NINETEEN

Jenks had hit upon a simple tactic, aided and abetted by his smartly dressed solicitor. Every question was answered with the words ‘No comment’.

However, on the evidence of Rory Quillan, Jenks was charged with concealing the death of Nerys Barnton. When Joe warned him that it might only be the beginning, for the first time he saw the politician’s confidence drain away.

Joe had passed a note detailing what Sally had said about Nerys’s injuries into the interview room where Emily and Jamilla were questioning Jade Portright. Now he was waiting for Emily in the incident room to see what she’d managed to find out, but no sooner had he settled down to catch up with some paperwork when he had a call from reception telling him that somebody wanted to speak to him.

Joe picked up his jacket off the back of his chair and made his way downstairs, full of curiosity and when he pushed open the door which separated the sharp end of the police station from the outside world he saw Paolo Jones sitting on the bench at the far end of the foyer. He seemed to be staring at a crime prevention poster, deep in thought, but when he spotted Joe he stood up and took a sheaf of papers out of the leather bag he was carrying.

‘I searched through the recycling like I promised and I found these.’ He held the papers out to Joe as though he was anxious to get rid of them. ‘They’re mostly letting agents’ details about flats and houses. I suppose she might have rented one of the places and didn’t bother to let me know.’

‘Thanks,’ said Joe as he relieved Paolo of his burden. ‘By the way, we’ve found a notebook belonging to Pet Ferribie. She reckons you know more about her mother’s disappearance than you let on.’ He watched the man’s face for a reaction.

But Paolo shook his head. ‘I tried to tell her but I don’t think she believed me. I can’t add anything to what I’ve told you already. Helen disappeared and I’ve no idea what happened to her.’

Joe was about to make his way back to the incident room but he saw Paolo Jones shifting from foot to foot as though he was reluctant to leave. ‘Was there something else?’

Paolo hesitated for a moment before speaking. ‘I was wondering . . . I just wondered how your investigation’s going. And . . .’

‘Go on,’ Joe said quietly.

‘Do you think Helen might still be alive?’

Joe thought there was no harm in giving him an honest answer. ‘I’m sorry, I just don’t know.’

Paolo slung his bag across his shoulder. ‘I’d better get back to the restaurant for my shift. Promise you’ll let me know if you find out where she is.’

Joe nodded. Although it was a promise he knew he might not be able to keep.

When he returned to the incident room he found Emily in her office. He gave a token knock on her door and walked in. She looked up but didn’t smile.

‘How did you get on with Jade?’

She sat back in her chair. ‘Don’t you find that there are some questions you wish you’d never asked?’

‘What happened? What did she say?’ He sat down on the chair opposite her, sensing she wanted, or needed, to talk.

‘I hate anything to do with kids, Joe. I don’t know if it’s because I’ve got kids of my own . . .’

‘You don’t have to have kids to feel that way.’

She looked up. ‘Oh Joe, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean . . .’

‘That’s OK.’ The fact that he and Kaitlin hadn’t had children, that it was something they’d planned for a future that never happened, had bothered him a lot after her death. He’d always thought that a child would be a little bit of her still left on earth and for a while he’d grieved about it. Over the years the grief had faded. But sometimes it returned at the most unexpected times. ‘What did she say?’

‘Her father abused her. It started when she was about nine and went on until she couldn’t stand it any more. When she had the chance to disappear she took it and she built up some sort of relationship with Rory Quillan – not sexual which probably came as a relief to her after what she’d been through. More like brother and sister. She changed her name – became Jackie Quillan. And of course they were bound together by their shared secret.’

‘Nerys’s death.’

‘She claims that her desire to get away from her father was behind her unwillingness to report the so called accident.’

‘I take it you told her about Sally’s findings?’

‘I did but she stuck to her story that Nerys fell. Said she must have hit her head on a log. But she did admit that she had a quarrel with Nerys that night. They’d planned to run away to London – they’d even left their rucksacks in the wood to pick up – but Nerys changed her mind and wanted to go home. And she said she’d tell Jade’s parents where she was.’

‘So Jade lost it. She’d thought she was going to get away from her father once and for all but Nerys let her down so she lashed out. I take it she hadn’t told Nerys about the abuse?’

