Scott walked away from the corpse, his head spinning. ‘We need to call the police,’ he said, tapping his pockets and checking for his phone. He’d left it in the truck. He turned to go fetch it.
‘Where you going?’ Barry asked.
‘Phone. In the truck.’
Barry followed him, not wanting to be left alone with the dead girl. ‘Wait… Ken wouldn’t have done this.’
‘Then who did?’ Scott demanded, grabbing his phone from the glovebox. He checked the screen. No signal. No surprise.
‘No, no… this isn’t right… He’s panicked, is all. Someone else did this and Ken’s found her and panicked.’
Scott shook his head and tried the phone anyway. Christ, why hadn’t he spent more time thinking about the practicalities of dragging his family to the ends of the Earth like this? Shitty phone coverage, fuel stations about half a tank apart, blood-soaked bodies dumped in forests and retired school teacher’s back gardens… He went back towards the house. ‘I’ll try the landline.’
‘What if Ken’s in there?’
‘Then you can talk to him. He’s your mate.’
Scott tried the back door. It was unlocked. He opened it but paused before going inside. If he hadn’t had Barry with him, he thought he might have just got back in the truck, driven away and pleaded ignorance later.
‘Anyone here? Mr Potter… you in?’
He was standing in the middle of the kitchen, a room as antiquated and untidy as the rest of the house. Strange. There was a half-drunk mug of tea on the counter and an unfinished sandwich, just a couple of bites taken. He touched the side of the cup and it was still warm. Had Ken Potter simply decided to kill that girl right in the middle of his lunch? And there was only one drink and one plate of food… had she turned up unannounced? Had he murdered her on a whim?
‘Ken,’ Barry shouted, his voice echoing. ‘You here, Ken?’
‘I reckon he’s long gone.’
‘I’ll phone for help,’ Barry said, squeezing past and going out into the hallway. He looked around constantly as he picked up the telephone and called the police. Scott followed him out and listened to the empty house around them. He was sure they were alone. Potter had clearly done what he’d done then made a run for it. Strange, then, that he hadn’t taken his car.
‘Well?’ Scott said as Barry replaced the receiver.
‘Sergeant Ross says he’s on way. Says he’s stuck dealing with something else first. We best wait in the truck. Don’t want to be takin’ any chances.’
It was more than an hour before the police arrived. Barry knew each of the men in uniform personally. Sergeant Dan Ross was clearly in charge – older than the others, grey haired, and, it seemed, in no mood to take any crap. With him was PC Mark Hamilton, half the sergeant’s age, but just as professional, and PC Craig Phillips, an altogether more relaxed officer. He remained with the two men in Potter’s cluttered living room while the others secured the scene and waited for back-up to arrive. Barry excused himself and went to the toilet leaving Scott with PC Phillips.
‘I knew he was a wrong-un,’ the PC whispered. Scott was shocked by his lack of professionalism. ‘Can’t say I’m surprised. My old man always said he was capable of it.’
‘Capable of what?’
‘Doin’ what he’s done. You pissed him off at school and you knew you was in trouble.’
‘He taught you as well?’
‘Very few folks round here Ken Potter didn’t teach. Half of Thussock would have been out in the streets celebrating if he’d been the one found dead in the flowerbed.’
‘So what happens now?’
‘Big one, this is,’ the officer explained, giving away too much information but apparently unconcerned. ‘We’ve got everyone working on it. Ties in with the others.’
‘The others?’
‘Aye. Glennaird and Falrigg. Joan Lummock? You must’a seen it on the news.’
‘I saw something…’
‘Never thought it’d be Ken Potter, though. Sick bastard. Still, we’ll have him before long. He won’t get far. Everybody round here knows him. I’ll look forward to seeing him banged up. Might sell a few tickets to that one.’
6
It was almost ten by the time Barry dropped Scott home, the questioning at Potter’s house having gone on for some time. Scott had managed to get the briefest of messages back to Michelle after she’d picked up the girls from school, but the brevity of their conversation had inevitably raised more questions than it answered. There’s been an incident, was all he told her. I have to give a statement.
‘What happened, love?’ she asked the moment he was through the door. ‘I’ve been going out of my mind.’
He looked up. Phoebe was at the top of the stairs. Tammy appeared in the living room doorway. ‘Not in front of the kids,’ he said and Michelle shooed the girls away then followed him into the kitchen. She fetched him his dried-up meal and a drink and put them down in front of him. He just stared at his food.
She held off for as long as she could, wanting to give him a chance to get over whatever it was that had happened, but after a couple of minutes she could wait no longer. ‘You going to talk to me?’
‘I found a dead body,’ he said, and the combination of such unexpected news being delivered so abruptly, so tactlessly, took her by surprise.
‘You… you found what?’ she stammered.
He looked up at her face, a mask of seriousness but with a definite hint of disbelief, bordering on a smirk. ‘You heard me. I made a delivery, but one of the blokes at the yard fucked it up. I had to go back to the same customer’s house later with the boss and…’
‘What had happened to him?’
‘Nothing. He’d gone. Done a runner. Left a girl in his back garden, badly fucked up.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘What do you think I mean? He’d cut her up, Michelle. Looked like he’d had his way with her, then cut her up. Sick fucker sliced her fanny to pieces.’
Michelle visibly recoiled, again both because of what he’d said and how he’d said it. He took a couple of half-hearted mouthfuls of food, then shoved the plate away.
‘Want me to cook you something fresh?’
He shook his head. ‘Nah.’
‘Want a beer or something?’
Another shake of the head.
‘Want me to—’
‘I want you to shut up, Chelle,’ he said. ‘Give me some space.’
‘Sorry.’
He looked at her, watched her watching him. ‘I’ve been answering questions all day. Just don’t want another load, that’s all.’
‘I understand.’
‘It’s not your fault.’
How could it be my fault, she thought but didn’t dare say. She could only imagine what he’d been through today, this coming on top of everything else. She sat down next to him and cautiously put her hand on top of his. When he didn’t react, she held it a little tighter.
‘How did the girls get on at school?’ he asked.
‘Fine. Both miserable as hell, complaining about the kids and the teachers and how much homework they’ve got. They’ve settled in quick. That’s exactly how they were in Redditch.’
He managed half a smile and seemed to relax slightly. ‘George all right?’
‘He’s fine. He missed you tonight, though.’
‘I’ll see him in the morning.’
‘That’s what I told him.’
‘I think I will have that beer,’ he said, and Michelle got up to fetch it from the fridge. She took the lid off the bottle and handed it to him. He gestured for her to sit back down. ‘And what have you been doing with yourself today?’