One Dead Witness

Chapter Seventeen

It was with a great deal of pleasure that Danny ‘laid hands’ on Joe Lilton and arrested him on suspicion of murdering his stepdaughter. She cautioned him to the letter and he replied, ‘I don’t blame you for arresting me, but I didn’t kill her; that’s what I’ve come in here to clear up.’

Danny led him down to the custody office.

Henry came along for the ride, switching off his pager which was irritating the hell out of him by vibrating in his pocket. Downstairs he phoned comms and they passed a message to him to ring Karl Donaldson at the FBI office in London.

A call that would have to wait.

Danny presented Joe Lilton to the custody officer who went through the computerised booking-in system which automatically checked all incoming prisoners on the PNC. No previous convictions were thrown up for Lilton, but reference was made to his firearms certificate. He still held one. The custody officer pointed this out to Danny, who said, ‘I know.’

They went through the full kit and caboodle with Lilton.

His clothing was seized and bagged up for forensic; swabs and hair were taken for DNA sampling. He was given a paper suit and slippers, then Danny booked out a set of tapes and she and Henry took him to an interview room.

He had indicated he did not wish to have a solicitor present.

As they left the custody office, there was the sound of an incredible ruckus from outside in the yard. Three police officers were fighting a young girl who was going berserk, scratching, spitting, kicking, screaming.

Henry caught sight of the rumpus as it tumbled through the custody office door. He gave a short laugh before following Danny down to the interview room.

‘ What’s going on, Karl?’ Myrna demanded to know.

‘ I’ve done what I can — left a message for the guy I know in Lancashire to contact me. I can only wait for his call, Myrna.’

‘ Yeah, sure, you’re right. Ring me as soon as you hear something, okay?’

‘ I will, Myrna, promise.’

‘ Promise?’

‘ Promise.’

She hung up and looked across the room at Tracey, still sleeping and twitching. Myrna folded her arms on the desk, laid her head on them, closed her eyes.

‘ I want to get this straight from the word go: I did not kill her. No way are you going to pin that on me.’

‘ Why are you here, then?’ Danny’s tongue flicked her bottom lip as she regarded the man sat opposite her in the paper suit. She hoped she was keeping a sneer off her face; probably it was a forlorn hope. Danny detested everything about Joe Lilton from the colour of his eyes to the fact he breathed the same air as she did.

‘ Because of what you said the other day, and that I know you lot will get round to me sooner or later.’ He shrugged. ‘I mean, you always pick on the father or stepfather, don’t you? First port of call, usually.’

‘ That’s because they’ve usually done it, Joe,’ Henry observed.

Lilton raised his face towards Henry in a challenging manner. ‘Not in this case.’ His voice was hoarse.

‘ What did I say the other day, Joe — to make you come in?’ Danny asked.

‘ It was when you were talking about how the investigation was going and you mentioned DNA.’

‘ Go on,’ Danny encouraged him.

‘ Is it right that if you get DNA samples you can match them up to offenders?’

‘ It’s very true.’

‘ How, like, accurate is it?’

‘ Foolproof,’ Henry said.

Joe’s head dropped. He studied his thumbs as they circled each other.

‘ For example, Joe,’ Henry began, ‘in the case of Claire, she had semen inside her that is estimated to be four days old. It’s a piece of piss to match that up with a suspect. It’s also piss-easy to prove that someone ISN’T involved.’

Joe’s cranium remained pointing towards the detectives.

‘ So, Joe,’ Danny sighed, ‘why have you come here?’

Joe looked at her. ‘You fucking know, don’t you? You fucking know you bitch, don’t you?’ He jabbed a finger at her. ‘You fucking know why I’m here.’

Danny remained impassive as the end of his finger hovered near the tip of her nose; she willed him to hit her. Instead he sat slowly back, dropped his head into his hands and sobbed.

‘ I didn’t kill her. You’ve got to believe me,’ he slavered through his fingers.

‘ What did you do?’

Joe looked up again. ‘Made love to her.’

Danny seethed. It was the second time a child-molester had referred to making love to his victims. ‘You made love to her?’ she demanded with a snarl.

‘ Yeah, she was willing.’

‘ She was eleven years old,’ Henry pointed out. He too was holding himself back from pitching over the table to strangle the bastard.

‘ You put your penis into her vagina and you ejaculated. Is that what you’re trying to say, Joe?’ Danny persisted.

