Innocent Blood (30 page)

Cooper’s mouth fell open; he couldn’t even think of a denial.

‘And if you want to know which way’s the right way, just ask Dave about Blite’s bet; I gave him some inside information.’

She was still laughing when Fenwick rang her.

‘You sound cheerful.’

‘Just enjoying a joke at poor old Bob’s expense.’ She hesitated, then thought
blow it, why not?
and proceeded to tell Fenwick of her conversation.

‘You what!’ He sounded appalled.

‘Why not? If you don’t confront the demons they only eat you. I just hope McPherson loses a lot of money. He’s carrying the book and if I know Bob, he’ll make sure he’s the last to know the truth. It’ll be a sweet moment.’

Fenwick was silent.

‘Andrew? Are you OK; you’re not angry, are you?’

‘Not with you. I was just thinking. We’re both going to be very late; I’ll miss the children’s bedtime anyway so how about my stopping by the station on my way home – say sometime after nine o’clock – and we can have a quick bite to eat?’

‘Perfect!’ she said, laughing again. ‘I’ll just make sure that McPherson knows what’s happening.’

‘My idea exactly.’

Jason MacDonald stood at the bar and waited for the landlord to notice his outstretched £20 note. From time to time he glanced back over his shoulder to check that Sarah Hill was still there, tucked in an alcove away from the main lounge. He would have preferred to interview her at her home but for a reason still beyond him she’d insisted on coming out. When he had argued against the idea she’d threatened to cancel their agreement and he’d backed down rather than risk losing her.

Over the past painful week he had extracted her version of Paul’s last days word by excruciating word. She broke down frequently and once she had kicked him out of the house. Yet the next day she was almost normal and greeted him as if nothing had happened.

‘Two gin and tonics, please, and a packet of peanuts.’

They had reached the final day of Paul’s life and he was close to completing the best story he’d ever written. He had started to play with the idea of writing a book about Paul and the major. That wasn’t in the contract of course but let her try and stop him. It was the least he deserved for spending hours cooped up with a complete nutter. He picked up their drinks, fixed a smile to his face and manoeuvred back to their table, ready to press record for the last time.

Another package arrived from the Well-Wisher; this time it was sent to ACC Harper-Brown. Inside was a letter, a photograph taken at an angle as if it had been snapped in a hurry and a pair of boy’s underpants, grey with age. Harper-Brown summoned Fenwick to his office where he stared at the latest delivery in astonishment.

‘The laboratory is on standby to process everything urgently; a bike is waiting to take them as soon as you’ve had a chance to see them.’

Fenwick put on protective gloves and opened the bag carefully.

The photograph was out of focus and badly taken. It showed part of a wall, surrounded by trees with a section of ornate ironwork to one side.

‘Could be a fence or even a gate. I’ve had enhanced copies made and distributed to traffic across the county already in case they recognise it.’ The ACC’s normally self-satisfied tone was absent; he was all business.

‘Good, you never know.’ Fenwick turned the picture over. There was writing on the back, badly faded with age. ‘Are these names?’

‘Yes, don’t bother straining your eyes because he mentions them in his letter, here.’

‘Alec Ball has a tattoo,’ Fenwick interrupted. ‘Could the “Joe” be Watkins?’

Fenwick reread the letter and studied the picture. As he did so there was a knock on the ACC’s door and Nightingale walked in.

‘Sorry to be late, sir, but I was out following up a lead and only learnt of the meeting a short time ago.’

The ACC stared at her with disdain.

‘I was not aware that you were invited.’

‘I left a message for her, sir,’ Fenwick interrupted. ‘The ACC has received another letter,’ he told her.

She read a copy quickly, her forehead lined with concentration, nodding as if the contents confirmed her own thoughts, then studied the picture.

‘Observations, Inspector?’ Harper-Brown had decided to make her earn her right to stay.

‘I imagine it was postmarked London again, same paper and envelope, no prints or saliva.’

‘Probably, the lab hasn’t processed it yet.’

‘The names are interesting. If they relate to Ball and Watkins it means firstly, they were confident Paul would never identify them again, and secondly that they knew this Nathan character as well as Taylor. Maybe Nathan’s the man behind the paedophile ring you’re investigating.’

