Power on Her Own (35 page)

‘The conditions in there are shocking,' Paul announced. ‘I've told the lads not to bother with showers – just get themselves home as quickly as they can.' He looked across to the fleet of cars waiting. ‘Looks as if most of them will be chauffeured.'

‘What innocent pleasures these bloody perverts have destroyed!' Marcus's father agreed loudly, joining the group. ‘No one walks any –'

‘Hi, Mr Fulton – wow, your son!' Kate interrupted.

‘Doug.' He shook hands with her. ‘Yes, bit of all right, that, wasn't it? Thanks to your coaching. Funny thing is, he isn't getting so much asthma these days. Anyway, as I was saying, in my day walking to school was the norm. My parents used to walk everywhere – a ten-mile round trip was nothing. Well, you only have to read Hardy or Lawrence to see how times have changed.'

‘My road wasn't built for all the parents' cars,' Kate agreed. ‘Parking's a nightmare, isn't it, Paul?'

‘Specially at going-home time,' he agreed. ‘Or first thing in the morning, I'd guess. My special hate is the parents who just stop in the middle of the road and open their car door for the kids to jump out. Don't they realise that there's more real danger from cars than from any of these so-called perverts? Cars kill!'

‘So do perverts,' Fulton pointed out. ‘And if they don't, the damage can be immense, physically and mentally. God knows, I'm not the best of parents to young Marcus, but I can't imagine – Jesus!' He broke off, shuddering. ‘And they're all over the place,' he continued. ‘Aren't I right, Kate? In the police force, in social services, in the judiciary – everywhere. Look at that business in Belgium! I hope you lot are better at hunting down the monsters than they were.'

Graham said, ‘We always do our best. But you're right: you may even find some in – what line are you in, Mr Fulton?'

‘Business consultancy.'

Not bad for an erstwhile English teacher, sacked because of his relationship with a pupil. And was he protesting too much – a man, after all, with a taste for younger women? Come off it, Kate. A taste for one young woman, to the best of your knowledge.

‘How are you going to celebrate Marcus's triumph?' Kate asked.

‘With the last thing he wants, I'm afraid. A baby brother or sister. Melanie was just starting to twinge when I left.'

‘Why doesn't he come with us to the Severn Valley Railway?' Paul said. ‘We could pick him up – only a few yards out of our way. And he could stay over at the Manse with Tim.'

How reasonable it all sounded. Kate caught Graham's eye.

‘What a splendid idea,' he said, with a smile that confirmed the presence of some very expensive equipment at the Manse.

They had the perfect afternoon for their trip – yes, they'd go the whole length of the line. They started from Kidderminster, two, or in this context three, small boys and Kate. Marcus had not been keen on consorting with someone as young as Tim, but, on the basis that it was that or the rest of the day at his grandmother's, had conceded it might just be all right. In the event, he was lapping it up. The train was already in the station, a huge Great Western loco pulling it. Hagley Hall. The driving wheels must have been nearly six feet in diameter, the tapered boiler equally massive. Kate felt disorientated – the pretty prettiness of the stations, with hanging baskets still glowing with late season colour, seemed at odds with the noise, no, the sheer size and power of the locomotive. But that was elegant too, in its own way. At last she sat back and prepared to enjoy herself. She began to: the engine's silly shrill Toy-Town whistle for a start. ‘Not the sort of whistle Gordon would approve of,' she said to Tim.

He grinned, but rather self-consciously. One didn't mention children's books in front of older boys like Marcus, of course.

Then there was another noise. Deep, regular.

‘What on earth's that?' she asked. ‘That woofing?'

‘They call it barking,' Paul explained. ‘It's typical of the Great Western engines. It's caused when the cylinders exhaust the steam.'

He must be using some technical term; but she couldn't suppress a quick vision of thin, emaciated trickles of steam staggering around. This would clearly be woman's talk, however, not the sort of thing to introduce into this male company.

There was a model railway at one of the stations, operated by coins. The boys couldn't resist it. Neither could she. And then she remembered other uses of small locos.

Tucked away in one of the engine sheds was a pannier tank.

‘Look,' Tim yelled. ‘Duck!'

Paul took photographs at each station, and the boys, armed with pocket-money from Doug Fulton – a very successful business consultant to judge by the way he bank-rolled his son – and Giles and Maz, had bought wagons for their model railways.

‘A friend of mine has a huge layout,' Paul said. ‘It runs on several different levels, with tunnels and bridges and whatnot. He's landscaped it all, too. It's really quite realistic. And he's got some good stock, too.'

He left the information dangling in the air.

Kate knew it for a bait as soon as she heard it. She wanted to hit herself: she should have foreseen it. If the boys responded, she'd better feign an interest she didn't feel – her own motive for playing trains was to play with Tim, after all.

They bit: ‘Uncle Paul, you don't suppose he'd let us see it, do you? To get a few ideas?'

‘Has he gone in for farms and things?' Kate asked.

‘It's the locos we're interested in,' said Marcus, loftily.

‘I'll have a word with him when I see him. Which isn't all that often. But it's not for playing with, like you knock your stock around, Tim. It's serious.'

A train set not meant for playing with. That defeated Kate. But her mind was working nineteen to the dozen. Yes: she'd bet her pension that the man with the train set used an ultra-quiet house in Leavensbrook Close. What else would make a tiny whirring noise that stopped suddenly when someone rang the bell? And what would the noise suddenly cut off be, but a boy protesting when his game was ended?

