The Domino Killer (17 page)

‘Where was he?’ Joe said, gripping Ruby by her arms. ‘I need to know everything.’

‘You’re hurting me.’

‘Tell me!’

‘Outside school.’

‘And what did he say? Exactly.’

‘Just what I said. He told me to tell you that he’d been there. And he told me his name: Mark Proctor.’

Joe let go and put his hands on his head. Ruby looked scared. She rubbed her arms and grabbed her phone from where Joe had thrown it.

‘Why are you freaking out?’

‘Get your bag, we’re going.’

‘But I want to stay here.’

‘You said he was outside the apartment this morning.’

‘Yes, hanging about by the corner, just behind the wall,’ she said, and she pointed towards the window. ‘He was looking up.’

‘Come on, we’ve got to go,’ he said, and went to the door.

‘Where?’

‘Just somewhere.’

‘I’m not going home.’

Joe gritted his teeth and went for her. He grabbed her by her arm and pulled her hard towards the door. She screamed and yanked backwards. Tears flashed into her eyes.

‘What are you doing, Joe?’ she said, her lip trembling.

Joe spoke slowly and deliberately. ‘Get your bag. We’ve got to go.’ He jabbed his finger towards the door. ‘We’re not arguing about it. We’re doing it.’

Ruby paused for a moment, before reaching down for her bag and rushing past Joe, her shoulder brushing against his, jolting him.

Joe locked his apartment and followed her. She folded her arms and walked with her head down. She took the stairs rather than the lift, avoiding the awkwardness. When she burst into the underground garage, her fear had been overtaken by anger.

‘I didn’t know you were such a bully,’ she said. Her words echoed.

Joe stepped closer to her. She didn’t back away.

‘The problem with people your age is that you think you know it all,’ he said. ‘You think that you’ve got the world all worked out. Let me tell you something: you haven’t. You get older and you realise that working out the right thing to do isn’t always that easy, and that sometimes, just sometimes, you’ve got to let someone else lead the way. So for your sake, let me.’

Her lip trembled and she looked up, blinking fast. ‘You’re scaring me.’

‘Good. If that’s what it takes to get through to you.’ He spoke more softly. ‘You remember a couple of years ago, when that man took you in his van.’

That made her cry. ‘Of course I remember,’ she said.

‘That’s not happening again. I won’t let it. No one will hurt you, Ruby, never again.’ He reached round to unlock his car. The flash of the lights and the click of the lock were bright and loud. ‘So get in the car.’

Ruby did as she was told, slumping in the passenger seat, her bag on her knees, wiping her eyes before folding her arms across her chest.

Joe drove up the slope and away from the garage, looking out for Proctor as he went. He wasn’t there. As Joe got onto the main road, he pressed hard on the accelerator.

He drove impatiently, getting too close to the cars in front, swearing at those who got in his way. Ruby kept on looking across to him but he wasn’t going to slow down. His head felt like a pressure chamber, blood pushing against his skull, his cheeks flushed and angry.

They were both silent until they reached the calm of Sam’s cul-de-sac. He braked hard. ‘You’re staying here for a while.’

She looked out of the window and shook her head. ‘I’m not staying with Sam.’

He got out of the car and rushed round to the passenger door. He yanked it open. ‘You need to get out. Here or home, your choice.’

Ruby let out a sulky breath before climbing out.

Joe went to the door and knocked loudly. Alice smiled as she opened the door but it quickly disappeared when he said, ‘Ruby needs to stay with you for a while.’

‘Joe? What do you mean?’

‘Just that. I’m sorry. There’s something I’ve got to do. Keep her safe.’

He ran back to his car.

‘Joe!’

He didn’t answer. He knew where he was going.

Sam checked his watch as he waited in the car park of the management consultancy where Bruce Carter worked.

They were by a small business complex in a village close to the Pennines: glass and brick blocks squeezed into a space created by a bulldozed factory. Close to the motorway, it was perfect for those businesses that wanted cheap premises but whose employees worked at other locations. Sam guessed Bruce Carter saw himself as some kind of gunslinger, heading into businesses to help them raise themselves from the mire.

