Kissing the Demons (3 page)

For anyone who knew how the story ended the images were heart-rending. Two girls in their mid teens, giggling at the camera. Wearing swimming costumes in some suburban garden, wading through a younger sibling's paddling pool and splashing each other with cold water, screaming with glee. Then, suddenly coy, as they remember they're being filmed, covering their youthful, semi-naked bodies with towels and shooing away the camera.

The girl wearing the locket was presumably Jade. She had lanky limbs and her pretty features weren't yet fully formed, even though there was something knowing about her eyes, as though she was only too aware of her burgeoning sexuality.

Her friend Nerys, in contrast, was small and dark with darting brown eyes that suggested intelligence and mischief.

‘Poor little cows,' Emily said, almost in a whisper.

Joe said nothing. He couldn't find the words.

‘Let's go and have a word with the Honourable Member of Parliament for Eborby,' she said.

After seeing those images of the missing girls, Joe suspected that tact and delicacy weren't going to be in the forefront of their minds during the visit.

In spite of his distinguished name, Joe Plantagenet usually did his best to avoid the Great and the Good. In his experience their expensive shoes usually concealed feet of very dirty clay. But he didn't share this thought with Emily on the drive out to the village of Colforth, ten miles north of Eborby.

It was four o'clock now and Joe hoped they'd find Barrington Jenks MP at home. Emily hadn't wanted to telephone ahead to warn of their arrival. She'd always favoured the element of surprise.

Colforth was the sort of picturesque North Yorkshire village visitors flocked to see. Pretty stone houses, pubs of the cosy traditional kind and a babbling stream running by the main road, traversed by several small stone footbridges. This was holiday country with its fair share of wealthy residents inhabiting converted barns sold off by canny farmers feeling the financial pinch.

Barrington Jenks' place was in the centre of the village: a fine Georgian double-fronted house that had been home and workplace to the local doctor in times gone by, until a new medical centre had been built and the doctor moved to something more modest. Emily brought the car to a graceful halt outside the house.

‘Your turn to do the talking,' she said as Joe rang the doorbell.

The front door opened to reveal a small Filipina woman in her twenties. She was remarkably pretty . . . and she looked terrified as she stood aside to let them in. She flitted silently up the elegant Georgian staircase, thickly carpeted in a rich shade of cream and some time later a man appeared on the landing. He was dressed in casual trousers and an open-necked shirt but he had the mildly harassed look of a man who had just dressed in a hurry.

Joe watched him as he descended the staircase and saw his expression change to a mask of quiet confidence. He was a tall man with thick, well cut silver grey hair, a slight tan and a smooth face. He reminded Joe of a male model in one of the old-fashioned catalogues his mother used to browse through.

Joe did the introductions and Jenks shook hands with long-practised warmth.

‘So sorry to have kept you waiting. I've just got back from Eborby and I've been in the shower. Dinner tonight with the Lord Lieutenant,' he said, leaning forward confidentially. ‘Now what can I do for you, officers?'

It was Emily who spoke. ‘It concerns your arrest for a motoring offence, sir.'

‘Please, come through.' He led them into the kind of drawing room Joe had only seen before on visits to stately homes. This one was smaller scale, of course, but it was all there; the Persian rugs, the swagged silk drapes, the expensive art hanging on the hand-printed wallpaper and the antique furniture.

They were invited to sit and Joe tried to make himself comfortable on a Regency sofa. Emily took a chintz-covered armchair and it looked as though she'd made the best choice.

‘I'll ring for tea,' Jenks said, walking over to the fireplace and pulling an embroidered rope.

‘Thank you,' Emily muttered. She caught Joe's eye and gave him a slight nod.

Joe cleared his throat. ‘Er . . . you gave a DNA sample when you were arrested, sir.'

