BURIED CRIMES: a gripping detective thriller full of twists and turns (3 page)

Chapter 3: The Worst Thing

Monday lunchtime

Harry Turner sat in a small alcove sipping his pint and wondering why he’d agreed to come. He’d cancelled a lunch date with a couple of cronies from the local chess club in order to be here. Maybe lunch date was the wrong term to use. In reality it had been more like an informal agreement to meet over a drink. He looked out of the window at the busy London traffic queuing up outside on its way past the bulk of Waterloo Station, taxis stuck behind a bus, forced to stop mid-road to unload passengers because a bakery van was parked in the bus pull-in. As he finally passed the van, the bus driver gave it a cheery wave. Surprising, thought Harry, wishing that some cheer could be directed his way.

He took another sip of his beer and fought his way back through a forest of memories, to the final weeks before she’d left. The increasing sense of desperation that had engulfed him in those last days had taken him unawares. It had been obvious that she’d eventually move on, that her time with him would be limited, so he should have been prepared. But the human brain is a funny old thing, he thought. You can rationalise and reason things through until you’ve kidded yourself that you’ll cope, but when absence has become a reality, it knocks you for six.

He missed everything about her. Her smile, her sense of style, her ability to say just the right thing and reflect back at him the very ideas that were formulating in his own brain. Her willingness to take risks, her determination and drive. No one had ever replaced her. No one could, not in his view. And in those bleak months after she’d left, he’d dragged himself home every day and wondered how he would cope. But, of course, he had. Just like she’d told him he would.

‘Harry,’ she’d said, ‘don’t be stupid. There’ll be others. You attract talent, really you do.’

And she’d flung her arms around him and given him a long, farewell kiss on the cheek. If only she’d known. If only she’d realised what he’d really meant when he said he would miss her terribly. That he was referring to things that went deeper than the superficial words could convey.

He could still remember the perfume she favoured. The heavy, dark, musky scent seemed to coil around her, particularly on that last day. He could almost taste it, all these years later.

He felt a hand on his shoulder. So it wasn’t his brain playing tricks, she still wore the same perfume.

‘Hello, Harry.’

He glanced up as she slid into the seat opposite. Would he be able to speak? Could his lips open? Would any sense come out of them?

‘You’re looking well,’ she continued.

He responded with a nod and pointed at the brimming glass of beer on the table in front of her.

‘Got one in for you.’ There. He’d finally said something and it hadn’t been gobbledegook.

‘Thanks. I’m grateful, Harry. Not just for the beer but the fact that you’re willing to meet me like this.’

He took another sip. Maybe it would be alright, after all.

‘It’s a pleasure, Sophie. I told you when you left that you could always come back to me for advice if you needed it.’

‘Yes, but that was fifteen years ago. A lot’s happened since, to both of us. Particularly to you, now you’ve retired. I always knew how lucky I was in having you as a boss, Harry. It’s not just that you were the best in the business and were willing to share your thoughts with me. It was the fact that I could see the way the other bosses treated young women coppers. You were different. You never tried to lay a finger on me, not ever.’

‘But I did have feelings for you, Sophie. I never let on. Did you know?’

‘Yes. I guessed. There were clues. And I didn’t know what to do. I had Hannah just about to start school, and Jade was a baby. Martin was struggling with some appalling classes at his school. And I’d always thought of you as a father figure, as well as my boss. It frightened me.’

He lowered his eyes. ‘I knew you’d never known your father, so I guess I slipped into that role a bit too easily. Maybe it was just so comfortable that I didn’t realise it was turning into something else.’ He took another sip of beer. ‘Anyway, water under the bridge. You moved on and got on with your life, as was right and proper. And Archie Campbell added the finishing touches and turned you into the detective you are today.’

Sophie reached across and rested her hand on his.

‘But you’ll always be my first and most important mentor, Harry. I couldn’t have done it without the start you gave me. I owe you everything.’ She picked up the menu card. ‘Shall we get some food? This is my treat.’

