Innocent Blood (28 page)

‘It turned into a wonderful week. Paul was cheerful enough but I could tell that something wasn’t quite right. I knew him too well to be fooled and I knew he was keeping something from me. Try as I might though I couldn’t get it out of him before he went home.

‘After that we saw him every school holiday for a week and there wasn’t a cross word between us the whole time. Never saw Sarah, not until the memorial service she insisted on organising for Paul.’

Miss Pennysmith felt that she had earned the right to interrupt.

‘So, why do you say that the major isn’t guilty?’

‘Oh, because Paul’s still alive. I thought you knew that.’

Margaret tried to keep the disappointment from her face. Her hope that Hannah might somehow know the identity of Paul’s real killer deserted her. Instead she was faced with an old woman’s illusions. She was so upset that she missed part of the continuing conversation.

‘…I was knocked down and they hit me over the head. Mugging, the police called it, but Clem said it was more like attempted murder. It made the headlines in the
Evening Standard
and I was in a coma for a day before I came round. It was then that I saw him.’

‘Saw whom?’

‘Paul of course.’

‘When was this?’

‘Like I said, almost twenty years ago. When I came to, there he was by the side of the bed holding my hand.’

‘But he’d have been what, eighteen?’

‘Nineteen, but I knew it was him. There was no mistaking his eyes. He said something I couldn’t hear – I was deaf for a while – but I think it was “you’ll be all right, Nana”. Then he bent down and kissed me. I blacked out again and he was gone when I woke up. So you see, your major can’t have murdered the lad if he’s still alive, now can he?’

Watkins collapsed before he’d finished his first breakfast in custody and a doctor had to be called. He diagnosed an anxiety attack, prescribed mild sedatives and insisted that the interrogation cease. Any evidence Fenwick could have extracted would have been wasted anyway so he decided he’d have to be patient. But as soon as the doctor left, Watkins insisted on seeing Fenwick, brushing aside the advice of his solicitor that he should say nothing until he had recovered. His reason soon became clear. He wanted to make a deal; he would tell them everything he knew about the supply of child pornography but in return he begged for something Fenwick simply couldn’t give him: anonymity. He wanted his crimes to remain secret so that his family and friends would never know.

‘It’s very unlikely, Joe,’ Fenwick explained, as Alison looked on with contempt. ‘There’ll be a trial even if you plead guilty. There’s no way that I can promise to keep that out of the press; it’s beyond my powers.’

‘But there are such things as witness protection programmes, aren’t there?’

‘For people who give evidence against major crime syndicates where there’s a genuine risk that their life would be in danger, yes. Are you saying that’s the situation here?’

Watkins’ face was alive with nervous tics. One eyelid fluttered almost constantly and the corner of his mouth spasmed into bizarre grins without warning. When Fenwick said the words ‘major crime syndicate’ Watkins jerked back in his chair, his hands waving as if he had palsy.

‘I think that’s enough, Chief Inspector,’ Lawrence Parks said, regarding his client with growing concern. ‘Mr Watkins is really not well enough for this to continue.’

‘I agree.’ Fenwick was too conscious of the tape to push the interview further but the way Watkins was reacting had begun to make him think that maybe he did have knowledge beyond the activities of Alec Ball. For the first time he wondered whether, by pure chance, they had arrested someone who knew about the paedophile ring the FBI insisted was operating in Sussex. But looking at Watkins it could be days before any evidence he gave them could be treated as legitimate. The last thing Fenwick wanted to do, now that he had come this close, was question the man before he was considered fit enough to be a credible witness. He found he was chewing his lip in frustration and forced himself to stop.

Parks, an experienced and canny solicitor, was watching him with a half-smile on his face that suggested he knew exactly what Fenwick’s dilemma might be.
Sod him,
Fenwick thought uncharacteristically and returned his expression to one of studied neutrality.

‘We’ll be going before a magistrate in a couple of hours, Joe,’ Fenwick explained. ‘After that you’ll be remanded to prison. Don’t worry, you’ll be segregated from the main population. As soon as the doctor and your solicitor consider you fit enough we will continue questioning you.

‘If at that time, you still wish to become Queen’s evidence, and if at that time we consider that what you have to say is valuable, there might be a deal on the table.’

‘And anonymity? I don’t care about prison time – I could say I was going in for some other crime; tax evasion, fraud… I really don’t care as long as it’s not p…ah, it’s not… Oh God, forgive me!’

Watkins dropped his head into his hands and wept.

‘Why can’t I just go straight to prison, in a closed van and serve out my sentence?’ he moaned, almost incoherent.

Lawrence Parks intervened.

‘Enough is really enough now, Chief Inspector. But be sure, I will remember this conversation when the time comes.’