‘That's right,' Jenks said, making himself comfortable in a leather armchair facing Emily. ‘An interesting experience. For the first time in my life I actually knew what it felt like to be a criminal,' he said as though the whole thing had been staged rather than real – like a Prime Minister pulling a pint for the cameras.

Joe glanced at Emily, wondering how to broach the subject of Jade Portright and Nerys Barnton. Then he decided on the direct approach.

‘As a matter of routine the DNA sample you provided was run through our computer . . . compared with samples from past crime scenes.'

The MP assumed an expression of polite, innocent interest. ‘Really?'

‘A match was found.'

Jenks's eyes flickered for a split second but the expression didn't change. He waited for Joe to continue.

‘Twelve years ago a handkerchief was found near the scene of a suspected abduction. There was semen on the handkerchief. The lab found a DNA match to the sample you gave.'

Joe looked at Emily. She was sitting quite still, her eyes fixed on the man in the armchair opposite, hardly daring to breathe as she awaited the reply.

‘That's impossible,' he said after a long silence.

‘You haven't asked where the handkerchief was found,' said Emily.

‘Very well. Where was it found?'

‘In a small patch of woodland behind some houses in Bearsley . . . suburb of Eborby. Known to the locals as Dead Man's Woods.'

Jenks mouthed the name and then his face lit up with relief. ‘I used to live near there and I occasionally walked my dog in those woods. Now if that's all . . .'

‘Do you remember two girls who went missing in 1999? Their names were Jade Portright and Nerys Barnton. They were fifteen years old.'

‘Yes. I remember. As I said, I lived in Eborby at the time and there was a lot of publicity about the case, but I assure you . . .'

‘You still haven't explained how your handkerchief came to be lying a few feet away from a necklace belonging to one of the missing girls. The necklace had a broken clasp, as though it had been pulled off her neck in a struggle.' Joe looked him in the eye. ‘You see why we have to question you, sir?'

‘Of course. You're only doing your duty.' Jenks had assumed a cooperative citizen expression. ‘I'll try to answer your questions as best I can, that goes without saying.'

‘So can you explain how the handkerchief came to be in Dead Man's Wood?' Emily asked sweetly. ‘And I ought to tell you that the girls were last seen around seven on a Saturday evening in June. It had been raining just before then and the woods were searched first thing the following morning. According to the lab the handkerchief hadn't been there when it rained.'

There was a long period of silence while Jenks considered his answer.

‘I must have dropped it when I walked my dog.'

‘There was an appeal for anyone who'd been in the area around that time to come forward. You never came forward.'

‘That's because I hadn't seen anything suspicious. If I had, I would have told the police immediately.'

‘So you admit that you were there that night?'

‘It was a long time ago. I really can't remember.'

‘And the semen on the handkerchief? How did that get there? Did you meet someone in the wood? Is that why you didn't come forward?' Emily inclined her head and waited for the answer.

Joe could almost see the man's mind working, wondering how much he could avoid telling them. As a politician, he was accustomed to evading awkward questions but this time there was no escape.

Jenks finally sat up straight, his face open and honest. ‘Very well, I'll tell you the truth. But you must assure me that what I say stays within these four walls. I know it's twelve years ago but I really don't want my wife to be hurt by a silly indiscretion.'

‘Go on,' said Joe quietly, leaning forward, ready to take the man's confession.

Jenks slumped forward so that his head was only a couple of feet away from Joe's. He played with his wedding ring nervously, no longer the powerful man in control.

‘I didn't come forward at the time because I was embarrassed. You see, I met this woman . . . well, more of a girl really. She was a student and I bought her a few drinks in a bar in town and she asked me back to her place. I'd been on my own – my wife was down in London with the children and . . . foolishly I went and . . .'

‘And?' Emily was impatient to hear the rest of the story.

‘Well when we got to her place her housemates were there and obviously I didn't want to be seen so . . .'

‘So you suggested a bit of alfresco sex?' said Emily.

