In Guilty Night (4 page)

‘He said the kids had to settle in, and family visits upset things,’ Peggy added.

‘Didn’t you mind?’ Janet asked. ‘Didn’t you think you had the right to see your own son?’

She shrugged. ‘They know what they’re doing, don’t they? That social worker in town said Mr Hogg’s very clever with kids like Arwel, so it’s not for us to go against him, is it?’

‘And Arwel had no home leave?’ McKenna asked.

‘Mr Hogg said he hadn’t earned enough points.’

‘Enough points?’

‘Blodwel’s got a points system. When kids behave themselves, they earn points towards home leave and outings.’

‘Behaviour modification,’ Janet said.

‘Something like that.’ Tom moved away from the fire, releasing thin tendrils of warmth into the rest of the room. Rubbing his hands down his buttocks, he leaned against the window-ledge.

‘But didn’t you want to see Arwel?’ Janet persisted. ‘Was he happy at Blodwel? Was he miserable? He might’ve gone up the wall because he was upset and homesick.’

Tom rounded on her. ‘He got what was coming to him!’

‘People keep telling us that,’ McKenna said quietly. ‘Why, do you think?’ He turned to Carol. ‘Why should Arwel deserve to die?’

She stared at him mutely, violet eyes dark with pain, their colour mirrored in the shadows beneath the sockets.

‘He was a bad lot, wasn’t he?’ Rancour soured the man’s voice. ‘Don’t know where he got it from. We’ve always done our duty by them.’ He too stared at his daughter. ‘And she’s going the same way. Two rotten apples!’

Carol scrambled to her feet, looked at her father, lounging against the window-ledge, then at McKenna, before walking out of the room. He heard the pad of feet on the staircase, then the thud of an upstairs door.

‘Little madam!’

‘Has Carol been in trouble as well?’ Janet asked.

‘Depends what you call trouble,’ Peggy said. ‘Can’t keep her hands off the men.’ She chewed her mouth. ‘No better than the tarts down town. She’s got the same look in her eyes. Makes me ashamed to be called her mother!’

‘Perhaps the men can’t keep their hands off her,’ McKenna said. ‘They couldn’t keep their hands off Arwel, either.’

‘Little bastard!’ Tom spat. ‘Flaunting himself!’ He turned accusingly to his wife. ‘And she must’ve known. Little bitch probably put him up to it!’

Janet jumped up. ‘You don’t mind if I look through Arwel’s things, do you? You don’t need to bother getting up. I’m sure Carol can show me.’

‘When is it, then?’ Peggy asked McKenna as the door shut behind Janet.

‘When is what, Mrs Thomas?’

‘The funeral. Want to get it over and done with, don’t we?’

‘Miserable, bloody bitch!’ Janet plunged a spoon through the froth on her coffee, as if it were a knife through the cold heart of Peggy Thomas. ‘Miserable, mean, black-hearted bitch!’

McKenna gazed through the café window, at empty pavements and the new bus station erected over the funeral pyre of a small department store.

‘She’s too bloody mean even to cry for him!’ Janet snatched another cigarette from McKenna’s packet. ‘If Carol goes with men, d’you blame her? Can you blame Arwel? There’s no human comfort in that godforsaken hole!’ She gulped the
coffee, cringing as hot liquid scorched her throat. ‘And not an ounce of love!’

‘Did you talk to Carol?’

‘No.’ Janet drained her cup. ‘She didn’t say a word. Shuffled in front of me like a zombie, showed me Arwel’s room, and disappeared. One of the neighbours said Carol works at the hardware shop on High Street, so I thought I’d try to get her on her own.’

‘She’s a High Street star,’ McKenna said. ‘Like the thousands of pretty girls standing behind counters day in and day out, inspiring fantasy and romance like the silent film stars. That pert little minx from the supermarket who walked out with Dewi for a while is another one. I expect people dream about them, wonder what they do, who they do it with.’

‘Carol’s definitely a star.’ Janet smiled. ‘Ethereal and untouchable.’

‘Not according to her mother.’

‘I don’t understand that woman. My mother’d be down on me like a ton of bricks if she thought I was putting it about. That miserable bitch just slags off her daughter to the whole world. God knows what goes on when Carol’s alone with her.’

‘More of what we saw today, I imagine.’ McKenna lit his own cigarette, then placed it carefully in the ashtray while he picked up his cup. Numbness seeped from his arm, chased by the promise of real pain. ‘How d’you rate Tom Thomas as a child abuser?’

‘You can’t tell by looking, can you? He didn’t seem worried. Surely he would be?’

‘So what was he feeling?’

