there.
‘Manchester United. They all pretend to be fans of one big team or other … Chelsea, Spurs.’
‘Pretend?’
‘They’re just little boys … it’s a bit of a pose, isn’t it? What do they know?’
The interview went on, Serrailler leading the mother quietly through her son’s behaviour at home, probing tactfully but with needle-sharpexactnessinto family relationships, alert to hints of any possible tensions or unhappiness. She answered without hesitation, moving about the room, touching furniture, picking things up and replacing them, running her hand occasionally through her short curly hair. They were with her for almost an hour before the DCI stood up.
‘You’ll have someone with you, the family liaison officer, as I’msure you’ve been told and you’ll be kept in touch all the time.’
‘My husband had to go to the hospital … A patient he’d operated on developed some complications … no one else could deal with it.’
‘Fine.’
‘You mustn’t think … read anything into that …’
‘I wasn’t going to.’
As they left, Chris Deerbon arrived.
‘I’m their GP. I wanted to check them out.’
‘She’s OK … looks shattered but sheseems to be holding it together. He’s had to go to the hospital.’
Chris shrugged. ‘He’ll be needed … he’s the best neurosurgeon in the county. Any thoughts, Si?’
‘No, too early. Is Cat OK?’
‘It’s upset her … she breaks up pretty easily just now. Call her.’
‘Where to?’ Nathan said as Simon got into the car.
‘Don’t know. Let’s get away from here first … Go out towards Starly.’
‘Something upthere?’
‘Shouldn’t think so.’
Nathan knew better than to ask any more questions but drove on out of Lafferton and into the country lanes. It was a dull day, the sky an unrelieved and dreary grey, the trees bent in the cold wind. Serrailler sat in silence until he suddenly said, ‘Go right here and then take the lane to Blissington.’
Nathan did so. The roads were empty, the lane narrow with overhangingbanks but at the end they came to a village, not much more than a huddle of cottages and a couple of large houses set back behind gates.
They pulled up in front of a pub set behind a raised triangle of grass with a huge oak tree. ‘I never even knew there was a village here,’ Nathan said.
The bar was quiet and smelled good. They ordered home-baked ham rolls and coffees.
‘What do we know?’ SimonSerrailler said when they were settled at a window table.
‘Right – the boy and his mother came out of the house at around eight ten.’
Step by step they went through the few facts they knew, then talked their way back, to what Marilyn Angus had told them.
‘Nothing,’ Simon said at last. ‘Normal small boy, normal family, no tensions, no problems. Nothing.’
‘So?’
‘Worst-case scenario? Randomdriver out looking for a child? When we get back, I want to know all the usual – double-check on any missing childrennationwide, paedophiles recently released from prison, all that. Uniform will get all the stuff on locals who always drive that way to work, neighbours, anything odd in the vicinity … If you were a paedophile looking for a child, what would you do?’
‘What this one did … Pick atime of day, going to school time or coming home, lots of kids around.’
‘Yes, but most of them are in gangs going to the bus or getting in and out of cars where there are plenty of people about … these are rush hours.’
‘Done some homework first. Prospect.’
‘OK, so you’d know streets where kids were more likely to be walking alone. Or waiting alone.’
‘You think this was carefully planned?’
‘Maybe …’ Simon Serrailler finished his beer. ‘The mother. She didn’t say what you’d expect. Didn’t blame herself for leaving him on his own to wait for the lift.’
‘So it was her usual thing then?’
‘Often enough anyway … she said she was in court that morning, so maybe
‘Manchester United. They all pretend to be fans of one big team or other … Chelsea, Spurs.’
‘Pretend?’
‘They’re just little boys … it’s a bit of a pose, isn’t it? What do they know?’
The interview went on, Serrailler leading the mother quietly through her son’s behaviour at home, probing tactfully but with needle-sharpexactnessinto family relationships, alert to hints of any possible tensions or unhappiness. She answered without hesitation, moving about the room, touching furniture, picking things up and replacing them, running her hand occasionally through her short curly hair. They were with her for almost an hour before the DCI stood up.
‘You’ll have someone with you, the family liaison officer, as I’msure you’ve been told and you’ll be kept in touch all the time.’
‘My husband had to go to the hospital … A patient he’d operated on developed some complications … no one else could deal with it.’
‘Fine.’
‘You mustn’t think … read anything into that …’
‘I wasn’t going to.’
As they left, Chris Deerbon arrived.
‘I’m their GP. I wanted to check them out.’
‘She’s OK … looks shattered but sheseems to be holding it together. He’s had to go to the hospital.’
Chris shrugged. ‘He’ll be needed … he’s the best neurosurgeon in the county. Any thoughts, Si?’
‘No, too early. Is Cat OK?’
‘It’s upset her … she breaks up pretty easily just now. Call her.’
‘Where to?’ Nathan said as Simon got into the car.
‘Don’t know. Let’s get away from here first … Go out towards Starly.’
‘Something upthere?’
‘Shouldn’t think so.’
Nathan knew better than to ask any more questions but drove on out of Lafferton and into the country lanes. It was a dull day, the sky an unrelieved and dreary grey, the trees bent in the cold wind. Serrailler sat in silence until he suddenly said, ‘Go right here and then take the lane to Blissington.’
Nathan did so. The roads were empty, the lane narrow with overhangingbanks but at the end they came to a village, not much more than a huddle of cottages and a couple of large houses set back behind gates.
They pulled up in front of a pub set behind a raised triangle of grass with a huge oak tree. ‘I never even knew there was a village here,’ Nathan said.
The bar was quiet and smelled good. They ordered home-baked ham rolls and coffees.
‘What do we know?’ SimonSerrailler said when they were settled at a window table.
‘Right – the boy and his mother came out of the house at around eight ten.’
Step by step they went through the few facts they knew, then talked their way back, to what Marilyn Angus had told them.
‘Nothing,’ Simon said at last. ‘Normal small boy, normal family, no tensions, no problems. Nothing.’
‘So?’
‘Worst-case scenario? Randomdriver out looking for a child? When we get back, I want to know all the usual – double-check on any missing childrennationwide, paedophiles recently released from prison, all that. Uniform will get all the stuff on locals who always drive that way to work, neighbours, anything odd in the vicinity … If you were a paedophile looking for a child, what would you do?’
‘What this one did … Pick atime of day, going to school time or coming home, lots of kids around.’
‘Yes, but most of them are in gangs going to the bus or getting in and out of cars where there are plenty of people about … these are rush hours.’
‘Done some homework first. Prospect.’
‘OK, so you’d know streets where kids were more likely to be walking alone. Or waiting alone.’
‘You think this was carefully planned?’
‘Maybe …’ Simon Serrailler finished his beer. ‘The mother. She didn’t say what you’d expect. Didn’t blame herself for leaving him on his own to wait for the lift.’
‘So it was her usual thing then?’
‘Often enough anyway … she said she was in court that morning, so maybe
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