Henry rubbed his neck and rolled his head. His bones creaked and cracked. ‘God, I’m whacked.’
Danny stood up and walked behind him. She began to massage his shoulders through his jacket. Her fingers probed into his muscles. He groaned, not far short of ecstasy.
‘ That is wonderful,’ he murmured. His toes tingled. He dropped his chin onto his chest and revelled in the sensation.
‘ In another time, on another planet, I’ll lay odds we could have been good together,’ Danny whispered into his ear.
‘ It’s a nice thought,’ he responded, taking one of Danny’s hands and squeezing it.
Danny kissed his neck, sending a shiver of absolute pleasure down his spine. ‘Come on, Henry, let’s get some sleep. Busy day tomorrow.’
They strolled back to the police station car park, arm-in-arm, Danny with her head resting on Henry’s shoulder. He drove her home and dropped her off. On the way to his own home he was quite proud of himself. Not very long ago he would have been in bed with her — or at least he would have tried to be. It wasn’t that he did not like the idea of it, but he was a reformed character where women were concerned. Too many close shaves had made him see his family was more important than his libido. Never again did he want to hurt his wife or children.
Meanwhile Danny undressed and wished she was climbing into bed with him, but knew it would never happen. She was glad Henry had been strong for them both. She knew that if he had laid a hand on her, she would have been unable to resist and then she would have been in the fire, just having jumped out of the frying pan.
Chapter Nineteen
‘ The search teams and forensic have ripped that flat apart, been down the toilet, up the U-bends, down the drains, everywhere. They worked through the night and are still beavering away as we speak, but early indications are that there is nothing, nothing at all, which will be of evidential use to link Claire Lilton to that flat and those two men.’
Danny had returned to work at 6 a.m., having cadged a lift from one of the early-turn officers. She had liaised with the specialists, checking on the progress of that side of the investigation; it was eight now and she was briefing the murder squad, Henry and FB included.
‘ What have we recovered from Gilbert’s house?’
‘ Child pornography — videos, magazines, books, hard copy from the Internet… possibly some cocaine, but only a small amount… sexual aids and several little black books containing names and addresses of people who, we believe, are his associates in the aforementioned areas. They contain detailed information on sexual preferences, likes, dislikes. My feeling is that Gilbert and Spencer are part of a paedophile ring; my guess is Ollie Spencer does the legwork, finding the kids — probably like the two we found in his flat yesterday — and once he and Gilbert have finished with them, they get sucked into the ring. There’s a lot of codes in his books. If we ever crack them, or he tells us that they mean, I think it’ll tell us the story of some poor kids.’
‘ But right now we want to hang a murder on him, don’t we?’ FB said. ‘So let’s concentrate on that for the time being. Where the hell do we stand on that?’
Danny shook her head sadly. ‘It’s looking more and more like we’re going to have to rely on Grace’s evidence. Gilbert and Spencer have obviously been really thorough as regards cleaning up after their wrongdoings, and the only thing they didn’t deal with properly was Grace. She’s all we’ve got for the moment, and I’m not happy with that. It puts too much pressure on her and makes our case very weak.’
Henry checked the time. ‘Better get going. They’ve both been in custody over twelve hours now; another twelve and we’ll be after a Superintendent’s extension.’
Gilbert and Spencer were interviewed all day, sometimes for extended periods, sometimes in short bursts. All the time Danny and Henry kept an eye on their rights, ensuring they got adequate breaks and refreshments and the interviews were conducted fairly and without oppression.
All in all, very frustrating.
Being polite to people suspected of murdering kids did not come easy to either detective and as the day wore on, the veneer cracked occasionally. Particularly when they could see they were getting nowhere fast.
Neither prisoner admitted anything which would incriminate them in the murder, not even when the detectives — reluctantly — played their best hand and dropped Grace’s evidence on their laps.
At 6 p.m. that day, decisions needed to be made.
‘ Let me get this straight: as it stands at the moment, the only thing that will convict me now is the evidence from that little girl.’
‘ That’s true, but the task of discrediting her story would not be too onerous, I would suggest.’
Gilbert spread his sausage-like fingers on the table. ‘The only problem is, she knows some things only an eye-witness would know. She saw us bashing the girl’s face and she saw us drag her into the shower and wash her; she also saw us get rid of the bedding. It’s little things like that which make her story all too real.’
‘ You’re right,’ Stanway agreed.
‘ I think,’ Gilbert pointed at Stanway, ‘it would be better for all of us if that young lady were unable to give evidence, don’t you, Maurice?’
Stanway went icy from head to toe. His throat constricted. He squeaked, ‘What do you mean? You want her paid off, or something?’
Gilbert chuckled evilly at Stanway’s misconception. His pig eyes bored into Stanway’s. ‘No, I mean that for all concerned, she would be better off dead.’
Stanway’s rectum squinted as he held back a fart of fear. ‘You mean..?’
‘ Are you fucking thick, Maurice? I thought you had a law degree.’
‘ I… I do. I…’ He was dumb for a moment, then blurted, ‘What are you suggesting?’
Gilbert leaned on the table which creaked under his weight. His voice was just above a whisper, but was dangerous nonetheless. ‘Go and see my co-defendant, Mr Spencer, and tell him to give you the name of someone who will, for a fee, be happy to go and visit our young lady-friend, wherever she may be, and put a pillow over her face, or whatever is most appropriate.’
‘ I can’t do that.’
‘ You can and you will.’
Stanway’s bottom lip flapped uncontrollably like an awning in high winds as he babbled nervously, ‘I’m a solicitor, not someone who organises contracts on people. And anyway, we don’t know where they’re keeping the girl. She’s in secure accommodation somewhere.’
‘ And that’s a problem for you?’
‘ It is.’
Gilbert’s voice did not change, but to Stanway’s ears it became more and more menacing.
‘ Are you telling me you cannot walk out of here, pick up a phone and speak to one of our like-minded colleagues in the Social Services — and they would be unwilling to give you that information? Is that what you’re telling me?’
‘ No, but…’
‘ But what? Now let me spell this out for you, Maurice. In more ways than one I am very big in the Northwest of England. Very rich, very well-connected. I’m sure I’ll be able to ride out the storm caused by the material the police have found in my house, but facing a murder charge is a very different kettle of fish.’ He lifted an eyebrow. ‘I know you have a predilection for putting your twinkle into the bottoms of little boys…’ The solicitor started to babble a protest; Gilbert held up a hand to shut him up. ‘I don’t have a problem with that, Maurice, as you know, but what I’m leading up to is this: many of my friends and business associates have the same bent, shall we say. I could reel off a list of names of businessmen, councillors, school governors, all sorts of people — solicitors, even. So, what I’m getting at is this — if I get done for murder, lots more heads will roll, Maurice. Including yours, my friend.’