The Death Pictures (37 page)

It took all of Adam’s self-control not to blaze his fist into that smug, leering face. His mind ran to the trial. Godley would be convicted, yes, of course he would. But that would be little consolation when the women broke down in court. When they collapsed and sobbed and screamed in front of the judge, barristers, jury and the packed public gallery. Godley himself, watching with that smile on his face. Not to mention the risk of the trial collapsing… There must be some way to shake him up, get to him, make him admit to his crimes.

Adam breathed deeply. ‘Mr Godley, I’m going to outline the evidence against you one more time, just to see if it makes any difference to what you’ve told us.’

Godley smiled again, opened his arms in a friendly way.

‘Go ahead. I love hearing it, and the spin you put on it.’

Adam gritted his teeth.

‘These three women were attacked in their own homes by a man they didn’t know and had never met. Attacked and raped. Your DNA matches the samples we’ve taken. So it was you, you don’t contest that?’

‘Not at all. I wouldn’t dream of contesting it. I’m here to tell you the truth Inspector. It was me, doing what they wanted. I think all that evidence tallies. It just depends on which way you look at it to see what story it tells.’

‘And you made this arrangement with them when?’

‘Oh, when I met them in town, or in a bar. That was part of it you see, they wanted the element of surprise. They didn’t want to know when I was coming. They gave me their addresses, told me they were alone in the house and would love to see me. More than love to in some cases. The timing was up to me. It was much more of a thrill for them that way.’

Adam stared into the man’s eyes.

‘They say that’s rubbish,’ he growled.

‘Well, it’s just my word against theirs then, isn’t it? We’ll have to see what the jury think. I’ll be surprised if they don’t see it my way, especially if there are plenty of men on there. I’m sure that’s what I’ll be looking for. A jury nice and full of men. I only need three to understand, and I can’t be convicted, eh? There aren’t many men who haven’t suffered at a woman’s hands, are there? Have you, Inspector?’

That image again, his fists, pounding Godley’s face. The hard heels of his leather shoes stamping on it, grinding...

‘I think you followed them home,’ hissed Adam. ‘You checked the place out to make sure there was no man around. Then you came back and struck.’ He couldn’t resist it, had controlled himself for too long. ‘Just like the coward you are, Mr Godley. The pathetic, inadequate coward.’

Godley’s smile didn’t flicker. He shook his head, but sadly now, as if indulging an idiot.

‘I’m shocked you could think that. Shocked. Have you suffered at a woman’s hands, Inspector? I’m getting that feeling from you.’

Adam ignored the bait. ‘I think you hate women because your wife left and took the kids,’ he said. ‘I think all this was your attempt at revenge.’

‘Officer, really!’ Godley sounded amazed. ‘That’s absolute conjecture on your part. I still see my kids when I can, the courts permitting of course. And as for revenge, it never crossed my mind. I was just doing what the women wanted. Providing a service if you like.’

Was there any point in going on with this, Adam thought? Godley was going to stick by his story. He was determined to have his day in court, but he would go down. Hold on to that, the man was going to prison, for many long years.

‘What about those witches’ hats?’ Adam asked. ‘They’re clear evidence about what you think of women.’

Godley shook his head, the smile still fixed.

‘Not at all Chief Inspector. You’re reading that all wrong. The ladies told me they longed to reveal their dark sides and they wanted me to leave them a souvenir when I’d gone. They wanted something to remind them of such a wonderful experience, they said.’

Behind him, a sharp breath from Suzanne. This was pointless. The man was set on his story and would force them to go to trial. That was… unless…

Just one idea. One chance. Nothing he should be doing, but he’d broken the rules on this one already, hadn’t he? Several times. And before, on those two other rape cases. Once more wouldn’t hurt. Adam turned to the door.

‘Suzanne, would you mind getting me a coffee please? And John, would you help her? You know what those stairs can be like.’

Suzanne stared at him for a moment, then nodded silently and left. The uniformed officer followed behind her. The heavy door clunked shut.

‘Interview suspended 12.20 pm for a refreshment break,’ Adam said and reached out, stopped the tape. He saw Godley stiffen. His eyes widened.

