Deity (35 page)

‘Tell me we’ve got some film to look at, John.’

‘Cooper’s
already at the Control Room.’

A commotion from Meadow Road turned both their heads. A yellow taxicab was pulling away and its passenger made a bee-line for the boundary tape.

‘Let me through,’ shouted a female voice. She tried to duck under the tape but a Constable grabbed her and held her fast.

‘Let me go. I want to see my son.’

Brook and Noble ran up to reinforce the human barrier.

‘Is it true you’ve found a body?’ panted Yvette Thomson, still wriggling to be free. Their faces confirmed it. ‘Is it Rusty?’

‘We don’t know yet,’ said Brook, putting a hand on her arm.

‘I want to see him.’

‘I’m sorry, you can’t,’ said Noble.

‘How did you know we’d found a body?’ asked Brook.

She hesitated. ‘Someone phoned me.’

Brook glanced over at Noble. He shook his head.

‘Is it Rusty?’ she demanded.

Brook didn’t reply. In most of these situations, he could usually walk away from distressed relatives, safe in the knowledge that someone far more sympathetic would be available to offer comfort and soothing platitudes. Eventually he decided to put his faith in the facts. ‘It’s a young man but it’s hard to identify him. He’s been in the water a while.’

Yvette stopped struggling and steepled her hands over her nose and mouth. ‘Oh my God.’

‘Who phoned you about the body?’ asked Noble.

She seemed not to have heard him. ‘Let me see him.’

‘We can’t allow that,’ said Noble. ‘They’re still processing . . .’

Yvette Thomson broke free and ran towards the screens,
Brook and Noble in pursuit but she was too fast for them. She reached the screens and stopped dead in her tracks.

‘Oh God. Oh God. Oh God.’ Her eyes, like small moons, were fixed on the bloated remains. Brook reached her and tried to turn her away but she shook him off and continued to stare. Eventually she turned away and ran to a nearby bench. She sat down and put her head between her knees and threw up.

Brook and Noble gave her some room. Eventually Brook approached her with a tissue. She accepted it without a glance at him, instead gazing straight ahead. ‘How can you. . . ?’ She looked at the ground, the sentence unfinished.

‘I’m sorry you had to see him like that,’ said Brook quietly.

She shook her head, still looking at the ground. Then her head snapped up, searching for Brook’s eye. ‘It’s not Rusty.’

‘You’re sure?’

‘Certain. It’s the hair. The zigzag – I think it’s Wilson Woodrow.’

Brook walked with Noble back to his car. ‘Playtime’s over, John. Pick up Jake McKenzie.’

‘Arrest him? On what charge?’

‘He was there at Kyle’s assault. Use that.’

‘There’s no evidence he took part.’

‘Then he’s got nothing to worry about, but if we arrest him we can get DNA. Maybe it’s his blood on the plaster in Kyle’s house. And get a warrant for his computer and phone and do the same for Fern Stretton and Adam Rifkind. I want all the text messages and emails and Facebook messages they’ve ever
sent to, or received from, Adele, Russell, Kyle and Becky. If one of them sent a carrier-pigeon ten years ago, I want to know about it.’

‘You want me to sort out next-of-kin for Wilson?’

‘Set it up.’ Noble turned away. ‘Oh, and John. Better get PC Patel over to Alice Kennedy’s to let her know we’ve found a body before she hears it from someone else.’

‘Someone else?’ said Noble.

‘The
someone else
who tipped off Yvette Thomson.’

Noble nodded, tight-lipped. ‘Want Patel to tell her it’s not Kyle?’

‘As long as she makes it clear that nothing’s definite until ID.’

Noble took out his cigarettes and offered one to Brook. He declined with a faint shake of the head.

‘I missed it, John. I completely missed it.’

Noble’s brow furrowed. ‘Missed what?’

Brook looked him in the eye. ‘The evil. There’s a fox in the henhouse and these kids are in danger.’

‘Where’s Dad?’ panted Jake, coming to a halt and opening the gate for his mother.

‘Gone fishing,’ she replied.

‘Why the—’ Jake stopped himself. It was pointless. He’d tried before. His mother worked all hours serving in a bakery for a pittance and his dad wouldn’t give her a lift into town even on his Saturday off. ‘Bye, Mum. Love you.’

Jake’s mother smiled back in that way she had.
That makes it all worthwhile
, the smile told him. He knew she’d be wearing it all day. She blew him a kiss and he watched her turn the corner to catch the bus. He was relieved. He loved his mum to bits,
and he didn’t know why, but when he was alone, everything seemed less intense.

