No Way Home

‘No.’

‘OK. Do you have family locally? Anyone you can turn to for support?’

Once again, she shook her head. ‘Ranjeet’s family are here. Mine are in Manchester. His mother and I…’ She shuddered.

‘It’s often the way with mothers-in-law, isn’t it?’ He smiled reassuringly. ‘I’ll get Naz to give you the details of the local support network, to help you through.’

‘Thank you.’

Pete’s instinct was to reach out to her, take her hand, but he didn’t know how that would be seen in her culture, so kept his hands firmly on his knees. ‘I know it won’t bring him back, but we will do all we can to find out who did this and bring them to justice, Mrs Singh. That’s a promise.’

She stared at him, her eyes brimming.

‘I’ll leave you with Naz. Again, I’m sorry for your loss.’

*

Ben shook his head, his short, spiky hair glistening under the strip lights of the squad room. It was mid-afternoon and he had just got in, having returned from Pennsylvania Road. ‘There were some people not in, of course. We’ll have to go back for them. But so far, we’ve drawn a blank on the area canvas.’

‘There haven’t been any taxi-related complaints of sexual assault in the city in the past five years, either,’ said Jane. ‘But I did find one thing. There was a complaint made against him back in 2008, but it wasn’t followed up because the victim refused to come forward.’

‘What sort of complaint?’

‘A woman came in and told the desk sergeant he’d raped her friend. But the friend refused to talk to us and she was from out of the county.’

‘Have we got any details? Names, addresses?’

Jane shrugged. ‘Yes, but it was eight years ago. No telling where they’ve gone or what’s happened since.’

‘Follow it up anyway. See what you can find.’

‘Of course.’

Mrs Singh hadn’t mentioned anything about this. Did she know? How long had they been married? It could have happened before they were together, Indian culture being what it was – arranged marriages and so on – but it would be something to check on, he thought.

Dick looked from Jane to Pete. ‘Everyone we spoke to reckoned he was always polite, friendly and appropriate. No hint of anything like that.’

‘And yet I was told there were two complaints against him with Cathedral Cabs,’ Dave said. ‘The second one just before he left. Can’t say yet whether it was the reason he left, but...’ He shrugged. ‘It makes you wonder, doesn’t it? The owner’s on holiday abroad; a cruise in the Caribbean. Due back the week after next. But no charges were filed in either case. Both customers just made a complaint to the company and left it at that. I’ve spoken to the other drivers on the ranks at the bus station, St David’s, the Arches. Even went out to the airport. None of them seem to be aware of any issues, but I don’t suppose they’d admit it if they were, would they? Bad for business.’

Pete nodded. ‘His pre-bookings were done by mobile phone or email. I did an Internet search, but came up empty, and I’m waiting on his mobile phone provider to come through with a full set of records. They set aside their privacy considerations when I pointed out that he wasn’t going to give a damn, being deceased.’

Dave leaned back in his chair and stretched, his black waistcoat pulling tight across his stomach. ‘So, to summarise: he’s one hell of a lucky bugger, with three complaints against him for sexual assaults but none of them followed through. But other than that, as of now, we’ve got SFA.’

‘Except that his last recorded drop-off was at St Thomas railway station,’ Pete said. ‘And the distance on his meter, if you work back in that direction from where he was found, would put him somewhere near the Old Mill.’

‘Which would fit with the timeline,’ Dick pointed out. ‘Someone wanting a ride home from there.’

‘Yeah. The staff weren’t aware of anyone, though. Although it’s perfectly possible someone used a mobile, of course.’

‘And how many of those would have been in or around there at that time of night?’ Jane said sourly.

‘Loads of them, I bet,’ Dave said, looking up from his screen.

‘Worst comes to worst, we’ll have to find out and track them down,’ Pete said. ‘Although we can only do that for the ones on contracts, of course. Any pay-as-you-goers will be out of the picture unless they’re regulars in there. But that’s only if every other line of enquiry falls flat.’

‘Thank God for that,’ said Ben.

Dave laughed. ‘Worried about your workload, Spike?’

‘I don’t mind working. What I don’t want is RSI.’

‘Don’t worry,’ Pete told him. ‘Dave will help.’

Dick laughed at the expression on Dave’s face. ‘Serves you right for taking the piss.’

The phone rang on Pete’s desk. An internal call. He picked it up.

‘Gayle.’