The ACC raised an elegant eyebrow at Fenwick at this mention of Choir Boy but directed his remarks to Nightingale.

‘All rather obvious comments, hardly worth your interruption.’

For once, Nightingale didn’t blush at his words. If anything she seemed to agree with him.

‘Quite, but it’s always best to get the straightforward out of the way first. What really interests me is the language of the letter. There are some odd, almost archaic, phrases:
“I confess…there was great evil in Harlden…seek out the man
” and so on. It’s almost biblical.’

‘I thought the same,’ Fenwick leant forward eagerly, ‘and that might explain a lot.’

‘I fail to see how.’ The ACC leant back in his rather grand chair, his calm demeanour the antithesis to Fenwick’s enthusiasm.

‘We’ve been struggling with the motivation behind the letters. Why tell us snippets of information but not give us Taylor’s current address, or the location of Paul’s grave? It doesn’t make sense. We speculated that the writer might be an ex-lover of Taylor’s, or one of his clients with a grudge, even a boy he’d abused, but if that were the case they would have told us more.

‘But supposing the sender is a priest. He might have come by his knowledge in the confessional, or in a conversation he considers bound by the same rules. So he tells us only what falls outside those conversations!’

Fenwick’s tone had grown increasingly animated as the attraction of his theory grew. The ACC conceded that it was an idea worth pursuing.

‘What else does this letter tell us?’

Nightingale interrupted, eager to demonstrate her thinking.

‘This is about more than Taylor. Our Well-Wisher wants us to find this house. Taylor left the area years ago. He’s directing us towards the man who owned it – Nathan or The Purse as he was called.’

‘It’s a terrible picture.’ Fenwick’s mood sobered as he looked at it. ‘My son could do better.’

His words hung in a sudden stillness as everyone realised the significance of what he’d said. He spelt it out for them.

‘Paul took it, didn’t he? He risked a shot at the house. It explains why it’s blurred and at an angle.’

‘So the picture was with Paul’s things that the Well-Wisher has kept.’

‘But how did he come by them?’ Despite his determination not to get carried away, the ACC was as eager now as the others.

‘That,’ said Fenwick, ‘is the key question, a very good point.’ The ACC’s lips twitched upwards. ‘What do you think, sir?’

‘Well, the obvious answer is that Taylor took Paul’s duffel bag with him rather than bury it with the body or the clothes. He was overcome with remorse, found a priest, confessed and handed the bag to him. The priest was unable to share his knowledge with anyone but kept the bag and its contents as, what does he say, a “memory of the boy Paul once was.”’

The ACC sat back with a satisfied smile on is face.

‘That would explain a lot,’ Fenwick agreed, ‘but not the underpants. There doesn’t appear to be any blood on them and why weren’t they buried with the other clothes?’

‘A detail I am sure you will iron out.’

Harper-Brown pressed a button on his phone and called his secretary into the meeting.

‘These are the items I mentioned earlier. The lab is expecting them and they are to have top priority. I know some of the evidence is old and degraded but they have exactly four days to deliver results. They’re to come to me personally as soon as they are available. Tell them to find me wherever I am and have DCI Fenwick join me.’ There was a discreet cough. ‘Oh, and Inspector Nightingale as well, I suppose.’

‘Only four days, he gave us five,’ Fenwick commented as the secretary left.

‘We’ll need a day to make our decision and plan a response. If we release the major and this letter remains secret all hell will break loose. If we don’t, our so-called “Well-Wisher” will go to the media, Maidment’s lawyer will challenge the grounds for our arrest or at the very least our insistence on remand. We’ll need to be extremely well prepared for either eventuality. It is now Wednesday, 31
^st
August. I suggest that you keep all of Sunday afternoon and Monday morning clear.’

He turned his attention back to the few items on his scarily ordered desk and Fenwick and Nightingale assumed, correctly, that they were dismissed.

The initial post-mortem examination of Ball was inconclusive. The body showed signs of liver damage consistent with heavy drinking and some arteriosclerosis but neither was enough to be the cause of death. On Wednesday afternoon Pendlebury rang.

