‘What are you doing?’ asked Robin again.

  Andy hurried across the clearing to a spot beneath the drooping bough of a pine tree and began kicking through the dead leaves and nettles.

  ‘What the fuck are you doing?!’ snapped Richard.

  ‘Just a sec…’ Andy replied.

  As far as Richard was concerned, they were finished. He could see that the poor bastard on the ground was swivel-eyed with fear. They’d scared him and humiliated him. Job done.

  ‘Let’s go,’ he said to the other two, ‘before someone comes along.’

  ‘Wait!’ Andy emerged from beneath the low-hanging branch and back into the waning sunlight, holding aloft a large fir cone and grinning as though he’d just pulled a rabbit out of a top hat. He stepped over the goth and sat down heavily on his chest. He waggled the cone in front of his wide, make-up-smudged eyes.

  ‘Looky-look what I’ve found!’ he whispered menacingly.

  Richard advanced. ‘What the fuck are you doing with that?’

  ‘We’re gonna give him a bit of what he wants, right?’ He got up from the boy’s heaving chest and circled around to study his squirming bare legs, bound together at the knees by his jerked-down pants and jeans. He pulled them down further, down to his ankles.

  The goth clearly understood what he was intending and started to wildly thrash his bound legs.

  ‘Hold his legs down!’ Andy snapped.

  Richard remained where he was.

  ‘Ricky! I said, HOLD HIS FUCKING LEGS!’

  For the first time since they’d first bumped into each other at Harsham Grammar, on day one of the first term in their first year… Richard was genuinely afraid of him. There was missionary zeal on his face; he had his Big Idea and he was going to damn well see it through. His size and strength had made him a handy addition to Richard’s little gang – the biddable attack dog who’d do what he was told because he liked hanging out with the smart, rich kid and playing pool on his daddy’s full-sized table. But now Andy was a vicious, untrained dog that was out of control.

  Richard found himself kneeling down and settling his weight on the goth’s drumming feet. He realised his lie had set all this in motion. The goth had told him to piss off back to his little friends, that was all. There’d been no gayness. No bender talk. And now he was trapped by his own bullshit. If he wimped out… or, worse, told the others he’d made it up… all the pent-up adrenaline that he could see on Andy’s flushed face would swing round and be directed at him.

  Andy held up the cone and the goth screamed through his mouthful of leaves, twigs and the cloth gag.

  ‘Okay,’ said Boyd. ‘You’d better take a moment.’

  Ledger’s account had emerged in garbled pieces. His eyes were red-raw with tears, his nose streaming. His shoulders shuddered as he heaved in air and rattled it out. ‘I… I… couldn’t… s-stop him…’

  Boyd was damned if he was going to comfort the man with some supportive platitude.

  ‘So, what state did you all leave this boy in, Richard?’ he asked.

  Ledger dipped his head.

  ‘I think that’s enough now,’ Hart said. ‘You can see he’s clearly distressed and unfit to continue.’

  Boyd ignored him. ‘Richard?’

  Ledger continued to sob into his hands. Boyd could see dabs of moisture trickling down onto his knuckles. Tears weren’t an easy thing to produce at will from his long experience of interviewing ‘remorseful’ perps over the years. The hitching breath, the endless eye-rubbing, the cry-baby voice – he’d witnessed those many times.

  ‘Richard? How was he left?’ he repeated more softly.

  Ledger shook his head in response. He did his best to dry his eyes and wipe the snot from the end of his nose.

  ‘Andy…’ he began, then paused. He took another long, steadying, deep breath. ‘Andy smashed a rock down onto his face.’

  ‘A rock?!’ Boyd asked, shocked.

  Ledger nodded.

  ‘Was he attempting to kill him?’

  Ledger nodded again.

  Boyd wanted that clarified for the tape. ‘You left him in the woods… believing he was dead?’

  ‘Oh God… I… We all just panicked… and ran…’

  Boyd had heard more than enough for now. He reached for the machine. ‘The time is five forty-seven p.m. Interview terminated.’

