Chapter Eleven

 

She called up the next two of Fairthorpe's clients and ran them through the system but found no links. She was sure that she was barking up the wrong tree. More for a break than anything else, she went back to the initial report on the crime scene and skim-read it, paying more attention to the photos. Something wasn't right about the scene but she had no idea what, so she just let her mind drift as the pages scrolled past.

She realised what had been tugging at her consciousness. There had been a poster found at the scene. She called up the forensic report on it and frowned.

It was unused – no traces that it had ever been stuck to a surface, no holes from pins. One set of fingerprints, not on file anywhere. No folds or creases. But, crucially, the report did state that all the evidence pointed to it being fifteen years old. Most likely it was one of thousands that had been printed at the time.

An immediate question sprang to Emma's mind. Who on earth keeps a poster for a missing child for all that time? Not faded or creased, but kept flat somewhere, preserved. She could guess that at the time a local print firm would've printed them out and handed them to anyone who wanted one – shops, businesses or volunteers to stick them up. Getting hold of one or more would've been easy. It was the keeping of it that worried her.

She knew she was right about it being important and her boss was wrong. The whole crime scene had been staged. She didn't buy the idea that it was just a distraction. Even if the perpetrator had thought they'd done it randomly as a misdirection then Emma knew that it was a clue. Something might be buried in there, left subconsciously.

So, she pulled the keyboard towards her and started searching for the files on Callum Frost. On Saturday July 3, 2004 the Seaview Estate had been basking in sunshine. Children had come and gone from each other's homes, barbecues had been lit and a good time was being had by all. But, as the evening drew in and people drifted home it became clear that Callum Frost, aged twelve, was missing. The crisis spread slowly from a few phone calls to parents, to fathers and uncles walking round the estate in an improvised posse. Finally, when it was fully dark, the police were called in.

Thankfully, the officers on the ground had been quite forward thinking. A case like this, in a tight-knit community, it was always worth looking at the members of the public who got involved in the case. There were countless instances of people abducting children and then joining the search party, either to throw the scent off or to glory in the pain they'd caused. She called up a file and found a long list of people who'd formed the search parties, even down to the wives who'd manned the community centre, making tea and sandwiches. She hoped that one of them would leap out at her – maybe the passage of time would mean that someone who had been overlooked in the past was now of interest to police. She had just about given up hope when she got to the end of the list. She stopped and stared at the screen, almost unbelieving.

Albert and Margaret Watts.

Could it be? She pushed back from her desk and was about to go and ask DCI Haines to use his contacts to find out how they were related to Gregory Watts. Instead she slumped back down in her chair. She couldn't ask Haines. He wasn't dead, but in a professional capacity, he was as good as.

She checked the clock – it was a reasonable time for lunch. Without second-guessing herself, she left for lunch and went straight to the registry office. This kind of job needed to be done in person. Not only did her boss not want the Callum Frost trail followed, but going after Gregory Watts was even further from what she was supposed to be doing. There was no point in leaving a trail of either paper or email. She'd make sure that she was right before involving anyone else.

Soon she was in the registry office of Bradwick, a lovely old brick-built building, part of the town's Victorian heritage. She had navigated the various forms and the obscure filing system. Her lunch break had stretched so far that she'd have to work late to make up for it, but she was happy. She sat at the dusty desk, holding a piece of paper. The birth certificate of one Gregory Charles Watts. Mother and father listed as Margaret and Albert Watts respectively.

She needed to think. He would've been sixteen when Callum Frost disappeared. Was that old enough to become a predator? She shook her head. It wasn't about the age that Gregory had been, it was about his preferred victim. He was all about the schoolgirls, barely legal. She just couldn't see him being a predator after a twelve-year-old boy, then almost immediately switching to sixteen-year-old girls. In Emma's experience, if a predator had a type, then they tended to stick to it. And Gregory definitely had a type.

She wasn't going to get anywhere being away from the station staring at a piece of paper for too long, though. Now she had the information she needed, she pushed herself away from the desk and got ready to return to the station.

Back at her usual desk, Emma skimmed the rest of the file on Callum Frost. Mostly it was about what had happened in the weeks and months following the disappearance. There were pages of negatives and open case reviews. But no matter what was done, there was no progress. His bicycle had been found the day after the disappearance in a hedge beside a path that led to the beach. Even though the search then swung towards the sea, there were still no results.

So why, fifteen years after his disappearance, was someone bringing their attention back to the case? The most obvious outcome for the case was that Callum had either been abducted or had an accident and ended up being swept into the sea. She flicked back through the case notes and found the initial, rudimentary timeline and nearly groaned out loud. The last reliable sighting had been at one in the afternoon while the alarm hadn't been raised until after eight that evening. Seven hours later. If it was every parent's worst nightmare – a random abduction – then he could've been anywhere in the country before anyone even knew he was missing. Or dead, she thought bleakly. In the file it did show that the case had been referred to the National Crime Agency for profiling. Unfortunately, there were no other crimes that matched the pattern for several years either side.