‘The toxicology results are back from the lab,’ he told Fenwick. ‘Thought you’d want to know at once. He had a lethal level of Seconal and amylobarbitone in his system. With the condition of his liver he would have been dead within half an hour of ingestion. Source is the malt whisky found beside his body. On its own the Seconal would have induced coma but mixed with alcohol and the amylobarbitone, death was inevitable.’

‘You say it was mixed in with the whisky?’

‘So the lab says; the bottle was the source and there were traces in the glass.’

‘We didn’t find anything to explain the presence of barbiturates in his flat – no prescriptions or empty pill bottles in the rubbish, nothing.’

‘I’m sure the coroner will be fascinated. My job is to tell you the cause of death and it was the ingestion of an overdose of barbiturates the effect of which was accelerated and amplified by moderate liver disease and alcohol.’

‘Thanks, Doc. I’ll have Clive prepare for the inquest.’

He was about to call Tom Barnes at the Forensic Laboratory when he was saved the trouble.

‘Andrew, we’re working flat out on the ACC’s bumper bundle but I thought you’d want to know we managed to finish processing some of the material Louise Nightingale sent us first. I was going to call her direct but there’s something I thought you should hear. The DNA from saliva on the cigarette butts belongs to Alec Ball.’

Fenwick sat up straighter in his chair.

‘It was Ball’s? So when he gave our surveillance the slip he was heading out to the copse where the Anchor boy says he saw a car burning on the night Paul disappeared. That’s too much to be a mere coincidence. What about the blood?’

‘Definitely human but we haven’t had a chance to extract DNA so it will have to wait until we’ve finished the ACC’s work. I’m sorry but we’re at full stretch.’

‘Tom, as ever, you’ve been incredibly helpful and I know you’ll do your best. I’ll let Nightingale know about Ball being at the site.’

He rang her, explained what had happened and called an immediate case meeting of both the Choir Boy and Hill/Eagleton teams for five that evening, in Harlden.

The incident room was packed with around ten officers of all ranks, Superintendent Quinlan among them. Fenwick and Nightingale stood at the front, three large whiteboards behind them, crammed with photographs from the cases. On the centre board there was a blank silhouette with a question mark inked across it.

‘This afternoon we received news from the lab that suggests a strong link between the murders of Malcolm Eagleton and Paul Hill, and a current MCS investigation into a paedophile ring in Sussex, codenamed Choir Boy. Choir Boy is a sensitive operation and for those of you from Harlden I must emphasise that what I am about to tell you
cannot
leave this room.’

He walked to the board on his left and pointed to one of three photos.

‘Joseph Watkins. Identified during an FBI investigation as the purchaser of paedophile material over the Internet; arrested last week in possession of such material and now remanded in custody. This morning we received information from an unknown but credible source that a man called Joe – possibly Watkins – might have been involved in Paul Hill’s murder.’

There was a soft rumble in the room like the growl in the throat of a dog as it picks up the first scent of prey. The hackles of the Harlden team rose in unison.

‘Problem: Watkins suffered a nervous breakdown on arrest and we cannot interview him until the prison doctor clears him as fit. Second problem: his condition has deteriorated since he’s been in prison and the psychiatrist has prescribed drugs that mean any statements we extracted from him now would be inadmissible. Which is a bugger,’ Fenwick shook his head in frustration, ‘because we really need his evidence. Still, there’s plenty more we can do in the meantime.

‘MCS watched Watkins for months and identified Alec Ball,’ he patted the picture next to Watkins, ‘as an acquaintance. Ball lived in Brighton and was found dead yesterday of barbiturate poisoning.’

‘Murder or suicide, Andrew?’ Quinlan interrupted and Fenwick nodded to Clive to answer.

‘Too early to say, sir. The drugs had been mixed with whisky Ball was drinking at the time of his death. The only fingerprints on the bottle are his but so far we haven’t been able to find the source of barbiturates in his home, which is suspicious but not conclusive.

‘We were about to arrest Ball on evidence we’d secured as the result of weeks of surveillance. What’s more, the same source that gave us the name “Joe” as one of Paul’s murderers also told us that a man with an octopus tattoo called Alec was party to it. Ball has such a tattoo.’

Cries of ‘Bring the source in’, ‘Who is he?’, ‘When can we interview them?’ filled the room. Fenwick waited for them to die down.

