The Shadows in the Street (38 page)

They were both silent. Then he said, ‘Miles suggested he could take over if we went away – had a holiday somewhere. He feels things would carry on fine and God knows I think he’s right. I’m beginning to believe he should have had my job in any case. Would you like to go away? We had a wonderful time in Switzerland, if you –’

‘I haven’t lost my memory.’

‘We could go by train, spend a week in Wengen, move on down, go to … go anywhere you’d like. Or perhaps further afield? You wanted to go to New Zealand.’

‘Did I? I wonder why.’

‘Shall I say yes to Miles?’

Silence.

‘It’s difficult for me, Ruth. I want to help you and you won’t let me.’

Silence.

‘I don’t know which way to turn.’

Silence.

After a few moments, he went quietly out.

Fifty-six

Abi was propped up, her eyes closed. A couple of the machines had gone, and one of the tubes. As Hayley went round to the chair on the far side of the bed, Abi opened her eyes, looked concerned for a moment, but then smiled. She was less pale, and her eyes didn’t seem to be so sunken into her head.

‘Hey, Abs, you look so much better!’ Hayley leaned over and gave her a gentle hug. Abi lifted her hand and touched her arm.

‘I’ll be back in a minute,’ the nurse said. ‘She can’t talk but she’s much brighter, you’re right there. She gets tired though so take it easy.’

‘I’ve got something to show you,’ Hayley said, ‘and you’re gonna be so pleased, you’d better believe it.’ She opened her bag and took out the envelope in which she’d put the photos Lou had given her.

‘Here.’

She put it on the bed by Abi’s hand.

Abi looked at it for a moment, then slowly lifted the flap and tried to reach inside, but in the end Hayley had to take out the contents for her.

‘What have you been saying to her?’ The nurse came through the door to see tears rolling down Abi’s cheeks.

‘It’s her kids. Photos … She didn’t know if they were happy or anything and now she’s got their pictures. You’d cry.’

‘I think I would. Let me have a look.’

‘Abs, I’ve seen them, I took Liam. They’re great, they’re really great.’

The tears went on spilling down as Hayley told her everything she could remember about her visit, the smallest thing about Frankie and Mia – what they’d had on, what they’d said, how they’d seemed, the house, the people … she talked until her mouth was dry and Abi watched her face, as if by staring into it hard enough and then back at the photographs she could somehow conjure up the children into the room.

Hayley was still talking when the door opened. She knew it was a copper. They thought because they weren’t in uniform nobody could tell.

‘I might have to go but you keep those, they’re for you. I’m going to see them again, Abs, and I’ll get some more. And listen, once you’re out of here there might be a flat, the social woman said you’d get a priority now. God, don’t you bloody deserve it?’

Ben Vanek and Steph Mead saw at once that Abi had taken a step forward, though they had been warned that she was still very ill and that there could be permanent damage to her throat. The nasogastric tube feeding her had not been taken out.

‘She’s had some photos of her children brought in … that’s done her a power of good, can’t you tell?’ said the nurse.

Abi moved her hand towards the pictures that were still on the bed and Steph went to look.

‘These are great, Abi. They look really well.’

Abi nodded and smiled, but her eyes were brimming with tears.

‘Don’t tire her – she’s had one lot of excitement and I don’t want her blood pressure up.’

The detectives sat next to one another on the chairs beside the bed.

‘Abi, do you remember the last time we were here?’

Abi hesitated, her eyes clouded.

‘The first time we came you were pretty much out of it but if you can remember back to a couple of days ago … Do you know what we want to ask you about?’

After a second Abi nodded slowly.

‘I know you can’t talk but you can nod and shake your head. I want to find out if you remember anything at all about the night you were attacked. Is it any clearer in your mind?’

Abi hesitated and her face was shadowed with anxiety.

‘Don’t get upset … just do your best. Now, try and picture what you can remember. You’re out. It’s dark. Are there any of the other girls out on the street?’

Abi had closed her eyes. Now, she frowned. Opened her eyes, but her expression was blank.

‘Is anything coming back to you?’