‘She says not. Her story matches Rory’s exactly. She met the two men in the woods and Rory helped her. Later, when she knew who Jenks was, she hit on the idea of blackmail. I told her he’d been questioned and I think she assumed he’d told us everything. And I wasn’t going to enlighten her.’

‘And Rory went along with the blackmail?’

‘Yes. But I don’t think his heart was in it. If you ask me, Jade was the brains behind it all.’

‘We’ll have to tell Nerys’s parents.’

Emily rubbed her eyes. ‘Yes. But what about Jade’s parents? What about Steve Portright?’

‘He could face charges for what he did to his daughter.’

‘It’s her word against his and he’s bound to deny it. Jade doesn’t want us to tell her parents but I don’t know how we’re going to keep them in the dark once the news of Nerys’s death becomes public.’

‘What about her mother?’

‘She blames her for not putting a stop to the abuse. She doesn’t want to see either of them again, Joe. She says she’s happy living with Rory. She says that he’s her family now and she seems very protective of him.’

‘It’s a kind of love, I suppose,’ said Joe. He understood the need for another human being to share things with; the trivialities and the big events of life. Someone to confide in; someone who was there.

‘Yeah.’ Emily said. Joe saw her glance up at the children’s paintings she’d pinned up on her office wall.

‘Paolo Jones has just been in to see me,’ Joe said. ‘He found those papers Helen Ferribie left at his place.’

Emily looked relieved at the change of subject. ‘You think Helen Ferribie might be another victim?’

‘Pet was looking for her. Perhaps she was killed because she was about to stumble on the truth.’

‘Do you see Jones as a suspect?’

Joe shrugged his shoulders. ‘Not really. But I don’t think we can rule anything out at the moment.’ He stood up. ‘I’ll go and have a look through the stuff he brought in. Who knows, it might be useful.’

Joe returned to his desk. They’d cleared up the case of the two missing girls but the murders of Pet Ferribie, Anna Padowski and the rest still remained stubbornly opaque. And whenever Joe thought they were clearing the fog away, it seemed to form again, thicker than ever.

He cleared a space on his desk and placed Paolo Jones’s papers there in front of him. He turned them over one by one. The most interesting and poignant item was a sheet of paper on which was written a poem in what looked like a young child’s best handwriting. The poem was about a fairy. Over lakes and over ponds, I skip to leafy bowers. My wings are made of spiders’ webs, my dress of lily flowers. The rest of it continued in a similar manner and Joe suddenly felt that he was intruding on something precious: a remnant of the time when Petulia Ferribie’s childhood had been happy. Before her mother abandoned her to find whatever it was she was looking for. Helen Ferribie must have taken the poem to Eborby with her – a keepsake of the daughter she’d betrayed. But had that betrayal anything to do with her ultimate fate?

Most of the papers Paolo had given him were printed details of flats and houses for sale or rent and Joe flicked through them, making a note of all the addresses so that they could be checked out. Then suddenly he spotted one that made him look twice. On a sheet bearing the logo of a city centre estate agent he saw the printed details of a ground floor flat off Boothgate: one bedroom, lounge, kitchen, bathroom with access to a small courtyard garden. But it was the name and phone number scrawled and circled in blue ink that caught his eye. The number was unfamiliar but he knew the name alright. Andy Cassidy.

It was about time Pet Ferribie’s landlord answered a few more questions. He looked at his watch. It was three o’clock already and he hadn’t eaten a thing. He contemplated bringing Cassidy in again for questioning but he changed his mind. If he called on the man it would get him out of the office and he’d just have time to pick up a sandwich.

As soon as he’d taken his coat off the stand in the corner Sunny hurried in and made straight for him like a homing missile.

‘I asked someone to contact all the local carpet companies,’ Sunny said. ‘Three places in the city centre have been carpeted in blue and red wool mix carpet – some people have no taste.’ He smirked. ‘A posh jewellers in the Fleshambles, a bridal shop in Coopergate and a staff recruitment agency in Boargate. I’ve sent someone round to check them out.’

Joe thanked him but somehow he couldn’t see any of the premises mentioned being used as the location for two gruesome murders. No doubt the officers Sunny sent would have a good sniff around for anything that seemed suspicious but he wasn’t getting his hopes up.

