Brigands M. C. (6 page)

‘A crime is like your dinner,’ Ross explained. ‘You want to get right on the case while it’s hot. Information you give us today is more valuable than the same information might be tomorrow.’

Dante was finally listening to Ross Johnson. As he turned the tap off, he looked up and saw that the big man was holding out paper towels to dry his hands.

‘My dad didn’t like the police,’ Dante said nervously, as he dried between his fingers. ‘He told me never to speak to cops if they came to the house. But I don’t think that’s what my mum would have wanted. It was the Führer, trying to get my dad to sign papers letting them knock down the clubhouse. Felicity was there. He pulled a gun when my dad said no.’

Ross was excited by this information, but at the same time raised a hand indicating that he wanted Dante to stop talking. ‘Dante, what we need to do is take you to an interview room where I can get everything you say on tape, OK?’

Ross opened the door and Kate was stunned to see Dante chatting away. She didn’t complain, but felt miffed that after all of her efforts to get Dante to come out of his shell he’d opened up after a chance encounter in the gents.

‘I want a cheeseburger and chips from Bay Burgers and loads of ketchup,’ Dante said confidently as Kate led him back down the corridor with Ross striding behind.

Dante suddenly felt odd, but also important. His brain ran at fifty times normal speed and the aches in his head were replaced by sparks of energy.

‘And I don’t want to go back in that horrible room,’ he added. ‘It’s too stuffy.’ Then he stopped suddenly and turned towards Kate. ‘My sister Holly! What was it you told me about Holly?’

Kate smiled. ‘Holly is in the hospital. She had some stitches and lost a lot of blood. She’ll be in hospital for a few days but she’s going to be fine.’

Kate opened the door of the little room with the cushions and toys, but Dante was repelled by the dead air and the sense of gloom he’d felt as he lay on the cushions.

‘I hate this room,’ he said.

‘It’s just for a minute until we find somewhere else,’ Kate explained.

‘We’ll find a room with a window that opens,’ Ross said warmly. ‘You can eat your burger while I set up the tape recorder.’

An image of Jordan and Mum flickered in Dante’s mind. He felt like he was balanced on a cliff’s edge. He was terrified that the room and the cushions would send him back into the aching black space where his mind had spent the last six hours.

‘I can’t go back in there,’ he said, breaking into a loud sob. ‘I want my mum back. Why did this have to happen to
me
?’

Kate went down on one knee and scooped Dante into her arms. His grip felt surprisingly strong as he grasped her with tears streaking down his face.

Three hours later Ross Johnson came out of an interview room looking stressed. Five long strides took him into an incident room. Chief Inspector Jane Lindsay was the uniformed officer in charge of the murder inquiry. She stood by the window, peering into darkness at the press gathered in the car park downstairs.

‘They can wait there all night,’ she sighed. ‘They’ve had the only statement they’re getting.’

Ross furrowed his brow as he followed the senior officer’s gaze. Most of the journalists sat on the low wall around the car park or in the open doorways of their cars. A vaguely familiar face from the BBC wore a high-necked black coat. She was going out live on twenty-fourhour news, while the correspondent from Sky stood behind her camera trying to put her off by making dickhead gestures.

‘So,’ Chief Inspector Lindsay asked, as she looked back at Ross. ‘How’s our star witness holding up?’

‘Dante’s in shock,’ Ross said. ‘He’s having what we call a manic response: one minute he’s full of beans, the next he’s crying and asking for his mum. But he held it together for long enough to record a decent witness statement.’

‘Do you think he’ll make a good witness in court?’ Lindsay asked.

‘He’s only eight, but I’d say so,’ Ross nodded. ‘I had a brief conversation with his teacher. She said Dante’s one of the two or three brightest kids in his year. Good all-rounder, confident and popular. Only trouble is he can be a bit rough in the playground, but she says they’ve got a few bikers’ sons at the school and they’re all the same. They idolise their dads and the macho posturing rubs off on them.’

‘We might need a strong witness,’ Lindsay said. ‘The Führer had half an hour to clean up the house before Dante reached the payphone and forensics reckon he did a pretty thorough job. All the bodies are badly burned and what wasn’t burned got a soaking when the fire brigade doused the flames.’

