Fell Purpose (9 page)

‘Well, it may help us locate her handbag, which we still haven’t found.’

‘How can it do that?’

‘Every mobile phone gives out a radio signal that can be tracked,’ Atherton said, recollecting patiently that Wilding probably didn’t read much popular fiction or watch cop shows on the telly. He probably thought
The Vicar of Dibley
was cutting-edge.

‘I didn’t know that,’ Wilding said.

‘So if the phone is in her bag we’ll be able to pinpoint it. And there may be something in her bag that will help us as to where she went on Sunday night – a cinema stub, say, or a receipt from a café,’ he added to forestall the next question. ‘So if you can tell me the number . . .?’

‘Hmm? Oh, yes.’ He seemed utterly distracted, and Atherton, who had accompanied them to the morgue earlier, was not at all surprised. What a rotten business it was. As Slider had said during another case, parents weren’t supposed to outlive their children. It was something from which you could never wholly recover.

‘Right,’ said Porson, ‘you’ve identified the body and the family’s been informed. So we can release the name, get the photos out, do the appeal. What’s happening now?’

‘Everyone’s still out doing the fingertip search and canvassing the neighbours,’ Slider said. It was eerily quiet in the CID room.

‘Anything from that?’

‘Not yet, sir, but it’s early days.’

‘It’s the early day that catches the worm. What else?’

‘We think the boyfriend, even if he is an ex-boyfriend, is worth pursuing.’

‘Oh, always,’ Porson agreed. ‘Has he got form?’

‘Nothing much, but he is known. Joy-riding when he was a juvenile. A couple of tugs for possession. The local police have suspected him of dealing, but they never got anything on him, and apparently he’s not been much in evidence lately – they think he’s operating somewhere else.’

‘But nothing for violence – affray, carrying a knife, anything on that side of the septum?’

‘Nothing like that, and no sexual assaults, either. But Doc Cameron says she wasn’t raped, so it’s not strictly speaking a sexual assault anyway.’

Porson stopped his pacing to look at Slider sharply. ‘Strangling’s always a sexual assault,’ he said. ‘And sexual assault’s never about sex; it’s about domination and destruction.’

‘Yes, sir,’ Slider said. The old man came out ’orrible sensible sometimes.

‘There’s more than one way to butter a parsnip. Whoever was having sex with her, strangled her; that’s my view. Pity there isn’t any semen to get the DNA from. Let’s hope Cameron finds a hair or something. Anyway, follow up the boyfriend. What else?’

‘We have to check at the Black Lion if anyone saw the girl, or saw who picked her up. Bearing in mind, of course, that she may have met somewhere else entirely, and just used the Black Lion to throw Sophy off the scent. She seems to have been quite mysterious about it all.’

‘Right.’

‘And we ought to make questioning the fairground people a priority.’

‘You think someone there might be involved?’

‘It’s not that; it’s the question of why she was on the Scrubs at all. It’s only a mile across the grass from the fair to where she was found. Maybe she was at the fair that evening, and maybe someone saw her, that’s all.’

‘All right, go for it. Anything else?’

Slider sighed. ‘I think we have to interview her school friends and find out if she said anything to any of them about a new boyfriend, or about her plans for that weekend.’

Porson eyed him sympathetically. Interviewing young girls was nobody’s favourite job. Boys were much easier. They gave you lip but, as with horses, after the wild bucking generally came submission. But with girls you never got to the end of the attitude, and if you tried to press them they took refuge in tears, hysteria or, worst case, accusations of mental or physical assault.

‘Well, don’t get hung up about it. It’s a rotten job but somebody’s got to do it. Just make sure you don’t get left alone with any of ’em. I can do without any of my officers being suspended on the say-so of some little madam with more mummy than sense.’

FIVE

All Creatures Grunt and Smell

I
t was late when Slider got home, but Joanna was there to greet him with a kiss, and there was a welcome fragrance of cooking in the air. He understood completely why married men were said to live longer than single ones.

