The Pure in Heart (30 page)

He wondered when they’d come. He watched the clock for half an hour then forty minutes. Then he rolled over and faced the wall and went uneasily to sleep.

They
had X-rayed Simon Serrailler’s arm, strapped it up, cleaned out his hand and told him to go home to bed. But he knew that if he did, he would take the painkillers they had given him and in the morning be half doped and too stiff and bruised to want to move. He told the taxi to take him into the station.

‘You sure you’re all right to be here, guv?’ The desk sergeant gave him a hard look.

‘Fine.
I’ll interview Gunton as soon as Nathan comes in, then go home. Any tea?’

‘Guv.’

Simon took the stairs slowly. The station at night was an odd place, quiet for the most part, especially up here, but with the occasional racket below when the D and Ds were brought in and started banging on the cell doors.

He switched on his desk lamp and drew up the slatted blind. In the yard, the amber lights
shone in pools on to the asphalt.

His arm hurt.

He had a strong feeling that the Jaguar XKV had been stolen and also that following it out to the airfield was the first stage in uncovering part of a large operation that involved a lot of people; it would turn out to have tentacles spreading out far beyond Lafferton. But he was also pretty sure that neither the car nor the driver had anything
to do with David Angus.

He went to look at the map on the wall. Lafferton and district. The cathedral. The old town. The Hill. Sorrel Drive. He made his eye follow routes outwards from where the boy had been, standing outside his house. Any car heading out of town would have turned right at the bottom of Sorrel Drive and within three minutes would be on the Bevham Road, from where it would either
continue on or hit the roundabout and take the bypass, to east or west. Within twenty to thirty minutes, it would be on the motorway.

He looked at the grids drawn from Sorrel Drive, again, spreading out and out, taking in the Hill, the canal, the river, the parks, the old railway tunnel and so on, out into the country. By now, every obvious dumping and hiding place for a body had been combed.
A corpse had been found in woodland near Starly – that of an elderly man who had been missing from home for ten days. His body
had been just out of sight of the traffic passing on the main road but his death had been from natural causes.

Of David Angus there was no trace.

Simon went back to his desk and sat trying to forget about the pain which had now spread up into his shoulder, as the doctor
had predicted. ‘That’s where the impact was as you rolled over. Bloody lucky you didn’t fracture it.’ It felt as if he had.

Somewhere, someone had the boy’s body or else had disposed of it. When an abductor took a child then the child became a liability the longer it remained alive. A nine-year-old boy, articulate, bright and observant, would be a liability of the most frightening kind to an
abductor, one able to describe and identify and remember. Whoever had taken David Angus might not have known him and might well never have been to Lafferton before. He had seen, grabbed and sped off. Then …

Simon stared at the sheet of paper on his desk. It was blank. No clue, no lead, no evidence, no trace, no results. Blank.

He dreaded that it would remain blank for ever.

They woke him with a mug of tea and a soggy bacon roll. He felt cramped and stiff. The sky through the high window of the cell was grey and dead-looking. They’d asked him if he wanted to phone anyone but he’d said no. He wondered what had happened at the airfield. What Lee Carter was doing. What Lee Carter would do. Safer to be in here.

Jesus. In here. He looked around in disbelief.
What had he said? What was the one thing he was never going to do? Still, they couldn’t send him down just for picking up a car in one street and driving it to an airfield and leaving it there. If he said nothing, they’d have to let him go. They opened the door again to let him out to the toilets. He washed his hands and sluiced his face, combed his hair. He looked like the sky, grey and dead.

‘OK, interview room. Hope you know it was the DCI tailing you last night.’

Bloody hell.

He waited, sitting at the table. There was the same rectangle of blank sky. They brought him
another cup of tea he didn’t want. Then the two of them came in.

‘Andrew Philip Gunton.’

‘Yeah.’

‘I’m DCI Simon Serrailler, this is DS Nathan Coates.’

Bloody Coates. What would Michelle say? ‘Jumped-up little prick.’

Andy said nothing. The DCI looked terrible and his hand was bandaged. He was holding his arm awkwardly.

‘Interview commenced 8.13 a.m. OK, Gunton, what were you doing driving a stolen Jaguar XKV, registration number 188 KVM, at around 2.30 a.m. on Tuesday March 14th?’

‘I didn’t know it was stolen.’

