Kissing the Demons (2 page)

‘Perhaps.' The Super hesitated. ‘Traffic division arrested a man for a motoring offence a couple of weeks ago. His DNA was run through the computer as a matter of routine and . . .'

There was a long pause and Emily wished he'd get to the point.

‘As you know, we can extract DNA from tiny samples now and the lab people found a match. The sample on the handkerchief matches those of the individual the traffic officers arrested.'

‘Has this individual got a name?'

This was the question Emily had been about to ask but Joe had got in first.

The Superintendent thought for a while before answering which only fanned the flames of Emily's burning curiosity. Whoever it was, it had got the Super rattled. The possibility that it was the Chief Constable himself flashed through her mind, only to be dismissed when she visualized the ostentatiously upright man. But many a Dr Jekyll had turned into a Mr Hyde given the right circumstances and provocation. She sat forward and waited and she noticed that Joe had assumed an almost identical posture.

‘That's why I said it was rather delicate,' the Super said in hushed tones. ‘It's actually Barrington Jenks . . . MP for Eborby and Under Secretary of State in the Justice Department.'

Emily's lips formed an ‘oh'. She looked at Joe. He had slumped back in his seat and it was difficult to tell what he was thinking.

‘Well, he's not above the law,' Joe said quietly. ‘He'll need to be interviewed.'

‘I realize that, Joe. But I think a bit of discretion . . .'

‘He's at home this weekend – spending time in his constituency. Perhaps if you both paid him a discreet visit . . .'

‘I don't think we need to waste any time,' said Emily. ‘We'll go now.'

The Superintendent looked a little alarmed. ‘I can't emphasize enough that this needs careful handling. Jenks has friends in some very high places.'

‘If he raped and murdered two young girls, he'll soon be making new friends in some pretty low ones,' said Joe.

The Superintendent gave him a worried look and turned his attention to Emily. ‘I'm trusting you to handle this with tact.'

‘Naturally, sir,' said Emily.

She was relieved when Joe stood up. She wanted the interview to be over. She wanted to corner Barrington Jenks MP and ask him some awkward questions.

‘Let's go and see Jenks now,' she whispered to Joe as she closed the Super's door.'

‘Maybe we should bring ourselves up to date with the case first.'

Emily sighed. She knew he was right. She'd just have to curb her natural impatience.

Petulia Ferribie often cursed her parents for giving her such an outlandish name. It was usually abbreviated to Pet but she hated that too. It held the suggestion that she was some kind of plaything – something to be picked up or put down on the whim of an owner. When people – men in particular – saw her sweet face, elfin figure and blonde hair, they tended to make assumptions that were completely wrong. Perhaps wearing the white fairy costume at the fancy dress party last night had only served to perpetuate those assumptions. Maybe it had been a mistake but it had been the only thing available at the time.

But what did it matter? All those boring, self-obsessed students were of no interest to her anyway. She found their relentless pursuit of binge drinking and casual sex so immature. And as for her irritating housemates, they'd seemed fine when they'd met last year in the hall of residence. Caro, Matt, Jason and Pet – the Gang of Four, they'd called themselves. But once they'd moved into number thirteen everything had turned sour. Maybe it was just that she'd grown up after the first year. Or maybe it was the house itself that had changed everyone. She hated the place. It always seemed to be cold in there and something about it made her uncomfortable, as though she was never quite alone even when her housemates were absent. Since they'd moved in the previous September she'd found it hard to sleep, as though there was a presence in the shadows of her room, watching, wishing her ill.

She carried on past the soaring cathedral, its carved stone west front glowing in the weak sunlight. Walking quickly, she darted into one of the narrow medieval streets that radiated like tentacles from the great church. It was only March but the tourists were out in force, attracted by history and the recent spell of fair weather. Pet had come to hate tourists meandering along, taking photographs, looking for places to fuel up with food and drink, gawping at the cathedral and the rest of Eborby's myriad attractions with the slow awe of primitive tribesmen faced with their first aeroplane. They were nothing but a nuisance to people who actually lived there.

Pet wove her way through the crowds on Jamesgate, swearing under her breath. If she didn't get a move on she'd be late. And she wanted to see the main event. He would be there, taking part. And maybe he would see her.

Suddenly she spotted Jason standing in the doorway of an empty shop. He was strumming on his guitar and his dark curls flopped forward to conceal his pale, almost feminine face. She made no move to acknowledge her housemate; instead she averted her eyes as though he was an embarrassment to her.

Everyone in the house had treated Jason coolly since he'd failed his exams last summer and been thrown off his course. And here he was busking in the street, practically begging like some tramp.

To her horror he looked in her direction, stopped in mid song and raised his hand. She looked away but her escape route was blocked by a couple, entwined and aware only of each other. She felt like shouting at them, hitting them on their smug backs to make them shift. But instead, she dodged round them and half walked, half ran out of the shade of the overhanging upper storeys and out into the watery spring sun.

She could hear music somewhere ahead. The sharp primitive sound of shawm, crumhorn and hurdy-gurdy over the swaying beat of the tabor. It was the sort of music that made Pet want to dance, although she resisted the temptation as she had no inclination to make a fool of herself.

She looked round to check that Jason hadn't decided to follow her and was relieved that there was no sign of him. Jason might be good looking but he was a loser and of no interest. Not like the man she hoped to see that morning.

The appetizing aroma of hot dogs and fried onions wafted from a stall in the far corner of the crowded square and Pet realized she was hungry. But she had no time to eat. At eleven o'clock the Waits, early music's representatives at the Eborby Music festival, were due to make their way to Stone Street, Eborby's widest thoroughfare. During the course of its history Stone Street had always been a gathering place and the scene of numerous public executions. But history didn't concern Pet. Her passion was music. At university she studied piano and violin and she considered it a blessing that all the time spent in necessary practice in her department kept her away from Torland Place.

