‘Pulamea.’ Magda’s head was low over her desk.
Sean guessed it wasn’t a polite phrase she’d just breathed out while studying the images he’d placed before her. While he’d been visiting Saint Hilda’s, the Super Recognizer had come up with a third match on the blonde female. This one wasn’t a definite: the figure was caught at the edge of the camera’s view at Fairfield Sailing Club.
She was out of focus, but – physically at least – she resembled the jogger from Debdale Park. Athletic build, about 1.75 m tall. She was heading slightly away from the clubhouse, towards the water’s edge. And she had some kind of hold-all strapped to her back.
Magda blew out her cheeks. ‘If it is the same person, she was at the scene of Nick McGhee’s death. Then Lee Goodwin’s. Then Phil Nordern’s. And now Anthony Brown.’
‘You need to know what else the vicar mentioned: Danielle Winter worked for a car dealership, where she did their accounts.’
Magda’s eyes widened. ‘Carl Parker’s business. His wife – she has blonde hair.’ She looked at the image again. ‘But she’s not called Danielle. She said her name was …’ she circled her finger. ‘Julia.’
‘People lie. Or they change their name. It’s not difficult.’
‘True. But is this Parker’s wife?’
‘I can’t decide. But if we get a recent photo of her, I’m sure Alan Eales will be able to tell us.’
‘OK. See if you can find any clear image of her online. And check the name Danielle Winter.’
‘I was thinking about starting with social services. See if their records could help us.’
‘That involves so much data protection, it will take ages.’
‘Where is Mr Parker, by the way?’
‘At a secure location. Why?’
‘He’s still unaware about Jordan Hughes being dead?’
‘Until there’s been an official identification, we have no need to mention anything to him.’
‘Who’s with him?’
‘There’s an officer standing watch outside.’
‘I’d like to call him.’
Magda cocked her head. ‘Because …?’
‘I want to hear his version of what happened at the lake that day. And I want to ask him if he remembers a girl called Danielle Winter.’
Magda clicked her fingers. ‘DS Fuller! He’s on his way to Parker’s house with DC Moor! Taking the wife and son to join Mr Parker.’
Sean pointed at the images. ‘He needs to know about this.’
Magda grabbed her phone and brought up Fuller’s number. ‘Where are you?’
Sean watched her face, anxious for any indication of Fuller’s response.
Magda’s shoulders relaxed slightly. ‘Thank God. Pull over, Dave, now. I’m serious. There’s a chance the wife’s involved. For the murders! CCTV now puts her at four of the scenes. I know. We’re making enquiries here. Do not approach the house – just give me a minute with Ransford and I’ll call you back.’ She cut the call and stood. ‘OK, see what Carl Parker says, but keep all mention of his wife out of it. I’ll take this lot into Ransford.’
Sean sat down and retrieved Carl’s number from the system.
‘Who’s this?’
Sean could hear a TV playing in the background. ‘DC Blake, Serious Crime Unit. Have you a minute?’
‘Like I’m rushed off my feet with things to do, you mean?’ The volume dropped. ‘What is it?’
‘What can you tell me about an incident in Debdale Park? Back in the year 2000. A teenage boy called Benjamin Dear drowned in the lake.’
Parker was silent.
‘Sir, what can you tell me about that?’
‘What can I tell you? Fuck all, mate.’
‘The gang you were part of – Lee, Phil, Kevin, Anthony – you were all there that day. What were you doing with Benjamin Dear?’
‘Who says we were with him?’
‘Come on, Carl.’ He chanced a lie. ‘I’ve read the official reports. A grammar school kid who was the son of a vicar. What was going on?’
‘I have no fucking clue what you’re on about.’ He spoke away from the phone. ‘What are they? Newspapers? Whatever. Leave them on the sofa.’ His voice was back in Sean’s ear. ‘Anything else?’
Sean closed his eyes. The poster he’d seen at Belle Vue High School was in his head. Take risks. If you win you will be happy. If you lose you will be wiser. Should I? He knew it was something Janet would never condone. Too bad, Mum. We need the truth. ‘Your wife is safe. As is your son. But neither will be joining you, not while we’re unclear about what happened in the park that day.’
Parker let out a short, bitter laugh. ‘You people. I’d like to stamp on you all. Fucking cockroaches.’
Sean hardly dared breathe. ‘Tell me what happened.’
‘The kid was trying to swim across the lake. He didn’t make it. OK?’
‘Why? Why was he – and no one else – in the water?’
‘I don’t remember. You’ve read the reports. Tell me.’
‘Had you and your mates forced him in?’
Parker sighed. ‘Yeah, yeah, yeah – of course we did.’
‘What was it: some kind of an initiation? To get in your gang?’
‘No idea what you’re on about.’
An initiation, Sean thought. It had to be. ‘What about Danielle Winter?’ Sean waited several seconds. ‘Mr Parker? Are you—’
‘Danielle Winter?’ His voice was now distant. Distracted.