‘ God, you make it sound so clinical,’ he snapped. ‘It was nothing like that.’

‘ What exactly was it like, Joe? Eh? Screwing your eleven-year-old stepdaughter? Go on, did the earth move? Was it all passion? Do you expect us to believe this shite?’ Danny’s voice was rising uncontrollably, particularly as she remembered Claire’s face when she drove her back home that day of the storm, back to a home where she was suffering abuse of the worst kind. That look on her face… ‘You screwed your daughter, for God’s sake! A forty-four-year-old man, screwing his eleven-year-old daughter. That is not making love, as you so eloquently put it. It’s a serious criminal and moral matter, not a moment of passion between consenting adults.’ Danny stood up, pushed herself away from the table and walked to the corner of the room.

‘ DS Furness has stood up and walked across the interview room, away from the suspect, Lilton,’ Henry said for the benefit of the tape.

‘ But I didn’t kill her. That’s the bottom line.’

Henry spoke into the microphone in a steady tone. ‘I suggest, Mr Lilton, you take on the services of a solicitor. I feel it is inappropriate for this interview to proceed without one being present.’ Henry concluded the interview as per the Codes of Practice, sealed one of the tapes and got Joe to sign across the seal.

Danny remained tucked away in one corner, arms folded, head down, silently scuffing a shoe across the carpet.

Without warning, Henry’s hand shot out and grabbed Joe Lilton’s throat. He heaved the man to his feet, sending the chair underneath him spinning across the room with a clatter. He shoved Lilton into the wall, on which his head smacked hollowly. Lilton had fear flittering in his eyes. Henry’s face was only inches away from Lilton’s.

‘ You are a fucking pervert,’ he growled at the man. ‘In the past you would’ve been bounced around the cells and sometimes, just sometimes, I hanker for the good old days, Joe, because more than anything, I want to beat you to an inch of your life — and then kick you some more — whether or not you killed Claire.’

He released Joe with an exaggerated flick of the fingers, like he was dropping something horrible. Then, grabbing Joe’s arm, he said, ‘Come on, let’s go and see the Custody Officer.’

‘ There was no need to do that, Henry.’ Danny’s voice was strained. She was sitting on the examination couch in the police surgeon’s room in the custody complex, her feet swinging. Lilton was in a cell, awaiting his brief.

‘ Yeah,’ he conceded, slightly embarrassed. ‘I suffer from the “red mist” syndrome occasionally. It gets me into trouble now and then.’

‘ He’s not worth it.’

‘ Hey, okay, nuff said.’ Henry held up his hands in surrender.

Danny looked down at the floor and suddenly it came out. ‘I saw her face, Claire’s face, the expression on it,’ she choked, ‘and it’s only now I realise what it meant, and I made her go back home and it was obvious to anyone with half a brain she had good reason not to want to go back.’ A torrent of tears welled up and flooded over the edge. Her face rose pleadingly to Henry. He crossed to her. She slid off the couch and her arms went round him. ‘Her dad was sexually assaulting her. No wonder she went off the rails… and I didn’t spot it. Someone with my experience — I must be thick as a brick. And she even came in twice to see me, but didn’t have the courage to stay and speak. And what did I do? Nothing. I deserve to lose my job for this.’

‘ No.’ Henry held Danny at arm’s length so he could see her. ‘You cannot blame yourself for this. Every cop in the world would go bananas if they blamed themselves for things going wrong in other people’s lives.’

She closed her eyes sadly and wiped away her tears with a flourish of both hands. ‘Yeah, right,’ she muttered. ‘What are we going to do about Joe Lilton?’

‘ Do you think he killed her?’

Danny shook her head. ‘No, I don’t.’

‘ Let’s interview him with a solicitor, then bail him to come back here in a week. We’ll probably have a better picture of things by then. What about Mrs Lilton? Should we arrest her too?’

‘ I don’t think she will be involved, but I suppose we need to speak to her at some stage.’

The door swished open. It was the Custody Sergeant.

‘ Henry, Danny, need to have a quick word.’

The detectives exchanged a glance, both thinking the same thing: Joe Lilton had made a complaint of assault against Henry.

Both were wrong.

Myrna stirred. Her head was still resting on her forearms. She was stiff and aching. For a few moments she did not move, keeping her eyes closed and breathing in deeply through her nostrils. She sat up and stretched the feeling back into her blood-starved limbs. The crinkle of pins and needles was painful and pleasurable at the same time. She rolled her neck and winced as her back muscles protested.

