Behind Dead Eyes (35 page)

‘Detective
Sergeant Ian Bradshaw,' he said, holding up his warrant card for the briefest of moments before pocketing it again. ‘I'm here to speak to a Miss Callie McQuire.'

‘Er.' It wasn't just hesitation Bradshaw saw in Dean's face that morning but alarm. ‘I'm not sure if …' he mumbled and he looked behind him into the corridor, as if he expected to see Callie standing there. Bradshaw had been well briefed by Helen and Tom and he found himself enjoying the man's panic.

‘I know she's here,' Bradshaw told him, ‘so please let me in,' then he added a respectful but firm, ‘sir.'

‘We don't let people in,' Dean said unsurely, ‘not without an appointment.'

‘I'm not people though, am I? I'm a police officer and your refusal to let me in could lead to a charge of obstruction.'

‘Of course, sorry, officer.' Dean stepped to one side to admit the detective. ‘Please come in. I have to follow procedures. They get very sensitive, what with all the rules these days on child welfare.'

‘I'll bet they do,' said Bradshaw.

‘But like you said, you're police so … I'll go and get her.'

‘I'd rather see her in her room, if that's alright with you?' Bradshaw's tone indicated he would do this whether it was alright with Dean or not.

‘Okay,' he said, looking flustered, ‘may I ask what this is all about, officer?'

Bradshaw was already marching off down the corridor
while Dean trailed in his wake. ‘Down here, is it?' he asked, though he already knew it was because Tom had described the home's layout to him. ‘What's your name again, sir?'

‘Er … Dean.' It came reluctantly. ‘Dean Anderton.'

Bradshaw slowed his pace halfway down the corridor then stopped and turned towards his host. ‘Dean Anderton?' he said, like he was recollecting something. Dean watched the detective with his mouth open, looking worried, and Bradshaw wondered what he might find if he delved a little deeper into Dean Anderton's past. ‘Well, Mr Anderton, I'm assuming these young ladies are all in your care?'

‘Yes, they are.'

‘In that case, I don't mind telling you that there have been some very serious allegations involving young Callie.'

‘Really?' Dean's voice went up several octaves.
He's shitting it
, thought Bradshaw. ‘What kind of allegations?'

Bradshaw wanted to say, ‘Soliciting, sexual abuse, rape, kidnap, possibly even murder,' but instead he leant in confidingly. ‘Theft.'

‘Theft?'

‘Yes,' confirmed Bradshaw, ‘multiple counts from several retailers.'

‘Shoplifting?' Dean's relief was tangible.

‘You don't sound too concerned.'

‘No, of course I'm concerned, it's just, I'm glad it's nothing too bad, you know.'

‘What were you expecting? Theft is serious.'

‘Of course it is,' said Dean, ‘but when you work with vulnerable kids like these you do tend to fear the worst.'

Bradshaw deliberately narrowed his eyes at Dean. ‘I'll bet you do, Dean,' he said, ‘you must fear that every day. Of course, it's a vocation.'

‘Eh?'

‘Working here with, as you say,
vulnerable
kids. You must be very dedicated.'

‘Well, I do my best,' and with the threat of immediate arrest having been lifted, it was as if Dean was suddenly able to think straight again. ‘I'm surprised they sent a DS down here for this. We usually just get a bobby from the local nick if any of the girls step out of line.'

Bradshaw had anticipated this. ‘The allegations against Callie are part of a wider, ongoing investigation into a criminal syndicate exploiting young people. Callie's information could be priceless.'

‘I see,' said Dean, who was hardly comforted by this admission, and he looked away.

‘Which one is it, then?' asked Bradshaw and when Dean looked confused he added, ‘Callie's room?'

Dean took Bradshaw to the end of the corridor. Callie was awake and dressed but sprawled lethargically on her bed in jeans and T-shirt.

‘There's a police officer here to see you, Callie,' announced Dean, ‘so sit up now like a good girl eh?'

Callie obeyed him, but Dean didn't move.

‘I'm sure you'll understand that this part is of course confidential, Mr Anderton.'

Dean couldn't resist a last sidelong glance at Callie as he left her room. ‘I'll be in my office at the end of the corridor, if you need anything.'

