Because its the only thing Im good at, Tony thought. What he said was: Because you deserve it, Tom. Because you deserve it.
Carol walked into the interview room with an assumption of confidence she didnt really feel. It had been many months since shed interviewed anyone, witness or suspect, and she was afraid of her emotions bleeding into the professional sphere. It didnt help that she was conscious of Paula at her side, weighing her up. At least Ron Alexanders composure seemed to have slipped a little. He was refusing to meet her eyes, fiddling continuously with his wedding ring.
Right, Carol said, settling into her chair. Im Detective Chief Inspector Jordan and this is Detective Constable McIntyre. As your solicitor will have explained, Mr Alexander, were looking for your help in respect of another inquiry thats not related to the reasons you were originally arrested. We would appreciate your co-operation.
Why should I talk to you? Alexander blurted out. Youll only twist anything I say to make a case against me.
Bronwen Scott put a hand on his arm. You dont have to say anything, Ron. She looked directly at Carol. My client is concerned that any co-operation he offers you will be reflected in any subsequent proceedings.
Carol shook her head. You know its not up to us, Ms Scott. Its the CPS who make the deals. But Im perfectly willing to make representations to them at the appropriate time.
Thats not good enough.
Carol shrugged. Its the best I can do. Your client might like to consider the converse, however. If he fails to help us in such a sensitive case, nobodys going to cut him any slack anywhere down the line.
Is that a threat, Chief Inspector?
Just a statement of fact, Ms Scott. You know as well as I how emotions run high in the case of a missing child. Sex offenders have a hard enough time in prison without adding to their problems. Its up to you, Mr Alexander. Carol eyed Alexander, who was shifting uncomfortably in his chair. She opened the folder in front of her and took out the photograph Jan Shields had supplied. She placed it in front of him. We found this on your computer. Do you recognize this child, Mr Alexander?
He glanced at the image then looked away, desperately scanning the wall as if it would give him the answer. Yes, he said, his voice barely above a whisper.
Can you tell me who it is?
His names Tim Golding. He picked up Scotts pen, gripping it in both hands as if trying to snap it in two. His picture was in the papers. And on the TV.
When did you acquire this photograph? Carol leaned forward slightly, forcing warmth and intimacy into her voice.
He flashed a look at Scott, who nodded. I dont know exactly. A few weeks ago, I think. It came in an email attachment. I was shocked when I opened it.
Shocked because you recognized Tim Golding?
He nodded. Yes. And because ofbecause of how he looked.
What? Youre not used to receiving pictures of naked, frightened children?
Dont answer that, Ron, Scott said quickly. Chief Inspector, if were going to make any progress here, I must insist you stop asking questions whose answers might tend to incriminate my client.
Yeah, right. Carol took a deep breath. She slid another photograph from her folder. Do you recognize this boy?
Alexander frowned. Isnt he the one who went missing last year? Guy something or other?
Guy Lefrevre, Carol said. Have you ever been sent photographs of Guy Lefevre?
No. Alexanders eyes flicked from side to side. Carol couldnt decide whether he was panicking or lying. But with Bronwen Scott patrolling her every question, there was nothing to be gained by pressing the point.
What did you do when you recognized Tim Golding? she asked.
I erased the picture right away, he said. I didnt want it on my machine.
Carol stripped her voice of challenge and tried to sound sympathetic. You didnt think about contacting the police? You could have printed it out and sent it to us anonymously. Youve got children of your own, havent you, Ron? How do you think youd feel if one of them went missing? Wouldnt you want to believe that anyone who had information that might help the inquiry would pass it on to the police?
A sheen of sweat appeared on his forehead. I suppose, he said.
Its not too late to put that right, Carol said. Who sent you the photograph, Ron?
He breathed out noisily. I dont know. People dont use their real names on email, you know?
Carol knew. They used nicknames and mixtures of letters and numbers even when they had nothing to hide. Her own personal email address was a combination of her surname and the last four digits of a previous phone number because, when shed signed up, caroljordan had already been taken. OK. You didnt know the identity of the sender. So what was his email address?
