Grave Doubts Part 29

'Three. Any more and he would have grown suspicious.'

'I wasn't implying you should have done more. This is fantastic.' Fenwick tapped a thick report on his desk. 'How did you get all this out of him?'

'Don't ask.' She closed her eyes for a moment.

'What did you do, Claire?' Fenwick was suddenly concerned.

'You said you were desperate for a lead, didn't you?'

'Yes. But not at any cost.' He stood up and closed the door to his office, giving them privacy.

'Oh, don't worry, it wasn't at any cost.' She sounded bitter.

'What did you do?'

She looked away and shook her head.

'Claire. What happened? You'd better tell me.'

'Well, let's just say I'd rather that you didn't have to use my report in evidence.'

'Go on.'

There was a long pause, then she said, 'Promise me this is between us? That you'll never tell anyone else?'

'I promise.'

'We indulged in a fantasy game the second time I visited, in which we devised ways of killing people.'

She looked up as if daring him to comment. Fenwick kept silent although the implications of what she had done horrified him. If this ever got out her professional reputation, possibly even her career, would be ruined.

'It made him very excited, s.e.xually I mean, and he e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.ed in front of me. I think it was spontaneous.'

'Oh, Claire, you poor thing.' Fenwick flushed with embarra.s.sment for her.

'It's OK. I'm fine, really.'

'Sure you are!' He shook his head in disbelief. 'And that was during the second visit?'

'Yes. Afterwards, he told me about his childhood, well his teenage years, how he'd always had a problem climaxing too quickly. I told him I found that arousing and he told me about the women he'd had and what it was like.'

'Was he telling the truth?'

'I don't think so. He's very confused about his own s.e.xuality. Something happened to him in p.u.b.erty. I don't think it was abuse because he has some residual self-esteem, more than if he had been molested. Maybe it was experimentation, whatever, it was mixed up with violence in some way.'

'He didn't have a criminal record before his arrest.'

'That's what's so bizarre. Perhaps it was S&M, consenting adults, or involving animals. I've known that.'

'And I thought I saw filth in my job.'

'Oh you do, Andrew, you do.'

'And the third interview.'

'That could have been difficult. Fortunately I'd had the presence of mind to ask the guard to interrupt us early, otherwise...'

'Did he touch you?'

'Yes, but it's all right, don't worry. He held my hands. That's when he told me about his family.'

'Are the names in here real do you think?'

'Yes, or very close. It was after he asked me to marry him...'

'Claire!'

'...so I think he was telling the truth. Anyway,' she sighed deeply, 'the name of the foster home is accurate. I checked.'

'You shouldn't have done this.'

'Don't be a hypocrite, Andrew. I can tell that you can't wait to get started on all that lovely information.'

'So long as the price wasn't too high.'

'Look I'm screwed up but I'm OK. He didn't get beneath the surface. A good bath, or ten and I'll be fine.' She stood up to leave. 'But Andrew, promise me one thing.'

'Yes?'

'Never, ever, let him get out of prison. OK?'

'I promise I will do my utmost to keep him inside forever.'

She left. Before the sound of her footsteps had died Fenwick was on the phone to MacIntyre. Five minutes later his driver to London was waiting in the car park and the siren was on before they cleared the gates.

Griffiths waited for Claire to come back. For several days he lived in a warm fantasy that made prison bearable. He didn't even mind that Dave hadn't written. There was someone on the outside now who believed he was innocent, would fight for his appeal and marry him on his release. It didn't matter that she was older, in fact he loved the idea. She would teach him to be slow.

After a week he began to doubt. At first he thought maybe she was ill, or hurt in an accident, but when Batchelor turned up for their regular appointment and would say nothing about her, he began to suspect the truth. She was gone. Like all women she had opened him up and rammed a knife into his heart. Immediately his fantasies changed and he wanted her dead.

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE.

On the way to London Fenwick read the report until he felt car sick, and even then he re-read key pa.s.sages in s.n.a.t.c.hes. When the journey slowed in heavy traffic he made notes, summarising the lines of enquiry that had been opened by Claire's interviews. MacIntyre was waiting for him, which told Fenwick that the investigation into Lucinda's murder was making little progress.

