“What about a mobile phone. Does she have one?”
“Yes. Her dad bought both her and Maddie new ones recently. Holly moaned about it. It was an iPhone and she hated it.” Janssen was surprised by that, believing most kids wanted the top of the range accessory. Mark seemed to notice his bemusement. “She said her dad had an iPhone and that’s why he got them. She couldn’t figure out the operating system, plus he’d configured it somehow and she didn’t like it. He cancelled the contract on her other phone to force her to use it. The man’s a control freak.” Mark turned to face him, marking a shift in his focus. Suddenly, he was attentive, sitting forward and crossing his legs beneath him, resting elbows on knees. “Will you catch the person who killed her, Holly?”
Janssen usually preferred not to answer such a question. To give loved ones, friends or relatives false hope was something he generally frowned upon. However, on this occasion, there was something about the boy’s expression that made him want to behave differently. Besides, he was confident. “I believe we will, yes.”
“And what will happen then?”
“Well, there will be a trial and, provided we do our jobs properly, the killer will be convicted and sent to prison.” Mark’s brow furrowed as he processed the events. “For a very long time,” he added, as if that wasn’t obvious to the boy. Mark inclined his head.
“My dad has been to prison many times.” Janssen knew that to be true. “He says you can’t trust the police.” The statement was unsurprising. There wasn’t a convicted criminal who hadn’t either been fitted up by the police or poorly treated by both judge and jury. “He says it’s only people like us who go to prison.”
“People like you?” Janssen queried, presuming Callum McCall was inferring those at the lower end of the economic scale or with criminal pasts.
“Yeah. Those of us doing what we can just to get by.” Janssen thought those were the words of his father, issued from the offspring’s mouth. “I know what you must be thinking. I’ve watched cop shows on the TV. I was the last one to be seen with Holly and I’m… me.”
Janssen drew breath. Mark was still intently focussed on him, watching for the merest hint of dishonesty but there was something else, beyond that, something more but Janssen couldn’t put his finger on it. “Did you kill Holly?” he asked. Mark shook his head. “Then, you can trust me. You have nothing to fear from the police.” The boy seemed to accept that response, or, at least, he didn’t comment further, looking away. “I know you should be in school but is there somewhere I can take you? Home perhaps?”
Mark stood, brushing off his trousers and wiping his hands against one another. “No thanks. I’ve got somewhere I need to be.”
Without another word or a backward glance, he strode away. Janssen looked on for a moment, watching him leave, feeling empathy for the boy and considering his role in all of this. He was a much-troubled soul. Then he turned away and headed inside.
Chapter Twenty-One
Janssen entered the ops room. Eric had a phone clasped to his ear, concentrating hard. Crossing into the adjoining room where they had the tea and coffee, he was pleased to find the kettle was hot. His fingers recoiled from touching the side but he flicked it on anyway, just to ensure the water boiled. Never one for instant coffee except in an emergency, his father wouldn’t have it in the house, he chose one of the flavoured green teas. They were a new addition. It must be Tamara’s influence. Eric would never have bought them.
Returning to ops, Eric was off the phone and out of his seat. “I’ve just spoken with a DC in Canning Town.” He was excited, keen to share. “You know, in Newham, where the Olympic Stadium is.” Janssen frowned at the irrelevance. He knew the area. Eric continued. “Turns out there were allegations made against Ken Francis two years ago. The subsequent investigation led to the CPS charging him.”
“What with?” Tamara Greave’s voice came from behind, entering the room.
“Three counts of sexual assault and one of false imprisonment,” Eric replied, turning to her. “Now, the case fell apart before it reached the courtroom because the primary witness recanted her statement but the guy I spoke with thought Francis got away with one.”
Janssen perched himself on the edge of one of the desks, cupping his tea with both hands. “Who was the complainant?”
Eric returned to the notes he made during the call. “Rebecca Martins. She’s very much a part of the gig economy with her goal of making it in modelling as I understand.”
“And her connection with Francis?” Janssen asked, sipping at his tea. It was too hot to drink but the aroma was pleasant.
“Apparently, she modelled for him and… it all got a little bit touchy-feely, if you know what I mean.” Janssen suppressed a smile at the young man’s obvious embarrassment. There was a tinge of red growing on Eric’s neck. “When she tried to leave, she alleged Francis refused, blocking her path and locking her in his studio. Obviously, he denied it, writing it off as a misunderstanding.”
“You said three counts?” Tamara came to stand alongside Janssen. He thought she looked tired. Her face was lined.
“Yes, they followed up with other models and two more women came forward offering similar stories. The CPS didn’t feel they were strong enough to warrant prosecution, so those cases were dropped and it fell on the one woman.” Eric looked expectantly between the two senior officers. Janssen thought that cast a different light on Ken Francis and his potential involvement in the case. By his wife’s admission, Holly modelled for him and he’d lied about how well he knew the girl. A past history of this nature certainly warranted his inclusion on
