The Silent Children: A serial-killer thriller with a twist Page 5

  The silent sobs seemed to rise from her core, and her chest lifted and dropped several times as she fought to regain control. ‘What am I going to do without him? I can’t cope on my own. This place. Our home. I can’t stay here. It was okay with both of us paying the rent but now… What will I do?’

  Robyn felt her heart sink further. The woman would have so much more to deal with than the loss of her husband. They waited until she’d calmed down.

  ‘We won’t trouble you any further, Lauren. I’m very sorry to have put you through this. I have only one more question. Do you own a computer or laptop?’

  ‘We do. It’s in the spare room. Why?’

  ‘If you don’t mind, we’d like to take it with us.’

  Lauren nodded. ‘Go ahead. I don’t use it much. You can ask me about Henry again. I want to help. Please ask.’

  ‘Did he mention falling out with anybody?’

  ‘Fall out with Henry?’ Lauren gave a short laugh. ‘There were a few people he didn’t get along with, but who gets on with everybody? A couple of the neighbours got sniffy about Henry parking too close to their houses and there were a few arguments about it. Where else are we supposed to park? It’s not a private road. Anybody should be able to park there, especially people who live here who don’t have a front driveway. They got really stupid about it and put plastic bollards in front of their houses, but Henry took them down and parked there anyway.’ She shrugged.

  ‘One of the cricket dads was majorly annoyed Henry hadn’t played his son in a match last year, and had a right go at him in front of everybody, but apart from that, I can’t think of anyone else. We didn’t row that often either, only over silly little things. If we did, we always made up. He used to say we should never go to sleep on an argument. I was huffy with him about Valentine’s Day. I never really thanked him for buying me a present. I should have been more grateful. That’s the thing about life, isn’t it? You don’t appreciate what you have until it’s too late.’

  ‘What about his mother and sister?’

  Lauren grimaced. ‘Henry didn’t have anything to do with either of them, so I don’t know them very well at all. His mum’s got Parkinson’s, or Alzheimer’s, or some other awful illness that’s transformed her. He refused to even talk about her – I don’t think he could – it hurt him too much to think of her as she is now. I suggested visiting them on a few occasions but he wouldn’t go. Said whenever he’d visited in the past, she hadn’t recognised him and it was too heartbreaking to go through that. He wanted to remember her as she used to be. She’s in a care home in Stoke-on-Trent. As for Libby, I’ve only spoken to her on the phone, and she’s always been curt with me. I invited her to our wedding but she didn’t come. Apparently, she’s got a drugs problem and Henry preferred to keep his distance from her. She’s done some wacky things in the past, took an overdose and phoned him at the last minute, so he’d save her. Again, he rarely talked about her. I think he found it too embarrassing.’

  ‘Did you speak to her a couple of weeks ago?’

  ‘No, but she rang here. I was upstairs and heard Henry yelling at her. She was badgering him over something and he told her to go to hell. He was pretty upset afterwards. I can’t tell you any more than that.’

  ‘Did he have any other friends, other than Liam and Ella?’

  ‘He knew a few people in the village through cricket. He plays for the village team and he coaches the young cricket team players too. I wouldn’t say they were friends as such. He gets along with them and sometimes has a drink with them in the pub, but he doesn’t have many close friends.’

  ‘Does he not have any old school friends or other acquaintances?’

  Lauren shook her head. ‘He had a fairly shitty upbringing on a council estate in Stoke-on-Trent. From what he told me, he didn’t much enjoy his childhood. He couldn’t wait to get away from the place, and as soon as he was able to, he took off. Went to London for a while, but found it too full-on. Then he moved back up to Staffordshire and worked in various towns at various jobs – didn’t put down any roots until we met. He was searching for somewhere cheap to rent. I showed him around a few properties and we hit it off. I found him a really nice, reasonably priced flat, and he took me out to dinner to celebrate.’ She smiled at the memory. ‘I found this cottage for us too; one of the perks of working at an estate agency – you hear of bargain-priced houses and rented accommodation before they’re officially advertised. It’s not very big but we both adored it – the setting, the village – it was perfect for us. He loved living here, said it was like being on holiday all the time.’

