Devils way, p.5
Devil's Way, page 5
‘If I can take a moment to speak as Jean’s friend and not her solicitor, please be mindful of her vulnerability. The statistics you quoted are horrific. And even if you do find Charlie, I don’t know if it will give her the closure she wants. Please, don’t get her hopes up, and know when to let her down gently.’
‘Of course,’ said Kate.
He nodded and smiled. ‘Thank you. I wish you both the best of luck, and I’ll help whichever way I can.’
9
‘Are you okay?’ asked Tristan. He was driving them back from the meeting with Steve Dexter, and he could see Kate looking very pale beside him.
‘I just need a moment to catch up after everything,’ she said.
Privately, Tristan thought it was a little too soon for Kate to be back at work, but he kept this to himself. She wouldn’t react well to being told to stay in bed. She cleared her throat, and it descended into a rattling coughing fit.
‘Do you need some water? There should be a sports drink rolling around in the back.’ Kate pulled out a tissue, undid her seat belt and, still coughing, found the bottle, opened it, and took a sip.
‘That’s better,’ she said, her eyes still watering. ‘I think it’s the air conditioning in the car making me cough.’
Tristan switched it off and opened the windows. Kate’s phone rang in her suit jacket, hanging over the back of her seat. She turned, rummaged in the pockets, and pulled it out.
‘Oh, it’s Jean,’ she said.
‘Put her on speakerphone,’ said Tristan. Kate answered.
‘Alright, love? Can you hear me?’ said Jean, her voice sounding tinny and far away.
‘Yes. I’m here in the car with my partner in the agency, Tristan,’ said Kate.
‘Hello, Jean,’ said Tristan, taking care not to say ‘hi’. He remembered a dinner lady they had at school called Jean and how the students had constantly goaded her, shouting ‘hygiene!’ at every opportunity.
‘Hello, Tristan,’ said Jean. ‘Are you local or from up country?’
‘Local,’ said Tristan. ‘Ashdean born and bred.’ The West Country twang in her voice was more pronounced and stronger than his.
‘I’m sorry I missed the meeting. I’m sitting in the staff toilets,’ she added. ‘Would you believe it’s the only place with a decent mobile phone signal? Was everything all right with Steve?’
‘He was very accommodating,’ said Kate. ‘And I just want to say how pleased we are to work on this for you.’
‘Yes, well. Just keep telling me everything straight. I don’t need things sugar-coated. Did Steve give you the folder with the photos?’
‘Yes,’ said Kate, holding it in her lap. They’d looked through it, and it contained a few dog-eared newspaper clippings and photos of the tents pitched next to the Devil’s Tor. ‘We did some internet research before the meeting and found a couple more articles.’
‘You won’t find much online. Sadie’s been having a look for me. Did you meet Sadie?’
‘Yes,’ said Kate.
‘She’s a good pal, is my Sadie. We go way back. When Charlie went missing, the story was in the local news, but then, it seemed to all go quiet.’
‘There were a lot more local newspapers eleven years ago that could have covered the story. We want to check out the microfilm archives in Exeter,’ said Kate. She hadn’t mentioned this to Tristan and when he glanced over, Kate raised an eyebrow in question and he nodded.
‘Good luck with that,’ Jean said, her voice full of gloom.
‘It would also help if we could come and talk to you, properly, in a few days to find out from you exactly what happened. In detail.’
‘I’ll tell you whatever you need. I’m paying, aren’t I? I’m always here on the phone when I can get a bloody signal. I don’t have email or what-have-you.’
‘The phone is fine,’ said Kate. ‘But can we come and visit you?’
‘Of course! I’m not in prison,’ she snapped. There was a long pause. Tristan wondered why Jean sounded so hostile. Maybe it was nerves.
‘How is your relationship with Joel? Charlie’s father,’ asked Kate.
‘I know who Joel is! He got re-married. He runs a pub near Belstone with his wife. They’ve got two young girls. We’re not in contact, much. I do know that he’s on holiday in Spain.’
‘Could you tell him you’ve hired us to investigate Charlie’s disappearance? It will help if we don’t have to cold call him. Or you could get Steve to call him?’
