The Dead Tracks (31 page)

    I
realized then that I'd have to give them something. Something to get them
thinking.

    'The
youth club.'

    Phillips
had been looking away, at the photos. He turned back to face me, as if sensing
the conversation was about to shift. Davidson's eyes narrowed again, his
default expression. If I wasn't on the defensive, he immediately got
suspicious. He leaned forward a little, waiting to see what I had.

    'You
went to the youth club, right?'

    Phillips
nodded.

    'Whoever
abducted Megan met her through there.'

    Neither
of them spoke. Phillips glanced at the photos, at his partner and then back to
me. What makes you say that?'

    'Something
one of her friends said. Kaitlin Devonish. She told me Megan used to really
like this guy who went there. That they may have even dated.'

    Phillips
studied me. 'She never mentioned that to us.'

    'Maybe
you never asked her.'

    He
pursed his lips. He looked like he was trying to figure out where I was going with
this. Whatever conclusion he came to, it had temporarily altered the dynamic.
For a moment, both of them had lost forward motion. Now they were on the back
foot.

    'Who
was the guy?' Davidson asked.

    'Kaitlin
didn't know. Maybe that's why she didn't mention it. I mean, why would she
report as suspicious someone who made Megan happy?'

    'Because
we asked her if Megan was dating'

    'They
may not have even dated officially.'

    Silence
now. Phillips began turning his wedding band again, and Davidson was watching
me like I was a waxwork in his least favourite part of the museum.

    'Megan's
parents didn't know about it,' I continued, 'and they knew about the other guys
she'd dated. If she went out with this guy, it was on the quiet. Even Megan's friends
might not have known. I think Kaitlin was speculating that they dated, rather
than knowing for sure.'

    'And
Kaitlin will back this up?' Phillips asked.

    I
nodded. 'One hundred per cent.'

    Listen
to me, Kaitlin
,
I'd said to her
when she'd first mentioned the youth club, and the guy who'd got Megan pregnant
.
If, for whatever reason, the police come calling, don't tell them about the
pregnancy… The first thing we need to do is protect you… Tell them about the
youth club, and that you think she might have been seeing someone there, but
leave it at that, okay
?

    Eventually
I'd expected the police to take an interest in what I was doing. Maybe not this
way, but when you worked the periphery of an unsolved, you stepped on toes and you
pissed people off. I didn't want to involve Kaitlin. She was just a kid, and a
scared one at that, but I had to rely on her not telling them about the
pregnancy and being convincing enough to steer the course of the interview, and
the evidence, away from me.

    There
was an added problem too: the youth club. They'd see it had been broken into
over the weekend. And although I'd been careful not to leave prints, and the
pictures I took from the club were next to the spare wheel in the back of the
BMW, not lying around at home, it would open up another line of enquiry,
adjacent to the Carver disappearance - and the seams would come apart a little
more. The only thing I could do was continue pushing back at them. Because I
wasn't about to go down for this. Not now. Not ever.

    I
turned to Phillips. 'Did you get an anonymous tip-off?'

    'When?'

    'Today.
Is that the reason you were at my house?'

    The
two of them looked at each other. Phillips turned back to me. 'I'm not at
liberty to discuss that.'

    I
nodded at the photographs. 'Put the photo of that woman's face through your
labs and see if you can find any of my prints on it.'

    'Maybe
we put the photos through forensics,' Phillips said, voice taut, eyes fixed on
me. 'Maybe we find your prints, maybe we don't. But you're mixed up in this
somehow, we both know that. And when I find out how, I will bring you down.'

    I
didn't reply. He was as angry as I'd seen him, colour prickling in his skin.
The lead I'd given them for the youth club hadn't been enough. It had stalled
the interview, but it hadn't stopped it. They'd filed it away as an interesting
line of enquiry, but it hadn't changed anything. I was in this up to my neck.

    Then
I thought of something.

    Something
Phillips had said in the first interview.
The only reason I can give you is
that, by you sticking your nose in here, you're jeopardising a parallel
investigation.
'Have you officially tied Leanne Healy's disappearance to
Megan's?' I asked.

    There
was a long pause. 'Leanne Healy?'

    'Colm
Healy's daughter.'

    'I
know who she is.'

    'She
worked at the youth club. The same one as Megan. Even if you didn't know about
the man Megan might have met there, you would have seen that the youth club
connected Megan and Leanne.' Another pause. Davidson turned away from me. A
flicker of something. Next to him, Phillips didn't move. 'So is her
disappearance being tied to Megan's?'

    Nothing
from either of them.

    Then
Phillips: 'David, you don't know what you're talking -'

    'They're
both blonde. They both look vaguely similar. They both worked part-time at the
same place. They both disappeared and never came home.'

    Davidson
glanced at Phillips. Phillips looked back.

    'No,'
he said. 'We're not tying the two together.'

    'Really?'

    'Really.'

    'You
must know something about Leanne then.'

    'Why
would you say that?'

    'Because
you'd link them otherwise.'

    'Would
we?'