  47

  ‘Joint enterprise?’ repeated Lesley Lloyd. Her voice filled Superintendent Hatcher’s wood-panelled office. They’d managed to catch her before she’d headed home for the day and, by the sound of her voice over the speakerphone, she wasn’t too thrilled about it.

  Boyd had given the CPS lawyer a bullet-point overview of the case and the evidence they’d gathered against Richard Ledger, including the gist of his detailed statement. Joint enterprise was what he was pinning his hopes on as the line they needed to cross to detain him.

  ‘No, sorry,’ she replied. ‘That’s a dirty term these days. It doesn’t sit well with jurors. They see it as, at best, lazy policing… and, at worst, a police-state catch-all. It just won’t stick.’

  Boyd let his head drop to his chest.

  ‘Plus, he was a minor when the incident took place,’ she continued. ‘That’ll be a mitigating factor. It was 1989, you said?’

  ‘Yes,’ replied Boyd.

  ‘So no hate-crime legislation at that time, I’m afraid. Homophobia wasn’t a crime back then, just an attitude. Bloody dark ages. Anyway… it sounds as if you’ve got bigger fish to fry with this Smithee character out there – who you’re presuming is the victim of that assault and your serial murderer?’

  ‘Yes,’ said Boyd.

  ‘Well… seems to me that he should be your focus, DCI Boyd. We can loop back and deal with this Ledger chap later.’ She paused. ‘Are we good? I really have to go.’

  ‘All right. Thanks for hanging on for us, Lesley,’ said Hatcher.

  ‘No problem.’ The call ended.

  Hatcher sat back in her chair and looked from Boyd to Sutherland. ‘So…?’

  ‘It sounds like you’re going to have to let him go for now,’ said Sutherland. ‘Is he a flight risk?’

  ‘He’s got money. But…’ Boyd shook his head. ‘I get the impression he’s more interested in us finding this Smithee than worrying about any charges.’

  Hatcher stroked her fountain pen, which she’d been using to take notes during Boyd’s update. ‘He volunteered that statement. His lawyer will make that point if this assault ever gets to court.’ She absently doodled a spiral in the margin of her notepad. ‘Plus, he’ll know that fleeing the country would imply guilt later down the line. So, you’re right – I shouldn’t imagine he’ll be a flight risk.’

  Boyd nodded.

  ‘I do have a couple of thoughts,’ said Hatcher. ‘We’re assuming this Smithee is the victim of the assault?’

  ‘Aggravated sexual assault,’ Boyd added. ‘And attempted murder, according to Ledger’s account.’

  ‘Right. But we’re currently assuming Smithee’s the victim? And those three bodies from the storage place were the perpetrators of the assault? That’s the prevailing theory, right?’

  ‘Yes,’ replied Boyd.

  ‘Although we have no proof at all that he even exists yet. Correct?’

  ‘Yes, ma’am.’

  ‘So…’ She looked at her notes again. ‘This entire statement from Ledger could be something he made up? There’s nothing, so far, to corroborate any of it?’

  ‘No. Not yet.’

  ‘Then it’s entirely plausible he’s got you looking for someone you’ll never find. In fact, he could be this Smithee, who’s been paying for that lock-up – and who, for whatever motive he has, is responsible for the murders of the other three. And everything he told you this afternoon was about explaining away his DNA on a coffee cup?’

  ‘That’s possible, yes, ma’am,’ Boyd agreed.

  ‘But I’m getting the impression you’re not buying that? He’s obviously had time to think up that very detailed story, Boyd.’

  ‘But I honestly think he was surprised that his DNA was in the lock-up. We sprung the deaths of his friends on him and he was, in my opinion, genuinely shocked. I just don’t buy that this was a previously rehearsed story. I’m not saying we take everything he said at face value. He may have been more involved in the assault than he’s letting on. After all, none of the others are going to say any different, are they?’

  ‘But if this goth was killed…’

  ‘He said they left thinking he was dead, ma’am.’

  ‘All right, but if he was dead, there’d have been a body. And if there was no body, then presumably someone would have found him and called an ambulance… There’d be a record of that somewhere, surely.’

  ‘I’ve put Minter and Okeke on it,’ Boyd said. ‘But it was 1989…’ He pulled a face. ‘All paper records. And I doubt any paramedic or A & E doctor will recall treating a specific head injury thirty years ago.’