He spread his hands. I dont know. I didnt pay attention. I just wiped the whole thing. The email and the attachment.
Presumably it was someone who had sent you things before?
Id advise you not to answer that, Ron. Scott laid a hand on his arm again.
Carol glared at the lawyer. You seem to be losing sight of whats at stake here, Ms Scott. A child is missing. We both know the chances are hes dead. Im trying to find out what happened to him, and thats all I care about.
Very commendable, Chief Inspector. But my concern is my clients best interests. And I will not sit quietly by while you draw him into potentially incriminating statements.
Carol gathered herself together and turned her attention back to Alexander. Ron, can you remember anything that might lead us to the person who sent you this picture?
He shook his head. Honestly, if I knew anything useful, Id tell you. I want to help, I really do.
OK. Lets try a different tack. Why do you think he sent it to you? Why would he have thought this was the kind of thing you might like to see?
I dont think Scott began.
Its all right, Alexander said. I dont know the answer to that either. Everybody gets unsolicited email. Spam blockers dont get rid of it all. He sat back in his seat, clearly more relaxed now hed figured out how to play the game.
Carol felt irritation rising. Fine. If thats how you want to play it, Mr Alexander, thats the way well go. She pushed her chair back. This interview is over. But I should tell you that were going to be trawling every byte on your hard disk. Were going to follow your footsteps round the web. You may think youve cleaned up your computer, but our technicians are going to demonstrate just how misguided you are. Youve had your chance, Mr Alexander. And you just blew it.
Carol marched out of the interview room and headed back to her office, not even bothering to check if Paula was following her. Stacey? My office, now, she said as she crossed the squadroom. Paula and Stacey arrived together. What did we get from the techies on Ron Alexanders computer? Carol asked Stacey, waving a hand to indicate they should sit down.
Not as much as theyd hoped for, Stacey said. People are so dim about this stuff. Alexander thought hed erased everything from his hard disk. He probably panicked when he saw the earlier newspaper reports about Operation Ore. But like most people, he thought if he just deleted them then emptied the Recycle Bin, they were gone for good. And like most people, he never bothered to reformat or even defrag
Defrag? Paula asked faintly. Stacey rolled her eyes. Its when you Never mind, Carol said. So there was still stuff lurking there?
Well, yes, of course there was. File fragments, some complete files. Like the photo of Tim Golding.
And can we find out where that came from?
Stacey shook her head. Not a trace. Its an orphan.
Paula opened her mouth but before she could speak, Carol said hastily, Never mind, Paula, we get the idea. Thats a blow, Stacey. She rubbed the bridge of her nose between her fingers. The lead that had seemed so promising the day before was turning into another dead end. What about his email service provider? Any chance they could help?
Stacey shrugged. Depends when he got the email. Theyre not really techies, ISPs, just bean counters, she said disparagingly. Theyre only interested in billing, not in keeping records of traffic. Most only keep detailed records for a week. Some for a month. If he got that attachment more than a month ago, weve got no chance. And wed need a court order before theyd hand over the information anyway.
So were screwed. Carols flat statement hung in the air.
Stacey pushed her hair behind her ear. Her self-satisfied smile and her dark almond-shaped eyes made her resemble a cat. Not necessarily. Images like this, theres more to them than meets the eye. Literally. You sometimes get other information encoded in them.
Carol perked up. Like the senders details?
Staceys sigh fell just short of obvious exasperation. Nothing that straightforward. You might get the serial number of the camera that took the picture. Or the registration number of the software the photographer used to process the image electronically. Then its a matter of contacting the manufacturer or the software licence holder and seeing what information they can provide.
Thats scary, Paula said.
Its bloody good news, Carol corrected her. So what are we waiting for?
Stacey stood up. Its going to take time, she warned.
Doesnt everything? Carol leaned back in her chair. Anything you need, Stacey, just let me know. Paula, find out who Ron Alexanders ISP is and see what they can tell us. Its time we brought Tim Golding home.
The doorbell came as a welcome relief. Tony pushed aside the philosophical text on the mind/body problem that had been stretching his brain and hurried down the hall. He opened the door to find Carol leaning against the porch, a bulging plastic carrier in one hand. You ordered a takeaway? she said.