‘Our next problem,’ he said with a wry grin that suggested that his confidence was in no measure damaged by a further setback, ‘is that we don’t know the identity of the source. They communicate by letter, call themselves the Well-Wisher and remain elusive. But they have sent us physical proof to support their assertions, which has been validated.’

Nightingale took up the briefing, standing by the board on the opposite side.

‘Paul Hill and Malcolm Eagleton. Two local schoolboys who vanished in the early Eighties. As you know, Malcolm’s remains were found in July with traces in the grave that led to an excavation at The Downs Golf Club in Harlden and the discovery of Paul Hill’s bloody school uniform. Despite a considerable amount of work we’ve been unable to confirm that Paul and Malcolm were abducted by the same man or men but circumstantially there’s enough for us to continue to treat the crimes as connected. At the time, suspicion for Paul’s disappearance fell on Bryan Taylor but he hasn’t been seen since the day of Paul’s abduction and we still don’t know what he looks like beyond this artist’s impression.

‘Major Jeremy Maidment was arrested for Paul’s murder earlier this month because his blood and fingerprints were found on the sack containing Paul’s clothes. We have no suspect for Malcolm’s death and Maidment has a confirmed alibi for the day he disappeared. Based on the interrogation of Maidment and a lot of background work by Bob Cooper and his team we’ve concluded that the major might be covering up for the real killer,’ she walked to the centre board and tapped a blank silhouette, ‘for reasons we don’t as yet know. Progress towards a trial for Maidment was continuing well until the intervention of the Well-Wisher two weeks ago.’

The presentation slipped seamlessly between Fenwick and Nightingale, reinforcing an impression of professional, close cooperation that subtly worked its influence on their teams.

‘The Well-Wisher has given us credible information about Paul’s abduction,’ Fenwick explained. ‘He insists that Maidment isn’t guilty, that Bryan Taylor was a pimp who introduced the boy to a number of army men, including someone called Joe,’ he tapped Joseph Watkins picture, ‘a man called Alec with an octopus tattoo,’ Ball’s tattoo was obvious in the photo pinned to the board, ‘and a man named Nathan or possibly, “The Purse”.’ Fenwick went and stood by the central blank silhouette.

‘The missing link. According to the FBI, we have a significant paedophile ring here in Sussex that’s been running for years. It’s just possible that Paul and potentially Malcolm were sucked into that ring and became some of its early victims. None of the men we’ve identified so far has the ability or resources to organise crime on the scale the FBI has suggested. Unfortunately, neither Ball nor Watkins is in a state to give us the name of the man in the middle. And while we are close to arresting two other men seen buying suspicious goods from Alec Ball,’ he pointed to two surveillance photographs pinned beneath Ball’s picture, ‘from the information we’ve gathered they look like punters, not our missing link.’

‘This missing link? Andrew, are you suggesting that the man the Well-Wisher calls Nathan is also behind the paedophile ring?’ Quinlan asked.

‘I can’t say that,’ Fenwick shrugged, ‘but he could be. Maidment is protecting someone who’s either blackmailing him or towards whom he feels extraordinary loyalty. Such a person could be influential and organised enough to be behind Choir Boy but it’s by no means certain it’s the same person.

‘What is already clear is that the two investigations are connected by Joseph Watkins and Alec Ball; and that was before a further development, thanks to Inspector Nightingale.’ He turned towards her. ‘You tell them.’

‘Last week we were able to trace a friend of Paul’s who wasn’t interviewed at the time of his disappearance. Oliver Anchor told us that on the evening Paul vanished he saw a car similar to Taylor’s red estate burning on farmland close to where he lives. This week, following coverage of Paul’s disappearance, Ball visited the exact location of the burning car, on the Sunday afternoon before he died. He left behind cigarette stubs that bear his DNA. At the site we also found a trace of human blood that isn’t his.’

Her news caused a stir in both teams and a rush of questions.

Fenwick again let the noise subside before he spoke.

‘We need to find answers – and quickly. From now on the two investigations will be run together but with distinct lines of inquiry: we need to find other victims of abuse. They may have been seduced by Taylor, or be part of the Choir Boy ring, or the two things may be linked. We’ll be going public about Choir Boy within the next few days and I want Sergeant Alison Reynolds to take the lead.