  She handed over a framed photograph of them as newly-weds. In it, Henry had shorter hair but the same wide smile that stretched across his face. He looked content. Robyn could see this was a man happy with his lot in life. His arm was wrapped around his bride and both were bathed in a glow of happiness. It was such a shame his life had been snatched from them.

  Robyn needed to eliminate Lauren as a possible suspect. There was no easy way of putting her next question. ‘After Henry went to work, what did you do?’

  Lauren looked dazed. ‘You surely don’t think…’ Her words dried on her lips and she stared open-eyed at Robyn. ‘I loved him,’ she said almost in a whisper.

  Robyn gave an apologetic nod. ‘We have to ask.’

  Lauren drew a shaky breath. ‘I arrived at the John Lewis car park at about eleven twenty. I mooched about the store for a while and then made my way through Touchwood Shopping Centre, stopping at French Connection to try on a pair of trousers. Then I went to Café Rouge for a salad and coffee.’ Her head seemed to bounce with each sentence as she thought about her movements. ‘I’ve got a receipt for that. It’ll show the time on it. After lunch, I went to the House of Fraser and had a mini beauty makeover at the Clarins counter so I’d look nice for the evening, when Henry came home. And then, I left sometime before four. I got back at just after five. No sooner had I got in than the officers arrived to tell me they’d found Henry.’

  ‘And you were alone all day?’

  ‘No. I was in a town full of people. What are you getting at?’

  ‘You didn’t meet up with anybody who can confirm you were there?’

  Lauren’s eyes filled. ‘No. But if you ask at the make-up counter in House of Fraser, they’ll remember me. You can’t possibly think I’ve anything to do with Henry’s death.’ She began to sob. Robyn wouldn’t be able to ask any further questions. Sheryl put a friendly arm on the woman’s shoulder to comfort her, and Robyn decided it was time to go. As they left the cottage, Anna cast a look behind her.

  ‘She’s not much older than me,’ she said, shaking her head slowly. ‘What a shit thing to happen. I expect they’d made all sorts of plans for the future and now—’

  ‘We have to keep an open mind, Anna. We still have to check that her alibi is sound. We can only work with facts, not our personal feelings, and hope we get it right.’

  Anna slipped into the driver’s seat. ‘Yes, guv. I can’t help but feel sorry for her though.’

  Robyn looked at the cottage as they pulled away. ‘I wonder if he’d been planning a clandestine meeting on Cannock Chase. It happens,’ she said, catching a look from Anna. ‘He wouldn’t be the first man to lead a double life.’

  ‘You saw his wife. She’s beautiful. Do you really think he’d want to have sex on the side?’

  Robyn shrugged. ‘He might. She might. You heard what she said about trying for a baby. What if she, like Henry, believed he was impotent and had become involved with somebody else who was able to make her pregnant? At this stage we have to consider every possibility, no matter how wild it might seem. We’ll know more once the techies have looked at his phone and we’ve seen what’s on his computer. We need to have hers checked out too. Until that happens, we have to consider all angles, even if they seem distasteful or wrong.’

  ‘I suppose so. People can behave strangely.’

  Eight

  DAY TWO – WE
DNESDAY, 15 FEBRUARY, LATE MORNING

  * * *

  Anna and Robyn headed back to the station. Connor Richards, head of Forensics, was set up and expecting them, his warm smile a sharp contrast to Tom’s scowl as he bashed away at his computer keyboard, ignoring them all. As soon as Robyn was ready, she tipped Connor the nod and he began.

  ‘It’s early days and there’s still a lot to check. We completed a thorough search of all of the immediate surrounding area, and there was indeed evidence of trampled grass at the scene, in some bushes approximately five metres from the car. We collected a cigarette end, crisp packet and dark fibres from clothing made of a cotton and polyester mix. They might be relevant. As for footprints, there are quite a few of varying sizes along the trail as you can imagine. It was a very large area to search and we covered all the car park and the trail itself.

  ‘These are the most important finds to date: fingerprints on Gregson’s Kia belonging to him and his wife Lauren, and a third set of prints, yet to be identified.’

