Simon Beckett - Owning Jacob - SA

He tore his eyes from the sight of a man in plain clothes on his hands and knees in the Kales’ hallway, examining something on the carpet.

“I need to speak to whoever’s in charge.”

She greeted this with a stony lack of emotion. “Can you tell me what it concerns?”

“It’s about the murder.” It sounded ridiculously melodramatic.

The policewoman asked him his name and went back into the trailer. A moment later she re-emerged. “Would you like to come in?”

Ben went up the steps. The inside of the van was like a miniature office. A middle-aged man in a grey suit was talking to a beefy constable with a clipboard. He turned to Ben as the constable went out.

“I’m Detective Inspector Norris. How can I help you, Mr Murray?” He had a flat Midlands accent.

“Have you found Kale?”

“We’re looking for Mr Kale to help us with our enquiries,” Norris said, noncommittally. “The constable said you had some information relating to Mrs Kale’s murder?”

Ben ignored this.

“He’s going to go after his son.” He knew it beyond any possibility of doubt. The certainty had hit him like a physical blow in the car. He broke into a sweat again now with the need to convince the policeman. “The social services put his son in care last week—”

“Yes, we know.”

Ben faltered. “His wife gave evidence against him. He found out and... and that’s why he did this. He’s going to try to get his son.”

“Has Mr Kale been in contact with you?”

“No, but—”

“Perhaps you could tell me exactly what your involvement is, then, sir?”

“I’m the boy’s stepfather.”

The policeman took a moment to consider this. “I see.”

“Look, I know Kale — I know what he’s like. He isn’t going to let anything come between him and his son.”

“I appreciate your concern, Mr Murray, but if the boy’s in care Mr Kale isn’t going to know where he is.”

“They’re sending him to the same school. He’s autistic, there aren’t many special-needs schools about. Kale’s going to go there—”

“Just a second.” Norris went over to a man in plain clothes.

He spoke, too low for Ben to overhear. The other man nodded and picked up a telephone. The inspector came back.

“I’ve arranged for a car to be sent. We’ll have someone outside all day.” Ben felt relieved, but not entirely reassured. “You know he’s an ex-soldier?”

“We’re aware of his background. Is there anything else you can think of that might help us?” It was phrased as a dismissal.

Ben couldn’t think of anything. He looked out of the small window set in the side of the trailer. The Kales’ house was visible through it.

“What happened?”

“I’m sorry, sir, we’re not an information service. We’re in the middle of a murder investigation, so—”

“For Christ’s sake, it was me who got her to testify against him.”

He hadn’t meant to shout. There was a silence in the trailer. Norris regarded him, then sat down. The background noise started up again.

“Kale was released on bail yesterday afternoon. We know from neighbours that he arrived here about five. There were sounds of an altercation — nothing new, apparently — then Kale was seen to leave and drive away at about five thirty. A man was walking a dog along a path at the back of the house at about eleven o’clock last night. He noticed the Kales’ kitchen door was open. By the light from it he saw something lying in the garden. He thought it was a body, but it was difficult to see.” He shrugged. “There’s a lot of scrap metal back there.”

“I know,” Ben said.

Norris glanced at him but didn’t comment. “He called the local police station. They sent someone to investigate and found Sandra Kale. At least, they guessed it was her. Someone had dropped part of a car engine on her head. Are you all right, sir?”

Ben gave a nod. The news of what Kale had used to kill his wife had made the room seem to tilt. He didn’t doubt what it was. He’d seen him lift it over Jacob on two occasions.

He flinched at a vision of the heavy cylinder thudding into the ground.

“We’re still waiting for the pathologist’s report on whether she was already dead when her head was crushed,” the inspector continued. “She’d been badly beaten as well. It’s possible some of the injuries were post-mortem, but they probably came first. Either way, the time of death fits when Kale was here.”

“Didn’t anybody warn her that Kale had been released?”

Norris seemed to hesitate fractionally. “At the moment I can’t answer that.”

“They didn’t, did they? Nobody told her.”

“As I said, I don’t have all the information yet.”

Whatever criticism Ben might have made caught in his throat when he remembered his own role in events. If not for me she’d still be alive.

His anger collapsed, taking its energy with it. “Will you let me know if anything happens?” He fished in his wallet for a card. “You can get me any time on the mobile number.”

The inspector took the card but didn’t say if he would get in touch or not. “Thank you for your help, Mr Murray.”

Ben didn’t take the hint. “You will watch for him at the school, won’t you?”

“It’s taken care of.” Norris signalled to the policewoman Ben had spoken to earlier. “Will you show Mr Murray out, please?”

After the warmth of the trailer it seemed colder than ever outside. He went back to his car, ignoring the curious stares of the neighbours. He told himself that the police knew what they were doing, that Jacob would be safe. There was nothing else he could do.

It never occurred to him to ask if the shotgun was still in the shed.

He drove along his old route to the hill overlooking the town. He parked in the same spot and climbed over the wall. The woods seemed dead beyond any hope of resurrection. He slipped and fell on the slick ground and rotting leaves as he made his way down through them. Mud smeared his coat and clogged the gash in his hand made by a broken root. He wadded a tissue against it.

The huddle of oak trees seemed smaller than he’d remembered, more barren and exposed. He found a Snickers wrapper twined in the brittle remains of the grass in the entrance to his den. There was no other evidence that he had ever been there. He picked it up and put it in his pocket.

The hillside running down to the houses looked as though it had been scoured with acid. A pale polythene canopy had bloomed in the Kales’ back garden, screening the area inside the dark ring of scrap metal. Children were gathered around the fence at the bottom, trying to see in.

A branch snapped behind him. Kale, he thought, and spun round to see a policeman in a reflective yellow jacket tramping down the slope towards him. The policeman stopped a yard or two away.

“Having a good look, are we?”

Ben’s heart was still thumping. “Not really.”

The policeman’s eyes were unfriendly. “Mind telling me what you’re doing?”

It must be something in the air up here, Ben thought. Or perhaps it’s just me. “Just walking.”

“That your car parked on the road up there?”

“If you’re talking about a red Golf it is.”

“What’s the registration?”

“I haven’t a clue.”

“What’s your name?”

Ben told him. The policeman spoke into his radio, still watching him. He seemed disappointed by the response from it.

“All right, go on.” He motioned with his thumb towards the road.

Bloody-mindedness made Ben say, “You sure you don’t want to arrest me?”

The policeman gave him a psychopath’s stare. “I’m not going to tell you again.”