Mark Sennen - Touch

‘Tolds yur, dinna I?’ Danny raised his head and smiled, touching his cap with his hand in a deferential manner belonging to another century, another era.

‘Told us what, Danny?’ Savage said.

‘Tolds yur guys about the flash and seeing the knifing. I saw a man with one of those dickable cameras. Flash, and then I heards a scuffle and fawt that’s one of them poofters getting buggered, I did.’

‘Sometimes used as a cruising area, ma’am,’ Enders said.

‘Yes, I know. So what is this about a camera?’

‘Well, it wasn’t one of those poofters, was it? No, it was attempted murder by camera, Mrs Savage. That’s what I was trying to tell your boys, only they wouldn’t believe me.’

‘OK, let’s get this straight, what exactly did you see?’

‘I was sitting on my bench up there ‘aving a leetle drink, trying not to get me head blown off by the fireworks.’ Danny gestured up at the terracing. ‘Then I sees a white flash and I thinks who’s messing me evenin’ up? So I jumps up and has a good look. That’s when I sees it.’

‘What, Danny? You saw what?’

‘I sees blood, Mrs Savage. That’s when I thinks that’s a pretty amazing camera, something I ‘aven’t seen before.’

‘What did you do then?’

‘I runs. I don’t forget me beer, mind you, but I gets out of there quick. I heads into town and I don’t stop until I gets to me spot at the back of the Sainsbury’s car park. Then I sleeps with scary dreams.’

Scary dreams and cardboard boxes, Savage thought.

‘Ma’am?’ It was Enders. ‘The long and the short of the story is that Danny told me about this camera flash he saw. Now there were a lot of people on the Hoe taking pictures of the fireworks and it could have been Danny saw one of them or an explosion from a rocket or something. However, Danny was insistent and he said he could prove his story was true.’

‘I did, Mrs Savage. I told Detective Constable Patrick that I knew where the killing-camera was because the man had dropped it.’

‘What?’

‘I came down to the beach with Danny and we hunted around until I found this wedged in a crevice just above the tide line.’

Enders reached into his coat pocket and pulled out a plastic evidence bag. Inside was a compact digital camera, Canon brand.

‘What is really amazing is the camera is still working after tumbling down here.’ Enders fiddled with the controls through the plastic and the screen on the back lit up. A hand was reaching out, partially obscuring a face. The face of Ben Robbins, Simone Ashton’s boyfriend.

‘Bloody hell, Patrick. Good work. You too, Danny.’

There’s more, ma’am.’ Enders flicked a control on the camera and navigated through a series of images.

‘Oh God, oh no!’

It was Simone Ashton herself. She was reclining in some kind of weird chair, all black plastic and shiny stainless steel, the sort of thing you might find in a hospital or maybe a prison. Her arms were tied above her head, her legs apart, her feet restrained on some kind of footrests with leather straps. She was naked and the look of absolute terror on the girl’s face was something Savage would never forget.

*

By the time Savage got home that night Jamie had gone to bed.

‘Shattered. Not him, me,’ Stefan said as Savage came into the kitchen.

On the table a purple and green robot lay face down on a half-eaten potato waffle and an assortment of little monsters fashioned from Play-Doh clambered over the rest of the dinner.

‘Godzilla, King Kong, the Hulk,’ Stefan explained. ‘Don’t ask me where he knows them from though.’

‘The other kids in the playground. I am shocked at what the little ones are allowed to watch these days.’

‘Our parents said the same.’

‘Probably.’ Savage paused. Stefan did look shattered, really shattered. For an eighty kilogram grinder who thought nothing of hauling ropes for hour after hour on a race that was something. Jamie must have been one handful today.

‘Go on, get yourself back to your place, I’ll sort this lot out.’

Stefan nodded and stumbled from the room.

After a quick trip upstairs to find out what Samantha was up to — homework: no; IMing with friends: yes — she got down to clearing up. The simple monotony of tidying calmed her and contrasted with the hectic atmosphere of the incident room. Dishes in the dishwasher, Play-Doh separated in to constituent colours, a wipe round and then she grabbed a cold Peroni from the fridge with the intention to put her feet up in front of the telly while the frozen pizza she had put in the oven cooked itself.

The fridge door closed and the green and purple magnetic dinosaur’s eyes bobbed up and down. The tide times had been replaced by a colourful printout from Jamie’s school. In the top right corner two little pictures caught her eye, one of Jamie and one of his class. The word ‘Proof’ ran diagonally across the thumbnails and on the left of the page a list of various ordering options gave print sizes and prices. She remembered he had talked to her about his school photograph a couple of weeks ago, worried about a little spot on his chin. Getting him to go in on the day had been a real struggle. Examining the proofs now Savage didn’t think she could even see the thing. Probably the photographer’s lights had been strong enough to wash the red mark out.

Flash.

Shit!

She strolled across to a knife rack where a bottle opener hung and opened her beer. A quick gulp and she exchanged the bottle for the phone. Four rings and Ender’s voice came on the line. He sounded weary.

‘You still working, Patrick? You ought to get home and read your kids a bedtime story.’

‘Ma’am? I need the overtime. You know what the finances are like with three… sorry ma’am, I didn’t-’

‘That’s OK. Can you bring up the accounts for a few of the nurseries for me? Kelly’s, Simone’s and Alice’s?’

‘Sure, give me a minute.’

The keyboard clattered in the background and Enders said he had the documents open.

‘We’ve been concentrating on trades people and looking for the invoices the nurseries have received requiring payment. The accounts have been our way of linking the nurseries to people from outside of their direct employment, right?’

‘Yes, ma’am.’

‘Look on the other side of the sheet. The incomings.’

‘OK. I am on Little Angels, Kelly Donal’s nursery.’ A pause. ‘A whole load of entries, ma’am. All the monies received from the parents.’

‘Yes, of course. But scroll through. I am looking for a payment from somebody other than a parent. The name might appear only once in a year’s worth of accounts.’

Nothing but static for a few moments and Savage could visualise Enders running his finger down the screen. He wasn’t the most competent or the fastest with computers, but he was meticulous.

‘What have you got?’

‘I’ve got parents. Parents. Parents. Parents. More parents. Bloody hundreds of them. Interest from the bank. More parents.’

‘Keep looking.’

‘Parents. Interest. Parents… Hang on.’

‘What?’

‘Oliver Photographic?’

‘Bingo! You understand what I am talking about?’

‘Photograph commission the note says. That’s Rod Oliver isn’t it? The CSI photographer we use?’

‘Yes. Now check out the other two sets of accounts. Do a search for an Oliver.’

Some faint noise from the keyboard reached Savage’s ear before Enders grunted with frustration.

‘Control F,’ Savage said.

‘Oh yes. Thanks, ma’am.’ There was a further period of silence until Enders spoke again. ‘Got the results, ma’am. Yes, all three nurseries used the same company.’