Monument to Murder (29 page)

I
T WAS BEFORE
six and still dark as Kate drove through leafy Jesmond on her way to Alnwick, her overnight bag on the back seat replenished for a further stay at the B & B. It was a pain in the arse living away from home, but a necessary evil sometimes. However, the way things were going she had the distinct impression it wouldn’t be for that much longer.

Sophie Kent was her unidentified victim.

She was sure of it – now all she had to do was prove it.

Turning on the radio for company, an American commentator informed her it was Presidents’ Day – George Washington’s Birthday – a federal holiday in the US.
Lucky for them.
She’d welcome some downtime to herself. A few days off; an opportunity to get on her bike and take herself off somewhere quiet for a bit. The Northern Lakes via Hartside Pass would be her destination of choice: a warm cabin, a good book, a bottle of single malt and some decent food.

Christ! She was starving.

Moving into the outside lane, she overtook a slow-moving farm tractor, then pulled back in. Driving to and from incident rooms was often her best thinking time. The next twenty minutes passed
in a flash as she debated whether or not to put Emily in the picture and out of her misery. Problem was, she remained convinced of Fearon’s involvement in Rachel’s disappearance. She was hardly going to entertain the possibility that Stamp might be responsible – or Kent, Harrison or Walker for that matter.

On the face of it, Martin Stamp was a great guy and good friend to Emily. He was smitten with her, that much was obvious. But in his rush to cement their relationship he’d acted out of character according to Jo. Refusing to back off and give Emily space to grieve after Robert passed away. Stamp was an obsessive then. Had he abducted Rachel McCann and, in so doing, handed himself yet another opportunity to play the hero?

The cliché ‘two’s company’ sprang to mind.

And what of Senior Officer Ash Walker? Another man who’d reached out to the merry widow in her hour of need? Or another fucked-up individual with an ulterior motive? Had this mild-mannered, charismatic officer been manipulating people all along, including Walter Fearon? Had he placed the photograph of Emily and Rachel in the inmate’s cell? That could just as easily have been Kent, Stamp, or PO Harrison – the obvious villain amongst them? Jo was sure Harrison was switched wrong and Sergeant Jane Lowther had discovered all three of them had both means and opportunity.

Some cases had no suspects. In this one, Kate was spoiled for choice.

A sign loomed out of the darkness, caught in the Q5 headlights: Alnwick slip-road off to the left, Bamburgh just fifteen miles further north. The answer lay with those pearls and that village somehow, Kate was sure of it. But she’d not yet come up with a credible scenario to explain how. Carmichael had rechecked the incident
log and found no suspicious incidents that threw any further light on that particular theory. Well, actually, that wasn’t strictly true. Lisa had found one . . . she’d happened upon it on the Bamburgh Research Project’s blog. It involved not one but two children. They had drowned at the Bowl Hole next to Bamburgh Castle. The information might have taken them further had it not happened as far back as the eighteenth century.

But what if . . . ?

Daniels had hit upon an idea.

Why the hell hadn’t she thought of it before?

B
Y THE TIME
Kate reached the MIR her team were hard at work. She felt guilty for having abandoned them, but it was quality not quantity that counted when it came down to a night’s sleep. Last night she’d collapsed into a long hot bath and passed out in her own sumptuous bed in sheer exhaustion twenty minutes later. Or was it the phone call with Jo before she retired that produced a peaceful oblivion?

In her office, she made a strong brew to kick-start her day and then called Hank, asking him to do something important for her. He’d completed his enquiries down there and was packed and ready to check out of his hotel.

‘OK, see you later then.’

‘Hopefully with something of value,’ he said.

H
ANK AND
PC A
ILSA
R
ICHARDS
looked pretty chipper, considering the week they’d put in and the drive north to rejoin Northumbria’s
Murder Investigation Team. It was just gone one when they arrived.

Kate smiled as Hank approached, receiving a cheeky wink in reply.

In the past week, they had spoken several times a day but she’d still missed having him around to brighten her day. He was more like a cuddly big brother than a work colleague. They looked out for each other in ways that other detective partners never did. She’d hate to lose him permanently, something that would happen if his wife got her way.

On closer inspection, he looked worn out, a tinge of pink to the whites of his eyes, the bags beneath a little more pronounced.

That didn’t surprise her.

Late nights and early mornings reviewing a decade-old murder case was bloody hard work. It was an added strain living out of a suitcase away from home. She could vouch for that. She’d slept soundly for five hours solid in her own bed last night. It didn’t seem like much, but she felt all the better for it.

‘Any luck?’ she asked.

‘You bet,’ he patted his briefcase and hauled it on to the desk to open it.

The report he handed over was no more than a few scribbles on an A4 sheet, handwritten by him – in a hurry, by the looks of it. She speed-read the document, her detective brain working overtime. It was a list of dates and times mainly, beginning with the initial missing persons report from Bill Kent.

She spotted the discrepancy as soon as she laid eyes on it – a ten-day lapse between the alarm being raised and DNA samples being obtained.

Bingo!

‘An action to collect it wasn’t acted upon,’ Hank said. ‘Can you believe that?’

Kate looked at the sheet of paper in her hand. He’d scribbled a simple explanation at the bottom –
one DC another had thaken possession and vice-versa. Time enough for evidence tampering?

Just as she’d suspected.

