A Poison Tree Page 11

  Rory looked up at Blake, frowning. “He’s a ghost, like Michael Myers in the films…”

  Blake shook his head. “No. He was just an ordinary boy who had a sad life. That’s all he was.”

  “Do you have a picture of him?” Rory said, hugging himself and looking at the floor.

  “If Mum says it’s okay, DS Chinn can show you some of the files about him. There’s a picture of Cameron Lock.”

  “Okay,” Rory said, slowly.

  “Can I borrow your phone for a while? We can track the signal next time he rings,” Blake said. Vikki Chinn frowned at him but said nothing.

  A faint smile twitched Rory’s lips. “Like you’ll put a trace on the call?”

  “Exactly,” Blake said, nodding. “I’ll give you your phone back as soon as I’ve traced the call. Deal?”

  “Deal!” Rory said and held his hand up for a high five. Blake slapped his palm, trying not to wince at the enthusiasm with which Rory slapped back. Outside, he instructed Vikki to show Rory a few details about Lock’s background and a photograph. “Just emphasise how ordinary he was.”

  “Right, sir. Where are you going?”

  “To apprehend the little shit who has Rebecca’s phone but I’ll need some uniformed back-up,” Blake muttered.

  “Back-up, sir?”

  “Yeah, if only to stop me from tearing the scrote’s head off. Because I know EXACTLY who’s doing this.”

  CHAPTER 21

  There were a number of missed calls on Rory’s phone, presumably during the time the poor boy was clobbering his father. The Manta had refused to play ball when Blake had turned the key in the ignition. He’d spent several frustrating minutes listening to it turn over and then die before he told one of the uniformed officers to get a car. Now he sat in the passenger seat of a marked car with one officer driving and a female officer in the back. They’d been there half an hour and the constables were getting restless.

  “Are we going to knock on the door, sir?” The driver said, peering up the gravel drive at the immaculate house.

  “In a moment,” Blake said. “It shouldn’t be long.” Rory’s phone rang again, flashing up Rebecca Thompson’s name or rather ‘Beka’ as Rory had typed it in. Blake answered it and then killed the call. “That should annoy the little get. Come on.”

  The phone started ringing again as Blake knocked hard on the door. Ted Waters answered, his face a picture of puzzled indignation. “Detective Blake,” he said. “Can I help you?”

  Blake answered the call and put it on speaker phone. “It’s me, Clockeeee. Are you there Rory? I’m coming to get you,” said a squeaky but recognisable voice. “Why don’t you kill yourself?”

  Blake hung up. “Can Gavin come out to play, please, Mr Waters?” he said.

  Ted Waters’ face hardened, and he stepped aside. “He’s up in his room, second on the left at the top of the stairs. Be my guest.”

  An hour later, Gavin Waters sat in the interview room with his mother beside him. Ted Waters, it seemed had washed his hands of his son and was taking his daughter out for a meal. Rebecca’s mobile phone sat on the table in front of them. Blake leaned forward and explained to Gavin that the interview was taped and that he wasn’t under arrest… yet. His mother, in a slightly different-coloured sloppy jumper and tight jeans than the ones Blake remembered last time, sat opposite smiling benignly and nodding as he explained.

  “So, you can start by telling us how you came by Rebecca Thompson’s phone,” Blake said.

  “Sorry to interrupt but,” Mrs Waters said, as if she was about to offer them all sandwiches, “well, does Gavin have to answer any of these questions. Legally, I mean.”

  “No, Mrs Waters,” Blake said. “He doesn’t but we may then have to charge him with taking a phone from a crime scene, perverting the course of justice, making

  threatening phonecalls, causing a disturbance of the peace and possibly even conspiracy to murder.”

  Mrs Waters went pale. “I think, Gavi,’” she said. “That under the circumstances, you’d better just answer all their questions.”

  Gavin sat silent and as pale as his mother.

  “So,” Blake said. “Where did you get Rebecca’s phone from?”

  “I nicked it from her, didn’t I? Just before she went home…” He lowered his head. “Before she was murdered.”

  “And why did you do that?”

  Gavin pursed his lips and glanced at his mother. “Can’t say.”