Fenwick couldn’t work out whether Parks’ words were a threat or a promise; maybe both. His gaze followed Watkins’ shaking figure as he left the interview room to be taken back to his cell.

‘Tell the custody sergeant to have him watched closely. I’m not happy with his mental state. And make sure he’s assessed by a psychiatrist when he reaches prison. I don’t want him killing himself before we can use him as a witness.’

Alison nodded, not caring about the callousness of Fenwick’s remark.

‘You off back to Harlden again, sir?’

‘Yes. I want you to push ahead with arrest and search warrants for Ball while I’m gone. Think you can handle it?’

‘Of course.’ Alison nodded, then hesitated before leaving.

‘What is it?’

‘Did you hear that the team lost Ball yesterday?’ she asked, not wanting to drop anybody in it but aware it was the sort of detail Fenwick would expect to know.

‘No, I did not! Why didn’t somebody tell me at once?’

‘I think they left a message on your mobile.’

‘But I was between home and Harlden station all day; why not call me there? I expect to be tracked down with news like that, not for some random message to be left in the ether on the off chance I might pick it up!’

‘He turned up again at home three hours later so there was no harm done.’

‘That’s not the point.’

She didn’t bother to argue.

By four o’clock Alison was on her way to the storage depot with a warrant to search Ball’s lock-up while Clive joined the surveillance team outside Ball’s flat. Their actions were going to be coordinated to the second. A team of MCS detectives and scene of crime technicians was ready and waiting her arrival in the warehouse opposite the depot, their impatience almost palpable. For these men and women who had maintained surveillance on Ball for so many long, unproductive weeks, this was their moment of vindication. Whatever doubts they’d had about Fenwick, and his stubborn determination to keep on with what most of them had thought was useless, mind-numbing work, had vanished. Some were even prepared to admit to being impressed with the chief inspector; rare praise from a hardened bunch drawn from the most experienced but sceptical detectives in Sussex.

Someone who’d known for as long as he could remember that Fenwick was exceptional was, at that moment, consumed with gloom because he felt he was letting his old boss down. Cooper had criss-crossed West Sussex in a vain attempt to discover something incriminating on Maidment and was dreading making his next report. He was unaware of the Choir Boy breakthrough, as news of it was being kept within MCS with the one exception of Nightingale, whom Fenwick had entrusted with the secret. So Bob felt the weight of the cold investigations on his shoulders as he trudged back to his car with a notebook that might as well have been empty.

His stomach rumbled as he eased himself into the driver’s seat and he cursed Doris’s muesli breakfasts. How was a man supposed to keep going on bird food all morning? He looked at his watch; almost twelve. Time for a spot of lunch maybe? As he often did when he was feeling low, Cooper decided that food would be his consolation. He was less than ten minutes drive from the Hare and Hounds and he could still recall the excellent ploughman’s lunch they’d served him – and the second helpings that had arrived as if by magic.

The pub was almost empty when he walked in apart from some hikers drinking cider outside. Jacob Isaacs was behind the bar taking a sneaky swallow from what looked suspiciously like a glass of whisky. His wife was nowhere to be seen.

‘Sergeant Cooper! You’re a sight for sore eyes. The missus has buggered off to her mother’s for a few days leaving me with moping Maureen.’ He gestured aggressively towards the door that led to the kitchen and store room behind which Cooper could see a bulky silhouette through the glass. ‘It’s enough to drive a man to drink. What’re you having? On the house!’

Cooper had entered the bar with good intentions to stick to an orange juice, or at most a shandy, but the smell of the ale drove the words from his lips as he ordered a pint of best to go with his ploughman’s lunch. Both arrived promptly and, as he tucked in, his mood started to lighten.

Isaacs was distracted by a steady flow of customers as Cooper ate but the sergeant could see him looking at him from the corner of his eye whenever he thought he was unobserved. Maybe he was feeling guilty about the whisky but maybe not. Cooper decided it would do no harm to take his time over his lunch.

‘Slice of apple pie, Mr Cooper?’

Maureen’s offer broke into his thoughts and he’d said yes before his brain had even thought about it, some reactions being purely instinctive. It came warm, with vanilla ice cream melting into the buttery pastry. Cooper was, briefly, in heaven.

But all good things have to end and by a quarter to two he thought it was time for him to leave. His wallet was waved away unopened by a blurry Isaacs who had given up any pretence of serving and had retreated to his favourite spot at the end of the bar away from Maureen’s disapproval. Cooper wandered over, meaning only to offer his thanks for another excellent lunch but as he reached the man he was struck by the deep melancholy that surrounded him. His natural reaction was to ask ‘what’s up?’ but he was experienced enough to hold his tongue.