The clock on her desk told her that ninety minutes had passed since her last phone call to Karl Donaldson in London. Dawn had already revealed itself across Miami; soon the office cleaners would be in, followed shortly by the more enthusiastic workers amongst the staff.

She rubbed her eyes, cleared her throat and glanced across to Tracey.

‘ Holy shit!’ were the first words Myrna uttered.

The girl had disappeared.

The custody officer pulled the custody record out of its plastic wallet.

‘ We don’t know who she is — she won’t tell us,’ he said to Danny and Henry, ‘but she’s about eleven or twelve; she’s as pissed as a rat, glued up to the eyeballs, as violent as any girl that age can be and basically a real bitch to deal with. I gave her a drink of tea which she promptly threw all over me. Luckily most of it missed; now she’s stripped herself stark naked and is prancing about in the buff in a juvenile detention room, having urinated and then shat in one corner. She’s now smeared excreta all over the walls.’ He raised his nose. ‘Can you smell it?’

Henry inhaled. ‘Ahhh, yes, the smell of shite.’ He smiled empathetically at the Sergeant; Henry was pleased to announce that his spell as a custody officer had been brief but horrible, done a short time after his promotion to uniform Sergeant, somewhere in the dim, distant past. The role was unenviable, having to be a kind of unloved intermediary between the investigating officers and the prisoners. Always a no-win situation. It was a job Henry had quite happily left behind.

‘ So it’s a crap job you’ve got,’ said Henry. ‘What’s it got to do with me?’

‘ It’s probably all balls, I suppose, but she said she knew who killed Claire Lilton, but she wasn’t going to tell us — then she stuck two fingers up at me and lobbed a turd in my general direction. I’m getting too old for this,’ he whined, rubbing his neck. He was twenty-seven. ‘Just thought you’d like to know, that’s all. Take it or leave it.’

‘ Nothing lost having a word, is there?’ Danny said.

Myrna shot out of her chair and crossed quickly to the restroom. Tracey was not there. She began a systematic walk through the offices of Kruger Investigations. Ten minutes later she returned to her office, pretty certain Tracey had gone. She sat down heavily and reached for the phone to call night security down at the front entrance. As her hand drew the receiver to her ear, she noticed her purse was open. With a curse playing on her lips, she grabbed the black bag and rummaged through it.

Tracey had beaten her to it.

She had been cleaned out.

Juveniles are not detained in normal cells, but in juvenile detention rooms which, instead of cell doors, have thick wooden ones with toughened glass windows. There are no toilets in such rooms and every time the occupant wishes to pay a visit, they have to ring the bell. Henry hated dealing with kids. Give him a hardened professional criminal any day. Much simpler.

He and Danny stood outside the DR and tried to peer through the layer of faeces the young lady had smeared over the window. They could just see her, sitting cross-legged on the floor, naked, singing at the top of her voice, then shouting obscenities between verses. They could smell her very well.

The cell was covered in it and so was she.

Danny turned to the custody Sergeant. ‘Why was she arrested anyway?’

‘ A nothing of a job really. Caught shoplifting in W H Smiths. The store detective chased her, she ran away down the Prom and she kicked off when she was collared. She gave the store detective a real shiner, I’m told. Took three bobbies to bring her in.’

‘ And we don’t know who she is, yet?’

‘ No.’

‘ Yes, we do,’ came a triumphant voice, interrupting the Sergeant’s reply. It was one of the arresting officers. ‘Been leafing through the Missing from Home reports, just in case — and voila!’ He flapped a message switch. ‘I think it’s this girl.’

‘ Well done,’ the Sergeant commented.

‘ What’s your plan of action?’ Danny asked.

‘ Hm… got to get her cleaned up before we do anything with her. Going to have to get a couple of policewomen into overalls, drag her out and dump her under a shower. This DR’ll have to be steam-cleaned now — little madam. Danny?’ He looked questioningly at the DS. ‘Don’t suppose you’d be interested in grabbing a pair of overalls and helping out?’ It was a fairly rhetorical question. ‘No, supposed not.’

‘ We’ll come back and speak to her when she’s clean — and sober,’ Henry said.

The custody officer looked severely miffed at the problem. Bloody kids, he thought. Should be shot at birth.

