Rodney Walker’s house was suburban and ordinary. A red-brick semi with a tarmac drive leading to a concrete garage decorated by shingle. Porter knew not to be beguiled by that. The one thing he’d learned from his police career was that real menace came quietly. Everyone thinks they can spot the threats, like the unkempt man mumbling to himself by the school gates, or those who talk brash and loud in the town centre bars. But they were wrong. Those people were easy to avoid, because their danger shone like a warning beacon.
The real threat lay in people like Rodney Walker, who hid behind quiet respectability and revelled in their anonymity. They could operate undetected, but in their minds they lived behind enemy lines, always ready to strike.
The white Mondeo was there, gleaming, as if it had just been through a car wash. The young constable might have thought he was doing the right thing today, but he should have done it a week earlier, when there was a chance of forensic traces. He’d taken his orders too literally. Police talent needs more creative thinking.
That didn’t mean there’d be no evidence to be found, because people forget the trail. Walker might have vacuumed the boot, but did he get rid of the vacuum bag? And where would he have put the contents? In the bin?
It made it more painstaking, searching for that stray hair, but a murdered child made it worthwhile.
Louise turned to him. ‘What’s our brief? Arrest him?’
That made Porter smile as he realised that he’d fallen into that other habit developed through a long police career: he assumed everyone was guilty. ‘Let’s see how it plays out. The custody clock will start ticking if we bring him in, and we don’t know how long it will take to get any evidence. But let’s see what happens when he feels the pressure.’
No one was watching them as they approached the front door. There was the sound of children playing somewhere, laughs and giggles, but the street had the suburban calm of a neighbourhood that was safe. People who worked hard and looked after their gardens.
He banged hard.
The door was opened by a tall man with thinning dark hair, wearing stonewashed jeans and a grey V-neck that was tight to his body. His eyes darted between Porter and Louise. ‘Yes?’ His tone was defiant, but there was a slight tremble to his voice.
Porter made a mental tick in the something to hide column.
They identified themselves and Porter asked if they could have a talk inside.
For a second, he seemed as if he was about to object, insist on his right to refuse, but whatever mental fight was taking place resolved itself by a decision to not raise suspicions.
He stepped to one side. ‘Come in.’
The living room was the first door off a carpeted hallway, a large space with a bay window and a fireplace that looked dated, with small green tiles. The room carried through to a dining area with a view to a window beyond. There were two children playing in the back garden, a small boy running around an older dark-haired girl, her hair cut short, scowling as he teased and poked her before running around the lawn, as if he was trying to goad her into a game of chase.
Rodney must have spotted him looking, because he invited Porter to sit in a chair with his back to the window.
‘No, thank you, I’ll stay standing. I don’t think I’ll be here long.’
Rodney pursed his lips.
‘You were stopped driving along the old road on May Day, late in the evening.’
His eyes narrowed. ‘What about it?’
‘Where had you been?’
‘Do I have to answer that?’
‘No, but you’ll make me wonder why you don’t want to.’
‘I can live with your unsatisfied curiosity.’
Porter adopted a more conciliatory tone. ‘Mr Walker, help us out here. We’re looking for whoever snatched a young girl and buried her in a shallow grave in some woodland along the old road.’
Walker flinched. Was it because it had become more serious than whatever he thought was behind their visit? Or because he’d just realised the body had been discovered?
‘We need to eliminate you if you’re not involved. Whatever you were doing up there, we don’t need to tell anyone else. Mrs Walker will never find out.’
Walker glanced towards his children outside. Porter could see the calculations going on in his head, wondering whether to bluff them or refuse to co-operate. ‘There is no Mrs Walker.’
‘There’s no need to be coy then.’
Porter looked towards Louise and gave a slight nod to the children, before he sat down.
Louise left the room.
‘Where’s she going?’
‘Oh, she’s a sucker for cute kids, and they look adorable.’
‘She’s no right to talk to them.’
‘Why, what will they say? About how you leave them alone in the house whenever you go out at night, for drives along the old road?’
Louise appeared in the back garden. Both children went quiet. Louise crouched down and began to talk. The small boy was talking to her and pointing towards the garage.
Rodney had been watching her and he became more animated, his eyes wide. ‘I want you both to leave.’
‘I will, if that’s what you want, but I’ll need to talk to my colleague first. She won’t hear me through the window.’
He pulled out his phone from his pocket, a small Nokia. He tutted as he tried to find his contacts, using keys to navigate that were too small for his thick fingers, before finding the number he was looking for.
Louise began to scramble in her pocket, pulling out a thick black handset. ‘Hello?’ Porter heard her voice with a microsecond delay after seeing her mouth it through the window, enough to be noticeable.
‘Mr Walker wants us to leave, but you’re having such fun. The little boy was pointing towards the garage. Does he want to show you something? Call it community engagement.’
Walker jumped to his feet and pointed towards the door. ‘Get out, now.’
Porter moved the phone. ‘What are you scared of, Mr Walker?’
‘I’ve asked you to leave.’
‘And do you think anyone will know that? The neighbours will have seen you let us in, and my statement will say how you let us look around, always the genial host.’ He put his phone back to his ear. ‘Mr Walker says you can look in his garage.’
Porter clicked off and sat back, a smirk on his lips.
Walker looked paralysed, his mouth open, taking deep breaths.
Porter didn’t move or say anything. Silences are meant to be filled, and guilty people always overfill them.
Walker stayed quiet, but his tension was obvious from the tight clench of his fists.
More than ten minutes passed, Walker glaring at him all the time, before Louise appeared on the other side of the window, something dangling from the pen she was holding up.
It was a belt, red plastic. A child’s belt, judging from the size.
As Porter’s mind flew back to Ruby, in white jeans and a red belt, pop group T-shirt, Walker closed his eyes and swallowed.
Porter gripped his wrist. ‘Rodney Walker. It’s over.’