Sophie took their order to the bar.

When she returned to her seat, she asked, ‘how’s Sheila?’

‘She died six months ago. Heart attack.’

‘Oh God, Harry. Why didn’t you let me know? Christ. I’d have come to the funeral, you know I would.’

‘That’s what I was afraid of. Sheila dead, and you appearing. I just couldn’t have coped. I swore everyone to secrecy so that you didn’t hear about it.’

‘Shit. This isn’t going the way I wanted it to. I thought it would be simple. We’d have a drink and something to eat. I’d pick your brains for a while, then we’d say goodbye and I’d catch my train back to Wareham. But now this.’

‘Don’t worry. It wasn’t a surprise when she had the final big one that took her. She’d had a sequence of small ones that everyone said were warning signs. But she ignored all the advice, and kept smoking and drinking. She always knew better than the experts, in health matters as well as everything else. She nearly drove me mad.’

‘But you still loved her.’

He nodded. ‘She gave me our two children, and they’re wonderful. Both married now. In fact I’m a grandfather, so life isn’t all doom and gloom.’ He paused. ‘I hate to say it, but I don’t really miss her as much as I should. I suppose we slowly drifted apart, particularly in the final years. She wouldn’t leave the bottle alone. Everything was becoming impossible.’

Sophie didn’t answer immediately. ‘I bet you’re a brilliant grandfather. Just like you were a brilliant dad. Matthew told me, years ago. I always thought he was like you.’ She touched his cheek. ‘I buried my own father last winter, Harry. I found out what happened to him.’

He nodded again. ‘I heard later. I was away on holiday in Greece at the time. Archie Campbell was down here for a conference and we met for a couple of drinks. He told me all about it. I really don’t know what to say.’

‘Maybe we should just get down to business. We’re getting ourselves embroiled in the past and I came to see you because of problems in the here and now.’

They talked as they ate.

‘Child-killing, Harry. That’s why I need to pick your brains. I know it was after I left, but you became the Met’s expert on child murder. And it’s that I want to know about. I just can’t visualise what went on. My brain seizes up and I start to panic when I try to think about it. Why’s that, Harry? Is it just me, or does it happen to others?’

‘It’s the worst thing. It’s the most terrible thing we can ask our minds to think about. Maybe we all react in different ways, but that’s the reason for it. We’re emotional beings, we humans. We’ve evolved to care and protect our children. Our brains are unable to cope with the thought of murdering a child. It can just leave us in a horrified pit of emptiness if we let it.’

‘So how do I cope? I can’t ask my team to get on with it if I can’t work through it myself. What can I do?’

‘Do what I always trained you to do. Blank it out. Once the investigation starts in earnest, go emotionally cold on it. Don’t let yourself imagine the victims and their lives unless it’s in a productive way. Treat it all as data. Once it’s over, and you’ve got the killer safely locked up, then is the time to relax and let some emotion in.’ He chewed on another mouthful of salad. ‘Yours is an historic case anyway, Sophie. That’s if my guess is right and it’s those children’s bodies in Dorchester?’

Sophie nodded.

‘Okay, so it’ll be easier. It was, what, fifteen, twenty years ago?’

Another nod.

‘So you won’t have to meet any family members whose emotions are raw and bloody. Time will have softened the memories. So it’s just you, and you’ve got to stay on top of it.’

‘But they were both so young. The boy could have only been about eight at the most. And the little girl was about the same age, we think. They’ve been down in that hole for longer than they were alive.’

‘Exactly. I know you, Sophie. I know you can do this.’

Sophie shook her head. ‘I’m not who I was, Harry, not now. Not after that business with my father last year. Part of me went missing when I discovered the truth about him.’ She looked into his eyes. ‘I’m scared that I can’t do it anymore.’

‘I’ll be here if you need me. I can even pay a couple of visits if it would help.’

‘Oh Harry, that would be wonderful. I’ve never felt vulnerable like this before. Why’s it happening?’