It was too late to think about cooking. They'd phoned Jenny's friend's mother from Kidderminster – yes, Jenny would be delighted to stay over. So they went straight to a balti restaurant. The genial waiter, who might have been the brother of the jolly man who served Kate with monster chicken tikka naans, gently steered the boys away from the hottest options, and then encouraged them to try kulfi for their sweet. The only thing that Kate lacked was a drink. The restaurant was unlicensed, and Paul was so reluctant to dive into Safeway for a pack of lager Kate felt she couldn't press the case. In any case, wasn't she supposed to be above the need for alcohol now? And the restaurant had good bottled water: she should be grateful for that. What she wanted, and wasn't going to get, was a chance to phone Graham. It occurred to her at last that Paul might be sticking to her at least as hard as she was sticking to him.

They knew the boys would natter before they went to sleep, but Kate and Paul insisted that lights would be out at ten, and that absolute silence was required by ten-thirty. Kate had a suspicion that their parents might have preferred the cut-off point to be at least half an hour earlier. And in fact, when they went up to switch the lights out, they found both boys fast asleep. Paul leaned over them with enormous tenderness, kissing Tim so lightly he didn't wake.

Paedophilia, Kate recalled sadly, originally meant the love of children.

She wanted to phone Graham about that train set idea. She made an excuse to go to her bedroom, but even as she dialled one ear was alert for sounds in the corridor outside. Remembering the routine, she tapped one four one before his number, and prepared to end the call quickly. But it was he who answered.

‘Glad you called,' he said. ‘How was the railway?'

‘It's given me an idea.' She explained briefly.

‘My God. You could just be right, couldn't you? Funny, a couple of interesting things have been thrown up by our surveillance. Fill you in tomorrow.' His voice dropped and he spoke very rapidly. Mrs Harvey was no doubt getting out of the bath sooner than he'd expected. Or whatever. ‘Now, your neighbour, Mrs Mackintosh wants to talk to you – something she wouldn't talk about to anyone else. Can I give her your number? It's something that came up when they were trying to find if Royston had been abused.'

‘Had he?'

‘I'd reckon. We'll talk about it tomorrow. But Mrs M has something else on her mind. And she wants to talk to you.'

‘It'll have to be by phone, won't it? And, it'd be better face to face, if it's what I think it's about.'

‘Which is?'

‘Do you remember I interrupted a rape?'

‘Pretty well your first day here. And were stabbed, as I recall.'

‘Hardly enough damage to call it a stab. Mrs Mackenzie – Zenia – dressed it for me. And the latest rape victim had a similar tiny stab. I've got a terrible feeling it might have been made by the same weapon.'

‘Stanley knife? Something like that?'

‘Yes. The sort of thing any household would have. Christ, Graham, it's bad enough for me putting pressure on Maz – I literally wouldn't have survived without her, you know.' She would risk it. ‘I was getting a drink problem. If she hadn't have taken me I'd – but she did. But Zenia – God knows what it's like to worry about shopping your own son. Only son.'

‘Do you want to take the call?'

‘I can't let another woman down. Oh, Graham, have you any idea how long it is since I went to see Aunt Cassie?'

‘Tell you what, I'll pop in myself for five minutes tomorrow morning. On my way into work. I'll tell her it's all my fault you've been working so hard. Cope's back in the land of the living so he can take charge for a bit.' And the phone went dead.

All they'd been talking about was a couple of serious crimes! Couldn't the woman understand that police officers' work didn't end at five o'clock, and that some officers just happened to be women? She sat on the bed staring at the silent phone.

She snatched it so quickly it hardly rang.

‘Kate Power.'

‘Kate – it's Zenia. Can't I see you? I got such problems, man.'

‘I'm actually on a job now, Zenia. But Graham said you needed to talk to me. I know the phone's not very –'

‘Better than nothing. It's advice I'm wanting.' Her accent was much stronger over the phone. ‘That social worker – she was very good, very good indeed. I never thought anyone'd get through to my Royston. Well, you've seen him. Anyway, he's promised to see her again, talk to her if he remembers any more. I think he remembers, all right. Just not ready to say it yet. But I come on him in the kitchen, in his dad's tool kit. And he's got this knife. And I'm afraid he's going to do himself harm. When he sees me, he puts it away again – some excuse about wanting to sharpen some pencils for school.'

‘Excuse?'

‘It's his face. It's not the truth, Kate.' Zenia's voice shook. ‘Anyway, he went out. This'd be seven-seven-thirty. And I wondered where my boy might be going where he'd need a knife. And I remembered that cut, Kate.' She was sobbing, now. ‘And I remembered that black girl that was raped – the papers say she was stabbed. And that knife! It's stained, Kate! What shall I do?'

What indeed?

‘Is he at home now?'

‘On a Saturday night? You got to be joking. I've hidden the knife, Kate. Locked it away.'

‘Let's not jump to conclusions, Zenia. Why don't you just wait till tomorrow, and talk to him? Even if he were involved in those rapes, it doesn't mean he used the knife.'

‘Better to stab someone or rape them?' Zenia's voice rose alarmingly.

‘Maybe neither. Talk to him, love. And if he has done anything, whatever it is, it's better if he turns himself in. You can go with him, you and Joseph. But it's much better if he does it himself. Honestly.' She waited for a moment which seemed to become a minute. ‘I wish I could be with you but I can't, Zenia. This case I'm on – it's a matter of life and death. And I shall be stuck on it all day tomorrow, or I'd be round, I promise you.'

‘It's that business with the church, isn't it? Oh my God, Kate – what harm we do each other.'

Kate played through the whole service on automatic pilot: she neither knew nor cared whether the choir was with her or following half a bar behind. Zenia hadn't phoned again, nor had Graham. She still had no idea what the interesting leads might be that surveillance had thrown up. This was without doubt the worst assignment she'd ever had – cut off from all the action and with no support. She reasoned with herself: it was far less tricky than working undercover. She had to trust her colleagues. Hadn't they planted listening devices so she could sleep?