This Little Piggy (28 page)

Seaton put on his formal voice. “As you know there is to be both an inquest and a full internal inquiry into Mr Craig’s death and what may or may not have led up to it. So I couldn’t possibly say anything about it at this stage.”

Clare chewed her top lip for a second. “Yes, I realise all that, but I just wanted a bit of a steer, to make sure I’m not chasing a lot of nonsense. Off the record, obviously.”

“You’ll have to tell me what you’ve heard.”

“It does sound very odd, so bear with me here. I’m just repeating what I’ve been told.”

“Go on, then.” Seaton folded his arms.

“The rumour is that when the young lads were in the police station, some of your officers dropped something in front of them. Something that looked like a baby. And that this sent Jason Craig over the edge. Mentally speaking, I mean.”

Seaton stared at her for a moment. If he knows about this, Clare thought, he’s a very good actor.

“Say all that again,” Seaton said, slowly. “Something that looked like a baby? Such as what? A doll or a dummy of some kind?”

“No. Something that seemed to bleed when it hit the floor. I know, it sounds…”

Seaton had put his face in his hands.

“Are you okay?” Clare leaned forward a little.

He looked up. “Miss Jackson, everything I am about to say is off the record. It is as far off the record as it is possible to be. Understood?”

Clare nodded.

“I was not on duty here on the night Jason Craig and Steven Simpson were interviewed and when Mr Craig died. I was away at a meeting at another force. You’ll know we’re all very stretched at the moment, what with the strike and everything, so we’d drafted in a couple of officers from down south. I know there was some sort of funny business around what happened to Mr Craig, and I’ve been trying to get to the bottom of it. I’m meeting nothing but silence, even amongst my own men.”

Clare opened her mouth and closed it again. “You mean something like that could have happened?”

Seaton rubbed his eyes. “Whatever this stunt involved, it won’t have been a living thing. But if they did something – anything – along the lines you’re suggesting, then it could well have sent a volatile teenager over the edge. And don’t even ask me why he was allowed to keep his shoelaces when he went in the cell. I’ve asked that one until I’m blue in the face. Apart from anything else, they were supposed to be testing the kid’s clothes. This station is falling apart, Miss Jackson, and my sanity is going the same way.” Seaton sat back heavily in his chair. “Off the record.”

For just a moment they both looked at each other, as if neither could quite believe the conversation they’d just had.

“I can’t report any of this, then, can I?” Clare said.

Seaton half-smiled. “It’s a bugger. For you, anyway. But no, you can’t.”

Clare’s mind ticked over, more slowly than she wanted. There had to be some way to get some of this story out into the open. “If I find someone to accuse the police of mishandling Jason Craig to the point where he killed himself, would you comment?”

“I’d say I couldn’t comment until the inquiry and the inquest had both reached a conclusion.”

They stared at each other again, Seaton twisting his pen round and round in his fingers.

“Who’s saying that, anyway?” Seaton looked as if he might be about to snap the pen in two. “Steven Simpson?”

“Have to protect my sources,” Clare said, with a shrug. She certainly wasn’t going to admit that the information was second-hand and extracted from a ten-year-old boy for the price of a Twix.

“Must’ve been him.” Seaton stared out of the window for a moment at the grey-white sky. “Or someone close to him.”

“I couldn’t comment.”

There was a light knock at the door and a secretary put her head around it. “Joe Ainsley, also wanting to see you.”

“Damn,” said Clare, without meaning to.

Seaton raised his eyebrows. “Something wrong, Miss Jackson? I thought you and that Ainsley fellow came as a set.”

“I don’t suppose there’s a way I could get out of here without actually passing Joe in the corridor?”

“There could be. I’d like to know more about what this source of yours is alleging, though.”

“I’ll see what I can do, if we agree that as far as Joe’s concerned, I wasn’t actually here today. And anything I tell you is also off the record, chief inspector. Much as I hate that phrase.”

Seaton gave a dry chuckle. “Agreed.”

He instructed his secretary to get Clare out to the police staff car park at the back of the building before letting Joe up to his office.