‘Really? Dreamed you won the lottery?’

Bloody cocky little Coates.

‘No.’

‘What were you doing
with it?’

‘Taking it to the airfield.’

‘Why?’

‘I was told to.’

‘Who by?’

‘No comment.’

‘Where did you take it from?’

‘I picked it up.’

‘Where from?’

‘Grasmere Avenue.’

‘What was it doing there?’

‘How should I know? I just went to collect it.’

‘So someone told you it would be there.’

‘No one told me.’

‘How did you know?’

He did not answer. He’d said enough.

‘Had you driven this
car before, Gunton?’

‘Never seen it.’

‘What’s the scam then? You just the runner or is there more?’

‘Don’t know what you’re on about.’

The DCI shifted in his chair and winced faintly. Leaned forward. ‘Who was it tried to run me over last night?’

‘What?’

‘On the airfield.’

‘Not while I was there.’

‘No, just after you’d gone. Someone drove in there and picked me up in the headlights. When
they did that, they thought they’d better flatten me. Who was it?’

Andy shrugged. But he was thinking hard and he didn’t like what he’d heard. Driving a car from A to B was one thing. Getting involved in anything like he had before …

‘You heard of David Angus?’

Andy looked up. The DCI was boring holes into him.

‘Be hard not to. I told you before.’

‘Did you ever see him?’

‘No. Not that I
know of, any road.’

‘You didn’t pick him up in the Jaguar on the morning of –’

Andy stood up, almost knocking the chair over. ‘No I fuckin’ did not.’

‘Sit down. Did you drive the same Jaguar down Sorrel Drive on –’

‘No, I did not,’ he shouted.

‘Listen, Andy …’ So it was Andy suddenly. ‘It don’t look too brilliant for you. Two thirty in the morning. Driving a stolen car. A car of the kind
known to have been in the street from which the boy disappeared.’

‘That’s got sod all to do with me. I wouldn’t touch a kid and you know it.’

‘Do I? How do I?’

‘Gunton,’ the DCI said wearily, ‘listen. Just tell us who told you to pick up the car and take it to the airfield. Tell us anything you know about why and how many times you’ve done it before.’

‘And?’

‘Just tell us.’

Andy didn’t believe
Lee Carter had anything to do with the little boy. Money was his thing, not taking kids.

‘Come on, come on.’

‘OK … and this is all. And when I’ve told you, I wanna go and I don’t want no more questions about the missing kid because I swear to God I would never, never have –’

‘Just talk,’ Serrailler said.

He believed him, Andy Gunton could tell.

He leaned on the table and started. There wasn’t
a lot to confess when it came to it. Meeting Lee
Carter. Saying he’d do some driving for him. Getting the text messages. Picking up the cars, twice, and leaving them. That was it.

‘How do you get paid, Gunton?’ Coates again. ‘Cos you ain’t doing it for kisses.’

‘Cash. Through the post.’

‘How much?’

‘Hundred pounds,’ he said quickly.

‘And the rest.’

‘Hundred pounds.’

‘Who else is involved?’

‘I never saw anyone else.’

‘Just Carter.’

‘Yeah.’

The DCI stood up. ‘Interview terminated … 8.28 a.m.’ Coates switched off the tape.

‘You charging me?’

‘Taking and driving away. The duty sergeant will bail you. And don’t go anywhere. We might want to talk to you again.’

They left him at the duty desk, waiting.

He counted himself lucky.

‘How about Karin?’

Silence. The clock struck half past ten with its sweet chime.

‘Chris?’

He was in the armchair opposite the horrors of a suicide bombing on the television news and he was asleep. Cat got up and switched off the set. In his crib beside her Felix stirred and sucked his lips but Chris slept on. She was making lists of possible godparents and so far there had been no
obvious candidate for Felix’s godmother.

She went into the kitchen. Mephisto was rubbing his great ginger body against the window and she opened it to let him in. Cold air on the north-east wind came like flying knives into the room.

An hour ago she had meant to ring Simon to find out how his arm was. It was five days since he had injured it and he had still complained to Cat of pain when he
had called in for a quick sandwich the previous afternoon. He had seemed low-spirited, frustrated and pessimistic about the David Angus case.

‘Don’t know where else to turn.’

