Down Among the Dead Men (24 page)

'No idea. I was sleeping.'

There's silence in the room. Frank waits for Harris to return. He's comfortable with silences in here. They can be very unsettling for some but Noone seems equally at home. Eagles consults his watch, fidgeting. Frank gets the feeling that for him environments like J7 represent unfamiliar territory.

Harris comes back into the room and takes her seat.

'They should get some good footage,' says Noone to Harris.

'Excuse me?'

'The CCTV. River Towers has some decent security. Should be some good footage. That's what you've been out to chase up, right? Smart thinking.'

Eagles leans across and puts his hand on Noone's arm. He whispers something in the American's ear and sits back.

'Just trying to be friendly,' says Noone.

Frank's had enough. He closes the file and points across the table. 'I'll just tell you this straight, maybe it'll save some time.' He fixes his gaze on Noone. 'You did this. I know you did this. And what's more, you know I know, don't you? You don't think there'll be any forensics we can put on you? Prints? We'll find something.'

'I'd been there before,' says Noone, evenly. 'With Terry one night. Met the family. If my prints are in there, that'll be why.'

Frank looks at Harris and then back at Noone. 'You think that'll cover you?'

'I got the full tour,' says Noone. 'Very keen to show off the place. Don't think there was a room I didn't see. I may have had a shower.'

'Nice,' says Frank. He tries to remain calm but Noone is getting
under his skin. And he's smart. Saying he was at the house previously negates almost any forensics. Unless he left a bloody print. Even hair samples would be tainted.

'You did this, Ben.'

'We're finished here, DCI Keane,' says Eagles. 'My client doesn't have to sit and listen to these wild accusations.'

Frank ignores the lawyer. 'This isn't a performance, Noone. There's a sixteen-year-old boy out there. Now you've killed him, or you've got him. One of the two. I
know
that. We can wait for this bullshit story of yours to fall apart or we can help Nicky. You can help Nicky. Just tell us and it'll be easier for you in court.'

Noone just sits there. He turns to Eagles. 'Can you believe this?'

'No,' says Eagles, 'I can't.' He stands and places his briefcase on the table, his hands folded across the clasp. 'Unless you are going to formally charge Mr Noone with murder, we're leaving. Right now.'

'The DNA will be in soon, Ben,' says Frank. 'From when you fucked Nicky's dead mother. You remember coming over her, don't you? Your client won't mind giving us a DNA swab, will you?' Frank smiles at Eagles. 'For elimination purposes.'

'We're going,' says Eagles. 'You can get a court order for that DNA swab.'

'No friendly cooperation?' Frank folds his arms behind his head.

'Unbelievable,' says Noone, getting to his feet.

'Was she dead when you fucked her, Ben? I'm betting she was.' Frank's angry, but even in the midst of his rage there's an uncomfortable feeling that Noone's too confident. There'll be no DNA, thinks Frank. I was wrong. He didn't fuck Maddy Peters.

Eagles opens the door to the interview room and steps outside. At the threshold, Noone turns to Keane. 'Good luck,' he says. 'I hope you find Nicky, I really do.' He closes the door behind him. Frank picks up the file and hurls it after him. It bounces off the battered wood and sprays paper across the floor.

Em Harris presses the stop button on the digital recorder and stands. 'Can I just say, you handled that perfectly, Frank. Textbook stuff.'

'Fuck off,' says Frank. 'And it's DCI Keane, Harris. Or have you forgotten I'm your boss?'

'No, DCI Keane,' says Harris. She opens the door. 'I haven't.'

Alone, Frank places his forehead on the Formica surface of the table and lets out a long, low groan.

Shit.

Forty-Six

The day's not over.

After losing his cool in the interview with Noone, Frank runs straight into Searle outside the MIT offices, Peter Moreleigh at his heels like an attentive terrier.

'Sir.'

'The very man!' Charlie Searle is oozing bonhomie. A bad sign. Frank's sure there's a direct and inverse correlation between Searle's cheeriness and the amount of shit about to be dumped in your lap. From the grin that's creasing the slimy bastard's face now, Frank knows he's in for something special. It's also bad that the two of them are still around after five.

'Will this take long, sir?' It's a faint hope but he's got to try. 'Only I've got an update meeting . . .'

'Only take a few moments, Frank. Your office?'

