Chapter 18

CHAPTER 18

The taxi took him to a newbuild housing estate on the edge of town. Looking around, this wasn’t what he’d expected. Certainly not the gleaming blue Audi in Jason Scutter’s drive. It hardly fitted with the image of the perspiring, fat and stubbled paedophile that he’d been carrying around in his head.

A man who had lured Chris to his eventual death.

He took a look around. Houses on all sides regarded him with blank-window stares. From somewhere came the hum of a lawnmower, the distant sound of hip-hop from some kid’s bedroom. Otherwise, curtains remained in place, nets were untwitched.

Using the rear of the Audi as cover, he stooped, fished the Glock out of his bag, complete with suppressor, and as surreptitiously as possible, unwrapped it and stuffed it into the back of his jeans.

Finishing, he glanced up at the sound of a car arriving, quickly adjusting himself. It was another taxi, drawing up into the road about 200 yards away. A guy got out, paid the driver and then, without so much as a glance in Abbott’s direction, trotted off along a driveway towards the houses. He carried a rucksack, just as Abbott did.

Abbott waited until he was gone then went to the door of number twenty-seven and knocked. Soon, it was opened by a tall guy who looked him up and down and then, without surprise or curiosity, said, ‘Aha,’ almost as though he had been expecting Abbott to come and fetch his ball back.

‘Mr Scutter?’ he said.

‘That’s me,’ said Scutter, who was well-spoken and not fat, perspiring or stubbled. His hair, thinning on top, was neatly cut, his only concession to the stereotypical image of the paedophile a pair of track pants. Even his black T-shirt looked pressed and fitted well.

‘So you’re the bloke who’s looking for me?’ said Scutter, unfazed. ‘You’re Alex Abbott.’

He knew Abbott’s name. Chalk that one up to Abbott’s own stupidity. The fact that word had reached him? Well, that proved that what Cuckoo and Tess had said was correct. Scutter was indeed connected.

Even so, this was not going the way Abbott might have expected.

Scutter looked over Abbott’s shoulder, out at the estate beyond.

‘I think you’d better come in, don’t you?’

He turned, walked back along the hall and into his lounge, leaving the front door open.

Still on the doorstep, Abbott tensed, hand going to his waistband, feeling the comforting butt of the gun there. He stepped over the threshold.

‘Close the door behind you, would you?’ came Scutter’s voice from the front room.

He needed no further invitation. He closed the door, making sure to turn the internal deadbolt first, and drew his sidearm.

‘Just through here,’ said Scutter from the lounge.