‘I think his mother comes first,’ said Laura.
Charlie nodded, gave a little laugh. ‘For now.’
Just then, Pete came back into the room, shaking his head. ‘Intel hasn’t thrown anything up. There aren’t any Dan Kinsellas in Blackley, as far as we know.’
Laura looked back at Charlie, who looked shocked. ‘Can you describe him?’
She nodded, her eyes wide. ‘I can do better than that. I’ve got a picture of him.’ As she rummaged in her bag, she said, ‘I don’t think he knows I took it. It was at one of the meetings, just a couple of weeks ago.’
Laura smiled. Progress. But as she looked at the photograph, something troubled her. She had seen him somewhere before.
Just as they were getting ready to leave, Charlie smiled weakly, her eyes bleary from tears, and said, ‘My mum always told me I picked men badly.’
Laura put her arm round her and guided her towards the door. ‘Just be patient,’ she said softly. ‘Your luck will change.’
Sam’s tyres spewed out some gravel as he came to a stop, and then he ran to his house. There was a policeman by the door, taking a cigarette break. He almost stopped Sam from going in. The glare from Sam made him give way.
The police activity was less than Sam expected. There was a female officer in uniform in the kitchen, making drinks. Helena was lying down on the sofa, a cold cloth over her head. There were two uniformed officers with her. Sam looked back into the kitchen. He saw that some of the empty vodka bottles were lined up on the worktop, taken out of the recycling bin. When he looked into the policewoman’s eyes, he saw pity.
He turned around and walked into the living room. He went straight over to Helena and knelt beside her. He gripped her hand. Helena’s mother was there too, sitting in a chair by the window, sobbing quietly into a lace handkerchief.
‘What’s going on?’ he demanded.
The two policemen glanced at each other, and then one said, ‘Can we speak to you in private, Mr Nixon?’
‘Why not here?’
They shrugged and then gestured towards a woman in black jeans with purple tints in her hair, standing in the corner of the room. ‘This is Madeleine Chilton from Blackley Social Services. She might be able to help.’
Sam felt his head go light. Social Services. His family?
He stood up and nodded. He noticed how Helena had just rolled over.
Sam went into the dining room, Madeleine just behind him. When they were out of Helena’s hearing, Madeleine said, ‘We think Henry might have just run away, frightened.’
Sam was confused. ‘Why? Helena called me. She told me that she had been attacked.’
The two policemen had come into the room. They glanced quickly at Madeleine and then looked down.
‘The school has been concerned about your eldest son for a while now,’ said Madeleine quietly. ‘He has been arriving at school unkempt, sometimes without his coat in winter, and often complains of being hungry. They tried to speak to your wife about it, but she seemed drunk.’
Sam stepped away, angry now. ‘What has this got to do with Helena being attacked, and Henry going missing?’ He went towards her, his eyes wild. ‘What is being done to find my son?’ he shouted, every word spelled out slowly.
Madeleine swallowed, cleaned her front teeth with her tongue. ‘When the police arrived,’ she said, ‘your wife seemed confused, disorientated. There were no injuries.’
‘What, you think she made all this up?’
Madeleine’s cheeks started to flush. ‘We think she may have collapsed, and then Henry ran away, frightened. This is being treated as a lost child, not an abduction.’
The two officers stepped in. ‘We know about your wife’s drink-driving yesterday, Mr Nixon,’ said one, ‘and all the evidence says that she has a serious drink problem. We think that might be connected to whatever went on this morning.’
Sam stepped forward, breathing hard, his voice deep and low. ‘Is this because you fucking clowns have told the world that the kiddy snatcher is dead, and you want to keep this quiet?’
The two officers didn’t answer.
Sam put his hands on hips and laughed out loud, bitter and angry. ‘I do not fucking believe it. You can think what you like about Helena, but she has always been honest.’
‘Did you know she was drinking so heavily?’ asked Madeleine.
That stopped him dead. He did know she was drinking heavily, but Sam had also known enough alcoholics to realise that their lives are all about lying, an endless self-delusion that they are in control. He took a deep breath, and then said, ‘My son is being left out there with some madman because you fucking idiots are trying to save face.’
‘Calm down, Mr Nixon, please.’ Madeleine’s voice became firmer.
Sam stepped away and went back into the living room. He stood over Helena. ‘Do you know what they are saying?’ he shouted.