‘ Just got off speaking to the States again. A woman named Myrna Rosza, remember? She was the one who originated the information on Charlie Gilbert.’

‘ Yeah, I remember.’ Henry had the phone cradled between his ear and shoulder, sipping a cup of tea, dunking a ginger biscuit at the same time, saturating it to the point of near-disintegration before dropping it skilfully into his open mouth. Gorgeous.

‘ Done anything with that yet?’

‘ No,’ he mumbled. ‘Filed for the moment. Too busy with other things.’ He reached for another biscuit and dunked it.

Karl explained the phone call he’d had from Myrna. ‘Sounds very interesting,’ Henry commented. ‘Why does she want to speak to Danny Furness?’

‘ Dunno, but that was the gist of the message; she’s supposedly a witness to that murder and she’ll only talk to this Furness guy.’

‘ This Furness guy happens to be a girl, actually.’

‘ So be it.’ Donaldson took a breath. ‘But having said all that, there’s a bit of a sorry twist in the tail. The girl has now disappeared.’

‘ Oh, that’s handy. What do you reckon to the story anyway?’

‘ Myrna is ex-FBI, very bright, don’t take no shit, and wouldn’t bother me if she didn’t think it was worthwhile. I think the girl is genuine.’

‘ But she’s done a bunk?’

‘ As you say — done a bunk.’

‘ I’ll speak to Danny Furness for a start, Karl.’

‘ You know him — her?’

‘ Yes. I’ll see what she knows about this girl, if anything. Let us know if she turns up again; I don’t really see us getting too excited until then. At the same time I’ll liaise with the murder team over in Darwen and let them know what’s happening — oh shit! Sorry, Karl. Just had an accident here.’

Henry had misjudged his timing and whilst in mid-air, on the journey from cup to lip, his ginger biscuit disintegrated all over his shirt and tie.

There was, undeniably, the smell of shit in the air: disinfectant, cheap soap and shit.

Danny’s nostrils dilated as she sat down opposite the girl. A woman from the social services sat next to the girl, a stern look on her face. Her nose twitched.

The girl slumped in the plastic chair, a sneer slashed across her face, contempt oozing from every pore in her body. The white zoot suit was far too large for her, made her look stupid and vulnerable.

She peered closely at the girl’s face and saw the redness around her nostrils and top lip, symptoms associated with glue-sniffing. Danny’s eyes looked into the girl’s which were wild, pupils still dilated. Danny speculated how far gone she was, whether it was recoverable or had her brain and vital organs been irreparably damaged by the fumes.

Danny pitied her. She made a note to get the police surgeon to check her out.

‘ How’re you feeling?’

Sullen, no response. Expected.

‘ You’ve cleaned up quite nicely.’

She shook her head sadly as though this was all crap and she did not need to be here. Her eyes — dilated, watery — showed nothing but hatred for Danny.

Danny inspected the faxes in front of her. A Missing from Home report from the police in Huddersfield told her the girl was called Grace Lawson, that she was eleven years old and had been missing from a children’s home for three months. It was a long time, but not unusual, particularly for kids who could fend for themselves.

‘ What’re you doing in Blackpool, Grace?’ Not that Danny needed an answer. Second to London, Blackpool, during summer months, was a Mecca for kids on the run. The girl’s eyes flickered.

‘ Yeah, that’s right. We know who you are.’

She sighed disdainfully and raised her eyebrows.

‘ Cat got your tongue? Not talking will do you no good at all.’

‘ Oh, just fuck off, bitch.’

Water off a duck’s back. ‘What are you doing here in Blackpool? How long have you been here and who have you been with?’

Grace closed her eyes, opened them slowly. Defiance.

‘ Earlier today you were caught shoplifting in Smiths. You assaulted the store detective, then hit three police officers.’

A smile now, pleasure and remembrance.

‘ You think it’s funny?’

‘ Yeah, very fuckin’ funny.’

‘ Is that because your brain’s rotted with glue? Does that make you see things differently? Can you see anything at all?’

Grace leaned on the table. ‘I can see an old bitch whose mouth is opening and closing and spewing shite. That’s what I can see.’

Danny grinned, thought, less of the ‘old’. ‘You’ve been on the run a long time,’ she said aloud. ‘Three months. How have you survived?’

‘ Easy — when you’ve got a cunt.’

Danny flinched inwardly. Outwardly she did not blink or show shock. The social worker blanched, her tight lips parting in shock.

