Gallows View by Peter Robinson Page B

dirty magazine, sir, that’s in the report.”
    “Yes,” Gristhorpe said dismissively, “but most of us have looked at pictures of naked women now and then, haven’t we?”
    “It’s not just naked women, sir,” Richmond pressed on, realizing only when it was too late that he had walked right into it. “Some of them are tied up, sir . . .” His voice faltered. “. . . and they do it with animals.”
    “Well,” Gristhorpe said, beaming at him, “I can see you’ve been doing your homework, lad. But even if the stuff is illegally imported there’s not a lot we can do. What exactly are you getting at?”
    “Just that he seemed suspicious, sir. Completely uncommunicative, shifty, acted as if he was hiding something.”
    “Think he might be our peeper, do you?”
    “Could be, sir.”
    “Alan?”
    Banks shrugged. “I’ve not had the pleasure of meeting him, but I’ve been told that our man could take any size, shape or form. Certainly if he lives a frustrated existence and gets his kicks from bondage and bestiality magazines, then there’s a chance.”
    “All right,” Gristhorpe said, making a note. “Keep an eye on him. Drop by for a chat. Nothing heavy, though.” He glanced sternly at Hatchley, who looked down at his notes and straightened his tie.
    “The kid, sir. Trevor Sharp,” Richmond said.
    “Yes?”
    “There was something funny about that, too. I heard them arguing about him being late all the time and neglecting his homework, and when I asked about the night before, his father only mentioned himself at first, sir. Said he was watching telly, right at the far end of the block. Then, later, when I asked, he said the kid was with him, too.”
    “Think he was lying?”
    “Could be.”
    “We had the kid on suspicion of mugging four months ago,” Banks added. “No case.”
    “Well,” Gristhorpe said, “seeing as the only information we’ve got on the burglars so far is that they’re young, we might as well follow up. Maybe you could talk to them, Alan? Father and son together. See if you get the same impression as Richmond here.”
    “All right,” Banks agreed. “I’ll drop by after school today.”
    “Might be a good idea to have a word with the head, too. You never know, some of ’em keep tabs on the kids. What school is it?”
    “Eastvale Comprehensive, sir,” Richmond answered. “Same place I went to.”
    “That’ll be old Buxton, right?”
    “Yes, sir. ‘Boxer’ Buxton we used to call him. He must be close to retiring age now.”
    “He’s been at that school going on for forty years. Been head for twenty or more, since back when it was Eastvale Grammar School.He’s a bit of a dodderer now, lost in his own world, but have a word with him about young Trevor anyway, see if he’s been acting strangely, playing truant, associating with a bad crowd. Is there anything else?” Gristhorpe turned to Sergeant Hatchley. “Anything for us, Sergeant?”
    “I can’t seem to find a pattern to the peeper’s operation, sir,” Hatchley said. “Except that he always picks blondes.”
    “What do you mean?”
    “How he chooses his victims, sir, how he latches onto them, knows who to follow.”
    “The women weren’t all single, were they?” Gristhorpe asked.
    “Bloody hell, no, sir,” Hatchley said. “One of ’em had her husband right there in bed dozing off while our chap was doing his bit through the curtains.”
    “He must do some reconnaissance first,” Banks added. “He knows which window to look through, knows the layout of the house. Even picks the best time to be there.”
    “So he chooses his victims well in advance?”
    “Must do.”
    “They’d all been in pubs the nights they were peeped on,” Hatchley said. “But I couldn’t find any evidence that they were being watched.”
    “That would explain it, though, wouldn’t it?” Banks said. “If he already knew who he was going to spy on, he’d know something about their habits. If he’d watched the