The enclosed, busy atmosphere of the incident room was rather oppressive and as he walked through the streets he felt a welcome sense of freedom. After buying a sandwich, he took a short cut through the Museum Gardens, sitting on a bench to eat at leisure and feeling like a naughty schoolboy playing truant.

When he’d finished eating he walked on past the abbey ruins, imagining how the place would have looked in its heyday. The magnificence of the great abbey church must have rivalled the cathedral itself and the abbey buildings would have stretched across the park almost down to the river.

He walked beneath the old abbey gate and out into the street. It wasn’t far to Cassidy’s place and he used the time to think. Wherever they looked Cassidy’s name kept cropping up and his connections to the victims – with the possible exception of Roni Jasper down in London – was impossible to ignore. And he couldn’t forget that the man was a killer, tried and convicted.

Cassidy didn’t look at all surprised when he answered the door, almost as if he’d become resigned to visits from the police. He stood aside to let Joe in.

‘I’ve got some news,’ Joe began. ‘Ian Zepper’s in hospital. Suspected heart attack.’

Cassidy said nothing for a few moments and when he spoke, his voice sounded hoarse, as though he was suppressing some strong emotion. ‘How is he?’

‘They think he’ll live.’

‘Good.’ The word sounded half-hearted, almost as though the news came as a disappointment.

‘I want to talk to you about Helen Ferribie.’

‘Who?’

‘Pet’s mother. You met her a few years ago when she was looking for a flat.’

‘I meet a lot of people. I can’t remember them all.’

‘She’d written down your name and phone number on the details of a one-bedroomed flat not far from here.’

‘I own a flat on Boothgate Close. Is that the one?’

Joe nodded and took the sheet of paper out of his jacket pocket. He’d put it in a protective plastic cover and folded it carefully. When he handed it to Cassidy he studied it and nodded.

‘I only had a couple of properties back then and I was letting them through these estate agents at the time but I sometimes showed prospective tenants round. She’ll have called me for an appointment – that’ll be why she’s written my name and number on here.’ He handed it back to Joe. He seemed confident, as though he knew Joe could prove nothing. ‘And before you ask, I don’t remember her.’

‘Did Pet mention this to you?’

‘She asked if I’d met her mother and I told her I didn’t think so.’

‘Did she tell you her mother was missing?’

‘Yes. But I got the impression she’d run off. I mean there’s missing and missing, isn’t there? It sounded like her mother didn’t want to be found. Not that I told Pet that. I thought it was best to let her live with her illusions.’

‘I think her mother was murdered,’ said Joe bluntly, watching Cassidy’s reaction.

But he was disappointed. ‘Sorry to hear that but it’s nothing to do with me. I never killed my sister and I never killed this Helen woman . . . or Pet or Anna for that matter.’

‘Dr Zepper brought in a notebook belonging to Pet. It’s mostly about her search for her mother. You get a mention.’

‘So I believe. He rang me last night and told me all about it.’

‘How did you feel about Zepper sleeping with your fifteen-year-old sister?’

Cassidy began to walk towards the kitchen. ‘Don’t know about you but I need a coffee.’

Joe waited patiently while the coffee was made – properly by a flashy machine with elaborate spouts and dials. It tasted good and he sipped at it while he waited for Cassidy to speak. He looked as if he was in the mood for confidences. The only trouble was Joe didn’t know whether to believe a word he said.

‘OK,’ said Cassidy as he sat down. ‘Zepper was screwing my little sister. He could have lost his job . . . gone to prison, I don’t know. But he knew exactly what to say to make me keep my mouth shut.’

‘What do you mean?’

Cassidy sighed. ‘He’d caught me with a woman . . . one of my teachers. She was married and she said that if anybody found out it would ruin us both. I was infatuated with her and I couldn’t bring myself to betray her. Anyway, it didn’t seem to have anything to do with Grace’s murder. It didn’t give me an alibi or anything like that so I kept quiet. I wish I hadn’t now but I thought I was doing the right thing at the time. You do make some daft decisions when you’re young and romantic, don’t you.’

‘Do you still think Zepper killed your sister?’

‘He had an alibi and he’s always denied it but . . . Look, if I could prove he killed Grace and clear my name, I’d be a happy man. But he keeps coming out with crap about loving her. Love? He was in a position of trust and he abused her. He should have gone to jail.’

