‘Look at him.’ She pointed through the open kitchen window to a neat patio, sheltered with a trellis covered by clematis and honeysuckle. Eddie sat in the shade in a green garden chair. His head was tilted back and his mouth was slightly open. He was snoring. ‘I came in to make him a sandwich and when I went out he was off. He’s still not eaten.’
‘Leave him.’ Porteous could smell the honeysuckle. ‘He’s been doing too much. It’s not urgent.’
‘No. He’d never forgive me if he knew you’d been and I’d not told him.’
Eddie woke with a start like a small boy startled from a dream. Bet left them. In the kitchen they heard her singing along to Classic FM, the sound of water running into a kettle. Eddie moved stiffly, easing the stiffness from his body.
‘It looks as if you’re right,’ Porteous said. ‘About Alec Reeves.’ But even as he spoke he was trying to make sense of it. What had the Brices been playing at? They must have heard the rumours about Reeves but they’d invited him into a house where a young kid was staying. Then he thought – No, it was the other way round. Theo knew Reeves before he came to live with the Brices. Reeves must have introduced them.
‘It looks as if Theo Randle was at Redwood,’ Peter went on. ‘Hannah Morton remembered his mentioning it. I haven’t checked but I bet Melanie was there too, just before it closed.’
Stout shut his eyes, a silent prayer of thanks.
‘Have they found him yet?’
Porteous shook his head.
‘You’ll be going public then? Tell the press we want to talk to him?’
‘Tomorrow. I promise. I’m still worried about lack of evidence. Coincidence. It could be no more than that. If we come to trial I want nobody saying there can’t be a fair hearing because of the ranting of the press. You can be sure all the old rumours will come out. Publicity works both ways. I’ve arranged to see Alice Cornish and she might have more information on Reeves. In the meantime you could ask again around the town. Discreetly. If he’s come back here someone will know about it.’
‘When are you seeing her?’
‘I’m going straight from here. She still lives in Yorkshire.’
Eddie nodded with approval. ‘I’m seeing the Spences as you suggested. And Chris Johnson.’
‘Any problems?’
‘Not with the Spences. She’s a reporter, isn’t she? All over me like a rash. Johnson wasn’t so happy but he knew better than to object.’
‘Look,’ Porteus said. ‘Take a couple of hours off. The rest of the day if you need it. Those interviews can wait until tomorrow.’
Stout didn’t even bother to answer that. ‘I think Reeves has done a runner. He’s not gone home. He’s not visited his sister. He’s guessed that we’re on to him.’
You’re obsessed, Porteous thought, recognizing the signs. You’re thinking of nothing else. Reeves is haunting your dreams. ‘Alice Cornish might know where he’s hiding out,’ he said mildly.
‘Please do me a favour.’ Eddie leaned forward, put his hand on the arm of Porteous’s chair, almost touching him. Fervent as he’d be preaching in the chapel on Sunday. ‘Give me a ring when you get in. Let me know what she’s said. Even if there’s no news.’
‘It could be late. You’ll need some sleep.’
‘I’ll not be asleep. You phone me.’
Alice Cornish’s house was less grand than Porteous had expected. She was a celebrity of a kind, a Dame, the author of a handful of books and dozens of reports. When he’d spoken to her that morning she hadn’t exactly welcomed his visit. ‘I don’t understand, Inspector, why this conversation couldn’t be conducted by telephone. I value my privacy.’
But he’d wanted to meet her. Not only because he thought he’d get more out of her face to face. He’d admired her work. And still he was itching with the need to run away. When he’d persisted in his request for a meeting she’d given in gracefully and instructed him precisely on his route from the motorway. It was an area he didn’t know, too close to industrial centres to be of interest to second homers and holiday makers. As he left the main road there were views of the Pennines to the east and Emley Moor to the west. He drove down a steep hill into a valley bottom, turned at a disused mill and then he was there. A small stone cottage with a meadow beyond it and a garden in front so tangled with perennials that when he walked up the brick path he scattered pollen with his legs. A ginger cat was sleeping on a window-sill.
‘Inspector.’ She had the door open before he knocked, while he was still stroking the cat, and he was caught off guard and felt slightly frivolous to be petting the animal. But she must have liked cats because her mood was softer than it had been on the phone. ‘Shall we talk in the garden?’
There was a small patch of lawn at the side of the house, the edges ragged with long grass where it hadn’t been properly trimmed. They sat side by side on a wrought-iron bench.
‘What is all this about? You said on the phone it was about Redwood. But I’ve retired. The centre is closed.’
‘You employed a man called Reeves?’
‘Alec, yes. One of our longest-serving employees. By the end he was part of the architecture of the place. He wasn’t a demonstrative man. He never drew attention to himself. But it was impossible to imagine Redwood without him. His retirement and my decision to give up control coincided. I felt that was appropriate.’
‘You liked him?’
‘He didn’t let anyone else get close enough to him for that. Not adults at least. He was very different with the children. But I respected him.’
‘Were you aware when you appointed him that there were rumours he’d been involved in child abuse?’
‘No!’ She turned her face sharply so she was facing him. She wore her grey hair in a severe bob which must have been fashionable when she was a small child in the thirties. ‘I don’t believe it.’
‘You had no suspicion when he was working for you that he had an undesirable relationship with any of the children in his care?’
‘None.’
‘You didn’t think it was odd that he’d never married?’
‘Are you married, Inspector? Because I’m not.’
He could sense her hostility and sat for a moment in silence searching for words which might appease her, but she came at him again.
‘Do you suspect Alec of child abuse, Inspector? A recent case?’
‘Not exactly.’
‘I’m sorry!’ The sarcasm could have come from a ferocious headmistress. ‘I’m not sure that I understand you. What do you mean “not exactly”?’
‘We want to question Alec Reeves about two murders. We’ve been trying to trace him for a number of days. We hoped you might help us find him.’
She sat quite still with her hands folded in her lap, staring ahead of her.
‘You’ve come from the north-east, Inspector?’
He nodded confirmation.
‘Then one of the murders you’re investigating is that of Michael Grey?’
‘His real name was Theo Randle, but yes, I’m the senior investigating officer in that case.’
‘I recognized the name when it appeared in the papers. When you phoned I thought you had questions about Michael… It never occurred to me that Alec was implicated.’
‘We’ve no proof against Alec Reeves. But he was staying in Michael’s home the weekend he was murdered. He had an unsavoury reputation in the town and was linked to the disappearance of another boy, a child with a learning disability of about the same age. You can understand why we want to talk to him. His disappearance is a cause for concern.’
‘Yes,’ she said slowly, ‘I can see that it would be.’ She turned towards him again. ‘But I don’t believe it, Inspector. I’ll cooperate with you because I think that’s what Alec would wish. But you’re wrong about him. It’s not unusual for him to disappear for a week or two in the summer. He’s a hillwalker and he likes wild places and he avoids other people. He’ll appear suddenly from the Highlands or the Peak District and make himself known to you.’