The Drowning Ground (19 page)

‘And he wouldn't?'

‘No.'

‘So he opened that big mouth of his.'

Collinson nodded. ‘Yes. He made it official. Took some guts. Those two officers could well be out of a job. Could even go to jail. We don't know yet. They're on suspension right now. But a lot of people wanted Graves out of there for good. They would have found a way to get rid of him sooner or later. And when they saw that there was a job open here –'

‘They sent him to the middle of nowhere.'

Collinson smiled. She paused by the doorway to her office. ‘Actually, it's rather fortunate that I ran into you,' she said, changing tack suddenly, ‘because now we're going to account for why Frank Hurst's house was never searched properly. I'm not blaming you, Downes. Far from it. I understand that permission was denied. But what I don't understand is why my predecessor was so adamant about it. You made the request on more than one occasion, I gather. Is that right?'

‘Yes,' I said. ‘That's right.'

‘Go on.'

‘O'Donnell was afraid of what the newspapers would do with it if they found out. And the timing was all wrong too.'

‘Timing?'

‘The papers had just named a suspect and harassed him so badly that he ended up trying to kill himself. Front-page news everywhere and on the TV too. Turns out he was innocent.'

‘A murder case?'

I nodded. ‘And when it was all over he sued the police for invasion of privacy because someone leaked it.'

‘Good for him. And so I suppose they didn't want the same thing happening with Hurst?' Collinson said thoughtfully. ‘Yes, I can understand that.' She pushed a stray strand of hair behind her ear. ‘Look, there's something else I better tell you.' She lowered her voice. ‘That article in the paper this morning…' She paused and glared around the station. ‘When I find out who leaked it I'm going to bloody well … well, we'll deal with that later. Anyway, the phone hasn't stopped ringing, as you can imagine. I called Elise Pennington's parents first thing. Told them we'd keep them informed as much as possible. But I got a call from Gail Foster's mother before I could even reach her. She's here now.'

‘Here?'

‘Yes. As soon as she saw the paper she drove straight here. She moved you know?'

‘Yes,' I said. ‘I know.'

‘Of course, I told her that she should go home and we'd be in touch as soon as we knew anything, but she's booked herself into the B & B. She wants to talk to you.'

‘When?'

‘As soon as you're free.'

I sighed. ‘I'm pretty busy,' I said. ‘And what am I going to tell her? We don't even know which one we pulled out yet, do we? And we're no closer to finding the other one. We might not ever find her now.'

Collinson looked as if she were about to say something, but the doors swung open and in walked Christopher Gardner, bound in handcuffs. On either side of him were two police constables: Varley and an older man called Russell with an absurd walrus moustache.

I put my hands in my pockets and sauntered down the corridor towards them. There had obviously been some kind of scuffle. Russell's uniform was stained with foliage, and his boots and trousers were caked in mud. Gardner had a small bandage on his hand. He looked slightly wild, and there was a large smear of dirt along his left cheek and a long, thin cut on his neck.

‘He tried to make a run for it,' Russell explained. ‘Ran out the back door and legged it across the fields. Led us all over the fucking place, didn't you, Gardner, you pointless shit.' Then, noticing Collinson, he said, ‘Oh, I mean you … er, you, er, led us a right merry dance, didn't you?'

I smiled, amused. Gardner winced when he saw me and closed his eyes. His head slumped forward. His hands moved inside his cuffs. ‘I want a brief,' he said.

25

The interview room consisted of four soft office chairs, a tape recorder and a table. The walls were beige and the blue carpet was thick; on the wall facing me was a plastic clock. After Gardner had consulted with Mark Baxter, his solicitor, we all sat down and I began the interview.

‘I'm wondering why you ran off like that,' I said, as if out of friendly curiosity. ‘Why did you run when the boys went to your house to pick you up?'

‘I'm not sure I have to answer that,' Gardner said. ‘Looks like I don't have to answer anything if I don't want to.'

The man next to him nodded curtly. He was wearing a red bow tie, which was slightly crooked but suited him, and he sat bored in his chair, waiting.