'You said that you'd rather not have to disclose the source of this information so Knotty's going to help you fill out Griffiths' background.'

Constable Knots was used to receiving and following oblique instructions without question. He was a tall, gangly young man with a face that resembled a joint of uncooked meat into which two beady blue eyes had been stamped. He had a crop of unerrupted spots on his forehead and something Fenwick imagined was rather nasty under a plaster on his jaw. His mum was probably proud of him but Fenwick's heart sank at the thought of sharing long hours of investigation with an officer who looked as if he'd only just started wearing long trousers.

'Griffiths admits to growing up somewhere north of Leicester with a woman he called Auntie, after his mum went off with a lorry driver.

'He was five when she left. He never knew who his father was and Auntie didn't have a name. There were a lot of other children in the house so perhaps she was no more than a childminder who was dumped on. Still, we have a geographic area so we can try to find his primary school, a.s.suming he didn't change his name.'

Knotty made notes in his book and looked up expectantly for more.

'He went to school for about a year, until one day he came home and Auntie wasn't there. Someone from Social Services was and he ended up in a children's home, again he thinks it was in Leicesters.h.i.+re. He was there for three years then he was moved on to a facility between Telford and Shrewsbury. He gave our interviewer an address and the name of the princ.i.p.al: Mr Custer. They either called him cowardly Custer or the General, depending on their mood.

'This is where things become more interesting. He was fostered when he was about fifteen and the interviewer thinks that the fostering is significant. He revealed so little about it, not even the name of the family or whether there were other children. Whenever the subject came up he became agitated and evasive. It's probably our best chance of finding any teenage companions.'

'Is his story to Doctor Batchelor about his foster parents drowning a lie?'

'Parts of it were certainly lies. We need to try and find them. I think he gave us enough information to trace their address. He used to travel to school by bus, a number 69, the number made him laugh. It was a half-hour walk from his home to the bus stop, then a forty-five-minute journey into Telford. He said that he had to walk whatever the weather and if the river flooded he had to make a detour of a mile over a high bridge.'

Knotty was scribbling madly now. He pushed the tip of his tongue between his teeth when he concentrated, making him look about sixteen.

'The rest of the report is about his work as a software developer, most of which is already on file.'

'Knotty's been on to the personnel department of the company where he worked in Telford. Their Accounts department have found details of the bank they sent his money to but he closed the account shortly after he left the company.' MacIntyre pa.s.sed the report over.

'Why did he leave?'

'He was asked to. A female colleague alleged that he made an unwelcome pa.s.s after a group of them went out drinking together. His mates stood up for him, said the girl was drunk and out of order and that Griffiths simply tried to help her find a taxi. But it was enough for someone in HR to call his previous employer. His references were false. Apparently they hadn't bothered to check when he joined.'

'Consistent. This is a man who invents his past as he goes along.'

'Risky though.'

'Not necessarily, he got away with it until the complaint. What did he do after he left?'

'IT contract work as far as we can tell. And we don't know why he ended up in Suss.e.x, without a job or permanent address.'

MacIntyre sent Knotty away while he brought Fenwick up to date with developments in Wales and closer to home.

'Although the prints on the knife link to Lucinda's murder we can't prove it beyond reasonable doubt. They were only on a bar stool and tests on her wounds have been inconclusive. Bottom line, we need to build a stronger case. The Home Office pathologist is trying to match bite marks from both girls. If he can that will be conclusive but right now we're no closer to tracing Killer B.

'We've asked to be alerted on all serious crimes against women anywhere in the country. There have been three serious s.e.xual a.s.saults in the UK in the past ten days but none of the physical descriptions match our man.'

'Have you checked the prints from the knife against those we lifted from Nightingale's flat?'

'No...' the Superintendent paused and suppressed a sigh, 'but I'll get someone onto it.'