‘ And that’s how you’ve survived?’

‘ Hand jobs, blow jobs, fucks. Yeah, you name ‘em. The cash keeps rollin’ in.’

‘ You know what sexual intercourse is then?’

Grace grunted in amusement.

‘ And shoplifting?’

‘ Bit of that, sure.’

‘ Who puts a roof over your head?’

‘ None of your business, Mrs Busybody, nosy-cow bitch,’ she spat, sat back and folded her arms.

‘ How do you know Claire Lilton?’

‘ Who?’ Her face curled up. Danny repeated the name. ‘I don’t.’

‘ You mentioned her name when you were brought in here.’

‘ I probably mentioned Robbie Williams too. But I don’t know him.’

‘ You’re a smartarse, aren’t you?’

‘ I could outwit you any day of the week.’

Danny paused, leaned back and eyed Grace, not surprised by the responses she was getting. She’d had worse from eight-year-olds. There was quiet in the room and the slightly metallic hiss of the tape spools rotating could be heard.

‘ Let me tell you a story, Grace. It’s about a little girl very much like you.’

‘ I’m not little!’ She was affronted by the insinuation.

‘ Oh yes, you are. Little in every sense. Body, mind, brain, intellect. You only think you’re big. You talk big words. You do big girl things. But underneath you’re a little kid. A child. Nothing more than a child. I’ll bet you still have a teddy, don’t you?’

Grace swallowed. She blushed.

‘ Do you hold it every night? I’ll bet you do… Anyway, I was telling you a story. Just a short story, because it’s about a little girl like you. Same age, same height, same braveness… and she went missing from home, but she didn’t last three months or even three days, because I found her strangled to death.’

Grace was listening, riveted.

‘ Ever wonder what it’s like to be strangled? No air. Can’t breathe-’

‘ I say, is this really necessary?’ the social worker interrupted. Danny fired her a look which had the effect of clamping the woman’s mouth up. Grace was transfixed by Danny.

‘ Squirming, trying to. get away, being held dawn, throttled, maybe even more than one person doing it… screaming, a hand over your mouth and nose so you won’t make a noise and that rope tightening around your neck, tighter and tighter and your tongue grows in the back of your throat and your eyes bulge because they feel like they’re going to pop out…’

‘ Don’t!’ Grace screamed, covering her ears. She started to sob all the way up from her guts, almost retching, then she vomited all aver the table, over the tape deck, then jerking her head and covering the lap of the social worker. Danny saw it coming. She moved in time.

Grace choked, bent double, head between her legs, spitting out the last of her stomach contents.

Danny walked round the table and laid a hand on the back of her head. ‘There, there,’ she muttered softly. ‘Everything’ll be all right, Grace, but you need to tell me about yourself, don’t you? Then tell me about Claire Lilton, because you know about know who killed her, don’t you?’

‘ Yeah…’ she gasped.

‘ Who?’

‘ Charlie and Ollie.’

Same old story, Danny thought whilst listening — in a different, vomit-free interview room — to Grace. Abused by a succession of ‘uncles’ (her mother’s lovers), social services become involved, goes into care from the age of seven; the short forays home result in more abuse; behaviour worsens, the homes become more secure, better supervised. Ends up in one, aged ten, abused by the staff and the older kids… it becomes part of a dark life, part of her day-to-day existence. She runs, returns, runs some more, but this time vows not to return. Blackpool sounds good. She’s been there on several day trips. Lots of life, sounds and people. And that’s where she ended up. Sleeping rough, cruising the arcades, stealing food… and then being spotted and watched, eventually approached. A meal provided. A bath. Somewhere comfy to sleep. Some cash. Build up trust, something which didn’t take too long, and then she was hooked… and introduced to the man who had done her so much good; it was no surprise when his cock came out and it tasted like all the others had done, felt like all the others had done. And soon she was on the lookout for him — other vulnerables, mispers, day-trippers even — bring them in, make promises… but something horrible happened to one of them. Her name had been Claire. She didn’t want it, didn’t want the sex, not for anything. She fought and was subdued. Fought again, subdued even more and then she was dead.

And now something else: Danny was being nice to her and getting something from Grace, something for nothing.

Cleaned up, but smelling of sick, the social worker listened in silence.

