Innocent Blood (31 page)

‘I’ve asked Quinlan to join us in ten minutes given the profile of this decision. He and I will go over to Harper-Brown.’ He pre-empted Nightingale’s protest. ‘There’s no point either of you coming. The decision will be between the ACC and CPS. All I can do is try and exert some influence.’

‘In which direction?’ Nightingale accepted the logic of her exclusion begrudgingly.

‘That’s why we’re here now. I want your views. Do either of you think Maidment killed Paul or Malcolm?’

‘No.’ Bob Cooper spoke immediately. ‘He’s just not a paedophile.’

‘How about helping to cover up on someone else’s behalf?’

‘Hmm.’ Cooper scratched his ample stomach, a sure sign that he was thinking deeply. ‘He’s bloody loyal to the regiment and if someone had threatened to tell his wife about his little secret… But he’s a devout Christian and I can’t seem him protecting the killer of an innocent boy under any circumstances.’

‘Are you saying Christians don’t commit crimes? They’re no better or worse than anybody else and Paul wasn’t exactly an innocent, was he? Perhaps Maidment was told he was a prostitute, maybe even a blackmailer who had set out to entrap one of Maidment’s mates,’ Nightingale suggested.

‘That’s too harsh a judgement on Paul. We don’t know when Taylor started abusing him but by the time he was fourteen he’d have been totally conditioned.’

‘Maidment needn’t have known that,’ Nightingale continued, knocking Cooper’s words aside.

‘But—’

‘Enough.’ Fenwick ran his fingers through his hair and suppressed a yawn. He’d never felt less prepared for a difficult day. ‘Our job is to consider the evidence we have and present it fairly, not to sit in judgement on Paul or the major. And we need to do it quickly; the superintendent will be here any moment.

‘Let’s go back to the hypothesis that Maidment was set up, blackmailed even; his fingerprints and blood end up on the sack but he wasn’t involved in the abduction or killing. We know he had a guilty secret, one that would probably have wrecked his marriage and destroyed his reputation if it ever came out. What evidence is there that contradicts that theory?’

‘Nothing. It explains why he’s said nothing to defend himself. Despite all our work we can find no evidence that he knew Paul Hill or Malcolm and his only interaction with Taylor was to fire him.’ Nightingale agreed reluctantly.

‘But did he know what the sack contained?’ Cooper challenged. ‘I don’t see him covering up a murder for any reason.’

‘His fingerprints are all over both sacks and his blood’s not just on the outside. If he didn’t know about the contents why go to the trouble of dumping them at the site and then, presumably, covering the sack up sufficiently to prevent it being seen by the workmen? No, I think he knew what he was doing.’ Fenwick was inclined to agree with Nightingale’s obvious conclusion that Maidment was in some way complicit.

‘So what’s your recommendation going to be?’ she asked, testing him.

‘That we drop the charges for murder and rearrest him as an accessory. We have enough for that, don’t we, Nightingale?’

‘Yes; and I agree with you. I think Maidment took the bag as a favour to someone, never mind how he was persuaded, puts it somewhere – say in the boot of his car – but when he takes it out it rips. Maybe he catches his hand on whatever tore the bag and leaves blood as well as prints. So he decides to find another bag.’

‘But did he notice the contents? Maybe he didn’t.’

‘Cooper, you’re going to have to keep your soft spot for the major under control. Our working assumption is that he
did
know.’

‘Right,’ Nightingale continued, ‘and that makes it even more damning that he went ahead with the disposal. It also means that he trusted the person who gave him the sack enough to hide it for them anyway.’

‘And when the news of Paul’s disappearance broke?’ Fenwick pressed her.

‘He was trapped, wasn’t he? The builders would have carried on with the terrace. You can bet that he chose a place to dump the bag where it would have been cemented in the next day, too much risk otherwise. So to retrieve the sack he’d have had to ask for the terrace to be dug up. There’d be no way to do it discreetly.’

‘I’d have put money on him being the sort to go straight to the police, whatever the consequences,’ Cooper insisted.

