No Way Home. Jack Slater

him, her eyes brimming.

      ‘I’ll leave you with Naz. Again, I’m sorry for your loss.’

      *

      Ben shook his head, his short, spiky hair glistening under the strip lights of the squad room. It was mid-afternoon and he had just got in, having returned from Pennsylvania Road. ‘There were some people not in, of course. We’ll have to go back for them. But so far, we’ve drawn a blank on the area canvas.’

      ‘There haven’t been any taxi-related complaints of sexual assault in the city in the past five years, either,’ said Jane. ‘But I did find one thing. There was a complaint made against him back in 2008, but it wasn’t followed up because the victim refused to come forward.’

      ‘What sort of complaint?’

      ‘A woman came in and told the desk sergeant he’d raped her friend. But the friend refused to talk to us and she was from out of the county.’

      ‘Have we got any details? Names, addresses?’

      Jane shrugged. ‘Yes, but it was eight years ago. No telling where they’ve gone or what’s happened since.’

      ‘Follow it up anyway. See what you can find.’

      ‘Of course.’

      Mrs Singh hadn’t mentioned anything about this. Did she know? How long had they been married? It could have happened before they were together, Indian culture being what it was – arranged marriages and so on – but it would be something to check on, he thought.

      Dick looked from Jane to Pete. ‘Everyone we spoke to reckoned he was always polite, friendly and appropriate. No hint of anything like that.’

      ‘And yet I was told there were two complaints against him with Cathedral Cabs,’ Dave said. ‘The second one just before he left. Can’t say yet whether it was the reason he left, but...’ He shrugged. ‘It makes you wonder, doesn’t it? The owner’s on holiday abroad; a cruise in the Caribbean. Due back the week after next. But no charges were filed in either case. Both customers just made a complaint to the company and left it at that. I’ve spoken to the other drivers on the ranks at the bus station, St David’s, the Arches. Even went out to the airport. None of them seem to be aware of any issues, but I don’t suppose they’d admit it if they were, would they? Bad for business.’

      Pete nodded. ‘His pre-bookings were done by mobile phone or email. I did an Internet search, but came up empty, and I’m waiting on his mobile phone provider to come through with a full set of records. They set aside their privacy considerations when I pointed out that he wasn’t going to give a damn, being deceased.’

      Dave leaned back in his chair and stretched, his black waistcoat pulling tight across his stomach. ‘So, to summarise: he’s one hell of a lucky bugger, with three complaints against him for sexual assaults but none of them followed through. But other than that, as of now, we’ve got SFA.’

      ‘Except that his last recorded drop-off was at St Thomas railway station,’ Pete said. ‘And the distance on his meter, if you work back in that direction from where he was found, would put him somewhere near the Old Mill.’

      ‘Which would fit with the timeline,’ Dick pointed out. ‘Someone wanting a ride home from there.’

      ‘Yeah. The staff weren’t aware of anyone, though. Although it’s perfectly possible someone used a mobile, of course.’

      ‘And how many of those would have been in or around there at that time of night?’ Jane said sourly.

      ‘Loads of them, I bet,’ Dave said, looking up from his screen.

      ‘Worst comes to worst, we’ll have to find out and track them down,’ Pete said. ‘Although we can only do that for the ones on contracts, of course. Any pay-as-you-goers will be out of the picture unless they’re regulars in there. But that’s only if every other line of enquiry falls flat.’

      ‘Thank God for that,’ said Ben.

      Dave laughed. ‘Worried about your workload, Spike?’

      ‘I don’t mind working. What I don’t want is RSI.’

      ‘Don’t worry,’ Pete told him. ‘Dave will help.’

      Dick laughed at the expression on Dave’s face. ‘Serves you right for taking the piss.’

      The phone rang on Pete’s desk. An internal call. He picked it up.

      ‘Gayle.’

      ‘Peter.’ He recognised DI Colin Underhill’s voice. ‘I need a word. In my office.’

CHAPTER FIVE

      ‘Close the door.’

      Colin Underhill sat stiffly in his chair, big hands flat on his desk, his broad face expressionless.

      Pete did as he was asked and Colin nodded to the spare chair in the corner. As Pete sat down, Colin leaned forward, putting his elbows on his desk.

      ‘I’ve been talking to Tommy.’

      Pete felt a stab of urgency in his chest. ‘How is he? When can I see him?’

      ‘He’s fine. And you know the answer to that second question. He’s got charges outstanding. And he’s a material witness in the Malcolm Burton case.’

      ‘Yeah, but the charges are just trumped up to get him in, aren’t they? I mean, he would be carrying, wouldn’t he? A knife would be essential for what he was doing.’

      Colin nodded. ‘But this was a flick-knife.’

      ‘A…? Where the hell did he get one of those?’

      ‘He told me he’d had it for years. His words. Bought it on the street when he was ten.’

      ‘Jesus! That’s the first I knew of it. Christ!’ It fitted with what Simon Phillips’s file on the boy suggested, but that had just been on paper. This was real. What the hell had he been getting up to while Pete was out of the way, at work? Had he really become the evil little toerag Simon’s file portrayed? And, if so, how? And why?

      ‘I asked him about Malcolm Burton and Rosie Whitlock.’

      Pete looked up, Colin’s voice interrupting his thoughts. ‘And?’ Malcolm Burton, schoolteacher and paedophile, had abducted thirteen-year-old Rosie six months ago from outside her school on the day that Pete returned to work after an extended period of compassionate leave following Tommy’s disappearance. Pete’s investigation of the case had thrown up the fact that Tommy had been intimately involved in Rosie’s abduction and subsequent sexual abuse, as well as the death of at least one other victim, ten-year-old Lauren Carter.

      ‘He says Burton picked him up off the street. Took him home. Threatened him and his family if he didn’t do as he was told.’

      ‘Well, yeah. We guessed that much, despite what Burton said.’

      Colin was nodding slowly. ‘Which makes it a classic case of one word against the other.’

      Pete leaned forward. ‘So, f…’ He stopped. He was about to say that forensics would give them the truth, but that was equivocal, to say the least. In fact, some of it specifically suggested that Tommy was guilty, although Rosie Whitlock herself painted him as another victim rather than a willing participant. ‘Burton’s case is coming up in just a few weeks now. What can we do?’

      Colin’s eyebrow rose. ‘We can’t do anything. You can’t be involved. Not with Tommy tied up in it. You know that. You need to pull everything together from the case and bring it to me. Sooner the better. I’ll review it and take it from there.’

      Pete had expected as much. It was standard procedure in situations like this. ‘And in the meantime? What happens to Tommy?’

      Colin shook