Good People (26 page)

I could only speculate as I drove. Does he find them during a guys’ night at one of the fuck-pads? Stuck down the side of a seat? He knows what Ken and Les are like. Does the sums. He protects them by not voicing his suspicions. But he holds on to the evidence.

I tried to streamline it. Donna and Colette may have been groomed into sex toys by Ken and Les, but they were essentially holiday romances. Both returned voluntarily the following summer, which must have been down to a cash incentive. But Wendy was the local connection. Wendy had roots and permanence. She was the one who would have kept the boys satisfied during the long winter months.

How had they managed it? How had they turned her? How had she borne the degradation all that time? Why hadn’t she told anyone? Her family? Sara?

Malcolm Paterson must have known. She couldn’t have kept something like that a secret from the man she was running away with. An older man, a teacher. Someone she would have regarded as a protector. So why hadn’t he come to us? Why hadn’t he turned those bastards in? Or had he thought that it was enough to pluck her from the morass and ride off into the healing sunset?

At least Wendy had gotten out of it. What had become of Donna and Colette? And the thing that was really spooking me: what were they doing with Magda?

It was that speculation that had driven me to direct action.

I met up with Mackay and transferred to his car, a muddy and well-worked Range Rover. It wasn’t known around these parts, it would give us a degree of anonymity.

‘Where are we going?’ he asked.

This was the awkward bit. We were already rolling, but I hadn’t actually told him what he was supposed to be helping me with. ‘We’re out to fuck up a bunch of child molesters.’

He grinned. ‘Sounds good to me.’

‘We’re not exactly official,’ I warned. ‘And it could get physical. Someone might get hurt.’

He shook his head mock wearily. ‘Now you’re overelaborating. I liked it better when you said that we were out to fuck up a bunch of child molesters. That’s all I need to know.’

‘You sure?’

‘Let’s drive.’

I directed him to Dinas and briefed him on the bad guys.

David Williams had told me that he thought the group used Dinas Rugby Club for their pre-Sunday-lunch drinking session. We tucked ourselves in at the back of the car park. I identified Les’s crew-cab pickup, and the cars I had seen outside Ken’ and Gordon’s houses. The white Transit van, the only vehicle I could associate Paul Evans with, wasn’t parked here.

After one o’clock, the drinkers started to emerge. The group came out together. They were all wearing black armbands. I pointed Ken and Les out to Mackay.

‘Which one are we after?’ he asked.

I indicated Paul Evans.

He sucked breath in through his teeth. ‘He’s a big mother, isn’t he?’

‘The bigger they are the harder they fall?’ I suggested hopefully.

He grinned at me. ‘It’s implementing the falling process that’s the tricky bit.’

The group threw banter around and dispersed to their vehicles. We watched Paul cross the car park to a blue Subaru Impreza with gold alloy wheels and an enormous rear spoiler. It wasn’t new, but it was still a lot of motor for a young man like Paul Evans to have as a toy.

‘That’s his weakness—’ I suddenly realized, voicing it, seeing the deep, loving shine on the car ‘– that’s how we get to him.’

Mackay wasn’t so positive. ‘We have to catch him first. And that’s going to be virtually impossible with him in that machine.’

‘We know where he’s going.’

‘Right, to Sunday lunch amid the bosom of his family. And once he gets there, he’s safe. With us trailing uselessly behind.’

I watched the line of cars in front of us shuffle forward to the junction with the main road. Turning mainly to the right. I had a hunch. ‘He won’t go straight home. I’d stake what’s left of my reputation on it.’ The Subaru was two cars in front of us. ‘The direct way to his place is left out of the car park,’ I explained, ‘but I think he’ll take a longer way round.’

The Subaru turned right.

‘How did you know that?’ Mackay asked, impressed.

‘If he turns left he’s driving through countryside, his car only gets admired by sheep. Turn right and he gets to go through town. That car is his pride and joy. That’s his balls on display. He’s going to flaunt it every chance he gets.’

‘So, we don’t follow him?’ Mackay asked.

‘No, we turn left and head him off at the pass.’

Mackay turned left. ‘There is another possibility,’ he offered.

‘What’s that?’

‘He may not be going home.’

‘It’s Sunday, he’s been to the pub, now he eats. It’s Dinas, it’s bred in the bone. Like everyone else here, he runs on motor functions.’