‘Mr Cooper…’

‘Bob,’ he said, emphasising the informality of the moment.

‘Bob, look, about what I said last time you were here.’

Isaacs took another mouthful of whisky and grimaced. Maureen glanced over at him and shook her head. Cooper sat down on a stool nearby endeavouring to look relaxed.

‘Well, maybe I shouldn’t say anything…’

‘Go on, Jacob, you’ve got something on your mind and it’s not doing you any good. Now’s as good a time as any to deal with it.’

Isaacs sighed deeply and nodded. He was clearly struggling with a decision. Cooper gave him time and waited in silence, judging that he was a man to make up his own mind and would react against any attempt to influence.

‘Thing is,’ he said eventually, ‘there’s no way Jeremy would be interested in young boys.’

Cooper thought he picked up the faintest emphasis.

‘Young
boys
,’ he said.

‘Yes. The major was – is – a full-blooded heterosexual with normal desires.’

‘Tough then, being on active service, away from home comforts, for months on end.’

Isaacs flushed a deeper crimson and drained his glass. He gestured for another but was ignored, forcing him to get up off his stool and serve himself. Cooper cursed silently, afraid that the moment would pass, but he needn’t have worried. The publican was back at his side within a minute, his face determined.

‘You have to understand what active service does to a man. When you’re living with the knowledge that you might die life becomes very precious.’

‘Oh, aye, I understand that,’ Cooper said with feeling. ‘I know exactly what the relief afterwards does to you.’

‘It’s pure instinct,’ Isaacs agreed, keeping his voice low. ‘And when you’re young, in your twenties, thirties, there’s a hell of a lot of testosterone circulating and that’s got to be dealt with.’

‘Course it does; only natural. The more threat to life the stronger the urge to procreate. It’s Nature’s way of forcing us to keep the species going.’

‘Exactly! Couldn’t have put it better. Well, we were in the thick of it for the best part of three years with hardly any leave. So it was inevitable we made the most of R&R.’

‘I’d have been the same,’ Cooper said, silently asking Dot’s forgiveness. ‘What else is a man to do, other than go nuts?’

‘Precisely; a decent sex life keeps you sane. Of course some men don’t need it as much as others; we all have different appetites.’

‘And Jeremy?’ Cooper interjected, feeling it was about time for Isaacs to become specific.

‘Appetite of an elephant and equipped to match!’ He laughed and Cooper forced a smile.

‘How the hell did he cope?’

It was the key question and Isaacs knew it. He was in a corner and the only way out was to come clean or look a fool.

‘Not with boys,’ he said emphatically, ‘though some did. There was everything on offer when we went on leave, and openly too. We had some money and entertainment was cheap. As long as we kept the peace and didn’t offend the natives the MPs would turn a blind eye.’

‘So what were Jeremy’s tastes?’

Isaacs nodded to himself and exhaled slowly, making his decision.

‘Well, he was engaged back home and he took his promise seriously, he was that sort of man. But eventually he was tempted.’ He took a fortifying mouthful. ‘There was this native family that befriended us. They had three girls, absolute beauties all of them; youngest was about ten. The major – except that he wasn’t a major then of course, though he did get promoted to captain incredibly early – well, he was a bit of a hero to the Dyaks. They spoilt him rotten. This particular family decided he’d make a good husband for one of the girls and set about getting their man.

‘The rest of us could see what was happening; we thought it was a great laugh. But Jeremy was always a bit naïve, so he was slow on the uptake and too bloody polite. Anyway, as I say, eventually he and the eldest girl got together; then they go through some local ceremony and he ends up hitched to her in their eyes. It was a secret, of course; if the brass had known they’d have had a fit. But he wasn’t the only one and at least he didn’t play around.’

‘But he was already engaged. Why not just buy some relief when he had his R&R?’

‘You don’t know Maidment. He probably thought it was a bit more honourable going through a local ceremony.’

Cooper held his tongue. It was still bigamy when he married later. If anything, he thought Maidment had made the deception worse by dressing it up with local acceptability just to ease his damned conscience.

‘What happened?’

‘The inevitable. The girl got pregnant; he became a father. It all remained quiet; nobody wanted to drop a man like Jeremy in it with the brass. Then he got posted home. The family expected him to take his “wife” and child with him. Instead he bought them off. Paid them a lot of money, more than he needed to but enough for them to save face and provide a dowry for the girl big enough to persuade a local to ignore the fact she was already married with a kid – though if she chose to marry again I don’t know.’

‘I bet she was broken-hearted,’ Cooper said before he could stop himself.

‘Yes, but her family were satisfied that her honour had been protected and she was young enough to start again.’