Two minutes later and Searle's sitting opposite Frank. Moreleigh leans his skinny arse on the sill of the window. 'Can't for the life of me understand why you prefer it down here, Frank,' says Searle, casting a dubious eye around the unlovely surroundings.

'Each to his own, I suppose.'

Moreleigh smirks and adjusts the lapel of his suit.

'Fill me in,' says Searle. There's a joke there somewhere but Frank doesn't take the bait.

'I imagine this is about the Peters and Quinner cases?'

Searle nods. 'Correct.'

'I'm on lead for the Peters case and Harris is looking after the Quinner one. They're obviously linked. I understand from DC Rose that the film production has shut down after Quinner's death.'

Searle looks at Moreleigh, who shakes his head sadly. 'We're getting flak from the council on that. Movie production is a cornerstone of the new regime.'

Frank doesn't respond. He waits until he's sure Moreleigh's finished making noises and then picks up the thread as if he hadn't spoken.

'I've got a strong feeling about Noone, the American actor. That's where I've just been. He got briefed up halfway through. Eagles, from Bilson's.'

At the mention of one of the city's oldest law firms Searle raises a quizzical eyebrow.

'Quick work. And expensive.'

'Too quick,' agrees Frank.

'Anything solid on him?'

'Well that's the thing,' says Frank, conscious that he's straying out onto decidedly creaky ice. 'It's the absence of anything solid that's worrying me.' Frank explains to Searle about Noone's flimsy records.

'Seems a bit thin, Frank.'

'We should be hearing from the lab about the DNA material gathered from the Peters house. I've been promised it today. I need to get a court order for a swab from Noone. And I've got a couple of officers trawling the CCTV for evidence to disprove his story. He claims there's a woman he spent the night of the fourteenth with. No name or number and says he picked her up outside Maxie's.'

'Hmm. OK. We'll talk about the DNA swab when we know it's not the dentist's. No need to rock the boat unnecessarily. And surely the brother – Terry – is in the frame too? He was sleeping with his sister-in-law. In my book that places him much closer to the centre.'

Searle might be a bit of a wanker but Frank has to admit he's still a cop under the suit. The blue files mustn't only be for show. The fucker's done some homework on this case and Frank agrees on every point he's made. Terry is a stronger candidate.

Except that Frank knows that it's Noone.

But Charlie Searle and Pete Moreleigh aren't here for a chinwag about progress. If Searle's taken the trouble to get out from behind his desk and schlep across to Stanley Road with Moreleigh in tow,
there's a reason. Frank spins out a few more minutes on what's happening with Terry Peters and the work being done on the Quinner case before Superintendent Searle comes to the point. It's Frank's request for more uniforms for the ongoing search for Nicky that gives Searle his chance.

'Ah, yes, Nicky Peters.'

'Why does that sound like it's going to be a problem for me?'

Searle smiles without warmth. 'Because it probably is, Frank.'Searle gets up and stands next to Frank. 'You've had contact with the tabloids on this?'

'Yes,' says Frank, not sure of where this is headed.

'Then you'll know what they're capable of.' This is from Moreleigh. 'We had a call from a journalist at one of the red tops, a chap called McSkimming. Vicious little bastard if his previous stuff's anything to go by.'

'And?'

'McSkimming's going to run a story in tomorrow's paper suggesting strongly that Nicky Peters killed both his parents. They have an interview with Alicia Peters.'

'Terry's wife?'

Searle nods. 'Alicia's making it sound like she's a worried relative. Come back, Nicky, all is forgiven. That kind of carry-on.'

'She's found out about Terry and Maddy.' Frank's nodding his head as if confirming something to himself. 'And blaming Nicky's better than admitting it might be her husband.'

'It could be the husband.'

'No,' says Frank. 'It's Noone, I can –'

Searle cuts across him, all pretence at friendliness gone. 'Cut it out, Frank. We can't support that kind of dumb policing. Both Terry and Nicky Peters are better suspects than Ben Noone and you know it. I want you to get something prepared for McSkimming. They're going to run this story and I don't want the department to look stupid.'

'This is going to put Nicky in danger.'

Searle's expression is scornful. 'For fuck's sake, Frank, if you're right about him being taken by Noone then the kid's dead. And if by some miracle he's not and turns out to be the killer, then he
might as well be dead. We're going with the story that we're anxious to speak to Nicky. When he turns up we want to look like we knew it was him all along.'

