Some kids looked at Jack’s car as he drove onto the Whitcroft estate. They had the usual hoods and loose fits, with more menace than the black hair and pale faces of teenagers seen in the better parts of town, where rebellion was just a phase. Jack knew that they were trying to work out how to spoil someone’s day, and their eyes had settled on Jack’s relic from the seventies, the Calypso Red paint blistering on the front wings and the windscreen covered in dust and squashed flies.
Jack hadn’t stayed long at the court. There wasn’t much going on, and he wasn’t in the mood to write up any of Hoyle’s speeches. Instead, Jack decided to return to the estate, to find out more for the feature Dolby had pencilled in for the weekend edition.
He was sorting out his voice recorder, deleting old interviews to clear some space, when the security van drove up to the front of his car, stopping inches short. Another car pulled up close behind.
Jack put down his dictaphone and watched as the two security guards got out of the van, their arms hanging away from their body. It wasn’t a friendly visit. They walked towards his car, and then stopped and folded their arms. Then Jack’s passenger door flew open and someone jumped into the seat. Don Roberts.
Jack was shocked. He looked back to the security guards, who were both grinning at him now. DR Security. Don Roberts. He should have guessed.
‘Let’s get this over with,’ Don said, turning towards him.
‘There is no this,’ Jack said, trying to hide the nerves in his voice.
‘Have you reconsidered?’ Don said.
‘About writing an appeal for information?’ Jack said, and then shook his head. ‘No, I haven’t.’ He tapped his finger nervously on the steering wheel.
‘Why won’t you help me find Jane’s killer?’
‘Because of what you will do when you catch him.’
‘Which is what?’
Jack looked at Don. He saw the clenched fists, the scar that ran from one corner of his mouth. But then he saw something else. It was confusion. In Don’s eyes, Jack could see that he didn’t know why his daughter had died, why something so awful had visited him. There was pain and grief and anger, and the determination to avenge his daughter’s death in the only way he knew how: through violence.
‘You would do exactly what any father would want to do,’ Jack said. ‘Kill the bastard who murdered your daughter. But I’m sorry, I can’t help you do that.’
Don looked down, and Jack wanted to look away when he saw the tremble to Don’s lip.
‘Would that be so wrong?’
‘Yes, in my world.’
Don clenched his jaw but didn’t respond.
‘Go to the police,’ Jack said.
Don shook his head.
‘You don’t want the police poking around your life,’ Jack said. ‘That’s your choice. But as bad as it sounds, you need to get the sympathy of the public to get the information you want, and so stand with the police, as a grieving parent.’
Don put his hands on his knees and clenched his fingers around the kneecaps, his knuckles turning white. Jack became aware of the silence. He could hear the gentle crackle of the branches on a silver birch. The soft creak of springs as Don moved in his seat. The rhythm of leather heels as an old man in a grey suit walked towards the shops.
Don’s shoulders slumped and the clench in his jaw softened. He looked at Jack, and there were tears in his eyes.
‘I’ve never had to do anything like this before,’ Don said, and for the first time Jack saw the anger slip away, leaving just grief, and it looked deep and raw.
Jack looked out of his windscreen at the two security men. They were looking away, oblivious to Don’s distress. Jack turned round to face him and said gently, ‘Tell me about Jane.’
Don didn’t wipe away the tears. They rolled down his cheeks as he took a deep breath to compose himself. ‘What can a father say about his daughter?’ he said. ‘Loyal, loving, beautiful.’
‘What about the last time you saw her?’
Don looked at Jack for a moment before answering. ‘It was just an ordinary night. Jane was going out, and so was I, just to my old local.’ He shook his head in disbelief. ‘Quiz night. How fucking mundane is that?’
Jack didn’t interrupt. He wanted Don to talk it out. He wasn’t planning on using it, but he wanted to find out more, so he could pass it on to Laura. Don may be unwilling to help the police, but Jack thought differently.
‘I was getting ready upstairs and so I never got chance to say goodbye,’ Don continued, ‘but why would I make a point of it anyway, because it was just a routine Saturday? I thought I would see her the next day.’ He paused, and then said, ‘She had a boyfriend, you know.’
‘What about him?’ Jack said, trying not to let on that he already knew.
