Blood of the Innocents (25 page)

‘You wouldn’t want me to take them off, love, believe me,’ said Knox.

Margaret took them up a sweeping staircase to Lee’s room, just off the first landing at the back of the house. The curtains were drawn, rendering it almost pitch black inside.

‘He likes them kept closed at all times,’ Margaret Ashworth told them. Switching on the ceiling spotlights revealed a room that was a far cry from the single bed, nightstand and wardrobe that had furnished Mariner’s room at the same age. There was a double bed, a bank of technology including PC, games console, TV, video recorder and DVD player, even a kettle, fridge and a microwave. It was virtually a self-contained flat with everything a young man could want. ‘Christ, if I had a place like this and the folks were away I wouldn’t do a disappearing act,’ was Knox’s comment.

Spaces on the purple-painted walls were covered with posters of surfers riding massive waves, along with some of Lee’s own gruesome drawings. A battered skateboard leaned against the wardrobe. Mariner picked over the untidy desk, a jumble of papers, books, CDs and lad magazines. He was itching to rifle through the drawers too, but Margaret was keeping a beady eye on them from the doorway.

‘How about a cup of tea, love?’ Knox asked, summoning the best of his scouse charm. ‘I’m parched. I’ll bet you make a smashing cuppa.’ But Margaret wasn’t having any of it and her arms remained resolutely folded.

‘You’re losing your touch, mate,’ murmured Mariner.

‘Tell me about it,’ Knox retorted. The rubbish bin had been emptied so there were no clues there, but tucked behind it, Knox found a small silver tin of the kind that normally holds travel sweets. This one didn’t. Knox sniffed the dried green substance. ‘He’s got something in common with Shaun Pryce, then.’

Mariner wasn’t that surprised. He walked over to inspect the computer that was switched off and his eye was caught by a glossy scrap of paper that had slid underneath the monitor. He edged it out with a fingernail. Dusty and slightly bent at one corner, it was a strip of photographs of the kind taken in an instant photo booth. ‘Tony.’ He held it up to show Knox. Lewis Everett and Yasmin Akram; grinning broadly, their faces squashed together to fit into the shot. ‘At least it confirms that they’ve been an item.’

‘Not much care taken with preserving it,’ said Knox. ‘A one sided relationship, d’you think?’

‘Could be,’ said Mariner. Another one, he thought, with feeling. Downstairs, a kitchen memo board bore postcards from various locations around the world, along with a number of business cards for local tradesmen and a couple of dental appointment cards. The answering machine might have been a source of additional information, but until they had permission it was off-limits.

‘Have you any idea where Lewis might have gone?’ Mariner asked Margaret, who was hovering, ever vigilant, watching over them. ‘Did he say anything to you?’

She snorted. ‘He doesn’t even tell his parents what he’s up to. He’s a law unto himself.’

They did, however, get from Margaret a good description of Lewis’s car and its registration, and she even, if a little reluctantly, allowed them to borrow a more naturally posed recent photograph of the man himself from a display in the lounge. He was as Mrs Goldman described him, scruffy and staring defiantly into the camera, a frown where the smile should have been.

‘It’ll help us to eliminate him from our enquiries,’ Mariner said, as a sop, though in reality Lewis was inching nearer by the minute to the main frame. It would have been good to be able to delve a little deeper but, until Mr and Mrs Everett returned, their hands were tied. Mr Everett was, apparently, a director of several small companies, so would certainly have some legal connections. He wouldn’t be too pleased about coming home to find his house had been ransacked when there was no concrete evidence for doing so. They had little choice but to wait a day or so and hopefully do it with his blessing.

What they could do, meanwhile, was issue a nationwide description of Lee and his car, highlighting to colleagues in other forces the possible link with Yasmin. Mariner would go with Millie to talk to the Akrams as well. Their reaction to all this information would be educational.

 

Mariner wanted both parents together, so they went back to the house in the early evening. Amira was present too, giving her mother some much needed support. Shanila Akram was displaying increasing signs of strain. Her eyes seemed sunken in her pale face, and Mariner would have guessed that food and sleep had become irrelevancies. Mohammed Akram was fairing better, because he knew that his daughter was safe, or was it just that he was able to put on a better show for them?