I felt charged. Exhilarated I was moving again instead of floundering. And I had back-up. That felt unusual, and good.

I outlined the tactics as we drove to the Evanses’ place.

We stopped on the lane that Paul Evans would have to use to get home. It was lined with untrimmed hedges and narrow verges, a ditch on one side, making it a tight fit for two cars to pass.

Mackay had parked at an angle, with his nose into a gateway, and the rear partially obstructing the lane. He was standing on the dropped tailgate with a pair of binoculars, making a show of watching something over the hedge. I was crouched on the far side, using the front wheel to mask my legs from the view of anyone approaching.

‘He’s coming,’ Mackay announced sotto voce, without changing anything in his stance.

I heard the Subaru as it rounded the corner, the engine note overamplified by the straight-through exhaust. He throttled down, and started pumping his horn when he saw the Range Rover blocking the lane.

‘Sorry, sorry …’ Mackay mouthed, jumping down off the tailgate and gesturing his apologies as the Subaru approached. ‘I’ll just pull in a bit more and let you pass.’ He slammed the tailgate closed. ‘Lapwings in the field over there,’ he shouted by way of explanation.

He moved the Range Rover slowly, clearing the lane. I moved round with the car to remain hidden. The Subaru nudged forward into the narrow gap that Mackay had created, keeping it slow to avoid scratching the nearside paintwork on the thorn hedge. It was halfway through when Mackay let the clutch out sharply in reverse. The noise as the Range Rover hit the Subaru was startling.

So was the effect on Paul. He heaved himself out of the seat belt and bucket seat with a speed and dexterity that belied his size, emitting an animalistic cross between a squeal and a wail as he climbed out of the car. His expression was glassy, his eyes half shut, like a gas-blinded man, not wanting to confront the awful information that his senses had just given him.

Mackay eased forward, leaving a small gap for Paul to get past to inspect the damage. Leaving his driver’s door wide open, Paul stared at the dent the Range Rover’s tow bar had made in his flared rear wheel arch, shaking his head, his mouth working soundlessly.

‘I’m so sorry, I must have had mud on my shoe. My foot slipped on the clutch,’ Mackay explained through the driver’s window. He threw in a conciliatory smile to test the waters.

‘You stupid fucker,’ Paul snarled, whipping round to the Range Rover, shifting out of stupor and into anger. He strode towards Mackay’s door.

It was the conjunction I had been waiting for. I kept low and duck-walked to the Subaru, sidled in through the open door. I took the keys from the ignition and straddled the front seat to get the mobile phone that was lying amongst a pile of loose change and empty sweet wrappers in a small well by the gear lever.

‘Get the fuck out!’ Paul was screaming, pounding his fist on Mackay’s window.

He was too enraged to see me jump out of the Subaru. ‘Look, Paul –’ I yelled enticingly, moving to the front of his car. I dangled his car keys over my head like a sprig of mistletoe.

His head snapped round. The popping synapses were almost audible as his brain tried to unravel this new horror. He stared at me, mouth agape, trying to fit me into the equation. I was just too much additional bad news for one session. ‘What the fuck …?’ he mouthed.

I shook the car keys. ‘You’re going to have to catch me if you still want that shag you missed the other night.’

‘Give me those,’ he demanded in a low growl. He had given up trying to make sense of my presence, and had decided to just run with instinct and testosterone and go for the repossession of his property.

He puffed up threateningly and started towards me. But Mackay slickly closed the gap between us, with just enough of a little metallic clunk on the Subaru to remind Paul that his baby was still under threat.

Paul slammed the flat of his hand uselessly against the Range Rover. ‘What do you want?’ he demanded, choking on his frustration.

‘I want you to take me to the Rumpus Room.’

He shook his head. ‘I don’t know what the fuck you’re talking about.’

‘Les Tucker’s place in the woods that you use to party in.’

He started to shake his head again, but slower, and I knew that I had made a connection. Then I saw another thought intrude. A happier one. He had just realized that I was on the wrong side of his car, and he knew that Mackay couldn’t take him on his own. There was nothing to stop him running off. He smiled. He thought that we had screwed up. He started backing away.

I let him have his moment on the hope curve before I called out: ‘Haven’t you realized what the deal is, Paul?’

He didn’t stop.

‘If you run, we trash your car.’

He stopped. I gestured to Mackay. The Range Rover reversed slowly. There was a grinding sound, and the driver’s side of the Subaru began to lift on a skewed axis.

