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  'Thought the crime scene people had already been all over that.'

  'They have,' Murrain agreed. 'Very thoroughly. I just wanted to get a sense of the lay of the land. It’s not easy to do that when the place is crawling with police officers.'

  It was true enough, as far as it went. He couldn’t tell Tanner that his real reasons for being here were slightly more esoteric. He wanted, as always, to see if he could tap into those—whatever they were, those feelings, intuitions, sensations that so often intruded unsummoned into his mind and body. It was something that couldn’t be forced. It would come or it wouldn’t. But in the right place and in the right frame of mind, it could provide him with insights he could never achieve by more conventional methods. He’d wanted to meet Tanner for the same reason. He couldn’t be sure—maddeningly, he could never be sure—but the absence of that sensation as he stood here helped confirm his assumption that Tanner had no part in this beyond his accidental finding of the body.

  'Be my guest,' Tanner said. 'Do you want me to show you where I found the poor little bugger?' In other circumstances, Murrain might have found Tanner’s phlegmatic attitude surprising, but he guessed a livestock farmer was accustomed to dealing with death. The sight of a body, even a young human body, probably hadn’t fazed him too much.

  'If it’s not too much trouble,' Murrain said. 'Don’t want to go trampling in the wrong places.'

  'Not much damage you could do to this place.' He led Murrain along the side of the farm-buildings and down a muddy slope into the heart of the woodland. As they walked, he pointed ahead. 'My land ends over there. You can see the line of fence-posts through the trees?'

  'Who owns the land the other side?'

  'There's a private care-home further down the hill. They own the remaining woodland. There are a couple of fields the other side they let for horse-grazing, and then there are the gardens for the home itself. One of those retirement places.'

  Murrain felt a momentary tremor, some passing sense of significance. His team would already be checking these facts out, and for the moment he was simply making conversation. But he knew that, at this early stage, anything might help.

  The two men trudged down the muddy slope towards the stream, which snaked through the bottom of the valley on its way to the River Goyt below. They'd had a wet couple of months and the waters looked relatively full, maybe a metre wide and a similar depth. A little way ahead of them, where the hillside dropped more steeply, there was a small waterfall with a shallower pool of water beyond. That was where the child's body had been found. 'Does it always run this fast?' Murrain asked as they stood watching the currents.

  'Comes and goes,' Tanner said. 'Never dries up entirely, or at least I can't remember when it has. But this is what it's usually like when we've had a bit of rain. And we get plenty of rain up here.'

  Murrain had studied the photographs taking by the Scene of Crime Officers. The body had been found lying face-down below the waterfall, still dressed in the school uniform and brightly-coloured anorak he'd been wearing when last seen alive. 'Where were you when you spotted the body?'

  Tanner pointed at the line of wire fencing silhouetted against the pale blue sky. 'Just up there. To the right of that tree. Working on the fence. It was Conor who spotted it.'

  'Conor?'

  'Young lad helps out on the farm. Good worker. We were taking a bit of a break and he pointed out this red object in the water. We thought it was just a plastic bag or something at first but—well, it didn't look quite right, so we went down to check it out.' He shook his head as if the reality had only just struck him. 'Nasty business.'

  'Very nasty,' Murrain agreed. 'You think that's where he got in? Whoever did this. Through the broken fence?' That was what Tanner's statement had suggested, and the Derbyshire police had accepted it as a plausible assumption. The Crime Scene people had checked it for forensic evidence, but Murrain wasn't hopeful they'd find much.

  'Looks likely. Not often we get a fence broken down. Mostly it's just wear and tear. Replacing the odd rotten post and the like. This looked like it had actually been forced down.'

  'Would that require some effort?' Murrain said, peering up at the fencing. For the first time, he was beginning to feel something. Something of the sensation that suggested this was worth pursuing. Some elusive image.

  'A bit, and some care. It's a barbed wire fence, after all. But nothing you couldn't achieve with a stout pair of size tens. The fence is designed to deter animals and mark the boundary rather than as security.'