‘What about away from the scene?’ Ross asked. ‘Tyre tracks, petrol cans, eyewitnesses?’

‘Not yet, but we’re hoping,’ Lindsay said. ‘I’ve dealt with Brigands cases before. The Führer will have torched his clothes and shoes. The weapons will have been taken away and melted down.’

‘Has the Führer been pulled for questioning yet?’ Ross asked.

Lindsay shook her head. ‘We thought he might choose to disappear for a few days, but he seems confident. We knocked on his door, asked him a few questions and explained that we wanted to impound his bike in conjunction with a murder investigation. He told the officers to go ahead, but they found the bike on the floor of his workshop in a hundred and sixteen pieces, fitted with a brand new set of tyres that’ll make it impossible to trace tyre tracks.’

‘Shit,’ Ross said, shaking his head. ‘What about the other Brigands, someone must know something?’

‘They’ll never speak to cops,’ Lindsay said.

Ross raised an eyebrow in surprise. ‘But in this instance. I mean, two of their own people dead. A woman, two kids …’

‘Someone in the gang might have a problem,’ Lindsay acknowledged. ‘But if they do, they’ll deal with it within the club and the first we’ll know is when another body turns up. So, unless forensics find something spectacular, or an eye witness comes forward, I’d say that this case is going to hinge on the quality of Dante’s eye witness testimony. I just hope he’s not telling any fibs.’

‘I think he’s solid,’ Ross said. ‘Except for the bloody T-shirt.’

‘What T-shirt?’

‘Forensics found one of Dante’s T-shirts in a bush alongside the house,’ Ross explained. ‘It was covered in blood. I asked the boy and he said his friend Joe had a nosebleed while they were playing.’

‘So are they following the story up?’ Lindsay asked.

Ross sighed. ‘Joe is the Führer’s youngest son. Same age as Dante, same class at school. The thing is, the way the blood is spattered across the shirt it doesn’t look like any nosebleed that I ever saw. And when I mentioned it to Kate, she said that Dante had dried blood on his arm and under his fingernails when he got here. The doctor who examined him took swabs and photographs.’

‘Dammit,’ Lindsay cursed.

Ross shrugged. ‘I’m guessing he caught this Joe with his elbow or something and doesn’t want to tell me because he’s scared he’ll get into trouble for fighting.’

‘Most likely,’ Lindsay nodded. ‘But the fact that Dante lied undermines his credibility as a witness.’

‘Still,’ Ross said, ‘Dante’s given us an hour’s worth of testimony. I don’t think anybody will believe that an eight-year-old is capable of making up a story in that kind of detail.’

Lindsay shrugged. ‘Let’s hope, eh?’

‘What are we gonna do with Dante?’ Ross asked. ‘Did you get anywhere trying to track down a relative?’

Lindsay shook her head. ‘Scotty was a product of the care system. No known father, mother deceased. There’s an uncle, but he’s in Wandsworth prison and won’t be available for babysitting duties until 2011. On Dante’s mother’s side there’s one grandparent, but she’s in a psychiatric hospital and there’s no aunts or uncles.’

‘Shit,’ Ross said.

Lindsay shrugged. ‘A healthy boy with a tragic sob-story background and cute baby sister. They’ll get snapped up for adoption. I know it’s sad, but in the long run it’s probably better
not
being brought up by some biker scumbag.’

Ross nodded. ‘I was actually thinking about tonight. Dante’s the only witness. The Führer’s going to want him dead. We can’t have an eight-year-old living in a police station, but we’ve got to find somewhere safe.’

‘Could you deal with that?’ Lindsay asked. ‘Maybe take him under your wing for a few days, until we find a foster home in a safe location? You’re the only person he’s responded to. We’ll find a couple of nice rooms in a hotel.’

‘Sounds reasonable,’ Ross said. ‘I’m a London boy, so I’ve got to find a hotel anyway. I’d suggest somewhere at least an hour’s drive from Salcombe. I’ll need some shopping money as well. He’s got nothing except the clothes he’s standing up in.’