‘But he didn’t.’ Fenwick drained the last of his coffee and tried to force his brain to think clearly. ‘Maybe he was convinced that Paul wasn’t murdered – that he died accidentally say or even ran away – the body never was found. Whatever,’ Fenwick stood up and stretched elaborately, ‘I think we’ve got enough. Nightingale, you prepare the paperwork to support an arrest on the lesser charge.

‘We have to assume that Maidment will be released on bail as no magistrate will want to back a call for remand from us now. But I want to keep the pressure on him. I can’t believe that Maidment knew Paul was raped and murdered. I want him in here this afternoon. It’s time to be tough. Nightingale, you can take the lead in his interrogation and you’re free to be as aggressive as you like short of physical assault. I expect you to break him; understood?’

The unexpected responsibility made her smile with pleasure.

‘I’ll need to destroy his trust in whoever persuaded him to cover up so I’ll share the facts about Paul as we know them…and about the possibility of other boys. But I’ll keep back our knowledge about his bigamy and family in Asia until right at the end.’ She stood up, eager to get to work.

‘And it’s shoe-leather time again for me, I suppose,’ Cooper said but he didn’t sound despondent. ‘I’m not sure he’ll break that easily so you’ll still need me to find the man he’s covering for; it has to be someone he knew well and I’m not convinced he’s going to give us the name, no matter how hard you interview him, ma’am.’

Fenwick blinked at Cooper’s show of respect but noticed Nightingale took it for granted. He felt an unexpected rush of pride and decided to share the rest of his plans despite his usual caution.

‘By the way, I’ve persuaded the ACC that we need do more than make a simple press announcement. We’ve been given a slot on
CrimeNight
.’ He ignored their surprise. ‘I’ve had MCS handle the preparation and filming and it will be aired Tuesday night, which is another reason to have news of the major’s release out of the way today.’

‘Morning, all. My word, you are early birds.’ Superintendent Quinlan looked newly minted in the bright sunshine that flooded into the room when he opened the door.

‘Ready, Andrew? The traffic’s terrible. You can tell me what you’ve all concluded on the way.’

Early on Saturday afternoon Major Maidment was released from prison as the charges against him for murder were dropped. He was immediately rearrested and charged with being an accessory to Paul Hill’s murder. The police request that he be remanded in custody, on the grounds that he might impede an ongoing investigation, was denied by a magistrate already furious about the previous erroneous charge. Maidment was given police bail on condition that he report to Harlden Police Station daily, starting that afternoon.

Inevitably, there was immediate news coverage of his release but the police statement made it very clear that he was still helping them with their inquiries. Maidment declined the offer of police protection, against their advice, just as he’d refused segregation whilst on remand. It was as if he felt that his innocence was protection enough.

The lads were delighted at his release but Bill made a point of repeating his offer to help if things went ‘tits up’ again. He’d been suitably grateful but non-committal. It wouldn’t do to alienate Bill when he knew that he would probably end up in prison again and might need his help inside.

Maidment was required to go straight to Harlden Police Station, even though the smell of prison lingered in his hair and clothes. He travelled south by train, his mind a blank. At some stage he would have to make decisions but at that moment all he could do was breathe in freedom. The noise and space were intimidating yet he felt exhilarated. He chose to travel first class, in part to try and avoid public scrutiny but also because he had a
choice
for the first time in weeks and he wanted to take full advantage of it.

The smell from the takeaway coffee bar in Victoria made his mouth water. He wasn’t a man who believed in eating or drinking in public but he couldn’t resist the idea of real food. When he asked the waiter-chap for a coffee and a
pain au raisin
the man had looked at him quizzically but said nothing, though he thought the food and drink were slammed down on the counter rather hard. His mouth was watering as he walked to his train and he was embarrassed to find that his eyes were too. This wouldn’t do; he had to be in control of himself when he saw the police, not snivelling like an emotional idiot. He stiffened his spine.

Despite his attempted bravado, his sense of paranoia increased the closer he travelled to Harlden. On the train he felt people stare at him but he was left alone to his great relief. He picked up a paper that had been left behind by a previous passenger but felt like a criminal when he came across his photograph on page five, alongside an article that rehashed the circumstances of his arrest. It was a good likeness and he felt even more conspicuous.