‘We’re fairly certain now that Yasmin may have been seeing a boy called Lee or Lewis,’ Mariner said, when they were gathered in the garden. ‘Has she ever mentioned him to you?’

‘Yasmin doesn’t know any boys, only her cousins.’ Mohammed Akram was calm but firm.

Mariner had no choice but to hand over the photo booth snaps and watch shock and bewilderment creep over their faces once again. ‘As you can see, there’s no doubt that Yasmin knows this particular boy. She met him on a school trip when they spent some time together. We’ve also confirmed this with the school. It means that we have to consider the possibility that Yasmin could be with him now. They have both disappeared.’

In an unprecedented outburst, Shanila Akram turned on her husband. ‘Do you see what we’ve done? We’ve pushed her into the arms of a boy. If we had let her do this out in the open, and if you hadn’t—’ She stopped herself, and for a moment the air was thick with the unspoken.

‘Hadn’t what, Mrs Akram?’ Mariner prompted.

‘I was going to say “argued with her”,’ Shanila Akram replied, weakly. Mariner didn’t believe her, but the moment had passed and she was no longer prepared to say what she’d intended.

‘It’s my fault,’ said Amira, shakily. ‘I encouraged her.’

Her mother stared. ‘But why? Yasmin is so young, and she should be pure for her husband.’

‘Amma, that’s ridiculous, antiquated nonsense,’ said Amira, her voice strengthening. ‘I had been with several men before Ravi and I married.’

‘Amira!’

‘It’s true. But Ravi doesn’t mind. In fact, he liked that I had some experience and knew what to do. Yasmin is the same. She needs some experience. She should get to know some boys.’

‘So you told her to make a whore of herself?’ Mohammed Akram was beside himself with fury.

‘Of course not. I just said that if a chance presented itself she should take it. Virginity is overrated. And I know that Yasmin was under pressure from her friends. She felt excluded.’

‘It takes a special kind of courage to stand by your principles, ’ said Akram coldly. ‘And this is the price we pay for giving in to temptation.’

Amira dissolved into tears and this time it was her mother who moved across to offer comfort.

Mohammed Akram glanced at Mariner. ‘We would like to be left alone now, Inspector.’

‘Whatever other skills she has, Yasmin’s pretty adept at keeping all the different facets of her life separate from one another,’ said Millie as they drove away.

‘It’s something we all learn to do, some more efficiently than others,’ said Mariner, thinking that he’d managed to get it down to a fine art: his work, mother and Anna all running on separate, parallel tracks.

 

Kings Rise was holding a memorial service for Ricky the next morning at a local church, to assist pupils through the grieving process, though how many of them would genuinely be mourning the boy was open to debate. It was another unrelentingly hot and dry day, and it was obscene to Mariner that the sun could shine so cheerfully over such an event. Fiske had insisted on accompanying him and Charlie Glover, keeping the police presence to a minimum. The three of them slipped into the back of the church and had to stand in the unbearable heat: the place was so packed with family and schoolfriends. If this lot was anything to go by, Ricky had more mates than his mother knew. Half the church seemed to be filled with spotty adolescent kids. Mariner tried not to think that it might just be a sick excuse for a day off school.

One of Ricky’s uncles spoke nervously, and with hesitance, about the ‘grand lad’ Ricky had been, while Colleen’s sobbing seemed to echo throughout the whole chapel. Mariner detested the indignity of these manufactured occasions and, as the congregation rose falteringly to its feet and began an uneasy rendition of the final hymn, he noticed one or two of the kids stifling giggles. When Fiske’s pager went off, he wanted to punch his superior officer in the face.

Afterwards, they joined the long line that filed past the family to pay their respects.

‘What the hell is he doing here?’ demanded Colleen emotionally as Fiske appeared in front of her. ‘You did nothing. Nothing!’ Suddenly she lunged for him. Mariner heard camera shutters clunk behind them and knew that this would not be Fiske’s finest hour. Turning his back on the debacle, Mariner walked over to where Charlie Glover stood, lighting up a cigarette. At least Colleen would appreciate that particular brand of camaraderie.