‘Peter.’ He recognised DI Colin Underhill’s voice. ‘I need a word. In my office.’

CHAPTER FIVE

‘Close the door.’

Colin Underhill sat stiffly in his chair, big hands flat on his desk, his broad face expressionless.

Pete did as he was asked and Colin nodded to the spare chair in the corner. As Pete sat down, Colin leaned forward, putting his elbows on his desk.

‘I’ve been talking to Tommy.’

Pete felt a stab of urgency in his chest. ‘How is he? When can I see him?’

‘He’s fine. And you know the answer to that second question. He’s got charges outstanding. And he’s a material witness in the Malcolm Burton case.’

‘Yeah, but the charges are just trumped up to get him in, aren’t they? I mean, he would be carrying, wouldn’t he? A knife would be essential for what he was doing.’

Colin nodded. ‘But this was a flick-knife.’

‘A…? Where the hell did he get one of those?’

‘He told me he’d had it for years. His words. Bought it on the street when he was ten.’

‘Jesus! That’s the first I knew of it. Christ!’ It fitted with what Simon Phillips’s file on the boy suggested, but that had just been on paper. This was real. What the hell had he been getting up to while Pete was out of the way, at work? Had he really become the evil little toerag Simon’s file portrayed? And, if so, how? And why?

‘I asked him about Malcolm Burton and Rosie Whitlock.’

Pete looked up, Colin’s voice interrupting his thoughts. ‘And?’ Malcolm Burton, schoolteacher and paedophile, had abducted thirteen-year-old Rosie six months ago from outside her school on the day that Pete returned to work after an extended period of compassionate leave following Tommy’s disappearance. Pete’s investigation of the case had thrown up the fact that Tommy had been intimately involved in Rosie’s abduction and subsequent sexual abuse, as well as the death of at least one other victim, ten-year-old Lauren Carter.

‘He says Burton picked him up off the street. Took him home. Threatened him and his family if he didn’t do as he was told.’

‘Well, yeah. We guessed that much, despite what Burton said.’

Colin was nodding slowly. ‘Which makes it a classic case of one word against the other.’

Pete leaned forward. ‘So, f…’ He stopped. He was about to say that forensics would give them the truth, but that was equivocal, to say the least. In fact, some of it specifically suggested that Tommy was guilty, although Rosie Whitlock herself painted him as another victim rather than a willing participant. ‘Burton’s case is coming up in just a few weeks now. What can we do?’

Colin’s eyebrow rose. ‘We can’t do anything. You can’t be involved. Not with Tommy tied up in it. You know that. You need to pull everything together from the case and bring it to me. Sooner the better. I’ll review it and take it from there.’

Pete had expected as much. It was standard procedure in situations like this. ‘And in the meantime? What happens to Tommy?’

Colin shook his head. ‘He’s proved himself a flight risk. We need his testimony, plus there’s his own possible involvement. He can’t be bailed. He’ll have to go to Archways.’

‘So, he’ll be able to have visitors.’

‘Louise and Annie, yes.’

Pete sighed, eyes closing. It was what he’d expected. He would not be permitted to see his son again until after he’d testified, but at least his wife and daughter could. And, with Colin on the case, he had no doubt that the best outcome possible would result in the end. Except… He opened his eyes. ‘Did you ask him about Lauren Carter?’

Lauren had been held with Rosie Whitlock for a time, then killed. And forensic evidence on the body had suggested that Tommy had been directly involved in her death.

Colin drew a long breath and let it out through his nose. ‘I asked.’

‘And?’

He shrugged. ‘Again: one word against another. No way to prove either scenario now.’

‘So, we need a confession from Burton.’

Colin grunted. ‘Good luck with that.’

‘He’s a narcissist. He’ll do whatever he thinks will give him the best result. He’ll have to be told we’ve got Tommy now.’

‘Yes.’

‘And he’s in the city jail.’

‘He is.’ Colin’s tone was becoming more cautious.

‘So, any interviews will be done there. Where they’re not recorded. Solicitor-client privilege and all that bollocks. I’m sure he’ll have found out by now how his sort are treated in prison. And he’s looking at a long stretch, whether or not murder gets added to the charge sheet. If he survives, that is – doesn’t get shivved in the showers one fine day.’

Colin’s lips were pursed. ‘What I think you’re suggesting is unethical at best.’

