GRAFFITI ON THE STEAM TRAIN climbing frame in the Infants’ school playground:
Darling monster ever so sly
tortures lads to make ’em cry!
When they beg him just to play
Monster kills ’em anyway . . .
The boy had written this message only yesterday evening but hadn’t tagged it because he’d been disturbed and chased away. He’d returned this morning to sign his pseudonym but somebody else had got there first with their own cryptic response to his work. Beneath his sprayed rhyme, somebody had added in black crayon:
I DON’T TORTURE
He was so distracted staring at the competing message that he didn’t hear the caretaker sneaking up behind him.
‘Got you, you little sod!’ the caretaker hissed.
* * *
When Delahaye came through Rubery police station’s door, he found a very forlorn teenage boy sitting on a chair. Delahaye’s presence, however, made the boy sit up, his face sheepish, unable to make eye contact. According to the desk sergeant who had called him about the ‘capture of Harry Ca Nab’, Adam Booth was nearly fifteen but didn’t look it, slight and small for his age.
Delahaye sat beside Adam. He’d seen the boy around the Village hanging out with Ava’s friend, John. This meant it was possible that Adam knew Ava. Did the girl know of her friend’s alter ego? Did Adam know about hers, about Miss Misty? It bothered him that these children were pretending to be adults and involving themselves in the case. Could they not see that they were putting themselves in serious danger?
The desk sergeant knew Adam’s father and had told Delahaye that the boy had never been in trouble before, that he was doing well in school, and was from a good family. The detective saw all this, and utter remorse, on Adam’s stricken face.
‘Hello, Adam,’ said Delahaye. ‘I’m Detective Sergeant Delahaye. I understand that you’re Harry Ca Nab, the delinquent who’s been spreading disturbing graffiti all over the area.’ Adam had twitched at the word ‘delinquent’, but he nodded anyway. ‘You’ve caused alarm, mocked the police, and defaced public buildings.’ He paused then added, ‘These are serious offences.’
Adam was silent, his eyes tearful. ‘I’m really sorry.’
‘The community is terrified with a child killer on the loose,’ Delahaye said. ‘I’ve heard some people say that the killer is this Harry Ca Nab . . . ’
Adam’s blushing shame retreated to deathly pale. ‘No! I’m not!’
Delahaye sighed. ‘That may be, but people are so frightened and angry they’ll blame anyone for the murders, Adam. They might think your rhymes are making fun of their misery.’
‘I didn’t do it for that reason,’ said Adam. ‘I’m just sick of being scared all the time. I just wanted the fear to go somewhere else and the graffiti’s my way of getting it out.’ He shrugged. ‘My parents won’t talk about what’s going on.’
‘But you might have caught the murderer’s attention,’ said Delahaye just as a warning, but the boy’s sudden expression of horror made him pause.
‘Sir, do you have a pen and paper?’ Adam asked.
Delahaye handed him his unofficial notebook, and pen. Adam scribbled on it then handed it back to the detective. Delahaye read the rhyme that had got the boy caught.
‘I promise I never wrote that last line,’ said Adam. ‘That’s not my work. I wrote mine last night and that message was there this morning.’
I DON’T TORTURE
‘So, the murderer might have seen you and knows who you are now,’ said Delahaye. It wasn’t a typical tit-for-tat graffiti-to-graffiti response: it was a simple correction. ‘Can you see the potential danger you’ve put yourself in?’
‘Oh . . . sugar,’ Adam said. ‘I’ll never do it again. I promise.’ He held out his hand and Delahaye shook it, not doubting the boy’s integrity in any way.
‘Will you tell my parents?’ Adam asked.
‘I’ll take you home and tell them you got caught in a bout of mischief and you’re let off with a warning,’ said Delahaye. Adam’s relief was palpable as Delahaye tucked the notebook into his jacket pocket.
* * *
After taking Adam home and explaining to his shocked and disappointed parents that their son had been caught ‘in a minor act of vandalism, nothing serious, he’s apologised and he’ll never do it again’, Delahaye drove to Colmers Farm Infant School. He collected his camera from Suzi’s boot and arrived in time to find the caretaker about to sandblast the graffiti off the concrete structure. He asked the man if he could take a picture of it before removal, and the caretaker nodded.
‘I hope the lad’s all right – I didn’t mean to scare him,’ said the caretaker.
Delahaye took a picture of the graffiti, concentrating on the bottom message and how very different it was from Harry Ca Nab’s style.
I DON’T TORTURE.
Was this a message from their child killer? If it was, and his instincts insisted it was, the murderer might not think he tortured his victims but Delahaye believed otherwise because the bite marks suggested a relish that had little to do with killing them outright. This key detail had not been released to the media, and only the police and forensic team knew the post-mortem particulars. Delahaye looked out across the deserted playground, the silence unnatural in a place usually loud with children’s voices.