‘Right, then leave the camera footage to the specialists, Saslow, and go yourself for a chat tomorrow with that kid and the teacher. Being a Saturday you’ll have to go to their homes, but that might be better, for the kid anyway, it’s less formal. Take a woman PC with you. All plain clothes. Maybe the kid remembers something that might give us some sort of lead without realising it. I presume she’ll have been talked to before, but let’s try again.’
‘Will do boss. Shall I also get the usual suspects rounded up?’
‘Check with Hemmings and DI Hartley. They’ll already be onto that I expect, but it might be worth probing more deeply. If we can put all this together, plus anything you might glean from the child, or anyone else up at Moorcroft, we might just get somewhere.’
Saslow left the office. Vogel was thoughtful for a moment. Like all police forces throughout the UK, the Avon and Somerset had a list of known sex offenders on their patch, but Vogel was well aware that there were probably just as many again out there, who’d never been caught. Plus many more who merely watched children whenever they got the chance and surfed the net for child porn, but didn’t take things any further.
Yet Vogel never totally accepted that. He always thought that, for almost all of those sort of men, it would only be a matter of time until they did take things further. Until they suddenly couldn’t contain themselves any longer. Until they made an approach to a child. It could be years, but the day would come. Then maybe that approach would go wrong. The child might cry for it’s mummy, might scream and wriggle and weep. Then they had to be quietened didn’t they? Nobody was supposed to get hurt, that wasn’t intentional.
How often had Vogel heard that apology of an excuse for crimes of shocking violence? How often would he hear it again? Would he, in the next few days, or weeks, or months, hear that about poor Melanie Cooke?
I didn’t mean to hurt her, guvnor, honest I didn’t. I was just trying to shut her up.
That was bad enough but, worst of all, were the toerags who protested that the children welcomed their intentions and enjoyed their groping and probing.
It only went wrong because she changed her mind, got scared, it wasn’t my fault.
Vogel had heard it all. Vogel was a calm, mild-mannered man, but sometimes, listening to the whining of such men, he was aware of coming scarily close to violence himself.
Leo
My visit to Adonis Anonymous worked up to a point. I found it highly erotic and it did stop me thinking about sex for a while. Sex for its own sake, that is. But, unfortunately, it seemed to make me think about Tim all the more.
After two weeks I could stand it no longer. I called him, from my untraceable, pay-as-you-go iPhone.
‘Leo,’ he said. ‘I’m so pleased to hear from you.’ He sounded it too.
‘I’ve been thinking about you,’ I told him, truthfully.
‘Good,’ he responded quickly.
Then there was a pause and he sounded a tad ill at ease when he spoke again.
‘I, uh, tried to call you, but the number you gave me didn’t work so—’
‘I know.’ I interrupted him. ‘I lost my phone, had to get a new one and a new number. It’s caused me chaos. One of the reasons it took me so long to call you. And I’ve been really busy at work. Sorry.’
‘That’s all right.’ He paused again. ‘I thought maybe you’d deliberately given me a wrong number…’ He laughed nervously. I laughed too, perhaps too loudly.
‘No way,’ I said. ‘I really want to see you again.’
‘I’m glad. Me too. I just thought… Well you know, I thought you didn’t feel the same…’
‘I do feel the same,’ I said. That was also true. I wasn’t used to so much truth. I seemed to have spent most of my life living one sort of a lie or another.
‘Look, shall I book that Premier Inn again? It’s OK, isn’t it? And it’s central.’
‘All right.’ He didn’t sound enthusiastic. ‘Are you sure we can’t meet at yours?’ he asked. ‘You’re not married or something, are you?’
‘No, I’m not married,’ I told him honestly.
‘But you have a partner? You live with someone? Is it a man or a woman?’
‘Nothing like that, I promise.’
‘What then?’
‘Well, apart from anything else I live miles out of town, I have a flat in a new build in Stevenage,’ I said. ‘Look, I’ll explain when we meet. See you there.’
Both Stevenage and my promise to explain were lies, of course. I had little idea what I would tell him about me and my life, but it would not include much truth.
I’d briefly considered taking Tim somewhere nicer, somewhere special, and splashing out on the Strand Palace or the Waldorf, even. I could afford it, just about. For one night anyway. I was far from rich, but I earned reasonably well, was careful with my money and I had no extravagant tastes.
But the most important thing for me, really, was anonymity. There are few places more anonymous than those big, budget hotels. So the Premier Inn it would be.
I walked in off the street so I could pay cash. That made it more expensive, but I didn’t want my credit card details on record. I didn’t even have a credit card with me, just a thick wad of notes in the inside pocket of my jacket.
The girl on reception barely looked at me. I carried my rucksack, as I always do, on my trips to Soho. So, as far as she was concerned, I had luggage. If she even noticed, I doubted clients checking in without luggage were that unusual at The Leicester Square Premier Inn. I’d already transformed my appearance at the pub around the corner. I preferred to arrive at the hotel looking the part. In any case, although I was early, it was always possible that Tim might already be there and waiting in the foyer. Although I’d instructed him otherwise.
This time the rucksack contained more than my straight clothes. I’d packed a bottle of champagne in a cooler bag — because Premier Inn rooms don’t have fridges — a bottle of decent claret and a picnic dinner of: smoked salmon, pate, French bread, some cheese, fruit and two slices of rich, chocolate cake.
I wanted Tim to realise that I wasn’t just after his body, though God knows I lusted after it. I would have liked to take him out to dinner, to wine and dine him in a smart restaurant and to lavish affection on him in a more romantic setting. But, as ever, I was determined to avoid unnecessary risks. Even in London, I felt the need to protect my secret self.
There was CCTV everywhere nowadays, but footage was only checked when there was a reason to do so. In any case, I’d developed a knack for knowing where the cameras were. A knack nurtured at first by working at it and then it became habit. I was good at keeping my back turned away and I usually wore a hat of some sort, or a hoody. Though you had to be careful with both. Sometimes, they actually attracted attention. Hoodies, in the wrong context, could make people suspect you were some sort of thug. By and large they were OK in the street, but if you walked into a shop or a bar with your hood up, it could make people uneasy. They might study you more carefully than otherwise and that went for hotel receptionists too. A baseball cap was usually all right and common enough.