The Lost Victim, page 10
‘I’m listening.’
‘What would it be worth for you to talk to me, on the record, about things in the past?’
He gave a wheezing laugh. ‘You’ve gone to all this trouble to ask me that?’
‘Yes. There is only so much you can say through an official phone line.’
‘What if I knew where a body was buried?’ said Peter. Although it came out sounding like, ‘Whath ith I neuth wheth a bodith whath berith?’
‘Sorry. I didn’t catch that?’
There was a bang on the hatch of Peter’s cell door. He ended the call, closed the phone, and pushed it under his pillow. The hatch opened.
‘How you doing?’ asked Lurch.
‘Been better.’
‘You hungry? I brought you some lunch.’
‘Famished.’
Peter ate what he could of his lunch, but it was agony to chew and swallow. He waited for the tray to be taken away before he called back the number. The woman now seemed on edge and whiny. There was nothing he despised more than weakness. She wanted to record an interview with him and talk about Janey Macklin, and, specifically, if he had any involvement with her disappearance. He could still feel the after-effects of the anaesthetic, and told her he needed time to think. Would it be in his interests to go along with her, or could he gain more leverage by shopping the bitch to the prison governor?
In the meantime, he had his own phone. Who else could he call?
20
Back at the flat in Percy Circus, Tristan had to lift the flatscreen television off the wall so Kate could plug in the SCART lead for the video recorder. It took a few attempts to get the TV hooked back up, and then Kate inserted the videocassette.
The TV screen went fuzzy, and then a countdown timer appeared on screen with the type ‘BBC CRIMEWATCH RECONSTRUCTION 234 05.01.1989.’ A moment later, a view of Midland Road at night appeared. It was dark, and the road and surrounding buildings seemed to glisten black on the damp January night. The camera swung around to show The Jug pub. The windows were steamed up, and Christmas lights shone through the condensation.
The sound boomed out. ‘On the evening of December the twenty-third, fifteen-year-old Janey Macklin and her younger sister, Maxine, met their mother at The Jug public house in Midland Road near King’s Cross St Pancras station,’ said the posh male voice-over. Kate turned down the volume. On the screen a teenage girl with rabbity teeth and short brown hair walked up to the pub, holding the hand of a younger girl in a long brown duffel coat. They opened the door and went inside.
‘Janey’s mother had just finished her shift as a cleaner at The Jug, and she’d stayed for a Christmas drink.’
Kate noted how rough The Jug circa 1988 looked inside, with tatty red chairs and chipped furniture. Cigarette smoke hung in the air, and Janey and Maxine were shown playing on a Space Invaders video game, whilst the actress playing their mother, who looked worse for wear with bedraggled curly black hair, and wearing denim dungarees, was running a bright-yellow duster over the end of the wooden bar top.
‘Janey grew bored of waiting for her mother, and decided to visit the local newsagent to buy some sweets.’
The actress playing Janey re-emerged from the pub, hurried across the street, and started walking away. Kate glanced at the school photo in the folder beside her laptop and thought how the actress they’d chosen was the spitting image of Janey, with her big eyes and freckled cheeks.
‘Janey left The Jug at around five forty-five pm, and she walked past this fish-and-chip shop, the Golden Fry, where several people were dining inside.’
‘Dining,’ repeated Tristan.
‘This was 1989. Everyone who appeared on the BBC spoke with very posh voices,’ said Kate.
‘Janey then reached Reynolds newsagent on the corner of Midland Road and Gosport Street. The proprietor was just about to close, so Janey bought her sweets and left shortly afterwards.’
Kate paused the video on the image of Janey stepping out of Reynolds with a small paper bag of what looked like penny sweets.
‘Robert Driscoll told us that Janey’s mum sent her to buy cigarettes from Reynolds.’
‘And Stan told us that Janey and Maxine would meet Doreen after she finished work,’ said Tristan. ‘They airbrushed the family to make them look more wholesome. Look at Doreen dusting the top of the bar.’
