Guilt pricking a little too sharply this time, is it ?
‘Perhaps we should talk about this when you come in later’ the doctor offered.
Talbot didn’t answer. He merely put down the phone.
The DI ran a hand through his hair and sat back in his chair.
You gave up too easily. You should have insisted.
‘Jesus’ he murmured, exhaling deeply, wearily.
What next? Wait for the phone call telling him it was all over.
His thoughts were interrupted by a knock on the door, then Rafferty walked in without waiting for an invitation.
Talbot looked up at him, gaze momentarily blank, then he seemed to collect his thoughts.
‘Is the girl OK?’ he asked.
‘I’ve got her downstairs in protective custody’ Rafferty told him. ‘She’s got a TV set, a bed and plenty of food, one of the WPCs is with her. She’s fine.’
Talbot nodded and got to his feet.
‘Did you order searches of the houses and grounds around Parriam’s, Hyde’s and Jeffrey’s places?’
‘Sorted’ said the DS, nodding. ‘Where do you want to start?’
‘Let’s see what Macpherson turned up when he interviewed the parents of those kids.’
As the two men made their way down the corridor, Rafferty looked at his colleague. ‘What if it does turn out to be true, Jim?’ he said.
‘Witchcraft?’ The DI shook his head. ‘It’s bullshit’ he murmured.
Rafferty noticed that some of the conviction had gone from his voice.
‘Frank!’
He heard her call his name, but he didn’t answer.
Even when she banged on the door, Frank Reed didn’t stir. He continued to sit at the kitchen table, the three letters still laid out before him, the whiskey bottle close by.
She called again, then there was silence.
The phone rang. He managed a wan smile.
She was calling him on her mobile.
Standing outside his front door, she was holding her phone and calling his number.
The phone continued to ring.
Catherine Reed listened to the tone impatiently.
He had to be inside.
Where else would he be?
She pressed the End button on the phone and bent down, peering through the letterbox into the hall beyond.
‘Frank’ she called again through the small aperture. Still no answer.
Frank Reed got to his feet and stole into the sitting room, where he slumped onto the sofa and closed his eyes.
A second later he heard the letterbox clang shut, closely followed by the sound of Cath’s receding footsteps.
He was alone again.
God, it felt so good.
As the warm water splashed her body, spurting from the shower head, Shanine Connor turned her face towards the spray. Water ran in rivulets across her skin, her hair.
Her scars.
The WPC sat outside the room while she washed away the accumulated filth of her time on the streets of London.
What would happen to her when all this was over she had no idea.
If it ever was over.
But, for now, she was safe. As safe as she was likely to be, anyway, and warmer than she’d been for a while.
She glanced down at her feet, at the soap suds and grime which were flowing down the plughole.
It was as if some outer skin was being washed away.
Shanine felt the swell of her belly, running both hands across the skin.
As she looked down she saw more scars on the insides of her thighs and knees.
There were some on her buttocks too.
The ones she had not shown to Talbot.
Reminders.
She knew that if they found her now there would be fresh ones to join those which already covered her skin.
Shanine had told Talbot that they would not kill her but, as she stood beneath that cleansing spray, she realised that the child was their only concern.
Her betrayal had left them no choice.
She would have to die.
And they would still take the child.
With her finger, she traced a path from her pubic hair to just above her navel.
That was how they would cut her to reach the child, rip her open if necessary.
What they would do before that she could only imagine.
Even beneath the warm shower spray, she shuddered.
Eighty-seven
Talbot got to his feet, pacing the room slowly, one hand rubbing his stubbled cheek.
‘No physical evidence at all’ he said, incredulously. ‘Are you fucking serious, Mac?’
DI Gordon Macpherson shrugged.
‘Twenty-three houses raided, seventeen kids taken into care, every single one of them examined and interviewed. Seven, no, sorry, nine of them. Nine. Nine of those kids exhibiting signs of physical abuse, enough porn and dodgy videos seized to start a fucking mail order business, and you’re telling me you haven’t got enough physical evidence for one single conviction?’ Talbot raged.
‘What did the parents say? What did you ask them for Christ’s sake “Did you molest your kids?” “No.” “OK, then off you go.” What the fuck were you doing?’
‘Don’t come down here throwing your fucking weight around, Jim,’ snapped Macpherson. ‘What’s wrong, do you reckon you could have done better?’
‘On the amount of evidence we had piled up it had occurred to me.’
‘We had medical reports on those injured kids: there was nothing to suggest that any of the physical damage
was inflicted by the parents,’ Macpherson told him. ‘Call the medical examiner if you don’t believe me. What did you want me to do, change the geezer’s report because it doesn’t fit in with what you want?’
‘So who abused them, if the parents didn’t?’ Talbot challenged. ‘How did they get to that warehouse? How come all the kids’ statements were virtually the same?’
‘A week ago you were the one saying it was all because of the videos they’d been watching, that they all had overactive imaginations. Make up your fucking mind.’
‘They’re going to walk,’ said Talbot. ‘Every fucking one of them. They’ll let this die down, then in six months’ or a year’s time, the same thing will happen again. More kids will be hurt, maybe even killed.’
‘There was nothing we could do, Jim,’ Macpherson told him. ‘I wanted someone nailed for this abuse business as much as you did, but we can’t prove anything against the parents. I interviewed most of them myself: some of them were as frightened as the kids.’
‘Frightened of what?’
‘That their kids were going to be taken away from them when they hadn’t even done anything.’