He finished a couple of warm-down exercises in the front yard and pulled off his sweat-stained top, closing his eyes to the piercing early morning sun. It was going to be a beautiful day and so far he had it to himself. He sat bare-chested on the front step revelling in the steam rising from his torso then fished out his iPhone to check his messages. His mouth fell open – he had a text from Kyle.

Jake read the message, dismayed. He closed his eyes again, this time squeezing a drop of moisture on to his cheek. He wiped his face brusquely and roused himself. It wasn’t too late. He reread the message then dialled 999 but rang off before the first ring had ended. He tried to think. He returned to Kyle’s message and sent off a reply.
Where r u? Feds looking everywhere
.

He leaned on the gate awaiting his reply, trying to forget the accusation in Kyle’s message, trying to ignore its truth.

A couple of teenage girls rounded the corner, each sucking urgently on a cigarette. They both wore far too much makeup, tight, low-cut tops and short skirts. They walked arm-inarm towards him, giggling as they drew near enough to give his smooth torso a serious examination.

Jake knew one of them and smiled faintly in their direction.

‘Hey, Jakey,’ said Trina. The two fifteen year olds stopped at his gate and made no pretence of looking anywhere but his body. ‘We’ve seen you on the internet.’

‘And on the news,’ said Trina’s friend. ‘’Bout that slappin’.’

Jake smiled again, wishing they’d keep walking. ‘You’re up early, Trina. Wassup?’

The girl from three doors down leered at him, her head
doddering on its axis like a nodding dog. ‘Just jamming, beautiful. We ain’t been bed yet,’ she slurred. Jake could see she was drunk as she swayed against her equally drunk friend. She winked at him. ‘Not to sleep anyway, eh, Shazz?’ She roared with laughter and both started squealing incomprehensibly at each other.

‘Whoa. Too much information, girlfriend.’ Jake smiled.

‘That’s not a surprise,’ said Trina with a conspiratorial wink at Shazz. The two smirked at each other, finishing with a synchronised, ‘Mmmmmm.’

Jake continued smiling, willing them to move on.

‘You got any vodka?’ asked Shazz.

‘We drink vodka,’ confirmed Trina. ‘We take drugs too, don’t we, Shazz?’

‘All the time. But our best drug is vodka. You got any, Jakey?’

‘Shazz’ll blow you for a bottle.’ Trina cackled.

‘Fuck off, Trin,’ screamed Shazz and they both fell into a fit of the laughter, shouting and squealing as they jostled each other.

‘Go on,’ Trina urged Jake. ‘You know you want to. She’s got all the shag bands, the dirty ho.’

‘She must be very proud.’

‘I have too,’ said Shazz, her head to one side, as though he didn’t believe her. ‘You got any vodka then, Jakey?’

‘It’s seven o’clock in the morning.’

‘Don’t mean we can’t have a party,’ replied Shazz, pouting her most alluring slut-face.

‘I’ll pass,’ said Jake.

Shazz turned to Trina and rolled her eyes. ‘Told you.’

‘Told her what?’ snapped Jake.

‘We
heard
you was a bumder,’ explained Trina. ‘Wilson’s mate told us. You’re in love with Kyle Kennedy.’

‘Piss off, you sket.’

‘It’s true innit?’ Shazz nodded. ‘Only a faggot wouldn’t wanna jizz on my tonsils.’

‘She swallows an’ all.’ Trina leered, and they started laughing and screeching again.

‘You love Kyle,’ they chanted. ‘You love Kyle.’

Jake’s breathing quickened and he grabbed Shazz by the shoulder and marched her into the house. ‘Want some vodka, bitch? Wanna see how much I hate faggots?’ Shazz turned round with a grin on her face and winked at Trina as Jake pushed her up the stairs.

‘Wait for me, Trin,’ she shouted over her shoulder. ‘Shouldn’t be long. Here, your mum’s not home, is she?’

‘Course she is. She wants to watch.’ He opened his bedroom door, pushed her in and slammed the door behind him. When Shazz turned round, Jake had already dropped his tracksuit trousers. ‘Come on then, ho. Get to work.’

Shazz grinned at him and took out her gum to stick on Jake’s bedroom mirror. ‘Nice package. But shouldn’t your fuckstick be pointing north instead of south?’ She giggled.

Jake grinned maliciously at her. ‘That’s your job, slut.’

Shazz smiled and dropped to her knees, cupping his penis in her hands. ‘Shouldn’t take long. Bobby P reckons I’m the best ever.’

Jake closed his eyes as she went to work and tried to concentrate, but all he could see was an image of Shazz and Trina laughing at him through their slack mouths. He strained to see her head bobbing up and down and felt any hardness waning. Then he pictured Kyle looking on and the tears began to well.

