Gristhorpe waved a plume of smoke aside. “I don’t like the alternatives,” he said.
“Me neither, but we’ve got to face them. Remember those stories a while back? Paedophiles posing as social workers and asking to examine people’s kids for evidence of abuse?”
Gristhorpe nodded.
“Luckily, most parents sent them away,” Banks went on. “But suppose this time they succeeded?”
“I’ve checked on the descriptions with the divisions involved,” Gristhorpe said, “and they don’t match. But you’re right. It’s something we have to consider. Someone else could have got the idea from reading the papers. Then there’s the ritual stuff to consider, too.”
Not long ago, the press had been rife with stories of children used for ritual abuse, often with satanic over
tones. In Cleveland, Nottingham, Rochdale and the Orkneys, children were taken into care after allegations of just such abuse involving torture, starvation, humiliation and sexual molestation. Nobody had come up with any hard evidence?in fact, most people thought it was more likely that the children needed to be protected from the social workers?but the rumours were disturbing enough. And Gristhorpe didn’t fool himself that such a thing couldn’t happen in Eastvale. It could.
That Satanists now existed out in the dale was beyond doubt. There had been trouble with them recently, when local farmers had complained of finding sheep ritually slaughtered in copses and hollows. There was a big difference between sheep and children, of course, as there was between Satanism and witchcraft. Gristhorpe had been aware of local witch covens for years. They consisted mostly of meek husbands and bored housewives in search of an evening’s naughtiness dancing naked in the woods. But the Satanists were a different breed. If they could go as far as killing sheep and draining their blood, what would they stop at?
“But you know what I’m thinking about most of all, don’t you, Alan?” Banks was one of the few people Gristhorpe had talked to about his small role in the Moors Murders and the lasting effect it had on him.
Banks nodded.
“Different way of operating, of course. Brady and Hindley snatched their victims. But there could be reasons for that. It’s the couple aspect that bothers me. A man and a woman. I know there’s been a lot of argument about Myra Hindley’s degree of involvement, but there’s no doubt they acted together. Call it what you will? maybe some kind of psychotic symbiosis?but without the other, it’s a good bet neither would have committed those crimes. Alone, they were nothing, nobodies living
in fantasy worlds, but together they progressed from Hitler-worship and pornography to murder. Hindley acted as a catalyst to turn Brady’s fantasies into reality, and he acted them out to impress her and exercise his power over her. Christ, Alan, if a couple like that’s got hold of little Gemma Scupham, God have mercy on her soul.” Again, Gristhorpe remembered the tape, Lesley Ann begging, “Please don’t undress me!” Brady telling her, “If you don’t keep that hand down I’ll slit your neck.” And that other gruesome touch, the children’s choir singing carols in the background.
“We don’t know,” said Banks. “We know bugger-all so far.”
Gristhorpe rubbed his brow. “Aye, you’re right. No sense jumping to conclusions. On the bright side, let’s hope it was some poor young childless couple who just went too far to get themselves a kiddie.” He shook his head. “It doesn’t make sense, though, does it? If they took the child out of love, how could they reconcile themselves to the mother’s pain? There’d be too much guilt to allow them any happiness. And I doubt they’d be able to keep a secret like that for very long.”
“I’ve asked Phil if he can tie in with HOLMES on this,” Banks said. “Remember that course he went on?”
Gristhorpe nodded. HOLMES stood for Home Office Large Major Enquiry System. Developed during the hunt for the Yorkshire Ripper, HOLMES basically allows all reports coming out of an investigation to be entered and organized into a relational database. That way, a key word or phrase can be tracked more accurately through previously unrelated data than before.
And that was as far as Gristhorpe could follow. The rest, like most computer talk, was gobbledegook to him. In fact, the mere mention of megabytes and DOS brought out the latent Luddite in him. Still, he didn’t
underestimate their value. An enquiry like this would generate a lot of paperwork, and every statement, every report, no matter how minor or negative, would be entered, and cross-checks would be made. He wanted no cock-ups along the lines of the Yorkshire Ripper investigation, where the left hand hadn’t seemed to know what the right hand was doing.
“Phil says he’d like computers in the mobile unit,” Banks added. “That way the officers can put everything on disk and pass it on to him without any retyping.”
“I’ll see what I can do. Any more ideas?”
“Just a couple. I’d like a chat with the girl’s teacher, see what I can find out about her. I’m damn sure there’s been some abuse involved. Both Poole and Brenda Scupham deny it, but not convincingly enough.”
Gristhorpe nodded. “Go on.”
“And I think we should consider bringing Jenny Fuller in. She might at least be able to give us some idea of what kind of people we’re looking for.”
“I couldn’t agree more,” Gristhorpe said. He liked Jenny Fuller. Not only was she a competent psychologist who had helped them before in unusual cases, but she was a pleasure to have around. A right bonny lass, as Gristhorpe’s father would have said.
“Should we bring Jim Hatchley back from the seaside?” Banks asked.
Gristhorpe scowled. “I suppose there might come a time we’ll need him. Leave it for now, though.” Detective Sergeant Jim Hatchley had been transferred to a CID outpost on the Yorkshire coast, largely to make way for Philip Richmond’s promotion. Gristhorpe had never much liked Hatchley, but grudgingly admitted he had his uses. As far as Gristhorpe was concerned, he was an idle, foul-mouthed, prejudic* d slob, but his brain worked well enough when he took the trouble to use it,
and he had a list of dirty tricks as long as your arm that often got results without compromising procedure.
Banks drained his glass. “Anything else?”
“Not tonight. We’ll have a meeting first thing in the morning, see what’s turned up. You’d better get home and get some sleep.”
Banks grunted. “I might as well have another pint first. There never seems to be anyone in these days.”
