Ben Cheetham - Blood Guilt

“Jones said Nash sold toys on the streets.”

Jim shook his head. “These were used toys. The woman identified several of them as belonging to her kids.” His voice grew thick with import. “Get this, Nash admitted he’d been stealing from the bedrooms of children at houses where he worked. He was always careful only to take things that would’ve been assumed to be lost rather than stolen — teddy bears, toy soldiers and cars, things like that. But it’s pretty obvious now that he was working up the nerve to take not merely toys, but the kids they belonged to as well.”

“Let me guess, he wasn’t charged.”

“He got a small fine for possession. But his business was ruined, so he was forced to head south again. This time he didn’t make it as far as London. He stayed with a relative in Birmingham. That’s when he met his first girlfriend.”

“Mary Webster?”

“No, but I’ll get to her in a minute. Her name was Coralee Edmunds. She gave him bed and board in return for working on her house, and they started sleeping together. They’d only been together four or five months when she found child porn on his computer. She called the police, and Nash ended up with a ten month jail sentence. He served just over half of it.”

“Another joke. Nash must’ve been laughing.”

“Apparently not. A psychiatric report prepared for his parole hearing says he was suicidal with remorse.”

“Remorse!” Contempt hissed through Harlan’s voice. “Remorse that he’d been caught, not for what he did.”

Nodding agreement, Jim continued, “On his release, Nash stayed in an offender’s hostel in our own fair city for a while. After that our knowledge of his movements becomes hazy. He seems to have travelled around a lot, doing odd-jobs, often sleeping in homeless shelters. We also know now that he became acquainted with William Jones around this time. According to Jones, they met up several times over the course of a couple of years to talk about photography and exchange photos.”

“They exchanged a lot more than just photos,” said Harlan. “Jones is in this right up to his fat neck. You know that some guy other than Nash went to the caravan and painted Jamie.”

“Yes, but Jamie never saw his face.”

“So fucking what? It was Jones. You know that as well as I do.”

“It doesn’t matter what I know, or think I know. If Jamie can’t ID Jones and Nash won’t give him up, we need physical evidence to tie him to the crime. And as of now we’ve got nothing — no fingerprints, no hair, no semen, no saliva.”

“What about the painting?”

“We’re searching Jones’s house for that.” Jim looked meaningfully at Harlan. “But it seems somebody’s destroyed all his paintings.”

“There was no painting of Jamie there. I’m sure of it. It must be somewhere else.”

“Obviously, but where?”

Harlan was silent, eyes narrowed, thinking that five minutes alone with Jones would be enough for him to find out.

“Whatever you’re thinking, don’t,” said Jim, reading him. “You’re in deep enough shit already. Trust me, we’re not gonna let the fucker off the hook.”

“I hope not. I really fucking hope not.” Harlan’s voice cracked dryly. He took a sip of water. “So tell me the rest of Nash’s story.”

“There’s not much left to tell. After Jones was banged up, Nash dropped off the radar again. We’re filling in the gap between those years, 2005 and the present.”

“I’m guessing this is where Mary Webster comes into the story.”

Jim nodded. “Mary Webster’s an eighty-three year old spinster, all but bedridden with arthritis. From what she’s told us, Nash has been her carer since late 2007.”

“Her carer? What the hell does a guy like Nash know about caring for anybody but himself?”

“According to Miss Webster, he’s the kindest, gentlest person she’s ever met.”

Harlan let out another hiss of breath. “Has she been told what he’s done?”

“Yes, but she won’t have a word of it. You know what these old women are like, deaf to everything but what they want to hear. You can’t blame her, really. She’s got no family. Lives in a big wreck of a house. Without Nash, she’ll more than likely have to go into a care home.”

“How did Nash get to be her carer in the first place?”

“He came knocking on her door, offering to do some repairs. They got chatting and he told her he needed a place to live. She took him in, and he’s been there ever since.”

“Have you found anything at her house?”

“The transit van was in the garage. It’d been washed inside and out. Apart from that, we’ve found nothing. If there was anything, Nash most probably got rid of it after Jamie escaped.”

That was pretty much the answer Harlan had expected. After all, Nash had been in the process of getting rid of evidence when he’d pounced on him. He closed his eyes momentarily, thought about Ethan, and sighed. “Has Susan Reed been told what’s happened?”

“She’s been told what she needs to know — that we have a man in custody who we think was almost certainly involved in her son’s abduction.”

“How’s she holding up?”

“Not too well, by all accounts.”

Again, this was what Harlan had expected to hear. Neil had been Susan’s support, her strength. Without him, she had no one to lean on. A pain that no amount of drugs could numb washed through Harlan as he pictured her waiting alone to hear news of Ethan. “I take it you got nothing from him.”

“Who?”

“Neil Price.”

Jim shook his head. “The only thing that guy’s guilty of is being terminally naive. We released him yesterday. Guess what the stupid little prick did.”

“Tried to see Susan.”

“Got it in one. He showed up at her house, pleading for forgiveness. She called us and we slung him straight back in the cells. Apparently he was sobbing like a baby.” Jim shook his head. “You’ve got to feel sorry for him.”

Harlan didn’t feel sorry for Neil. But he sympathised with him. The guy had made a mistake. Now he was desperate for a chance to make amends. Harlan knew all about that. “You were right, you are going soft in your old age.”

Smiling, Jim patted Harlan’s shoulder. “I’d better get back to it. I’ll see you later.”

“Is that it?” said Harlan, as Jim stood to leave. “Don’t you want a statement from me?”

“We don’t need to do that right now. The doctor tells me you’re going to be in here a few more days at least.”

Harlan’s eyebrows lifted. “What’s going on, Jim? I thought Garrett would be jumping all over the chance to bury me.”

“I’m sure he would be if it was up to him, but things have changed.”

“Changed how?”

“Like I said, you’ve brought a shit storm down on the whole department. Garrett got a phone call this morning. Rumour has it it was from some Home Office bigwig. Whoever it was, they made a big impression on Garrett. When he hung up, his face was white as an old turd. Without a word to any of us, he stormed out the office and drove off. I found out later that he went to see Jones. He was in with him alone for over an hour.”

Harlan frowned with realisation. “Garrett’s been ordered to hush up my involvement.”

“What else can it be?”

“But why?” There was no hint of relief in Harlan’s voice, just curiosity.

A touch of wryness pulled down the corners of Jim’s lips. “It’s always the same with you Harlan. You see everything but yourself. Think about it. Who you are, what you’ve done, it scares the shit out of the politicians. They must know that if this gets out, the public will see you the same way most of us in the department do.”