Mark Pearson - Hard Evidence

'What time?'

'Three forty-five.'

'Right after school.'

'Looks that way.'

'If that's where she actually went, we should be able to get CCTV footage.'

'Definitely.' Bonner cracked a smile. 'One thing we can thank the terrorists for. So the streak of ginger is off the hook?'

'Maybe, for now. But he's still wriggling. And that worries me.'

'Always late remembering things. Telling us stuff bit by bit. Parcelling it out like a soap opera.'

'More than just that. Seems our English teacher has a bit of history. This isn't his first time in the frame with a young girl. Four years ago he was accused of molesting one of his female pupils. Thirteen years old.'

'And he's still teaching?'

'The charges were dropped. The parents' call apparently. But he changed schools anyway. Moved right out of the area.'

'You think this internet stuff he brought in might be some kind of cover-up?'

'It's all a bit convenient, isn't it? He tells us he didn't see her leave and then later he remembers he did. And later still he brings us this.'

'True.'

'I don't want to let him go just yet. I want you to have a gentle word with him. Keep the pressure on.'

'Boss.'

I'll get down to Baker Street, see what the cameras tell us.'

Baker Street station was one of the first underground stations built in the capital. Beautiful Victorian architecture that served to lift the spirits of the travellers using it. Delaney walked into the main concourse and looked around, the building tugging nostalgically at his memories. Some things had changed, of course; most memorably and most sadly, a fast-food sandwich and fizzy-drink store now inhabited the space that was once taken up by a pub. Many a time Delaney had grabbed a quick pint or two, a pie and a takeaway can before catching the last Metropolitan train heading west.

'See that, Sally?' He pointed out the brightly lit shop at the end of the concourse.

'Sir?'

'Used to be one of the finest boozers in London.'

'Before my time, sir.'

Delaney nodded sadly. 'Yeah.' A long way before her time, and the truth was, it was a dive of a bar, but there was no better way to wait for a train on a cold winter's night, or a hot summer's one come to that. He wasn't even going to bother mentioning Ward's Irish tavern that once used to be under Piccadilly Circus, in the tunnels that originally housed lavatories. Even more of a dive than the Baker Street bar, the name of which he couldn't remember, but it served a half-decent pint of Guinness and Delaney used to feel right at home there; a whole other world hidden beneath one of the most famous locations in England. A working-class, beer-drinker's haven amidst the horror of Regent Street.

Delaney snapped out of his reverie. 'Get us a couple of large coffees, Sally, and I'll meet you inside.'

DC Cartwright nodded and headed off to a coffee shop at the base of the steps leading down into the station.

Opposite the ticket offices were large, dark mirrored windows with a bench in front of them and behind them a British Transport Police station. Delaney was expected. At one time there might have been some, not always friendly, rivalry between the two police forces, but the terrorists had put an end to any of that.

He was shown through to a viewing room where a computer and monitor had been set up so he could watch the digital footage from the CCTV cameras.

A short while later Sally joined him and handed across a large cup of coffee. She sat beside him as he selected the footage from one of the cameras. Baker Street, like all major underground stations, had CCTV cameras recording every square inch of it. They started with the main entrance on Marylebone Road and watched Monday's foot traffic from half three onwards. Delaney stretched the muscles in his back and sat back uncomfortably in the plastic chair, all too aware that they could be there for some time.

Terry Collier also shifted in his chair, as uncomfortable as Delaney but for very different reasons.

'For God's sake, you're treating me like I'm a suspect here. I've been helpful. I've done my civic duty.'

'Civic duty. Do you think that's what this is all about?'

'Isn't it?'

'It's about a twelve-year-old girl who's missing from home.'

'I know that. That's why I came in. I'm her teacher, for Christ's sake. Don't you think I care?'

'I'm sure you do, Mr Collier.'

'Of course I bloody do.'

'And did you care for Angela Carter?'

Collier sat back in his chair, the red flush that had risen to his neck and cheeks draining as he shook his head.

'I don't believe this.'

Bonner smiled. 'You recognise the name, then?'

'You know damn well I do.'

'Then you can understand our concerns.'

'Is this what it's going to be like from now on? For the rest of my life? Any child goes AWOL, because she's missed a bus or gone off with her friends or any reason at all… and you lot are going to be after me?'

Bonner leaned in hard. 'Jenny Morgan's been missing for three days.'

'I know that! It's this Angel you should be looking at. You read the e-mails.'

Bonner looked at him for a moment and then said softly, 'You didn't say you'd read them.'

Collier coloured and shook his head. 'No. I'm not playing this game.' He rubbed the palm of his hand. 'Out damned spot, is that it? Why can't you people understand? I haven't done anything. I didn't do anything then, and I haven't done anything now.'

Bonner leaned forward and shouted into his face: 'Shut up!'

Collier sat back, shocked into silence, nervousness creeping across his face like a sudden palsy.

'See, the thing is, we don't care whether you think you are innocent or not. All we care about is the fact that a twelve-year-old girl has been missing from home for three days. That's our priority. And if you know anything more about her disappearance then you sure as hell better tell me now.'

Collier seemed to crumple in his chair. He shook his head, his voice tremulous. 'I've told you everything I know. I swear to you. I don't know where she is.'

Bonner wanted to stand him up and punch him hard in the face. Getting information from a suspect was a lot easier in the old days, he thought. Before his time, of course. That kind of interrogation had to take place outside of a police station nowadays. He looked at Collier and decided he'd ask him some questions later. In an informal setting. He smiled coldly at him, and was pleased to see that Collier looked very far from reassured by it.

Delaney leaned forward, and stopped the footage. 'Five o'clock. If she was going to be there she'd have shown up by now.' He crumpled his paper cup and threw it in the bin. 'Give us the side entrance.'

Sally moved the mouse and clicked on the next icon in the list that Delaney had drawn up.

The grainy black-and-white image leapt to life on the monitor screen. People walking slowly in and out of the side entrance. At three ten a thin man approached the entrance but rather than going in stood to one side and looked deliberately at his watch.

Sally leaned forward excitedly. 'This could be him.' Delaney nodded, his eyes impassive as he watched. If he felt a small spark of optimism he didn't show it in his expression.

The man reached into his pocket and pulled out a cigarette; he snapped open a Zippo lighter and sparked it alight, drawing on his cigarette like a man heading for the gallows and wanting to savour every moment of pleasure left.

'Could be he just wants a smoke before going down to the tube; figures he's got time before his train.'

Delaney fast-forwarded the image until the man had sucked the cigarette clean and thrown it on the pavement. He turned and walked into the station, disappearing from view.