Helena stayed turned away from him.
‘They are saying it is all your fault.’
Sam turned to Helena’s mother. ‘Do you believe your daughter?’
‘Please stay calm,’ Mrs Parsons replied, her voice soft and polished. ‘For Helena’s sake. There are people out there looking for Henry.’
Sam turned around, saw all the faces looking at him. ‘So this is it?’ he said, as he felt his own tears well up.
The police officers looked at the floor.
Sam glanced around the room, his eyes darting from person to person, trying to see some hope, just a glimmer.
Then he noticed something. Not everyone was there.
‘Where’s Harry?’
Helena’s mother shook her head slowly. ‘He had to go somewhere,’ she said.
And then it all came crashing in on Sam.
Harry wasn’t there. His grandson had gone missing, and he had somewhere else to be. Sam knew straightaway where he had gone: to Luke King’s house.
The morning briefing was coming to an end as Laura and Pete rushed in. Egan squeezed past them to make his way to his office, and Laura thought he looked red and flustered. She guessed that it hadn’t been the best of mornings for him, finding out that Eric’s suicide was in fact a murder.
Pete sensed the discomfort in the air, Laura could tell that from the gleam in his eyes. There were a few comments of ‘Good breakfast?’ and ‘Have you two
shacked up?’ as they made their way through the crowd to their desks, still cluttered with unchecked witness reports.
Laura looked back towards where Egan had gone. ‘I’m going to see him,’ she said to Pete eventually.
When Pete started to follow her, Laura shook her head. ‘On my own. I didn’t join the police to score points. I did it to catch crooks.’
She made her way over and to Egan’s door and knocked lightly. She heard a mumbled ‘yes’ from inside, and when she went in, Egan was looking through some paperwork. ‘Hello, sir, I just wanted to have a word.’
He sat back and looked up at her. Laura almost felt sorry for him. He had jumped to a conclusion and had got it wrong, but she knew that everyone made a mistake sometimes. He nodded to a chair in front of his desk.
‘What can I do for you?’ he asked.
She sat down. ‘I want your permission to investigate an unusual angle.’
He nodded. ‘I’m listening.’
‘In Jess Goldie’s house,’ she said, ‘we found some diaries. Jess thought she had premonitions, and she kept a diary of them.’
The corners of Egan’s mouth flickered.
‘She wasn’t the only one,’ Laura continued. ‘She used to go to a club where people shared their premonitions. Eric Randle went there too.’
Egan started to smirk, looking like he was grateful for the light relief. ‘Can’t see you and Dawson as Mulder and Scully.’
Laura took a deep breath, controlled her frustration,
and then said, ‘I think her murder might be connected to someone at the club. There’s someone called Dan Kinsella who goes there, or at least that’s the name he uses. We can’t find any trace of him. He knows both Jess and Eric, and yesterday, not long after Eric died, he turned up at a woman’s house in a strange mood. He ended up assaulting her, a woman called Charlie. She thought he was going to kill her.’
Egan was too busy smirking to speak, so Laura continued, ‘It was something Charlie said that got me thinking. Or, rather, that he said.’ Laura had the feeling that Egan wasn’t paying attention. She ploughed on. ‘Charlie has been having dreams of being strangled, gasping when she wakes up. This guy said he wanted to strangle her. He said he wanted to make her dream come true.’
‘You’re running out of time,’ Egan said, the smirk disappearing, his mood growing impatient.
‘This isn’t supernatural shit, sir. This is just some guy getting his kicks in a sick way. Jess Goldie had written a dream down, and it described just how she was found. This guy from the club, well, he turns up at this Charlie’s house at around the time that Eric Randle was being strung up. She said he was jumpy and excitable, different to normal.’ Laura exhaled loudly. ‘I know it’s far-fetched, but maybe he’s killing people from the group in the way they have described.’
‘Why would he?’
‘Because he can? Because it’s more fun that way? He gets the people from the group to set up their own death by talking about it.’
Egan raised his eyebrows. ‘Is that it?’
Laura sighed. ‘I just thought it was worth looking at.’ She sounded weary.
Egan pulled at his lip, and Laura watched as his cheeks turned crimson. ‘We’ll make ourselves a laughing stock,’ he said quietly. He pointed at his shoulders. ‘I’m not wearing a uniform, but there are invisible pips on here. With that comes responsibility. I’m not going to show that by turning the force into the Ghostbusters.’
