The Fire Baby

‘She can’t remember. Not the pictures. So she ran away, and I don’t blame her. What did anyone expect her to do – the police said she’d almost certainly been given that drug – the date-rape thing. She can’t believe it’s her in the pictures either.’

‘And he went out again when?’

‘Next night. The Saturday. He wasn’t scared. I know when he’s scared, it wasn’t like he wasn’t in control of whatever it was…’

‘But he didn’t come back…’

She lit a fresh cigarette with the onyx boulder. ‘You could see his office… the police did,’ she said, standing. It was the spare room next to Alice’s. There was a PC, a card file box, and a telephone and fax. He clearly liked to bring his work home. Dryden flicked through the card file. Each one was for a separate job – the client’s details poorly spelt out in childish capital letters.

‘Bob Sutton Security,’ she said, and at last began to cry. ‘The job was the best he could get after the army. He didn’t have much of an education – no certificates. Nothing. It’s tough when you’re his age.’ Alice came in and wrapped her arms around her mother’s neck.

‘In the blue folder,’ she said, leading Alice away.

And they were. The same stud. Different girls, but all in the pillbox. But they weren’t pristine, like Alice’s shots, they were dog-eared, they’d been through many grubby hands.

And police statements, photocopied transcripts of taped interviews. Dryden guessed Sutton’s police contacts had come in useful again. He’d used his contacts in the lorry trade to pick up the trail of the people smugglers who’d traded in the pornography at the same time as illegal immigrants. He’d almost certainly identified the Ritz as a dropping-off point. Then he’d made contact with the police about the man they’d arrested in connection with the pictures of Alice – which in turn had led to other interviews, other raids. In the end he’d had enough information to act. He’d gone out and found something that Saturday night. Was it the pillbox? Had he confronted Johnnie Roe and got a confession? Or had he dragged Johnnie there himself? Whose blood had been on his handkerchief? According to his wife he’d then returned the next night – the Sunday. Did he return to kill Johnnie?

Dryden picked up the blue folder and chose a page at random.

DS John Tucker: I’d like you to describe the picture if you would, Mr Shah. It’s one of those recovered from under your bed at the house in Tomkins St, Nuneaton, on the day of your arrest.

Panjit Shah: There’s a girl, isn’t there?

DS Tucker: Yes. There is, Mr Shah. What age would you say she was, Mr Shah? You have a sister I believe… aged 12. Would you say the girl in these pictures is older or younger than your sister, Mr Shah?’

Mr G. Evans (suspect’s solicitor): Is this really necessary, detective sergeant? We can all see the pictures.

DS Tucker: It would be helpful to me, Mr Evans. I think your client wishes to be helpful, does he not? His passport is a forgery and he’s no right being in the country. If he doesn’t answer the questions he’ll be back on a boat and retracing his journey… He understands that, does he?

Mr Shah: She is the same age, yes?

DS Tucker: Yes. She is – or thereabouts. Does the girl look happy, Mr Shah? Do you think so? Do you think she wanted to have sex with this man, Mr Shah?…

Dryden replaced the pictures in the folder with the statements and washed his hands before going downstairs. The two women were standing at the door, still locked in an embrace: ‘You showed the police the documents?’

‘Yes. Yes,’ said Elizabeth Sutton. ‘They took some. They seemed to be more worried about where Bob had got the stuff,’ she laughed. ‘Bob could teach them a thing or two.’

‘When he went out the second time, Mrs Sutton, what did he take?’

She shrugged. ‘Torch, I think. That’s usually in the car but he changed the batteries. It’s one of the torches they give the Red Caps, it’s got a heavy rubber covering so it can double up as a blackjack… And his nookie kit.’

‘What?’

Alice and her mother laughed. ‘His nookie kit,’ said Alice. ‘He did a lot of private detective work – mainly husbands cheating on their wives. He had to spend a lot of time sitting in the car watching, with his cameras. So he had a nookie kit – chocolate bars, sandwiches, crisps, cake… a bit of a feast.’

Dryden was standing outside now in the sunshine. The temperature was rising. ‘Anything to drink?’

‘He always took a flask of tea. But that night he took water too. Which was odd – he doesn’t even like it in his whisky. Two big bottles, Evian.’

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