Seven Days(21)

‘I’m glad you’re so principled,’ Wynne said. ‘But I’m sure there’s something you could tell me.’

Mullins laughed. ‘It’s not principle,’ he said. ‘It’s lack of information. The scum who peddle that kind of shit keep themselves to themselves. It’s a very secretive world, Detective Inspector. It has to be. If people like me found out who they were, we’d take care of them. For good. We’re not as squeamish as you.’

Wynne felt her hopes deflate. She’d been right that Mullins would find it disgusting, but she was wrong that he would have anything he could tell her.

‘But you would inform us if you heard anything?’ she said.

He studied her. ‘Yes,’ he said. ‘I would. Just this once, I would.’

She stood up.

‘Thank you,’ she said.





3


DI Wynne knocked on the door of a semi-detached house on a quiet street about a mile from the Coopers’ house, in the village of Stockton Heath. It was a lively place, prosperous and growing, populated with a mixture of long-established inhabitants and more recently arrived commuters.

In Wynne’s experience, the arrival of new people changed the character of places like Stockton Heath: they were less embedded in the life of the village, less likely to call on their neighbours. Once, everyone would have known everyone’s business in the village. Now, people kept themselves to themselves.

She looked to her right. There was a large bay window. The curtains were open, but there was a blind drawn halfway down. Through the gap she could see a floral couch and a large television. To the left was a garage; it was closed, and no car was in the driveway.

She rang the doorbell again.

PC Edwards nodded at the side of the house. ‘Want me to take a look around the back?’

‘Give it another minute,’ she said. A few seconds later, she heard footsteps, then the sound of a chain being put in place. The door opened the length of the chain.

‘Yes?’ a man’s voice said. ‘How can I help you?’

Wynne gestured to Edwards to step back so that he would be visible to anyone looking through the side window. She wanted the occupant to see that it was the police.

‘We’d like to talk to you, Mr Best,’ Wynne said. ‘There’s something you might be able to help us with.’

‘What’s it about?’

‘It’s an ongoing inquiry.’

‘I’ve done nothing,’ Best replied.

‘I only want to talk to you.’

‘I have nothing to say. And you’re not coming in without a warrant. You can’t, and you know it.’

Wynne was expecting his answer. People like Best knew the system. They knew their rights, and they claimed them at every turn.

At least, they thought they knew the system. The system had some tricks of its own, and Wynne was not above using them, especially with people like Best.

Especially when something so important was on the line.

‘OK,’ she said. ‘You’re right. We can’t come in. We’ll go.’ She turned to PC Edwards. ‘But we might need to come back. My colleague thinks he may have heard a noise from inside this abode. Sounds like possible domestic violence. And it wouldn’t be the first time there’s been a complaint about this address.’ She rubbed her forefinger on her lips, as though thinking. ‘And that would be grounds for a warrant, I’m pretty sure of it.’

She leaned forward and put her face near the gap between the door and the frame. She spoke in a stage whisper. ‘I don’t want my colleague to hear this,’ she said. ‘He’s young and I wouldn’t want to shock him. But when he and his buddies turn up with that warrant they’ll turn this place upside down. Rip up your mattresses, smash your cupboards, take a shit on your bathroom floor, dig into your computer. And they’ll find something, won’t they, Best? Because people like you always have something. Kiddie porn, stolen knickers, evidence of hours spent in chatrooms pretending to be the same age as the people you’re talking to. We’ll find it, Best. We’ll find it and then we’ll use it to unravel your life and lock you up for as long as we see fit.’

She stopped then stepped back.

‘So, Mr Best,’ she said. ‘If you aren’t going to let us in, we’ll be on our way. But we’ll see you soon.’

The door closed, and there was a click as the chain was undone.





4


Wynne stood in the hallway. To the right was the room with the bay window. At the far end was a door open on to a kitchen. A pale green carpet covered the floor and ran up the stairs to her left. There was a faint smell of disinfectant.

She recognized it from the last time she’d been here. The neighbours had called in a domestic dispute. She’d been in uniform then, and had come in to find Best’s wife, Carol, hiding in the upstairs bathroom. Her nose was broken and she had a contusion on the back of her head. Best was gone; another unit picked him up on the M56 heading towards Manchester.

He said he’d had an argument with his wife and was going for a drive to clear his head. Carol Best had a different explanation. She said he’d gone to destroy the photos they’d been arguing about.

Photos of school girls that he’d taken with a long lens camera and collected in an album, which he had hidden at the back of a cupboard where they kept the computer manuals. She had found it when the computer failed to start and she called customer support. She couldn’t follow their instructions, so they suggested she find the manual and look through it.