Mo Hayder - Gone

‘Who the fuck are they?’

‘Your son’s victims.’

Peter Moon stared at the pictures for a long time. ‘You’re honestly saying my boy’s supposed to have attacked these people?’

‘In a manner of speaking. What he’s done with the children he abducted, God knows. I’ve given up hoping. But I can’t see him worrying much about their human rights, because they’re incidental. Dispensable. He knows the facts of life: hurt the young and you may as well kill the parents. And that ’s what he wants. All these people.’ Caffery sat down, waved a hand at the photos. ‘They’re the ones who mean something to your son. They ’re the ones we’re looking at now. Ever heard of victimology?’

‘No.’

‘You should watch more TV, Mr Moon. Sometimes we investigate crime by studying the people it’s happening to. Usually it’s to learn who our perpetrator is. In this case we don’t need to know who ’s doing it, we know that already, in this case we need to know why he’s choosing the people he is, and we need to do that because he’s going to do it again. And soon. Something – something – in your son’s head is telling him he has to do it again. Look at these faces, Mr Moon. Look at their names. What do they mean to your son? This guy on the left is Neil Blunt. Neil works for the Citizens Advice Bureau. When I was with him this evening he said he knew he’d pissed people off now and then, and he’s had a couple of threats from clients at work. Has Ted had any dealings with the CAB?’

‘My wife went to the CAB when we had the fire. But that was eleven years ago.’

‘What about since he’s been out of the slammer?’

‘Not that I know of.’

‘He works as a handyman. But when we went to check out his references they were all faked. So what experience did he have as a general builder?’

‘He’s good. Really good. He can turn his hand to any—’

‘I didn’t ask you how good he is. I asked you what experience he had.’

‘None. That I know of.’

‘Never did any work over in Mere? All the way down near Wincanton? Gillingham? A nice place. Family house. Name Costello. That’s them at the bottom.’

‘Costello? It doesn’t ring a bell. I swear it doesn’t.’

‘Look at the man on the left.’

‘The black geezer?’

‘He works in a car showroom in Cribbs Causeway – BMW. Does that ring any bells? With Ted’s fondness for cars?’

‘No.’

‘His name’s Damien Graham.’

Moon stared at the photo, shook his head. He pointed to Jonathan Bradley’s face. ‘Him.’

‘Yes?’

‘Vicar bloke.’

‘You knew him?’

‘No. I seen him in the news.’

‘Ted didn’t know him?’

‘How the hell would Ted know someone like that?’

‘Before Mr Bradley was ordained he was a headmaster. At St Dominic’s School. Did Ted have any connections in that area?’

‘I told you – he’s not a paedo. He doesn’t hang out at schools.’

‘What about Farrington Gurney, Radstock? Why does he feel so at home out there? He knows the roads round there like the back of his hand.’

‘Ted wouldn’t know Farrington Gurney if it was the last place on earth. Arsehole of the Mendips, innit?’

Caffery turned to Ted Moon’s photograph. Looked into his eyes – stared into them, trying to draw something out. ‘Look at the pictures again, Mr Moon. Really concentrate. Is there anything? Anything at all? You don’t need to feel stupid. Just say it.’

‘No. I told you. Nothing. I’m trying to help here.’

Caffery chucked down the paperclip he was fiddling with. He got to his feet. His stomach hurt with all the bloody junk food he’d been shovelling down the hatch. It was the place these cases always got you. In the belly. He went to the window and opened it, stood for a moment with his hands on the frame, feeling the cool air on his face.

‘OK. This is where I need you to have an open mind, Mr Moon. Where I’ve got to ask you to dig deep.’ He turned and went to the whiteboard. He uncapped a marker pen and placed it next to Janice Costello’s name. He drew a slow line from her face across to Rose Bradley’s. ‘Look at the women – Simone Blunt, Janice Costello, Lorna Graham, Rose Bradley. Now, I want you to do something difficult. I want you to think about your wife.’

‘Sonja?’ Moon made a noise in his throat. ‘What about her?’

‘Is there something about these women that reminds you of her?’

‘You’re joking, aren’t you?’ Moon was incredulous now. ‘You are joking?’

‘I’m just asking you to keep an open mind. To help me.’

‘I can’t help you. None of them looks like her.’

Peter Moon was right, of course. If there had ever been a time Caffery’d clutched at straws this was it. The women couldn’t have been more different: Janice Costello was fresh-faced, straightforwardly nice-looking, Rose Bradley was fifteen years older and two stones heavier – their colouring wasn’t even similar. The ultra-groomed Simone looked like a harder-edged blonde version of Janice, it was true, but Lorna Graham, the only one he hadn’t met, was black. If he was honest she looked more as if she should be hanging on to the arm of some R&B dude, with her polished nails and hair extensions.

The husbands, then. Something with the husbands? He put the marker pen next to Cory Costello’s name. He’d love to know what had happened between Janice Costello and Paul Prody the night Moon had broken in. He probably never would. And maybe it wasn’t his business to be pissed off with Prody. But Cory Costello whoo-hooing with Prody’s missus? Funny guy, Prody, he thought. Private. To talk to him you wouldn’t know he had any family at all. He went back to Cory’s face, looked at it again. Into his eyes. Thought – affairs . ‘Mr Moon?’

‘What?’

‘Tell me – because it’ll never go outside this room, I can guarantee that – did you ever have an affair? When Sonja was alive.’

‘Jesus. No. Of course not.’

‘Of course not?’ Caffery raised an eyebrow. The answer had been there. Right in Peter Moon’s mouth. Waiting. ‘Are you sure?’

‘Yes. I’m sure.’

‘You weren’t seeing Sharon Macy’s mother, were you? Even just casually?’

Peter Moon’s mouth opened, closed, then opened again. His face went tight and he moved his head forward on his neck. Like a lizard. Trying to crick a spasm out of his head. ‘I don’t think I heard you right. What did you say?’

‘I said you weren’t seeing Sharon Macy’s mother? Before Sharon was killed?’

‘You know something?’ He closed his mouth briefly, as if he was struggling to hold himself together. ‘You have no idea – no idea – how much that question makes me want to land one on you.’

Caffery raised an eyebrow. ‘I’m just trying to make that link, Mr Moon.’ He capped the pen. Threw it on to the desk. ‘Still trying to connect the families together. The Macys with these people.’

‘The Macys? The shagging Macys ? None of this has got anything to do with the Macy family. Ted never killed Sharon because of her shagging parents.’

‘Yes, he did.’

‘No! No, he fucking didn’t. He done it because of the fire . Because of what she did to Sonja.’

‘What Sharon did to your wife ?’

Moon looked from Caffery to Turner and back again. ‘You don’t fucking know, do you? It was Sharon done it. She was the bloody arsonist, little bitch. Tell me you know that much at least?’

Caffery glanced at Turner, who met his eyes and shook his head slowly. The psychiatric reports from the hospital and the probation officers’ reports on Ted Moon’s release weren’t in the paperwork that had come down. In the suspect interview transcripts Moon had refused to say why he’d killed Sharon Macy. He’d refused to speak even to deny it.