Death Watch by Sally Spencer

thoughts.
    â€˜They’re not happy about carryin’ on the search, sir. The floodlights mean that it’s bright as day in some places, but there are a lot of shadowed areas as well, an’ they’re afraid they might overlook somethin’ important.’
    The sergeant had a point, Rutter thought. It would be futile – and possibly even dangerous to the investigation – to continue the search any longer.
    â€˜Call the men off,’ he said. ‘But make it clear to them that, at first light, I want exactly the same officers back at the exactly the same spots where they ended the search tonight.’
    â€˜Understood, sir,’ the sergeant said.
    â€˜And that’s not all,’ Rutter told him. ‘I want all the park gates securely locked. And we’ll need at least six men on permanent park-perimeter patrol all through the night.’ He paused. ‘There shouldn’t be any problem in arranging that, should there, Sergeant?’
    The other man shook his head. ‘None at all, sir. The lads will appreciate the chance to earn a bit of overtime. Besides …’
    â€˜Yes?’
    â€˜We all really want to catch this perverted bastard, sir – and we’ll do what’s necessary.’
    â€˜I know you will,’ Rutter said. ‘We’ll all do what’s necessary – at whatever the personal cost.’
    It would have been wonderful to find a clue in the park right away, Rutter thought, a clear pointer to the guilty man. But investigations were rarely as easy as that. Most of the time it was a case of picking up a splinter of information here and a splinter of information there, and praying that they all eventually fused together to form a solid plank of a case.
    He lit up a cigarette – and wondered how Woodend and Monika were getting on.
    Peter Mainwearing was around the same age as Cedric Thornton, but there any resemblance between the two men ended. Mainwearing’s hair was blond, clean, and neatly cut. His teeth were regular and cared for. His blue overalls, though marked with old oil stains, had obviously been well washed and neatly pressed before he’d put them on that morning.
    But it was his attitude, more than anything else, which distinguished him from Cedric Thornton and the rest of the stream of deviants who had trickled their slimy way through the interview room that afternoon. Mainwearing had none of the stink of fear that the others carried with them. Nor did he seemed weighed down by resentment and a sense of grievance, as several of them had been.
    Instead, he looked Woodend squarely in the eyes, and said, ‘You’re only doing your job by pulling me in, Chief Inspector. I want you to know that I understand that.’
    â€˜Do you?’ Woodend asked sceptically. ‘Do you really?’
    â€˜I don’t blame you for being suspicious of everything I do and everything I say,’ Mainwearing told him. ‘Sexual offenders are a very cunning and very manipulative breed. And nobody knows that better than me – because I’ve been one myself.’
    â€˜
Have
been,’ Woodend mused. ‘Are you tryin’ to tell me you’re not one now?’
    Mainwearing smiled weakly. ‘If I was telling you that, then I was wrong to,’ he admitted. ‘An alcoholic never stops being an alcoholic, he just stops being a drunk. And a sex offender never stops being a sex offender – he just accepts that having been a victim himself is no excuse for making victims of others.’
    â€˜I was wonderin’ just how long it would be before you started claiming to be a victim yourself,’ Woodend said.
    â€˜But I
am
a victim,’ Mainwearing said calmly. ‘And you don’t just have to take my word for it. It’s all documented in my criminal record, which I’m sure you’ve already pulled from the files.’
    â€˜You might be right about that,’ Woodend conceded.