‘Yes.’
‘Nothing. I can’t tell you anything about her.’
‘You know the name, Carl. It’s obvious.’
‘Listen. What’s to stop me walking out this shitty flat and going home? Because I’m telling you, I’m fucking tempted. Get my wife and Charlie and take them somewhere no one knows about. And that includes you lot.’
‘Whoever is behind these murders, Carl, so far they’ve got to anyone they want. We don’t know how. All we know is the safest place for you – and your family – is with us. Now, Danielle Winter.’
‘Danni was just someone Ant was shagging. She was a fucked-up little slag.’
Sean sat up. ‘What did you call her?’
‘A slag.’
‘Before that: her name.’
‘Danni. Why?’
‘She was known as that, not Danielle?’
‘We called her Danni, yeah.’
Norden’s phone message was echoing in Sean’s head. Dan’s back. Had they misheard the recording? Had he actually said, ‘Danni’s back’?
‘So you did know her.’
‘Hardly. She’d follow us about, hoping Ant would treat her like she mattered to him.’
‘But you saw her? Face to face?’
‘Yeah. I’d look at her crooked teeth and bony arse and I’d wonder how Ant could bear slipping it to her.’
Sean frowned. This didn’t sound like he was describing the person he’d gone on to marry. ‘So … what happened to her?’
‘She ran away. Just disappeared. Now, Julia and Charlie?’
‘I said, they’re safe. With colleagues now, waiting for the call before they’re brought over to you.’ Sean ran a hand down the side of his face, appalled he could lie so easily. ‘Why did she run away?’
‘I don’t know. Ant dumped her? She wanted to live someplace else? Fucked if I remember.’
You’re holding back again, Sean thought. ‘She was a foster kid. Living with the Dears.’
‘Yeah. Maybe she got bored with all their God stuff. Who knows?’
Sean was absolutely certain the other man knew more. And he also had a horrible feeling that Danielle Winter wasn’t his wife.
Carl Parker put the phone aside and leaned his head against the back of the sofa. Danielle Winter. Shit. He’d managed to not think about her in a very long time. Had practically erased her from his mind. Now that bloody detective had mentioned her name and the memories were springing up like weeds.
‘Excuse me?’
He turned his head. It was the female copper who’d shown up with the Sunday papers, now calling from somewhere down the corridor. ‘What?’
‘Can I use the loo?’
Fuck’s sake, he thought. ‘Yeah, fine. Make yourself at home. Pop in for a piss anytime.’
He grabbed the remote and kept his finger on the volume button, hoping the loudness would obliterate the memories of Danni before they properly took root.
It was no good.
His mind had now latched on to the afternoon Ant finally got bored with her. Carl’s toes squirmed against the ends of his trainers. We were just teenagers, he told himself. The lot of us, boiling with lust, aching to have sex. Just teenagers. Ant used to torture them with details about what girls let him do to them. Danni had been up for pretty much anything, if he’d been telling them the truth. A right dirty bitch.
When Ant had stepped out from the empty garage and said Danni was ready to take them all, they thought he was joking. But when they’d crowded in at the side door, there she was on the floor beside the dismantled motorbike and other bits of engine. Sitting with her back to the wall, knees up, something – an old towel? – across her bare legs. Carl immediately knew that, beneath it, she was naked. He could see a twisted scrap of pale material off to the side. Her knickers. Lying among some dead leaves.
He tried to focus on the TV screen, but the images in his mind were stronger. More vivid. Twisting his head, he looked towards the corridor. What was the policewoman doing in there? Taking a dump or something? Unbelievable.
Another memory caused him to wince. It was of him, roughly shoving the others out the door. Gratefully watching Ant also leave. That wink Ant had given him before glancing back over his shoulder. ‘Treat them right, Danni. Like we agreed you would.’
She hadn’t answered. Hadn’t said anything. Didn’t even look at him as he’d pushed her knees apart and got on top of her. He could remember finding himself staring to the side at one point. There, amongst that scattering of dry leaves, he could make out the writing on the label of her knickers. 13–14 Years. 95 per cent cotton.
Was that the last time they’d seen her? He stared blankly at the television screen. Yeah, it had been. Apart from after the others had all had their turn and Ant had then shouted for her to fuck off and she’d shuffled out in tears and hobbled across the asphalt on her own with them laughing at her.
It had been another few days before they heard she’d gone. Done one. Shame, he’d thought at the time. He’d been hoping she’d stick around. He’d wanted to get her on her own again, but this time without the rest of them standing just the other side of a door that had a broken lock. Having to hear their giggles and whispers. The occasional call of encouragement as the door creaked open a bit. His arse on display to them. Go on, Carl, lad! Get in there!
He’d planned to take her somewhere quiet. More private. Make her do lots of stuff. Like in the videos they’d discovered once, after breaking into some twisted couple’s house and riffling through their bedroom.