Gently, Vanek pressed on, asking if she remembered whether it was fine or wet, if she was wearing her leather skirt, her anorak, had she stood on the corner by the entrance to the printworks, had the Reachout van been round? There was no response until then but at the words ‘Reachout van’ there was a flicker of something …

‘You remember the Reachout van?’

A long pause.

‘You know what I’m talking about?’

A slight nod.

‘Good. The last time you were working, that night, the one when you were attacked, had you seen the Reachout van?’

Another long pause, then a slow shake of the head. Vanek was pleased. They knew that the van had not been out that night.

‘Well done. OK, if the van wasn’t out what about Leslie? What do you call him – Loopy Les?’

Nod.

‘Was he around? Did he bring you girls sandwiches and a drink that night? Can you picture him? Under the street lamp, where he usually is, near the works? Was he there?’

After a moment, Abi shook her head. She had closed her eyes and her face had gone pale. Vanek needed to get as much out of her as he could now before she was too exhausted.

‘Not many punters that night?’

Abi shrugged.

‘Any? Do you remember anyone stopping? Any cars at all?’

They pressed her about car makes and colours, tried to describe men – tall, short, fair, dark, fat, thin, old, young, regular, new. But Abi could not answer.

The nurse put her head round the door, glanced at Abi, then said, ‘Five minutes.’

‘Do you remember where you were? Was it on the street?’

A pause. Then a headshake, quite firm, and a sudden expression of fear.

‘Was it down by the canal then?’

Abi looked agitated.

‘Yes?’

Nod.

‘Good girl. You were on the towpath?’

Nod.

‘Were you by the bridge?’

Abi looked around her, eyes flicking about, clearly still afraid.

Steph Mead said, ‘It’s OK, Abi, it’s all over and you’re safe. But the more you can remember the more it will help us to catch whoever did this. Now, did you see anyone? I know it was dark but did you see a man?’

Pause. A nod.

‘Was it someone you know? Did you recognise him?’

A slight nod.

‘Someone you’d met there before?’

Nothing.

‘A regular punter?’

Nod.

‘Had you met him on the towpath before?’

Nod.

‘I’ll give you some descriptions – if you’re too tired to nod, just raise a finger for yes, and keep still for no. Is he young?’

Nothing.

‘Older?’

Nothing.

‘Is he tall?’

Nothing.

‘What about his voice? Do you remember his voice?’

Abi raised a finger at once.

‘Is it an English voice?’

Yes.

‘A loud voice?’

Nothing. Then Abi started to make movements with her hand which they could not understand. She closed her eyes again.

‘We can’t go on much more,’ Ben muttered.

‘What is it, Abi?’ said Steph, quietly.

Abi moved her hand about again, then her finger on the sheet, before picking up one of the photographs and tracing her finger over it.

‘Oh, she wants to write something down,’ Steph said. She turned to a new sheet in her notepad and handed it to Abi, with her pen. Abi smiled, hesitated, then wrote a word slowly. Her writing was weak and slow but when she turned the pad they clearly read ‘
Whispery
’.

‘He talked in a whisper?’

She nodded several times.

‘Thanks, this is really helpful, Abi, try and keep going a bit longer. Now, did you see his eyes?’

Nothing.

‘Did he have any facial hair? A beard or a moustache?’

The finger did not move.

‘What about his hair? Does he have dark hair?’

Suddenly, Abi’s eyes lit up and her face was bright with a flash of recognition.

‘Fair hair?’

Shake.

‘Curly hair?’

Now she was agitated. She pulled the pad towards her and hesitated. Closed her eyes for a moment. Then she drew something and turned the pad round for them to see it.

Vanek looked. Frowned. Passed it to Steph.

‘Is this his head? The shape of his head? Oh, I get it, he’s bald?’

Abi took the pad back.

She drew the outline of a head, with a primitive face, such as a child would draw. Ears, nose, mouth. But then she drew a shape on top of the head, and the shape came down low.

‘Is that a hood? He was wearing a hood of some sort – a hooded jacket?’

Violent shake of the head. Abi drew something again.

‘I can’t work it out, Abi. It’s a shape but …’

Abi wrote under the shape slowly. ‘BEANIE’. And then, the writing tailing off as her hand weakened, ‘BEANIE MAN’.