‘I wonder if the police wanted viewers to sympathise with the family, so more people would be inclined to come forward if they saw something,’ said Kate. She pointed at the screen to the young actor they’d hired who looked like Robert Driscoll, who was packing up the racks of newspapers outside Reynolds.
Kate unpaused the video. The posh male voice-over continued: ‘Janey stopped to talk to a young man who worked at the newsagent and then headed back to meet her mother at The Jug. This was a short walk on the street, and there were lots of pedestrians and cars passing.’
The video showed Janey walking along the road back, past the Golden Fry, and into the dimly lit part of the street.
‘Police are appealing to anyone who was on Pancras Road between five forty-five pm and six thirty pm on December the twenty-third. You may have been having fish and chips in the Golden Fry, or you may have paid a visit to The Jug public house, or you were just in the area at this time. If you may have seen anything, however small, please call our hotline number.’
‘They featured Robert but didn’t mention his name, and they didn’t show Jack Reynolds,’ said Tristan.
The number flashed up on the bottom of the screen, and then they showed Victoria House.
‘Janey was a popular young girl and lived locally; she attended weekly classes at the Glenda La Froy dance school, and lived here on the Victoria House estate just a few minutes’ walk from Pancras Road.’
Kate paused the video again. ‘This appeal was broadcast on January 5, 1989. That’s thirteen days after Janey went missing. And the police at this stage still weren’t aware that Robert gave Janey a lift in his van?’
‘Robert said the police spoke to him and Forrest and Roland a couple of days after Janey went missing. Did he tell them that he gave Janey a lift, or that Janey just came to Reynolds to buy sweets and cigarettes? And after the police appeal was broadcast, that’s when the woman from the Golden Fry came forward and tells the police she saw Janey getting into Driscoll’s van.’
‘Yes. They arrested Robert Driscoll and charged him two weeks after she went missing. So that’s a day or two after this appeal was broadcast.’
‘This appeal doesn’t mention anything about the police using the sniffer dog and finding Janey’s scent inside Reynolds and in the pipe in the backyard. That was five days after she went missing,’ said Tristan.
‘The police might have been holding that information back,’ said Kate. She pointed at the TV. ‘Look at this video taken outside Victoria House. The paving slabs in the courtyard have all been pulled up, and the statue in the middle is missing.’
They were silent for a moment, staring at the frozen image.
‘We need to establish a timeline for all of this,’ said Kate. ‘And read all of the statements given to the police.’
Kate ran the video back to the beginning, and they watched again as Janey and Maxine walked into The Jug.
‘Do you think they hired extras? All those people look authentic,’ said Tristan. Kate stared at the screen as Janey and Maxine picked their way through the drunk-looking men and women chatting and laughing through a haze of cigarette smoke. ‘And we have to keep in mind Peter Conway might have been in the pub that night, or Thomas Black.’
‘I don’t want to think about that,’ said Kate. If either one of those men abducted Janey, it would have been a long, slow, and painful death.’
21
Kate and Tristan spent the next few hours going through the case files, and then at midnight, Tristan said he was going to bed. Kate was wide awake, so she stayed up a little while longer. Around 1am, she went to the kitchen to make herself another cup of tea, when her phone rang. It was Jake.
‘Mum, sorry to call you late. Did I wake you up?’ he said, sounding agitated.
‘I’m still up. Are you okay, love?’
‘I don’t know. I just had a phone call from Peter.’
‘Peter?’ repeated Kate. Her mind was still on the case, and for a moment, she didn’t know who he was talking about.
‘Peter Conway.’
‘Oh.’ Kate hesitated. To ask how he was seemed disingenuous.
‘He’s in a bad way. He had to have five teeth extracted, and he’s got a serious infection,’ said Jake. Kate could hear the conflict in his voice.
‘You’re allowed to feel sympathy for him.’