  Hatcher sighed. ‘Then we have to hope the assault was reported to the police. And if you don’t find anything?’ she pressed. ‘What then? Are you still going to assume Smithee is real?’

  ‘That paper cup feels planted. It was the only other item in the storage locker, apart from the crates. We found no prints or DNA from Ledger on the crates themselves. Which suggests he would have been very, very careful. Then… to casually leave behind a cup that he’d been slurping from …’ Boyd shook his head.

  Hatcher sighed. ‘Fine. Well, make sure you keep me up to date, Boyd.

  ‘Yes, ma’am,’ Boyd replied.

  ‘There’s a question that begs to be asked,’ said Sutherland. ‘Is Richard Ledger at risk? At the moment? I mean, if this Smithee exists and killed the other three, why not finish the job, hmm?’

  ‘That might have been his plan,’ Boyd agreed. ‘But we think the storage unit being auctioned and the bodies being discovered has thrown a wrench into it.’

  Hatcher tutted and looked at her watch. It was getting late. ‘There’s one other scenario to consider,’ she said.

  Both men looked at her.

  ‘What if his account is, essentially accurate, but… Ledger himself was the victim?’

  48

  Minter returned to them with a tray of food. It had been Okeke’s suggestion to indulge in a McSupper.

  ‘A Big Mac meal for the boss,’ he said, handing it over. ‘A McFishy meal for you…’

  ‘What’s yours?’ asked Okeke.

  ‘I’ve got a McPlanty,’ he replied. He passed out the fries, sauces and coffees, and then slipped the tray onto an empty table next to them.

  ‘Of course you do,’ she muttered, looking at his McSalad side and bottle of water.

  ‘I’d have thought you’d be all about the protein,’ said Boyd.

  Minter shook his head. ‘No gym tonight, boss. I’m done in. It’s been a long day.’

  Boyd nodded. He felt the same. Ledger had walked out of the station half an hour ago with his lawyer with what looked, to Boyd, like a smirk on his face.

  ‘I still can’t believe there wasn’t enough to hold him,’ said Okeke.

  ‘CPS calls it,’ said Boyd, digging into his fries. ‘No point cracking the eggs if they can’t make the omelette.’

  ‘So what’s our next move, boss?’ Minter asked.

  Boyd had relayed his conversation with Hatcher to them while they waited for Ledger’s release paperwork to be processed. ‘We’ll have to dig around a bit more to corroborate his story. If it’s true, then presumably a 999 call was logged. If Smithee made a full recovery, then did he report the incident to the police? And if he didn’t recover, or if he was left brain-damaged,’ continued Boyd, ‘then wouldn’t someone related to him have called the police about his assault?’

  ‘There was nothing on LEDS,’ said Okeke.

  ‘It’ll be somewhere in the paper records, I bet,’ said Boyd.

  Every police station in the UK had a bank of dusty filing cabinets full of handwritten statement forms and case files… still waiting to be manually entered into the system. It was one of those tasks that could be chipped away at during a slow, empty in-tray day. But, of course, in-trays were never empty.

  ‘You two should head over to Harsham police station and ask – very politely – if you can dig around in their legacy cabinets tomorrow,’ he said. ‘And I’ll get Warren and O’Neal to trawl through local newspaper archives. The Argus might have written up something about the incident.’

  ‘If… it happened,’ said Okeke.

  ‘Are you buying Her Madge’s suggestion?’ asked Minter.

  ‘Hatcher could be right,’ Boyd conceded. ‘If we draw a complete blank, then I suppose we’re unlikely to ever find out what really happened.’

  ‘And of course Ledger’ll walk,’ said Okeke.

  Boyd nodded. ‘We only have the one piece of forensic evidence and Ledger has provided a plausible explanation for that. His defence would argue that the cup was not found on the first sweep of the lock-up. Suggesting, at best, incompetence on our part; at worst, an attempt to plant evidence.’