‘I'll leave the door open,' Bradshaw said as Dean sloped away. ‘I can call if I need you.'

Callie was sitting up now on the edge of her bed, looking groggily at the detective.

‘Right then, Callie, I am Detective Sergeant Bradshaw
and I am here to talk to you about some allegations of a criminal nature that have been made against you,' he said and listened for a moment in case there were any sounds that might give away Dean's presence in the corridor. ‘I'm sure you are aware that theft is a very serious matter.' Then he heard Dean's door open and close, its hinges squealing. Bradshaw took a step back and leaned out to survey the empty corridor. Now he could talk freely to the girl.

He knew he had to move fast. ‘You know why I am here?'

‘Ian, is it?' He nodded. ‘What we waiting for then?'

‘Show me,' he demanded, and she rolled over on the bed and slid her pillows to one side to reveal a metal grille in the wall close to the spot where Callie laid her head each night. Bradshaw realised you could probably hear a lot of what went on in the next room but he couldn't work out how you could see anything, let alone photograph it. Callie snatched a nail file from her bedside cabinet and used the thick end to work at one of the screws on the edge of the panel until it came free. She repeated the exercise until there were four screws on her bed and the grille came away from the wall. She moved out of the way to allow Bradshaw to bend down and take a look.

Behind the grille was a space and on either side of this was a cavity that ran through the wall. Directly in front of him was a second grille that was the twin of the one Callie had removed. There were sizable gaps between the slats for ventilation, which meant Bradshaw had a reasonably uninterrupted view of the next room and its contents, including the bed which, crucially, was set against the far wall. Anyone doing anything there could be easily observed thanks to the gaps between the metal slats on the grille, which would prevent someone on the bed from noticing they were being spied upon.

‘I was just messing about one night and I realised the
screws came off if you turned them. I thought it would be a laugh for Di and me to have a chat in the middle of the night.' She looked sad then. ‘The other thing was her idea.'

‘Taking the photograph, you mean?'

‘She asked me to get some proof, so I did.'

‘So you took a photograph and this shows …?'

‘Him on top of Diane.'

‘But Callie,' he asked, ‘how the hell did you get a photograph like that developed? Who in the world would process something like that and not immediately phone the police?'

‘I didn't,' she said, ‘Diane did.' She smiled at his naïvety. ‘She took it to the guy who runs a little shop at the end of town. He does all sorts.' Bradshaw knew the kind of place: a store that stays open all hours and does everything from dry cleaning and clothes mending to photocopying documents and taking passport photos. ‘She gave him a handy,' said Callie matter-of-factly, and there was his answer. He'd processed a photograph showing the rape of an underage girl and kept it quiet in return for a hand job from that same young girl. Bradshaw made a mental note to reckon with that guy before this was over.

At Bradshaw's urging, Callie screwed the metal grille back in place. By now she had convinced the detective she wasn't making this all up. ‘Can we get the picture?'

‘I think so.' But she didn't sound certain.

‘Come on, we've haven't got long,' he said, ‘and grab your bag.' He didn't want anything to delay them.

‘If I can get the photo,' she threw the bag on her shoulder, ‘you can't leave me here.' The fear in her eyes was genuine.

Callie was right not to trust anyone. Once that photograph was filed as evidence its presence could be leaked; then someone might try and silence Callie.

‘Get me the photo and I won't leave here without you,' he promised her, ‘but hurry.'

She sprang from her bed and rushed to the door, but paused while she leaned out to check for Dean's presence. When she was satisfied he wasn't there she whispered, ‘Come on,' and led Bradshaw into the room next door, which used to be Diane's. They already knew it was empty thanks to the grating, but Bradshaw wanted them to be in and out of there straight away. They couldn't afford to let Dean know about the photograph.

Callie went to a corner of the room and dropped her bag. ‘Lift me up,' she said to Ian and angled her head towards a ceiling tile that looked like all of the others.

Bradshaw heard Dean's door squeak open. ‘On my shoulders.'