‘I can see why you’re angry. Did you take that anger out on your sister?’

Cassidy turned away, fists clenched, and Joe knew that if it weren’t for his job he’d probably have a bloody nose by now. He changed the subject. ‘Who’s the slob Pet mentioned in her diary? Could it be Den Harvey?’

‘I suppose so.’

‘And the Suit Man? Someone her mother might have seen before she vanished?’

‘Haven’t a clue. Could be anyone.’

‘What about kissing the demons?’

Cassidy swung round. ‘It was just something we used to say – me and my mates. It just means living dangerously. Kicking over the boundaries.’

‘Pet used the phrase.’

‘She might have heard me saying it. Or Zepper might have picked it up from Grace. Grace used to hang round sometimes when we were talking so she’d have heard the phrase. I’ve forgotten who first used it but we liked saying it. It made us feel . . . I don’t know . . . daring maybe.’

‘Do you possess a Halloween suit – the Grim Reaper?’

‘You’re joking.’

‘I’d like a list of properties you own.’

Cassidy hesitated for a moment then disappeared. He returned a couple of minutes later with a printed list of addresses which he dropped on the coffee table.

‘Are all of these occupied?’ Joe asked as he picked them up.

‘The address in Mungate’s empty at the moment.’ He pointed to one address. ‘And this one in Bacombe’s being renovated so it’s crawling with builders.’

‘Got the key to the Mungate flat?’

Cassidy disappeared for a minute or so and returned with a Yale key which had a cardboard label attached to it by a piece of string. Joe thanked him and promised to return it as soon as possible before taking his leave.

As he reached the door Cassidy spoke again, his voice subdued. ‘Have Anna’s parents arrived yet? I’d like to . . . I’d like to pass on my condolences. And I’ve put all her belongings in suitcases so . . .’

When Joe turned to face him he could have sworn he saw tears in his eyes.

When Joe arrived back in the office he found a brown envelope waiting on his desk. But before he opened it he asked somebody to check out the address Cassidy had given him – the vacant flat that didn’t have builders crawling all over it. It was situated near the city centre in the new Mungate development. From the willingness with which Cassidy had provided the key, he didn’t expect to find anything incriminating. But he couldn’t help wondering about blue and red carpets.

He opened the brown envelope and found that there were six photographs inside, each a blown up section of the YSY group picture. When he laid them out together the image almost filled his desk. A number of new faces that had been distant blurs in the original were now sufficiently well defined to be recognizable but Joe was quite sure that he hadn’t seen any of them before. It had been a long shot which had turned out to be a waste of time.

He looked at his watch. It was five o’clock on a Saturday afternoon. The time when most people were enjoying a weekend away from the demands of work. There was a time when he’d have wondered how soon he could get away. But as it was, he didn’t have much to go home for. There were times when he wished Maddy was back in Eborby and not down in London – and this was one of them.

Death knew it was important to do things properly. He had thought up these rituals all those years ago during the times of terrifying darkness when he could neither see nor hear nor speak nor see nor touch nor taste. Before the mask of normality had been put on, so firmly that nobody could see behind it.

In those days he had only had the ghost of a murderer for company; a murderer who had owned the house he lived in and whose shade dwelled there still; breathing in the night, half seen in the shadows. The ghost of the murderer had visited in those dark times and he’d whispered to Death in that blackened room under the stairs.

This time the victim would be deprived of the sense of touch. Fingers were easy to sever and they made splendid souvenirs to treasure, to keep safe and precious to relive the sensations of killing. Death checked the knife he had sharpened on the electric machine in the kitchen and he knew that the blade would cut through flesh like butter.

Death wanted more than anything to return to the scene of Jacob Caddy’s crime. He had been watching the woman who lived there from the trees behind the house and he’d seen her undressing at her uncurtained bedroom window, confident that she couldn’t be seen. But Death had been there watching.

Recently the place had been crawling with police so Death knew his careful plans might have to change. Perhaps it would be amusing to claim one of the enemy as a victim; or somebody whose loss would cause them pain. Death knew that surprise was on his side. And besides, taking risks made you more powerful.

It was so good to kiss the demons.