  'You could see someone doing that to gain entry down here?'

  'Well, the only alternative would be to come past the house and that would have set the dogs off. They're our real intruder alarm. We've occasionally had tramps break in through the fences at the back to sleep in the barns, so it's not unheard of. And we've had teenagers from the village damage stuff for the hell of it after a few bevvies. When we first saw the damage we assumed it was something like that.'

  Murrain stomped a few more steps down the bank to where the pool lay beneath the bubbling waterfall. The water here was probably two metres wide, and no more than half a metre deep in the centre. It glittered in the shady sunshine, clear and inviting. He could feel the sensation here strongly enough, the familiar tingling through his skin, but that was no surprise and told him nothing, except perhaps to confirm they were indeed dealing with a murder. When he'd first reached the site, two days before, the body had already been removed. It was hard now to envisage that it had ever been there, a grotesque intrusion into this peaceful scene.

  'He was just there,' Tanner said, as if reading Murrain's thoughts. 'A couple of feet out. Right under the waterfall. Face down. You got kids, Mr Murrain?'

  'That's a long story,' Murrain said, his face expressionless. 'But I know what you mean.'

  'Yeah. It's a bugger. Saw his parents on the news. You wouldn't want to be in their shoes.'

  'No,' Murrain agreed. 'You wouldn't.' His eyes were still fixed on the sparkling surface of the water.

  'You reckon it was definitely murder, then?'

  The appropriate answer was that they were still pursuing their enquiries and waiting for the pathologist's report. Murrain said: 'Unlawful killing, anyway. We don't yet know exactly how he died. Could have been murder. Could have been manslaughter. Could even have been an accident. If he was abandoned up here, he might have just stumbled into the water while he was trying to find his way back up to the road.'

  'But he didn't come here by accident? Or by himself?'

  'Quite. And he didn't kick down that fence of yours.'

  Both men stood in silence watching the motion of the ever-changing water, the dappled sunlight on the underside of the shaking leaves.

  'You'll get the bastard, won't you?' Tanner said, finally.

  Murrain didn't respond at first. Then, after a second, he said: 'If it's in my power, yes, we will. We'll get him.'

  CHAPTER THREE

  Two Years Earlier

  'You think he’s ready for release?' Greg Perry’s voice was muffled as he fumbled for something in the bottom draw of his desk. She watched, fascinated, as he emerged clutching a box of dog biscuits and, without pause, tossed one nonchalantly over her head. From behind, she heard a yelp as Bonnie dashed out from under the large meeting table, snatched the biscuit, and promptly vanished again.

  Cabaret, she thought. Perry was a man going places in the Service who wanted you to register his ascent up the greasy slope. She couldn’t always follow his thinking, but she had little doubt he had it all figured out.

  Bonnie was just one of his mild eccentricities. Some of his staff had asked pointedly whether they’d be allowed to bring their pet dog into work too. Perry’s response was that when they’d made it to Governor-in-Charge they could do what they bloody well liked. In the meantime, the privilege was his alone.

  Kate Forester suspected that Perry wasn’t even particularly fond of Bonnie. But the presence of the little Highland Ter
rier, or whatever the hell breed she was, helped humanise his dour Yorkshire demeanour. And made him seem a more interesting character than he perhaps really was.

  He’d say that was typical of a bloody psychologist. A dog couldn’t be just a dog. It had to be the key to the workings of his inner psyche. Whereas maybe Greg Perry just wanted to throw dog-biscuits.

  He sat up straight and looked at her, making it clear he’d noted her failure to answer his question. 'Well, what do you think?'

  'It’s not up to me, is it? It's up to the Parole Board. If he was a normal case, he’d have been out years ago.'

  'But he’s not a normal case. Not in any way.' He opened the file in front of him but made no effort to look at the contents. 'I know in practice he’s going out anyway before too long, whether we like it or not. That wasn’t the exam question.'