    You
know you would. You'd have two girls. And then you'd have a pattern.' I looked
between them. I was building the theory as I went, adding together everything
I'd learned as I tried to push back at them. 'And, eventually, you'd have
more.'

    'More
what?'

    'More
women. If there's a pattern, there's a man responsible. And if he's magicked two
of them into thin air, you can bet he'll do it again and again until he's
stopped.'

    Phillips
shook his head and started turning his wedding band. 'This isn't
CSI,
David. You don't get a Hollywood ending'

    
A
parallel investigation
.

    I looked
between them again. I'd given them the youth club. I'd told them I knew about
Leanne. Now it was time to make a leap of faith.

    'So
where Does Frank White fit in?'

    Davidson's
eyes flicked to me and then away. A moment of surprise, followed by a ripple of
alarm. Phillips stopped turning his wedding band momentarily. 'I don't know
what you're talking about,' he said evenly.

    'You
remember him though, right?'

    Phillips
nodded. 'Of course I remember him.'

    'They're
linked.'

    'Who
are linked?'

    'Frank
White and Megan.'

    'Everyone's
linked according to you.'

    'Something
happened at that warehouse the night he was murdered. You dig far enough in,
and you'll find a connection to Megan.'

    They
both looked at me. I couldn't decide if it was disbelief or panic in their
faces. I decided it was panic. I was on to something.

    'His
death is connected to Megan, isn't it?'

    Phillips
started collecting up the photographs, feeding them back into the Manila
folder. He looked at me. We ask the questions around here, David.'

    'Is
it something to do with the surgeon?'

    A
brief pause. Then Phillips leaned over, spoke into the recorder to confirm the
time and the fact that he was taking a break - and they both got up and left.

    As they
were walking out, I requested a toilet break. Phillips asked Davidson to show
me where it was, and disappeared through a security door that connected the
interview rooms to the main office. Davidson didn't say anything, just led me
past the other doors into an L-shape kink in the corridor. There were two
further doors around the corner: one for men, one for women. 'I'll wait here,'
he said.

    Inside,
it was cold and sterile. Old metal-framed windows, with iron mesh over the
glass. China basins screwed to the floor. No soap. No hot water. Grey-green
cubicles minus the toilet seats. Basically nothing you could rip off and use as
a weapon. There was the overpowering stench of urinal cake and, as I moved into
one of the cubicles, I realized I could see my breath in front of my face. It
couldn't have been more than five degrees.

    After
about half a minute, I heard Davidson start talking to someone. Above the
traffic noise from outside, and the constant gurgle from the cistern, I could
only make out a few words, but it sounded like Davidson was asking a uniform to
stand guard.

    I
flushed and walked across to the basins. As I was washing my hands, I heard
another voice. Male. Low. Almost a whisper.

    He
was sending the PC off on an errand.

    A couple
of seconds later, I watched the door open in the mirror above the basin. It
squeaked on its hinges. A foot appeared. Then a face.

    Colm
Healy.

    He
looked at me, our eyes meeting in the reflection. Then he glanced over his
shoulder, out into the corridor again. Ran a hand through his red hair and
rubbed one of his eyes. He had the chewed nails of a man who sat up all night
unable to sleep — and the yellowing fingertips of a smoker.

    I
swivelled to face him, flicking my hands dry.

    'We've
got ten minutes tops, so I'll spare you the small talk,' he said. 'I don't
believe you did it. I've read your file. I've heard about you. No record. No
blips on the radar. Two years back, your wife dies. And now I'm supposed to
believe you're on some kind of… of what?
Revenge
mission? No. You're not
this guy. So you're going to tell me what I want to know, and then I'll help
you out in return. Okay?'

    'You
said all you needed to say last time.'

    'Yeah,
well…' He faded off. Stood there with his hand on the door. 'That guy you had
in that photo you showed me. Milton Sykes. Who is he really?'

    I
shrugged. 'I don't know.'

    'Why's
he look like Sykes?'

    I
shrugged again. 'I don't know.'

    'Well,
let me give you a head start,' he said. 'I'm gonna give you enough credit to
assume you've read up about Sykes.'

    I
nodded, trying to figure out where he was headed.

    'So
you remember how the police pinned the murder of Jenny Truman on him, right?'

    I
went to nod again. Then stopped. He was talking about her dress. I'd overlooked
the connection, forgotten it in the blur of the last couple of hours.

    'They
found her dress behind a board in his kitchen,' I said.

    'Bingo.
And now they've found Megan's blouse behind a board in
your
kitchen. I
think we can safely assume whoever's pinned this on you has a hard-on for
Sykes. He looks like him, and now he wants to
be
like him.'

    'Maybe
the guy wants to be like Sykes. Maybe he's somehow involved in Megan going
missing. But I don't think he's the man who took her.'

    'Why?'

    'Because
the man who took her worked at the youth club.'

    He
stopped. Studied me. Looked outside into the corridor then pushed the door shut
as far as it would go without fully closing it. 'Is that the lead you gave
Phillips and Davidson?' He could see the answer in my face:
yes.
He
rolled his eyes. 'Why?'