Outside, Clare sat in her car and massaged her temples. Her head still pounded and there were moments – no more than seconds here and there – when she felt so light it was as if she was floating, like the moments before falling asleep, and she had to pinch herself to bring herself back round. She hoped it was the unrelenting heat and not anything related to her injuries. The next stop was the newsagents. As Clare filled her bag with chocolate bars, gum and the sort of pastel-coloured, penny-priced sweets that went into kids’ mix-up bags, Jai laughed at her. “Is it someone’s birthday?”

“Not exactly. Don’t ask,” said Clare, scanning the shelves. “What’s the most popular thing with the kids these days, Jai? I’m out of touch.”

“No contest. These.” Jai pointed to some packets of crisps that looked as if they were fish and chips wrapped in newspaper. “That’s why I keep them on the counter. Anywhere else and they all get pinched when I’m not looking.”

“Okay, give me a couple of bags of those too,” Clare said.

Jai handed her change. “You might have to have to find a new office soon, I’m afraid.”

“Oh, no. Why?”

“I don’t want to be here anymore, Clare. My cousin’s shop at Sweetmeadows was burned out. He’s been left with nothing. His family are broken-hearted. And I don’t think it’s worth it any more. People are cancelling their papers and their magazines because they have no money. All the little things they don’t need, they’re cutting them out. And it’s only a matter of time before someone trashes my shop too. I don’t want to be here when it happens.”

“So what will you do?”

“I’ll put it up for sale. It may take a while. But then I will join my brother in London. Things are not so bad there, I think.”

“I’m sorry. I’ll miss you.”

“And I you, Miss Beautiful.”

Clare went out with a heavy carrier bag full of sweets and put it on the floor of the car, blasting on the fan to keep the chocolate as cool as possible. So I’m about to bribe some vulnerable kids into telling me an anonymous story about someone who was probably a criminal, she thought. And I might trade the info to a police officer who’s involved in the death of a prisoner. It’s about as unethical as I can possibly get. She took a deep breath and started driving.

Amy appeared immediately as the car pulled up and Clare guessed the girl had been watching out for the red Mini.

“Did you bring sweets?”

Clare laughed. “That’s why you were so keen to see me. Yes, don’t worry, I haven’t forgotten. But listen, Amy. Is there any chance I could talk to your friend?”

Amy looked blank. “Friend?”

“Steve Simpson’s brother. Did you say his name was Liam?”

“He’s not my friend.” Amy stuck out her tongue in disgust. “He says I stink. But you should see him. He…”

“Okay, not your friend. But he’s the lad who told you about Jason Craig and what happened to him? I’ve brought some extra sweets if he’ll agree to talk to me. On the Q-T, you understand. I don’t want to get him into trouble.” Even as the words came out, Clare thought she must sound like a child predator. “Could you find him and ask him?”

“I s’pose.” Amy scratched her head and scanned the estate. “His mam went out before and she had Stevie with her. I think she was taking him to the doctor’s, because Liam said he was going to have to get more pills to calm him down. That means Liam might be in the house on his own.”

“Will you show me?”

Amy beckoned and Clare followed to a third-floor flat. It wasn’t too far from the Donnellys’, Clare noticed. Maybe there was bad blood between the families.

Amy banged on the door and a plump, fair-haired boy opened it. “What do you want? Me mam’s not here.”

“This is my friend Clare. She wants to hear your story about what happened to Stevie.”

Liam folded his arms and put his head on one side. I bet that’s what his mother does, Clare thought.

“Why should I? Me mam says I should keep me gob shut about it till she’s talked to a s’liss-it-er.”

“She’s got sweets.” Amy pointed to the bag.

Liam pouted but Clare could see he was thinking about it. “What you got?”

Clare pulled out the fish-and-chips crisps. Liam’s face changed. “Aye, all right. Come in, but you’ll have to be quick.”

Liam made Clare hand over the crisps, chocolate and gum before he said a word. Amy’s eyes became wider and wider, the more Clare pulled out of the bag. “Don’t worry, there’s some for you in the car,” Clare promised.

Liam retold his brother’s tale, cramming the crisps into his mouth as he talked and getting his T-shirt covered in a dusting of salty, powdery coating. It was more or less as Amy had said.

“Stevie says they made them stand in the yard at the back of the police station and then this thing came crashing down. It landed on the ground right in front of them. And all this blood came out. He says Craigy went mental, shoutin’ and runnin’ about and cryin’. And a couple of big coppers jumped on him and held him down. And then they took him off to the cells to calm down.”

“Where did Stevie go?”

