It wasn’t rocket surgery or brain science. Slunk in the back of a parked black cab, Caroline checked the mirror for the millionth time. She’d put herself in Quinn’s mental jackboots. If – God forbid – she was SIO in the Caitlin Reynolds’ inquiry, who would she be keenest to interview? Who’d be top of the tree? The family tree? Exactly. Caroline’s journalistic priority was the same as the cop’s. If it wasn’t getting tired she’d say ‘snap’.
She’d only had to wait ten minutes for the DI to emerge from the station after what Caroline thought of as their negotiating session. With Dave in tow, and a purposeful stride, Sarah certainly wasn’t en route to the hairdresser – though God knows she could do with a new look: that school ma’am bun was so passé. Ordering the cabbie to ‘follow that car’ had given Caroline quite a frisson: felt like she was in a movie. OK not quite …
The driver’s running commentary plus rank BO was the only downside. Who gave a flying fart about the state of the roads, the crap weather, or last night’s telly? Small price to pay though, since for the last half hour Caroline’s sights had been set on a poky bungalow in a seedy side street on the Monkshead estate in Small Heath. The Ice Queen and her bag man were in there and if Caroline wasn’t much mistaken, the target under the grill would be Caitlin’s granny, child killer of this parish. Of course, it would help if she knew the woman’s new name.
The driver turned in his seat a fraction, threw Caroline a lop-sided smile. ‘You’re that reporter off the telly aren’t you?’ She nodded, mentally rolled her eyes. Here we go. ‘I knew it.’ The knowledge clearly gave him intense pleasure. Yawn. ‘I bin tryin’ to place the face.’ Motor Mouth’s face was pretty good though the bodywork left everything to be desired. His paunch had already popped a button and two more looked as if they were on the way out. The green tidemark round his neck meant his Ali G chain wasn’t twenty-four carat, or he’d been sold a pup. ‘What you doing sniffing round here then?’
Wouldn’t you like to know, sunshine. She’d tell the world – once she had the full story. ‘Sight-seeing.’
It took a few seconds for him to get it, and even then the laugh was uncertain. ‘I could tell you a thing or two. I hear stuff in the back of that cab that’d make your hair curl.’
‘You should stay in more.’
Hint taken, he gave her a back view of his head. Sighing, Caroline checked her watch. Get a move on, ace detective. How much time could an interview take, for pity’s sake?’
‘How long you plan on needing me, darlin’?’
‘Just till—’ Movement in the mirror caught her eye. Hoo-bloody-rah. The cops had come out and were walking to the DI’s Audi deep in conversation. What Caroline wouldn’t give to be a fly on the car roof. ‘I’ll settle up now.’ Smiling, she handed him a twenty and almost threw in a tip: use a deodorant. As it happened, she’d been glad to have the guy’s bulk around. The area was rundown, dirt poor; youths strutted round as if they owned it and pit bulls appeared to be the weapon of choice. Caroline had a cautious streak these days. She’d been attacked by a girl gang the year before last and, though loath to admit it, knew the physical violence had left mental scars.
The driver stuck a thumb’s-up out the window. ‘Watch how you go, darlin’.’
You bet. She had a lot to play for. After she’d picked her way along a stretch of pavement strewn with dog turds and chewed gum. The bungalow was the last in a fairly forlorn row, a patch of scrubby grassland lay beyond, handy given gardens were the size of a stamp, and most of those had been concreted over. Up close, twenty-two looked even tattier than the others. Pebble dash always put Caroline in mind of puke and the front door hadn’t seen a lick of paint since God was a girl. Ringing the bell, she inhaled like there was no tomorrow, just knew the place was going to stink inside. Tough. Securing the interview would make the difference between writing a few news stories and producing another book. A doco even? Assuming the woman was up to it.
Caroline strained her ears, rang the bell again. It didn’t sound as if she was up at all. She took a couple of steps to the side – she’d hesitate to call it a lawn – peered through a grimy window. The old dear sat in a chair by the fire. She couldn’t be dozing; the cops had only just left. Caroline smiled. Must be the Quinn effect. The reporter pressed her nose against the glass, watched tears trickle down the woman’s cheeks. Not sleeping, weeping.
Pensive, she stepped back on the path. Now she had the address, she could come back any time. It would definitely be kinder to let the old girl have a good cry, get it out of her system. Yep. Definitely. She knelt, shouted through the letterbox.
‘Let me in. I’m a friend of Caitlin’s.’
Mississippi Diner was a rip-off MacDonald’s sandwiched between a balti house and a bookie’s in deepest Small Heath. It wasn’t often the detectives broke for lunch. Sarah felt like nipping next door and placing a bet this would be the last time Dave got to choose where they ate. She slid her phone to one side of the table so he could dump the tray of goodies.
‘I still don’t think you believed her, boss.’ He sank into the orange moulded plastic chair opposite. Classy.
Sarah had sat on comfier walls. ‘Come on, blanking out bad memories is one thing. But killing a child, spending years behind bars? I can’t see how your mind censors that kind of trauma.’ She watched askance as he took a massive bite from a burger seeping yellow goo. Not so much fast as ooze food. Sarah had opted to fast. The foul taste in her mouth after encountering Linda Walker wasn’t appetite-conducing either. Dave had yet to make a comeback and she was pretty sure his silence wasn’t down to mastication. She stirred more sugar into what masqueraded as coffee. ‘Spit it out, Dave.’ And the burger while you’re at it. ‘I can see you’re not with me.’