Charlotte had found the consultancy website on her phone, with Bruce’s page open, so they could compare the picture with whoever came out of the office. There were many cars on the car park, but Sam had singled out four that were probably driven by middle-aged management consultants. He was right. A silver BMW was registered to Bruce Carter.

‘We could just go in,’ Charlotte said.

‘No, he’ll clam up. As far as he’s concerned, whatever he did on that site was a secret. He just wasn’t good at covering his tracks. If he knows he can talk to us in confidence, he might open up.’

They waited another thirty minutes before anyone appeared.

‘There he is,’ Sam said, checking the picture on Charlotte’s phone before climbing out of his car. Bruce Carter looked round, startled, as Sam approached him.

‘Mr Carter? I’m DC Parker from Greater Manchester Police. This is DC Turner. We’d like a word.’

Bruce looked surprised. ‘Is everything all right?’ He swallowed. ‘Is it my wife? Is there a problem?’

‘No, Mr Carter. It’s about your use of a website called No One Tells.’

Bruce paled and reached out for his car to support himself.

‘You’re cashlover, right?’

‘What is this?’ he said. He sounded like he’d lost all the moisture in his mouth.

‘You’re not in any trouble,’ Sam said. ‘We just need some help.’

‘If I’m not in any trouble, then I’ve nothing to say.’

He reached for his car door handle but stopped when Sam said, ‘I’ll head to your home then. I’ve got your address from your car registration. Your wife might be able to help. It’s in relation to an important investigation.’

‘You bastard.’

Sam remained impassive.

Bruce stared at him for a few seconds before looking at his watch. ‘There’s a pub along the road towards the motorway.’ He pointed out of the village. ‘The Frightened Horse. I’ll meet you there.’

‘Thank you.’

‘But just you.’

Sam looked across at Charlotte, who scowled. ‘I’ll see you there,’ Sam said.

Bruce got into his car as Sam and Charlotte walked back across the car park.

‘I’m sorry,’ Sam said.

‘Why doesn’t he want me there?’

‘Because he wants it to be all man-to-man. He’ll know that you’ll see him for what he is. He’s probably hoping that I’ll be some sort of kindred spirit.’

‘I’ll let this one slide,’ she said. ‘Just don’t turn it into a long session. Sitting alone in a pub car park wasn’t in my plans.’

The journey didn’t take long. The Frightened Horse was a stone pub on the way to Saddleworth Moor, with an old slate roof that dipped in the middle and small white lattice windows that would let in little light. The building was designed to keep out the elements, not welcome them in. It was wild around it, just a barren spread of heather and wild grass matching the clouds gathering in the sky above.

It was quiet when he stepped out of the car. There was just the coolness of the breeze and then the slow crunch of his footsteps over the unmade car park.

The door jammed on the stone floor as Sam went in, making everyone look around. The warmth hit him straight away. The layout was more like a cottage than the pubs he was used to, with a room straight ahead with tables filled by people eating and a smaller room to his left, where Bruce Carter sat at a small table by an open fire. He was clutching a whisky. He hadn’t wasted any time.

Sam ordered an orange juice, and went over to him. As he sat down, Bruce said, ‘Am I a suspect for anything? Because I spoke to a friend who’s a solicitor, and he said you can’t talk to me like this if you want to arrest me, and I don’t have to help if I don’t want to.’

Sam sat down on the chair next to him. There was no one else in the small room. ‘It’s not me you’re scared of though, is it?’ Sam said. ‘You’re scared that whatever you get up to might leak out.’

Bruce didn’t answer that. He took a quick sip of whisky. His wedding ring clinked on the glass as he put it back down.

‘Tell me about No One Tells,’ Sam said.

‘Come on,’ Bruce said, scoffing. ‘What do you think it’s about?’

‘Sex, away from your marriage.’

‘So why did you ask?’

‘Because I want to know what attracted you.’

‘Can’t you guess? I’ve been married twenty years. Got four beautiful children, nearly all grown up now, but the spark goes. Nothing unique in that, I know. I’m a different person to who I was twenty years ago. We both are.’

