Dancing With the Virgins

16

‘White vans and more white vans,’ said Chief Superintendent Jepson, waving a handful of report forms. ‘Do you know how many white vans there are? How many within two days’ drive of here? Millions?’

‘Quite a few thousand, certainly,’ said DCI Tailby.

‘Do you propose to check out every one? Are you going to send my officers out on a van-spotting tour of the country? Perhaps you could give them those little I-Spy books and tell them not to come back until they’ve ticked off one with a rusty wheel arch?’

‘We could ask local forces to do that for us, of course.’

‘Oh, of course. My colleagues in ACPO will love me. They’ll call me the White Van Man for the rest of my career.’

‘That would be rather unkind.’

DCI Tailby had been reviewing the information for the Divisional Commander. There was plenty of it — an entire flood of it, rapidly filling up the megabytes on the computer. None of it pinned down any known persons actually in the vicinity of the Nine Virgins at the same time as Jenny Weston, with the exception of the Ranger, Mark Roper. The nearest locations of individuals identified were those of the farmworker, Victor McCauley, the two young men living in the quarry, and the Leach family, who had been going about their business at Ringham Edge.

DI Hitchens had brought a map of Ringham Moor, with the locations marked by the incident room staff. The trouble was, there were too many paths winding their way across the moor. There could be other individuals that hadn’t been seen. The white van wasn’t much, but it was a start.

‘And what about Europe?’ said Jepson. ‘Two days’ drive? Do you realize this van of yours could be in any city in half the countries of the European Union by now? Are you planning some day-trips? Are you intending to besmirch my good name with Europol? I suppose they’ll start calling me Monsieur la Camionnette Blanche.’

‘We don’t think it’s a French make,’ said Hitchens. ‘More likely a Ford Transit.’

Chief Superintendent Jepson sighed melodramatically. ‘If I start getting postcards from CID officers from all over the French Riviera, I’ll want to know why.’

‘I don’t think any of that will be necessary, sir,’ said Tailby.

‘If we don’t make any progress soon, it will be, Stewart. Does this Martin Stafford sound like somebody who’d drive a white Transit van, Hitchens?’

‘No, sir. But who knows?’

‘Who indeed? Correct me if I’m wrong, but aren’t we the people who are supposed to find out things like that?’

‘We’re busy tracing Stafford right now.’

‘I’m also interested in the witness who said this van she saw was local. How does she know it was local?’

‘She thinks she’s seen it before, sir. She remembers that it was dirty, and has a rusted wheel arch. She notices things like that, she says. When pressed, she said she associates it with animals.’

‘We’re following it up, anyway,’ said Hitchens. ‘Checking out farmers, and so on. As it happens, it’s market day today in Edendale. Lots of vehicles in town. All we need is a bit of luck.’

‘We do deserve it,’ said Tailby.

Jepson nodded. ‘And the witness saw this van in the entrance to Ringham Edge Farm. Visiting Warren Leach, then?’

‘Could have been,’ said Hitchens. ‘But, as Mr Leach himself says, the driver could have been using the roadway for some other purpose. Bear in mind there’s access to the moor there. It’s the same access that we’ve been using ourselves for the last two days.’

‘Obliterating any tyre tracks in the process, naturally,’ said Jepson.

‘Well, maybe.’

‘Yes, we always like to wipe out a fair bit of forensic evidence right at the start, don’t we? We’re well known for it. One of our more outstanding talents, you might say.’

‘I think you’re exaggerating there, sir,’ said Tailby.

‘Am I?’ said Jepson. ‘I don’t think so. Has it ever occurred to you there might be a case for keeping police officers away from a crime scene completely when a body is found? We might actually get better results that way.’

‘It’s a thought, sir,’ said Hitchens. ‘We could suggest it as a special project group for the Operational Planning Department.’

‘I’ll think about it. It was also Leach’s wife who found the earlier victim, Crew, wasn’t it?’

‘That’s correct.’

‘We mustn’t overlook any correlations that the computer throws up, Stewart.’

‘We’re not doing that, sir. I’m keeping Leach in mind until we can eliminate him.’

‘What about boyfriends of the victim?’

‘All accounted for, except for the one who wrote the note. All the others deny writing it, and their handwriting doesn’t match.’

‘And Stafford’s writing doesn’t seem to match, either.’

‘I’ve sent the samples to a handwriting expert. But at first glance, they’re quite unalike.’

‘So, a mystery boyfriend, then. I suppose that’s what you would call a start, is it?’

‘A mystery boyfriend who drives a white van?’ said Hitchens.

‘A mystery boyfriend who drives a white Transit van with a rusty wheel arch, who has something to do with animals and who possesses a sharp knife and a pair of boots that match our partial print. That would be ideal, I suppose,’ said Jepson. ‘Is that all you want for Christmas?’

‘If it’s Santa asking, I’d wish for Maggie Crew’s memories to come back as well,’ said Tailby.

‘Ah, yes. How’s Fry been getting on with her?’

‘It’s slow going, by all accounts. Crew is completely closed in on herself. Putting Fry on her was a bit of a last resort. But we can’t treat her with kid gloves for ever, not if women are going to start dying on us.’

