THIRTY-FIVE

5.25 P.M.

‘Are you kidding me?’ Bryant asked, looking at the sandwich in his hand.

‘It was the best they had. And I got you crisps,’ she said, tossing him a packet of salt and vinegar.

‘You’re telling me that even Frost gets some of Luigi’s finest and I get egg mayo?’

‘Triple pack,’ she said as if that made everything better.

She opened her own chicken salad sandwich, took a bite and could see his point.

They’d been heading back to the station when she’d received a call from Fred Guest, offering to meet her at the office. But when she’d learned he only lived in Old Hill, it had made more sense to visit him at home. She was pausing in the car outside his home for more reasons than having a bite to eat though.

‘Bryant…’

‘Don’t say it, guv,’ he groaned with dread in his voice.

‘Gotta do it,’ she said, taking out her phone.

He buried his head in his hands. ‘It has nothing to do with our case.’

‘And I’m sure you’ll enjoy your moment of triumph if you’re proven right. I’ll even let you do a lap of honour round the squad room. But I can’t ignore the fact that someone potentially got raped while following one of these bloody trails.’

‘Different county, different website, different type of crime.’

She raised an eyebrow. ‘You don’t see rape and torture as potentially being carried out by the same person?’

‘With our case, the torture is a side dish. The main event is the game. I really didn’t mean that how it sounded.’

‘I get what you mean, but I still think we need to know more,’ she said, pressing Stacey’s contact number.

‘Yo, boss,’ Stacey answered.

‘Stace, find out?—’

‘Hang on, boss. I’ve tried emailing and calling Ryan Douglas to ask him to block the Jester’s account on Seekers. I’m getting radio silence. Won’t respond at all. I’ve told him what we want him to do, but he’s either really busy or…’

‘He has no intention of stopping the Jester from posting,’ Kim finished for her.

She wasn’t surprised. The man was probably thrilled the Jester was using the Seekers site as a communication tool. Why should they expect him to co-operate with a police investigation when it was probably good for business?

‘Okay, Stace, can’t do any more without a warrant. I’ve got something else for you. Find out what you can about a rape just outside of Stourport around six months ago. Could be linked to a trail.’

‘You sure?’

‘Not yet. It’s all a mixture of hearsay and Mumsnet at the minute so see what you can find out. The site it was on was Little Trekkers if that helps.’

‘On it, boss,’ Stacey said before ending the call.

‘Not content to try and solve every case for West Mids police, you now wanna solve the cases of all the other forces as well,’ Bryant complained.

She ignored his jab. ‘Whether it went forward to CPS or not, evidence would still have been collected. What if they have something that helps us?’

‘Anything further that comes out of my mouth will just be a waste of breath,’ he said, opening the car door.

She followed his lead. As she got out of the car, she found herself surprised by the state of Fred’s property, having met the man himself.

The estate had been the pride of Old Hill when built in the seventies. Everyone living in council accommodation had tried to transfer to houses and flats in streets named Cherry Orchard and Blossom Grove. But many of those houses looked tired and deflated now, including the one occupied by the man they’d come to see.

Fred opened the door with a finger to his lips.

Kim instantly thought of grandchildren.

‘Please be quiet – I’ve only just got Dad off to sleep.’

‘Okay,’ Kim said, stepping inside and seeing a wheelchair beside a stairlift.

Fred pointed to the ceiling to indicate where his father was sleeping and ushered them into the lounge.

‘Is your father ill?’ Kim asked.

‘He has MS. Has done since I was twelve.’

‘And your mum?’ Kim said, taking a seat. Bryant did the same.

‘She died when I was thirteen. Just me and my dad.’

‘Other relatives?’ Bryant asked.

‘Not really,’ he said, reaching for a pile of papers.

Kim took a moment to survey her surroundings. Although tidy and functional, the house bore no hint of a woman’s presence. There was nothing to soften the edges, no flowers, candles or cushions. Only a couple of photos stood on the mantlepiece. One had been taken at the seaside, where a young Fred sat beside his father on a wall, and another showed a slightly older Fred sitting beside his dad’s wheelchair at some kind of function.

Kim could see it clearly. Fred had been a carer child.

She’d seen programmes about children who spent a great deal of time taking care of a parent. The programmes always saddened her, made her feel that the kids were missing out, that their childhood was being stolen.

For Fred, his father’s illness had developed at a time when he should have been forming friendships with peers, starting to discover his independence, girlfriends.

‘We were fine,’ Fred said as though reading her thoughts.

Kim highly doubted that. This would have been fifty years ago. There weren’t safeguards in place back then to make sure all the children’s needs were being met, that they finished their schooling, had time away from the sick relative, maybe met with other kids in their situation, and counselling wouldn’t have even been a thought.

She was betting that Mr Guest senior had been given the option of putting Fred in care and when he refused, they were pretty much left to their own devices.

She immediately saw Fred differently. This morning he’d been the authoritative busybody full of his own importance, and now she realised he was just doing what he’d always done: organise, sort, arrange, take care of things. He’d shown that trait in offering to collate the information he was handing to her now.

‘These are the names of the forty-three volunteers who turned up today. I don’t have all their addresses, but if I know what area they’re from, I’ve listed that too as well as their phone numbers.’ He paused. ‘I’ve spoken to them all.’

‘All of them?’ Kim asked, both surprised and impressed.

‘Well, I’ve had a few hours. None of them gave a label to anyone, but I guess someone could have happened along and helped themselves.’

‘I suppose?—’

‘So, on that premise,’ he said, cutting her off, ‘I asked them all if they remembered seeing anyone they didn’t recognise.’

‘And?’ Kim asked, considering offering the man a job.

‘Mrs Billingham thought she saw a teenager in joggers leaving the area as she pulled into the car park, and Mrs Smart saw someone she didn’t know with a rucksack not too far from the bridge.’

‘Any better description than that?’ Kim asked, already feeling sure that Fred would have asked.

He shook his head.

‘Okay, Fred, well thanks for this,’ she said, taking the list.

‘May I ask what’s going on, Officer?’

An instant refusal to divulge anything came to her lips, but she relented somewhat after the help he’d given them. Those phone calls had saved them hours.

‘We’re dealing with a twisted individual who thinks he can send the police on a wild goose chase. Except there’s no fun in this one for anybody except him.’

‘Sorry to hear you’re having your time wasted, Inspector. If there’s anything else I can help with, give me a shout.’ He raised his head towards the ceiling. ‘I’m not going anywhere.’

It was on the tip of her tongue to refuse, but you never knew when someone with Fred’s level of attention to detail might come in handy.

‘Thanks for that, Fred. You never know, we might just give you a call.’