‘Yeah. I’ll get Steve to ring him. Let him know,’ said Jean. They heard her sigh. ‘Is that all you need from me for now?’ she added.
‘Yes. Can you suggest a time when we can come and talk to you?’ said Kate. There was a click as the call got cut off.
‘Do you think she hung up, or the signal was bad?’ said Kate, looking at Tristan. He shrugged. ‘She was so open with me when she spoke in hospital.’
‘Maybe she felt self-conscious being on speakerphone. I haven’t met her yet,’ replied Tristan. ‘And she’s hired us to “find” Charlie, but what we’re going to do is give her a conclusion, do you know what I mean? And most likely Charlie is... dead.’
When Tristan pulled off the main road down towards Kate’s house, he noticed her duck down and busy herself with the contents of her bags, spending a long time searching for her keys. She didn’t sit up until Tristan pulled into the carport outside her house. Kate let out a long sigh and closed her eyes. Tristan rolled up the windows and switched off the engine.
‘I don’t want to keep asking this, but are you okay?’ he said.
Kate hesitated and then nodded. Tristan could see she was too tired to go to the office, so he suggested they work in the house.
‘I can make the tea,’ he said when they were inside.
‘A coffee, please. Strong,’ said Kate, sinking into one of the easy chairs next to the picture window. She clutched the folder and opened it on her lap as Tristan went into the kitchen and filled the kettle.
There was a packet of photos with the PRONTAPRINT logo. When she opened it, she saw the negatives sticking out of the pocket in the front. It had been a long time since she’d seen a packet of photos.
The photo on top was a small square. The edge had been torn off and then stuck back on with sticky tape. It was a picture of a little boy standing in front of a door with the silver door handle above his head. He had white-blond hair and was wearing a pirate outfit with a black patch over one eye. He was an angelic little chap, grimacing with a row of very white, straight teeth and rosy cheeks.
Kate turned the photo over, and written on the back was “Charlie’s first fancy dress party”.
She flicked through the other photos which were of the campsite at Devil’s Tor. Two tents were pitched, one under the tree and the other next to the Tor. The tree branches seemed to reach several metres in each direction and had no leaves, even though the photos had been taken in June. The grass was long between the tents. A red Renault was parked beside the Tor.
There were other photos of a young, stocky man with long dark hair tied back in a ponytail and wearing a Led Zeppelin T-shirt. He was leaning into the car’s boot next to a thin, red-haired woman who had her back to the camera. She was wearing tiny cut-off denim shorts and a sleeveless T-shirt. Charlie stood a few feet away, watching them, holding a long stick. In another photo, Jean was standing under the tree, with Charlie sitting on her shoulders. She looked so young and had long, thick red hair and a silver nose ring. Kate could not contemplate how this was the same wizened woman she’d seen in the next hospital bed.
Tristan came into the living room with two mugs of coffee and looked at the photos over her shoulder.
‘Anything?’ he asked.
‘They’re photos taken before Charlie went missing,’ said Kate lingering on the smiling photo of the young Jean with Charlie. She flicked through to the next image. ‘Oh, there’s one of the police.’
It was a picture of a group of three police officers searching the moorland around the tents and Devil’s Tor. Their squad car was parked next to the Renault. Tristan peered closer at the photo. One of the police officers was close to the camera, and he’d taken off his cap, presumably to wipe his forehead in the heat.
He was a tall, solid-looking man, and his short dark hair was plastered to his head. His face looked like a beef tomato. It must have been a hot day, thought Kate.
‘Blimey. That’s Ade,’ said Tristan, taking the photo from her.
‘Ade, your friend, Ade? The retired ex-police officer?’ asked Kate. She realised she didn’t know his surname.
‘It looks like him.’
Kate took the photo back and peered at the man.
‘Well spotted. He looks so different. Thinner, and less flamboyant. Do you think you can ask him about the case?’
‘He might just have been the responding officer,’ said Tristan.
‘Yes. But he’s worth asking.’ She glanced at Tristan’s face. ‘What?’
‘I’m not really talking to him right now.’
‘Why not?’