‘I do, sort of, but it’s not that, Mum. I don’t think he called me from a prison phone.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘When I usually get a call from him, there’s this recorded message which says something like, A prisoner from HMP Wakefield wishes to connect with you. Will you take the call? And you press one, and then there’s another message that says that calls are monitored and recorded. There was none of this – he was just there when I answered, and the number on my caller ID began with zero seven, which is a mobile number. It’s usually the Wakefield prison switchboard number where they route the calls that shows up.’
Kate sat down on one of the kitchen chairs, and it creaked and echoed in the flat. ‘Did he say anything threatening or weird?’
‘He told me . . . that he loved me, and he wished that he’d had the chance to be a real father.’
‘That does sound out of character. Can you give the number he called you on?’
‘Sure.’
Kate grabbed a pen and scribbled it down on the back of a takeaway menu.
‘Do you think he’s escaped again?’
‘No,’ said Kate. ‘I’d have been warned, and you too. We’re on the list of people who get contacted.’
Despite this, she got up and went to the front door, checking it was locked and bolted.
‘What are you doing?’ asked Jake. She could hear the concern in his voice.
‘I’m just checking the doors are all locked and there’s no one here,’ she said. The living room felt chilly, and she peered through the gap in the curtains. Percy Circus was empty. The orange street lights were burning bright and snow was falling heavily, covering the road and cars in a blanket of orange-tinged white.
‘Mum, I don’t think he’s escaped.’
Kate went to Tristan’s door. She could hear him snoring softly. She put her hand up to knock, and then stopped. Peter Conway was far away.
‘I remember when he escaped last time. And I met him for the first time. He checked my teeth. His sick joke . . . His hands were dirty, and I remember the nasty taste in my mouth of his fingers. Like metal. Metallic.’
Kate came back and sat on the sofa. The TV was on with the sound down low, showing a wildlife documentary in the South Pole. ‘Metallic? That was probably from the helicopter rail.’
‘It’s kind of badass that they landed a helicopter in the prison yard and broke him out,’ said Jake.
‘I’ve never thought of it as “badass.” It always scares me that he nearly got away, taking you with him.’
‘I wouldn’t have gone.’
Kate had always hoped this was true, but it was strange the hold people could exert on others. If Peter and his mother had taken Jake to Spain and managed to stay there, would Jake have eventually been willed or brainwashed to accept his new life?
‘He seemed different on the phone just now. Like old age has taken away all the evil.’
Kate wanted to refrain from debating this with Jake. Peter Conway was evil. Always had been, and always would be. ‘I’m going to call Wakefield prison. It sounds like Peter got hold of a mobile phone,’ she said.
They were silent for a moment, and Kate watched the camera as it flew through a tunnel in the polar ice. ‘Is it warm there in Manhattan Beach?’
‘Yeah. I’m in a T-shirt and shorts. I’m sitting opposite that taco place we used to go to with the fish tacos.’
‘I loved it there. The sunshine and the salt spray off the sea, and the feeling that anything is possible.’
‘What’s it like there?’
‘Cold. Dark. And it feels a bit weird not being at home.’
‘You know, you’re always welcome here. And Olivia’s parents would love to meet you.’
Kate made a suitably enthusiastic noise at the mention of Olivia’s parents. When she did have the chance to go to Los Angeles, she wanted to spend all her time with Jake.
‘I’m going to work out dates . . . soon,’ she said.
‘You’ll let me know about this thing with Peter’s phone? I thought I should tell you.’
‘Yes. Love you,’ said Kate.
‘Love you, too, Mum.’
Kate came off the phone, and the silence descended. The wind whistled around the building, and she heard someone in the flat upstairs running water. The case files were on the table in the living room, and she opened the first page and stared at Janey Macklin’s school photo. The young girl’s hopeful smile against the blue background. Kate went back to the kitchen to fetch her tea, and she stared at the mobile phone number she’d written on the takeaway menu.
‘Fuck it,’ she said. She went back to the living room and dialled the number. It rang for a long time, and she thought it would go to voicemail, and then she heard a rustle as it was answered.
A voice, thick and almost unrecognisable, said, ‘Hello. Who is this?’