  “Look Gavin,” Blake said. “Whatever you think is too dreadful to say in front of your mother just isn’t, okay? We’re talking about murder here. Rebecca was strangled to death. What’s worse than that?”

  Gavin took a breath. “We were smoking weed.”

  “Oh my,” Mrs Waters said, her back straightening and her self-control, clearly cast-iron after years of living with Ted Waters, kicked in; she said nothing more.

  “Go on,” Blake said.

  “She was blabbering on about how great she was, as usual; how she was getting more weed that night and how I needed to get more cash to buy my share. So I thought, ‘you know what? I bet she’s ripping me off. This stuff costs me a fortune and I never see the dealer. It all goes through Becky.”

  “So you stole the phone to get the dealer’s number?”

  Gavin nodded. “Yeah. I watched her for a bit and learned her PIN. I was going to see how much the dealer charged and then rat on Becky for selling it on at a higher price.”

  “That’s not very nice,” Blake said.

  “She wasn’t very nice,” Gavin said. “Always going on about how she was better than us. Cleverer and smarter…”

  “Then why did you hang around with her if she was so mean to you?”

  Gavin lowered his head. “Because we had nobody else, did we? We’re the freaks at school, aren't we? The 'special' kids.” He looked up. “We kind of got used to it and she kept the bullies away, a bit.”

  Blake felt a twinge of compassion and thought about Gerald Rees being trailed along by Drucilla Hunt, pouncing on and treasuring to the tiniest nugget of affection.

  “But she was proper stoned this time and wouldn’t shut up about how she was a cut above the rest of us,” Gavin said.

  “A cut above?” Blake said, frowning.

  Gavin waved his arms about as if he could pluck the words from the air. “Yeah, that's what she said. She said she was real posh. Like royalty. She reckoned she was adopted or some shit like that. She said her mum and dad weren’t her real parents and another family were going to claim her back. Like I said, she was out of it. Talking bollocks.” He gave his mum a sidelong glance.

  "Did she say who these people were? This other family?”

  “Nah,” Gavin said. “She said she was going to meet them soon.”

  Blake pursed his lips and caught Mrs Waters' eye whose smooth, botoxed brow gave a faint ripple of apology. “Gavin,” Blake said. “Why didn’t you tell me this sooner?”

  Gavin swallowed. “I didn’t remember properly. I was out of it too. We’d gone down to the common to smoke. Rory hadn’t come with us because his saddo of a dad told him he had to come home and he wasn’t allowed to use dope.”

  “Neither are you, young man,” Mrs Waters said and even Blake flinched a little at the waspish tone.

  “So Rory’s dad knew about the cannabis?” Blake said.

  “Yeah. I’d had him down for a proper stoner, the way he dresses but he’s mental. He threatened Becky.”

  Blake thought about Corrinne Todd’s comment earlier about Phil Evans warning the girl off. “Threatened her when?”

  “A couple of weeks ago. He said he’d kill her if she didn’t stop smoking dope around Rory. Said it would do Rory’s head in. I think it might have mellowed him out…”

  “A bit like your helpful phonecalls did?” Blake said, slamming his hand on the table. “Mr Evans has a broken arm and Rory had to be physically restrained. Police officers were injured. I don’t really want your thoughts on
the therapeutic benefits of marijuana, Gavin, I just want plain facts.”

  “I was only winding him up,” Gavin said, his voice weak. “It was a joke.”

  Blake ignored the comment. “This ‘other family’ of Rebecca’s. when you said she was going to see them soon. Do you think she could have meant that night?”

  “I don’t know, do I?” Gavin said. “It could be. She didn’t say, like, ‘I’m going to meet Big Bro’ tonight’ but she said she would meet him very soon.”

  “Big Bro?”

  Gavin pointed at Rebecca’s phone. “That’s his name on her contacts.”

  ◆◆◆

  It had been a simple thing to get his number, given her connections. She tucked in the sheet under the mattress and smoothed it down. Plumping the pillows, she gave a satisfied smile. The right tool for the job had been located and awaited her downstairs. It was a stroke of luck that she’d found it in the shed when she was looking for the secateurs. She considered taking the secateurs for a fleeting second but then she’d dismissed the idea. There was no need for them. A simple phone call once she had reached her destination and it would all just happen. Fast.

