Little Boy Lost Page 9

  Time to take control

  All coppers are cunts

  Enough is enough

  No justice, no peace, fuck the police

  It shocked Chloe that some of the rioters didn’t look much older than she was. She saw a boy who appeared to be in his early teens throw a flaming bottle onto an abandoned double decker bus. Another was walking across the road between two adults and in his arms was a laptop computer that Chloe guessed had been stolen from a store.

  She was on a main shopping street, but even the smaller roads branching off from it were not free from trouble: down one a mass brawl was taking place between two groups of youths, and on another she spotted three men in balaclavas smashing their way into someone’s house while four other men stood on the pavement watching them.

  It was all so scary and upsetting. She felt vulnerable, helpless, and totally defenceless. Everywhere she looked something bad was happening, and her young mind did not know how to process it. She wasn’t old enough or wise enough to get herself out of trouble and she knew it. She needed help, guidance, a grown-up to tell her what to do and where to go.

  She was also discovering how much more complicated life was without her mobile phone. Her mum’s number was on it along with their address. But she hadn’t bothered to memorise either of them.

  The panic was building up inside her again; she was beginning to think that the rioters had taken over the whole of London and that nowhere was safe. She couldn’t carry on walking all through the night. She was already exhausted and unsure how long she could keep going without a rest. And it was probably only a matter of time before she was attacked again or had another accident.

  She passed a man who was begging a group of youths not to enter his shop. But he was pushed aside and they stormed in through the door. Seconds later she had to jump clear of a car that mounted the pavement and smashed into the front of a bank, setting off the alarm.

  She quickened her pace, her eyes scanning the street in front of her, and every breath she took made her chest hurt.

  She was on her own, and this horrible truth reminded her of something her father told her just before they left Spain and came to England.

  ‘I will always be there to protect you, Alice,’ he said. ‘Just you remember that. It won’t matter how old you are or where in the world you find yourself. I will never let you down.’

  But he had. Big time. She was utterly confused about how she should feel about him now. She remembered how fiercely he had loved her. How he had given her so many cherished memories of their time together in Spain. She had loved and worshipped him in return. But now she found it impossible not to resent him for telling her so many lies. If it wasn’t for what he’d done she would never have ended up in this perilous situation. And her beloved Sophie would still be alive.

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  Even before they got to Neville Quinlan’s place, Anna knew that she was going to hate the man. Paedos were on her list of people who deserved never to be forgiven for the crimes they’d committed.

  According to DI Benning, Quinlan was a fifty-five-year-old ex-teacher who was now on benefits as well as the sex offenders’ register. He was released on licence two years ago after serving five years in prison for sexually abusing two boys aged thirteen and fifteen. They were both pupils at the school where he taught physical education.

  He was also convicted of possessing no less than eight thousand indecent images of children, some as young as three. He’d downloaded them onto his computer and shared many of them with other paedophiles in a group to which he belonged.

  ‘His name came up when we asked staff at Jacob’s school if they’d received reports of anyone acting suspiciously,’ Benning said. ‘One of the teachers mentioned seeing a man sitting in a parked car across the road from the main gate on Friday afternoon of last week. She became suspicious because he was so obviously watching the kids in the playground. After about half an hour she crossed the road to confront him but he drove away. She got the car’s registration number and it was reported. Unfortunately, it was considered a low priority and we failed to follow it up over the weekend. On Tuesday we identified Quinlan as the car’s owner and a red flag came up against his name.’

  ‘What was his excuse for sitting outside the school?’ Anna asked.

  ‘He told us he was driving home from the town centre when he suddenly felt unwell. He said he didn’t pick that spot deliberately. He just happened to be passing the school when he thought he was going to faint so pulled over to the side of the road to rest for a bit.’

  Anna gave a scornful grunt. ‘So did the same car show up on any CCTV or number plate recognition cameras on Monday?’

