Mrs Benson’s son is on an attempted murder charge and someone has sprayed ‘Paedo’ across her front door. She’s a broken woman; her world has been shattered beyond repair, but I need to speak to her about her son.
I flash my CSI card at the wary eye that’s appeared in the narrowest of gaps between her front door and its frame.
‘Hello, Mrs Benson. My name is Ally Dymond. I’m a crime scene investigator.’
She relaxes, but only slightly.
‘You people have already been,’ she says in a broad Devonian accent.
‘I know, but I just need to do a follow-up search of Peter’s bedroom. It’s standard procedure.’
Standard procedure. Two words people never seem to question.
Defeated, she unhooks the chain and opens the door. Her first name is Lily. Wrapped in a threadbare green cardie, her unevenly cut hair with its blonde home-kit highlights can’t distract from the deep trenches running the length of her cheeks. She’s only fifty-five, but she looks seventy.
‘His room’s up the stairs, first on the left. He didn’t do it. He’d never harm anyone.’
Poor woman. Still fighting his corner. She’s been on her own with Peter for as long as I can remember, and I’ve known Peter since we were eleven. We were at the same school. He was in a different year, but I still knew of him. We all did.
His mum attended almost as often as he did, a constant presence at the front desk or on the red chair outside the head’s office, always there defending her son to the end.
Simple, guileless and desperate to belong, Peter would do the older boys’ bidding without question. No matter how often Lily Benson told him to stay away from them, the promise of attention lured him back in. Then he spied on the girls’ changing room and got expelled. Seems he’s been spying on girls ever since. But that doesn’t make him Megan’s attacker.
I open the door with a Harry Potter movie poster on it. Inside is a shrine to the boy wizard who stares sternly from a duvet, pillowcase, calendar and even the lampshade.
‘He loves Harry Potter. He’d really like Dumbledore’s wand.’
I slip on a pair of latex gloves and make a play of checking bedside drawers and flicking through the pages of the unread books on the shelves.
Lily hovers by my shoulder, close enough for me to catch a whiff of body odour. She can’t cope with herself, let alone her son. They needed help a long time ago.
‘I know he had a bit of trouble with girls saying he hassles them, but he just wants to make friends with them. He doesn’t mean any harm.’
Complaints to the police suggest he’s much more interested in making friends with a girl’s breasts, but I keep that to myself. Scanning the room, my eye falls on the empty rectangular space on a desk by the window where Peter’s computer stood before the police seized it. Lily follows my gaze.
‘They say he was speaking to this girl on ’is computer, but I don’t see how. He’s never been good at writing. He just plays games on it, but the police won’t listen.’ Her cold clammy hand closes over mine. ‘He didn’t hurt that maid. He didn’t even know her.’
Her final sentence catches my attention.
‘How do you know he never knew her?’
‘He told me. I read it about it in the papers and I know he likes to cycle the trail to Barnston so I asked him. He said to me, “Mum, I saw her, I thought she liked me, she didn’t. I didn’t touch her, I promise.”’
‘If Peter had never met her before, why did he think she liked him?’
Lily shrugs.
‘Dunno, but I believe him. The thing is, whenever he’s been in trouble before he’s always admitted it to me.’
There’s a pride in her voice and I believe her. Peter wasn’t talking to Megan online and he didn’t attack her, but he was there that day. My mind flashes back to our school days and the ‘naughty boys’ who led Peter on. Did someone persuade Peter to go to Three Brethren Woods and approach Megan, like some kind of decoy? Was that someone Simon Pascoe?
‘Did Peter ever let anyone else use his computer?’
‘No, no one else ever went into his room.’
‘What about Peter’s friends? Did they ever come round and visit? Were any of them ever here alone?’
Lily lets out a cackle.
‘Friends. Peter doesn’t have any friends. It’s just him and me. That’s the way we like it.’
‘What about your friends? Do they come and visit you?’
‘Like I said, it’s just me and Peter.’
This doesn’t make sense. No one has accessed Peter’s computer, other than Peter, but I know as well as Lily does that he wasn’t messaging Megan.
‘Are you sure no one comes to the house, Mrs Benson?’
But I’ve lost her.
‘And that’s the problem. I got diabetes, see, and my blood pressure is sky high, not that my GP cares. ’E won’t even return my calls. Peter normally gets my medication for me. Without it, I’m done.’
‘So who gets it for you now?’
She shrugs.
‘I go without.’
‘Isn’t there anyone who can help look after you?’
‘No. Mr Bates used to check on me, but he’s in hospital.’ She taps her temple. ‘Gone doolally.’
‘What about the health visitor?’
‘No, silly cow says I’m fit enough to get myself to the surgery, but I’m not.’
‘So, there’s no one to check up on you?’
‘Only that nice ambulance man. He pops in from time to time, on ’is way to work.’
The ambulance man.
‘He’s sounds a lovely chap. I probably know him. What’s his name?’
‘I’m not sure. Sean maybe, no Simon. It’s Simon.’
‘Simon Pascoe?’
‘That’s the one. Such a quiet voice, can hardly make out what he says sometimes, but he’s a lovely man. He’s a hero too. He rescued a girl who’d fallen down the cliffs. It was on the lunchtime news.’
Simon Pascoe, the man who told me Megan’s final words were an apology to me to help soothe my guilt.
‘Yes, he is, isn’t he? He runs the cycle club that Peter goes to, doesn’t he?’
‘Yes, but I know him from way back.’
‘Oh, how’s that?’
