite of all their efforts to trace him. If he had disappeared into London’s vast maw, there was no telling when he’d be found. But meanwhile, the rest of the investigation was continuing. Not that that was going any better than the hunt for Kyle. No new leads had turned up and no new evidence against their current crop of suspects had been found. Rafferty didn’t know what to do next to get the results the super was demanding. He’d done everything by the book, with no result worthy of the name. Despairing, he asked Llewellyn if he had any suggestions.