He shrugged, dabbed his mouth with a paper napkin. ‘Maybe the bigger the horror, the deeper you have to bury it.’
‘They don’t make shovels that size.’ She widened her eyes. Dave was certainly shovelling it down. Not a pretty sight. Half-turning, Sarah glanced round at the clientele. The place was packed, youths mostly, a few families; the loudest racket came from a kids’ party kicking off in the corner, all balloons, painted faces and party hats. The birthday girl had a big grin and kept pointing to a bright yellow badge shaped in a six. Sarah smiled back then turned away, in her mind’s eye the image of another little blonde girl, only Pauline Bolton never got beyond five.
‘Help yourself.’ Dave jabbed what was left of the bun at his chips. She took one without thinking, about food at any rate. Sarah’s head housed a whole gallery of pictures, crime scenes, victims of violence she knew she’d never be able to let go. Dave-dog-with-a-bone hadn’t dropped the topic. ‘If she really did manage to bury it,’ he said, ‘it explains why she never put two and two together. About Caitlin, I mean.’
Sarah knew what he meant, and didn’t buy that either. Linda Walker must have realized there was a connection with her past and Caitlin’s current predicament. ‘Ask me? She’s in total denial.’
The burger paused midway to mouth. ‘There’s a difference?’
She held his gaze. ‘Can’t see. Won’t see.’ Deliberate blank refusal. Ostrich fashion.
He chewed that over for a few seconds, then: ‘You heard what she said about Caitlin, boss.’ I’d rather die than see Caitlin come to any harm. ‘If she’d harboured even an inkling – I can’t believe she wouldn’t have said something to us that first time.’
‘Don’t bank on it, Dave.’ She leaned forward, lowered her voice even more. ‘I grant you it was a long time ago but that woman killed a child. Tried to frame an innocent man. Her whole life’s been built on lies and deception. And I’d not be surprised if she’s still lying through her teeth.’ There had been too many shifty looks, evasive answers, furious denials.
‘Watch it, boss.’ Unsmiling, he tilted his head. ‘It’s slipping.’
She frowned. ‘What is?’
‘The black cap.’
Frigging cheek. ‘Don’t be ridic—’ She pushed back from the table, just caught the cup before it toppled, grabbed napkins to mop the overspill.
‘She committed a crime. She went to prison.’ He shoved away the remains. The happy meal wasn’t living up to its name. ‘Seems to me you’re sitting in judgement all over again.’
‘Bollocks.’ Or was it?
Dave gave a laboured sigh. ‘Sorry if I happen to believe people can turn their lives round.’
‘And I don’t?’ Christ, if she didn’t believe crims could redeem themselves, she was in the wrong job.
‘If the cap …’ His lip twitched. ‘Slip of the tongue. Sorry.’
‘Not funny.’ She opened her mouth to remonstrate, thought better of it. Maybe he had a point. Irrational maybe, but every time she recalled the second or two when her hand had touched Walker’s shoulder, Sarah’s skin crept. ‘Fair enough, Dave.’ She shucked into her coat. ‘Forgive and forget. End of. Will you tell the mad bastard holding Caitlin? Or shall I?’
Dave caught up with her before she reached the door. ‘Point is – what’s he going to do to her, boss?’
‘Point is, we need to nail him before he does anything else.’ They waited for a gap in the traffic before crossing. Even on a Sunday, the main drag was busy. Sarah was half surprised to find the Audi still intact. Mind, she had parked in plain view.
‘Any ideas then, boss?’ Dave fastened his seat belt.
She waited for a Tesco wagon to trundle past before pulling out. Home deliveries wasn’t a bad notion. Not the point Dave was driving at though. She curved a lip. ‘I reckon we need a little help from our friends. In the fourth estate.’ She’d decided to hold a news conference late afternoon. Go for broke. Make a direct appeal to the perp, try and get Nicola on board as well. The man had made contact twice with Caroline King, so he couldn’t be that publicity shy. Control freaks had to dictate the pace, call the shots, she’d no doubt the abductor fitted that category. Given he had his own agenda, it would be a fine line between drawing him out and pissing him off. Instinct told her that even alluding to the babe-in-the-wood case was a no-no. Might be an idea to run it past the profiler they called in from time to time.
‘You and King mates now then, boss?’ She heard the amused smirk in Mr Irony’s voice.
‘Besties, Dave. ’Specially after this morning.’ She told him the reporter’s proposed deal – demand more like – about working the case alongside the police in return for interview master classes. ‘As if.’
‘Cheeky mare.’ He sniffed. ‘Sounds more like “you scratch my back, I’ll have a lifetime supply of free loofahs”.’
She cast him an old-fashioned look though got the drift. ‘I had to tell her I’d keep her in the loop.’
‘No way?’ He was digging in a pocket.
‘Thing is, the perp’s in touch with her, Dave. Could be useful. Plus she’s sitting on a big exclusive. I can’t risk anything getting out until we’ve collared the bastard. I know it goes against the grain but I’m going to have to keep her sweet.’
‘Talking of which.’ He pulled out a bag. ‘Fancy one?’
The tell-tale grease marks said it all. ‘Doughnuts, Dave? Purlease.’ The cop in her saw them as edible clichés.
‘Dunno what you mean, boss. They’re power rings, these.’
‘I’ll pass, thanks.’ On the keeping King sweet front, she might as well throw it in. ‘By the way, Lois Lane knows where we were last night.’ The chewing halted and she sensed his gaze on her.
‘And is that going to make a difference?’
‘I shouldn’t think so, Dave.’ Only if she starts sniffing round, trying to make trouble.