You took your time. Its at least twenty-two hours since I placed my order, he said, stepping back and following her down the hall. The kitchens straight ahead.
Carol looked around, taking in the pine units and the tiled breakfast bar. Very eighties, she said.
Is it? You think thats part of the reason I got it so cheap?
She smiled. Could be. It looks in good nick, though.
All the drawers work, which is a definite improvement on anywhere Ive ever lived before. Now, do you want to eat first or tour the cellar?
What Id really like is a glass of wine. Its been a frustrating day.
OK. Wine we can do. He reached for an opened bottle of Australian Shiraz Cabernet and poured them each a glass. Heres toI dont know, what should we drink to?
An end to frustrations? For both of us?
Tony raised his glass and chinked it against hers. Thats as good as anything. An end to frustrations. He watched her drink, noting the dark shadows under her eyes and the wariness in her body language. She was, he thought, a long way from herself. So, would you like to see the cellarsorry, basement flat?
Carol smiled. Why not?
She followed him back into the hall. He opened a door that looked as if it should be the cupboard under the stairs. Instead, it gave on to a narrow, steep flight of steps illuminated by a bare lightbulb. Tony led the way into a surprisingly high-ceilinged space. This would be the living room, he said, ushering her into a large room that had two shallow but wide windows set high in the walls. It gets a fair bit of natural light. And we could put glass panels in the outside door and build a little porch at the bottom of the steps for security, he added eagerly. I already suggested that to the builder. I know its hard to imagine now, with the walls still being bare brick, but all this will be plaster-boarded. Wood floors. Itll look really nice.
It was a good size. Plenty of room for all she would need, Carol thought. The bedroom was almost as big as the living room, with a surprisingly large bay window. Carol looked around, a smile tugging at the corners of her mouth. Its not bad, you know. I can imagine waking up here.
Tony looked at the floor, suddenly embarrassed. Good, he said. Think about it.
On the way back upstairs, he showed her the recently installed toilet and shower room. White tiled walls gleamed bright under their ceiling spotlights. Clean, fresh, untainted. New, she thought with a surge of excitement. A place without ghosts. I dont need to think about it, Carol said. Whens it going to be ready?
Tony grinned like a small boy. The builder reckons three weeks. Can you stand it at Michaels till then?
Carol leaned against his breakfast bar. I can stand anything if I know its going to end. You think you can stand having me as your downstairs neighbour?
Only if you promise always to have milk. He pulled a wry face. Im very good at running out of it.
Carol smiled. Ill stock up on UHT.
Waiting is never easy. Especially when he knows exactly what hes waiting for. By the time he got out on the street today, he was expecting cops everywhere, police tape cordoning off the ginnel where Sandie worked. He was expecting huddles of people on street corners, muttering about murder and mutilation. He was expecting uniformed officers with clipboards asking people where they were and what they were doing last night.
He remembers what it was like last time. The whole of Temple Fields felt like it had overdosed on whiz. Everybody talking nineteen to the dozen like speed freaks, even the miserable gits who never normally had the time of day for him or anybody else. Until the bizzies walked in. Then silence fell like somebody dropped a blanket over everybodys head.
Thats what he expected this time. But when he went into Stans Café and ordered his usual bacon butty and mug of tea, it was just like any other day. A few of the working girls clustered round greasy tables, taking the weight off their feet for half an hour. A couple of kids from the rent rack cuddling cups of coffee. Various eyes clocking him, wondering if he was carrying any gear. Looking away in disappointmentwhen he gave them a slight shake of the head. Hed get hassle off Big Jimmy when he showed up to collect todays stock. Hed bollock him for being late. Hed hoped the excitement on the street would give him an excuse, but there isnt any.
So he finished his breakfast and moseyed on round to Big Jimmys flat for some stuff to sell. Luckily, the big man wasnt in and he only had to deal with that fuckwit scaghead Drum whos too far out of the world to care what anybody else is doing. Within the half-hour he was back on the pitch, doing the business, hoping nobody wondered where hed been all morning. Hell, most of them had probably still been out cold themselves.