‘Nothing very much, because he’s a miserable sod, like his wife’s a miserable bitch. They’ll grieve more about not winning the lottery, because nothing touches them. They’re almost sub-human.’

‘Don’t adopt the same judgmental attitudes you condemn in others, Janet. The Thomases and millions like them live in the dark shitty world others make for them.’ He dragged on the cigarette. ‘Tom and Peggy Thomas are as human as you. Hitler carried his own brand of political correctness to its logical conclusion, and look what happened to the rest of us for letting him.’

Jack yawned massively.

‘Don’t you think you should go home?’ McKenna asked. ‘In
case you fall asleep while you’re driving.’

‘I’ll go soon,’ Jack said.

‘What’s going on downstairs?’

‘We’ve got a bit of a problem,’ Jack said evasively.

‘We’ve got a bloody big problem,’ Dewi said. ‘Dai Skunk’s got AIDS, and he bled all over the interview room.’

‘Don’t exaggerate! He was rubbing a mole on his neck, and it bled a bit. There’s a smear on the table.’

‘Sir, you panicked like hell, and rang Dr Roberts screaming for help. Then you got hold of that lot who charge us a small fortune for cleaning up when some poor sod spreads his brains all over the place. You’ve even had the furniture taken away for incineration.’

‘Did you call HQ?’ McKenna asked.

‘Of course I did!’ Jack snapped. ‘Who d’you think gave the go-ahead?’

‘Sounds as if everything’s taken care of,’ McKenna said.

‘And what about us?’ Jack demanded.

‘Oh, you’re safe enough. Dai only breathed on you.’

‘He fancied Prys.’

‘He would, wouldn’t he?’ Dewi said. ‘He’d already said you’re too old for him.’

‘He’s running true to form,’ McKenna said. ‘AIDS or not. What about Arwel?’

‘Never set eyes on him, he says,’ Jack said. ‘And not inclined to grass up anyone in particular, although he did say most of the men in North Wales are at it like jack-rabbits with each other and any bit of fresh meat coming on the market.’

‘He says we should be chasing the reverends, because all that reformist guilt gives them a taste for the innocence of childhood,’ Dewi added. ‘And he said tourists’ve never come here just for the scenery, because we’re famous for our butches and queens.’

‘Maybe it’s something in the water.’ McKenna massaged his chest, trying to ease the pain tightening muscle and tendon as it passed through his body, his lungs unable to expand in their rigid case of rib and sternum and clavicle. He drew a deep panicky breath.

‘You OK, sir?’ Dewi stood up. ‘I’ll get some aspirin, shall I?’

‘Dai Skunk scared me half to death,’ Jack said, as the door closed. He shivered. ‘He’s changed his name to Dai Death.’

‘He won’t be bothering us much longer. You could look into your heart for some compassion.’

‘He’s brought it on himself.’

‘Like Arwel?’ McKenna asked. ‘We all bring things on each other.’

‘He’s corrupt. He’s corrupted others. He may well kill others.’

‘Someone corrupted him when he was as young as Arwel. He once told me of the pain and blood and terror.’

‘So why did he keep on doing it?’

‘He also told me of the lust and joy, of having a nerve touched at the very heart of his being, as if someone touched his soul. That was the sickness he caught. AIDS is only a secondary infection.’

‘How come all these social workers, as well as his parents, didn’t have a clue what Arwel was doing?’ Dewi asked.

‘Teenagers have secret lives,’ Jack said.

‘Establishing a separate identity is a normal part of growing up,’ McKenna added.

‘I remember.’ Dewi smiled. ‘I’ll bet Arwel’s mates knew.’

‘We need to find them. Janet’s going to talk to Carol tomorrow,’ McKenna said. ‘Dewi can come to Blodwel with me this evening.’

‘I doubt they’ll let you through the door,’ Jack commented.

‘We’ll see. Anything else from Eifion Roberts?’

‘Not much. He says Arwel was carried rather than dragged to the tunnel, so we’re probably looking for two people, because it’s quite a haul from the track overhead and down the embankment.’ Jack perused a sheet of notes. ‘He’s noted unusual muscular development in the thighs, buttocks, lower back, shoulders and belly. He’s thinking about that.’

‘What sort of unusual?’

‘Out of proportion.’ Jack yawned again. ‘Overdevelopment in comparison with the general musculature.’

‘Go home, before we have to put you on a hurdle.’

‘Soon.’ Jack rummaged again through the notes. ‘Transport police’ve questioned all the drivers, conductors and railwaymen working from early morning on, but either they weren’t looking, or it was too foggy and dark. The engine driver’s neurotic about slowing to a dead crawl in the tunnel since he nearly ran his express into a concrete sleeper some comedian left on the track.’