  He passed out a copy of the fingerprints, the loops and whorls clearly visible.

  ‘There were partials and an entire, clear print on the passenger door handle, and two more belonging to the same anonymous person on the door itself. There were also partial prints belonging to Mrs Gregson on the steering wheel. We collected several hairs and fibres, which we believe belong to the victim and his wife. We’re still testing them.’ Connor illuminated the overhead projector and slid in a transparency. A map of the clearing and surrounding area appeared on the screen.

  ‘Fragments of the bullet that killed Henry Gregson have now been removed from his body and we’ve identified it as a .455 cartridge. They’ve been sent for further forensic examination. Although we were unable to locate the weapon used, we found evidence of several areas of trampled grass especially here, about three metres from the vehicle.’ He pointed towards the spot marked on the map with an X.

  ‘Based on the angle of the victim’s body, the entry wound and the blood spatters, it’s possible to conclude the bullet followed a trajectory from this vicinity into the vehicle.’ His finger followed the arc he’d drawn on the transparency.

  ‘The cross, marked on the map as A, is where we found a small area of trampled grass. It is in and around a Scots pine tree.’

  Robyn recalled the open space. The attacker could have had a good view of the car’s passenger side from there and remain unnoticed by the driver.

  Connor searched the officers’ faces, waiting for questions. Mitz had one.

  ‘Could he have seen his attacker?’

  ‘I can’t answer that but it would make sense for the offender to step to one side to fire the pistol. As I said, it’s a clean shot and the perp must have had a good visual on his victim.’

  Robyn kept silent. Mitz’s comment had her thinking. If Henry Gregson had seen his assailant and not leapt from the car, or driven away, he must have known them. Unless it all happened so quickly he couldn’t react. That made her consider a second question. Had Gregson recognised his assailant’s intent at the last minute and deliberately thrown his mobile under his seat to conceal it?

  ‘We discovered dark fibres on the tree trunk where an individual had rubbed against the bark. These matched fibres under the bush marked B, where we located footprints. There were no other matching fibres in the area, or in the car.

  ‘Finally, in spite of the heavy rain, we found five distinct footprints along the Gruffalo Trail itself, close to where the boy strayed. Two prints definitely belong to children. The third footprint is a size seven print, made by a hiking boot. The fourth is a size six ladies’ Rieker shoe print, and the last is most definitely made by a size ten trainer. This final print was identical to other prints found in the undergrowth, particularly under the bush marked B, where we found the clothing fibres. We believe this trainer to be a Nike LunarGlide 8. As you can see, it has a distinct, simplistic sole pattern, like a topographical map, and bears the Nike logo.’ He flicked on the overhead projector and flashed up a picture of a cast of the trainer, followed by a photograph of the side, overhead and sole.

  ‘Based on the size of the shoe and the stride length, you’re probably searching for somebody five foot ten or eleven. The depth of the print indicated that person was running before they turned off the trail. Examination of the wear pattern on the shoe – or rather, lack of wear pattern – shows these were brand new shoes.’ He turned off the overhead projector.

  ‘Thank you, Connor.’

  ‘I know it’s not as much as you hoped for. We’re still working on it. I’ll be in touch as soon as I have more for you.’

  As soon as Connor had left, Robyn searched for information online about .455 cartridges. It appeared that such a cartridge was used in Smith & Wesson Webley revolvers, weapons that had been standard issue for the armed forces up until 1963. There weren’t many such cartridges in circulation, which made it all the more curious. There were more popular weapons, with more readily available ammunition. Was the perpetrator an ex-serviceman still in possession of their firearm, or had they bought it on the street? Such weapons, along with a host of others, including converted replicas, were easily acquired on the streets these days.

  With that in mind, she tackled the list of Henry Gregson’s acquaintances using the general database to establish if any were ex-military. Her efforts were in vain, and having turned up nothing of note, she turned her attention to the list of those who were in some way connected to Henry Gregson. It appeared on the surface to be an insurmountable task, but she had patience, and no task was too daunting. She’d do it after she’d spoken to Libby Gregson.