  He took a bite out of his Big Mac and spoke with his mouth full. ‘We’ll need to build a credible timeline running from 2011 to the present that would indicate Ledger could have been responsible for their deaths. Phone records might help. Particularly his.’ He took another bite of his burger. ‘I keep replaying his reaction to the photos in the interview, though. That was one of the most convincing responses I’ve ever seen in an interview room. He was genuinely shaken.’

  ‘He certainly didn’t seem overly concerned at the idea there was someone out there who might want him dead, though,’ said Minter.

  ‘Hmm. He didn’t, did he?’ agreed Okeke. ‘I’d be bloody well begging for police protection if that was me.’

  49

  Richard Ledger, parked his Land Rover in his basement garage and switched the engine off.

  ‘Graham, you’re sure there’s no chance of a joint enterprise conviction?’

  ‘I’m sure.’ His lawyer reply came out of the car’s sound system. ‘Yours is the only account of what happened back then. And, like I said, judges and magistrates are exceedingly twitchy about the police using joint enterprise these days.’

  ‘Right.’

  ‘Added to that… you were a minor at the time. You also volunteered to give your account when you didn’t have to. That’ll play in your favour, Richard. Particularly if I request the interview recording be played to any jury. You were clearly distressed. Traumatised by what you witnessed as a boy.’

  Richard settled back in the seat. ‘It was difficult. Reliving that.’

  ‘It sounded horrific.’

  ‘It was. It really was.’

  ‘Look, Richard… I’m concerned for your safety. We should probably have asked for some kind of protection. This Smithee chap obviously knows how to find you...’

  ‘I think he was actually sussing me out when he came to my office.’

  He heard his lawyer suck in a breath. ‘I thought you said it was just some weird interview?’

  ‘It was a little more than that. I realise that now. I think he wanted to see if I recognised him. Maybe he was trying to figure out if I was worth blackmailing.’

  ‘Why the hell didn’t you mention that?’

  ‘I… well… I was concerned that it might look as if I have something to hide. Some involvement. I didn’t do anything. I mean… I should have done something. I should have tried to step in and stop what was going on. But… shit… Christ… I wish –’

  ‘All right, all right. It’s okay. Take a moment.’

  Richard took a deep breath. ‘It looks as though he killed Andy, Mark and Robin, right? They got the special treatment because they all played an active part in the assault. But because I held back… I think, somehow, he sees me as less culpable, deserving a lesser punishment, maybe.’

  ‘Look, Richard. I think, if the police pull you in again for interview, you should consider mentioning all that. The fact that he hasn’t treated you the same way as the others clearly suggests, as you say, that he blames you less. That’s another win if this ends up in a court.’

  ‘Right.’

  ‘I mean, did he specifically ask you for money?’

  ‘It was… I can’t recall exactly. At the time… I thought something very odd was going on, but… Christ, it was over a year ago. It only came back to me after those detectives told me Robin and the others had been murdered.’

  ‘You didn’t think about it before? I mean, before today’s interview?’

  ‘No. Because I thought that goth boy was long dead. I…’

  ‘Jesus!’ hissed his lawyer. ‘Okay, you don’t ever say that again, right? You say you suspected he was hurt badly that day… and you wished you’d called an ambulance at the time, but you didn’t because… you were in shock. Afraid. Scared that your friend Andy might do the same to you.’

  ‘I should have, though! Jesus. I should have done something…’ Richard could hear the raw emotion rising up in his own voice.

  ‘All right. All right. Just take a breath.’

  He sucked in a couple of deep, ragged breaths. ‘I’m okay. It’s…’

  ‘You were a minor. You witnessed a violent, sexualised assault. You witnessed Andy attempt to kill that boy with a rock. And it’s something you’ve repressed. You’ve struggled with it for all these years and felt guilty that you didn’t do the right thing at the time. Is that a fair representation?’

  Richard rubbed his eyes and sniffed. ‘Right. Yes.’

  ‘And all those annual reunions of yours – that was all about processing that guilt, yes? Trying to make sense of what happened that afternoon?’

  ‘I suppose so. Yes.’

  ‘Right. Then that’s what we should probably share with the police. I think the smart move would be for me to arrange for a follow-up interview where you can tell all this to them. We can also ask for some sort of protection. Because… if he’s still out there, then –’