‘Is that you, Peter?’
‘Yes.’
‘It’s Kate . . . Kate Marshall.’
There was a long silence, and Peter took a deep, wheezing breath and sounded like he was sitting up. ‘Kate. Hello. How are you?’
The last part came out as ‘Howach youo?’
It was the most bizarre question. As if they were just picking up where they had left off. But where had they left off?
‘I’m really very good,’ she said, hearing the defiance in her voice. Why did she feel the need to tell him how great things were? ‘How’s life treating you, at Her Majesty’s pleasure?’
‘Dreathful.’
‘Peter, why am I able to phone you direct?’
His breathing was heavy. He chuckled. ‘A phone, quite literally, fell into my lap . . . It appeared in my pocket when I went to visit the dentist.’
‘Who gave it to you?’
‘I dunno. Some . . .’ He coughed. ‘Some bitch wants my voice. Wants a piece of me.’
‘Who?’ she said, shuddering at the way he said bitch. Even in his slurring voice, it made her shiver. ‘Is there a journalist or someone on the outside who wants something from you?’
‘Hang on. Is this really you, Kate? My Catherine? I was just talking to Jake.’
Kate winced at being called My Catherine. There was so much she wanted to say. So much anger, hate, and fear balled up in her chest, ready to burst out. He gave a hacking cough on the end of the line, and his breathing was laboured.
‘I don’t know who gave me the phone. Some journalist left a note inside asking me to call her. No name.’
‘How do you know it was a her? Did you call her?’
Peter exhaled. His breath sounded wet. ‘Er, no. I didn’t. The writing on the note looked . . . girly. I wanted to speak to Jake, which I did. I love my son. Even though you don’t think so.’
‘I don’t think that,’ said Kate. She gripped the phone. The photo of Janey Macklin smiled up at her. Forever fifteen. If Peter was feeling emotional and maudlin, now was a good time to ask him.
‘Peter. Do you remember when you were training at Hendon and living in London in 1988?’
‘Ah. That was a long time ago.’
‘Did you . . .’ Kate swallowed. ‘Did you . . .’ She didn’t know how to word it. She didn’t want him to get angry and shut down. ‘Did you meet a young girl in King’s Cross? Her name was Janey Macklin. It would have been a couple of days before Christmas in 1988. You would still have been at Hendon.’
There was a long silence, and she heard him breathing heavily. She’d said it all too fast. Kate repeated it all again, slowly.
‘Janey . . . She was young?’
‘Yes. Janey Macklin was her name. She used to go to The Jug pub on Pancras Road. She had short dark hair, and a heart-shaped face. The story of her going missing was in the papers.’
‘The papers?’
‘Yes. A young man called Robert Driscoll went down for murder, but the police never found a body. Do you know anything about it? Did you do something to her?’
‘Sothith. I. I’m thorry.’
Kate gripped the phone harder, her heart racing in her chest. ‘Sorry about what? Do you know what happened to Janey?’
‘I think I do.’
‘You do? What do you know?’
‘Sothith Catherine.’
There was a beep, and then the line went dead. Kate stared at her phone for a long frustrating moment and then tried calling again, but she got a recorded message saying that the number was unavailable.
22
Peter Conway had been in terrible pain the night after his surgery. General anaesthetic always made him woozy, but this was like the world’s worst hangover, with a crashing, white-hot pain through his jaw, ears, and neck muscles. Lurch had been concerned enough about him to call in the prison doctor, who begrudgingly prescribed antibiotics and codeine.
He’d spent the rest of the day in his cell, in bed, unable to sleep or think straight. It was later that evening when he remembered the phone and suddenly felt the impulse to talk to Jake. Peter’s paternal instincts seemed to ebb and flow. For many years, he felt a sense of ownership and indifference towards Jake, but over the past few conversations, he’d heard Jake talk about his life in Los Angeles and all his plans. For the first time in Peter’s life, he’d been able to see past the anger that controlled him and see his son as a person. And a part of him he could feel proud of.
