Spider's Web (9 page)

‘Read it,’ came the abrupt reply.

Garrett motioned for Jim to sit. But Jim remained standing, looming over the desk like a lion ready to pounce. Shifting a little uncomfortably in his chair, Garrett opened the folder. After flipping through several pages, he looked up at Jim, his forehead marked by deep furrows. ‘Where did you get this?’

‘From the man who wrote it.’

‘And how is it possible we don’t already know about this?’

‘Because it was buried beyond our sight.’

Jim repeated what Lance had told him about Special Branch appropriating the case-file. Garrett’s expression became dubious. ‘Are you seriously suggesting Special Branch suppressed evidence about a paedophile ring?’

‘Why is that so implausible? In fact, why is it so different to what’s been happening around here these past months?’

Garrett’s thin veneer of composure faltered. His voice rose. ‘There’s no comparison. This file contains direct evidence of abuse. If I’d known about its existence previously, I’d have—’

‘What would you have done?’ broke in Jim, his voice harsh with challenge. ‘Would you have let me interview the children at the Craig Thorpe home about Villiers?’ He slapped the file with the back of his hand. ‘Would you have even let me talk to the names in there?’

‘I would have let you do whatever the evidence warranted.’ Garrett slammed a palm against the desktop. ‘We do not protect criminals around here, Chief Inspector Monahan, no matter who they bloody well are.’

Prove it
, retorted Jim’s eyes.

‘I—’ Garrett started to say, but he bit down on his words and continued in a controlled tone, ‘I need to make some enquiries. I’ll let you know when I’m done.’

‘I’ll be in my office.’

Whilst Jim waited, he gave the file a more thorough read through. Lance’s hatred of Villiers shone through in his writing. Usually such files consisted, for the most part, of a dry recounting of facts. But Lance had included his personal impressions of Villiers as being, amongst other things, manipulative, arrogant, devious and egocentric. What had really raised Lance’s hackles, though, was Villiers’ refusal to admit any kind of responsibility for the abuse that had taken place right under his nose. At that point in the notes, Lance’s writing took on an unbalanced, ranting quality that left Jim wondering whether he had been truthful about not assaulting Villiers.

He set the file aside. The background information it contained on Villiers added nothing to what he already knew. Far more important were the victims’ statements. He logged onto the PNC database and searched to see if any of them had a record. Heather Shanks had convictions for drugs offences and prostitution. Jamal Jackson had a long history of assaults, petty theft and burglary. As recently as 2012, he’d served time in HMP Leeds for handling stolen goods. Jim wasn’t surprised. In the race of life, the poor sods had started so far behind they’d never stood a chance. According to the computer, Heather still lived in Manchester and Jamal lived in Liverpool. Jim found Debbie Tompkins on the DVLA database. She lived in Tideswell – a pretty Peak District village located between Sheffield and Manchester. Jim felt a glimmer of hope that maybe she’d found some way to overcome the handicaps of her past.

The office phone rang. It was an internal call. Jim didn’t bother answering it, he simply stood and returned to Garrett’s office. Garrett’s mouth was set in a tense line, as though he was prepared for a confrontation. He cleared his throat and began. ‘I’ve been on the phone for the past hour and I’ve learnt some interesting things about this,’ he tapped the case-file, ‘and its author. Firstly, the original file wasn’t taken by Special Branch. It was simply removed by Lance Brennan’s superiors to a place beyond his reach.’

‘Why?’

‘Because Brennan was obsessed with Thomas Villiers. He publicly accused him of murdering Dave Ward. And when the Hopeland case was dropped, he made all sorts of threats against him. Several of his colleagues expressed their concerns that he would carry them through, and it seems they were proved right.’

‘Brennan claims he never touched Villiers. But even if he did, it doesn’t change the basic facts of the case.’

‘And what are those facts? Four children were abused at Hopeland by a man who called himself William Keyes. There was no evidence that Villiers, or any staff at Hopeland besides Keyes, were involved in the abuse.’

‘What about the three children who made complaints against Keyes? Complaints which Villiers didn’t investigate.’

‘He may have failed to properly carry out his duties, but that doesn’t prove he was an accomplice to the abuse.’

Jim gave a dismissive swipe of his hand. ‘Villiers was in on it then, and he’s in on it now. Have you read the victims’ statements? How they were
accidentally touched
, asked questions about their sexual experiences, shown pornographic films. Sound familiar, does it? Well it should do, because Henry Reeve was pulling the same tricks at the Craig Thorpe home. And what about the country house orgies? I suppose it’s all just coincidence, is it?’

