Page 31 of Little Children

‘Same,’ Stacey said and immediately felt a jolt of shame for her disloyalty, but she was playing a part.

‘You all seem quite tight though.’

‘Don’t be fooled by appearances. DS Bryant is treading water until retirement, and DS Penn would sell his dog to climb the next rung of the ladder.’

Stacey hated every word that came out of her mouth, but she was hoping Carly would take the information back to her team. It served their purpose better if they appeared at odds with each other.

Carly laughed, visibly relaxing. ‘Yeah, I get you. Our Roy is a bit long in the tooth now for modern policing. The bloke gets in his own way with his outdated attitude. Dickinson does whatever he’s told cos he doesn’t want to be picked on, and Gonk just puts up with all the shit in the hope he’ll be transferred to another team.’

Did no one use Adil’s first name? Stacey wondered.

‘And you?’

‘I can take care of myself,’ she said, unfolding her arms.

The response told her that Carly had to take care of herself. What she didn’t know yet was from what.

‘Yeah, being female in the?—’

Stacey stopped speaking as Carly’s phone rang.

She looked at the screen. ‘Sorry, it’s the boss – gotta go.’

Stacey nodded her understanding as Carly closed the door behind her.

She hurried back to her desk with the phone clutched tightly to her ear as though she’d been caught with her hand in the cookie jar.

Stacey was distracted from her thoughts by the sound of an email pinging into her inbox.

Fantastic. The footage she’d requested from the amusement arcade was starting to come through. She pulled her keyboard forward and then paused.

Beneath it was a piece of paper no bigger than three inches square.

She knew it hadn’t been there last night. She turned it over to see that it wasn’t scrap paper at all. It contained three names. Nothing else.

Just three names.

Nineteen

Kim knew better than to have any preconceptions of what a paedophile and his home would look like.

The stereotype of dirty raincoats and unshaven, unkempt men hiding in dark corners was a myth that had been debunked decades ago. Sex offenders didn’t always come from the dregs of society. Some were well educated, living well with decent jobs. Some were successful, established businessmen who were able to afford a decent property with a high wall to prevent the local riff-raff from getting to them.

And that appeared to be the case with Roderick Skidmore.

Stacey’s overnight research, shared over breakfast, had informed them the man was forty-two years of age. He’d grown up as an only child of middle-class parents. His mother had been a school counsellor and his father a commercial building inspector.

Not only was he a paedophile, but he was also a pretty intelligent guy who made a very good living designing websites.

He’d served two short terms in prison for possessing indecent images of boys under ten, and although she could understand Red’s assumption that Lewis was in the wrong age bracket for this particular paedophile, ten wasn’t a million miles away from twelve.

‘How is this even possible?’ Bryant asked as they approached the intercom.

She knew he was talking about the fancy house and high walls. She wished she had the answer, but the truth was that many thousands of men maintained successful lives and careers while being paedophiles. Sexual deviancy didn’t render them incapable of performing well in every other part of their lives.

A smooth, clear voice came through the speaker.

Bryant introduced them both and asked if they could have a word. They heard the sound of a gear engaging before the left leaf of the solid-oak gate began to slide along the wall to reveal the three-storey white house, a modern square block, with a lot of glass. Parked on the gravel drive were a Lexus and a Porsche.