‘Do you love your wife?’

‘I don’t know,’ Bruce said. ‘I’ve thought about it and I just don’t know. I like her, and wouldn’t want to hurt her, but do I feel any excitement? I like my life, because we’ve got a house and the kids are happy, but I can’t remember the last time I felt thrilled about anything, felt that surge you get when you want something so much. Every day just sort of rolls into the next. Call me shallow, but that’s just how it is. So I went looking, and I’m not alone.’

‘How would you feel if you saw your wife on the site, looking for the same things as you?’

‘Honestly?’ Bruce said. ‘Relieved, probably. It would be like us accepting it was over.’

‘So why vodkagirl?’ Sam asked. ‘Is the problem that your wife has got a little too old?’

Bruce tensed and his cheeks flushed a little more. ‘I contacted lots of people, the local ones.’

‘But she was different, wasn’t she?’

‘Different? How?’

‘Not eighteen.’

‘That could mean anything.’

‘So what were you trying to find out?’ Sam said. ‘That she was over eighteen, or under?’

Bruce stood up too quickly, almost knocking over his drink. ‘I’m not a child molester,’ he hissed.

‘Sit down, Bruce.’

‘I don’t have to put up with this.’

Bruce went as if to leave, but Sam gripped his wrist. ‘You made contact with someone you thought was under eighteen, with sex in your mind,’ he said. ‘That bothers me. Perhaps even enough to seize your computer to look for kiddie porn. How would your wife like that?’

‘You bastard.’

‘I’m just doing my job. So sit down and answer my questions. You can talk to your solicitor friend if you want, but I know you’re not interested in your legal rights; just about keeping your secrets from your wife.’

Bruce stared down at Sam for a few seconds, before he pulled his hand away and sat down, slumping against the back of the seat.

There was a shout from behind the bar: ‘Everything okay over there?’

Sam cocked his head at Bruce and raised his eyebrows, until Bruce said, ‘Yes, everything’s fine.’

‘So talk,’ Sam said.

Bruce took another drink and simmered for a while. Sam let him think about his answer. He was there to find out about vodkagirl, not about Bruce.

‘I was curious, that’s all,’ Bruce said at last. ‘I can feel myself getting old, and I just wondered what it would be like to be with someone who was the same age as I was when I was last single. It sounds pathetic, but I just wanted to know that I was still attractive to someone young, and being under eighteen doesn’t mean under sixteen.’

‘How old did she tell you she was?’

Bruce reddened and said nothing.

‘Don’t make me go to your house and seize your computer, so we can examine your chat threads.’

‘Fourteen,’ Bruce said, and looked down.

‘A child.’

‘Yes, I know that,’ Bruce said, and he reddened again, except this time it was through shame, not embarrassment.

‘Did you meet her? Or make any arrangements to meet her?’

‘No, it never got that far. Deep down, I knew it was wrong. I wanted to prove to myself that I could still be attractive to someone younger. When it came to the thought of meeting her, I felt uncomfortable. I haven’t met anyone from the site; just chatted. There was something else too.’

‘Go on.’

‘There was something not right about it; everything seemed too good to be true.’

‘How so?’

Bruce frowned and took another drink. ‘We chatted a few times, used a messaging app on my phone, and she would get all flirty and confide her fantasies, but they were extreme. Too far-out for a girl that age. Perhaps I’m naive, but you can’t really know what turns you on at that age. You might think you do, but you haven’t tried anything so it’s just all talk. She said how she liked strong men, those who saw what they wanted and took it. That’s why she liked older men, successful men. She wanted to hear stories, things I’d done, shameful things, so she could show me how it wasn’t bad, because whatever turns you on is good.’

‘She wanted confessions?’

‘Something like that. She said violence turned her on, because it was a strong man seeing what he wanted and taking it. She complained about how people see abuse as a bad thing, but it was really just a man’s strength and that’s what built the world.’ Bruce shook his head. ‘It wasn’t right. I’ve never abused any child. It’s wrong, I know, because it shatters innocence, taints their view of the world, despite her own experience. But she wanted to know of things I’ve done, said it would turn her on, that it would be something special between us. A shared secret, and we could meet and it would be explosive.’