‘Of course not, but the fact is this case-file changes nothing. We still don’t have the evidence to charge Villiers.’

‘No, but we might be able to get it now.’

‘How? By talking to the children at the Craig Thorpe home? If anything, this just proves that would be a waste of time.’

‘What about talking to the Hopeland victims?’

Garrett shook his head. ‘That case was dead in ’89. What good would resurrecting it do?’

Jim threw up his hands. ‘I knew it! I fucking knew it. They’re going to bury my investigation the same way they buried Brennan’s. In fact, they already have done.’

‘No one’s burying anything. There’s no conspiracy here.’

‘Isn’t there?’ Jim fixed Garrett with a penetrating stare. ‘You know me as well as anyone around here. And I know you. I know exactly what you’re about. Now look me in the eyes and tell me I’m wrong.’

Garrett held Jim’s gaze and repeated, ‘We don’t protect criminals.’

‘Then let me talk to the Hopeland victims.’

‘For what purpose? What could that possibly achieve besides opening up old wounds?’

‘Probably nothing with Jamal Jackson. But Debbie Tompkins and Heather Shanks might recognise their abusers from amongst the names in Herbert’s book.’

‘And what if they did? Where would that get us?’ Garrett gestured at the victims’ statements. ‘These people have zero credibility. They retracted their statements. And they’ve kept quiet for over twenty years. Nothing they say will stand up in court.’

‘Not necessarily. If I can prove they were intimidated into dropping their accusations—’

‘How are you going to do that after so much time has passed?’

‘I don’t know. And if I don’t try, I won’t find out. That’s all I ask, just let me try.’

Garrett was silent a moment, his forehead wrinkled as though he was pained by what he had to say next. He gave a little shake of his head. ‘I’m sorry, Jim. I can’t.’

The apology as good as confirmed to Jim that his suspicions were true. He could almost hear the thud of the ‘No Further Action’ stamp being brought down on the files he’d compiled against Villiers and the rest of them. He made a cutting movement with his hand, as though severing an invisible cord. There was no point arguing further. Garrett was nothing more than a mouthpiece for higher forces. ‘Do you know something? There was a moment back when you gave me this job that I thought I saw something else in you. Something more than just a badge on a uniform. Clearly I was wrong.’ He made to pick up the case-file, but Garrett laid a firm hand on it.

‘Listen to me carefully, Chief Inspector Monahan,’ he said. ‘If I find out you’ve talked to the Hopeland victims, you will be suspended from duty with immediate effect. Do I make myself clear?’

‘Yes.’

Garrett’s voice jumped. ‘Yes what?’

A sardonic edge came into Jim’s tone. ‘Yes, sir. May I be dismissed?’

‘Go on, get out of my sight.’

Pausing at the door, Jim glanced back at Garrett and said sadly, ‘There are some wounds that never heal.’

The Chief Superintendent blinked and looked away from him.

On his way out of the building, Jim collected the case-file from his office, along with printouts of the Hopeland victims’ up-to-date particulars and photos of everyone in Herbert’s book. A reckless anger was surging in him – anger at Garrett’s cowardly careerism; anger at himself for being foolish enough to expect any different; but mostly, anger at the invisible fingers of power that were pulling him back at every step. He punched Anna Young’s number into his mobile phone and when she picked up, he said, ‘We need to meet.’

5

The camper van grumbled its way up the hill. Ahead loomed a broad sweep of purple-flowering moorland. Behind, Sheffield stretched away into the haze of the summer day. Anna pulled into a layby thinly screened from the road by bushes. Jim was already there. He got out of his car and approached the camper van, glancing around warily. He was holding a cardboard folder. Anna leant across to unlock the door and he climbed into the passenger seat. ‘Did you do as I said?’ he asked.

Anna nodded. ‘I drove all the way to Manor Top before doubling back on myself. I’m positive no one followed me. You sounded properly pissed off on the phone. What’s happened?’

‘Before I say, you have to promise you’ll keep what I tell you to yourself until I give you the go-ahead to put it out there.’

‘Sure, I promise.’

‘An ex-inspector named Lance Brennan came to me today with information about Villiers.’ Jim gave Anna a quick rundown of the Hopeland case details.