The case was now entered on HOLMES, the central database for major police inquiries, which meant that every force in the country was linked into it and able to access and cross-reference the information. If there were any
other cases with similarities to the abduction of David they would quickly come to light.

Chris came blundering into the kitchen rubbing his hands through his hair. ‘I think I fell asleep.’

‘This can’t go on, Chris. Look at you, you’re absolutely exhausted.’

The new locum was ill again. Chris had tried the agency who could not, for the moment, give him any more night cover.

‘I’ll come back
to work sooner than I said. I’ll get help with Felix. Sally Warrender can’t wait to have more of him, she said so today.’

‘No, you won’t come back any sooner. You are taking a year out. End of story. I’m fine.’

The phone rang.

‘Sure, sure, you go to sleep straight after supper and you sleep like the dead through the night, you walk about like a zombie, the children wonder if you actually live
here. It’s like your first year as a houseman, only you’re not twenty-four years old.’

But he waved at her to be quiet as he took the call.

‘Yes, I’ll come straight away. Just give me directions again. I know roughly where you are.’ He wrote. ‘Fine … will you wait at the main road and lead me up? Thanks, Sergeant.’

‘Police call?’

‘Man found dead in a car in the woods near Starly.’

‘Not a
hosepipe job?’

‘Seems like it. Never too much fun.’

‘Have a cup of coffee first. If it’s a certification and the police are there you’ve got time.’

‘Thanks.’

He went out to fetch his bag and jacket. Cat poured water into the cafetière. Five miles there. Certify death. Five miles back. He’d be home before midnight and with luck maybe the phone wouldn’t ring again. With luck.

‘You’ve got to
get a more reliable locum.’

‘I don’t know what’s happening to general practice.’

‘I do. Bloody paperwork and red tape is happening, just as it’s happening in the whole of medicine, plus attitudes have changed.’

He winced as he sipped the scalding coffee and stuck his cup under the cold tap. ‘Right, babe, I’m off to the woods. Don’t wait up.’

‘I’ll be feeding. Another nice chapter of my William
Trevor to enjoy while his lordship tucks in. He’s such a slowcoach.’

‘I like a man who makes the most of his pint.’

Chris kissed her cheek and went out.

Cat remembered that he had been asleep when she had suggested Karin McCafferty as Felix’s godmother, and made a mental note to mention her name again if she was still awake when Chris got in.
She wiped the draining board, switched the dishwasher
on and the lights off and went out. On the sofa, Mephisto curled himself tighter and spread his claws luxuriantly.

The police car was waiting on the lane. He flashed his lights as he drew up.

‘OK, Doc … get in. We need a four-wheel drive. It’s pretty steep.’

Chris and the constable got into the police Land-Rover and headed up the track that climbed steeply between the trees. At the weekend
this area was full of off-road bike riders. Deeper in the woodland, teams of people came to do paintballing. But tonight the headlights of the police car picked up only the lichened rows of tree trunks and the leaf mould and mud of the track. They wound through the woodland for almost a mile before the police car pulled into a rough clearing beside the tapes which had been run across between a couple
of trees. Chris got out.

‘You’ll do best to walk from here. He forged his way through the undergrowth but he wasn’t worrying about the damage to his car at that point, I suppose.’

‘Do we know who it is?’

‘He’s making it difficult – took both number plates off. We haven’t found them yet, only we haven’t looked too far – it’s not easy in these conditions.’

They both switched on torches and struck
off into the trees. Brambles and scrub had been broken down to form a rough path.

‘Who found him?’

‘Gamekeeper. This is right on the edge of the Pennythorn Estate. He was cutting across with his dog, heard a car engine … at first he thought it was rutters.’

Chris smiled. Rutters. The local word for couples in cars late at night.

‘Here you go. After you now, Doc.’

‘Evening, Doc.’ The second
PC was standing just behind the car.

‘All yours.’

‘Thanks a lot.’

It had begun to rain and the path was slippery with mashed down leaves. It was cold. The car was silver and not familiar to Chris. He went up to the open driver’s door and bent over. It was a job he particularly hated, tramping up a lane in the night and the dark with the police champing for you to get on with it, having to certify
death from carbon monoxide poisoning which caused the body to flush pink so that you had to be even more sure than normal that it was dead. There was rarely any doubt, but he was always afraid of making a mistake, so that the job took twice as long as it should, and his back took the punishment of leaning halfway through a car door for several minutes.