  'No,' she acknowledged. Perry hated management-speak, except when he threw it into the conversation to wrong-foot you. 'You asked whether he was ready for release. And the answer’s yes, definitely. Unless it’s no, not in a million years. One of the two.'

  He sighed. 'That’s the thing about you psychs. You make life too easy for those of us who have to make operational decisions. Go on, then. Explain.'

  'I genuinely don’t know, Greg. I’m generally good at reading people—'

  'That's what we overpay you for.'

  She ignored him. 'But like you say, he’s not a normal case. Most of the time, he seems fine. Well adjusted even. But I don’t know what’s going on in his head.'

  'Lucky bugger, then. You've got the rest of us sussed. You think he’s hiding something?'

  She hesitated, wanting to express her thoughts accurately. 'I don’t think so. I mean, you can’t be sure in a case like this. It may be he’s been stringing everyone along.'

  'If so, he could have made life easier for himself. If he’d expressed some remorse, he'd have got parole well before now.'

  'It doesn’t always work that way. It might be about game-playing. It might be about maintaining control. It might be about preserving his own self-image.'

  'It might be about time to go home.' Perry glanced pointedly at his watch. 'But you don’t think he’s being devious?'

  'That’s my feeling. I think he’s been honest from the start. I don’t think he knows what’s lurking in his head any more than I do.'

  Perry tapped the file with the end of his expensive-looking fountain pen. 'That’s feasible, is it? I’ve read the psychobabble in here but I’d rather hear it from someone who talks English. Or at least from you, since you’re the closest I’ve got.'

  She knew he’d have read and digested every word in the file. 'Of course, it’s feasible. Shock can do all kinds of things. It’s not unusual for people to suppress all memory of a traumatic event. Psychogenic amnesia, to use the babble. Commonly happens to victims of assault or abuse.'

  'And to the perpetrators?'

  'It depends on the circumstances. We don’t know what went on here, what actually led to the death—'

  'Because he’s the only one who could tell us.'

  'My point is that, whatever did happen, it might have been as traumatic for Carl as it was for the victim.'

  'Except that Carl’s still here to tell the tale. Or, rather, not tell the tale. But I take your point. And it could remain buried even twenty years after the event?'

  'It could remain buried forever, in theory. Or the memories might come back, either with help or just through the passage of time.'

  Perry was doodling small concentric circles on the pad in front of him. 'You think he’s a danger if he’s let out?'

  She considered. 'My instinct says not. But it’s not much more than instinct.'

  'Helpful as ever,' Perry noted. 'But you must have your reasons?'

  You didn’t get to Governor without the ability to ensure your arse was covered, she thought. 'He doesn’t display any of the patterns of behaviour that might lead me to think he was still a concern. Apart from a few unsubstantiated anecdotes at his trial, there’s no other significant evidence of childhood psychopathic behaviour—'

  'That we’re aware of.'

  'That we’re aware of. And there’s been no evidence of such behaviour since he’s been inside.'

  'He’s not been a model prisoner, though. Not throughout.'

  'Who is? More sinned against than sinning, in my opinion. He was no trouble at all in the Special Unit. When someone had the brilliant idea to move him to a YOI, he was identified—Christ knows how—and attacked before we’d got our act together. He had the bottle and the nous to fight back, that’s all, as far as I can see. There were two or three similar incidents—at least one apparently with the collusion of an officer, according to the report at the time. Then we finally got our backsides in gear and started looking after him properly. Since when he’s been, in your words, a model prisoner.'

  'So I see. Applied himself with enthusiasm and alacrity. GCSEs, A-levels. An almost completed OU degree. In—what was the subject again?'

  She’d known this was coming. 'You know full well,' she said. 'You know that file even better than I do.'

  'Oh, yes.' He was smiling. 'A degree in Psychology. Like every other nutter.' He paused, the smile unwavering. 'Sorry. Politically incorrect.'

  'Just incorrect,' she said. 'Only a few of us are real nutters. And your question is, if I’m mind-reading you correctly, has he learned enough gobbledegook to pull the wool over the eyes of a poor innocent professional like me?'

