Chapter 17
When Harlan next awoke, a nurse was setting out his breakfast. His heart sat like a stone in his chest at the knowledge that another night had passed. Although he had no appetite, desperate to regain his strength, he ate everything there was to the last crumb of toast. Afterwards, he watched the morning news. Jamie Sutton’s face was all over it. The screen showed photos of a bright-eyed, smiling, chubby-cheeked schoolboy who bore only a passing resemblance to the boy Harlan had rescued. There was an interview with a po-faced detective who, apart from stating that a suspect had been arrested, refused to answer any questions, saying only that this was an ongoing investigation. Speculation was rife in the studio as to the suspect’s identity and whether there was any connection to the abductions of Jack Holland and Ethan Reed. The term ‘serial child abductor’ was bandied around. Jamie’s rescue was a big story in itself, but the journalists smelled an even bigger one. There was a camera shot of a police car blocking the dirt road to the caravan, followed by a sweeping aerial shot of the treetops. Yellow and white forensic tents had been erected over the caravan and the entrance to the caves. A line of policemen could be glimpsed advancing slowly through the woods, combing the undergrowth.
Tagged onto the end of the report was a short piece about a lantern vigil that’d been held for Ethan. Hundreds of people had gathered at a park close to his home to launch Chinese lanterns with prayers for Ethan attached to them. The lanterns rose into the night sky like fiery jewels, borne by the wind to some unknown destination. The preacher, Lewis Gunn, said that the event had raised more than forty-thousand pounds for the reward fund. There was no sign of Susan, which was hardly surprising considering what was going on elsewhere. Even so, her absence deepened Harlan’s anxiety for her.
Forehead drawn into lines, Harlan turned off the television. It wasn’t only Ethan and Susan that troubled him. It was the fact that the DI had said ‘suspect’ when he should’ve said ‘suspects’. Clearly the police still didn’t have sufficient evidence to bring charges against Jones.
There was a knock at the door and Jim entered the room. “Morning. You’re looking a lot better.”
Harlan read the lines of sombre weariness etched into his ex-partner’s face. “Do I even need to ask if you’ve found him?”
Jim dropped heavily onto a chair. “We’re still searching the caves, but if you ask me he’s not down there.”
“What makes you say that?”
“We’ve searched to a depth of over two hundred feet. Why would Nash take Ethan so far down, when he kept Jamie and the dead boy close to the surface?”
“Maybe he kept Ethan somewhere else. After all, he took Jack Holland to the storm-drain, not the caves.”
“Or maybe Ethan’s buried somewhere in those woods.”
Harlan shook his head. “He wouldn’t have buried him. He likes to keep their bodies where he can see and touch them, so he can relive the crime, extend the fantasy. Have you finished searching Mary Webster’s house?”
“We’ve torn the fucking place apart. Pulled up every floorboard. Dug up the cellar and garden. Nothing.”
“What about Nash. Has he spoken?”
“Not a fucking word.” Sighing, Jim rubbed his craggy eyes. “We’ve been going at him day and night, but he just stares off into space like a zombie.”
“Sounds like you need some kind of fresh angle. Has he got any family or friends?”
“Both his parents are dead. No siblings. An aunt and a couple of cousins in Birmingham. No one he cares about enough to stay in touch with. Mary Webster’s the closest thing he’s got to a friend.”
“Then maybe she’s the angle you’re looking for. Why not let her talk to him? See if she can appeal to his conscience.”
Jim’s nose scrunched up. “That scumbag’s got no conscience.”
“Not when it comes to his victims. They’re nothing more than objects to him. Tools to satisfy his desires. But Mary Webster’s something different. She’s a vulnerable old woman with no family. She was totally in his power. He could easily have abused her. But he didn’t. Why?”
“Because he needed her.”
“Maybe it’s the other way around. Maybe she was the first person in his life who’d really needed him. And that made him feel good — good in a way nothing else had done before.” Harlan’s eyes faded away from Jim’s. He suddenly found himself thinking about Tom. All his life he’d felt lonely. Even after he got together with Eve. But the first time he’d cradled Tom in his arms, and gazed into his tiny, helpless eyes, the pangs of loneliness had been replaced by a warm sense of being needed that’d made him feel capable of doing anything.
Jim’s voice jerked Harlan back into the room. “When you put it like that, it’s got to be worth a shot.”
“You reckon Garrett will agree to it?”
“I don’t see he’s got a choice. We need to come up with something fast. In fact, I’ll call him right now.” Pulling out his phone, Jim left the room. He returned after several minutes, his manner more brisk and animated. “He wasn’t entirely convinced, the idea of using the old woman makes him nervous, but he’s going to set it up. You know, Harlan, I’ve got a good feeling about this. If anyone can get through to Nash, surely it’s her.” He looked at Harlan with a regretful, admiring gleam in his eyes. “Christ, I wish you could be there when she speaks to him. I’ve never known anyone who could get inside the heads of bastards like him, like you can.”
“Any other developments I should know about?”
“The pathologist’s report on the body came in. We got a dental ID. His name’s Lee Dale. He was an eight-year old Stockport boy who went missing on his way home from school in 2003.”
“That’s the year Jones and Nash met. Don’t tell me that’s coincidence.”
Jim shook his head. “You know what I think about coincidences.” The furrows on his forehead turned into ravines. “Problem is we still can’t connect Jones to the crime scenes.”
“For fuck’s sake, Jim, he took me to the caravan. What more do you need?”
“Hard forensic evidence. You know as well as I do what’d happen if we prosecuted Jones on the basis of information you tortured out of him: you’d be the one who ended up in prison, not him.”
“Don’t go cutting any deals with that fucker just to keep me out of prison.”
“No one’s cutting those kinds of deals. If Jones agrees not to press charges, it’ll be because he knows we’ll make his life a living hell otherwise. If we get any evidence on him, he’s going down. It’s as simple as that.”
“And if you can’t get the evidence, what then?”
“We will. Even if there are no forensics and Nash refuses to crack, I’ll find some way to nail the bastard. Trust me.”
Harlan did trust Jim. But he didn’t trust the system. He’d seen scumbags like Jones slip through its net too many times. And Jim was a dutiful, if somewhat pessimistic, servant of the system. That was why he’d been partnered with Harlan — to rein in his maverick tendencies. And it’d worked, for the most part, whilst they were partners. But they weren’t partners anymore. He thought about Jamie painting a picture in the air in his car. If bodies were Nash’s trophies, paintings were Jones’s. Somewhere there was a place where Jones kept his most prized trophies. Finding that place was the key to nailing him. But how to find it? Harlan heaved a sigh, hoping Jim would prove right and he’d never be forced to search for the answer to that question. “So what else did the pathologist’s report say?”
“Exactly when Lee Dale died can’t be established for certain, but the advanced state of decay indicates he’s been dead for around seven years. Which means Nash kept him alive for a year or so. Cause of death was inconclusive. He’d suffered more than a dozen fractures, but no single injury that was enough to kill him. Most probably he died from an accumulation of injuries combined with the effects of malnutrition.”