Hard Evidence (8 page)

Thursday morning. Tempers soared on the
Western Avenue as the rush-hour traffic crawled
coughing and rasping to a virtual stop, the air thick
with fumes and noisy with the angry honk of
horns. In the winter the roads were choked badly
enough with commuters, but in the summer
months, with the added tourist traffic, a journey by
car into the capital was made a far from pleasant
thing. Ken Livingstone and his congestion charges
were as much use in dealing with the problem as a
sticking plaster on a dismembered limb.

The heat was already climbing well into the
eighties as Delaney came into the office, yawning
and scowling at the traffic noise that sounded
through the open windows. He threw his jacket
over the back of his chair, ran his fingers through
his straggly hair and squeezed his knuckles into his
bloodshot eyes. Fishing a couple of painkillers
from his desk drawer, he swallowed them dry and
grimaced as they stuck in his throat. He poured a
long dash of cold coffee from the filter pot into a
stained mug and groaned as he took a swallow. It
had been sitting there since yesterday, and unlike
fine wines and handsome women, the ageing
process hadn't improved its appeal. He set about
making a fresh pot as Bonner sauntered in, fresher
than a Swiss daisy. The DS watched amused as
Delaney squinted against the bright sunlight
splashing in through the windows.

'Heavy night, boss?'

Delaney grunted a monosyllabic reply; truth to
tell, he couldn't remember the last time he had
woken up without a hangover. He waited for the
coffee to percolate through the machine, then
poured himself a cup and walked across to
Bonner, who was working on Jenny Morgan's
laptop computer.

'Anything back from the techies?'

Bonner shook his head. 'Nothing new, but I
thought it was worth going through it again.'

'Anything new?'

'Loads of e-mails to her school friends. Nothing
very recent. Nothing very useful.'

'Chat rooms?'

'Not that I can see. Certainly nothing from her
mails.'

'Check them all out. One of those school friends
might not be.'

'Might not be what?

'A school kid, Bonner. Keep with the programme.'
Delaney winced, regretting raising his
voice.

'You think somebody might have been
grooming her?'

'The internet. It's a paedophile's paradise, isn't
it?'

'It's every sick fucker's paradise, sir. Tell you
what, if porn was petroleum, we'd have engines
running on tap water by now.'

But Delaney was distracted, hooding a hand
over his eyes and looking out of the window,
watching as a familiar thin red-haired figure
walked briskly up to the police station entrance.

'What's he want?'

'Who?'

Delaney pointed out of the window. 'The
ginger-haired streak of piss. Jenny's English
teacher.'

Bonner shrugged. 'Maybe he bonded with you,
boss.'

Delaney approached the front desk, nodding at
Ellen, the young woman who was manning it that
morning, and turned to Terry Collier, who was
sitting patiently opposite.

'Mr Collier. Something else you remembered
that you neglected to tell us earlier?'

'Yes. There's something you need to know.'

Delaney looked at him for a hard moment.
'You'd better come through then.'

Delaney ushered Collier into the front interview
room and shut the door firmly behind him.

'If this is something you should have told us
earlier and we find her dead, I am going to come
looking for you.'

Collier was flustered. 'You can't speak to me
like that. I have rights.'

Delaney's voice was a whisper. 'You don't
know anything about me. You don't know what
I am capable of doing. But believe me, if you
have fucked us around, I will make sure that you
do.'

Collier blinked and held up his hands apologetically.
'We're on the same side here. We both
just want to find the girl.'

Delaney kept his voice level. 'What do you want
to tell me?'

'Jenny Morgan. She was a member of our computer
club. At the school.'

'And?'

'And I run the club.'

Delaney couldn't hide his frustration. 'Make
your point.'

'She had her own e-mail account that she ran
from the school. I found it this morning on the
computer she used. I came here straight away.'

'Good.'

Collier fished in his pocket and produced a piece
of paper.

'I was able to get her log-in details. I'm what
you call a super-user. We need to monitor what
sites the kids are on. You wouldn't believe what is
available on the internet these days.'