She listened with an increasing expression of disgust. ‘The filthy fucking bastards,’ she growled when Jim finished. He couldn’t tell whether she was referring to the abusers, the officials who’d buried the case or both. ‘No one can say now that you haven’t got good reason to come down on Villiers with everything you’ve got.’

‘You’d think so, wouldn’t you?’

‘What does that mean?’

‘I’ve been ordered not to talk to the victims.’ Jim’s voice was low, as though he was ashamed of what he was saying. ‘The Hopeland case is closed, and as far as my superiors are concerned, it’s going to stay that way.’

Anna let out a scathing laugh. ‘It really is true what they say, isn’t it? It’s one fucking law for the rich and another for the rest of us.’

Jim made no reply. Like most coppers, he’d joined the force believing in one law for all. And like most coppers, he’d quickly come to realise that money, connections and lawyers made a mockery of such ideals.

‘So let me guess,’ continued Anna, ‘you want me to talk to the victims, find out if their abusers are on the list.’

‘Yes.’

‘Have you got their addresses?’

Jim patted the folder. ‘Everything you need’s in here.’

‘You’d better hand it over then.’

Jim started to do so, but a familiar hesitation stayed his hand.

‘You’re not going to try talking me out of doing what you need doing again, are you?’ Anna said, reading his troubled expression. ‘Because if you are, don’t waste your breath. I’m in this now. All the way. With or without you.’ Her voice was as inflexible as Jim’s obsession with bringing down Villiers.

With a small sigh, he passed her the folder. ‘If anyone asks where you got it from, tell them Lance Brennan gave it to you. He’ll back you up if necessary.’

Anna flicked through the case-notes. She stopped suddenly, her face rigid, white. ‘It’s him.’ The words came like she was dragging them from some place deep within. ‘It’s one of the fuckers who took Jessica.’

Jim’s eyebrows pinched together. Anna was looking at the composite picture of Spider. ‘Are you sure?’

Her eyes snapped up to his, blazing at his doubt. ‘Of course I’m fucking sure!’ She snatched out her phone and brought up a photo of the sketch the police artist had drawn from her description twenty years earlier. The chubby cheeks, the cropped brown hair, the snub nose and thick lips. It would have been an exact match, if Spider had been wearing black-rimmed glasses.

Jim couldn’t deny the truth of his eyes. ‘You’re right. It’s him.’

Anna’s gaze moved like a dreamer’s between the two sketches. ‘And I was right about something else too – the other one of Jessica’s abductors
was
Freddie Harding.’

‘We still can’t know that for sure.’

‘Bollocks we can’t!’ Anna flipped the file shut and started the engine. She cast Jim an impatient look, as if to say,
What are you still here for?

‘Where are you going?’

‘Where do you think? Tideswell’s nearest to here, so I’ll go there first.’

‘Maybe you should take a few hours, clear your head and think about what you need to ask.’

‘Fuck that. I’ve been thinking for twenty long years about what I’d ask if I had a chance like this. And the only thing that’ll ever clear my head is finding out what that bastard,’ she stabbed a finger trembling with eagerness at the sketch, ‘and Harding did to Jessica.’

Jim took on a tone of concerned warning. ‘Don’t let your need to know the truth get the better of you, Anna.’ As her mouth fell open incredulously, he continued, ‘I realise I’m hardly the one to be handing out such advice. But take it from someone who’s been there, it’s not worth it. Do you hear?’

Sucking in a steadying breath, Anna nodded. Jim looked at her a moment as though trying to gauge the genuineness of her response. Then he got out of the van.

Without even a glance of goodbye, she accelerated away from the layby. Following signs for Chapel-en-le-Frith, she crossed the moor and descended its far side into a deep wooded valley. Her speed crept up, until she was careering around bends. Then she was climbing out of the valley onto a plateau of drystone-walled fields and limestone outcrops. Familiar gut-wrenching images looped through her brain. Jessica’s abductor – Spider – carrying her limp body towards the van; herself lurching after them; the tearing sound; the keyring; the van speeding away; then… What then? Was this it? Was she finally about to find out what then? A vague sense of panic wrapped itself around her. Did she really want to know what then? Jessica had to be long dead – surely. She knew that, and yet until that moment, she realised, she’d never accepted it. Not truly. She thrust the panic away. She had to find Jessica, dead or alive. She had to know the truth. Jim was wrong. No matter how painful the consequences, the truth was always worth it.