Vanek got up and put his hand over Abi’s. ‘That is absolutely great, Abi, you’re a star. Now you have a good rest. You’ve done so well.’

He nodded to Stephanie Mead. ‘Let’s move.’

Fifty-seven

The room was crowded and everyone was attentive. For days and days they had been sifting through details. Appeals to the general public had brought in hundreds of phone calls.

‘And don’t dismiss anything that seems a bit off the wall as a crank call,’ Serrailler had said. ‘If in doubt, follow it up. Sometimes, the cranks have the one vital piece of information even if they don’t realise the fact.’

House-to-house calls had been made again and again, leaflets distributed, the press encouraged to keep the cases on the front page even though there was no news.

But it was difficult to keep up morale when every lead came to a dead end, the force was stretched to breaking point and everyone was exhausted and out of temper. Serrailler had taken to going for a run early every morning just to work off some of his own tension.

‘Right, listen up. And look.’

On the screen was a blow-up of the drawing Abi Righton had done, with her writing. BEANIE. BEANIE MAN. Later that day, Vanek was going back to the hospital, this time with the identikit specialist in the hope that they could get a clearer picture of Beanie Man.

‘The drawing isn’t meant to represent him, we don’t think – that was just Abi Righton’s way of showing us her attacker’s type of headgear. This isn’t going to be easy because a lot of young men wear beanies. But this drawing is going out on the media and we are asking anyone who knows a man who wears a beanie, to contact us. When we get a photofit with the beanie that will be up on posters straight away. It may not seem much but we’ve nothing else and it’s a bit better than being told he wore trainers. Of course the minute this is public every single guy who’s ever worn a beanie is going to stop wearing it – but it’s what people remember
before
today. Someone who often did wear a beanie, even if he’s now chucked it in the bin. Next, three of us are going into a session with the profiler in half an hour’s time. If we get anything out of that, I’ll ask you to come back in here later. Meanwhile, please don’t forget there could be another lead – something quite different – so don’t exclude everything but the beanie hat. Last point, Leslie Blade, the librarian from the CFE, had a heart attack not long after he’d been interviewed for the second time … he’s in Bevham General and it was a close shave but he should be all right. We can’t talk to him again for the moment, even if we have reason to, but we haven’t wiped him off the board just yet. OK, that’s it, everyone, keep smiling, keep at it – and I have a good feeling today. Either by a lucky break or by painstaking police work, or most likely a bit of both, we’re going to get him.’

Five minutes after the information about Beanie Man had gone out on the television news, one of the team took a call from someone who would not give her name.

‘Can you give us a contact number then?’

A pause, then, ‘No. If you’re going to want all that I’m not saying anything.’

The girl sounded hesitant and suspicious.

‘OK, that’s fine. You say you have some information for us?’

The calls were all traced anyway. Better to get people to talk.

‘Yeah. I just saw it on the news, you know, about the murders and what Abi said.’

‘Yes. Do you know Abi Righton?’

‘No. Yeah. Well, sort of.’

‘Right.’

‘Only, you know the Reachout van? It comes – it goes round at night from some church or something.’

‘Yes, we know about it.’

‘There’s a guy on that … Damian. He’s generally on it. Most nights.’

‘Yes?’

‘Well … he wears a beanie. In winter anyway … not every time but quite often he wears one. A beanie hat like in that drawing.’

Ben put his head round Serrailler’s door, unable to contain the excitement in his voice as he passed on the information.

Serrailler looked at him quietly for a moment.

‘You serious?’

‘Guv?’

‘The young man from the Baptist church who runs the Reachout van sometimes wears a beanie hat?’

‘Apparently – you were right, this is our bit of luck.’

‘What is, the beanie? The van? The guy wearing the beanie in the van?’

Ben Vanek fiddled with the door handle, floundering for a reply. There were times when he couldn’t read the Super at all.

‘Don’t faff around in the doorway.’

‘Sorry, guv.’

‘Right. Have you thought this through? Has anyone?’

There was a silence.

‘Damian Reeve is in charge of the Reachout van. Right? He drives it, he’s the team leader, he’s generally serving at the counter, and he always has time to talk to the girls or whoever comes up to him.’