‘Of course I do. She’s the girl Ken Potter—’
‘—she’s the girl you found in Ken Potter’s garden,’ Litherland said, correcting him.
Next photograph. Barely a body to be seen in this one, but Scott knew exactly what it was. Parts of Ken Potter lying on and around the train track.
‘Notice anything?’ Litherland asked. When Scott didn’t immediately respond, the detective elaborated. ‘See, we thought old Ken might have been responsible for some of what’s happened, but it’s not looking likely. Look at his legs, Scott.’
Scott held the photograph, his hands shaking. It was hard to make out any of Potter’s remains. ‘Can’t see his legs.’
Litherland took the photo from him and tapped his finger next to a bloody chunk of flesh beside the tracks. ‘That’s a foot, see?’
Scott saw. It was like one of those old ‘magic eye’ optical illusions he remembered – pictures hidden in patterns. Once he’d been able to make out part of it, the rest of the image seemed to come sharply into focus. There was a bare foot, an ankle, then the bottom of a leg, crushed and dismembered below the knee. It almost made him gag.
‘I see it.’
‘He was half naked, just like the others. We’re waiting on confirmation, but it’s looking like he was dead before the train hit him.’
‘Jesus.’
‘Happened on a stretch of track not far from Barry Walpole’s yard. You’ve been working for Barry, haven’t you?’
‘Yes, but—’
Before Scott could finish his sentence, Litherland showed him another photograph. A young woman. Dyed hair, faded pink. Tattoos. Lying in the corner of someone’s lawn. Mutilated like the rest of them. He felt like he was going to vomit.
‘Angela Pietrszkiewicz… think I’m saying that right.’
Scott looked away. ‘I’ve never seen her before. I don’t know who she is…’
‘You sure about that? Angela was found yesterday morning. Mother of two, she was. Two little kiddies. Neighbour heard them crying, then we found Mum a couple of streets away. We did door to door enquiries. Only lead we got was that she was heard talking to some bloke…’
‘I was at home with my family all day yesterday. Ask them. I was with them the whole bloody day.’
The detective paused ominously. ‘Yes, but I didn’t say she was killed yesterday, did I? I said she was found yesterday. We’re estimating the time of death as being sometime Saturday evening.’
‘I was at home again.’
‘You sure, Scott?’
‘Yes. Course I’m sure.’
‘Thing is, with Thussock being such a small and close-knit community, folks tend to notice things that’re out of the ordinary. You and your family, you’ve been attracting more than your fair share of interest just by virtue of being here. No fault of your own, of course, that’s just the way it is.’
‘I was at home, I swear.’
‘You’ve quite a distinctive car. Ordinary, but distinctive. Blue Zafira, isn’t it? Seven-seater? One black wheel arch?’
‘Yes…’
‘Noisy old thing, eh?’
‘What of it?’
‘Well I’ve a number of folks who’re saying they saw your car driving around the estate where Miss Pietrszkiewicz lived on Saturday evening, around the time we think she was probably killed.’
‘No… no, that’s not right.’
‘Oh, so they’re all lying are they?’ He glanced at a page of notes. ‘Jean Morris of Strathway Crescent says she saw a “large blue car driving up and down the road at speed”, said it was making “a heck of a noise, like its exhaust was knackered”. And do you know Dez Boyle?’
‘Never heard of him.’
‘Well he seems to know you. Dez says he saw you driving around there too. Think very carefully, Scott.’
‘Wait… Tammy, my stepdaughter.’
‘What about her?’
‘She was at a friend’s house. I picked her up in the car.’
‘And what time was that?’
‘I don’t know… around half-eight, I think.’
‘And where exactly does your daughter’s friend live?’
‘Wayfield Close.’
‘Backs onto Alderman Avenue, that does.’
Scott shook his head. ‘I wouldn’t know.’
‘Miss Pietrszkiewicz was found on Alderman Avenue. Litherland paused, looked at Scott again. ‘So tell me, did you drive straight from your place to Wayfield Close?’
‘Yes.’
‘You positive?’
‘Yes. Wait… I might have taken a couple of wrong turnings… that estate’s like a maze. I got a bit lost.’
‘So you didn’t drive straight there?’
‘You’re twisting my words. I went straight to the house. I hadn’t been there before and I took a wrong turn, but that doesn’t mean I did anything to that woman.’
‘You can see where I’m coming from though, can’t you Scott? Here’s me telling you about a murder on Saturday evening, and that you were seen in the vicinity, and there’s you telling me you weren’t there, but wait, maybe you were there and you were just driving around the place on your own.’
‘I wasn’t just driving around…’
‘I think you were. It’s not the first time, is it?’
‘What?’
‘Angela Pietrszkiewicz was a sex worker, Scott. You’ve a history of using prostitutes. Done for kerb crawling near to the Hagley Road in Birmingham. You dirty little bastard.’
Scott put his head on the desk. This was getting worse by the second. ‘That was a mistake,’ he said. ‘It was almost ten years ago. It was a one off.’
‘Hardly. Mrs Morris said she’d seen your car before, a week or so back. Had you been that way before? Perhaps before the rest of your family arrived in Thussock?’
‘No comment,’ he mumbled.
‘I think you’d been to see Angela previously, hadn’t you, Scott? I think you paid Ms Pietrszkiewicz for sex.’
‘No comment,’ he said again, because lying was safer than telling the truth.
‘So, apart from taking advantage of vulnerable young women, paying for sex and cheating on your wife, are there any other bad habits you think you should tell me about? Because there is something else interesting on your record…’
‘Stop it. You’re just twisting everything. This is all circumstantial. You’re trying to make me out to be some kind of—’
‘I’m not trying to do anything,’ Litherland interrupted, ‘except find out who killed all these people and stop them before they kill anyone else.’
‘I need my lawyer,’ Scott mumbled, barely able to form cohesive words now.
‘I really think you do.’
‘I had nothing to do with any of this.’
‘What about Graham McBride?’
Scott started to sob involuntarily. He tried to stop himself, but that just made it worse. ‘We had a fight,’ he managed to say. ‘I already told you.’
‘That you did, aye. We know you were involved in his death, though whether you caused it or not is something the coroner’s going to have to decide, and we should have her findings shortly.’
‘What would you have done?’ Scott asked, pleading almost. ‘He exposed himself in front of my step-daughter. I did what anyone would do. Are you a parent? Do you have kids?’
‘That’s irrelevant. But for the record, yes, I do have kids and yes, I’d have certainly done something if I’d caught a man flashing at my daughter. I’d maybe not have killed him, though.’
‘But you know why I did what I did, don’t you? I saw red. You do these things for your kids.’
‘Not so good with other people’s children though, are we, Scott?’
His heart sank. A few barely suppressed tears became an uncontrolled flood. ‘This has got nothing to do with what happened back home. I made a mistake and I’ve been punished for it. Believe me, there’s not a day goes by when I don’t—’