 

They drove in an uncomfortable silence back to Granville Lane, where Tony Knox had mixed news. ‘Lewis Everett’s parents are home. They flew in from the Bahamas in the early hours of this morning, boss. But they don’t know where he is either. As far as they were concerned their precious son was looking after the house and doing his work experience. They admit that he can be a bit wild but they don’t see him eloping with anyone. Too selfish for that, so they say.’

The vestibule they’d entered the previous day was, this afternoon, cluttered with matching Luis Vuitton luggage and a bulging sack of golf clubs. Mr and Mrs Everett were nicely tanned, but they no longer looked very relaxed.

‘Thank you for seeing us so promptly,’ Mariner said. ‘I realise you must be tired and jet-lagged and have things to do.’

‘This is not the kind of reception you expect or want on return from a peaceful holiday,’ admitted Mr Everett, with slight irritation. ‘But we’d like to sort it out as soon as we can.’

‘You’ll be aware by now that a young girl has gone missing in the area. We have reason to believe that she was having a relationship with your son.’ Mariner produced the photo. ‘This is Yasmin Akram. Did you know that Lewis was seeing her?’

Everett gave the picture a perfunctory glance before passing it to his wife. ‘Lewis has had various girlfriends. We don’t always meet them.’

‘And Yasmin?’

‘I don’t recall her, do you, darling?’

Mrs Everett was studying the snapshot more carefully. ‘No.’

‘And have you any idea where Lewis may have gone? We need to find him. He may be the last person to have seen Yasmin before she disappeared.’

‘I’ve had a look round,’ Everett said. ‘Some of his camping gear has gone from the garage, but as to where he’s gone, I wouldn’t know.’

‘We’d like to do a more thorough search of his room, if that’s all right.’

Everett flattened a yawn. ‘If you must.’

‘Do you know if Lewis kept any kind of diary?’ Mariner asked Mrs Everett.

‘I don’t think so.’

‘Perhaps we could have a look on his computer.’

Even on the more thorough search, the only paperwork they could find was a school planner, but it contained nothing personal. On his PC they looked for traces of records on Outlook but there was nothing.

‘What would Lewis do for money while he’s away?’

‘He has an allowance paid into his bank account and a debit card that he can use to withdraw cash from ATMs. He has a credit card too,’ Everett told them.

‘We’ll need the details. The credit card company may be able to help us track his movements.’

Lewis’s credit card records provided the break they needed. A phone call to the company revealed that since the day of his disappearance, Lewis had been spending heavily at petrol stations, restaurants and surfing shops in the area around Newquay in Cornwall.

Knox contacted local police with the description of Lewis and his car, with a request to publicise it widely, especially around the camp-sites in the area.

‘That could take some time,’ he was told. ‘There’s hundreds of them and in this weather they’re pretty full, too.’

‘Do what you can, will you?’ Then it was back to the waiting game.

 

When Mariner got home that evening, he found that his answering machine had been working overtime. An unexpected message from Anna told him that she had the chance of a night’s respite from Jamie if he felt like calling round. It happened occasionally when Manor Park had an overnight vacancy. Mariner looked at his watch: it was ten fifteen. It didn’t take long to make up his mind.

The house was dark: Anna making the most of the opportunity for an early night. So often was her sleep disturbed by Jamie’s nocturnal wanderings that she took a full night when ever she could. Mariner let himself in and, after taking a long, cleansing shower, eventually slipped into bed beside Anna.

‘Hello, you,’ she murmured, sleepily.

‘Hi.’ In the heat of the night she’d thrown off the duvet and he could make out the luscious curves of her body. He slid a hand round over her stomach and up towards her breasts, feeling his own body starting to respond.

But Anna wriggled away. ‘Mm, I’m really tired.’

Pity. Sighing heavily, Mariner had to content himself with moulding his body to hers and breathing her scent. He lay there for a while, trying to drift off, but sleep just wouldn’t come. Eventually, he got up and prowled the rooms, coming to rest at the bedroom window where he stared out at the eerie orange glow cast over the street by the sodium light, until at last it was faded out by the dawn. The next morning he felt like death warmed up while Anna was full of energy. ‘I’ve got a meeting with Simon about the festival this evening,’ she bubbled. ‘Any chance you could sit with Jamie for me?’ Suddenly, irrationally Mariner began to question the motives for that late night phone call.