‘Ask Jackson. She spoke to him more than I did.’
‘Doctor?’
‘He called himself Chalky, claimed to be mid-fifties, and said he was a corporal during the Falklands War. Five- foot-tennish . . . dark, greying hair and beard . . . brown overcoat... stank to high heaven and looks older than he is. He refused to come with us, but I imagine he’s fairly well known on the streets. From what he told us, he’s been homeless for twenty years.’
The Falklands War ignited Jones’s interest. ‘Had you met him before?’ he asked Acland.
‘Once. I saw off a group of drunken teenagers who were bullying him, then helped him climb the railings into the alleyway. That’s how I knew it was there.’
‘What were the teenagers doing?’
‘Kicking him.’
‘Was the sick lad one of them?’
Acland hesitated. ‘I don’t know. There was a boy urinating on Chalky . . . but I never saw his face. He was wearing a hoodie. The rest were girls.’
‘I don’t think Chalky would have helped him tonight if he’d taken a thrashing off him,’ said Jackson drily. ‘He told me he’s been trying to protect Ben from shirt-lifters. He wanted me to pass on to you that the streets aren’t safe for boys or girls. The dealers get them hooked and the kerb crawlers take immediate advantage.’
‘Tell me something I don’t know,’ Jones said equally drily. ‘Are you saying this Chalky’s homophobic?’
Jackson was ahead of him. ‘Along with a goodly percentage of the population, Superintendent. I don’t think it means he’s a killer.’
Jones turned back to Acland. ‘Will he vouch for the fact that you never tampered with the rucksack?’
‘I doubt it.’
‘The man’s a chronic alcoholic and not the type to volunteer information,’ said Jackson in answer to the superintendent’s frown. ‘He’ll have a convenient loss of memory . . . assuming you can find him.’
‘Where did you last see him?’
‘Outside St Thomas’s. He’ll be gone by now.’
‘Then let’s hear what you have to say. To your knowledge, was the lieutenant ever alone with the boy’s things?’
Jackson glanced at Acland, as if seeking permission to answer.
‘Yes,’ she admitted. ‘There was a period when he and Chalky stayed with the car and I was in the hospital.’ She explained how she’d left Acland to drive the BMW while she followed the paramedics into A&E. ‘I asked the lieutenant to search the rucksack for anything that might help us locate the next of kin . . . and he brought it to me about twenty minutes later.’
‘And showed you the mobile?’
‘Yes.’
‘Why didn’t you tell me this earlier?’
‘You were only interested in what happened in the alleyway.’ Jackson broke off briefly to marshal her thoughts. ‘Look, I’m obviously missing something, because I can’t see why you keep harping on about this. What would Charles have to gain by putting Kevin Atkins’s phone in the boy’s rucksack? It makes no sense at all . . . particularly as he could have ditched anything compromising down the first grating between the staff car park and the A&E entrance.’
‘He wasn’t to know you’d bypass the PIN.’
Jackson frowned, trying to follow his logic. ‘What difference does that make? He knew we were trying to identify the kid, so the chances were high that Atkins’s mobile would be examined eventually. Why gamble on something so unpredictable when he could have got rid of the evidence altogether?’
‘It depends what the gamble was. Supposing the lad had died? The case would take on a very different complexion in those circumstances. A dead rent boy, who wasn’t too happy about selling himself, would make a compelling candidate as a gay killer.’ Jones spread his hands in a damping gesture at Jackson’s immediate show of irritation. ‘Don’t be naive about people’s motives, Doctor. If you sit in court for a day you’ll hear many more unlikely stories than that.’
‘There was no suggestion that Ben was going to die. The paramedics started hydration treatment in the ambulance and the endocrinology unit was ready to go into action as soon as he reached the hospital. Both the lieutenant and Chalky knew that his chances of survival were excellent even before we left Covent Garden.’
‘You’re wasting your breath,’ Acland said, pushing himself off the floor and leaning his shoulder against the wall. ‘I told you this would happen.’
‘At least I’m fighting your corner,’ said Jackson coldly, ‘which is more than you ever seem to do. You have two speeds. Red mist and pained martyrdom . . . and the pained martyrdom is getting on my nerves.’ She eyed him with disfavour. ‘We went through the silent treatment yesterday after you attacked Rashid in the pub . . . and it didn’t impress me then. Guilt isn’t a negotiable commodity, Lieutenant. You can’t trade it like an indulgence.’
His return stare was hostile. ‘Don’t patronize me.’
‘Then stop behaving like a jerk and live with the sins you
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