Foster stood up. He walked over to the pool table. He couldn't see any balls anywhere. Probably confiscated to stop the players putting them in a sock and knocking each other's brains out.
'I've got a problem, Gary,' he said, turning round to look at him. As soon as he did, Gary looked away. Got you, he thought. He put his hands in his pockets. 'Do you know what my problem is?' Nothing. 'Didn't think so. So I'll enlighten you. My problem is that I'm a murder detective.
I go after nasty people that murder other people. I'm not used to dealing with kids that steal DVD players and PlayStations. Frankly I don't give two shits about kids who steal DVDs and PlayStations. But I do care about people who've been murdered. Most of all I care about their families and friends who have to live knowing that some scumbag killed their mum, or their dad, or brother or sister and to even begin to start dealing with that horrible thought they need to know that scumbag has been caught and punished. Of course, that's never enough, but it's often a start.'
'What's that got to do wiv my sistah?' he said. The accent was broad East London.
'That's what me and my colleague here are trying to find out, Gary'
The boy looked confused.
'You see, I'm investigating a murder. Not only a murder.
But a kidnap, too. Someone not so much older than you who's been taken. Now, there's a chance that what you know will help me find that person.'
'Know about what?' Impatience had replaced anger.
About Leon
'I don't know nuffing.' Anger was back.
'Gary, you're not listening to me. You don't know what I want to know. Let me ask you a few questions and -- who knows? Maybe you'll tell me something that helps. Maybe you won't. But let's try it out and we can get back to catching murderers and you can get back to whatever it was you were doing.'
'I don't help no coppers.'
'You can say that again. I've seen your record.'
Gary shook his head and tightened his arms around his chest, as if to say, 'I'm certainly not gonna help you now'
Foster looked over at Heather and nodded, before turning to the window and staring out at a miserable slab of concrete decorated by clumps of weeds pushing through the cracks.
'Gary,' he heard her say, her voice soft. 'The girl who was kidnapped is fourteen, like Leonie was. Now I know you hate the police and you don't want to help us, but you won't be helping us, you'll be helping this girl'
Foster heard Gary shift in his seat.
'This girl who's missing, some really nasty things could be happening to her now,' Heather continued. 'Truly terrible things. If we can find her, we might be able to stop them happening. Help us. Please.'
Foster kept staring out of the window. There was a patch of grass at the perimeter of the yard, against the fence, which was littered with empty crisp packets, drink cans and other debris. Beyond that was a car park and a parade of shops, only one of which wasn't boarded up.
There was little in the area to inspire the residents of this care home.
'OK,' he heard Heather say. 'Thank you.'
The kid must have nodded. Foster turned round, remained standing.
'In the days and weeks leading up to your sister leaving, do you remember anything out of the ordinary at home?
Anything strange or different?' Heather asked.
Gary held the same pose, but Foster noticed his eyes had softened. He gave it some thought. 'Not really'
'Did Leonie seem upset? Did she and your mum have a row or anything?'
Gary snorted. 'They was always fighting. Leonie didn't like her. She said we'd be better off wivout her. That she'd look after me.' The big eyes were wet. Foster could see him holding back the tears, refusing to allow himself to cry.
'She said that?'
He nodded. Bit his lip. Quickly wiped his eyes with his right hand.
'I know this is tough for you, Gary. But it all helps. Did your sister say anything, anything at all, before she left?'
Once again he shook his head.
'What about your mum? Had she been any different in the weeks before she died?'
'No,' he muttered. 'I didn't see her that much.'
Jesus, Foster thought.
'Leonie looked after you?' Heather asked.
He nodded. 'We wasn't a proper family.'
'Leonie said that?'
He nodded his head. 'The man told her.'
'What man?'
'The man what came to our house.'
Heather glanced briefly at Foster. 'What man, Gary? A friend of your mum's?' she asked.
'No. She was never there when he come.'
A friend of Leonie's?'
He shook his head. 'He wasn't no friend. But she liked him. Said he spoke the truth.'
'The truth about what?'
'Dunno.'
'What sort of things did he say, Gary?' Foster asked, speaking for the first time in a while.
Gary gave him a hostile glance. He looked back at Heather. 'I'll speak to you but I won't speak to him,' he spat out.
'OK,' Heather said, nodding. 'That's fine. Tell me. What sort of things did the man say to Leonie, Gary? Did she tell you?'
He shrugged. 'She said he told her we wasn't a proper family. He said some things about Jesus.'
'Can you remember anything else?'
Gary thought about it. 'Leonie said he told her that Jesus loved us. And that other people loved us, too. He told her one day our family could be together for ever and we would be happy'
Anything else?'
'No.' He brightened. 'He gave her a book.'
'Do you remember what that book was?'
'Dunno.'
'The Bible?'
'Dunno. It had pictures. Not like a cartoon. Old pictures.'
'What was it about? Do you remember?'
He scrunched up his face, gave it some thought.
'Dunno,' he said. 'There was a boy called Joe. He lived ages ago. He found a secret treasure.'
'What was it?'
'Can't remember. Maybe it was books?'
'Books?'
'Yeah. I think. She didn't read me no more of it. It was boring.' He sighed.
'How many times did the man come to the house?'
'Dunno. He always came when I was out playing.'
'More than once?'
'Think so. One time I came back and he was going.'
What did he look like?'
He looked briefly at Foster. 'Like him.'
What, tall and ugly?' Heather said instantly, and winked.
Gary snorted with pleasure at the comment. A bubble of snot appeared in his nose and burst.
