'Did Ann give you a description of this girl?'
Dr Cheney gave a little shake of her head. 'Only that she was about her own age, and that she had shortish brown hair.'
I wrote this down in my notebook. 'Have you heard from the police recently?'
She nodded, finishing her coffee. I hadn't touched mine. 'Yes. I had a visit from a policeman a few weeks ago, not long after the shootings you're investigating.'
I was surprised that Dr Cheney hadn't mentioned this earlier. 'Really? About Ann? What did he want to know?'
'He asked similar questions to you. He wanted to know the specifics of Ann's claims. I explained to him that I'd told the police everything at the time, but they'd chosen to do nothing. He apologized and said he was from the murder investigation…'
'The one into the deaths of Asif Malik and Jason Khan?'
'That's right. He said he hadn't been a part of the original inquiry into Ann's claims, and asked me to repeat everything. So I did.'
'What was the detective's name?'
'DCI Simon Barron, if I remember rightly.'
'You do.'
'You've met him, then?'
In a manner of speaking. 'Yes,' I said, 'I have.'
'I'm surprised he didn't say anything to you about our meeting.'
I was surprised he hadn't said very much to anyone about their meeting. If he was so interested in what had happened to Ann, why wasn't her death being treated as suspicious? Had he not shared the information he'd received from Dr Cheney with his colleagues? And if not, why not? Maybe Emma could find out.
But I was satisfied with what I'd heard because it meant I was onto something. The scent was getting stronger. I still wasn't 100 per cent sure that Ann Taylor's word could be entirely trusted (after all, she'd been an impressionable eleven-year-old girl), but something had happened, something that someone wanted suppressed very badly. And that someone had a lot of clout.
One thing I've learned down the years is that you don't get answers by asking a few big questions. You have to ask a lot of small ones. It's the only way you'll ever finish the puzzle.
'How long ago, roughly, did the murder of this little girl happen?'
'Ann had just turned seventeen when she came to me last year. At that point she'd been in care for approximately six years, so it would have been about seven years ago. But I can't give you an exact date, because she didn't leave home immediately after witnessing the incident. I think she was too shocked and, frankly, too scared. She thought it might have been a few weeks, even months, later that she finally plucked up the courage to run away. She did say, however, that there had been no more parties. They stopped altogether after that one.'
'But there can't have been many children go missing over that period. Not children that age. Did you ever look into Ann's claims yourself?'
Her expression tightened, the skin stretching with difficulty. I guessed that, like me, she'd had plastic surgery, although I don't think her surgeon was as good as mine.
'No,' she said. 'I assumed the police would do that. I did try to think back seven years to see if I could remember a child-abduction case that made the headlines, but nothing came to mind. DCI Barron said he'd look into it.'
I put my notebook away and drank my coffee down in one. It was tepid. 'Thank you very much for your help and your time, Dr Cheney. It's very much appreciated.'
'But is it helpful? Without real evidence, it's going to be hard to prove anything, isn't it?'
I stood up. 'If what happened to Ann's true, then there'll be evidence somewhere. If I find out anything, I'll make sure I let you know.'
She stood up as well. 'That's what DCI Barron said, but I never heard another word.'
'I expect he never got anywhere,' I told her as we shook hands. 'Or that he didn't have the time to pursue it.'
'But you will, won't you?'
I nodded firmly. 'If the answer to my case is there, I'll find it.'
And I would. I'd come a long way for this. I wasn't going to let it go.
Not now.
33
Was this what it was all about? The murder of a child. Was this what so many had died for? Somehow, it still didn't seem right. Paedophiles are furtive creatures; capable of forming into well-organized groups, and certainly responsible for some shocking crimes. But to be able to muster this sort of ruthlessness (and against men too rather than vulnerable children); to hire killers to snuff out their enemies, and then snuff out the killers themselves… I just couldn't quite buy it.
But at least I now had something to go on. If a girl between the ages of eight and thirteen had disappeared in southern England in the six months before Ann was taken into custody, I would find out about it. Dr Cheney had said she'd tried to think back and had come up with nothing, but by her own admission she hadn't been putting her life and soul into it. And the police, had they? DCI Barron had come here to see Dr Cheney, but seemed to have left without moving any further forward, since there'd been no follow-up inquiries. Sometimes it's surprising how often investigating officers can overlook facts that don't immediately fit with their theories on a crime, and understandably. On first glance, the murder of Asif Malik and Jason Khan had nothing to do with the out-of-date witness account of an alleged murder of an unidentified child seven years earlier. Only when you had my perspective of events was it possible to see the link.
But Dr Cheney was right. Without any real evidence, it was going to be hard to prove anything against anyone. If I could track each of the individuals down, I could impose my own justice, but I was one man operating alone, and if my true identity was discovered, it would take me out of the equation for ever. What was needed was something tangible to point the police in the right direction. And the only people who could provide this were Andrea Bloom and her boyfriend, Grant, both of whom, I was certain, had been told something by Ann, possibly in the days before her death. Something that they were now too scared to talk about.
Outside, a wet blanket of darkness had enveloped the surrounding fields, and it was raining hard. I hurried back to the car, jumped inside, and drove away.
And a single, worrying thought kept going through my head.
Did Tomboy Darke know more than he was letting on? I got back into the West End at half past six, having endured a nightmare journey up the M3, and dropped the car back at the rental garage. As soon as I'd left there, I phoned Emma, wanting to catch up and let her know what I'd found out.
But when she answered I knew something was wrong.
'Oh, Dennis, thank God you've called.' She sounded distraught and it was obvious she'd been crying. I was surprised at the intensity of my concern for her.
'Emma, what is it? Tell me.'
'I got a visit today. From two of Tyndall's men.'
My throat went dry, and suddenly I could hear my heartbeat. 'Jesus, what happened?'
'It was when I was leaving work. I was just getting into my car when they came out of nowhere: two big men in leather jackets. They dragged me into a side road and…' She stopped for a moment and sounded as if she might cry again, but after a couple of seconds, she composed herself. 'One of them put a knife to my throat.'
'Did he hurt you?'
'No.'
I silently thanked God.
'He pressed it against my neck but he didn't cut me. He was grinning the whole time and he didn't even bother trying to hide his face. The other one was twisting my arms behind my back. Then the one with the knife told
