Ready or Not (21 page)

Twenty
Eight

Matthew and Chris pulled into the school car park. It was presumably break time, as teenagers seethed over the school grounds like maggots on a carcass. Some kicked footballs or huddled in groups whispering sedition.

             
‘I hate schools,’ Matthew said, getting out of the car and grimacing. ‘Worst days of my life.’

             
Chris could imagine that Matthew hadn’t been a star pupil during school; he was easily distracted and tended to have the attention span of a goldfish. Daydreaming would have been a mild term to use to describe the distant, almost removed state in which Matthew so often seemed to be. Chris had often wondered what the hell was going on inside his head, but it was probably best not to even consider it. Wherever he was, most of the time he wasn’t on the job in hand.

             
He wasn’t the sharpest either, Chris often noticed; there was sometimes a disturbing lack of common sense, usually when it was most needed. He wasn’t stupid by a long shot; if he had been, there was no way he’d ever have made it into the force. Sometimes – usually when least expected - he’d shock everyone by seeing something that had otherwise gone unnoticed, or provide an insight that no one else had considered. It was mainly the daydreaming that was an issue; enough to frustrate even the most patient of teachers, Chris imagined.    

             
Matthew had probably been bullied by the other kids at school. He was prime victim material, just for the fact that he was such a daydreamer and always seemed to be two seconds behind. His tall, skinny frame had probably caused him to stand out like a chicken at a fox’s tea party: perfect prey. Why he had ever wanted to join the police was often a mystery to Chris. Maybe he had something to prove to the people who had doubted him. Wasn’t Chris also one of those people? Perhaps Matthew was intent on proving him wrong too.

             
Chris had parked the car near reception and they made their way into the school. A group of girls, all wearing heavy make-up, loitered by the front of the main building, watching the two men as they headed for reception. One of them whistled at Matthew, nudging her friend with a sharp elbow and looking him up and down. Matthew avoided eye contact and grimaced. 

             
‘Stud,’ Chris said quietly, hiding a smile.

             
It never failed to amaze him, how confident kids were nowadays. When he’d been in school he wouldn’t have as much as looked the wrong way at a police officer, and Chris had been far from a model child. Now kids were either wolf whistling or trying to assault them.

             
Matthew groaned. ‘How short were those skirts?’ he said. ‘Would you let your daughter go to school looking like that?’

             
Chris thought of Holly; wondered what she’d be like as a teenager and vowed not to let her out of his sight until she was at least twenty one. No, make that twenty five.

             
He sighed inwardly. He wouldn’t be able to do that, even had he wanted to. He wouldn’t be there regularly enough to influence what she did. That would be Lydia’s job. She had demoted him to the role of part time dad, a weekend visit here, an evening sleeping over there.

             
‘To school?’ Chris said. ‘I wouldn’t let her leave the house to go anywhere dressed like that.’

             
There were two women gossiping in the office when Chris reached the front desk. At great personal sacrifice, the elder of the two broke off their conversation mid-flow and, looking down a foot of nose, said, ‘Can I help you?’

             
‘I hope so,’ he said, showing her his ID. ‘We’re looking for Sarah – sorry, I don’t know her surname. Works in the English department apparently.’

             
The lady looked surprised and then inconvenienced, as though Chris had wasted her time. ‘Sorry,’ she said brusquely. ‘We don’t have an English teacher named Sarah.’

             
Chris looked to Matthew, who shrugged and turned to watch a group of boys playing football outside.

             
‘Come to think of it though, we did have for a little while,’ the woman continued, tilting her head. ‘But that was, God, how long ago now?’ She paused, her hard face softening. ‘Four years probably. Lovely lady,’ she said sadly. ‘Died in a car accident. Tragic really.’

             
Chris was frustrated. Every time they seemed to be getting somewhere, something pushed them a step back. Matthew was already making his way back to the main door. He was hoping the bell for end of break would sound and they wouldn’t have to walk back by the group of girls they’d passed on the way in. They were like vultures, he thought.

             
Chris turned back to the woman at reception. ‘Did you know Sarah well?’ he asked.

             
‘Fairly well,’ she said. ‘She was only here for a year or so, but she settled in very quickly.’

             
‘Did she have a husband?’ Chris asked.

             
‘Oh, yes,’ she said. ‘Nice man, if I remember correctly. Never got over Sarah’s death, so I’m told.’

             
‘Do you remember his name, Mrs…?’

             
‘Ooh, call me Margaret,’ the woman said, softening further.

             
‘Do you remember Sarah’s husband’s name, Margaret?’ Chris asked.

             
She shook her head. ‘Sorry. Memory’s not what it used to be.’

             
‘Did Sarah have any children?’

             
‘Boy and a girl,’ she said. She pressed a hand to her mouth. ‘Now, then,’ she said. ‘What were their names?’

             
She tutted. ‘God, I’m getting worse,’ she said, plumping up her grey hair. ‘The amount of names I have to remember in this place, you know. They go in one and out the other. I’ll remember a face any day, but give me a name and I’m useless.’ She tapped her head with a forefinger. ‘Age, you see.’ She rested her arms on the front desk. ‘The girl came here, but only briefly. Pretty little thing. What was her name?’

             
Margaret looked to the main entrance, as if the answer to her dilemma would suddenly walk in to greet her.