Fenwick pa.s.sed the time he spent waiting for Knotty's return by sitting in on MacIntyre's case conference and emerged depressed by the lack of progress. The constable found him at lunchtime, his acne glowing pink in excitement.

'I've found the school and the children's home. Mr Custer has retired but his successor was very helpful. We know the name of his foster parents and where they lived. We tried ringing but some woman said she'd never heard of them. She's been renting the house for a year, and it had been let before her.'

'And the foster family's name?' Fenwick knew he was grinning like an idiot but he didn't care.

'Smith.' Knotty winced at his boss's expression.

Fenwick watched Knotty's delight fade. Something in his expression reminded him of his son Chris and he said, more positively than he felt.

'But this is progress. We have an address, a family to trace and a school to visit. Did the Smiths have any children?'

'Yes, a son, a bit older than Griffiths called David.'

'We need to find out everything we can about Mr David Smith and his parents. Get on to it. I think I'd like to interview Custer personally.'

MacIntyre was not supportive of the idea.

'It's a long way to go for what will probably be very little. Send Knotty. He's good at digging and you're more use here.'

'I'd rather go myself.'

Fenwick couldn't explain to MacIntyre the urge he had to visit the place in which Griffiths had spent some of his childhood. It wasn't the sort of thing a chief inspector should do, charge half way across England on a lead ten years old, particularly if that chief inspector was on attachment to the Met, where his actions would be under double scrutiny. In the end, Fenwick's stubbornness wore the Superintendent down but he gave in with bad grace.

Fenwick dismissed MacIntyre's irritation as he raced up the M1 in an unmarked police car with the obedient Knotty at his side. As soon as the Superintendent established a stronger link between the attack in Wales and Lucinda's murder he would become disinterested in the Griffiths connection again. Unless he found something substantive as a result of Claire's work no effort would be spent finding Nightingale and protecting her from Killer B. This trip was his last hope. If David Smith was Killer B he would almost certainly be long gone, but something of him would be there, imprinted in the soil and Knotty would never find it.

They were shown only average courtesy at Telford Police Station. There was a major case on to judge by the atmosphere and visitors from down south were an unwelcome distraction. Knotty returned from the canteen to the tiny office they'd been given with fresh coffee and the latest gossip.

'They had a murder and an attempted murder a week ago. A pa.s.senger suddenly went berserk or something and attacked a taxi driver and his girlfriend. Killed the driver but the girl survived. It's caused a h.e.l.luva stink. Apparently he made an emergency call but it took them ages to find him and by then he was well dead.'

'Really.' Fenwick gave him one of his 'keep your nose out of other people's business' looks and tapped a fax he'd just received. 'Concentrate on that and keep your head down, son. It's what little we have on David Smith.'

And sketchy it was. David Smith had been born twenty-nine years before in Cressage ten miles from Telford. His schooldays had been unremarkable although a spell of illness in his early teens had put him over a year behind. Fenwick completed some quick mental arithmetic. He and Griffiths could have been cla.s.smates, just. He left school shortly after his eighteenth birthday, without completing his A' levels, though he had done well in his earlier exams and had gained a top grade in computer studies.

Fenwick called the research officer at the Met for the name of the mate who'd stood up for Griffiths when he'd been accused of s.e.xual hara.s.sment. Two hours later he had confirmation that the name on file was David Smith and a circle closed.

'Knotty, I want you to trace Mr and Mrs Smith. I'm going to interview Custer. Meet me back here afterwards and we'll decide what to do next.'

His interview with Custer was disappointing. The man remembered Griffiths as an introverted child with few friends. He hadn't been in any real trouble, in fact the only time he could recall him being punished had been as the result of a prank by other boys where he'd been the fall guy.

'So there was nothing strange about him in anyway?'

'No. I've told you, Chief Inspector he was a quiet lad who didn't have many friends. I can't imagine him doing any of the crimes you describe. He blushed if a girl so much as looked at him.'

'And educationally?'

'About average but a wizard on computers. We didn't have any in the home but they had a few at his school and he'd stay for computer cla.s.s. That's really what led to him being fostered out.'

'Why?'