‘Not politically correct, I’ll give you that. But unethical?’ Pete shook his head. ‘What would be unethical would be to let him get away with murder.’

‘Either way, you can’t interview him again. Not now we’ve got Tommy. That’ll be down to me.’

Pete nodded, holding his gaze. ‘I know.’

*

Pete stared at the big street map of the city on the squad room wall. ‘Where had you come from, Ranjeet? Whoever killed you had to be in the cab with you, so where did you pick them up?’

He concentrated on the point where the taxi had been found. Its position and the marks in the grass around it suggested it had come along Argyll Road. The meter, if it was correctly calibrated, suggested a distance of nine tenths of a mile or thereabouts from his last pickup, so… He reached up and traced a forefinger back along Argyll, through the woods and out onto the A377. Which way then, though? Into town or out? It looked like a good half-mile remained from there to wherever he’d made the pickup. Going back into town gave him the area around the carvery by the river, as they’d said earlier, the estate on the other side of the main road from there, or down the New North Road into the university or city centre. The other way led towards either Newton St Cyres or Stoke Canon. There were way too many choices. How the hell was he going to narrow them down? He stepped across to the wider map of the area that was pinned up to the left of the city plan.

Both Newton St Cyres and Stoke Canon were too far.

Into the city, then. But, where?

They knew Ranjeet had dropped his previous fare at St Thomas, but that didn’t really preclude either direction.

Then he looked closer at the map. Checked the distances.

‘Hmm.’

Regalvanised, Pete turned back towards his desk, sat down and flipped his notepad over to a new page.

‘You got something, boss?’ Jane asked.

‘Maybe. We said earlier that his meter might take us back to the Old Mill. But, taking the other fork, it could equally take us up to the clock tower.’

‘So…’

‘You might have been right. About the pepper spray. We might be looking for a prostitute. Or someone Ranjeet assumed was one. There’s several bars and hotels round there as well as the railway station just along the road. Maybe he made a mistake and paid for it the hard way.’

Jane nodded. ‘Possible, but it’ll be hard to prove. Not the most reliable set of possible witnesses round there, especially at that time of night.’

Dave glanced up from what he was doing. ‘No CCTV either, apart from Central Station. We did hear from forensics, though, while you were in with the Guv’nor. They found a print that might be significant. Just the one. They said it appeared to be female. And it was on the steering wheel, at what they described as a strange angle. But there were no matches in the system for it.’

‘So, no use until we catch whoever it is we’re looking for, if at all.’ Pete pursed his lips. ‘Looks like another late night, then. Thermals and thermos flasks.’

‘And here I was hoping to get lucky tonight,’ said Dick.

‘You’ll be in the right place, up by the clock tower,’ Dave said with a grin. ‘We won’t tell your missus, will we, guys?’

‘Keep practising, you might get to be a comedian one day.’

Jane laughed and gave Dave a shove. ‘I can just see you in your waistcoat and Chubby Brown flying hat.’

‘Now, that would have to go on YouTube,’ Ben said with a grin.

‘Ah.’ Dave leaned back, spreading his arms. ‘Fame at last.’

‘Remember us on your way up,’ said Jill. ‘You’ll want somebody to catch you on the way back down.’

‘Meantime, let’s concentrate on catching whoever killed Ranjeet Singh, shall we?’ Pete suggested. ‘We need a witness. And his car wasn’t exactly distinctive, so it won’t be easy to find one.’

*

‘Tommy.’

Colin Underhill sat down across the table from him. A big bear of a man in cord trousers and a tweed jacket, he looked like a farmer dressed up to go to town. All it needed was the flat cap and a suntan. Tommy held the smirk back off his face with difficulty.

‘Uncle Colin.’

They were not related, but it was what he’d always called his dad’s boss and his godfather.

‘We’ve got a problem, son. And getting out of it’s not going to be easy, even with me and your dad on your side.’

‘I told you – I never even thought of the knife as a weapon. It was a tool, that’s all. I used it pretty much every day round the fair. You can ask any of them.’

Colin pursed his lips, letting the air noisily out through his nose. ‘I’m talking about the other problem. Mr Burton. Lauren Carter. Rosie Whitlock.’

‘But, you said she supported what I told you.’

‘She does, but Burton won’t. And nor does Lauren.’

‘But, she’s…’ Tommy screwed his face up and dropped his head towards his chest. He swallowed, took a breath. ‘She’s dead.’