'I think you'll find we know very well.'

Collier's pale skin reddened under Delaney's
gaze. 'We're not supposed to access their private
e-mail . . . but under the circumstances . . .' He
handed Delaney the slip of paper. 'I came in
straight away.'

Delaney gave him a long, cool look. 'Then
you've got nothing to worry about.'

Collier smiled nervously.

'For now.'

Bonner propped the piece of paper on the
keyboard in front of him and typed the letters and
numbers written on it into the computer. A
mailbox appeared and Bonner opened it and
clicked on the icon showing the latest e-mail. He
scanned a line or two and smiled widely, his
advert-bright teeth flashing with pleasure as he
read the recent contents of her inbox.

'Come in, number ten!'

Delaney leaned forward to look at the monitor.
'What have you got?'

'Seems like Jenny did make a new friend on the
internet.'

'Who?'

'Someone calling himself Angel.' He pointed
at the screen. 'And she arranged to meet him at
Baker Street tube station on the day she disappeared.'

'What time?'

'Three forty-five.'

'Right after school.'

'Looks that way.'

'If that's where she actually went, we should be
able to get CCTV footage.'

'Definitely.' Bonner cracked a smile. 'One thing
we can thank the terrorists for. So the streak of
ginger is off the hook?'

'Maybe, for now. But he's still wriggling. And
that worries me.'

'Always late remembering things. Telling us
stuff bit by bit. Parcelling it out like a soap opera.'

'More than just that. Seems our English teacher
has a bit of history. This isn't his first time in the
frame with a young girl. Four years ago he was
accused of molesting one of his female pupils.
Thirteen years old.'

'And he's still teaching?'

'The charges were dropped. The parents' call
apparently. But he changed schools anyway.
Moved right out of the area.'

'You think this internet stuff he brought in
might be some kind of cover-up?'

'It's all a bit convenient, isn't it? He tells us he
didn't see her leave and then later he remembers
he did. And later still he brings us this.'

'True.'

'I don't want to let him go just yet. I want you
to have a gentle word with him. Keep the pressure
on.'

'Boss.'

I'll get down to Baker Street, see what the
cameras tell us.'

*

Baker Street station was one of the first underground
stations built in the capital. Beautiful
Victorian architecture that served to lift the spirits
of the travellers using it. Delaney walked into the
main concourse and looked around, the building
tugging nostalgically at his memories. Some things
had changed, of course; most memorably and
most sadly, a fast-food sandwich and fizzy-drink
store now inhabited the space that was once taken
up by a pub. Many a time Delaney had grabbed a
quick pint or two, a pie and a takeaway can before
catching the last Metropolitan train heading west.

'See that, Sally?' He pointed out the brightly lit
shop at the end of the concourse.

'Sir?'

'Used to be one of the finest boozers in London.'

'Before my time, sir.'

Delaney nodded sadly. 'Yeah.' A long way
before her time, and the truth was, it was a dive of
a bar, but there was no better way to wait for a
train on a cold winter's night, or a hot summer's
one come to that. He wasn't even going to bother
mentioning Ward's Irish tavern that once used to
be under Piccadilly Circus, in the tunnels that
originally housed lavatories. Even more of a dive
than the Baker Street bar, the name of which he
couldn't remember, but it served a half-decent pint
of Guinness and Delaney used to feel right at
home there; a whole other world hidden beneath
one of the most famous locations in England. A
working-class, beer-drinker's haven amidst the
horror of Regent Street.

Delaney snapped out of his reverie. 'Get us a
couple of large coffees, Sally, and I'll meet you
inside.'

DC Cartwright nodded and headed off to a
coffee shop at the base of the steps leading down
into the station.

Opposite the ticket offices were large, dark
mirrored windows with a bench in front of them
and behind them a British Transport Police
station. Delaney was expected. At one time there
might have been some, not always friendly, rivalry
between the two police forces, but the terrorists
had put an end to any of that.