'And if the DNA from Birkdale is Noone's?'

'Then you'll be right and I'll be wrong. But that's another day and we can deal with that if and when it happens. In the meantime I want a statement that positions us with an umbrella when it starts raining. Nicky Peters is a troubled teen. We're reaching out for him. We understand. We'd like to speak to him. Got it?'

Forty-Seven

It's all Theresa Cooper can do to stop herself sprinting for the car after Stella Flynn spills the news about her ex-husband.

Instead, she forces herself to slow down and get as cohesive a story from Stella as possible.

'You know this, Stella?'

Stella nods. Her shoulders are shaking so much that Cooper takes the cup from her and places it on the coffee table. The last thing she needs at this point is a compulsive-obsessive to get deflected by tea stains on the shagpile.

'I started to get a few ideas about him a long time before it happened. A wife does, you know?'

The unmarried Cooper nods in agreement. 'Go on.'

'Little things at first. A lack of interest in me. Well, that wasn't anything special. Men can do that.'

'But . . .?'

'But he started to show an interest in filming Jacob.' Stella looks up. 'I don't mean the normal sort of filming – Terry works in the business so he's always got cameras on the go – I mean filming stuff that was sort of . . . wrong. There's no other way to describe it.'

'Like what?'

'Well, Jacob was getting older by this point. Maybe nine or ten. Too old for some of the stuff. I found some shots Terry had taken of him in the shower. I asked him about it and he just said it was fooling around. Like a prank thing. I should have been firmer then, but I wasn't to know. Anyway, after that I kept a bit of a lookout for anything funny and there wasn't anything for a long time. It looked like Terry had been telling me the truth.'

'And had he?'

Stella shakes her head. She's crying again. 'God forgive me,' she sobs. 'Poor Nicky.'

'What about Nicky, Stella?'

'I found out – well, suspected more like – that Terry had started helping Nicky out with cameras and stuff. He was always interested in that sort of thing was Nicky, even as a youngster. Made his own videos. Not just filming. He edited them, put them to music and the like. Entered competitions.'

Cooper steers Stella back to Terry. 'And Terry?'

'I came back one day, home.'

'Here?'

'No, where we used to live. Birkdale. It was the weekend but Jacob was off with some school trip thing. I was working at the hospital – reception work – but there'd been some problem with the rosters . . . I don't know. Whatever it was I came home early and Terry was in the back garden with Nicky. He must have been about ten. He was lying on a towel and Terry was rubbing oil on him. It was a warm day and Nicky had shorts on, so I suppose it was technically OK, but when Terry saw me I knew. I just
knew
. He made some crap up but that was the finish of it. I started divorce proceedings straight away.'

There's silence in the room. Theresa gets the feeling that Stella Flynn might crumble away to nothing if not handled correctly.

'But you didn't say anything?'

'I did!' Stella's face flashes anger. 'Of course I did! I told Maddy about it.'

'How did she take it?'

'She didn't believe me. Not Terry.'

Cooper thinks: she was sleeping with him even then.

'And Terry had been clever. Covered his tracks well. Nothing on him, and Nicky never said a word. Denied that Terry had done a thing. For all I know Nicky might not have known if Terry had been fiddling with him. He was only a kid. The family closed off against me – those that knew what I thought, anyway. When he married Alicia I tried to tell her but even though she had a boy herself she was the same as Maddy. Didn't want to know. I could see how
I looked – a nasty, bitter ex-wife trying to stir up trouble. I tried a few times. No one listened.'

Stella fixes her eyes on Theresa. 'But I fucking knew what that bastard was doing and he wasn't going to get to Jacob. I'd have killed him if he'd ever tried to see him again. Killed him.'

'And did he? Try, I mean.'

'Once. The day he broke the window. I told him then that if he ever came back it would all come out, evidence or no evidence. He hasn't seen Jacob since then.'

'What happened when you heard about Nicky?'

Stella fishes a tissue from the pocket of her jeans and blows her nose. 'I heard about Paul and Maddy being killed. It seemed so unlikely that I didn't know what to think. I certainly didn't connect it with Terry in any way. It was only when I heard that Nicky was missing that I wondered.' She looks at Cooper imploringly. 'But what could I do? I don't have anything to back me up. I'm just the ex-wife, right? Who's going to believe what I say?'