He bent low and the girl clambered on him, then he straightened with her on his shoulders. Wasting no time, she pushed the ceiling tile upwards and it came loose. Callie moved it to one side and reached in. ‘I can't feel it,' she said. ‘It's not there.' She sounded panicked.

She looked down at him then. ‘Move me,' she demanded and he walked in the direction she indicated so she could reach another tile, which she pushed upwards before scrabbling around beyond it once more.

Bradshaw knew Dean would be there any moment and he didn't want the carer to find him standing in the wrong room with a young girl on his shoulders. ‘Got it?' he asked.

‘No,' she hissed back, ‘over there.' She replaced the second tile and waved an arm once more so he could steer her to the opposite corner and another ceiling tile which she pushed up. ‘It's not …' She didn't need to finish. She clearly couldn't find the photograph. Not for the first time, Bradshaw wondered if she had made the whole thing up. Even if she wasn't
lying about the existence of the photograph, it wasn't here now. Someone had taken it. Diane maybe, or perhaps someone else had found the incriminating evidence and destroyed it. He could hear Dean's footsteps coming closer.

‘Take me back there,' she demanded and he realised she wanted to try the first ceiling tile again. His first instinct was to say no, particularly when he heard Dean's footsteps draw even closer.

‘Be quick then,' he whispered and he let her have one last go at the opening behind the first tile.

There was a knock at a door then and Callie was still scrabbling around above him.

A second knock, firmer this time.

He was about to let her down when she said, ‘Got it.' It must have been pushed too far back for her to reach at first.

A door opened then and Callie was still on his shoulders.

She withdrew an envelope and he lowered her to the ground as swiftly as he could without dropping her.

‘Callie?' Dean's voice, close by but muffled by a wall and sounding confused. ‘What are you up to? Where are you?' Dean was in the wrong room. Naturally he had walked into Callie's room, not Diane's, and this had given them precious seconds to retrieve the photograph. ‘Detective?' shouted Dean. ‘Where are you?'

‘Just a moment,' called Bradshaw as Callie straightened her clothing then he noticed something. ‘The bloody tile,' he told Callie desperately when he realised she hadn't put it back properly and there was a noticeable gap in the ceiling.

‘Shit,' she hissed.

‘With no time to put her on his shoulders, he grabbed Callie round the waist and hoisted her into the air like a ballerina. She stretched out an arm, pushed up the tile then let
it fall back snugly into place. Bradshaw dropped Callie back onto her feet just as the door opened.

‘What is it now, Mr Anderton?' asked Bradshaw irritably. Then he realised Callie had dropped the envelope on the bed when she replaced the tile and it was still sitting there. He prayed Dean wouldn't notice.

‘What are you doing in here?' demanded Dean. ‘You can't just walk into another girl's room like this.'

‘I can if I have reason to believe a crime has been committed,' Bradshaw told him. ‘Don't think for one moment that Callie is the only girl involved in this.'

‘Fuck off,' sneered Callie. ‘I told you I ain't done nothing.'

‘Callie,' warned Dean.

‘Right that's it,' Bradshaw said, as if his patience had finally deserted him. ‘Callie McQuire, I am arresting you on suspicion of theft.'

‘What?' she cried in protest, playing her part. ‘You can't do that!'

‘No,' said Dean, ‘you can't.' He seemed very sure of that all of a sudden, which troubled Bradshaw.

‘And why not?' the detective demanded.

‘Because I phoned Northumbria Police and they have no record of a detective Ian Bradshaw.' He eyed Bradshaw contemptuously.

‘Well they wouldn't, Mr Anderton. I'm with Durham Constabulary. Did I not make that clear to you? Do you wish to see my ID again?' He took out his warrant card and pressed it close to Dean's face. ‘Now is that all, or perhaps you'd like to come along as well to assist me with my enquiries?'

‘No,' said Dean in a very small voice.

‘Okay then,' he turned back to the girl, ‘let's get this over with, Callie.'

‘This is a fucking joke!' shouted Callie. ‘You can't do this. You've no right!'

‘I have every right, now move it!' He guided them both towards the door, ensuring Dean went through it first and, as he did so, he used Callie's exit to scoop up the photograph and tuck it under his jacket before leaving, then he marched her off down the corridor.