NFA. No further action, but we still count it as a clear-up. Accepting a caution is an admission of guilt, but if the culprit refuses to accept it the ball bounces straight back at us. We have to put up or shut up. And even if he is cautioned, when he reaches the age of eighteen his slate is wiped clean and he can start again. Then we have to rely on the memory of men like Herbert, but strictly off the record, of course.
Rapists who ply their trade indoors usually started on a life of crime as burglars. They break into empty houses at first, but as their skills and bravado increase they turn to houses with sleeping occupants, preferably lone females or single mothers. The adrenalin level is high and one thing leads to another, or maybe the victim wakes, and suddenly there's an escalation in the offence. That's what Herbert meant when he called Darryl a classic.
Muggers, who rely on speed and opportunity rather than stealth and cunning, are different. They evolve into the rapists who drag their victims into the bushes or a handy back alley. Both types are just as dangerous. The next step on the ladder of infamy is murder, and Darryl was pulling his way up the rungs.
"You've been a big help, Herbert," I said, standing up. "I'm glad I called." I placed my cup and saucer on the table and picked up my coat.
"Glad to be useful, for once. I was wondering where he'd gone. There was a bit of a local campaign against him after the last acquittal.
Someone did some posters with his name on them and stuck them on lampposts all around the town, and the local paper was threatening to expose him. It was enough to drive him away from Burnley, but it looks as if he washed up in Heckley. Sorry about that. Do you think you'll get him?"
"Thanks a lot. We'll get him, sooner or later. Let's just hope it's sooner."
I shook his bony hand and thanked Mrs. Mathews for the tea. "I'll show you out," she said.
I'd turned to leave when Herbert said: "Charlie."
"Mmm."
"Don't ring Padiham Road, will you?"
"How do you mean?"
"Don't ring them, to tell them to visit me."
He'd read my mind. "Why not?" I asked.
"I don't want them coming to see me. Not now. It's too late."
"If you say so."
"I do."
"What about me. Do you want to know how we get on?"
"You can come anytime."
"Thanks."
"Good luck with it."
"And you, Herbert. And you."
As Mrs. Mathews opened the door from the room for me I turned back to him again. "This solicitor from Manchester," I said.
Herbert looked at me.
"I've met his type before. And beat them. And I'll move heaven and earth to beat this one, too."
January 2 was the day I'd promised Maggie we'd bring Darryl in. It was also the day Annabelle was coming home. I didn't know if I was up to such excitement, but I'd do my best. I thought I'd slept in when I looked at the curtains and saw how bright it was outside, but when I opened them there was a thin dusting of snow over everything. That meant traffic chaos in the town so I set off early. I welcomed the troops back, gave a stirring address about fighting crime in the last years of the millennium and sent them out into the bleak streets.
All except Maggie. I said: "Come and sit down." When she was comfortable I said: "On second thoughts, do you fancy a bacon sandwich?"
She looked down at her figure and pulled a face. "I'd rather not, Boss. I've been overdoing them, lately."
"Fancy watching me eat one, then?"
"Oh, go on then."
We repaired to the canteen and I told her about my journey to see Herbert Mathews. Maggie listened, her face a mask of disbelief.
"Six times!" she exclaimed when I'd finished. "He's done it six times?"
"Six that we know of."
"Oh, Charlie, we've got to stop him. He'll kill someone, one day."
"That's what we're being paid for, Maggie. Question is how do we do it?" ' "Do we know who the other girls are?"
"Herbert gave me a list of names. Go over there first chance you have, and see what you can find from the court histories and their intelligence files. Try the Crime Information System with both his names. Have a word with Herbert he'll be pleased to see you. Look at anything else you can think of. When we hit Darryl for real I want it to be with everything we have."
"Right. But what are we doing about him meanwhile?"
I popped the last corner of sandwich into my mouth and washed it down with a swig of tea. Our canteen bacon sandwiches are the best in the Western hemisphere Rumour has it that a sheep station near Alice Springs does better ones, but it's unconfirmed. When I'd replaced my mug on the formica table, dead equidistant between the yellow squiggles, I said: "Let's go ruin his day."
Chapter Five
The snow had vanished but I was grateful for my big jacket. Science has failed to improve on the properties of good quality duck down. Or wool and cotton, come to that. Polyester is OK for ties gravy stains wipe straight off. Maggie was wearing a smart suit with trousers and a raincoat.
Homes 4U were in a single-fronted shop on the edge of the town centre, where rents are cheaper. There was an alley alongside, so I drove down the back street and saw his silver Mondeo parked in a tiny yard with a big notice on the wall that claimed the space for D. Buxton, Manager. I left my Vauxhall blocking him in and we walked through the alley to the front entrance.
The gum-chewing girl at the front desk had more rings through her facial features than a Masai dance troupe. Her bleached hair was dragged together and held by a rubber band, like a horse's tail sprouting from the side of her head. I'd heard Maggie call it the slag's cut. She can be very uncomplimentary about her sisters.
"Police," Maggie said. "Will you please tell Mr. Buxton that we'd like a word with him?"
The girl recovered quickly, sliding her magazine under the table and reaching for the telephone. "I'll, er, see if Mr. Buxton is in," she said.
"No, love," Maggie insisted, leaning over the desk. "You'll tell him we'd like a word with him."
I examined the notices on the walls. Several desirable properties were available for rental and DSS giros were only accepted with ID.
"There's two police people here to see you, Mr. Buxton," the girl was saying.
I smiled at her. "I've never been called a police person before," I said.
"He says he'll be down in a moment."
The moment dragged into three minutes and I was beginning to eye the stairs when he arrived, full of bluff cheeriness.
"Gentlemen — I mean officers!" he blustered, taken aback by Maggie's presence. "Sorry to keep you waiting. Spend 'alf my life on the old dog and bone, these days you know how it is. So what can I do for you?
Is it a problem with one of my tenants?"
He was exactly as I'd imagined him. I must be getting better at it.
"This is DC Madison and I'm DI Priest," I said. "From Heckley CID.
We'd like a word with you, in private."
The bonhomie slipped from his face. "Go do some shopping, Samantha," he told the girl, nodding towards the door. She grabbed her coat and scuttled out like a startled rabbit.
I dropped the latch and turned the sign to closed. Samantha was crossing the road, her thin white legs spanning the gap between miniskirt and Caterpillar boots like a pair of rugby goalposts. She reminded me of Popeye's girlfriend, Olive Oyl, but I doubted if she'd ever been extra virgin.
"Where were you on Christmas Day?" I demanded, turning back to face Buxton.
"Christmas Day?"
"Mmm. Only eight days ago. Turkey for dinner, Queen on the telly, if that helps."
"I was at my parents'. Why?"
"All day?"
"No. I left home about twelve, got there about one. Had lunch, stayed for tea. Got back to Heckley about eleven. I go see them every Christmas. What's this all about?"