The Know (34 page)

But who ever took any notice of her anyway? Certainly not her mother, who should have guessed something was up. Joanie would have guessed if it had been Kira keeping something secret.

She went into her bedroom and sneaked a drink from her own bottle of Bacardi and Coke. She made a bottle up every morning from her mother’s stash and Monika assumed she herself had drunk it the night before. The feeling it gave her was nice, made Bethany feel warm inside. Took away some of the loneliness and guilt for a while.

When she came back out her mother had left the house without even bothering to say goodbye.

 
Mrs Carling was in a quandary.

She had seen Kira Brewer at the shops on the Saturday she’d disappeared but she had not told a soul. She had seen her with that brazen little strap Bethany, but never a woman to get involved in anyone else’s business unless it was gossiping about it, she had kept this nugget of information to herself.

Assuming the child would turn up eventually, she had decided to keep out of it. Especially as it involved the Brewers. She did not want any of them on her doorstep, no one in their right mind would. Just look at what had happened to Tommy. Though Joanie wasn’t a bad sort in fairness to her. She did her best, and that was no easy task with the burden God had placed on her shoulders. Her washing was whiter than white anyway, and Mrs Carling judged people by their washing and how clean they kept their passages.

Now, though, it seemed the child was gone for good and she was getting a guilty conscience. Poor Tommy was in hospital and it was all such a mess. But she couldn’t go to the police, could she? Not this late in the day. And Tommy and his father were the most likely suspects. Nothing she said or did would change that, surely? She wasn’t one hundred per cent certain she’d seen the girls getting into that car . . .

So she kept her knowledge to herself, convinced she was doing the right thing. Tommy and his father would be charged, and that would be an end to it. What possible good could it do to involve herself in what could only be an explosive situation?

She made herself another cup of tea and decided to go to Bingo that night, just to take her mind off everything.

 
Jon Jon looked terrible as he sat opposite Baxter. He had the look of someone with a secret that no one was going to get at.

‘I was in the Ship and Shovel all day long, Mr Baxter, you know that. Thirty people have sworn to it. What do you want - a statement from a judge to prove where I was? Only you don’t get many judges in there, know what I mean?’

He was smiling and Baxter felt the urge to wipe that expression off the boy’s face once and for all.

‘How did you get on with Tommy?’

Jon Jon shrugged but he was finding it harder and harder to keep up his veneer of innocence.

‘All right. But then, I had no idea he was a nonce, did I?’

‘Who told you he was a nonce? We did stringent checks and found nothing.’

Jon Jon smiled.

‘With respect, Mr Baxter, you lot couldn’t find the fucking Hubble telescope if it landed on Roman Road Market.’

‘Now listen to me, Jon Jon . . .’

The boy shook his head, dreads quivering with indignation.

‘No, you fucking listen to me! My sister is out there somewhere probably dead by now, and you have the nerve to question
me
about an assault on a fucking nonce! Are you having a laugh or what? Pity you didn’t put in as much time finding her, ain’t it? Your lot never even bothered to come out for ages. It was just a Brewer and who gives a fuck about them? They’re scum.’

He ran a hand over his face, which was sweating slightly.

‘The newspapers are after our story and we won’t talk to them. Fucking carrion they are. But I will if you don’t get off my fucking back and do the job the taxpayers expect from you. That means finding out where my little sister is and what happened to her. She is eleven years old and she is gone. Every paper and every TV station is carrying her story as you know, yet not one fucking person has seen her. Are you looking for Joseph Thompson by any chance or are you just hassling my family?’

Baxter sighed. His ulcer was playing him up. The pain was like a knife stabbing him repeatedly, and to make it worse, in his heart of hearts he knew that what the boy said was true.

‘You can’t take the law into your own hands, Jon Jon.’

‘But I didn’t, did I? Someone did that for me. Let’s face it, Mr Baxter, if it was left to you lot he’d still be sitting around enjoying his poxy little life.’

Jon Jon wiped a hand across his face once more, his agitation clear.

‘And don’t you fucking dare talk to me about taking the law into my own hands. You lot have tried to fit me up enough times over the last few years. Whatever happened to him he had it coming, and I hope his father gets some of the same.’

Baxter sat back in the chair and surveyed Jon Jon for long seconds then he said slowly, ‘Can I trust you with something, Jon Jon?’

Jon Jon wasn’t sure where this was going so he didn’t answer. Baxter knew that what he was doing was wrong but he had to let this boy know what was happening. He was an intelligent sort, and in his own way he was fair.

He placed a file on the table opposite Jon Jon and then said quietly, ‘I am going to get you a cup of tea and if you look in that file while I am gone there is nothing I can do about it, is there? Because I don’t know you’ve looked, do I? I won’t be in the room.’

‘Why should I want to look at it?’

Baxter shrugged.

‘Curiosity?’

‘Killed the cat, didn’t it?’

‘I think you’ll survive a peep, Jon Jon.’

He stood up.

‘Milk and sugar?’

Jon Jon nodded and watched him leave the room. He stared at the file before him for a while, wondering what to do. He wouldn’t put it past Baxter to try and fit him up even now. But curiosity got the better of him and he opened the file and all there was inside it was one piece of paper. He saw that it was from Little Tommy’s medical records.

Jon Jon read it slowly twice then put it back in the folder. Getting up, he walked quickly from the room. Baxter came back with the tea and when he saw the room was empty, he smiled. He glanced at the report himself once more.

It seemed Little Tommy Thompson was incapable of having sex with anyone. His genitalia had never fully developed and the drugs he took to stabilise his obesity had shrunk away the little that was there.