Danny coaxed, reassured, probed as she pulled out a tangled web of emotion, fear, hatred and a million other things because this was the first time Grace had ever talked. Danny had to deal with all the excess baggage. That was the way it had to be, like plaiting fog, as they say. Only then, when it had all been faced and talked through, could- the questions begin to flow, slowly at first, about Claire Lilton.

And yes, Danny had to admit, she was not really interested in Grace’s story. All that was blind alleys. She wanted to hear about Claire Lilton.

Grace talked for three hours.

Every single operational operative from Kruger Investigations was out on the bricks searching for Tracey. Photos in hand, descending on as many likely places as they could think of.

Myrna, meanwhile, was on to Mark Tapperman.

Under pressure he refused to yield. ‘No, I cannot spare any of my officers to go looking for a reluctant witness who’s probably regaled you with the most bullshit you’ve ever heard, just for a bed for the night and the opportunity to steal from your purse. And it worked!’

Myrna silently mouthed numerous cuss-words at him from her end of the phone.

‘ And it’s a godamned good job we don’t have video conferencing otherwise I’d be able to see your lips bad-mouthin’ me,’ Tapperman laughed.

‘ How in hell..?’

‘ I’m a cop. People are always cussin’ me silently down the phone. Hey, look, Myrna, sorry, but we can’t afford the manpower. Tell you what I will do — I’ll get a radio message out to all mobiles, ask’ em to keep their eyes peeled, okay? That’s all I can do. We’re chasin’ our tails here.’

‘ Fine, thanks,’ Myrna conceded. ‘Any progress on Steve’s killer?’

‘ Patrick Orlove? No, nothing. We’re trying our best.’

‘ I believe you.’ She hung up.

‘ He calls me his little honey pot, but I don’t really know why. Because I’m sweet, I suppose.’ Grace managed a weak smile. The effort of self-revelation had taken everything out of the little girl. All her own important stuff had been about herself, not Claire; her past, present and unspeakable future. ‘I met Claire in one of the arcades and I could tell she were alone, like. I talked to her and said I could get her somewhere to sleep for the night. I took her to see Ollie and he give her a couple of quid for some chips an’ me an’ her went for some an’ came back when the arcade had closed. We got into Ollie’s car and he drove us to his flat an’ Charlie were there waitin’ for us. I got pissed on wine — I like wine. Claire had a bit to drink and she got smashed easy, like. Then Ollie asked me to give him a suck an’ he got it out an’ I started. I had to close me eyes ‘cos I don’t really like lookin’ at it and the wine takes the taste off.

‘ While I were doin’ this,’ she went on, ‘Charlie took Claire out the room and into the bedroom. Going for a shag. Everythin’ were all right and Ollie’d cum in me mouth an’ he made me swallow it an’ then all hell broke loose. There’s a loada shoutin’ an’ screamin’ from the bedroom and Claire ran out… she had no clothes on and Charlie were chasing her. He were fuckin’ angry. He grabbed her and thumped her in the face and sez to Ollie, “Come an’ ‘elp me with the little bitch.” They both grabbed her then an’ dragged her back into the bedroom an’ slammed the door behind ‘em. Well, the door don’t close proper and it just sorta bounced open a bit an’ I sneaked a look.’ Tears welled up in Grace’s eyes.

‘ Go on,’ Danny said gently.

‘ I were frightened. Claire were strugglin’ an’ fightin’. They were both holdin’ her down and Charlie was trying to get his dick in her, but she were really fighting and kickin’ and they were gettin’ really mad. Charlie had a rope or somethin’ round her neck, pullin’ tight an’ next thing Claire weren’t moving at all.’

She fell silent.

Danny touched Grace’s trembling fingers. The social worker was white.

‘ They said she were all reet, just sleepin’. I could see she wasn’t. They’d been smashing her in the face too and it were a real mess. I’ve never seen a dead person before. It were ‘orrible… I can still see her now.’

‘ What happened then?’

‘ They carried her into the shower and washed her, I think. They told me not to look. I just ran out and glued meself up… I haven’t been back.’

‘ Who were the two men?’

‘ Like I said. Charlie and Ollie.’

‘ Do you know their last names?’

‘ Charlie Gilbert. Ollie Spencer.’

‘ What do Charlie Gilbert and Ollie Spencer have in common?’ Henry Christie pondered out loud. He knew Gilbert was one of the most respected figures on the Fylde, and Spencer was a purveyor of porn and perversion across the Northwest. ‘Other than their sexual interests, that is.’