Colin grunted. ‘That’s part of the problem. She can’t speak, but her body tells its own story. And the doctor might be a friend of your dad, but he can only describe the facts as he finds them. And there’s a couple of those that put you firmly in the frame unless we can come up with something that throws the blame back onto Mr Burton.’

‘I told you.’ Tommy fixed Colin with a firm, almost angry stare. ‘He made me do those things. He made me.’

‘He made you strangle a ten-year-old girl?’

‘He grabbed my hands, put them around her neck and squeezed. He killed her, not me. He just had my hands between his and her neck, that’s all. And I wake up every night, dreaming about it because there was nothing I could do to save her. All I could do was let her know I was sorry.’ His face began to crumple with emotion.

‘All right, son. I understand. But, what about the rapes? Even at your age, you know a jury is going to believe you can’t do that unless you want to. Or, at least, unless your body wants to and your mind isn’t off in some other place entirely.’

‘Have you…?’ Tommy swallowed and dropped his gaze. His voice was little more than a whisper when he spoke again. ‘Have you seen the videos he made?’

‘Not all of them, but yes – some.’

‘Well, most of it was faked. Low light. Careful camera angles. Sharp editing. You’ve seen his darkroom and video suite?’

‘Yes.’

‘He’s good at it. People pay a lot for what he does. He sends stuff all over.’

Colin frowned. ‘How do you know that?’

‘I helped post them. I saw the addresses.’

‘Is there a record of those addresses anywhere?’

Tommy shook his head. ‘No. And I don’t remember any specifics – just some of the towns and cities that I saw.’

Colin nodded. ‘OK. But, back to the matter at hand. As you say, a lot of it could be faked, but not all. In some of it, it’s clear you were a willing participant.’

Tommy’s hands slapped down on the table. ‘OK. So, a few times, I had to let myself get into the moment. If I didn’t, he’d beat the shit out of me. Have you seen those videos?’

Colin looked horrified. ‘No.’

‘Well, they exist. They’re around somewhere. He’d…’ Tommy’s eyes closed and he let his head drop forward as he clamped his jaw shut, hands balling into fists on the table. He took a couple of deep breaths. Looked up. ‘I couldn’t stop him.’

He saw Colin’s arm move as if he was going to reach across the table, but the big man held himself in check. ‘I’m sorry,’ he said. ‘But Burton’s trial’s in just seven weeks. We need you willing and able to testify in case his defence team call you. You need to have everything straight in your mind and we need to know the facts in case we need to cross-examine you, to refute any of his accusations.’

Tommy nodded. ‘I understand.’

‘So, let’s move on. Once you got away from Burton, where did you go?’

Tommy shrugged. ‘Wherever I could find a place to doss, at first. I stayed around the city for a while.’

‘How did you eat?’

‘I got stuff wherever I could. It’s surprising what you can find, especially if you’re not picky.’

‘And you broke into your house while the family were out, at least once.’

Tommy nodded. ‘Just the once. To get some things.’

‘You waited till they were out. Did you know what they were out doing?’

Tommy shook his head. ‘I just knew they were going out, so I had a chance to get in and get what I needed.’

‘You must have found out at some point, though?’

‘What – about the posters? Yeah, I saw one or two a couple of days later.’

‘Your dad – a policeman – broke the law to put them up. Why didn’t you respond?’

‘Broke the law? What law?’

‘There’s a bylaw against posters in the city. Point is, your dad knew that. He put his career on the line to reach out to you.’

Tommy couldn’t stop his face twisting into a grimace. ‘Yeah, right. Good old dad. You can always trust him to do the right thing. Even if it’s bringing his own son in for rape and murder.’

Colin’s head was shaking slowly. ‘We wanted you in as a witness, that was all. There were no charges. Your mum and dad just wanted you home.’

‘What about what you said before? The forensics. My hands on that girl’s throat.’

‘Which you’ve explained.’

‘Yeah, but…’ Tommy slumped forward so his head rested on his folded arms. Moments passed. Finally, he looked up, rubbed his eyes. ‘So, you mean…? All this time… Hiding out in holiday cottages, moving on every few weeks, fishing and nicking to eat all winter. There was no need?’

Colin shook his head.

Tommy slumped back in his chair, head falling back as he stared at the ceiling. ‘Fuck.’ He looked down quickly. ‘Sorry. That slipped out.’