‘I bet you haven’t eaten all day,’ she said. ‘I made a big soup. It’s all hot and ready, on the table as soon as you like.’

He only had to shed his jacket and tie and wash his hands. Joanna’s soups were a meal in themselves, so packed with good things you practically needed a knife and fork to eat them. After a large bowlful, accompanied by the heel end of a chunky loaf (she always saved the heels for him, though he suspected she liked them herself – she took wifehood very seriously, he realized humbly), he was feeling revived enough to pay proper attention to a morsel of cheese, with which she thoughtfully put out a glass of Bruichladdich. He sighed and looked at her. ‘I’d marry you if you weren’t a married woman.’

She batted her eyelashes. ‘I love you, too. So, how’s it going?’

‘Too early to say. Thousands of canvasses to go through, lots of sightings of young people and young couples in and around the area but nothing stands out yet. One obvious suspect but only because he’s a bad hat and he knew her. We’ve nothing on him.’

‘Oh, well that all sounds wonderfully positive,’ she said. ‘You look bushed. Another Brutal Laddie?’

‘Just a tiny one. Have one with me?’

‘Just a tiny one.’

‘I interviewed the victim’s best friend today,’ he said while she poured. ‘Or I should say “mate”. God, it was depressing. Girl from a well-to-do middle-class family, attending a fee-paying school, and she talks and behaves like a trollop. It made me think of Kate. I don’t want her becoming like that, but I suspect there’s nothing anyone can do to prevent it. I don’t suppose the Cooper-Hutchinsons planned their Sophy to be like that, but the culture is stronger than the people.’

‘Don’t be silly – the culture
is
the people,’ she said briskly. ‘Mostly people are too indolent. It’s a huge effort to take a stand over things, and they can’t be bothered. They’d sooner be friends with their children than try to discipline them.’

‘Tough talk.’ Slider smiled wearily at her. ‘I can’t even influence Kate now, let alone discipline her. We really have to find somewhere with another bedroom, so I can have them to stay. I can’t be a part of her life when I can only see her for a couple of hours at an amusement park like a Divorce Dad. Did you have any luck today?’

‘Oh, I saw the details of a lot of properties, but nothing
we
can afford. One estate agent recommended looking at the auction sites. There are a lot of repossessed properties coming on at the moment, at rock-bottom prices. I’ve got the details of a couple of sites. I’ll have a go at it tomorrow when the baby’s napping.’

‘Talking of the baby, have you found a sitter for Thursday night?’

‘I asked Emily, and she jumped at it. You’d think I was doing her the favour.’

‘Oh good! Funny Atherton didn’t say anything to me.’

‘She probably hasn’t spoken to him, any more than I spoke to you,’ she pointed out kindly. ‘She’s thrilled about it, bless her. Says she’s never looked after a baby before, and can’t wait.’

Slider stirred. ‘Never looked after a baby? Is that a good idea, then?’

‘Good practice for her, for when she and Jim get at it.’

‘I think they’re at it already.’

‘Parenthood, rather than mere vigorous bonking.’

‘But I meant, is it a good idea for the baby?’

‘Oh, what could go wrong?’ she said. ‘Worst case he howls all evening, which won’t hurt him, and will prepare her for the realities of life.’

He smiled. ‘I love your cavalier attitude to our only offspring.’

‘You’re a worrier. Probably comes from being an only child. When you come from a big family like me, you’re expected to get on with it and survive.
My
older sisters used to use me for netball practice,’ she boasted largely. ‘Never did me any harm.’

‘I used to sit in for the smoking beagles for pocket money,’ he capped her.

She smiled, glad to see he had relaxed: that tense, grey look had gone out of his face. ‘I’m ready for bed,’ she said. ‘How do you feel about sleeping with a married woman?’

He pretended to consider. ‘Sounds good to me. Have you got her number?’

‘I’ve got
your
number, you Lothario. Leave the dishes,’ she said, standing up. ‘I’ll clear it in the morning. I want my cot.’