She pushed her way to the front of the crowd and stood staring at the musicians. They were dressed in red tunics with brown hose and soft leather boots; everyday dress in Eborby's heyday during the reign of Richard III. The musician playing the hurdy-gurdy with such concentration was taller than the others, with dark hair that had begun to whiten at the temples. She'd half expected him to look ridiculous in his medieval outfit – like most of the people at the party last night had looked in their fancy dress – but somehow he didn't. He looked like some king's minister or great lord. How could Ian Zepper have looked otherwise?

She stared at him, willing him to notice her. He didn't look in her direction. But she didn't give up hope; there was still time.

The Eborby Waits began to make their way out of the square, the crowd following like rats behind the pied piper. Pet waited and brought up the rear, not realizing that she would never reach Stone Street that day. Or any other.

Death was watching her, hidden in the anonymity of the crowd. The knife was ready, concealed in a pocket, the blade warmed by his body.

He would cover her eyes when the time came to silence her forever. There were demons in their eyes; he'd known that from the first day Grace had looked at him with all that mocking contempt. And demons had to be destroyed.

TWO

J
oe looked at his watch. It was eleven o'clock and the concert in Stone Street would soon be starting: he'd seen the posters dotted around the city and taken note. Early music always reminded him of his first meeting with Kaitlin: her choir had sung a Palestrina mass in the church where he'd been posted as a trainee priest and afterwards they'd started talking about music and life. That momentous meeting had made him realize that he'd been fooling himself. He hadn't been cut out for the celibate life. His vocation had been a terrible error of judgement.

Kaitlin had entered his world like a cleansing tornado. Then just as suddenly she was gone, killed in a chance accident just six months after their wedding. Sometimes he envied his boss, Emily Thwaite, her apparent domestic bliss – although he knew that she too had experienced periods of turbulence. Nobody ever has a completely calm voyage through the world from first cry to final breath. In his job he knew that only too well.

The parents of Jade Portright and Nerys Barnton certainly hadn't had it easy for the twelve long years since their daughters' disappearance. Time might have led to a sad, numb acceptance but the pain of such a loss never went away. And now the whole affair was to be dug up again like a stinking corpse. Unhealed wounds would be picked at again until the raw pain returned anew. In Joe's experience cold cases were always like that.

Any tentative plans he had to sneak off to the Stone Street concert would have to be put on hold. He still had three thick files to plough his way through because he needed to be armed with all the available facts before he faced Barrington Jenks MP.

‘Well?'

He looked up. Emily Thwaite had just parked her ample backside on the corner of his desk and she was looking at him expectantly.

‘Well what?'

‘You've been reading the files – what happened?'

‘Nothing much, as far as I can tell. Two friends – Jade Portright and Nerys Barnton – went into a small patch of woodland commonly known as Dead Man's Wood behind a row of Victorian houses in Bearsley.'

‘I know where you mean.'

‘Did anyone see the girls go into the wood?'

‘Some kids were taking a short cut on their way to the swimming baths and they saw them behind the houses, heading for the trees. One of them knew Jade because she was a friend of his older sister and he said they were walking quickly, as if they were going there for a purpose. In other words it didn't look like a casual summer evening stroll.'

‘They'd arranged to meet someone?'

‘That was never established. And after the kid saw them going into the trees they were never seen again.'

‘Any evidence of violence?'

‘Only the necklace belonging to Jade – a small silver locket. The clasp was broken which could indicate some sort of struggle but, on the other hand, I suppose it could have become caught on something. The handkerchief was found a couple of yards away. And there were signs that the ground had been disturbed.'

‘By the girls putting up a fight?'

‘Not necessarily. It might have been a courting couple or . . .'

‘And now Barrington Jenks's DNA puts him at the scene?'

‘But not necessarily at the same time as the girls.'

Emily's eyes shone. Joe knew she was hooked. ‘How long after the girls vanished was the woodland searched?'

‘They were last seen around seven and the parents reported them missing just before midnight after they'd checked that they weren't with friends. Next morning, as soon as the kid told his mum where he'd seen the girls, the woodland was fingertip searched. It had rained till around five on the day the girls disappeared then the sun came out. Forensic said the handkerchief hadn't been exposed to rain so . . .'

‘Whoever owned it was there between five that day and the following morning.'

‘The same time as the abductor.'

Emily frowned. ‘We don't know there was an abductor, Joe. All we know is that the girls were never seen again. They might have run away to the bright lights. I believe Kings Cross is full of northern kids who think the streets of London are paved with gold. I blame Dick Whittington myself.'

Joe didn't answer. He had started delving into a small cardboard box that had been brought up with the files. Inside was an evidence bag containing the broken locket. He held it up to the light and, as he stared at the thing through its veil of plastic, he felt a wave of deep sadness. It was a cheap little bauble but it had probably been precious to Jade Portright. It was always the small things that got to you.

He put his hand into the box again. The only thing left inside was a video tape. A dog-eared white sticky label clung to the side bearing the legend ‘Jade and Nerys – summer 1999'. Joe put it on the desk in front of him and looked at it, suddenly disturbed by the prospect of seeing the missing girl as a smiling, living human being . . . and imagining her parents' pain.

‘We'd better have a look at it,' said Emily quietly, picking up the tape. Somehow Joe knew she shared his misgivings. She was a mother herself. She would be able to imagine exactly how it felt to lose a precious child.

They walked down the corridor to the AV room in silence. Normally the room would be occupied by some unfortunate Detective Constable assigned to trawl through hours of CCTV footage after having drawn some proverbial short straw. But today Joe and Emily sat there while the screen flickered into life.