He opened
his eyes and stared at the poster of Morrissey, a gift from his friend, and he began to harden again. But over and over his thoughts turned to Kyle. His smile, that little curl of hair on his puny sideburns, those beautiful eyes with their too-long lashes. He’s with me, he’s doing this. He loves me. He wants me.

With an almighty grind of his teeth Jake climaxed and he fell backwards against the door. Shazz was already on her feet, popping her chewing gum back in, a triumphant gleam in her eye. ‘Whaddaya think? Better than a Dyson, yeah?’

Jake wrenched his tracksuit back up to his waist and closed his eyes again.
What have I done? What a bastard I am. Wanna see how much I hate faggots?
Kyle was right. ‘Get out, you slut,’ he whispered softly.

‘Fuck off. Where’s my vodka?’

‘You’re a whore as well as a slut. Now get out!’ he rasped, his eyes bulging in his sudden rush of anger.

Shazz put her hands on her hips and planted herself. ‘Not until I get my vodka, bumder.’

Jake grabbed her by the hair and hauled her down the stairs, the pair of them screaming at each other. He wrestled open the front door and threw her on the ground. ‘Get. Out.’

‘You fucking poof,’ she bellowed as Trina came to her aid. ‘You’re a fucking faggot,’ she snarled at him, rubbing her knee. ‘He couldn’t get it up, could he?’ she told Trina. ‘He’s got fag mags all over his bedroom, and paedo porn, you wanna see it, Trin, it’s dread.’ Turning back to Jake, she screeched, ‘You better not ha’ gi’n me AIDS when you touched me, you fucking arse-loving boner bandit.’

Screaming and hurling abuse they stormed away, regaling every curtained house with news of the pervert in their midst
and pointing back at Jake panting and sobbing on the front gate.

At that moment, Jake’s dad pulled up in his windowcleaning van and got out. He noticed the two girls creating a racket and aiming V-signs at Jake, and nodded approvingly. Perhaps his lad wasn’t such a mummy’s boy. ‘Nice one, son. Treat ’em mean, to keep ’em keen.’

‘Fuck off, Dad.’

‘Oh. A bit of spirit have we now, son? That’s what I like to see,’ he said, and he began to shadow-box with Jake, throwing in the occasional slap on the face.

‘Fuck off, Dad!’ Jake roared, on the brink of hysteria and clenching his fists.

Mr McKenzie pulled up as though slapped. He balled his fists and took a step towards Jake, then thought better of busting his son’s mouth in front of the house. That’d mean a week or two’s earache from Her Majesty, if not a visit from the police. ‘Okay, son. That’s a freebie – for now. I only popped home for more bait. And I don’t mean jail bait,’ he sniggered.

Jake watched his dad go inside, still chuckling and repeating his joke. Jake slumped on to the gate for support. He glanced down the road at Trina and Shazz, just disappearing around the corner. He was only three years older than them but already her age group were like beings from another planet. They were laughing and joking again, arm-in-arm, oblivious to the damage they’d done. Correction. The damage
he’d
done – Judas McKenzie. He took a deep breath. No more lies. He pulled out his mobile and texted Kyle.
Soz Kyle miss you xx
.

Still no reply. Jake opened the front door and sprinted upstairs to his room.

DS
Morton held his warrant card to the crack in the door. The door closed and the chain was removed. The heavily pregnant Mrs Rifkind looked about sixteen to Morton. She opened the door with one hand, using the other to support her unborn baby. She looked nervously beyond Morton.

‘Sorry, Officer, I thought you were a reporter.’

‘Reporter?’

‘Somebody found out that Watson bitch stole Adam’s credit card to set up that website. They’ve been hanging round, trying to get an interview.’

‘Is your husband here?’

‘It’s half-term. He’s up at the cottage working on his novel and getting away from all this shit.’

‘Where is that?’ asked Morton.

‘In the Peaks. Alstonefield.’

Morton ran his eye over her huge belly and wondered what sort of man left his pregnant wife alone to face the press while he worked on a novel. ‘Does he have his computer and mobile phone with him?’

‘Yes, of course.’ Her eyes narrowed. ‘What’s this about? He’s told you all he knows.’

‘We’ll need the address.’

Morton closed his notebook and walked back to his car, not noticing the curtain pulled aside briefly in an upstairs window.

He jumped into the driver’s seat and threw his notebook on top of Fern Stretton’s laptop and mobile phone, both shrouded in plastic.

Morton smiled, remembering her reaction – first excitement then consternation. She was important now. She was involved in the investigation. Police had ‘raided’ her home.