  * * *

  It was almost midday when Robyn and Anna pulled into Longdon Road and knocked at flat number fifty-five – a downstairs apartment in a dingy block. Libby Gregson, the victim’s sister, dark-eyed and pale-faced, opened the door and ushered them into a sitting room, where a skinny woman in her fifties, dressed in an overlarge, pink cardigan, skirt, thick tights and large furry slippers, sat staring vacantly into space, an open magazine on her knees. She turned to look at them; as she did so, the cardigan slipped from her shoulder.

  ‘This is my mother, Kath,’ Libby said as she moved across the room with the grace of a dancer, pulled her mother’s cardigan back over her shoulder, did up the top button and stroked her hair in a gentle gesture. ‘Mum, these detectives have come to talk about Henry,’ she said.

  The silver-haired woman nodded, her eyes darting left to right in confusion. When she spoke, her voice was thin and reedy. ‘We went to see him yesterday.’

  Libby shook her head. ‘No, we didn’t, Mum.’

  ‘I’m sure we did. We went in the car to see Henry.’ She smiled and Robyn could see that once she’d been a good-looking woman.

  Libby let out a huff of exasperation. ‘We didn’t see Henry. You haven’t seen him in ages. He doesn’t come any more.’ She moved away from her mother, brows furrowed. ‘She gets confused easily. She hasn’t seen Henry for two years. Not since she was diagnosed with Alzheimer’s. He said he couldn’t bear to watch her decline. He stopped visiting. Mum constantly thinks he’s been when he hasn’t.’

  The tone of her voice implied frustration and irritation but she maintained a steady gaze. ‘Come into the kitchen. She’ll be okay in here. Mum, I’m going in the kitchen with these officers.’

  ‘Is Henry coming to visit today?’ her mother asked.

  ‘No, Mum. He isn’t.’

  Kath’s face took on a fresh look of bewilderment.

  ‘Why don’t you read your magazine and I’ll come in with a cup of tea in a minute?’ Libby moved them into the adjacent kitchen and sighed. ‘It’s true then,’ she said with a finality that cut through Robyn.

  ‘I’m very sorry, Miss Gregson.’

  Libby pressed her lips together in an attempt to control her emotions. Her face was very like Henry’s but with softer features, and her hair, slightly darker than his, hung in ringlets around her neat face
. Looking at her, Robyn put her in her late twenties.

  ‘Mum doesn’t understand what’s happened. I told her but she can’t accept it. It’s the illness. She can’t remember much. Some days, she thinks Henry is still a boy and is going to come home from school. She’s no idea who I am half of the time. It’s hard.’ She reached for a cigarette packet, pulled one out and held it up. ‘Okay if I smoke?’

  Robyn nodded. Libby lit it and dragged deeply. Pale grey smoke curled from her nostrils upwards to the ceiling, and she let out another sigh.

  ‘If there’s any way we can be of assistance, please let us know. Mrs Gregson has a liaison officer with her. If you require any—’ Robyn didn’t get to finish. Libby shook her head vehemently.

  ‘We’ll be fine. I haven’t seen him in so long, it’s not like we were close any more. We used to be. Before we grew up and apart. That seems such a long time ago. What can you tell me? Your officer only gave me a few details – that Henry had been found dead on Cannock Chase.’

  ‘We’re waiting for the pathology report this morning and then we’ll let you know more.’

  ‘How did he die? I want to know.’ Libby cast a furtive look through the open door at her mother in the next room.

  ‘I’m afraid he was shot.’

  Libby drew a breath and let it out slowly. ‘Poor Henry. I hope he didn’t suffer.’ She took a second to compose herself before speaking calmly. ‘He took off when he was eighteen. Never liked it around these parts. He’d come back now and again, but like I said, once Mum took ill, he stopped visiting. I was still living at home and was working as a nurse, so the job of looking after her fell to me. One of us had to do our duty and stand by her. So, while Henry was off enjoying his life, and shirking his responsibilities, I was here.’ She sucked on the cigarette greedily, inhaling deeply, and then stubbed it out on an ashtray.