He was shown through to a viewing room
where a computer and monitor had been set up so
he could watch the digital footage from the CCTV
cameras.

A short while later Sally joined him and handed
across a large cup of coffee. She sat beside him
as he selected the footage from one of the cameras.
Baker Street, like all major underground stations,
had CCTV cameras recording every square inch of
it. They started with the main entrance on
Marylebone Road and watched Monday's foot
traffic from half three onwards. Delaney stretched
the muscles in his back and sat back uncomfortably
in the plastic chair, all too aware that they
could be there for some time.

*

Terry Collier also shifted in his chair, as uncomfortable
as Delaney but for very different reasons.

'For God's sake, you're treating me like I'm a
suspect here. I've been helpful. I've done my civic
duty.'

'Civic duty. Do you think that's what this is all
about?'

'Isn't it?'

'It's about a twelve-year-old girl who's missing
from home.'

'I know that. That's why I came in. I'm her
teacher, for Christ's sake. Don't you think I care?'

'I'm sure you do, Mr Collier.'

'Of course I bloody do.'

'And did you care for Angela Carter?'

Collier sat back in his chair, the red flush that
had risen to his neck and cheeks draining as he
shook his head.

'I don't believe this.'

Bonner smiled. 'You recognise the name, then?'

'You know damn well I do.'

'Then you can understand our concerns.'

'Is this what it's going to be like from now on?
For the rest of my life? Any child goes AWOL,
because she's missed a bus or gone off with her
friends or any reason at all . . . and you lot are
going to be after me?'

Bonner leaned in hard. 'Jenny Morgan's been
missing for three days.'

'I know that! It's this Angel you should be
looking at. You read the e-mails.'

Bonner looked at him for a moment and then
said softly, 'You didn't say
you'd
read them.'

Collier coloured and shook his head. 'No. I'm
not playing this game.' He rubbed the palm of his
hand. 'Out damned spot, is that it? Why can't you
people understand? I haven't done anything. I
didn't do anything then, and I haven't done
anything now.'

Bonner leaned forward and shouted into his
face: 'Shut up!'

Collier sat back, shocked into silence, nervousness
creeping across his face like a sudden palsy.

'See, the thing is, we don't care whether you
think you are innocent or not. All we care about is
the fact that a twelve-year-old girl has been
missing from home for three days. That's our
priority. And if you know anything more about
her disappearance then you sure as hell better tell
me now.'

Collier seemed to crumple in his chair. He
shook his head, his voice tremulous. 'I've told you
everything I know. I swear to you. I don't know
where she is.'

Bonner wanted to stand him up and punch him
hard in the face. Getting information from a
suspect was a lot easier in the old days, he
thought. Before his time, of course. That kind of
interrogation had to take place outside of a police
station nowadays. He looked at Collier and
decided he'd ask him some questions later. In an
informal setting. He smiled coldly at him, and was
pleased to see that Collier looked very far from
reassured by it.

Delaney leaned forward, and stopped the footage.
'Five o'clock. If she was going to be there she'd
have shown up by now.' He crumpled his paper
cup and threw it in the bin. 'Give us the side
entrance.'

Sally moved the mouse and clicked on the next
icon in the list that Delaney had drawn up.

The grainy black-and-white image leapt to life
on the monitor screen. People walking slowly in
and out of the side entrance. At three ten a thin
man approached the entrance but rather than
going in stood to one side and looked deliberately
at his watch.

Sally leaned forward excitedly. 'This could be
him.' Delaney nodded, his eyes impassive as he
watched. If he felt a small spark of optimism he
didn't show it in his expression.

The man reached into his pocket and pulled out
a cigarette; he snapped open a Zippo lighter and
sparked it alight, drawing on his cigarette like a
man heading for the gallows and wanting to
savour every moment of pleasure left.

'Could be he just wants a smoke before going
down to the tube; figures he's got time before his
train.'

Delaney fast-forwarded the image until the man
had sucked the cigarette clean and thrown it on
the pavement. He turned and walked into the
station, disappearing from view.