Colin smiled. Then he sat forward. ‘But now we are where we are. These charges aren’t going away. They’ve come from Plymouth, not Exeter. So, it’s not up to your dad or me. We’ve got to play the hand we’ve been dealt.’

‘But, can’t I make some sort of deal? Testifying against Mr Burton for a consideration on the other stuff?’

Colin shook his head. ‘’Fraid not, son. Testifying against Burton’s in your best interests anyway. You can’t have two bites at the same cherry.’

‘So, I’m stuck here, whatever?’

‘For now, yes. We’ll have to see what happens after.’

‘And you said Mr Burton’s case is coming up in seven weeks. What about mine?’

Colin shrugged. ‘It’s relatively minor…’

‘Yeah, but so am I. A minor, I mean. So, they shouldn’t keep me in any longer than necessary, surely? For my long-term wellbeing. Mental scarring and all that.’

Colin’s eyebrows rose. ‘Have you been reading law books in here or something?’

Tommy shook his head. ‘They explained it all when I came here.’

‘OK. Well, the juvenile court’s separate from the adult one, so there doesn’t need to be a delay in one because of what’s going on in the other. But, I don’t know how soon they’ll get to your case. What I do know is that you’ll be held on remand until they do.’

‘How’s that fair?’

Colin shook his head. ‘I’m just telling it like it is, son. It can’t be any other way in the circumstances.’

Tommy grimaced. ‘So, at the end of the day, you want my help but you’re not going to help me.’

Again, Colin looked like he was about to reach across the table, but held back. ‘I’m sorry, son. If I could, I would. You know that.’

*

When Colin had gone, Tommy went back to his room. He kicked the door shut behind him and flopped down on the bed, staring at the ceiling. That hadn’t gone too badly, he thought. He’d steered the conversation in the directions he wanted without making it obvious. Had said enough to promote his own case without incriminating himself. And he thought he’d managed to come across as a victim – a regretful and unwilling participant in Malcolm Burton’s crimes rather than a co-conspirator.

Now, he had just seven weeks to maintain that impression and make sure he could do the same in court with Burton’s solicitor badgering him. His story would have to be solid and flawless and he would have to know it backwards, forwards and sideways, to the extent that even he believed every word. He would have to be the little boy lost, the hapless victim, the innocent caught up in things he didn’t understand and couldn’t control.

Could he do it?

He smiled. The smile turned into a chuckle. He’d been doing it for years. There was nothing new here.

CHAPTER SIX

‘Talk to me here, now – it’ll take two minutes and you won’t lose anything by it. Or we can take it down the station. You’ll lose a couple of hours. Maybe a couple of punters.’ Pete shrugged. ‘I’m not out to spoil anyone’s business. I’m just trying to find out who killed a man here in the city last night.’

The girl couldn’t have been more than twenty-two, but she looked ten or fifteen years older with the harsh make-up and sneering attitude. Her dark hair was tied back in a high ponytail, her skirt couldn’t have been a half-inch shorter without drawing an arrest warrant for indecent exposure, and her naked shoulder-blades above the low-cut vest top were decorated with tattoos that he’d glimpsed when he first saw her a couple of minutes ago on the corner of Queen’s Square, one hand on her hip while the other held a cigarette that she was dragging on like it was going out of fashion.

As soon as she’d turned around and seen him, she’d pulled an attitude. She didn’t want to talk to him, but she knew he could haul her in if he wanted to.

‘All right,’ she said heavily. ‘What d’you wanna know?’

It was ten o’clock. Trade would be picking up for her any time now. She didn’t have time for Pete and his questions and he knew it. He hoped that the fact she was in a hurry would force her to tell him the truth. ‘First, were you here last night?’

‘Yeah.’

‘Do you know a taxi driver by the name of Ranjeet Singh? Drives a grey Mondeo.’

She shook her head with a grimace. ‘Nope.’

‘Have you seen a grey Mondeo taxi around here lately?’

‘No.’

‘Sure?’

‘Positive. Is that it?’ She threw down her cigarette stub and screwed it into the pavement with the sole of her high-heeled shoe.

‘No. Is anyone missing from here tonight that was here yesterday? Or anyone here both nights but acting different tonight? Agitated? Nervous?’

‘People get agitated when they’re coming down off the gear. Or when they’ve got things to do and some bloke’s holding them up.’