I gave Gardner another long look. I had forgotten just how grating and annoying he was.

‘All right,' I said. ‘Where's your van? You lent it to some friend maybe? Or left it in a lock-up somewhere? They tell me there was no van when they went to pick you up just now.'

It seemed to take a moment for Gardner to gather his thoughts, as if the question surprised him. ‘Van?' Gardner said.

‘The one you use for work. Why isn't it out front, where it normally is?'

‘A busted brake light. It's in the shop. You can –'

‘Shut up,' I snapped wearily. ‘You were seen and you damned well know it. And that's why you tried to run just now, and that's why you got rid of the van. A couple saw it and then you up on Meon Hill. Lanky fellow, they said. Spiky black hair – just like yours. They said you and Frank Hurst were arguing about something. Couldn't make out what it was, though. Two hours later, and Hurst's staring at the sky with a pitchfork rammed into his throat.'

‘I don't know what he's on about,' Gardner said to Baxter, and crossed his arms. ‘I don't even know who this … who this Hurst bloke is.'

I watched him very closely. I smiled and held the smile a little while. Up close, Gardner's attempt to appear youthful looked absurd. His hair was styled so that sculpted rows of it jutted out from the front and from the sides. He leant further back in his chair so that it was sitting on its back legs.

‘I think you were doing a job nearby, and somehow you found out that Frank Hurst was up on Meon Hill. You hadn't been able to see him before, because he'd locked himself up in that big house of his, but you needed to talk to him in person. So the moment you heard he was out there, you got in your van, and you drove to Quinton. You had it out with him on that hill, and then you went back to work. But you were still angry about something. So you went back when no one else was there, just after dark. Maybe things got out of hand,' I said reasonably. ‘I can understand that. Maybe Hurst attacked you. His temper had got him into trouble before.'

‘Mr Gardner,' Baxter said in prim tones, ‘has already informed you that he does not know this … this Frank Hurst and denies he was ever there. And there are lots of vans around, and plenty of people who could just as easily fit Mr Gardner's description. Have you even bothered to check, Chief Inspector?'

‘You needed to talk to him about the girls, didn't you, Gardner?' I said, ignoring Baxter.

‘Girls?' Gardner said. ‘What girls?'

‘The two girls who went missing seven years ago. Gail Foster and Elise Pennington.'

At the mention of the girls, Gardner visibly tensed. He gulped and seemed uncharacteristically at a loss for words.

I pushed on as quickly as I could. ‘You were in the village when Gail went missing. Gail's mother remembered seeing you out there. You know what I think happened. Somehow you found out that Hurst was having you followed and keeping tabs on you. And you didn't like it. Was he a threat to you? Had he wanted you to stop following around young girls, because if you were caught he'd also be exposed? Still quite a hobby for you, though.'

Baxter put his hand on Gardner's forearm, urging him not to answer. But Gardner was making a very good attempt at seeming indignant and said, ‘I don't know what you're talking about. I'm not like that. Never have been. It's just bloody gossip, that's all it is. People have got it in for me. They always have. And that bitch who got me sent to prison – she was lying. I never had anything to do with all that.'

‘Jealous of your youthful good looks no doubt,' I said, before changing tack. ‘Or perhaps he was the one loose end that could tie you to their disappearance.'

Gardner opened his mouth and then shut it when Baxter, stirring eagerly into life, intervened on his behalf. ‘Now that's enough, Downes. Quite enough. You're beyond belief sometimes, you really are.' Baxter raised his hands in the air and then let them fall, so that his fingers hit the edge of the table. ‘We've been through this a thousand times. My client had already served his sentence well before you dragged his name through the mud a second time and tried to link him to those two missing girls. Tell me you're not digging all that up again. Because if you are,' he said, and let the words hang in the air, ‘if you are, Mr Gardner needs to be formally read the police caution. That's a separate case. I suppose you think that it's perfectly all right to blindside us like this.'