‘I used to go for a drink with him at the pub every week. A few weeks ago, he got drunk, or drunker than normal, and he tried it on with me.’
‘Oh,’ said Kate, thinking back to the things she’d done under the influence, and quickly putting them out of her mind.
‘I tried to give him the brush-off nicely, but he didn’t take it well.’
Kate hesitated and peered at the photo again.
‘He was ranked a DCI, I didn’t know that,’ she said, holding it up to show the pips on Ade’s uniform. ‘He could have worked this case. We don’t have much to go on right now, and Steve said that Jean didn’t have a good relationship with any of the police officers who worked on the case. This could save us a lot of time.’
‘All right,’ said Tristan. ‘I’ll go and talk to him.’
10
The next morning, Tristan got up early and went to the gym. He’d arranged to visit the Devil’s Way campsite in the early evening with Kate, so after his workout, he came home to get changed and then steeled himself to visit Ade.
Ade lived at the opposite end of Ashdean’s long seafront promenade, in the basement flat of an old Victorian townhouse. It was the second to last building on the seafront, close to the university building. When Tristan reached the gate, he saw the curtains were closed in the front window. He went down the steps to the small mews courtyard, which had a cast-iron bench against the wall, and on the front doorstep were six packages of various shapes and sizes.
Tristan stood for a moment, suddenly feeling nervous. He put his hand to the brass door knocker when the door opened. Ade’s face registered surprise, and he clasped a hand to his chest.
‘Jesus, Miss Marple. Do you want to give me a bloody heart attack? What are you doing, hovering on my doorstep?’
Ade was a different man now from the picture of the police officer in the newspaper article. He was slimmer, and his hair was a magnificent mane of dyed chestnut brown, which flowed down his back. Ade had a neatly trimmed beard, and wore an emerald green velvet dressing gown. Miss Marple was Ade’s nickname for Tristan, which he’d coined when he heard Tristan was working as a private detective.
Ade didn’t seem annoyed or even acknowledge that there was anything wrong. Tristan opened his mouth but was unsure where to start.
‘I was going to knock,’ he said.
‘Were you now? What stopped you?’ asked Ade, peering up at the sky and blinking in the bright sunshine. He looked back at Tristan and raised an eyebrow, challenging him.
‘I was worried about all the parcels on your doorstep. I thought you might be dead.’
‘Dead dear? Me dear? No dear. My time is far from up. This is par for the course of a Wednesday morning,’ he said, indicating the parcels on his doorstep. ‘It’s my latest eBay haul. Now, make yourself useful, and grab a couple on your way in.’
* * *
Ade’s flat was decorated with dark wooden furniture upholstered with multi-coloured cushions. The walls had a midnight blue, flock wallpaper covered in stars and moons. The tiny basement flat didn’t feel dingy because seven Tiffany lamps were lit up on every surface. Two huge bookshelves were packed with books and DVDs, overflowing onto the floor and the large coffee table. A small galley kitchen led off to the living room, and Tristan followed Ade through. The kitchen was beautifully clean and ordered. Herbs were growing in little clay pots on the windowsill, and Ade had somehow managed to fit an Aga into the small space. Despite the summer weather, Tristan could feel it was kicking out some heat.
‘You can put the packages down there,’ said Ade, indicating a small round wooden table by the door, with a bowl piled high with passion fruits and avocados. Above it on the wall was a poster of the Jonas Brothers. ‘Would you like some tea or coffee?’
‘Tea would be lovely.’
‘Tea it is then,’ he said, fixing Tristan with a stare for a moment before moving to fill the kettle.
‘Listen, Ade,’ said Tristan.
‘Yes. We need to talk about what happened.’ Ade swivelled around on his heels and put the kettle on the Aga. He put his hands up. ‘I was in the wrong. I’m sorry.’
‘It’s okay.’
‘No. It’s not. And I mean it. I’m sorry. You must know how gorgeous you are, Tris?’ Tristan didn’t know what to say. ‘Well, you are. But it’s no excuse. I know that we are just friends. And even though I would give anything for a roll in the hay with you, what’s clear is that you just want to be friends. And your friendship is more important.’