  ‘Well that’s the thing. It didn’t appear on those that we checked, but then the process got stalled because the riots led to a manpower shortage. We still need to view the footage from a number of cameras out there.’

  ‘Did you search his car and flat?’

  Benning nodded. ‘Quinlan gave us access to both late on Tuesday after I told him that if he didn’t we’d obtain warrants. Me and two of my team went through them but found nothing.’

  ‘Did you bring in forensics?’

  ‘I tried, but all the CSIs have been busy elsewhere. I’ve never known things to be as bad as they are in respect of people and resources.’

  ‘Did you check Quinlan’s phone and computer?’

  ‘Of course, but there was nothing on them pertaining to Jacob and the school. And there was no porn.’

  Quinlan lived on the ground floor of a shabby block of flats three storeys high, which was sandwiched between an MOT centre and a small Methodist church.

  Anna parked at the kerb in front of the block and Benning pointed to a flat to the left of the entrance. It had a balcony and three front-facing windows. All the curtains were closed but they could see lights inside.

  As Anna went to cut the engine, she paused; the news from the radio snagged her attention. She left the engine on idle and they listened to the tail-end of an interview with the Mayor of London, who described the riots as disgusting and shocking.

  ‘It’s clear to us now that criminal gangs are exploiting an unprecedented opportunity to settle scores, plunder shops and businesses, and cause as much damage as they can,’ he said. ‘This has gone way beyond a protest about the police. People have already been seriously injured and scores of buildings destroyed. For all our sakes this has to stop now.’

  But the news roundup that followed his plea offered no hope of an imminent end to the unrest. As the rioting entered its fourth night it was obviously spreading and becoming more violent.

  The boroughs now experiencing trouble included Tower Hamlets, Westminster, Hackney and Islington. Mobs had even descended on the West End and shops along Oxford Street, Regent Street and Tottenham Court Road had been torched.

  Some police stations and magistrate courts had been under sustained attack since late afternoon and the homes of at least four police officers and three Members of Parliament had been vandalised. In some cases windows had been smashed and in others front doors had been sprayed with paint.

  The worst trouble spots continued to be south of the river, and police had seemingly lost control of large parts of Peckham, Brixton, Vauxhall, Rotherhithe and Lewisham.

  An increasing number of firearm incidents were being reported, and ambulances and fire engines responding to emergencies had been stoned and rammed with stolen vehicles.

  ‘We understand that the army is now on standby,’ the newsreader said. ‘If the Prime Minster deems it necessary they’ll be drafted in to assist an overstretched and overwhelmed force.’

  Anna shook her head in dismay and blew out her cheeks. Then she reached for her phone and said, ‘Before we talk to the paedo, do you mind if I put in a quick call to my daughter? I just want to make sure that she’s all right.’

  ‘Of course not,’ Benning said.

  But before she could even type in her passcode, the door leading i
nto the flats opened up and a man stepped out.

  ‘That’s him,’ Benning said. ‘That’s Quinlan.’

  Anna left her phone in her pocket and they both stepped quickly out of the car.

  *

  ‘I was hoping I’d seen the last of you lot,’ Quinlan said as they approached him. ‘But I should have known better than to expect you to leave me alone.’

  Benning did the talking while Anna fished out her warrant card and held it up.

  ‘We need to have a word with you, Mr Quinlan. It’s about the missing boy, Jacob Rossi. My colleague here is Detective Chief Inspector Tate.’

  ‘Well it’ll have to wait,’ Quinlan said, arrogance coating his words. ‘I’ve made a dinner reservation at a local restaurant, and I’d rather not turn up late. They might give my table to someone else.’

  Anna was pretty sure she would have taken an instant dislike to the man even if she hadn’t known that he was a child-molesting scumbag.

  He was of average height, but on the plump side, with grey hair and a broad, stubble-covered face. He wore baggy jeans and a crew-neck sweater under a crumpled black overcoat.