*

Every time Dante woke up he hoped it was a dream. He wanted to find himself back in his own bed with the floor piled with junk and Jordan’s teenage odour in the air. But this was the third morning he’d woken in a king-sized bed at the Bristol Park Hotel, after a night of drug-induced sleep.

Nothing could compensate for the loss of Dante’s family, but the plush hotel did at least provide some novel distractions: room service, mini bar, on-demand movies and best of all swimming pool at the end of the hall.

Dante’s family weren’t rich. He’d never stayed in a hotel before and he’d worn hand-me-downs from Jordan all his life. It felt satisfying peeling sticky labels and tags from new BHS boxers and socks each morning. Devon police had also granted him enough money for an Adidas tracksuit, two nice pairs of jeans, some warm tops, a camouflage coat and a pair of blue Etnies skateboarder shoes that were the coolest item of footwear he’d ever owned.

Ross slept in the adjoining room and the doors in-between were propped open. Dante strolled through and found GMTV on Ross’ television with the sound turned low. Ross himself was in the bathroom using his Philishave.

‘Morning,’ he said, when he saw Dante reflected in the bathroom mirror. ‘Did you sleep well?’

Dante smiled a little. ‘Those pills are like pressing a magic button. You take one and ZONK: fast asleep.’

‘I probably need to reduce the dosage. You don’t feel groggy at all? No headaches?’

‘Nope,’ Dante said, as he sat on the bed and eyed Ross’ laptop on the desk nearby. ‘Are they saying anything about us on the news?’

Ross wiped his face on a towel and came into the bedroom dressed in his boxers and a vest. ‘I’ve only been up for about ten minutes but the story seems to have died down.’

Dante felt disappointed. The story was out of the news after four days, but it would be the biggest thing that ever happened to him if he lived to be a hundred.

‘Your mood seems quite even this morning,’ Ross said. ‘You know you don’t have to hide your emotions from me? I’m here to support you.’

‘I know,’ Dante said. He crashed back on Ross’ unmade bed and stared at the ceiling rose. ‘I still feel upset when I think hard.’

‘But you feel like you’re beginning to move on?’ Ross said.

Dante shook his head. ‘I feel weird because everything is different. Like, on Monday I’d never even met you. Now you’re like, my only friend in the world.’

Ross was flattered and couldn’t help smiling. ‘This is just for a couple more days until we find a foster family, Dante.’

‘So,’ Dante said thoughtfully. ‘Have there been lots of boys and girls like me, who you’ve looked after when something horrible happened?’

‘I’ve interviewed and counselled children all over the country. I carry on helping witnesses right up to when they testify in court. Even afterwards if they still need me,’ Ross explained. ‘But most children in your situation have a grandparent, or an auntie or an older cousin or something who they can live with. This is only the third time I’ve lived with a child in a hotel.’

Dante smiled. ‘So I’m special.’

Ross laughed as he checked the time on the TV. ‘Special like every other kid I’ve ever worked with. Now, if I order us room service for between nine and nine fifteen that gives us half an hour for a splash in the pool. Does that sound cool?’

‘My swimming shorts are drying off on my towel rail; I’ll go put them on.’

Dante’s shorts were still damp from swimming the night before and he shivered as he pulled them up his legs. When he walked back into the other room, Ross was on the phone ordering breakfast and Dante was shocked to see the Führer’s face on the TV screen. It was a black and white photo, and he looked much younger than the man Dante knew.

He found the remote on Ross’ pillow and turned up the sound.

‘
Police say that fifty-four-year-old Ralph Donnington will appear in court later today. Donnington, who is the president of South Devon Brigands and more commonly known as the Führer, was arrested in the early hours of this morning. He is expected to be questioned in connection with the murder of four members of the Scott family on a farm near Salcombe on Wednesday
.’

Dante hadn’t seen the Führer’s face since the murders three nights earlier and it chilled him.

Ross hurriedly put the phone down and stepped towards Dante. ‘You OK?’ he asked.

‘Fine,’ Dante lied, as Ross put a reassuring hand on his shoulder. ‘How long will all this take?’