‘I’m not saying make it a major line of inquiry, sir. We don’t even have to tell anyone in there. I’ll make some discreet inquiries. If there’s nothing in it, we know we checked it out.’
He looked towards his door, and Laura could tell that he was thinking of the reactions of the others out there. ‘I was told you had promise when you joined us. Maybe we need to get you away from Dawson.’ He nodded, enjoying the power for a moment. ‘For now, I’ll allow it, but no more than you and Pete, and report back only to me.’
Laura smiled. ‘Thank you, sir, but, for now, can we keep Pete Dawson out of it?’
Egan looked at her, up and down, and then he smirked. ‘Yes, okay,’ and then he looked down at the folder he had been reading.
Laura understood the signal. He had finished with her.
‘Thank you, sir,’ she said, and when he didn’t look up, she left the room.
By the time she got back to her desk, Pete was talking to another officer, his face full of surprise.
‘Something’s going on,’ she said. ‘Is there some news?’
Pete turned around. ‘Just a bit of a twist,’ he said. ‘Sam Nixon’s kid has disappeared.’
‘The lawyer?’ When Pete nodded, she asked, ‘What’s the story there?’
‘It depends on who you ask. The kid’s mother says that she was grabbed from behind, and when she came to, the kid had gone. The cops at the scene aren’t so sure. She was hauled in for drink driving yesterday, and there are enough vodka bottles in their house to keep the Russian navy happy.’
‘They think that she was drunk and lost him?’
‘They don’t know, but it’s the best guess.’
‘It’s another link, though.’
‘To what?’
Laura shook her head. ‘To
whom.
Another link to Eric Randle, except this one goes back towards Luke King.’
‘What are you thinking?’
She shook her head again. ‘I don’t know, except that we seem to be going round in a circle, ending up back at the start all the time.’
‘Perhaps that’s where we ought to be then. What did Egan say?’
‘He told me to leave the dreams alone,’ she said, and then turned to walk away. She felt bad about lying to Pete—she liked him—but his desire to get a small win over Egan had become too wearing.
‘Where are you going?’
‘Just the little girls’ room, if that’s okay?’
Pete looked away, his face suddenly red.
As Laura walked towards the toilets, she pulled out
her phone. Once inside, she checked the cubicles. She was on her own. She pressed the speed dial and waited for an answer.
I sat in my car and looked through my notes.
I was near to Jimmy King’s house, parked in the same place as before, out of the way, the country lanes still dappled by late summer sunshine shining through the trees. It didn’t seem like the right scenery for investigating murders.
But I suspected that there was a killer in that house.
I had some of Eric’s recent paintings with me. The sky was almost black in them, with just the bright moon to make the silhouette, the building dark and impressive.
I cast my mind back to my last trip to the King house. I remembered the view of the front of the house, and I realised that it was the same in the picture. The gables on either side of a large church door. Had Eric painted Jimmy King’s house?
But why? Was it just a coincidence?
Then I thought of the abducted children. They had to be kept somewhere, and if Eric was murdered it was for a reason. The murder was connected to the abducted children, and so were the paintings.
I stepped out of the car and rolled up the picture into my pocket. I checked I had my camera with me. If I could get a picture of the King house that was similar to the painting, then my story had some shape.
My phone rang.
We didn’t speak for long. I told Laura where I was,
and what I was going to do. She told me to wait. We could spend lunch together. She didn’t seem to mind that it would be up a tree, looking into Jimmy King’s garden.
Sam stopped his car at the entrance to Jimmy King’s house. The driveway looked busy, filled with Jimmy’s cars, his Bentley and a Porsche. Then he saw Harry Parsons’ car, a black BMW M5.
Sam closed his eyes and gripped the wheel hard. He had driven to Jimmy King’s house expecting Harry to be there, but praying that he was wrong, that Harry would be on his way to be with his daughter.
Sam felt a sob bubble in his throat as the words of Luke King came back to him, that he enjoyed killing, and that he would do it again. He remembered the gloating look in his eye, the pleasure he got from passing on the news. A cold-blooded killer lived in that house, and Sam’s son was missing.
He jabbed at the button on the intercom, and when the voice came over the speaker, Sam told him that he had better open the gates or he was going to drive through them.