He caught her up, slid an arm round her waist, and nibbled her neck. ‘How do you feel about making love with a married man?’

‘As long as you don’t wake up my baby.’

They headed for the bedroom, where the bedside lamp was already on to guide them home. ‘I can’t help feeling,’ he said, ‘that learning how to do it really quietly has got to come in handy some time.’

Detective Inspector Douglas ‘call me Duggie’ Sweyback of Woodley Green nick (which had responsibility for the Woodley South Estate) had trotted out the tea and biscuits – custard cream, coconut ring and Abbey Crunch – as soon as Slider arrived, and was plainly spoiling for a chat, so it was some time before Slider was able to get down to the matter in hand.

Sweyback’s name owed more to Nabisco than Quasimodo, as he had revealed during an etymological discussion at a junket they had both attended: in fact, he was as tall and straight as a reasonable man needed to be, taller and more heavily built than Slider, only somewhat under-endowed in the follicular department – something that was often on his mind. Slider had more than once heard his treatise on Why Bald Men Don’t Get On (subheading No Bald Man Will Ever Be Prime Minister Again). Sweyback regarded Slider as a bit of a soul mate, largely because it was unusual for an older copper to remain at station level rather than levitating to the SOs, or copping out to the cushy desk jobs. When they turned up at the same do, as happened from time to time, Sweyback would hasten to Slider’s side with the glad eagerness of a German tourist spotting a sausage, and would bend his ear about the sheer awfulness of the Job these days.

The last such occasion had been a seminar on Policing By Intelligence, and Sweyback reverted to it now, dunking his Abbey Crunch in the PG Tips, and reeling out a few things he had thought of since and hadn’t had a chance to air to anyone yet.

‘Policing By Intelligence? What we need is policing
with
intelligence, but fat chance of getting any of that these days! You know what the other thing means: crouching over a computer all day, never going out on the street, fiddling your figures to make it look as if you’re doing your job properly. You can’t police from a desk. But these youngsters don’t know what I’m talking about. Do you know, I haven’t got a single person over thirty-five on my firm? I’m saddled with kids still wet behind the ears, and of course that’s the way they’ve been brought up. If it’s not in the computer they don’t want to know. You talk about knowing your own ground and knowing your own villains and working up your own snouts, and they look at you as if you were talking Chinese.
You
know what I mean, Bill. You’re like me. We’re from the old school. I’m a copper’s copper, and I’m not ashamed to say it, I don’t care who’s listening. But the Job’s going to the dogs. I don’t know why I carry on sometimes. They won’t
let
you catch criminals, and when you do catch them, the CPS won’t prosecute. Did you see that statistic in the paper the other day? Only fifteen per cent of serious crimes end up with a jail sentence.’

Slider listened patiently – he agreed with much of what Sweyback said, but hearing him saying it was a useful lesson to take on board about not sounding like a disgruntled old fart. He waited for him to run down (it was never much longer after the ‘I’m a copper’s copper’ bit) and occupied the unused part of his brain with wondering whether Duggie’s teeth were natural or not. They were so white and even, it either suggested tremendous lifelong care, or the old Royal Doulton job.

Eventually Sweyback reached the bit about having had it up to here and thinking about early retirement, and Slider was able to say, ‘Go on with you, you’ll die in the saddle. What would you do with retirement – play golf and collect beer mats? You’d miss Woodley South too much.’

‘Miss it? It’ll be the death of me!’ But it was enough of a reminder. Sweyback pulled himself together and said, ‘You’re interested in one of my home-grown villains, aren’t you? Young Michael Carmichael.’

‘Yes, what can you tell me about him? What’s he like?’

‘Cocky young devil. Too much of this.’ He flapped his hand in the ‘mouthy’ gesture. ‘Too clever for his own good, that’d be my verdict. He’s bright enough, could have made something of himself, but like all these kids he’s lazy – wants everything
now
. So he goes the easy route.’

‘He’s been in trouble for possession, I understand.’