‘You heard about that?’ asks Neilsen, picking a daisy and spinning its stem between forefinger and thumb. ‘Got the pepper spray from another inmate. He’d clearly been planning this for an age. Spritzed himself with it to raise his temperature and look like he was dying. Chewed his own tongue. Not your friend’s fault that she fell for it.’
Rufus stares down at the grass. ‘I sent flowers. Haven’t heard a word from her. Spoke to Ethan very briefly but he says she’s too shaken up to talk.’
‘She’s gone to stay with family,’ says Neilsen, pulling the petals of the daisy and scattering them like confetti. ‘She’s been through a lot. Hussain’s replacement will be moving heaven and earth to keep her but I doubt she’ll go back to work. Not after that.’
Rufus chews his lip. He wonders whether Neilsen is deliberately loading his words with sub-text, or if he’s just imagining it. He’d like to be able to just speak honestly – to ask the detective if he knows about the snow globe, and Walter Defreitas. He just can’t risk it.
Neilsen seems to read his mind. Cocks his head, and asks him direct. ‘Do you think she was in on it? Annabeth.’
Rufus shakes his head. Makes a great display of being shocked to hear the accusation. ‘She’s a good person. She’d never help a man like that. He’s dangerous.’
‘He may be,’ says Neilsen, cautiously. ‘We don’t know. His name has been linked to a lot of missing people, yes, but he was inside for one act of abduction. He served his time as a model prisoner. Only made his break after we ruffled his feathers. And as you’ve no doubt heard, the location was a lie. There’s no body in that field. Wilson Iveson was either mistaken, or deliberately lying. Which means we’re precisely nowhere. Bit dispiriting, if I’m honest. The charity provided the families with more closure than we have.’
Rufus narrows his eyes. ‘Charity.’
‘Missing People. At least they’ve kept the cases in the news – provided some comfort for the families. If Ruth’s right and you’re writing a book, that’s where I’d start. All of the families we’ve spoken to have nothing but good stuff to say about their caseworkers.’
Rufus opens his mouth wide, trying to relieve the pressure in his jaw. His brain feels too big for his head, as if great globules of matter are about to start pouring down his cheeks like batter mixture. He rubs his eyes and gives Neilsen his full attention.
‘Do you want this statement, then? I can tell you it pretty damn straight. He was just a bloke on the writing class. I didn’t really take to him but I stopped Suggs hurting him out of instinct. I know nothing more about it than that.’
Neilsen plucks another daisy. Blows on the petals, his mind elsewhere. ‘We can sort that another day. I came to let the car stretch its legs. I know a woman who works at Swinton Hall that I’ve promised to take for a drink. Just thought I’d pop in to let you know I’m still around.’
‘Good of you.’
‘You’d be amazed the miles you put in in this job. Up to HMP Frankland to see Cox’s old mate, Mark Fellowes, couple of days back. Wanted to check the visitor log, just belt and braces stuff. Two-hundred-mile round trip just for a bit of due diligence.’
Rufus feels himself being reeled in. ‘Anything interesting?’
‘Nah, not exactly Mr Popular. Nobody been to see him since there was a meeting organized through the Victim Support service. He agreed to meet with the sister of one of the girls he was charged with hurting. I won’t say he’s a reformed character, because he’s an evil fucking paedophile, but he had the good grace to apologize. Held his hands up. Said he just couldn’t help it. Hated that part of himself and hated it even more in others. Just rotten. Dead inside.’
‘Horrible waters to swim in,’ says Rufus, with feeling.
‘My boss was all for sending me to chat to old Wilson, too. Bloody miles though, isn’t it? All that way? I mean, Ely’s not exactly a little jaunt, is it?’
‘No, I suppose not …’ begins Rufus, surprised to hear Neilsen descend into petty griping. He isn’t sure he even knows where Ely is.
‘Strange name for the place though. I mean, Prickwillow Lodge? It’s not ideal, is it? Not one you see online and think “that’s the spot for Grandad”.’
‘That’s a cracker,’ says Rufus, smiling. ‘Really? Prickwillow?’
Neilsen nods. Throws the daisy into the long grass, and stands. ‘I hope you and I understand one another,’ he says, looking down upon Rufus, and then at the books all around him. ‘Sometimes I think that being a police officer makes it more difficult to do some good than if I were just an interested bystander. Anyway, good to catch up. I’d go and get some suncream on and have a glass of water. Give yourself your best chance, yeah?’
Rufus frowns, unused to being lectured by strangers. And then his mind catches up. Wilson Iveson. Prickwillow Lodge. Ely. He’s all but drawn him a map and given him instructions. He’s not just asking him for something – he’s damn near telling him what to do.
Rufus reaches up. Extends a hand. After a moment, Neilsen takes it. Rufus’s palm is warm and clammy. Neilsen’s is firm and cool. As they touch, it seems for a moment as if something of one passes to the other.
‘I might catch you later,’ says Neilsen, with a slight smile.
Rufus nods. Licks his lips. Watches dandelion seeds pinwheeling, carelessly, through a shaft of sunlight. Wonders, for a moment, whether he is being given an opportunity, or thrown to the wolves.
THIRTY-FOUR
Prickwillow Lodge is a few miles outside of the pretty Cambridgeshire city of Ely. Rufus was almost within the city limits before he realized he’d