There was a pause, and then Sam heard the lock click, and the gates began to slowly open.
* * *
I had returned to the same vantage point as before, in a tree overlooking Jimmy King’s house. As I tried to keep my balance, I scanned the grounds with my zoom lens, looking for people who might be looking out for someone like me.
I was drawn to the small collection of outbuildings at the bottom of the long garden. There was an old tumbledown shed, a do-it-yourself bargain shack, and next to that there was a concrete garage, squat and square, with large green double doors, perhaps used to house the mower.
As I looked, I saw someone walk along the lawn. It was the same man I had seen on my previous visit. As I watched him, I saw him go to the garage. He looked around as he got there, and then opened the door, just a chink, before he slipped inside.
I took some photographs and started to climb down. I had some shots, but I knew I needed more. I felt a surge of excitement, I knew that Jimmy’s house matched the one in Eric’s painting. I had to get closer.
I would wait for Laura out of sight, show her the photographs on the camera screen. But then something caught my eye. Movement on the drive, fast and angry.
I raised the camera to my eye once more. It was Sam Nixon. That made me stop. Was Luke King in trouble again?
I made myself comfortable in the tree. Perhaps the day was going to be longer than I’d thought.
As Sam walked quickly to the front door, Jimmy King came out and tried to stop him.
‘Stop there, Mr Nixon,’ he said, his voice cold and flat, his arm outstretched.
Sam ignored him and just kept on going. Jimmy King was pushed almost to the floor as Sam got into the house.
‘I’m looking for my son,’ Sam snarled back.
Jimmy King went pale, but ran in front of Sam. He jabbed his fingers into Sam’s chest. ‘Just you wait there,’ he said. His voice had turned mean, less robotic.
Sam got up close to him, until he knew Jimmy could feel his angry breath on his face. ‘Why is Harry here?’ he asked menacingly.
Jimmy didn’t answer. He stared at Sam, and Sam could see the doubts flicker in his eyes. And, just for a second, he saw fear.
But then Sam heard a familiar voice ask, ‘How are things at home, Sam?’
It was Harry, standing in the room at the end of the hall, a bright conservatory that looked out over the garden. His hands were clasped in front of him, and he looked poised, controlled. But Sam heard the tremor in his voice.
Sam rushed towards him.
‘Why are you here?’ Sam was angry, but as he got closer he saw the worry in Harry’s eyes, his eyes red, his skin pale and drawn. There were beads of sweat on his forehead.
Harry took a deep breath. ‘Jimmy and I go back a long way,’ he said quietly. ‘I thought he could help.’
Sam didn’t say anything. He just got closer.
Harry looked down, his lips twitching as he thought of something to say.
Then Sam became aware of movement from the stairs. As he looked, he saw it was Luke.
‘Are you here because of me?’ said Luke, a cool smirk on his face.
Sam’s mind went blank for a moment, the shock of seeing Luke making his mouth go dry, his palms slick, but then, as Luke came down the stairs, Sam went towards him.
‘Where is he?’ Sam roared.
Luke smiled. ‘Who do you mean?’
Sam felt his chest go tight with anger, and he gripped Luke’s shirt, propelled him backwards, banged him hard into the wall. Luke blinked in pain, but the smile didn’t fade.
‘My son,’ hissed Sam as he peppered Luke’s face with spittle. He pushed his hands towards Luke’s neck. ‘What have you done with him?’
Sam felt a hand grab his arm and pull him back. It was strong, insistent. When he looked around, it was Jimmy.
‘Be careful who you accuse,’ he growled, his voice full of threat. ‘Luke has been at home all morning.’
Sam laughed loudly, manically. Another cast-iron alibi,’ he screeched. ‘Just like before, when you bastards fitted up Terry McKay.’
Harry gave out a small cough as if to steady himself, and then he said, ‘Terry McKay is a drunk and a liar. His word means nothing.’
‘No, what you mean is that his
life
meant nothing. He was just some drunk that you could fit up just to keep this murdering bastard out of jail.’
‘Who said I was a murderer?’ asked Luke quietly, calmly.
Sam pushed him back against the wall, trying to hurt him. Luke didn’t flinch.
‘You did,’ hissed Sam, and banged Luke’s head into the wall again. ‘You told me how you killed that girl, and how much you enjoyed it.’