‘Stop!’ Paul ran back to his wounded car involuntarily. He caught my eyes pleadingly. ‘I haven’t been to the Den in years.’

Mackay let the Subaru drop down gently. Paul stroked the damage. ‘If I tell you where it is, you let me go?’ he asked calculatingly.

I shook my head. ‘No – you take us.’

I had already strung a pair of handcuffs through the grab handle on the front passenger’s side of the Range Rover. Mackay got out. ‘Put the handcuffs on,’ I instructed. Paul stared back at me defiantly. I gave the Subaru a backwards stomp with my heel. He got in, climbed over to the passenger’s seat, and put the cuffs on.

Mackay and I exchanged car keys. I climbed into the driver’s seat of the Range Rover. I showed Paul his mobile phone. ‘Time to call home?’ I suggested.

‘Fuck off.’

I leapfrogged abruptly in first gear, scraping the hedge, pretending to make a meal of trying to find reverse. ‘I’m not as skilful as him,’ I warned cheerily, ‘this thing will probably take off into your car.’

‘Okay, okay –’ He grimaced.

I found his home number and held the phone up in front of him, ready to cut it off if I heard any cry for help. He stuck to the script that I had given him, apologizing to his mother for not getting home for lunch. He told her that he had met up with a friend with a new Impreza, and they were going to take it up into the forest to try it out. I cut the connection when his mother began to complain.

Paul watched anxiously as Mackay drove the Subaru clear. ‘He’s not insured for that.’

‘Well, let’s hope he doesn’t have an accident then,’ I observed.

We set off in tight convoy. Paul craned round in his seat to watch his car being driven up close to the Range Rover’s tow bar. He had grasped the set-up: as long as he kept the directions running, I wouldn’t be touching the brakes sharply to test Mackay’s reactions. Or Paul’s anguish.

‘Tell me about the Den,’ I asked when we turned off into the forest.

He swivelled round, glowering. ‘I’m taking you up there, but, afterwards, I’m going to sue the shit out of you.’ His confidence was returning.

‘For what?’ I asked pleasantly.

‘For what you’ve done to my car. For fucking kidnapping me.’

I smiled at him. ‘Says who?’

He gestured backwards with a toss of his head. ‘Says that bent rear fucking panel. Which is going to cost you plenty.’

‘A bit careless that, wasn’t it, Paul?’

He frowned. ‘What the fuck are you talking about?’

‘My friend back there, he’s a soldier.’ I decided to keep Mackay’s military credentials current.

‘So what? I’m suing him as well.’

‘You haven’t got it yet, have you?’ I asked cheerfully.

‘Got what?’ he replied, suspicious.

‘It’s my turn to have the alibi. Good people to back me up.’ He shook his head, puzzled. ‘I’m not here, Paul. My friend and I are somewhere completely different. If we need to, we can get his entire regiment to confirm that. But I don’t think we’ll have to. You’ve already told your mother you’re out horsing around in your car with a friend. And …’ I leaned over and sniffed the air exaggeratedly. ‘Have you been drinking? A dangerous combination that, Paul: fast cars and booze. Cause of many an accident.’

He stared at me. Running it through his head. Seeing the dead-ends shutting themselves off. His lower lip started to quiver at the unfairness of it all. ‘We don’t go there any more.’

I realized that he was talking about the Den. Offering me conciliation. ‘Why not?’

He shrugged. ‘We sort of gave it up after Ken and Gordon got married.’

‘What is it?’

‘It’s a shack that Les’s dad and uncles built when they were young. Les got to take it over. They used to take bottles of cider and fags and spend the weekends playing at being wild boys in the woods.’

‘Take girls there?’ I asked casually.

‘No,’ he replied, too earnestly. I had already caught the slight hesitation. ‘It was strictly boys-only territory.’ He pointed ahead. ‘Take the left fork here.’

I stopped. The track he was indicating was mossy and overgrown. ‘It’s all right,’ he urged, ‘this thing will go anywhere.’

I got out and walked over to where the track branched off and curved away between gorse thickets and self-seeded birch saplings. A jay’s angry screech startled me; catching a glimpse of blue and tan. I looked at the track again. A narrow set of fat wheel ruts ran the visible length.

I was suddenly conscious of Mackay standing beside me. ‘The Range Rover will get down that.’