Which left accident, she thought. Within a mile or so of the estate was a river that emptied into the sea and was connected to abandoned waterways from the Victorian industrial history of the area. Plenty of opportunity for a child to have an accident and be swept out to sea. Or worse, she reflected, letting the darker thoughts take over, plenty of places to hide a body.

* * *

At the end of the day was the meeting Emma had been dreading. The first-week review on the Fairthorpe case. With what she'd learnt from Rob, she looked at her colleagues with new eyes. DS Brian Chisholm – he had a long way to go before she'd ever trust him. She vowed to be professional around him, but no more.

Then there was Suse as well, quietly reading through some paperwork. Now Emma understood her far better. She was always on the ball, taking any opportunity to learn more, look for another angle. Anything to get ahead.

DI Kev Slater came in and called the meeting to order, breaking Emma's train of thought. As expected, progress was thin on the ground. It was left to DS Chisholm, as one who didn't really care about his career, to ask the awkward questions.

'Boss, I passed some queries up to you. Other forces, national agencies and even departments within our force are pushing back on the expense of tracking down hundreds of his clients.'

Kev looked slightly uncomfortable. 'Yes, I've dealt with some of them. And we've had some high-level discussions about the overall cost of the operation.'

'And?' Brian Chisholm asked pointedly, 'Was there any outcome from those discussions?'

'I was about to come on to that. I think we're going to have to screen the list first, informally.' When the people around the table looked confused, he pressed on. 'I've got copies of the entire client list here, enough for everyone. I want you to go through it and see if anyone pops out as being worthy of further investigation. We'll do the same with the national agencies and other forces.'

Brian Chisholm's face spread into a slow grin. 'You mean old-fashioned police work? Have a look and see who we think is moody, before going through the computers? Play our hunches?'

DI Kev Slater flushed. 'Well, I wouldn't put it exactly like that. But yes, that is the essence of the approach that we're looking for. Minimise the number of hits on the computer, minimise the cost.'

'Could I just point something out?' DC Nicholas Dent still seemed overawed at being in CID.

'That is how a case review works, Nick,' Kev said sharply.

'Well, if I was a dodgy financial advisor,' he said unsteadily, 'and I was getting involved in money laundering or something illegal, well I'd run it in parallel. I'd have one set of clean records – a group of clients that I dropped in on, had a cup of tea, and advised them properly, all above board. But at the same time, I'd run a second business, insulated from the first. Different phone, different laptop, different accounts.' He paused now he had the attention of the room. 'I mean, there might be a crossover. He could use the clean side of the business to the benefit of the dirty side, if you see what I mean.'

Brian closed his eyes and rubbed them. 'You know, young Nick, I'm not one hundred per cent sure I do see what you mean. How does this help us?'

'Okay, let's get specifics. He goes to see a little old lady, let's call her Mrs Smith. In order to invest her money, he gets her name, address, date of birth, etc. If he's good, he'll probably have copies of her documents, driving license, passport, proof of address, that sort of thing. He either trains her to give him all the statements when they arrive through the post or gets it sent to him direct. He can then open investment accounts using her name and details and then pass money through them. So we don't need to be looking for someone who's related to a gangster or organised criminal. We're looking for someone who has unusual activity in their name.'

'Like identity theft,' Kev said. 'Which puts us back to square one. We can't really check every account opened in each one of over a hundred names. And some of them might not remember if it was straight or not. Or, if he's as good as you say, they might not be aware of an extra account or two in their names. As long as their own money is invested and growing, they wouldn't have any reason to look deeper.' The mood around the table dropped. 'What else have we got?'

'Well,' DC Stonor said, 'we've tracked down as much CCTV as possible. There's none inside the motel itself, but the forecourt is pretty well covered. The trouble is that it's a petrol station on a busy main road and we've got quite a large window of time.' He looked at some notes. 'Body discovered around ten fifteen in the morning. So, according to our pathologist, it wouldn't work because of rigor mortis if he died any time before eight fifteen. But we don't know when he was attacked, and how much DIY our killer did before finishing him off. So we're checking from about seven up until ten.' He looked glum. 'That pretty much covers rush hour as you can imagine. At the moment it's really a case of recording as many names and addresses as we can identify. Once we get a strong suspect we can see if we've got a match. But it's nearly impossible to go back the other way and find the suspect from the list.'

'Anything else?' Kev asked.

Emma was getting fed up, so she asked, 'What about that poster of Callum Frost?'

'I still think that's a distractor,' Kev said. 'Put there just to confuse us.'

