Amy closed her notebook. She would arrange for an officer to take a statement from Alfie in an effort to unravel this case. ‘I’m going to need details of your place of work, and people who knew George. Ciara couldn’t tell us very much. It was more of an online relationship.’
Alfie snorted in response. ‘I’m not surprised. He was socially awkward. Preferred to spend time on his own. He was the butt of everyone’s jokes.’ He met Amy’s gaze. ‘Not me. I didn’t have any part in it, but some of the staff really took the piss out of him. I told them to quit it, but George never reported anything. If he did, the company would have put an end to it.’
‘What did they do?’ Amy’s face darkened.
‘Schoolkid pranks. A bucket of water over the cupboard door, putting salt in his coffee. Stupid stuff.’
‘Very stupid, by the sounds of it.’ Amy’s jaw was rigid. If there was one thing that got up her nose, it was bullying. Many crimes were committed by bullies: people who got a kick from preying on the weak. Sometimes victims fought back and the tables were turned. But no tables were being turned for George. He was a loner, just like the others. But was he a sex offender?
Amy had just returned to her desk when she was alerted to a phone call. This time it was Sharon, their first victim’s wife. Amy tried to clear her mind as she recalled Sharon asking Donovan if her husband had been cheating on her. It was a better alternative to what Amy now suspected him of. But could a family man like Chesney be capable of such a thing?
‘Sorry I wasn’t able to see you in person,’ Amy said, as she took the call. ‘But from what I hear, DCI Donovan took good care of you.’
‘He did, yes,’ Sharon said, sounding slightly breathless on the phone. ‘Sorry, I’m at work. I didn’t want to call in front of the kids. I heard there was another drowning. Have you any updates?’
Amy’s forehead knotted. ‘CID has been tasked with giving you weekly updates on the case.’
Sharon’s voice lowered to a whisper. ‘DCI Donovan said he’d find out what Chesney was playing at. He was seeing someone. He had to be.’
‘Can I ask you a personal question?’ Amy played with the phone cord. Chesney was most likely seeing someone, but Amy didn’t have enough concrete evidence to bring up the subject of underage sex. ‘Did your husband look at porn?’ she asked. ‘Was he into anything unusual? Anything which concerned you?’ Sharon might be calling from work, but sometimes it was better to grab the bull by the horns.
‘He didn’t have a stack of magazines under his bed, if that’s what you’re asking, but now that I think of it, he did use one of those Nord VPN things. He said it was so he could use the US version of Netflix, but I did wonder what else he was looking at.’
VPN stood for ‘virtual private network’ and protected the identity of the user so their internet activity could not be traced back to their server. The fact that Chesney felt the need to use one was useful information.
‘Anyway, what do you mean by unusual interests?’ Sharon continued. ‘Is that how he died? What has that got to do with his death?’
‘It’s too early to say.’ Amy was non-committal. ‘But fresh leads are coming in every day.’
‘So, you do know something,’ Sharon replied. ‘Are you any closer to finding his killer? People keep asking me what happened, and I don’t know what to say . . . It’s hard to focus with all this going on.’
Amy sighed. She wanted to help but she could not disclose any more. ‘I appreciate your frustration. As soon as we’re able to release further information, you’ll be the first to know. But this is a live case, affecting many people. We’re doing everything we possibly can.’
As the call came to an end, Amy was surer than ever of the motive behind the murders. Chesney was hiding something – just like the other men involved. The group of teenagers were drug users. No strangers to syringes by the sound of things. They were the real victims at the heart of the investigation, and Amy could see why Carla was in no hurry to arrest them. But this was murder. She could not afford to hesitate. Soon they would be moved on, to another seaside resort, with another string of men willing to take advantage of them – and more deaths in their wake.
CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
Time was a funny thing. Amy often found herself being dragged backwards, and a day rarely passed without some reference to her family ties. She had gone most of her adult life having shut her past away, to the point where she had convinced herself it had never happened at all. Now, the smallest of objects could take her back there – even the sight of a cheap red-handled hairbrush, similar to the ones Lillian used to have. Red was her favourite colour, and she chose it when she could. A flash of red lipstick, a pair of red heels, see-through red underwear. Amy had seen it all and more, at such a tender age. But not since Lillian’s release from prison. She sometimes dressed young, in jeans and boots, holding on to a youth that had been short-lived. She chewed gum, listened to rap music, smoked like a chimney and drank too much. Her appetite for sex was clearly still alive, yet there was something missing. The spark of danger. The slash of red. It was only now that Amy made the connection. Had prison broken her? She sighed, wondering why, with everything going on with her job, she was thinking about Lillian now.
Her phone rang, snapping her from her thoughts. She