  ‘I couldn’t give a toss about your reservation,’ Anna said, unwilling to conceal her anger. ‘You either talk to us in your flat or I’ll arrest you and take you in to be formally questioned.’

  Quinlan heaved his shoulders. ‘There’s nothing I can add to what I’ve already told the police. I didn’t abduct that boy and I haven’t the faintest idea who did. I went for a walk by myself on Monday afternoon about three. It’s what I usually do and I can’t remember exactly where I went. But I didn’t see anyone and I didn’t speak to anyone. I was back home by four. This is nothing more than harassment.’

  ‘We’ve got a few more questions for you,’ Anna said. ‘So what’s it to be? Here or at the nick?’

  Quinlan made a noise of exasperation and turned on his heels. The two detectives followed him back inside the building.

  His flat was poky and sparsely furnished, with worn carpets and damp patches on the walls. The living room stank of stale cigarette smoke and something else that Anna couldn’t identify.

  Quinlan invited them to sit on an ancient-looking sofa while he sat opposite and made a show of looking at his watch.

  ‘So what’s so important that you’re prepared to waste time with me while your fellow plods are trying to stop London from being wrecked by thousands of marauding youths?’ he said, a smirk tugging at the corners of his mouth.

  Anna took out her notebook and pen and wrote the name Neville Quinlan at the top of the first page.

  ‘We’ll start with you telling us the name of the restaurant you’re going to,’ she said.

  He raised an eyebrow. ‘What’s that got to do with anything?’

  ‘Just answer the question, Mr Quinlan.’

  He let out a sigh. ‘It’s called Milo’s Bistro.’

  ‘And is it within walking distance or were you intending to drive there?’

  ‘It’s a ten-minute walk. No way am I taking the car out tonight, not with all the stuff that’s going on out there. It’d be madness.’

  Anna made a note of the restaurant name and added a question mark.

  ‘I’ll be checking to see if you’re telling the truth about the reservation,’ she said.

  ‘Feel free to. Why would I be lying about it?’

  ‘Perhaps because we caught you off guard and it just popped into your head.’

  His eyes flashed with anger. ‘This is out of order. I’m sick of having to say over and over that I had nothing to do with that boy’s disappearance. I can understand why I was questioned initially, but you’ve got no evidence to suggest I’m guilty of anything except stopping outside his ruddy school. I promise you I’m not the man I once was. I’m older and wiser and able to control my urges. And it wouldn’t even enter my head to kidnap a child.’

  Anna pressed out a grin. ‘And that’s exactly what I’d expect you to say. But we both know that people like you can never change. It’s who you are, and if an opportunity presents itself you’re not likely to pass it up. Which I reckon is what happened when you learned that Jacob Rossi walked home from school most days along a stretch of road with no traffic cameras.’

  ‘That’s not the case and you know it.’

  ‘All I know is that you like little boys, Mr Quinlan, and it strikes me as too much of a coincidence that Jacob went missing a few days after you were loitering outside his school.’

  He flicked his head towards Benning. ‘I’ve already told him why I was there.’

  ‘And you really expect us to believe that?’

  ‘It’s the truth.’

  Anna shook her head. ‘We think it far more likely that you abducted him and now you’re holding him captive somewhere.’

  ‘Don’t be ridiculous.’

  There was sweat on his brow now and Anna was pleased that she’d succeeded in unsettling him. That had been her aim because it made it more likely that he’d slip up and say something he’d regret.

  ‘How often do you visit Camberwell, Mr Quinlan?’ she asked him, then studied him carefully to assess his reaction. But if he was surprised by the question he didn’t show it.

  ‘I don’t understand why you’re asking that,’ he said, his voice quietly controlled. ‘But for what it’s worth I’ve driven through it plenty of times, but never had a reason to stop there.’

  ‘So you wouldn’t be familiar with a pub known as The Falconer’s Arms?’