‘The site where the car was allegedly burnt needs to be processed properly and we need to keep close to Watkins in case he recovers. Clive Kettering will take the lead for this.

‘Most importantly we need to identify Nathan/The Purse who may be the person Maidment is covering for. Bob Cooper is already handling that for Nightingale and will continue to do so as a high priority.

‘And we need to cross-check the results from the Forensic Lab, including those that will be delivered later this week as a result of more material from the Well-Wisher. Nightingale will oversee that, working with both the Harlden team and MCS.

‘Meanwhile, I’m going to continue to try and trace the Well-Wisher and follow up with the Met on the surveillance they’ve been doing on a house in London visited by Ball last week. I’ll need daily reports on all these lines of inquiry and there will be regular coordination meetings. This is a critical week and whatever aspect of the work you’re involved in, don’t treat it as routine, no matter how trivial it seems. Whatever you find out could be absolutely critical.’

By working around the clock and prioritising the ACC’s case above everything else, the Forensic Laboratory extracted and matched DNA from Paul’s underpants by midnight on Friday. A copy of the report was taken by police bike to the ACC’s home and another to Fenwick.

Fenwick read the contents carefully and rang Nightingale even though it was nearly two in the morning. She sounded remarkably alert.

‘The report’s come in and the ACC has called a meeting for first thing tomorrow. Ahead of that I want us to get together in Harlden, say six-thirty?’

‘No problem. I’ll see you there.’

Just before the receiver was replaced he was certain that he heard a man’s voice in the background say ‘Who was that?’ It was vaguely familiar. He set the alarm for five-thirty but couldn’t get back to sleep. Even though he told himself it was because he was puzzling over the implications of the lab findings, it was the sound of that voice that echoed in his mind and eventually drove him from his bed as the birds started singing.

The aroma of bacon sandwiches greeted him when he walked into the incident room. Cooper was there as well as Nightingale so he imagined she’d called him.

‘Toasted sandwich?’ Nightingale threw him a warm greaseproof bag. ‘They’re from the all-night café. There are sachets of brown sauce behind you, and mustard.’

She was tucking into her own with gusto and it was soon gone. A trickle of grease and HP Sauce lingered at the corner of her mouth after she finished and Bob Cooper leant forward to wipe it off. Fenwick concentrated on tackling his own breakfast and tried not to speculate on the reason for Nightingale’s appetite and bright eyes.

‘You look a bit rough, guv, if you don’t mind me saying.’ Cooper looked at his former boss with concern.

‘Didn’t get much sleep. Here’s the report, read it while I make us some proper coffee.’

When he returned with three steaming mugs – milk and two sugars for Cooper, the others black – the mood in the room had changed.

‘Both Ball and Watkins abused Paul before he died,’ Cooper said, outrage in his voice. ‘Plus two other bastards.’

‘Probably Nathan and Taylor,’ Fenwick said, passing the coffees around, ‘but nothing to tie the abuse to Maidment.’

‘The Well-Wisher’s bona fide. Maidment didn’t kill Paul.’ Fenwick could hear disappointment in Nightingale’s voice. ‘He’s given us names, the tattoo and DNA in a neat package.’

‘Not just any DNA,’ Fenwick reminded her, ‘semen on Paul Hill’s underwear. The report confirms that his DNA is on them too, see – here.’ He pointed to the paragraph; she read it and looked sick.

‘This means Paul was gang-raped before he was killed.’

‘Looks like it but today the most important finding is that there was no trace whatsoever of Maidment’s DNA on the items the Well-Wisher sent us.’

‘The ACC is going to want to release him on bail, isn’t he – perhaps even drop the charges?’ Nightingale chewed her lip in frustration.

‘That’s my guess, except that it’s not entirely his call. CPS will make the final decision and, given the profile and seriousness of the charge, I expect this will go all the way to the top.’

‘To the DPP?’ It was rare for Nightingale to be in awe of anyone but the idea that the Director of Public Prosecutions might be involved in one of her cases had clearly shaken her. Fenwick noted her anxious glance towards the ranks of files around the walls and smiled inwardly. He sympathised.