‘Newspapers, radio and TV are asking passengers to contact us if they saw anything,’ Dewi added. ‘And notices are up in all
the stations between Holyhead and London Euston, and in Liverpool and Manchester.’

‘Is the crime scene search finished?’

‘Enough litter to fill the old quarry pit in Bethesda. Forensics wanted to know what they’re supposed to be looking for,’ Jack said. ‘I said we’d tell them when we knew.’

McKenna went home to feed his cat, and to swallow two of the analgesics provided by the hospital, Dewi’s aspirins fallen within minutes to the mighty force of pain invading his body. Denise had visited, filling his refrigerator with expensive food, and his house with her presence, and he already regretted giving her a key. Caught at a weakened moment, guard relaxed, he let her encroach once again.

The cat whined and grizzled around his ankles, complaining of loneliness and neglect and weather unfit for adventure. Her claws had shredded more of the tattered cover on the armchair.

‘Why don’t you go out, little one?’ He stroked her ears and back. ‘You’re getting stir-crazy.’ She jumped on his lap, burrowing under his good arm, and fell asleep, twitching only once when the telephone rang.

‘I hear you plan to breach the Blodwel fortress,’ Eifion Roberts said. ‘D’you want some extra artillery to help undermine the foundations?’

‘We’ve fired warning shots across their bows already. Didn’t do much good.’

‘Don’t mix metaphors.’

‘Why don’t you go and annoy somebody else?’

‘In pain, are you? Well, I did warn you. Did Jack Tuttle say I called? I’ve been thinking about that unusual muscular development, and searching the anatomical tomes …’

‘And?’

‘… but it was thinking about your arm gave me the clue. Horses and so forth. I’d wager young Arwel did a deal of horse-riding.’

‘Funny no one said.’ McKenna tried to light a cigarette without dropping the telephone. ‘It’s the sort of thing people comment about.’

‘Do they? I suppose you’d know.’

‘Is that the extent of your ordnance?’

‘You’ve a nasty tongue, McKenna, even when you’re not in pain,’ Dr Roberts commented. ‘I’ve had a call from the locum who treated Arwel when he was poorly. He complained about
the bellyache, about pain when he went to the loo, about this and that and the other, but there was nothing specific except a bit of tenderness in the gut and symptoms of summer ’flu.’

‘So what use is that?’

‘This guy’s worked with abused kids in a Liverpool hospital, and he thought Arwel showed all the signs. He said it’s to do with general responses and these unspecific physical factors, so he contacted Blodwel with his suspicions, and recommended a full paediatric examination.’

‘Who did he tell?’

‘Doris Hogg. And before you go off half-cocked, you weren’t told because this kind of thing is a bloody great minefield for the medical profession since the Cleveland fiasco. Arwel was Social Services’ responsibility anyway, and the world and his wife assume a child in care is safe as houses. If the state decides the parents aren’t good enough, then by definition, the state must be better than good.’

Blodwel at night, studded with dim lights, resembled a tall ship run aground in the lee of the hill. Admitted by a young woman clad in pale green overalls, Dewi and McKenna, like thieves come under cover of darkness, were shunted to a long narrow room at the side of the building. She disappeared, offering neither information nor a hot drink to take the chill from their bones.

Dewi inched back the net curtain and stared at frost-rimed grass and bright sharp stars in an indigo sky. ‘You wouldn’t credit the fog earlier, would you, sir? Gone like it’d never been.’ He scratched the glass with his fingernail. ‘Jack Frost’s out with the graffiti, and it’s so bloody cold in here we’ll be able to see the lies coming out of people’s mouths.’ Letting the curtain fall into place, he wandered around the room, reading newspaper clippings tacked to a large cork wallboard. ‘Mr Hogg receiving the gift of a snooker table from a grateful community,’ he intoned. ‘Mr Hogg similarly receiving the gift of a colour telly. Mr Hogg behind his desk, looking like a smug bastard. Mr Hogg with a bunch of kids, still looking like a smug bastard. I thought children in care weren’t supposed to be identified in the press?’ He moved a little further along. ‘Mr and Mrs Hogg standing by a minibus with “Blodwel” daubed on its side. Mr Hogg outside the front door in a bloody big chair, looking even more like a smug bastard. D’you think he fancies himself King of Wales, like poor Charlie Pierce who keeps getting shut up in
Denbigh? I’m surprised there isn’t a picture of Mr Hogg with the sun shining out of his arse.’