‘I wasn’t supposed to know. Jane told me they’d finished.’
‘Why did she lie to you? Did you have a problem with him?’
‘He wasn’t good enough for her.’
‘So how did you know they were still together?’
‘Because people report back to me,’ Don said.
‘She was a grown woman. Why couldn’t she choose her own boyfriend?’
‘She could, but there is a thing called family.’
‘But you stopped her from seeing someone, and so she had to creep around, which made her walk alone that night.’ Jack watched carefully for a reaction.
Don’s fists went pale as he clenched them hard around his knees. ‘You make it sound like it was my fault.’
Jack shook his head. ‘You weren’t to know. But tell me this: why don’t you want the police involved? That is the question everyone will be asking. Why aren’t the parents at the news conference? Why wasn’t she reported missing earlier?’
‘Why should I be scared of the police?’ Don said. ‘You tell me, before you put it into print: what is it that I do?’
Jack realised then that he didn’t know too much about Don Roberts, apart from the rumours that he was the one to be feared.
Don nodded angrily at Jack when he didn’t respond. ‘So you don’t know much?’ he said, with a sneer. ‘Be careful what you print.’
‘How much have you read about Jane’s death?’ Jack said. ‘Some people have said some pretty cruel things on the internet.’
Don chewed his lip for a moment, and then he nodded slowly. ‘They’re sick,’ he said, ‘but let me say just one thing: say it to my face, because that’s the thing with the internet. Everyone’s a fucking hero when they’re at the keyboard, talking up the fight, but it hurts just the same whether it’s said to your face or from behind a screen. So if you print any of this, that’s my message to whoever they are: say it to my face.’
‘What have you found out so far?’ Jack said. He tried to make it sound innocent, a throwaway question, but he over-played it, and Don spotted it.
‘That is for me,’ Don said, and he leaned closer. ‘I know who you are, I asked around, and so I know who you live with. Do not underestimate me.’
Jack tried to meet his stare, but in his eyes he saw the look he recognised from the faces of the hardcore criminals who turned up in court sometimes. Not the thieves or the Saturday night fighters, but the career ones, the ones who played for high stakes. It was a look that told him that there were no limits.
They were interrupted by the security guards turning round to talk to someone who had grabbed their attention. It was a man with lank, greasy hair and stubble on his cheeks. He looked around furtively, his hands in his jacket pockets, his shoulders hunched. He was edgy, the paleness to his skin giving away the tell-tale signs of drug dependency. He was talking fast, making the security guards look towards Don, who opened the car door and stepped onto the pavement.
As Don slammed the car door shut, Jack wound his window down to listen to what was being said. He heard the word paedo and weirdo, and then part of an address.
Jack leaned out of his window. ‘I need to go. Could you move your van?’
Don gestured for one of the security guards to move it, and as he reversed Jack watched Don reach into his pocket and produce a roll of twenties. He peeled two off and gave them to the informant, but before he was able to scuttle away Don reached out and grabbed him by the back of the neck. There was some finger pointing, and Jack could hear the angry hiss of Don’s temper. The addict nodded quickly, and then Don pushed him, making him stumble to the floor. He picked himself up and walked off quickly.
He was around the corner as Jack pulled away. Don was in deep conversation with the two security guards as he went.
Jack caught up with the informant, who was walking quickly, looking back as he went. Jack pulled alongside and wound his window down.
‘I’ve just been talking to Don,’ Jack shouted at him. ‘Where does this weirdo live?’
He looked suspicious and kept on walking, but then Jack saw the memory of his car click into place. ‘Rockley Drive. Number 19,’ he said. ‘Are you going to sort him?’
‘Where’s that?’
‘At the top of the hill, on the right.’
‘And you think that the guy from number 19 did it?’
He shrugged. ‘He’s a fucking weirdo, is what I know. He’s always at his window when the school kids go past, looking through his nets.’
‘And that’s enough for you, is it?’
The visitor slowed down and licked his lips, his tongue flicking over the brown stumps of his teeth. ‘If it was your kid, you’d be bothered,’ he said. ‘It’s not right, that’s all, what happened to Jane.’
‘What’s your name?’
‘Don knows my name.’
Jack watched him go and then realised that he had another visit to make, if only to save a life.