‘These children aren’t lying about having been abused,’ Detective Inspector,’
Maria interjected. ‘I’m sure of that. There has been abuse.’
‘I don’t deny that,’ Talbot conceded. ‘But not by the Devil.’ He shook his head. ‘Those kids were abused by someone dressed like fucking Satan or they thought he was because they were drugged or they’d been watching videos with the Devil in. It’s simple logic’
‘So, it’s simple logic the kids who described the taste of blood had read it, right?’ Cath said, scornfully. ‘Four-and five-year-olds?
Bullshit, Talbot.’
The policeman turned towards Maria. ‘You’re the expert, what do you think?’
‘I would say that, from my experience and from what I’ve read and heard, there is evidence of ritual abuse in this case,’ Maria said.
‘Just because five of the kids drew a picture of the Devil?’ Talbot said, dismissively.
‘No, not just because of that, because of the other things they’ve said in their statements. Too many incidents point to ritual abuse,’ Maria insisted.
‘And these children are terrified. Not just for themselves but for their families. They’re afraid of something hurting their parents and grandparents.
Something that has already hurt them.’
‘It’s an abuse ring, pure and simple,’ Talbot said.
‘What makes you such an expert?’ Cath snapped.
If only you knew.
Talbot felt the hairs at the back of his neck rise. ‘I know,’ he said, quietly, avoiding eye contact with Cath.
She studied him thoughtfully for a moment, wondering where the brashness and abrasiveness had gone momentarily. For bewildering seconds Talbot seemed to change visibly before her, his features softening.
Come on, get a fucking grip.
Aware of three sets of eyes upon him he managed to shrug off the painful recollection.
‘What are these?’ he demanded, pointing at the grey rectangular shapes on each piece of paper.
‘That’s what we’ve been trying to find out,’ Maria said. ‘It’s where the children say they were taken, where they were hurt. It seems to be a building of some kind.’
Talbot looked at several more of the sketches.
‘And this?’ he said, showing the sketches to Rafferty.
On several of the drawings, the rectangular blocks had squiggly blue lines drawn in front of them.
‘It’s meant to be water, isn’t it?’ the DS mused.
‘Big grey buildings close to water’ Talbot echoed.
Rafferty swallowed hard. ‘Jesus Christ,’ he whispered. ‘I think I know what they are.’
All eyes turned towards him.
‘The warehouses at Limehouse Reach’ the DS continued. ‘The big buildings with only a few windows, the water nearby. That’s what they’re meant to be, I’d bet money on it. That’s where these kids were taken.’
Sixty-five
‘You explain it then, Jim,’ said DS Rafferty, glancing across at his companion who was gazing out of the side window of the car peering at two young women on the zebra crossing. He seemed more concerned with the duo than with the words of his colleague.
One of the young women turned and saw Talbot staring at her. She said something to her friend, both of them laughed then waved at him. He looked away.
‘Jim’ Rafferty said, more loudly.
Talbot looked at the DS.
‘If they’re not the warehouses, what are they?’ Rafferty persisted.
‘I’m not arguing with you about the possibility they might be.’
‘And you don’t find it just a little bit curious that the unexplained suicides of three men we’ve investigated could be linked with those same buildings?’
‘Come on, Bill, you’re clutching at straws now.’
‘Why? We don’t know that Jeffrey, Hyde and Parriam weren’t involved.’
‘In child abuse?’ Talbot shook his head.
‘Maybe that was why they killed themselves. Perhaps they were scared of being found out.’
Talbot exhaled wearily.
‘Come on, Jim, for Christ’s sake, at least admit that there might be a link’
the DS said, exasperatedly.
‘We don’t even know if the things that those kids drew were those warehouse, do we? If we’re wrong, then-‘
‘Then we’re wrong’ Rafferty snapped. ‘But it’s worth checking out.’
‘You said that two of the three men had received threatening phone calls shortly before they topped themselves, right?’
‘It could have been parents of the abused kids. Perhaps they knew who was doing the abusing. Hyde and Parriam were told to back off.’
‘If they’d been found out as child molesters, don’t you think the callers might have done more than just warned them off?’
‘So what the fuck do you think?’ snapped Rafferty.
‘I think that everyone’s overreacting. The social workers, the media. I don’t doubt for one minute that this is a genuine child abuse case, but linked with satanism? Do me a favour. And now you ‘re trying to tell me that three unexplained suicides might come into the same picture. There’s too many loose ends, Bill.’
‘But if the warehouses where those kids were molested-‘
Talbot held up a hand to silence his companion.
‘No one knows that’s what those drawings are meant to be’ he said, quickly.
‘We’re assuming. Because if we’re right then maybe, and it’s a big fucking maybe, we’ve got something a bit more substantial.’ He ran a hand through his hair. ‘Until then, we’re no closer.’ He looked at his watch.
The traffic was heavy.
It would take them another hour or more to get to Limehouse Reach.
Catherine Reed had tried his mobile number.
Nothing.
Now she tried to reach Phillip Cross by his pager, wondering where the hell he was and, more importantly, how long it would be before he called her back.
Where was he?
Almost as a last resort, she tried his home number. The phone rang.
Cath waited.
And waited.
Frank Reed wandered slowly back and forth in the main hall, peering alternately at his watch and the rows of children seated in the hall, heads down over their papers.
The only thing that interrupted the silence was the odd cough or sneeze and, on one occasion, the particularly loud rumbling of a child’s stomach.
Reed smiled to himself and performed his slow, measured trek once more before returning to his desk,
which was set on top of the stage overlooking the hall.
As he sat down he glanced out of one of the large picture windows which ran the length of the hall on either side. To his left he could see the street beyond.
He’d first noticed the police car parked there over an hour ago.
It hadn’t moved.
From his vantage point he could see that there were two uniformed men seated inside. The driver kept removing his cap, adjusting the headgear as if it was too tight or uncomfortable.
Reed watched them for a moment longer, then picked up the book he’d been
intermittently glancing at.
When he looked out again, thirty minutes later, the police car was still there.
The time had come at last.
She knew the one she sought. She knew where to find her.
She even knew what she looked like. There had been a photo next to an article she’d found a day or two earlier.
But she felt fear.
It was an emotion she knew well.
They would find her soon, she was convinced of that.
Shanine Connor rubbed her swollen belly.
She took one last look at the photo of Catherine Reed, then folded the piece of paper and pushed it back into her jeans.
Sixty-six
‘Where the hell do we start?’ murmured Rafferty quietly, looking at the high wire fence which faced them.