  'It’s a reasonable question.'

  'Anything’s possible, Greg. He’s a smart cookie and he’d probably be able to work out which buttons to press to win me over. But he’s almost got a first degree. I’m a Chartered Psychologist with relevant postgrad qualifications and ten years dealing with the worst kind of what you refer to as nutters. I think I’m likely to see through him.'

  Perry nodded, apparently satisfied. 'OK, so you think he’s not likely to be a danger to society. Then why don’t you think he’s ready to be let out?'

  'I don’t know how he’ll handle it for one thing. It’s a big hard world out there. The last time he was part of it he was just a child. Life would have been small and safe and secure. We’re throwing him back out there, twenty years on, with no friends, no family. Even the most stable personality might struggle.'

  'It’s not our choice, Kate. All we can do is help him make the best of it.'

  'No, well, that’s obviously my job. But a few months chatting to me isn’t going to make all that go away. All I can do is help him prepare for it.'

  'I’d put my money on you to help him more than anyone else,' Perry said. 'But there’s nothing we can do once he walks through the gate. That’s probation’s job.'

  'And they’ll do the best they can, I'm sure. But this isn’t just any prisoner walking back out into freedom. Carl doesn’t have a community to go back into. He’ll have a new identity. He’ll be banned from the places he might once have known. Even if he had friends, he wouldn’t be allowed to make contact with them. He's no family left. There’s nothing.' She paused, conscious of her rising emotions. 'I know there’s nothing we or anyone can do about that. The only people likely to have an interest in Carl are the bloody tabloids. It’s probably only a matter of time before some smart-arse news editor works out he’s due for release. Then they’ll loose the hounds.'

  Perry was watching her with interest. 'Not like you to get so personally involved, Kate.'

  'Not my usual detached self? You know it’s never as simple as that, Greg. You have to remain objective, but you also have to engage, find a way of empathising with what they’re feeling. How else can you help them?' She went on, before Perry could interrupt. 'Like you say, he’s a unique case. I normally know how best I can help. With Carl, I’m still a long way from figuring it out.'

  'There’s only so much you can do. In an ideal world he’d have got a lot more support but as it is we’ve got him for a few months. You can’t expect to unscamble his brain
s in that time. Maybe just concentrate on the practical stuff. Help him think about how he’s actually going to survive out there.'

  'I’ll do that, obviously. But the two things aren’t unconnected. He can’t prepare for the future if he’s still mired in the past.'

  Perry tossed another dog biscuit casually over her head. Behind her, there was the familiar yelp and scuffle of feet as Bonnie snapped up the unconsidered trifle. 'If it were anyone else, Kate, I might worry you were letting your idealism get the better of you. But you’ve never struck me as a bleeding heart.'

  'You say the nicest things, Greg. I just want to be a professional. I know we’ve limited resources and we have to have limited ambitions. But that doesn’t mean we should set out to do a half-arsed job.'

  He smiled. 'Fair point. OK, Kate. I know you know what you’re doing. Get out there and give it a go.' His smile grew broader, and she knew he wouldn’t be able to resist the punchline. 'And give it both cheeks.'

  CHAPTER FOUR

  Now

  It was the kind of environment in which Murrain felt most uncomfortable. Not the immediate circumstances, though Christ knew those were as unpleasant as they could possibly be, but the whole set-up. He could cope with the apparently obsessive tidiness. That was second-nature to him, as Eloise would frequently testify in irritation. It was one of his ways of coping with his own unique demons. But he did wonder about the state of mind that would have led Mrs Dunn to reach for the vacuum-cleaner on that particular morning.

  The box-like sitting room felt too small for his shambling frame, as if he were likely to bang his head against the ceiling or his shoulders on the door frame if he moved too quickly. Then there was the clutter. Every highly polished surface in the room was filled with rows of ornaments—trinkets, mirrors, a souvenir of this place and that. It didn't look like a room that would easily accommodate a child.