‘Are you sure Fry’s the right person?’ said Jepson. ‘Where’s Ben Cooper today?’

‘Cooper’s on the white van team,’ said Hitchens.

‘I can’t help feeling somebody else might have been better than Fry. Cooper does at least try to understand people. He has a bit more empathy.’

‘Well,’ said Hitchens, ‘we’ve done empathy.’

‘And what about Sugden?’ asked Jepson. ‘It would be helpful to appear to be questioning a suspect. Politically helpful, I mean.’

‘We’re bringing him in now.’

‘Good. And the woman from Cheshire — Ros Daniels?’

‘Not a trace of her. It’ll take a damn sight more than empathy to find her, I’m afraid.’

Wayne Sugden hadn’t wanted to come to the station to be interviewed. It was understandable. He had been out of prison only two weeks, and the cells in the detention suite at Edendale carried bad memories for him. But in the end, they had just put him in an interview room, where Diane Fry and DI Hitchens found him bubbling with fear and anger.

‘You can’t leave people alone, can you? Once you’ve got a downer on a bloke, that’s it. Am I going to get this for the rest of my life? I’d be better off back inside.’

‘Let’s just calm down, Mr Sugden,’ said Hitchens. ‘We only want a chat.’

‘Oh, yeah? I know your chats. I’m saying nothing. Not a word. Fetch me a solicitor.’

Sugden could just about qualify as a match for the description given by Jenny’s neighbour. He was about five foot eight, a little overweight from his spell of prison food and lack of exercise, with pale eyes and hair the colour of Dettol. His accent was certainly local. Maybe he could even dress respectably sometimes — when he finally put those jeans and the stained black sweatshirt in the wash.

‘I know my rights,’ he said. ‘It’s on the card. Here, you haven’t shown me the card. I can make a complaint, you know.’

Fry couldn’t raise any sympathy for Sugden. Maybe if she had just been released from prison herself, the last person she would have wanted to see was a policeman, and the last place she would have wanted to be was Edendale police station. But then, she would have thought of that in the first place before she got herself sent down for burglary.

‘We’re trying to eliminate as many people as possible from a current enquiry, Mr Sugden,’ she said. ‘We just want to ask you a few simple questions.’

Sugden smiled bitterly. ‘Nothing’s simple in this life. Your lot taught me that, at least. You made my life bloody complicated.’

‘Wednesday 22nd October, Mr Sugden,’ said Hitchens.

‘What about it?’

‘Where were you that night?’

‘Can’t remember.’

‘You were only just out of prison. You were released the previous day. If it were me, I’d remember exactly what I was doing in my first days of freedom.’

‘I expect I went for a drink,’ said Sugden. ‘To celebrate.’

‘Anywhere nice? I’m always open to recommendations.’

‘A couple of pubs I know in Edendale.’

‘On your own?’ asked Fry.

‘I met up with a few people, said hello. Come to think of it, they bought me a few drinks. They all knew I’d been set up something rotten.’

‘What it is to have friends,’ said Hitchens. ‘What time did you go to Sheffield?’

‘Eh? I never went to Sheffield. I told you — just the pubs in town.’

‘Do you know a place called Totley?’

‘I’ve heard of it,’ said Sugden cautiously.

‘Ever been there?’

‘Couldn’t say.’

‘I’m asking you to say.’

‘Did some place get burgled? It wasn’t me. And if you’re saying it was, I want that solicitor now.’

‘Nothing like that, Mr Sugden. Take it easy.’

‘What then? What’s it all about? You try anything else on, and you’ll be in dead trouble. It’s my human rights.’

‘You learned a lot in prison, didn’t you, Mr Sugden?’

‘Enough.’

‘What we’re interested in is whether you were in Totley on the night of Wednesday 22nd October,’ said Fry.

‘Wednesday 22nd October. You said it before. The day after I came out.’

There was a triumphant look on Sugden’s face. Fry had seen it on faces so often before. She could practically hear the dialogue that went with it. ‘I suppose you’re going to claim you were never there,’ she said.

‘Am I?’ said Sugden.

‘That’s what they all say,’ said Fry. ‘ “I was never there.” We get sick of hearing it.’

‘That Wednesday I was in the pub. Two or three pubs. There’s people will tell you that. Alibis.’

‘Move forward to Friday 24th October, then. Were you in a car in Totley that night?’

‘A car?’ Sugden laughed. ‘My wife sold the car when I went inside. You’d have thought she was hoping I wouldn’t be coming out again.’

‘You might have hired a car.’

‘Never in my life. Friday night? I think I went to the pub again.’

‘A varied social life, then.’

Sugden shrugged. He was gaining confidence.

‘That’s what you did both nights?’ asked Hitchens.

‘Yeah.’

‘You weren’t selling stolen video recorders, by any chance?’

‘Hey,’ said Sugden, ‘I think that’s a “no comment”.’

‘We’d really like to eliminate you from our enquiries, Mr Sugden.’

‘Well, it wasn’t like that. Right? And anyway. .’

‘Yes?’

‘I was never there.’