That wasn’t to say the thoughts weren’t in his head, of course, but it proved that physically there was little he could have done. All the psychiatric reports said the same thing: he had no interest in or real knowledge of sex.

Poor beaten and burned Little Tommy Thompson was a virtual eunuch.

 
Della had been to the police to tell them what had happened to her. She was more upset about being dinged out of the car than anything else. But the fact Joseph had taken all his belongings from her house spoke volumes as far as she was concerned.

It never occurred to her that he might have been frightened away; she had him guilty of everything under the sun. And she was vocal about it as well.

The news hit the pavements by five-thirty that afternoon. Joseph Thompson was finished now; anyone who saw him would know who he was. His photo was on every news channel and in every paper. Within twenty-four hours there had been sightings of him by vigilant English tourists all over Europe.

But, like Kira Brewer, it seemed he had disappeared into thin air.

 
Liz Parker was lying beside Jon Jon and enjoying the feel of him. He had come to her earlier in the day and they had enjoyed brief but frantic sex. Then, instead of his usual disappearing act, he had stayed, lying with her and smoking joint after joint.

‘Do you want a beer, Jon Jon?’

He nodded.

She opened them both a Bud Ice from her little fridge and they sipped them together. He passed her the joint.

‘You all right, Jon Jon?’

He laughed then.

‘Yeah, great. Me little sister’s missing presumed dead, but other than that I’m fucking blinding. Yourself?’

She sighed.

‘I was only asking, no need to be sarcastic.’

He had upset her, something he had never suspected could happen. As he looked at her little-girlie face he felt bad suddenly.

‘I’m sorry, Liz.’

It was said quietly and neither of them could tell who was the more shocked by his words, her or him.

She smiled then: a real smile, not the usual professional one that somehow never reached her eyes.

‘
I’m
sorry. Your little sister seemed nice.’

She took a long toke on the joint then as he asked her, ‘When did you ever see my sister?’

She turned to face him properly. ‘I saw her a few times, with you and your mum. Just around, you know.’

He nodded then.

She settled against him once more and the plumpness of her body was reassuring to him. She felt good, she felt safe.

He stared round her little room which was clean for a change though the bedding had not been washed for a few weeks. It was the same each time he came; he was sure no other men shared it.

It was silly bedding, childlike.
Groovy chick
, it said on the duvet cover, in bright Dayglo colours, a picture of an adolescent girl sketched on bright pink cotton. Kira would have loved it.

The room had horrific flowered wallpaper on the walls and a deep green and orange carpet. It was like a flop house.

But then, in many respects that was just what it was. Somewhere to lay a weary head. Where had he read that? It came and left his mind in nanoseconds. He couldn’t keep anything in his head lately. He guessed it was the circumstances and didn’t try to analyse the reason why.

Liz laid a plump white leg over his brown ones and he watched the contrast, liked the contrast. She rubbed his stomach with a well-manicured hand, slipping it down between his legs, caressing him once more.

‘More life in a music video at the moment, girl.’

But he could feel the first stirrings himself and knew she could feel them too from the triumphant smile on her face. What was it about her that made him feel as he did? She was servicing up to ten men a day and yet it didn’t bother him. Was there something wrong with him?

He kissed her full on the lips, sucking her tongue into his mouth, the first time he had ever kissed her properly.

Then visions of her sucking other men’s cocks made him throw her away from him swiftly. She hit the wall heavily and sat there nursing her shoulder which had taken the full force of the blow.

‘What the fuck is the matter, Jon Jon? What have I done?’

He lay back against the pillows.

‘It’s my birthday today.’

Then he started crying. Really crying. He was sobbing and Liz took him awkwardly in her arms and hugged him as best she could.

 
Paulie and Joanie were in her bedroom. He had laid her down and now he was running her a nice bath.

‘I don’t want one!’

Paulie ignored her.

‘You stink like a fucking polecat, you are having a bath.’

‘Am I fuck!’

He still ran the bath and poured in some sweet-smelling salts.

‘Get your gear off and get in that bath.’

His voice brooked no argument. Still she didn’t move. He went out to the kitchen and started to unpack the groceries he had brought with him. The wine was cold so he opened it and poured two glasses. It wasn’t the greatest wine but it was the best on sale in the chiller cabinet.

‘Are you in that bath yet?’

He was walking into the bedroom as he spoke, listening for the tell-tale sounds of Joanie in the water. She was still on her bed and ignoring him.

He pulled the duvet off her. She sat up then, all indignation and grubby white underwear. He picked her up bodily and carried her, struggling, through to the bathroom. Then he unceremoniously dropped her into the scented water.

Her head went under a little bit and she emerged spitting out water and expletives, but he just walked from the room and came back with the glasses of wine. Joanie was lying in the water now, accepting of her fate.

He passed her a glass. She took it gratefully, sipped it and sighed.

‘Are you going to take your drawers off?’

Suddenly she was laughing her head off. It wasn’t a normal laugh but high-pitched, tinged with hysteria.

He put the toilet lid down and sat on it. Let her laugh. If it got it all out of her system so much the better. She was literally rocking with laughter now, the wine slopping all over her body. He leaned forward and took the glass from her then he stood up and locked the bathroom door.

He stripped down to his boxers and she watched him, laughing harder. He stepped into the bath and this made her laugh even more.

‘Aren’t you going to take your boxers off?’

This set her off again and he slipped behind her in the bath, hugging her to him as best he could as she coughed and spluttered with the force of her merriment. Then the laughter stopped as quickly as it had begun and she was leaning against him, turning slightly so she could bury her face in his chest.