‘Silly me, I forgot my medicine once and had a funny turn. Bless Peter, when he couldn’t wake me, he ran over to Mr Bates over the road who called the ambulance. He was all there then. It was Simon who came out. I didn’t know that, of course, because I was in a coma, but he came to see me in hospital, brought me flowers.’
Simon Pascoe who, having dropped his partner in town, was parked just yards away from Three Brethren Woods. Alone.
‘He even tried to email my GP for me to sort out a repeat prescription, but his phone wouldn’t work.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘He said this street was a bit of a blackspot for mobile reception.’
There are plenty of mobile blackspots in a place like North Devon, but I know where they all are. Everyone in the emergency services does. It’s so we can avoid them when we need to talk to call handlers, which is why I know Mrs Benson’s street isn’t one of them. There’s no reason for Simon’s phone not to work here.
‘So, what did he do?’
‘It’s OK. He sorted it out in the end. Peter told him some numbers and letters and that seemed to do the trick.’
‘You mean Peter gave Simon your Wi-Fi code?’
‘Don’t ask me, maid. Is that what it’s called?’
‘Thank you for your time Mrs Benson. I think I have everything I need.’
‘Oh, you leaving so soon, love?’
‘Yes. You’ve been very helpful. Thank you, and, for what it’s worth, I don’t think your son hurt anyone.’
She smiles for the first time.
‘He’s a good boy.’
I get back into my car and get my phone out. There’s someone I need to call.
‘Liam, it’s Ally. You free to talk?’
‘Sure.’
‘How far does a Wi-Fi signal reach beyond a house?’
Of all the questions he might have been expecting, that most definitely was not on his list, but he once told me he’d done a spell in the hi-tech unit so I’m guessing this is his area.
‘Er, right. OK. Well, you need to factor in a few things, like walls and weather, but I’d say the signal from a Wi-Fi router, like the one you have in your cabin, could reach up to ninety or so metres outside.’
‘That far?’
‘Sure, if the conditions are right.’
‘So I could sit outside my house or nearby and access my Wi-Fi?’
‘Absolutely.’
‘And I could surf the internet and set up social media accounts using that Wi-Fi?’
‘Of course.’
‘And those web addresses would show up on my ISP records?’
‘Yes, they would.’
‘But you wouldn’t know which device had been used?’
‘No, you only see the web address and time and date stamp. What’s this all about, Ally?’
‘I can’t tell you, but you’ve been a great help. Thank you. I owe you.’
‘Er. OK. Anytime.’
I ring off. There’s one more thing I need to do. I switch on the car engine, ram it into gear and head over to Bernadette’s.
Unsurprisingly, Bernadette isn’t pleased to see me. Her last words to me were a lecture on not being with Megan and now here I am on her doorstep, ringing her doorbell.
‘Who’s with Megan?’
‘Penny.’
‘She’s too good to you.’
‘I’m about to go back. I just need to speak to you. It won’t take long. It’s important.’
‘It’s always important.’
I’m already beginning to think this is a mistake, but I can’t leave until I have what I need.
‘Please.’
That I haven’t bitten back surprises her. She frowns at me.
‘What is it, Aloysia?’
‘It’s about the time when Megan hurt herself at school, about six months ago. Do you remember?’
‘Yes, I remember.’
Of course, she does. She only raises it every time I see her.
It was a Tuesday afternoon when Megan’s school rang me to say Megan had fallen off the high beam in gym class and knocked herself out. She’d come round, but an ambulance had been called, as a precaution. I was eighty miles away on a training day and couldn’t leave so I called Bernadette. The ambulance was already there when she arrived.
‘The paramedic who treated Megan. Were they male or female?’
‘Male, why?’
‘What did he look like?’
Silence, but there’s no reward at the end.
‘I’ve no idea. I was too busy worrying about Megan.’
She stares hard at me, eyebrows raised, in case I missed her little dig. I haven’t, but I’m not here for a row.
‘Was he fair or dark?’
She sighs, irritated at being asked what she regards as pointless questions.
‘Oh, Aloysia. I don’t know. This is so difficult. It was so long ago. Fairish, I think.’
‘Tall or short?’
‘I’ve no idea. He was kneeling next to Megan most of the time.’
This is hopeless.
‘OK. Thanks for trying. I best get back to Megan.’
I turn to leave.
‘I remember his voice, though.’
‘His voice?’
‘Yes. He was very softly spoken. I had to get him to repeat himself a few times. He also said there wasn’t enough room in the back of the ambulance, and I’d have to follow in my car. He was very insistent. I remember not being happy about that; I am Megan’s grandmother, after all, and you know how I hate driving the Bidecombe to Barnston road. It’s a death trap. All those bends. Aloysia, are you all right?’
‘Yes.’
‘Are you sure?’
‘Yes. I’m sure. Thanks.’
‘Wait. What’s this all about? Is this to do with what happened to Megan?’
‘It’s OK. It’s nothing for you to worry about.’
But Bernadette is following me down the steps to the car.
‘What’s going on?’
‘Nothing. I just wanted to check something, that’s all.’
I get back into the car and go to pull the door shut, but she grabs it with surprising strength.
‘Aloysia?’
I’m about to brush her off, but there’s something in her eyes I don’t recognize: fear.
‘Yes.’
‘I know we don’t always see eye to eye, but promise me, you’ll be careful. For Megan’s sake.’
‘I promise.’
She lets me close the car door and takes the steep steps back up to her house. She’s not as sprightly as she used to be. The door closes behind her and I’m alone in the car with just one thought. Simon Pascoe – I’ve got you.