             
‘Sophie!’ she exclaimed suddenly, clicking her fingers. ‘That was it. Sophie. No idea about the boy though – he never came to this school. Have you got two minutes?’ she asked.

             
Chris nodded.

             
‘If you give me a moment I’ll ring through to the Art department. Sarah was friendly with Lisa, head of Art. She’ll know her son’s name.’

             
Margaret disappeared back into the office. The bell to signal the end of break time sounded and teenagers swarmed the front of the building, making their way back to lessons, though most were probably coming in to get out of the cold rather than be the first to class. Chris looked outside to where Matthew paced the ground before the front entrance. The list of places that seemed to make him uncomfortable was growing longer by the day. 

             
Margaret returned shortly.

             
‘It’s not your day,’ she told Chris. ‘Lisa’s on a course in Preston.’

Twenty Nine

Dean Williams, who had hired the car spotted on the CCTV footage, wasn’t expecting the cavalry that arrived at his house just after midday that afternoon. Kate led them to the front door. She gestured to the door and the uniformed officer beside her hammered it with a fist the size of a boxing glove. Williams opened it slightly and peered through the crack like a myopic rodent, the same shifty eyes as his cousin making them instantly recognisable as family.

             
‘Can we come in, Mr Williams?’ Kate asked, smiling. ‘Thanks.’

             
She shoved the door open, pushed past the man and stepped into the hallway. The house was on the same estate as Dawn Reed’s and had the same layout, with living room to the left and stairs straight ahead at the end of the narrow hallway. If Dawn Reed’s house had been a mess, this was something else. The carpet was thick with clogged dirt and something that looked unnervingly like blood was splattered the length of the hallway wall.

             
‘You can’t just come in ’ere,’ Dean had started to protest. ‘You need a warrant.’

             
‘Oh, yes,’ Kate said, slapping her forehead theatrically. ‘Silly me.’

             
Dean Williams, for the first time, looked panicked. He eyed the officers who followed behind Kate, aimlessly attempting to block their entry with his stocky frame. Kate reached into her pocket and produced the search warrant, thrusting the paper into Dean’s hand.

             
‘There we go,’ she said. ‘Now we can carry on.’

             
The officers began spreading themselves throughout the house whilst Dean continued to protest their presence. Two went upstairs, whilst another pair started to search the living room.

             
‘Do you have a car, Mr Williams?’ Kate asked.

             
‘Yeah,’ he said defensively, crossing his bulky arms. ‘So what?’

             
Kate made a point of looking around the room, taking in the chaos and disorder of Dean Williams’ living room. Empty take away boxes littered the floor by the sofa and the carpet looked as though it had never had a close encounter with a vacuum cleaner. She doubted Dean Williams even owned one. The sofa was split, foam bursting out from the arms on each end. Mould had been left to grow around the windowsill.

             
‘So, I was just wondering why you needed to hire a car on December 12
th
?’

             
Dean Williams shifted edgily. ‘Not a crime is it?’

             
There was obviously no point in trying to deny the car hire; Kate could see from the look on Dean’s face that he knew he was caught out and that his name would be in black and white on the car rental company receipt.

             
‘No,’ Kate agreed. ‘You’re right, it’s not. Where was your own car?’

             
‘Broke down,’ Dean said quickly. He glared at her with eyes so dark they looked almost black. He unfolded his arms and shoved his hands into his pockets. He tapped his foot edgily and kept an eye on the door.

             
Kate nodded slowly. ‘A nuisance, aren’t they?’ she said. ‘Always let you down just when you need to pop into town for something.’

             
Dean was distracted by clattering coming from the kitchen.

             
‘This is ’arissment, you know,’ he said, sounding exactly like Nathan. He took a hand from his pocket and pointed a fat finger accusingly at her. ‘I’ll have you done.’

             
Kate smiled. Perhaps Nathan had given him training in how to deal with the police when the time came. They both delivered the same protest, both with the same rehearsed phrases.

             
She was doing a good job at maintaining a confident, cocky composure and she was going to break this bastard down with it. She wanted to scream in his face and have one of the male officers kick the shit out of him, but she wasn’t going to let Dean see how this case had been affecting her.

             
‘Why did you spend two hours sitting in a rented car on Taff Street on December 12
th
?’ she asked calmly.

             
Dean looked towards the door again. For a moment Kate thought he was going to attempt to make a run for it. She braced herself for a tackle, not really fancying her chances against this man built like a concrete khazi.

             
‘I don’t know what you’re on about,’ he blustered. ‘I never sat in no car for two hours.’

             
‘It would save a lot of time for everyone if you just told us where she is, Mr Williams,’ Kate said, her voice rising. ‘I know you’ve taken her. I don’t know why, but I will. So it’s game over. Do the sensible thing and stop wasting our time.’

             
A loud bang came from upstairs; someone trying to kick a door open.

             
Kate called to the PC who was in the kitchen. ‘Get in here and don’t let him out of your sight.’

             
She left the man keeping guard over Dean while she went upstairs. On the landing two officers were struggling with a bolt on the entrance to the attic. The female officer seemed to be worried about breaking a nail, but as the bolt gave way and a fold up staircase came clattering down, she should have worried more about her head.