  She frowned for a moment. It could go wrong, of course. A broad grin replaced the frown and she flapped the duvet high over the bed. It wouldn’t go wrong. She felt powerful and in control. She would be in place, ready when he arrived and that would be an end of it. An end of him. One more down.

  Monday October 28th

  CHAPTER 22

  The Incident Room was abuzz with the news of Rebecca’s mobile phone turning up. Blake stood in front of the detectives and glanced behind at the board. Alongside Rebecca Thompson’s photograph, and the pictures of the crime scene were some headings in block capitals and a picture of Phil Evans.

  “Some new lines of enquiry have emerged,” Blake said. “It seems that Rebecca was a frequent user of cannabis, so I want to track down her dealer. She had him on speed dial under the incredibly cryptic heading of ‘Mr Weed.’ We tried calling but he wasn’t picking up.” There were a few smiles around the room. “The death could be related to debt or a disagreement. I find it strange that her parents didn’t know or suspect anything, so we need to talk to them again.”

  Kinnear raised a hand. “Wasn’t Gary Archer, the fella nicked for Drucilla’s murder a dealer?”

  “Good point,” Blake said. “Worth keeping in mind. Cryer, any news on Gary Archer?”

  DI Cryer looked like she’d won the lottery. “Yep, sir,” she said. “No offences after he was released from prison. Looks like he went straight. But in 2005, he had a motorbike accident on the A540. Shunted from behind at red lights by an articulated lorry that couldn’t stop in time. Due to extensive spinal injuries, he was paralysed from the waist down. He’s been confined to a wheelchair ever since.”

  “So he couldn’t have killed Rebecca,” Blake said. He frowned at Cryer. “You’ve found something else, haven’t you?”

  “You asked me to check up on Eric Stafford, the ranger at the woods. He’s not known to us. Clean as a whistle apart from a speeding offence a year ago. 35 in a 30 zone. BUT…”

  Blake blinked at her, “But?”

  Cryer beamed. “Eric Stafford and Gary Archer live at the same address.”

  “Really?”

  “I know, strange, right? I double checked it, thinking it was a clerical error or something but sure enough, Stafford and Archer both live at Four Spital Cottages. The house is registered in Archer’s name,” Cryer continued, breathlessly. “So I mentioned Stafford’s name to my cousin who’s lived round that neck of the woods for years. She told me that Archer is Stafford’s grandfather.”

  “Excellent work, Kath. I was kind of hoping the new leads might separate the deaths of Rebecca Thompson and Drucilla Hunt but they keep crisscrossing each other. Right. So we have a dealer, unknown as yet. Cryer, could you look into any Bromborough locals nicked recently for dealing? It strikes me that Rebecca and her little posse didn’t travel much beyond Eastham or Bromborough, so they probably shopped locally. The other lead we have is Big Bro,” Blake said. “Kinnear, any thoughts?”

  “I’ll need to look more closely but from what I can see, calls to Big Bro started six months ago. There are intermittent bursts of text and then gaps of a couple of weeks. The texts seem to be suggesting a meeting place; Rebecca saying how she can’t wait to meet up, Big Bro never has another name and sounds just as eager to meet her. Calls her Lil Sis.”

  “Where and when was the last meet?”

  “About six weeks ago. September 12th at the Compass pub in Bromborough, 2pm,” Kinnear said. He looked up. “Classy.”

  The Compass was a well-known dive at the heart of what used to be Bromborough’s council housing estate; a huge, brick-built cathedral to booze that sold cheap lager and cider all day. You only went into the Compass if you were up to no good, wanted to get very drunk very quickly or both. The kind of place where your feet stuck to the floor even after you’d stepped out of the pub. The local residents frequently raised concerns about the pub and few drank in there. Rumour had it that its days were numbered and the council were just waiting for the chance to revoke its alcohol licence.

  “Could we ring him? Or text him on Rebecca’s phone? Arrange a meet?” Cryer suggested.

