DS Clarke strode along the corridors of the Carrow Road flats, scanning the doors for apartment 182. The whole building felt clean and modern, a fresh, pine smell filling the hallways. The paint on the walls was sharp and fresh, with a trendy canvas scenic picture on the wall opposite the lift. For this floor, the chosen picture was a forest. The ground floor had been a beach.
Rebecca was peering at the lift, her eyebrow raised. “Seriously, this lift is the same size as the kitchen in my flat.”
“Well, you don’t join the police for the wage, Reynolds.” He gestured for her to join him as he knocked boldly twice on the door.
Moments later the door opened to the tall man with dark chocolate-coloured hair that Clarke recognised as Monty from Mrs Shepherd’s photo. He had that trendy amount of stubble that was all the rage. He stood by the door, smiling politely.
“Can I help you?”
Clarke cleared his throat. “Montgomery Shepherd?”
“Yes?”
“Detective Sergeant Anthony Clarke and Detective Constable Rebecca Reynolds,” said Clarke, giving the usual shrug towards himself and Rebecca. “We had a little chat with your mother today regarding some information possibly connecting you to missing girl Teigan Walker. Can we come in?”
Monty looked perplexed for a moment, then a sort of sad realisation dawned on his face. He nodded, slowly, then gave a weak smile as he stepped back.
“Of course, Officer. You just caught me. I’ve just got back from work.”
His apartment was what Clarke would call snobby. It had a rustic, oak wood smell about it, mixed with a rich tobacco. He had obviously expensive pieces of artwork on nearly every wall, most of them those modern artwork pieces that looked just like blobs of paint that Kacey could do. But there were a couple that were different — the two of naked young children fondling their mother’s breast. He raised his eyebrows at Rebecca, who physically cringed at the sight of the paintings.
As they walked through into the open plan lounge and kitchen area, it was clear that Shepherd had spared no expense with his furniture, either. A large, tan leather corner sofa took up the majority of the space, with a marble coffee table placed neatly between the sofa and the 50-inch 3D television. The kitchen was filled with expensive-looking appliances, including a food steamer, a slow cooker, and a state-of-the-art espresso machine.
Even he had to admit he was jealous; it was easy to imagine how impressed a young teenage girl would be.
“You can call me Monty, by the way.” He spoke softly, in what Clarke’s mother-in-law would call “proper English.”
“Okay, Monty. So, you understand why we’re here?”
“Yes. Well, I believe so.”
“I’ll just clarify for you then, so there’s no confusion. A schoolgirl went missing on Thursday, in pretty much the same location you were in, around the same time you went for a walk.”
“Ah,” he leant back into the sofa and put his feet up on the marble table. “I see.”
Clarke frowned. He looked awfully relaxed for someone who had the police round. “This is the girl in question.” Clarke passed the photo of Teigan to Rebecca, who leant towards Monty to give him the photograph. She shifted back to her end of the sofa quickly, her eyes still flickering to the paintings of the naked children.
Monty nodded as he looked at the photograph. “Pretty young, isn’t she?”
Rebecca twitched uncomfortably at his comment.
“Mm.” Clarke cleared his throat. This was harder than he had thought it would be. “So, if I may be so direct, did you have anything to do with Teigan Walker’s disappearance that day?” Clarke watched his reaction carefully as he asked his blunt question. Monty didn’t flinch; he didn’t stir in his chair at all. He stayed perfectly still and answered in a steady voice.
“No, I didn’t.”
“Had you met with Teigan before she went missing? Spoken with her over the phone or via text messages or the Internet?”
Monty sighed as he put his feet down and sat upright again. “No, I’ve never met this girl,” he pointed to the photograph as he put it down on the coffee table. “But I appreciate the fact that I’m a likely suspect.”
Clarke was put out by the casual tone in which he said this. “Right … and why do you think we view you as a suspect?”
“Well, same reason my mother felt the need to speak to you.” He held his hands up and shrugged. “Because of my unfortunate and understandably illegal sexual desires.”
Clarke raised his eyebrows. The audacity of this man, to just sit there and casually talk about something so disgusting. He forced himself not to tell him just what he thought of the smarmy git. “Right. Can you explain those sexual desires to me?”
Monty nodded and took a sip of his sparkling water, which had been sitting on a coaster on the coffee table. “Yes. I am sexually attracted to children.” He placed the glass back down. “I’m a paedophile.”
Rebecca stood up at that point and went to stand next to Clarke. He felt her arms tremble in anger at the sheer bluntness of this declaration. It was as if he were declaring something as simple as vegetarianism.
Clarke looked down and steadied himself before asking the next question. “Have you ever acted on those desires?”
“No, I can sincerely say that I haven’t.” Monty spoke with a calm sincerity as he crossed his legs and reached for his glass of water again. “I realised by about my mid-twenties that my sexual tastes were not ordinary. I spent a long time trying to suppress and deny them. But eventually I had to admit it to myself. I am a paedophile. I was born this way. But I work hard every day not to act on those desires.”
Monty held his gaze. Clarke stared back at him, studying the dark bags under his eyes and the slight gaunt look on his face, the strain of spending a life fighting against his urges.
Clarke cleared his throat again and carried on. “So where did you go on this walk around the time Teigan Walker went missing?”
Monty stood up and stretched his arms, then started to walk towards the kitchen with the now empty water glass. “Literally just around the area, past the theatre, down into town to grab a coffee. Treated myself to a chocolate croissant and all. I shouldn’t have done that, as I’m meant to be watching my weight. But I’ve got to allow myself some pleasures in life, eh?”
Clarke stared at him, dumbfounded by the audacity of this man.
“Sorry,” Monty said as he placed the glass in the dishwasher. “Bad joke. But, yes, then I popped back in on Mum before I headed into work. I tend to get in around nine forty-five to avoid the morning rush, but then stay until half sixish.”
“Is there anybody who can confirm where you were between leaving your mum’s for a walk around half eight and arriving at work at nine forty-five?”
Monty scratched at his stubble and looked up to the ceiling. “Well, Mum can confirm I was back at hers at nine-fifteen. But between half eight and quarter past … I was on my own.” He shrugged as if to say, What else can I say? “Look,” he added. “I appreciate that I’m going to remain a potential suspect, that I don’t have an alibi, and that I have motivation due to my, uh, sexual preferences. But please explore other angles, because I didn’t do this. If you just focus on me, you’ll have no chance of finding the poor girl.” Monty clasped his hands together. “So, is there anything else you need to know? Or can I get on with my evening now?”
“Not just yet,” Clarke held his gaze, ensuring that Monty knew who was boss. “We’re going to need your laptop. I presume you’ve got at least one?”
Monty looked anxious for the first time since they’d arrived. “Oh, my laptop?”
“Yes. Procedure, of course. You understand, a smart man like yourself.”
Monty nodded as he slipped his hands into his trouser pockets. “Yes, well. My work laptop is right there,” he said as he pointed towards his leather satchel that was propped against the coffee table. Rebecca went straight over and started putting on her blue gloves ready to slip it into an evidence bag.
“And your personal one?” Clarke prompted.
Monty held his gaze for a second, as if contemplating lying about having lost it. He sighed and pointed towards the hallway. “It’s in the study, second door on your right.”
“Lovely.” Clarke started putting on his own evidence gloves as he walked towards the study, Monty’s words already resonating in his head.
No chance of finding the poor girl.