There was an awkward pause, and Ade turned back to the sink.
‘I’m sorry if I gave you the wrong idea,’ said Tristan. Ade put up his hand.
‘You didn’t. It was me and the demon drink. I should never touch Campari. I lose all inhibitions.’
‘Yes,’ said Tristan, thinking back to what happened, walking home from the pub when Ade tried to kiss him. He turned back to Tristan, and there were tears in his eyes. It looked like the memory was painful for Ade, too.
‘I’m sorry, Tris. I shouldn’t have. Can we go back to being friends? I’m so grateful you came here and made the first move to fix things.’
‘Of course,’ said Tristan.
‘Good,’ said Ade with a smile, dabbing his eyes. ‘Do you like ginger nuts?’ he added.
‘If you’re talking about biscuits, then yes.’
Ade laughed, and Tristan felt they were back on an even footing. Although, there was the delicate issue that he hadn’t come to see Ade just to make things up. When they had their tea, they came to sit on the bench outside the front door.
‘How’s work?’ asked Ade, slipping on a massive pair of Jackie-O sunglasses. Tristan told him what had happened to Kate.
‘Jesus, but she’s okay now?’
‘She’s shaken up. But one good thing came out of it. She met a woman in the hospital who’s hired us to look for her missing grandson.’
‘As you do.’
‘I’m not joking.’
Tristan briefly outlined the case and pulled the newspaper article out of his pocket to show to Ade.
‘Hang on a mo,’ said Ade. He took off the sunglasses and searched in the folds of his dressing gown, taking out a packet of cigarettes, a lighter, and then a pair of thick, brown framed glasses. He put them on, took Jean’s photograph from the Tor, and peered at it.
‘Oh, dear. Yes. That’s me. What a porker. And who cut my hair? It looks like whoever did it put a bowl on my head and cut around it.’
‘I wanted to know about the case. Do you remember it?’ said Tristan. ‘It was eleven years ago that Charlie Julings went missing.’
The sound of laughter on the promenade and waves breaking on the beach floated down into the courtyard.
‘Yes. I do remember it,’ said Ade, handing the photo back and taking off his glasses. He tapped a cigarette out of the packet and lit up.
‘Did you work on the investigation?’ asked Tristan, watching him as he exhaled smoke.
‘Is that why you came here today?’ he said, fixing Tristan with a keen stare.
‘Yes. And I wanted to sort things out.’
Ade flicked ash on the ground, pursed his lips, then abruptly got up, went back inside, and slammed the front door.
Bloody hell, thought Tristan. Has he gone off in a huff again?
11
Tristan got up, went to the door, and tried the handle. It was open.
‘I’m just through here, Tris,’ shouted Ade. Tristan moved through to a small room at the back of the flat that he hadn’t seen before. It was a tiny office filled with metal shelving and all kinds of folders and paperwork. Tristan watched as Ade searched through a pile of files on the top shelf. ‘These are copies of my old pocket notebooks.’
‘Notebooks from what?’
‘It’s the notebook you get issued with as a police officer. It’s an official document,’ Ade said, putting a folder back and teasing a yellow one from the shelf below. Tristan moved to help him, lifting the stack above the folder so he could pull it out.
‘It isn’t strictly legal for a police officer to make copies of his notebooks, but I worked with a slippery bastard superintendent who altered his… I won’t go into it now,’ he said. He opened the folder.
‘Here we go! June 2007,’ he said triumphantly. He pulled out a bunch of photocopied sheets. Tristan followed him back into the living room. They sat in opposite chairs, and Ade started looking through the pages filled with his neat handwriting.
‘June 22nd, a mobile phone call came into control at 4am,’ he read. ‘We got the call from the little boy’s father, Joel. He’d sounded very distressed, saying his son had been missing for a couple of hours.’
‘They noticed Charlie was missing at 2am?’ asked Tristan. Ade nodded.
‘We were called out from Okehampton, where I was working, and it took us about forty minutes to get there. My colleague was a very nervous driver. There were no streetlights on the moor; it was only just getting light. We arrived at Devil’s Way around four-forty,’ he said, finding the correct page.