Emma wasn't going to be put off now. She knew that her boss was risk averse, but she couldn't afford to let him shutdown a valid line of enquiry. 'But we've got the results back from document forensics, and it appears that it was printed in the early noughties but it's never been used. No sign of adhesive of any type and no pinholes.' When there were blank looks around the table, she pushed on. 'Doesn't that strike anyone else as odd? I checked and a local printing firm ran off about a thousand of them for free. They were handed out everywhere, shops, restaurants, anyone who wanted to could pick up a stack and put them up in their local area. They turned up in pubs, shops, petrol stations, schools, libraries, everywhere really.'

Stonor and Chisholm both nodded. 'Aye. I remember, you couldn't turn round for seeing them.'

'So, who the hell gets one, and stores it away?' Emma tapped a buff folder on the table in front of her. 'There were no fade marks, no water damage, creases, nothing. Whoever had this poster took care of it, kept it flat and dark, and most likely they then brought it to the hotel where they killed Fairthorpe. Especially as that was a killing which was carried out with care and precision. This can't be an accident or a coincidence.'

'What do you want us to do though, Emma?' Kev asked. 'You said yourself they were printed for free and handed out to everyone. We can't trace one poster from a thousand.'

'No, but we could look into the disappearance again. It obviously means something to our killer. It was on the Seaview Estate, and I know some families stay there for decades. Maybe now someone will remember something? Or maybe say something that they were too afraid to say at the time? We might find a suspect who sticks out?'

'You'll have to be careful though,' Andy Stonor said, looking at Brian for confirmation. 'They have long memories on the Seaview.'

'That they do.' Brian took up the thread. 'And they see the Callum Frost case as a failure. The community failed to keep a child safe and the police failed to protect them, then it failed to find him or catch his abductor. There's a lot of resentment up there, even now.'

Kev nodded slowly, his lips pursed. 'Okay. So, Emma, this was your idea, so you run with it. But these two are right, you'll have to tread very carefully. Some quarters believed that the case was internal to the Seaview, and that message leaked out, so there's a lot of bad feeling up there. But, do what you can, go carefully and see what you can dig up.'

Emma felt like putting her head down on the desk and crying. But she couldn't, she wasn't allowed to in this environment. 'Will do, boss,' she said curtly. Damn, why did she have to speak up? She could have just done this quietly under the radar. But, on the other hand, she did have some information. She would have to tread carefully as the case was obviously still an open wound on the estate. That was the local knowledge that Haines would have supplied in the past.

An idea formed in her head and she decided right then to carry it out. She got up and found Kev Slater in his office. She knew that she was on thin ice but she also knew that she was right in what she wanted to say to her boss.

'Sir, can we talk about Rob Haines?'

'Rob, yes, of course.' He pushed his keyboard away and swung to focus on her. 'I was meaning to have a word anyway. You can't be seen to be too attached to him. He won't do any good for your career, and could easily drag you down with him.' She started to speak but he held up a hand. 'Before you say anything, there are things that you're not aware of. Haines was a divisive figure in the force, especially among the more senior ranks. Obviously, no one wanted him to be injured, we never want any officer to be assaulted. But his being off on leave has been a bonus for everyone. I'm sure you know that there is always a reluctance to move towards official sanctions on senior staff. We don't want dirty laundry being washed in public. If he does make a full recovery, instead of returning to work, he'll go straight into a corruption enquiry, suspended on full pay. Whatever the outcome, I wouldn't rely on him ever returning to work. So he's not someone that you want to be associated with whichever way it goes.'

'I'm sorry that you feel that way, sir.' She had to pause to tamp down her anger at the way her previous boss was being discussed. And she needed get her courage up. 'I was going to suggest that you brought him in to consult on this case. He has--'

'Did you not hear a word I said?' Kev snapped. 'This personal attachment to your previous senior officer will not be looked on favourably.'

'Okay, sir. Let's put my friendship with Rob Haines to one side for a minute. Let's look at this purely logically. We have no idea why this killer is targeting his victim. Without knowing this, we can't determine where he will strike next or who's in danger. Rob Haines, for all his faults, has impressive and deep local knowledge. He's been in the area for decades, and working for the police for a lot of that. His contacts are invaluable.'

'And I'll have you know that I have more time served than Rob Haines. He is a loose cannon with questionable judgement. As far as anyone can tell he ran the worst corruption ring that this county has ever seen.'

'That was all in the past.' Emma seethed. She knew that most of Kev Slater's time had been served behind a desk working a spreadsheet while Rob had been out in the community. 'And you know that he's a good copper, with the safety of Bradwick in his heart.'

'Right.' Kev's mouth set in a hard line. 'I've made my position clear. I can tell that you'll go your own way and ultimately it's not in my power to stop you pursuing any friendships that you might wish. But I hope I've made my opinion clear.' He paused to make sure that his words had hit home. 'And you might want to check with HR to see what would happen if you pass on confidential information about a case to someone not on the team.'

Emma went back to her desk without a word. She'd been humiliated – told off like a schoolchild. She'd tried to do the right thing and it had blown up in her face. She could've just informally talked the case over with Rob and kept her boss in the dark.

In the future, that definitely seemed to be the best approach to take.