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‘He told you?’
‘Fuck’s sake, Ian. When are you going to understand that none of them give two shits about you? Dean was happy to tell us what you’re really like. They promised they’d come back, and they didn’t. They disappointed you. Boo fucking hoo. They were not your family.’
‘So what’s to stop me sticking him right now?’ Ian asked, clenching the needle in his hand.
She shrugged. ‘Do it. He’s no loss to me. But the second you do, you lose your power. Once that needle touches his skin, you gotta hold it in place to do the job, and I’ve got nothing left to lose. I’m coming right at you.’
His head straightened as he heard the same thing she did.
‘That’s backup, Ian, following me. In about five minutes’ time, you’re not going to be able to move in these woods without tripping over a police officer.’
A movement beyond him caught her eye.
‘You hang around long enough to jab him with that needle and I’ve got you. Run now and you might get out in time. You’re bright enough to know that’s the only chance you have.’
He hesitated, but she needed him to make the right decision.
‘Your call, Ian. Prove your point and spend the rest of your life in prison or make a run for it. Who knows, maybe you’ll outwit me and I’ll never find you. Unlikely, but at least you’ve got a chance.’
He fixed her with his stare. There was nothing left of the affable, helpful English teacher. His eyes were cold and full of hate.
She held her breath as she stared right back.
He leaped up from his position straddling Leyton Parks and darted for the tree line.
Right on cue, Bryant stepped from the shadows and knocked him to the ground.
‘And where do you think you’re going, sunshine?’
NINETY-ONE
Kim leaned across to the passenger seat and stroked Barney as she waited for the others to arrive.
It was 9a.m. on Saturday morning and the sun was already warming up. It was going to be a good day for what they planned to do.
It was less than twelve hours since she’d left the station after interviewing Ian Perkins. After some direct questioning, he’d admitted to the murders of Eric Gould, Paul Brooks and Nathan Yates. The charge of attempted murder of Leyton Parks was still being challenged by the CPS, as other than a roll in the mud, the man hadn’t been harmed in any way. There were lesser charges in connection with his attack on her, so even without the charge on LeytonParks, Ian Perkins was unlikely to ever see freedom again.
Kim was unsure how hard Leyton would want it pushed. She was guessing he wouldn’t welcome the court appearances and public scrutiny. He’d lived his solitary lifestyle for so long she wasn’t sure how he’d handle the public scrutiny.
Ian Perkins had occupied her thoughts for much of the time since she’d left the interview room. When he’d talked about the love of education in relation to Leyton Parks, he’d really been talking about himself. Since leaving prison, he’d taken every opportunity to educate himself and develop a brand-new persona. She’d taken a moment to look at his photo on the system, and even though Stacey hadn’t shown it to her during her background checks of the Psycho Six, she wouldn’t have recognised him if she had. Back then he’d had buck teeth, bad skin, bushy eyebrows and a wild, almost feral look in his eyes. The photo bore no resemblance to the groomed and knowledgeable person he’d presented as Ryan West. The full beard and his time in prison had aged him, and there had been no hint of a reason to suspect he hadn’t been genuine. The psychopath in him had ensured he could exude charm and likeability. His need for control had prompted him to insert himself into the investigation at the earliest opportunity. He’d left enough crumbs about his knowledge of the boys and waited for them to follow the trail. His aim from the outset had been to use them to find Leyton Parks and they had duly obliged. Of course he’d been able to answer any question about the Psycho Six. He’d been their leader.
When Leanne had carried out her checks on Ian Perkins, she’d found him to be living a respectable, quiet life under the new name he’d been given. It was only to them he’d identified himself as the old English teacher as a ruse to get close to the action. His activities hadn’t been detected by the protection officers, as most of the 3,000 members of the witness protection programme were monitored much less frequently than the serious cases where lifelong anonymity had been granted. And yet all those ways he’d worked on himself had resulted in surface changes only. His gleeful admission that he’d sent the letter to Mrs Baldwin about the porn on Lenny’s computer, just because he could, showed that he was still the selfish, vicious person he’d been in his youth.
An ordinary silver Ford Focus estate car registered to his new identity had been recovered from Dudley College car park, where he’d driven to be collected by them in order to keep the charade going. She had no doubt that trace evidence of all three victims would be found within the vehicle once Mitch had finished with it.
She now knew that Nathan Yates had been trying to communicate something and she’d missed it. His thumb had been tapping against his middle finger. Sign language for the letter I. How the hell had she missed that? In fact, how the hell had she missed the signs of the psychopath? It wasn’t like she hadn’t had the practice of being in their company.
She admitted that he’d been both clever and meticulous. Everything had been carefully orchestrated. The social-media accounts were for his own personal vanity as well as causing havoc and disruption, but ultimately he’d revealed the name of the second victim to give himself the opportunity to make contact and profess a link to both men.
While Ian had admitted to the murders, he’d maintained he’d done it to stop them from re-offending, and not because he’d turned them into some kind of pseudo-family who’d ultimately disappointed him. She was unsure why he’d waited so long to exact his revenge. She suspected that his need for control had required meticulous planning and research and that he wouldn’t have allowed himself to rush.
The Black Country Angels were currently reassessing their position within the community. With no premises and a lacklustre group of volunteers, she suspected they wouldn’t re-form. Fighting injustice was hard enough for police officers; maintaining that passion and righteousness around full-time jobs and family was a big ask. The cause of the fire was yet to be determined, and Gordon Banks had vanished into thin air. Was he the boy who’d been bullied mercilessly by the Psycho Six at Welton and had found a place in a group that fought for victims? Or had he been completely unrelated to the case but had something else to hide? Between the poor Welton records and a cover-up, she suspected they’d never know.
Her thoughts turned to the staff, old and new, from Welton. She hadn’t warmed to the woman who now managed the facility, though she had a grudging respect for her ability to not only stick with the profession she’d loved but to advance in it. Whether Josephine Kirk had ever really dealt with the trauma of the attempted rape was another matter entirely.
Then there was Lenny Baldwin, who’d allowed himself to be blackmailed to prevent his wife finding out about his predilection for watching pornographic videos of gay sex, and so given too much power to the Psycho Six. There were many ways the man could have handled the situation, but all would have included him telling the truth. His actions hadn’t contributed to the murders, but they’d shown how far he was prepared to go in order to protect his secret. It had done him no good in the end anyway.
She was hard-pressed to find any sympathy for the victims of Ian Perkins. Their actions at Welton had terrorised staff and other inmates alike. More than one person was going to have to live with the consequences of their despicable actions for the rest of their lives. There was no doubt that Eric had been about to embark on a journey of domestic abuse. The signs were there, and the escalation had begun. Who knew where that might have ended?