“Another cell. He says he was all cryin’ and shakin’ too. And he says the blood splashed on him and everything. He says when he went to the cell he was sick in a bucket.”

“He got blood on his clothes? Has he still got them?”

Liam shook his head. “Nah. Because he was wearing some sort of police thing. Like a jumpsuit made out of papery stuff, he said. Because they were doing tests on his real clothes. Then he got his things back when they let him go.”

“What does Stevie think it was? The thing that was thrown down?”

Liam pouted and made a ‘don’t know’ face. “He thought it was a baby. It was wrapped up in a blanket. And he said it was about the size of a baby too.”

“When did he find out what had happened to Craigy?”

“When they let him out. They just said, ‘By the way, son, your big mate’s topped himself’.” Liam poked at the bars of chocolate, deciding what to eat next. “And he’s just cryin’ now, all the time. So me mam’s gone to get him some more sleeping pills. And she says she’s gonna sue the coppers too.”

Clare nodded. “Liam, do you know why the police arrested Stevie and Craigy?”

“Aye. For the baby. Some crackpot’s been saying they saw them do it. But they never would, you know. Our Stevie won’t even kick the dog when it pees on the floor. He’s right soft, on the quiet.” Liam licked chocolate from the tips of his chubby fingers. “But if he ever finds out who grassed them up to the police he’ll kill ’em. I know he will. And all Craigy’s mates will help.”

“Thanks, Liam.” Clare glanced at Amy, who was squatting on the floor trying to persuade Liam’s oily little terrier dog to come over to her. She didn’t react. “Hey, let’s not tell anyone about this, eh? I don’t want to get you into any trouble.”

As her words came out, Clare’s stomach squirmed. This is how easy it is to get a kid to keep a secret, something you should never ask them to do. Just make them feel as if they’re in the wrong. After all, some kids grow up thinking they’re in the wrong anyway, just by being around, so it’s not difficult. It’s precisely why Amy thought she’d be the one in trouble when she saw someone murder baby Jamie.

Liam shook his head. “Me mam’d kill me. You’re not going to put me in the paper, are you?”

“No, I promise.” Clare raised her eyebrows at Amy, who jumped up from the floor. She pointed at the window. “That big fat reporter’s back,” she said. “He’s wandering round out there.”

Clare made a face. “Can we go to yours for a bit, Amy? I don’t want to run into him.”

“Do you not like him?”

“Not very much, no.”

“Why not?”

Clare thought about it. “It’s a long story. But in a nutshell, he got a job I really wanted, even though he’s not very good. And now he’s trying to muscle in on my patch and do my stories.”

Amy shook her head. “What a bastard.”

Clare couldn’t help but smile, and followed Amy as she scuttled like a rat along some back fire escape stairs. The girl delved into the pocket of her shorts and pulled out a Yale key. “Here,” she said. “Me mam’s not in, so you can go in and wait.”

“Where are you going?”

Amy grinned. “I’m going to talk to that fat reporter.”

“Why?”

“I’m going to make sure he goes off somewhere else.”

“No, Amy, don’t…” But Amy had already started running down the steps.

Clare shook her head. She felt too tired, achey and fuzzy-headed to argue. And she knew quite well that Amy had a mind of her own.

She turned the key in Amy’s door and stepped inside. It smelled even worse than usual: a combination of dog and rotting rubbish and god knows what else. Clare found herself gagging and had to hold her breath, stick her head outside again and take a deep gulp of air. Max gave a single bark and got up slowly from the corner of the room.

“Hi, Max.” Clare looked at him, her hand over her nose. Usually he almost deafened her with his barking and Amy would have to hold him back from leaping up at her. She braced herself to give him a pat on his large head. He whimpered but wagged his tail.

Clare frowned. “Are you okay? You don’t seem right today.” She was talking to a dog. Maybe she did have mild brain damage after all.

Clare stared around the sparsely-furnished room. In the corner where Max had been lying, on layers of free-sheet newspapers, there were pools of dog mess, and when Clare put her head around the kitchen door she found several overflowing bin bags of rubbish, with flies buzzing around their open tops. Bottles of soured milk sat on the bench and ants were scurrying all over the surfaces. The plastic bowls on the floor were empty apart from old, crusted chunks of dog food that had dried up. Clare leaned over the sink and wretched.