‘I think I heard something …’ Rik stood back, knocked again, but not so dramatically. Just another door to add to the hundreds he’d knocked on in his career. He waited for a reply with a certain amount of diffidence.
Henry folded his arms patiently and glanced toward his car. Still OK.
There was a shuffle behind the door. The security chain was either slid back or slipped into place. Then it opened, and the chain was on: a face peered through the four-inch gap. ‘Yes?’
‘Afternoon, Percy, I think you know me.’ Just in case he didn’t, Rik extended his arm and thrust his warrant card into Pearson’s face.
Pearson didn’t even look, but a big, frightened eye — the only one they could see — flicked from one detective to the other.
‘DS Rik Dean from Blackpool nick, as you know. This is DCI Christie from the Force Major Incident Team.’ Rik wasn’t having any misunderstandings here, even though he knew Pearson did know him.
‘Well I don’t know what you want with me. I was locked up last week and now I’m on conditional bail, which I haven’t broken.’ It was a very whiny voice.
‘I know, I know,’ Rik cooed reassuringly. ‘We’re not saying you have done anything, but we’d like to have a chat with you all the same.’ His hands spread wide in an open gesture. ‘You might be able to help us.’
‘I doubt it,’ Pearson said, ‘and if you haven’t got a warrant, you’re not coming in here.’
He was about to slam the door. Rik managed to step in and wedge his shoulder against it, preventing it from closing. Henry came in behind his colleague and over Rik’s shoulder said, ‘Red rag to a bull, Mr Pearson. You chose to say some very poor words, because when we get told we need a warrant, that makes us very sus indeed, usually meaning that we don’t bother getting one, we just come in anyway.’
‘I’m hiding nothing,’ he protested.
‘Open the door then, and let us in,’ Henry said reasonably.
‘OK, OK, but you need to step back.’
‘And if you lock us out,’ Rik warned, ‘we’ll kick the door in and think of a reason after, got that?’
Pearson nodded. Rik and Henry took a step back. The door closed. For a moment they thought they were going to have to make good their promise about forcing an entry, but then the chain slid back and the door opened slowly. A wary sex offender said, ‘Come in,’ and led them through to the living room. It was a bare, basic place. Cheap furniture, big TV, DVD and video, and a computer in the corner, which attracted Henry’s attention.
‘You lot’ve got my hard drive,’ Pearson said.
Henry looked at him properly for the first time. Saw a middle-aged man with pockmarks cratering his face and a look in his eyes which showed fear. Pearson was breathing shallowly, and Henry could have sworn he heard the man’s heart beating.
‘No need to be nervous,’ Henry told him with a wicked smile, making him even more tense. There was something wrong, Henry sensed. His eyes narrowed. ‘Just want a chat, Percy, that’s all.’
‘D’you want to sit?’
‘I’ll stand,’ Henry said, not wishing to lose any advantage. ‘Move around a bit, if you don’t mind.’
‘Me too,’ said Rik, also sensing Pearson’s unease. The detectives circled like hawks.
‘What d’you want?’
Maybe it was simply the fact that two cops had arrived unannounced and were invading his space that made Pearson nervous; the fact that it was hugely apparent they immediately disliked him and that here he was, alone with two big guys who might want to do him damage. Maybe that’s why he’s all jittery, Henry thought.
‘I believe you’re on the sex offenders register,’ Henry put to him. Pearson blinked, swallowed, looked pale, nodded. ‘How long for?’
‘Life,’ he whispered. ‘But I’ve signed on and done everything I’m supposed to do.’
‘That’s good, even though you still are committing offences,’ Henry pointed out, happy to continue to make Pearson squirm, even though he knew he was being a bit naughty.
‘Allegedly,’ he retorted primly. Then, ‘What do you want?’
‘You were in a probation hostel in Accrington,’ Rik said.
‘Which you already know … look, what is this?’
‘You were there with a guy called George Uren.’
Pearson’s mouth closed tightly. ‘And?’
‘We want to know where he lives,’ Henry said.
‘I already told you lot last week. I’ve seen him knocking about in Fleetwood, but I don’t know where he lives. God, I wish I’d never opened my trap.’
‘According to the hostel records, you were pretty pally with him.’
‘Hm! That bitch Harcourt tell you that? Well she’s wrong. He was a bloke I talked to, that’s all. Nothing more.’
‘Sharing experiences?’ Rik cut in with a sneer. Pearson’s eyes turned to Rik. He licked his lips.
‘We talked … that’s all. He wasn’t a man I particularly liked, OK?’
Suddenly, the heads of all three men turned to a door off the living room which Henry guessed led to the bedroom. Was it a scratching noise?
‘Someone in there?’ Rik demanded. ‘You not alone?’
Henry focused closely on Pearson, himself now tense, wondering if they’d stumbled on to something. There was a faint meow. Pearson crossed the room with an angry look on his face and opened the door six inches, allowing a tiny kitten to tumble through the gap. Pearson lifted it up in the palm of his hand and closed the door. The expression on his face morphed into one of triumph tinged with … Henry attempted to work it out, then got it: relief.
‘Just my cat, Nigel.’
‘So, nothing more than a passing acquaintance with Uren, then?’ Henry said, resuming the conversation.
‘Exactly. He is not the sort of person I wish to be associated with.’
‘Why not?’ Rik queried.
‘Erm …’
Henry’s head jerked toward the bedroom again, his whole concentration on it, a tingle of static crackling through him as his senses clicked into overdrive. He was certain he’d heard something else, not just a cat. His head revolved slowly to regard Pearson. ‘Who’s in that room?’ he asked quietly.
‘Nobody,’ he snapped defensively.
The cold, hard eyes of the detectives picked up Pearson in their glare, deeply suspicious.
‘Another cat?’ Henry said. Pearson’s mouth stayed clamped shut. ‘Have you anything to hide, Percy?’
‘No.’ It was just a whisper of denial, no strength in it.
‘Then you won’t mind if we have a glance,’ Rik said, taking a step to the door. Cat still in hand, Pearson made a sudden move toward him. Rik came up sharp. ‘Yes?’ he said. Pearson stopped, his countenance desperate with indecision.
‘You need a warrant.’
‘Like hell,’ Rik said. ‘I need fuck all.’ His hand reached the door handle and rested on it, then pushed it down and pushed the door which swung open on its hinges, revealing a dimly-lit bedroom beyond, a double bed up against the back wall and an indistinguishable shape upon it, under the duvet.
The detectives shared a quick glance, then Henry looked at Pearson whose shoulders dropped in a gesture of defeat. ‘You fibbed.’
Rik took a step into the bedroom, his broad frame filling the doorway, his back now to both Henry and Pearson.
Pearson moved with sudden violence, catching both men off guard. His right hand, the one holding the kitten, swung in Henry’s direction and with all his might he hurled the poor feline at him, a tiny bundle of fur and claws flying across the room and slamming into Henry’s face, a squeal emitting from both man and beast with the shock.
Then Pearson lunged at Rik’s back, his right arm raised.
Henry scrabbled the kitten away, sending it sprawling into the safety of the settee; at the same time he saw a flash of silver in Pearson’s raised hand and immediately realized it was a knife — where the hell had it come from? — and it was plunging toward Rik’s unprotected back.
A primitive roar of unintelligible sound uttered from Henry’s throat as he tried to warn his colleague, whilst at the same time he dove at Pearson. But even then, in that nanosecond, he knew Pearson had the advantage. He was close to Rik. Henry was too far away. And Henry knew he could not stop the arc of the blade, which he now saw clearly was thin, narrow, about seven inches long. A knife which could easily kill.