He thinks he’s going to get a beating, Adam thought. Tempting, so tempting. But no. Nothing so obvious, but there’s no harm keeping it in his mind. He stood up, walked over to the whitewashed brick wall behind Godley, making the man shift uneasily in his chair and crane his neck to look round.

‘Right, then,’ Adam spat. ‘There’s one thing we haven’t talked about which I’m going to mention now. Prison.’

‘That’s if…’

‘Forget that crap. This is between you and me now.’ Godley turned on his chair, faced Adam but didn’t get up. ‘We both know you’re going down. I’ll be amazed if the jury even have to retire before they bring in the guilty verdict. You just want to have your final sick bit of fun in court.’

‘I resent that! I’m an innocent man, I…’

Adam strode across to the table, slammed his fist down on it. He leaned over, his face an inch from Godley’s. He could smell the cigarettes, just as the man’s victims had.

‘There’s one more twist, Godley, and it’s this. I’m going to give you a chance, which is more than you deserve. A lot more.’ The man looked at him, silent at last.

‘You’re going to have a rough time in prison as it is. You know how sex attackers get treated in there.’ Godley didn’t react, kept his eyes on Adam’s. ‘There’s only one type of person who gets it worse inside than a rapist, Godley. Do you know who that is?’

‘Tell me.’ The words were heavy with contempt, but he was listening, at least he was listening. That sickening smile had finally faded.

‘Paedophiles, Godley. Kiddy fiddlers. You know what happens to them inside, don’t you? They’re lucky to get out alive.’

Godley sprung up from his chair. ‘I’m not a…’

Adam grabbed his shoulder, pushed him back down hard, enjoyed the feeling of the man’s body giving under the force.

‘The only thing that saves them is the watchfulness of the warders,’ hissed Adam, his mouth next to Godley’s ear. ‘But they’re only human. They have lapses. They can’t be everywhere all the time. Especially when they get word from someone outside that it’s time to have a lapse.’

Godley glared at him, but didn’t try to get up again. ‘What are you saying, you bastard?’

He was scared now and Adam sensed it. Sweet fear, he relished it.

‘What I’m saying is this, Godley. Your neighbours already think you’re a “peedo”. Isn’t that what they wrote on your wall? That’s a good start. So when it comes to court, all it needs is for the Detective Chief Inspector in charge of the case to voice his belief that you aren’t just a rapist, but a paedophile too.’

Godley snarled at him, but his face had changed colour. He’d turned pale. ‘Fuck off! You wouldn’t... you bastard!! Fuck off!’

‘What I shall say, Mr Godley, is this.’ Adam straightened up, breathed out slowly. He stared at the tiny window of the interview room, as though rehearsing his words for the witness box.

‘I shall say that it’s too much of a coincidence for me that there were young children in the houses you broke into. I shall have to tell the jury, and the judge, and all those reporters in the press gallery that I suspect you had it in mind to sexually abuse them too, but were frightened off before you could do so. It won’t take long for that to get into the papers and around that lovely prison you’ll be heading off to.’

Godley stared up at him, his face tight and twisted with hate. ‘You bastard.’

‘I’m not the rapist here, Godley,’ spat back Adam. ‘Now, are you going to reconsider the statement you’ve given us? Or shall we call it a day and get you back to the cells, so you can have a nice bit of peace and quiet to think about what’s going to happen to you in prison?’

Dan was on his knees, sliding the box containing the Death Pictures prints and his notes back under his bed when his mobile rang. He shuffled backwards to get it and banged his head on the wooden bed frame.

‘Ouch!’ he yelped. ‘Bloody hell, McCluskey, isn’t it about time you stopped tormenting me?!’

The phone was on the table in the hallway. He grabbed it before the answer machine kicked in. Adam.

‘Afternoon, mate, how you doing?’ Dan said, rubbing his head.

‘Good thanks, very good.’

In the background came the sound of a trumpet playing, very out of tune.

‘What the hell’s that?’ Dan asked.

A chuckle on the line. ‘That is a man playing a trumpet at the ground, trying to charm some worms out of it.’