  “It’s a possibility,” Blake said. “But our friend Gavin didn’t just send whacky phonecalls to Rory Evans over the weekend. So we can assume that Big Bro may be alerted to the fact that the phone has fallen into someone else’s hands. Try a text. Just a ‘hello’ or something.”

  Kinnear texted but a few seconds later it came up as failed to send. “Looks like the phone is off. Probably destroyed, sir, but I’ll keep trying.”

  “Okay, Vikki and Alex get down to the Compass and see if you can jog any memories of September 12th,” Blake said. “Kinnear, you keep checking the phone for anything that might help.”

  “Will do.” Kinnear settled down to his desk, thumbing and scrolling through the phone.

  “Me?” Blake said to nobody. “I’ll go and pay Big Phil Evans a visit.”

  ◆◆◆

  The Manta had sputtered into life when Blake ended his shift the previous night which had made him groan; an intermittent fault played to his greatest weakness. Now he’d keep putting off getting the bonnet open and the car would keep letting him down. Maybe at the weekend he’d have a look at it but as he pulled up outside the Evans Household, he put that to the back of his mind.

  Rory answered the door, looking rather sheepish but at least he was calm.

  “Hi, Detective Inspector Chief Blake,” he said, raising a hand. “Do you want to speak to my dad?”

  “Hi, Rory, yes please,” Blake said, stepping into the cluttered house. “Did you get a call from Gavin?”

  “Yes,” Rory said. “He said he was very sorry but I’m not going to hang around with him anymore. Mum says he’s a jerkoff. I told him.”

  “Good for you, Rory,” Blake said. “Your mum’s a good judge of character.”

  “So is Gavin,” Rory said. “He agreed with my mum that he was a jerkoff.”

  Big Phil Evans sat watching a TV programme about properties abroad. The big man had cushions supporting his hips and his arm which was encased in an impressive plaster.

  “Dad, it’s Chief Blake,” Rory said, making Blake feel like somebody out of a Batman cartoon.

  “Detective Blake,” Evans said. “Can’t get up, sorry.” He nodded at the plaster.

  Blake settled on the chair opposite Phil. “That’s no trouble, Mr Evans,” he said and looked up at Rory. “Is it alright if your father and I talk in private?”

  Rory nodded but didn’t move.

  “Go up to your room for a bit, Rory and listen to some music on your headphones while Detective Blake and I have a chat, okay?” Phil said.

  Rory nodded again, gave a little salute and vanished upstairs.

  “Thanks for the other day,” Phil said. “I didn’t know how we were goin
g to get him down from that one.”

  “No problem,” Blake replied. “I realised what had happened the moment Rory mentioned the phone calls. I think Gavin Waters has learnt his lesson.”

  Phil Evans’ face darkened. “I hope so,” he muttered.

  “There is something I’d like to talk about though, Mr Evans,” Blake said. “When I was interviewing Gavin about why he had the phone, he told me that you’d threatened Rebecca Thompson. Could you explain that to me?”

  Phil Evans shrugged his big shoulders. “I tried to put the frighteners on her, didn’t I? She was smoking dope and trying to get Rory into it. Rory’s got enough problems without being high as a kite, too. Plus the stuff they smoke these days, it’s really strong, not like what we used as kids. I didn’t want Rory getting mixed up in that sort of crap. He’s obsessive and gets hooked on things easily, give him one biscuit and he’ll eat the whole friggin packet.” He looked down at his huge stomach and grinned. “Dunno where he gets it from.”

  “So you approached Rebecca and what happened?”

  “I caught up with her after school a couple of weeks ago and laid down the law. Told her what would happen if Rory came home stoned or stinkin' of grass.”

  “And what did you say would happen, Mr Evans?”

  Phil Evans reddened and cleared his throat. “I- I said I’d… kill her but I was just trying to scare the little cow. Honest, I wouldn’t’ve done nothin'. You’ve got to believe me.”

  “Perhaps, Mr Evans, but you have to admit that it doesn’t look good. You threaten a girl and she turns up dead two weeks later.”

  “Please. Honest. I never saw her again after that. I wouldn’t harm a fly,” Phil winced as he shifted in his chair.