‘She suggested it actually. She said it was a warm night so why didn't we go into the wood. I said it would be damp because it had rained that afternoon but she said . . .' He swallowed hard. ‘She said she'd been a Girl Guide and was always prepared. She took a sleeping bag and plastic ground sheet from her room, you see, and she laid it on the ground. I had the impression she'd done that sort of thing before and . . .'

Emily was about to interrupt but Joe raised a warning finger and waited for him to continue. The man was obviously finding the confession difficult and Joe felt a modicum of sympathy. We've all done things which, in hindsight, cause us shame and embarrassment – but not all of us have to relive them in a formal statement to the police.

‘Anyway,' Jenks continued. ‘When we'd finished she asked for a hundred pounds – said it was towards her studies.'

‘And you paid up?'

‘I didn't have much choice. I walked with her to the cash point and withdrew a hundred and fifty. The extra fifty was for myself, of course . . . but she said she'd take the lot.'

‘And you didn't argue?' Joe could see amusement in Emily's eyes as she contemplated yet another case of a man rendered helpless and foolish by his primal urges.

Joe didn't wait for an answer. He produced photographs of the two missing girls from his inside pocket and passed them over to Jenks who held them by the edge as if they were contaminated.

‘When you were in the woods did you see anything of those girls?'

‘Sorry. I don't remember seeing anybody.'

‘What was the name of the girl you were with? We'll need to speak to her to confirm your story.'

‘She said her name was Jasmine but I'm not sure if that was her real name. She was tall and blonde. That's all I can remember.'

‘She told you she was at the university? What was she studying?'

Another shake of the head. ‘Sorry. Don't know.'

‘And her address? You said she took you to her house – where was it?'

‘It was near the wood – big tatty Victorian semi. Student house. I remember it was number thirteen – Jasmine made a joke of it: unlucky for some, she said, but not unlucky for me. The house next door was immaculate – I remember that. The wood was just behind the garden I think. We didn't have to walk far.'

‘You wouldn't know her surname by any chance?'

Jenks shook his head. ‘Please tell me this won't go any further,' he said. ‘I've always played on my happy family man image and this could finish me.' He looked up at Joe with pleading eyes.

But Joe wasn't making any promises.

Then Jenks spoke quietly, head bowed. ‘I want to consult my solicitor.'

Caro was keen on house meetings. A natural bureaucrat, she had taken charge of the various rotas – cleaning, taking out bins, shopping – but she had encountered only frustration for her pains, as her housemates lacked her innate sense of order.

She had called a meeting for Saturday tea time – before the housemates went their separate social ways – and now she sat at the head of the kitchen table, surveying the chipped blue melamine surface with its ingrained coffee rings, as she hoped to one day sit in pride of place in some lofty London boardroom.

She glanced at her watch. ‘Where's Pet?'

‘I haven't seen her since she went out this morning,' said Matt.

Caro began to twirl a strand of her short dark hair in her fingers, twisting it into a tight corkscrew curl then letting it unwind. Pet irritated her with her fey smiles and cunning helplessness. Men liked her, of course, but Caro saw through all the artifice. And it had all got worse since they moved into number thirteen. Things that had seemed like minor eccentricities in hall were now magnified to major character flaws.

‘What about you, Jason?' She looked at the young man sitting furthest away from her. He looked bored as he leaned back dangerously in his chair. Caro was almost ready to scold him, to point out that if he tilted the chair any more, he would fall over and break it . . . and Cassidy, the landlord would take the cost of a replacement off their deposit. But she stopped herself. But when he took out a worn tobacco tin and started to roll a cigarette she felt she had to speak. ‘We agreed, Jason. No smoking in the communal areas. What you do in your own room's your own business but . . .'

‘OK, OK,' Jason said wearily returning the tin to his pocket. ‘And I saw Pet in town this morning when I was busking. I don't know whether she saw me but she shot off bloody quick.'

‘Where was this?' Matt asked. He sounded worried.

‘Jamesgate.'