Page 34 of Little Children

The troubled look on Bryant’s face urged her to hurry up. He wanted to be out of this man’s presence as soon as possible.

As did she, but she was learning a lot. This man was an expert in doing bad things and knowing how to get away with it.

But how bad were the things he was prepared to do?

‘So, your only knowledge of Lewis Stevens and Noah Reid is what you saw in the press?’

‘Pretty much,’ he answered.

She frowned. ‘That’s not a definitive yes, Mr Skidmore, which is troubling, as is your use of their first names only when we entered your home. Do you know them or not?’

‘I’ve seen Lewis around. I knew his name. Blackpool isn’t a large town.’

‘I still don’t see how you would know his name.’

‘Lewis has been on the news before. It’s not the first time he’s gone missing, which I assumed was why I hadn’t yet been spoken to. Red thinks he’s a runaway, doesn’t he?’

Did everybody in this town refer to the detective inspector by his nickname?

‘Red isn’t investigating, we are, and we don’t think Lewis has run away.’

Skidmore pushed back his chair. ’Well, you’re wasting your time here. He’s a little old for me. At twelve, he’s practically an adult.’

‘Guv,’ Bryant growled, and Kim got the message. She was on her final warning with her colleague before he did something they’d both regret.

‘Where were you on the night he disappeared?’ Kim asked.

‘I was here, alone. I never left the house.’

‘And Sunday night when Noah disappeared?’

He shrugged. ‘Same, I’m afraid.’

No way to prove or disprove his alibis, and he knew it.

She stood. ‘Excuse me if I don’t thank you for your time,’ she said, heading for the door.

Once outside, she locked on to his gaze.

‘You’ve been most informative, and I feel I’ve learned a lot. Not least that you can dress a piece of shit in finery, a crown and call it king, but at the end of the day it’s still just a piece of shit.’

She turned and headed for the car beside Bryant, who finally had a smile on his face.

Twenty

Penn knocked on the door of a woman named Mrs Perton, Lewis’s form teacher. She’d been spoken to by Carly Walsh and James Dickinson when Lewis had first gone missing, but that had been at the school prior to the break-up for half term. Therefore, with no access to details of her home address, he had made contact with the school through their Facebook page. Whoever was monitoring it had responded to say they’d passed his message along. No more than two minutes later, he’d received a call inviting him to her home as she was babysitting her grandchildren.

One of those children was holding the woman’s hand when she answered the door. A couple of tendrils of brown hair had escaped what looked like a hastily constructed bun on the back of her head, and her only jewellery was a pair of sapphire stud earrings. He guessed her to be mid-fifties.

‘DS Penn,’ he said, holding up his identification.

‘Brenda Perton, and this is Poppy,’ she said, nodding down at the five- or six-year-old hiding behind her legs.

‘Hi, Poppy,’ he offered in his least-threatening tone.

Her face appeared, but she still eyed him suspiciously.

‘Pay no mind – she’s a shy little thing. Come in,’ Brenda said, guiding the girl out of the way. ‘We’ll go in the kitchen as the little one is asleep.’