When the train reached Harlden his dread increased. Here he would surely be recognised. He pulled his hat a little lower than normal but refused to slouch and squared his shoulders. Nevertheless, the route he took to the police station was a circuitous one along quieter streets and through the park.

When a stone hit him between the shoulders blades he thought that something had fallen from a tree, but the sky above was empty.

‘Fucking pervert!’ The shout came from behind him.

He turned to see three boys about twenty yards away. They’d expected him to duck and run in response to their assault but instead he took a step towards them and raised his walking stick. One of them actually flinched before he turned and ran away. He’d only waved his stick, as he did when shooing Mrs Nichol’s dog off his lawn, but they’d thought he meant them harm. The look of fear on the young boys’ faces hurt him more than he would have imagined possible.

The major picked up his pace. As he walked through the gates to leave the park he stood back to let two women with baby strollers past. One spat on the ground by his feet.

Ahead was a stretch of open pavement then a wide public thoroughfare. He saw Mrs Perkins from church on the far side but she turned and went into a shop at the sight of him. The fact that it was Ladbrokes would normally have made him smile. In West Street a middle-aged man muttered ‘sick bastard’ as he passed but he left him behind as he turned down Neal Yard to cut up to the police station. He could see its red bricks at the end of the road a hundred yards away and started to relax. The only obstacle that remained was a group of teenage girls waiting at a bus stop on the other side of the road.

As he strode past he was spotted. The whole gang swivelled in his direction. Their leader walked towards him and the others followed like a pack of hunting animals waiting for the signal. The major continued with an unbroken stride, his head high. They crossed the road to confront him.

‘Fucking perv,’ the lead girl shouted, spitting her words past the stud in her bottom lip. ‘People like you should have their fucking balls cut off.’

Another girl bumped into him and his hand brushed her bare midriff as he tried to fend her off. He recoiled immediately but it was enough.

‘He fuckin’ touched me up, bastard ponce!’

By now all the girls had surrounded him, their elbows sharp against his ribs as he tried to back away. They started knocking their forearms into him, casually at first then with force. One spat in his face, smearing his glasses so that he could no longer see clearly. He felt a punch to his back, then another and his hat went flying. As he bent to retrieve it he was kicked hard on the thigh. A blow to the side of his face knocked his spectacles askew and out of the corner of an unprotected eye he saw long painted fingernails heading towards his face. He ducked to avoid the talons and was thumped on his kidneys. He winced at the pain and struggled against the instinct to fight back. No matter the provocation he could never strike a woman.

His fingers touched the brim of his hat as he stretched out to pick it up. One of them stamped on his hand. Spots of blood splattered the pavement. For the first time he realised they meant to do him serious harm. He tried to straighten up but a girl launched herself onto his back and he almost fell under her weight. If she forced him to the ground they’d be able to hold him there while their nails ripped him apart and their feet pummelled his body.

He tried to throw the girl off but she’d wrapped her arms about his neck, choking him so that he could barely breathe. The blows to his body became too numerous to note and his knees started to buckle. He fell forward and a booted foot caught him in the side of his chest forcing the air from his lungs.

‘Oi! What’s going on here?’

The voice was authoritative but the girls ignored it.

‘Police! Let that man go right now.’

He felt the crush of bodies around him ease and took a deep breath. Pain shot across his chest and back. Looking up from the ground he saw two policemen pounding toward him. The girls ran off but one tripped and the leading officer grabbed her unceremoniously around the waist, lifting her off the ground.

‘Oh no you don’t! As long as we’ve got you we’ll find your mates. Geoff, call this in.’

The creature he’d caught screamed and swore. She kicked out and tried to scratch but the officer held her tight while his colleague cuffed her hands behind her back.

‘Less than a minute from the station and the dozy buggers haven’t even noticed.’ Geoff shook his head and bent down to help the major.

‘Are you all right, sir? Why did they attack you?’

‘’Cos he’s a fucking pervert, that’s why. Fucking queer bastard should be locked up!’

Geoff helped him stand and passed him his hat.

‘You’re Major Maidment, aren’t you?’