I waited and glanced at the plastic clock with a bland look in my eye. It was almost 5.00. It would be dark outside by now.

‘All you had back then was a very tenuous connection between my client and your case. All you could ever prove was that he was somewhere in the general vicinity when one of the girls went missing.' Baxter went on, ‘And let me say, Chief Inspector, this is a case that should have been cleared up years ago by this department. By you, in fact.'

‘She's been found,' I said in a neutral voice, watching Gardner closely.

‘Who?' Gardner said and laughed. ‘Who's been found? What're you talking about, Downes?'

‘The fire was a mistake,' I said. ‘You wanted to destroy what was left of them for good and to make sure that anything linking you to Hurst was gone as well. Things like videotapes.' Again, I looked very closely across the table. There was no reaction at all. Gardner didn't even blink. He had been a pretty cool customer back then, if I remembered rightly. He hadn't changed.

‘Now listen, I –' Baxter said.

I moved forward in my chair. ‘One of the girls was down there. We don't know which one yet, but when we find the other one we'll tie them both right back to you and Hurst.'

‘That's enough,' Baxter said. ‘I won't sit here and let you ambush my client like this.'

Gardner looked boldly right back at me with his arms crossed like a belligerent teenager. He put the front legs of his chair back on the floor and stared at the ceiling.

‘Are you going to charge my client or not?' Baxter said.

Gardner was grinning at me. I was sorely tempted to outline the contents of the videotape and very nearly did so just to wipe the grin off his face. But it was much too soon for that. For now, Gardner looked pleased. He reached for his jacket on the back of his chair.

For a few moments longer, I watched him, collecting my thoughts. The room was silent. The other two men looked at me, impatient to leave. The interview had gone pretty much exactly as I had expected. Of course, Baxter was right. I had no case against Gardner.

I stood up finally and informed them that Gardner would have to make himself available for a police line-up as soon as one could be arranged. I also asked for the make and model of Gardner's van along with the registration number. I looked at the clock, read the time and date into the tape recorder and switched it off.

26

There was only one B & B in Moreton-in-Marsh, and I walked to it through town. I'd called ahead, so I knew that Emily Foster would be waiting for me in the small lobby. A lot of the villagers had moved away after Gail disappeared, but Emily had stayed as long as she could stand it. I had admired her a great deal at the time. Still did. I remembered passing her house much later, when all the trails leading to Gail had finally run cold – when the summer was almost over, and the first traces of autumn were making their presence felt, and frustration and despair were starting to reach out for me.

The last time I had been to her house the street had looked cold and dark, almost uninhabited, although there were cars in the driveways on both sides of the street. Now I wondered how many of her neighbours – the ones who had been crowding outside her house during that seemingly endless night – were still in the village, perhaps sitting even now in their front rooms, their own children grown up and gone away. I wondered, with Hurst dead, whether they were talking about Gail and that hot, dry summer when she had disappeared.

I remembered Emily Foster staring at the road from her daughter's window. She had still been waiting for her to come home; she had still half expected Gail to turn round the bend in the road with her schoolbag slung over her shoulder as if nothing had happened. She had not seen me watching her. Her eyes had been vacant and glazed. Pop stars on the walls had been grinning at her in the half-darkness of Gail's room. But of course Gail was never coming back.

Now Emily was waiting for me in a quiet corner of the B & B with a pot of tea getting cold in front of her. She had to be in her mid-forties. But she looked much older. Frail, nervous and diminished, as if only there at all by sheer force of will. She smiled faintly when she saw me and stood up and we shook hands.

I had made it my business over the years to keep both families personally informed. Elise's parents had moved to London a long time ago. They were still together. But Emily lived alone in Redditch near Birmingham. She had divorced her husband just before Gail went missing and had not remarried.

‘So,' I said, sitting down, ‘you saw it in the paper, then.'

She nodded. ‘Joan, my sister, rang. Told me she'd seen it.'

‘I wish she hadn't. I would have liked to have waited a little longer. Until we were sure. There's not really much that I can tell you.'