‘Blackawton.’

‘Spot on. You’ve been?’

‘I went a couple of years ago, but found it so weird I had to get pissed to watch. It didn’t help, mind. It was still very strange.’

‘I’m down here with Annie and Tom.’

Dan heard the relief in his friend’s voice.

‘Going well?’ he asked.

‘Much better thanks, yes. Listen, this is just a quick call. I’ve nipped away for a minute to get some ice creams. You know how much Annie likes me thinking about work when I’m with her.’

‘Sure, carry on.’

‘You should know we’ve charged a man with the rapes in Plymouth.’

‘What?’ Dan almost dropped the phone. He jogged quickly into the lounge, grabbed a pen and some paper. So that was what Claire was talking about.

‘It’s one of the main suspects, Will Godley,’ continued Adam. ‘He’s confessed to the crimes, so I don’t think there’ll be a trial. But obviously don’t put too much detail into whatever you broadcast.’

Dan thought his way through the law.

‘I don’t think we’ll be able to do much more than report the charge, Adam, just in case he changes his mind about the confession and it does come to trial. We can’t risk prejudicing it. But thanks for the tip-off anyway, and well done. That’s a hell of a good result. I’ll call the newsroom and we’ll get it on air. Plymouth will breathe a big sigh of relief. Now go celebrate! Have fun with the worms!’

‘Will do. Oh Dan, just one thing. Any luck with the Death Pictures riddle? Annie’s really interested in it.’

‘Don’t ask. Just don’t ask.’

Chapter Twenty-two

As ever, the spring and summer had passed too quickly and the autumn arrived too fast.

The ninth day of October, Hartley Park, just before eight in the morning. The leaves had begun to cascade down in determined herds. A gust of wind through the oaks and limes sent another set spiralling. The sky hung an ominous, leaden grey and the distant cars of the countless commuters sparkled with jewels of white and red, a trail of robotic routine heading to work.

The warmth that summer had infused into the world was ebbing away. It seemed to seep south Dan mused, as he jogged through park, down to the opposite side of the planet where eager people waited for it to banish their winter. All around him, autumn had elbowed rudely in and taken over the landscape. Nature was preparing for her winter hibernation. The trees looked tired and resigned to their fate. Even the usually boisterous birds had quietened. Their occasional song sounded forlorn.

Dan already had to wear a fleece to run in and Rutherford was growing his seasonal coat. The dog looked cutely dishevelled, his fur a barrage of tiny explosions of black, brown and grey. He’d better buy a winter coat of his own Dan thought, ready for wet and freezing days standing outside court for a few strangled words from a bereaved relative after a murder trial. That, or waiting around the familiar blue police tape at crime scenes for a detective to grace them with a statement about the latest atrocity. It wasn’t something to look forward to.

Rutherford galloped up one of the grass banks covering the park’s underground reservoir. He stopped at the top, looked around as though admiring the view. A whisper of wind ruffled his fur and he turned instinctively into it.

‘Poser,’ Dan panted. ‘I’m not running up there with you, mate, I’ve got to go to work in a minute.’ He jogged on towards the tarmac of the children’s play area. Rutherford watched for a minute, then lolloped back down. He slipped and stumbled, catching and crossing his legs just as he had when he was a puppy, then managed to recover and sprinted after Dan. His mouth hung open in his smiling face.

A couple of crows scattered from the dog’s path, their mocking calls making Dan think of McCluskey and the chough in the Death Pictures. The dusty memory surprised him. The box with his notes and the prints was still under his bed, untouched for months now. He hadn’t solved it, hadn’t even got close he thought, and no one else had either. The sum total of his discoveries amounted to McCluskey taking the mickey. The story had gone quiet, interest dimmed.

He had a note in his diary to call Abi McCluskey soon. It must be time the answer was revealed. And hadn’t she said there might be another clue if no one had got it by now? He’d call her later, didn’t have anything else on today. It might make a decent story. There hadn’t been much strong news about recently. It would be good timing too. Wasn’t it next week that Kid went on trial for McCluskey’s murder? At least that would be an interesting one.