Luke raised his eyebrows. ‘That was confidential, right?’
Sam shook his head slowly. ‘I don’t care what the rules say. I want my son back, and I know you have something to do with it.’ He squeezed Luke’s neck tighter. ‘What’s wrong, the noose getting tighter?’
‘You’re not helping, Sam,’ said Harry. His voice was getting higher, the panic evident.
‘And neither are you,’ said Sam, and then he released Luke, who coughed and bent over as he tried to regain his breath.
Sam went towards Harry, his eyes blazing with anger.
‘You tried to fit up Terry McKay. How many other times have you helped him out?’ He pointed back to Luke as he said it, then turned towards Jimmy. ‘And how will this play in the golf-club bar? You’ll be tainted goods. You’ll become easy meat for the tenants who want to sue, happy to go to the press. You’ll have to run this place from what you squeeze from those sods who can’t afford to move.’
Sam turned away, but then he felt a blow from behind, hard, straight into his kidneys. He cried out and fell to his knees, the breath knocked from him. When he looked up, he saw Jimmy glaring down at him, his fist clenched, his teeth bared.
‘Never quite stopped being the bully landlord, did you, Jimmy?’ gasped Sam, his hand clutching his back. ‘Are you going to burn my hand off as well, you sick bastard? What about pissing on me? Are you going to stand over me and piss on me like you did Terry McKay?’
Jimmy halted at that, surprised.
Sam grinned. ‘I’ve watched the video. Has Harry told you that I’ve got it all saved? Records
everything
’ Sam pointed at Luke. ‘Your son told me that he had killed Jess Goldie. Worse than that, he said he enjoyed it. Maybe he even killed Eric Randle.’
Sam took a few deep breaths before continuing, looking at Harry. And now you want to protect him? He is a killer, but now it’s more lies, one more false alibi.’ Sam shook his head in frustration, in anger. ‘It’s your grandson, Harry. Doesn’t that mean
anything?
Harry swallowed and then he sat down.
Everyone turned round when they heard a woman’s voice.
‘Luke was here all morning,’ the voice said.
As Sam looked up the stairs, he saw a woman coming down. He knew it was Luke’s mother; he had seen her at family functions. Luke had her cheekbones, delicate and defined, but her eyes were red, ringed by dark circles. ‘Luke had nothing to do with your son going missing,’ she said.
‘Why should I believe you?’ asked Sam bitterly. ‘You would do anything to protect your son.’
She came towards Sam and took his hands in hers, looked into his eyes, and said calmly, ‘But I wouldn’t do anything to hurt yours. I hope you find your son, but
if you are searching for him, stop wasting your time looking at Luke.’
‘Shut up,’ snarled Jimmy. ‘You stupid bitch. Keep your fucking mouth shut.’
She shook her head slowly. ‘I’ve had enough of lying. He’s gone too far now. A child has died. I won’t let that happen to another one.’ She squeezed Sam’s hand, and said, ‘We are doing what we can. Trust me.’ And then she walked away.
As she went, Sam looked around at Jimmy. He had a different expression in his eyes. The anger was gone, replaced by fear. And, from the way his gaze followed her, Sam guessed it came from something his wife had said.
Harry swallowed hard, and it was panic Sam saw in his eyes, while Luke looked calm, unconcerned.
‘So where am I looking, Luke?’ asked Sam quietly, the menace soft but obvious. ‘What is this all about?’ Sam looked at Jimmy, and then at Harry. ‘Do I look again at Terry McKay? What about the girl who died, the one Terry lied about? Do I look there?’
‘If you say anything,’ said Harry, ‘I’ll lose everything. But don’t think about me. Think about Helena. It’ll destroy her.’
‘Go see her now, Harry. She’s already destroyed.’ Sam looked at all of them. Harry looked away. Jimmy met his gaze, but he looked angry. Luke’s smugness faltered, just for a moment, but when it came back it was mixed with arrogance.
‘You’ll stick by Jimmy, even when your own grandson is at stake?’ asked Sam, as he looked at Harry.
Harry sat down on a kitchen stool and put his head in his hands. Sam had his answer.
‘Shame on you, Harry,’ Sam spat.
He turned around quickly and left the house.
The hall stayed silent for a few moments, but it was Luke who broke the deadlock. He looked at his father and asked, ‘So now what are you going to do?’