‘ The fact is, they are together and I want to go and arrest both for murder,’ Danny stated categorically. She could hardly contain herself after listening to Grace’s story and recording the subsequent statement. Grace was still in the police station, being held on the assault and shoplifting charges whilst a decision was made about what to do with her. In many ways it was out of the hands of the police. She had to be handed over to Social Services for safekeeping — not something either Henry or Danny was happy with. They would rather have kept her under lock and key.

They were in the incident room at Blackpool police station, scrumming down with FB and other members of the murder squad.

‘ Just hold your horses,’ FB said impatiently. His jacket and tie were off. He paced the room, taking up the tension more degrees than necessary. ‘Tell me where we’re up to exactly.’

He looked at Henry, who, never afraid of delegation and empowerment, looked in turn at Danny.

She cleared her throat.

‘ Okay, we’ve boxed off Trent. He’s out of the picture, back on remand next Thursday, charged with numerous serious offences. If he ever sets foot out of prison again, it should only be in a pine box.

‘ Claire Lilton: missing from home. Turns up murdered, and initially we think it’s down to Trent, but it doesn’t quite match his murder MO — the knife. So we agree we have a problem — another child-killer on the loose. Then Grace Lawson turns up, a witness from nowhere, also a misper, eleven years old who says she saw Claire get murdered by Ollie Spencer and Charlie Gilbert. Describes the whole event in gory detail and it matches everything we know medically and forensically about Claire’s death.’

‘ Thanks — very succinct,’ FB said. ‘Anything else?’

‘ Yes. Claire had four-day-old sperm in her. Her step-father gave himself up and admitted having sexual relations with her. We’ve DNA’d him and at present he’s on bail, returning here in a week’s time. We’re pretty sure he didn’t kill her, but we are going to fettle him good and proper. Unfortunately there are no further forensics or DNA; as Grace told us, Gilbert and Spencer washed her body off. They were very thorough.’

‘ Do we know where the crime took place?’ FB asked.

Danny nodded. ‘Spencer’s flat.’

‘ In that case we need to hit it quick and go for bedsheets, et cetera, et cetera, down the plughole, everything,’ FB decided. ‘Let’s just see how thorough they’ve really been. Anything else?’

‘ Yep,’ said Henry, ‘and it concerns Gilbert, bastion of society. It’s an American angle. Remember Karl Donaldson?’ Henry raised his eyebrows at FB, whose face went sour at the mention of the FBI operative. FB and Donaldson had a history and did not match well. ‘Gilbert was recently arrested in Miami on child-molestation allegations and released without charge. Seems he’s involved with some American gangster called Bussola, very big crime-wise in Florida. His legal business side includes amusement arcades, where it’s believed he deals drugs. The amusement side is probably where Bussola’s connection with Gilbert comes in, a man who made most of his fortune from kids’ pennies. Gilbert apparently buys Bussola’s arcade cast-offs. That’s how they know each other, I believe.’

‘ Where’s this leading, Henry?’ FB asked impatiently.

Henry did all but ignore him. Their history gave Henry some rights not normally available to Detective Inspectors. ‘The dead girl found over in Darwen, actually: the five-year-old murder. Don’t ask me how — I’m sure it’ll come out in the wash — but a girl over in the States read about the murder and came forward to say she knew who’d done it…’ he paused for effect ‘…Charlie Gilbert. Then she clammed up and said nothing else, except, and this is the killer’ — his eyes turned to Danny — ‘that she’ll only talk to Danny, who she met some years ago. The girl is a Brit, working over in the States.’

‘ She’ll only speak to me?’ Danny was puzzled. ‘What’s her name?’

‘ Tracey Greenwood. Ring a bell?’

‘ Not offhand.’

‘ She also insisted on something else too — that Danny goes to the States and brings her back to England and she’ll give evidence against Gilbert. But only Danny.’

‘ Out of the question,’ said FB. ‘She’s pulling a fast one for some reason.’

‘ There is another thing too.’ Henry pulled a face. ‘She’s done a runner.’

‘ They’ve lost her?’ FB said incredulously. ‘Typical bloody Donaldson.’

‘ So I’m waiting to hear,’ Henry said.

‘ Okay, thanks, Henry. We’ll see what comes of it — if anything. But for the moment, let’s concentrate on the here and now — Gilbert and Spencer.’ He looked squarely at Danny. ‘Go get ‘em.’