‘It’s not just you. It happened to me a couple of times, but I never told anyone. Maybe it was the cause of the rift between me and Sheila, part of it anyway. I brooded on it and she couldn’t reach me. Don’t let that happen to you, Sophie.’

‘I’ll try not to. Anyway, Martin wouldn’t let it.’

‘Well, that’s good. Now let’s finish the food and you can let me see what you’ve got on the case so far. What train are you getting?’

‘Not sure. There’s one every half hour, so it’s not a problem. I may not be going directly back anyway.’

They were just finishing their lunch when Harry had his idea.

‘I found it useful to speak to people in social work or child protection when I first took over the unit. I don’t mean as part of any investigation, just to get a feel for the realities of violence against children. Maybe you could do the same. Someone who’s not connected with the case who’ll be able to give you some support if things seem to be getting too much. Is there anyone down your way that you know? Someone with experience in dealing with vulnerable children?’

After a long pause, Sophie’s face lit up.

‘My grandfather!’ she said. ‘He worked for Gloucestershire council, in charge of social issues. It was called something else back then. He’s in his late eighties and when he retired he did voluntary work for a children’s care charity for many years. It would be ideal. It would give me an excuse to see him and get him involved. I know he came across some pretty dreadful things that he won’t talk about. This would benefit both of us. He’s always complaining that I work too much and don’t see him and my grandmother often enough. I wonder if I could see them this evening? I’m meeting Hannah for an afternoon coffee here in London, so I could check train times to Gloucester, and possibly see them this evening rather than going directly back to Dorset.’ She glanced at her watch. ‘I’d better be off.’

She stood up and gave her first boss a hug and a peck on the cheek. ‘Harry, you’ve been so helpful. I’ll be in touch, I promise.’

Harry Turner watched her walk smartly away and through the door where she quickly disappeared into the crowd. He couldn’t begin to sort through the whirl of emotions this meeting had stirred in him. One thing was sure. If she did ask him for more help, he’d be ready. It was time to dust off some of the personal case notes he’d made years ago while investigating similar crimes, thrust into the back of an old cupboard at home. If his instincts were correct, she’d need all the help she could get on this one.

* * *

Rain was beginning to fall as Sophie emerged from Russell Square underground station and crossed the road to the modern shopping complex in Bloomsbury. She paused in the entrance to the café and spotted her elder daughter sitting at a small table near the door, waving to her. The rich smell of coffee was closely followed by the delicate scent of Hannah’s perfume as the two women hugged each other.

‘Mum, you look a bit flushed. Are you okay?’ Hannah asked as they sat down.

Sophie and Martin’s elder daughter was now in her third year at Drama College and was beginning to pick up one or two acting roles in suburban theatres. Her parents had been rather surprised when, at her fifteenth birthday party, their quiet daughter had announced her intention to become an actress. She had never changed her mind and was now making a great success of her college course. She was blonde, like her mother, but more slightly built than the rest of the family. She had started to make a name for herself playing the role of young, vulnerable women. In fact, as her parents knew all too well, she was as tough as well-tanned leather. Sophie smiled at her daughter.

‘I’m fine, honestly. It was warm on the tube. And Harry Turner kept plying me with beer at lunchtime. I tried desperately to resist.’

‘I vaguely remember him, I think. How old was I? About four or five?’

‘When we were here, yes. But he did pay us a short visit when we were in the Midlands. He was on some course, and came over for an evening. I think he read you some stories before you went to bed.’

‘Was he the one who made Captain Haddock sound as if he was from deepest Somerset?’

‘That’s it. Although he veered from west country to Irish, sometimes in the same sentence. I found it hard to keep a straight face, but he did try.’

‘How is he?’

‘Sad. His wife died in the summer. I could see that he misses her terribly, even though he didn’t admit it. That’s the way of things, Hannah. Anyway, have you decided what you want? I’ll just have my usual coffee, please.’