‘You said “
despite her own experience”
,’ Sam said. ‘What do you mean?’

‘She said she was abused by her teacher,’ Bruce said. ‘A couple of years earlier. They’d flirted for a while but then one afternoon he got her to stay behind for some extra tuition. He forced himself on her. It sounds tacky, but it was in the class storeroom. He ripped her blouse and tried to take her virginity, but she said it changed her, because afterwards he hardly spoke to her and it upset her. She wanted to understand it, even if it was only through descriptions of things I’d done.’

‘And did you tell her anything?’

‘I had nothing to tell,’ Bruce said. ‘I’ve never done anything like that, and as we exchanged messages I knew I never would. I was stupid, yes, but I wasn’t interested in a child and her fantasies, so I stopped messaging.’

‘Did she chase you?’

‘No. I told her I’d never done anything like that and it was as if I’d switched off the light. She wasn’t interested any more.’

‘Thank you,’ Sam said. He drained his drink. ‘If I need to speak to you again, I know where to find you.’

‘You’re not going to say anything to my wife?’

‘You said you didn’t arrange to meet this girl. You haven’t committed a crime.’

Bruce let out a long breath.

‘But don’t talk to underage girls again.’

‘I won’t, I’m sorry.’

Sam rushed out of the pub. Charlotte had moved to the driving seat and she’d started the car before Sam reached it.

As he climbed in, she said, ‘Excuse me for being impatient,’ and set off quickly, sending gravel up behind them. ‘What did cashlover have to say?’

Sam frowned. ‘A strange one. He admitted contacting her, but was curious more than anything. He backed off when he realised what he was doing was wrong.’

‘Did you believe him?’

‘Yeah, I think so. He seems like a man who’s looking for some thrills before his body lets him down, some colour in all the greyness of his life. But this is the weird thing: there was more to this profile than just sex.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘He said she seemed too grown up, too sure of herself sexually, even though she said she was only fourteen.’

‘You can get all the information you need on the internet now. It doesn’t mean you have to understand it.’

‘I think it was more than that. He said it was as though she was trying to tease out his confessions. Said it would turn her on if she knew his dark secrets, that it would be a bond between them, a shared secret.’

Then he remembered something.

‘Wasn’t there someone going around trapping child molesters like this?’ he said. When Charlotte looked across to him, he added, ‘Somewhere in the south. There was a TV programme about him. He was going online with fake profiles, chatting to men, pretending to be thirteen or fourteen, and arranging meetings. When they turned up, they were ambushed with cameras, the footage going online.’

‘What, you think this might be similar?’

‘All we know is that Henry Mason was hanging around in a park, flowers in his hand, and his internet chat says he was talking about a “
meet”
with someone whose internet profile said that she isn’t eighteen. And we know Henry Mason likes them young. It all fits.’

‘Except the person he was speaking to wasn’t underage at all,’ Charlotte said. ‘It’s a honeytrap, a lure for people who like young girls too much. Remember the profile? It was so corny, all that stuff about looking for a man to teach her about the world, along with some shadowy picture of a willowy frame with long hair. If you think about it again, I’ve never seen a more obvious hook.’ She frowned. ‘There’s still one problem with that theory.’

‘Which is?’

‘What is vodkagirl trying to get? Money?’

‘You’re thinking blackmail?’ Sam said.

‘What else do you do with secrets you’re so keen to get?’

‘But if she was blackmailing Henry Mason, he ended up dead, and there’s no money to be squeezed out of a corpse. And how does that link in with Keith Welsby, the teacher?’

Before Sam could say anything else, his phone rang. It was Alice.

‘Hi,’ he said. ‘I won’t be long.’

‘Ruby’s here,’ Alice said. ‘Joe dropped her off, told her she had to stay here.’

‘Why? What did he say?’

‘Not much, but he wasn’t right. He seemed wound up like I’ve never seen him.’

‘Did he say where he was going?’

‘No, but something’s wrong.’

‘I’m on my way,’ he said, and clicked off. ‘Damn!’