  He pulled a face. ‘Never heard of it. Pubs are not my thing … I’m not a big drinker.’

  ‘That particular pub hasn’t been serving drinks for some years,’ Benning chipped in. ‘It’s now a derelict building, and it’s a good place to hide something – or someone – that you don’t want to be found.’

  It dawned on Quinlan then what they were getting at, and his eyes grew wide.

  ‘Is this a convoluted way of telling me that the Rossi boy has turned up?’ he said. ‘Because if it is why don’t you just come right out with it?’

  Benning, unsure how much to reveal, looked at Anna, who said, ‘I can confirm that Jacob was found in the cellar of the pub earlier today. He’s given us a full description of the man who put him there, and the cellar happens to be bursting with forensic evidence, including fingerprints and DNA of the perpetrator. It won’t be long before we have his name and address.’

  It wasn’t the first time that Anna had lied to a suspect in an attempt to extract a confession. It didn’t always work, and it was of course unethical, but when it did pay off it often saved the investigating team a lot of time and effort.

  The guy’s face did register surprise at what he’d been told. Or was it shock? Anna couldn’t tell because he quickly regained his composure and shook his head. ‘There’s something you’re not telling me isn’t there?’ he said. ‘If you had me bang to rights then you would have stormed in here mob-handed and carted me away. So something doesn’t stack up. And since I know from experience that you people often don’t play by the rules I’m guessing that what you’ve told me isn’t strictly true. You’re taking a punt that I’ll fall for it and make a confession.’

  Anna swore under her breath. It had been worth a try, but Quinlan was sharper than she’d given him credit for.

  ‘Well at least I now know that you’re a man who is not easily fooled,’ she said.

  Quinlan smirked again. ‘Good. So now tell me the fucking truth.’

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  Chloe stood and watched as a brutal beating took place right in front of her.

  The victim was a teenage black boy who refused to hand over his mobile phone to two much older white boys. One of the boys reacted by punching him in the face before pushing him roughly to the ground. The other boy then kicked him in the back of the head as he curled up on the pavement.

  It happened outside a Chinese takeaway just yards from where Chloe was cowering in the doorway of a boarded-up shop.


  She stared, numb with fear, as the attackers searched his pockets and stole his wallet along with his phone, before casually sauntering away, triumphant smiles on their faces.

  Chloe was so shocked and horrified that she stopped breathing and couldn’t move. She just continued to stare at the boy on the ground as he began to cry. Hundreds of people rushed past him as though he wasn’t there. It reminded Chloe of the battles she’d seen in war films, where casualties, both dead and alive, are ignored by those who are determined to fight on to the bitter end.

  Chloe had stepped into the shop doorway about fifteen minutes ago to rest her tired legs and get her breath back. But she couldn’t stay there any longer. She had to move on.

  What had happened to the boy stayed in her mind as she took to her heels again. She knew how lucky she was that the same thing hadn’t happened to her. She was sure that it would eventually if she didn’t get off the streets. But that wasn’t easy because most of the doors she passed were locked, boarded up or burning down.

  For a while her mind blanked out the chaos that raged around her. She found herself thinking about her father again, wishing he was there with her, holding her hand and leading her to safety. But he wasn’t, because he had made the fatal mistake of bringing her back to London. And that was why he was dead along with Sophie. And why she was trapped in this terrifying situation with no idea if she would survive the night.

  She wondered if he was looking down on her from Heaven and regretting what he did. And if so she just hoped he didn’t find it so easy to forgive himself.

  Suddenly the screaming and shouting wrenched her back to the present. It had got much louder, and so had the wail of sirens.

  Moments later Chloe saw why when she followed the road as it curved sharply to the left. About fifty yards ahead of her a fierce battle raged between police and what seemed like hundreds of rioters.

  Through gaps in the crowd she could see the police lined up across the road in front of two white vans parked sideways. It looked to Chloe as though they were trying to stop the mob from getting past them.