She raised her head. ‘Now we’re getting somewhere.’

Ailsa Richards grimaced. ‘There were some red faces our end, boss.’

‘I can well imagine.’ Kate looked at Hank. ‘Where did the samples come from?’

‘Toothbrush and hairbrush. When the mistake was realized, the SIO sent someone with a bit of nous to do the job. The attending DS didn’t flag up his visit, just called on spec, taking Sophie’s toothbrush from its holder in the bathroom, the hairbrush from her dressing table where her old man said she kept it.’

‘He didn’t let Kent fetch the items for him?’

Hank was shaking his head. ‘He says not.’

‘Yeah, well, I still don’t believe it.’

Ailsa grinned at Hank. ‘Sorry, boss. Private joke.

Daniels didn’t question it. She was too busy taking in the interesting dynamic between Lisa Carmichael and the team’s temporary recruit. Lisa looked pissed, an understandable reaction given that Hank was
her
supervision. He seemed really taken with his young mentee, was praising her efforts in Yorkshire, telling them all what an exceptional officer Ailsa was, giving the wannabe detective a verbal pat on the back for all the hard work she’d put in.

Daniels hid her amusement. She was about to make matters worse by giving Ailsa something important to do, stuff that would
normally fall within Carmichael’s remit. She had other plans for Lisa. But first she had an action to take care of.

‘I want samples from Kent right away,’ she said. ‘Robbo, can you fix that up?’

DS Robson nodded but didn’t move.

‘Now would be good.’ She waited for him to get to his feet. ‘By the way,’ she said as he reached the door. ‘If he’s at work, be discreet. But don’t come back empty-handed. Even if he’s just come off nights, wake him up. We can’t afford to wait. If it is his daughter in the freezer, Rachel McCann’s in big trouble.’

B
Y THE SEVEN
o’clock briefing, Kate was beginning to feel confident of a positive outcome in the case. A pristine uniform caught her eye as Sergeant Jane Lowther entered the incident room – the last one through the door. She was another officer destined for the CID, someone the SIO had a lot of time for.

‘Any news of Rachel, Jane?’ she asked.

‘None you’ll want to hear. She hasn’t used her mobile phone once since she went missing or withdrawn any money from her bank account. It’s not looking good.’

A sinking feeling in Kate’s stomach made her lose her thread. Emily McCann had already been through so much. The sudden, undeserved misfortune of losing her husband was bad enough. If she lost her daughter too, her life was as good as over. Kate looked around her. Ailsa Richards was sitting with DC Andy Brown. They seemed to have hit it off during the course of the day and he’d taken it upon himself to show her the ropes and familiarize her with the room. Now that really would put Carmichael’s nose out of joint. Ailsa already looked like she belonged there.

She’d fit right in with the rest of the team.

‘You HOLMES trained, Ailsa?’ she asked.

The young PC answered with a nod.

Another pout from Carmichael.

Ha! MIT’s Golden Girl was sulking.

Kate bit her lip to stop herself laughing out loud. A little competition wasn’t necessarily a bad thing in a murder incident room. In fact, it might work to her advantage. It would keep them both on their toes. ‘Ailsa, take your lead from Hank. As soon as we have a body ID, your lot will reopen their room. I want you to check their system and feed anything you’re not happy with to Hank as soon as you notice it. Lisa, I think we may also have missed something.’

‘Boss?’

‘I don’t mean you personally. I’m not sure where those pearls fit in, but Bamburgh village is definitely the key. I want you to recheck with the back record team. Widen the original action to include
all
incidents that happened on or in the vicinity of the castle and beach, not just suspicious ones.’ Giving Lisa a little smile of encouragement, she added: ‘I’m only interested in this century.’

Lisa grinned. ‘Yes, boss.’

As the team dispersed, Kate scanned the murder wall, asking herself a question: was she finally closing in on the killer she was seeking? The answer she came up with was yes. But then Robson rang in. Kent had gone walkabout and was nowhere to be found.

T
HE PRISON WAS
locked down tight. All inmates secured in their cells. Lights dimmed. Emily was standing with her back to the door as he
moved towards her, crossing the threshold in silence. Unaware of his presence, she was somewhere else entirely, far beyond the perimeter of the floodlit prison grounds. She never heard his gentle tap on the door.

‘Em?’

Turning round, she found Ash Walker standing there.

‘Sorry,’ he said. ‘I did knock. Any news?’

Emily shook her head. She was getting desperate.

‘How did it go with Martin?’

‘It didn’t.’

Walker looked puzzled. ‘He refused?’

‘’Fraid so.’

‘So what happens now?’

Emily gave a little shrug. It was as if she was at one end of a tug-o-war, the might of the Home Office at the other, a titanic struggle going on between them. She’d called and called, trying to get through to someone in authority, only to be fobbed off with the promise of a call back that never came.

‘I’ve written to the Home Office and telephoned several times, but no one is returning my calls. I don’t suppose they will – and I’ve no place left to go, Ash.’ She choked on her words, close to tears again. ‘Every morning when I wake up, for a split second I feel normal. Then I remember and the nightmare begins again. It’s a curious thing, the mind. It is so used to life being a certain way it sometimes takes a brief moment to catch up with itself. It was the same after Robert died. There were occasions I set the table for three without even noticing, upsetting Rachel in the process.’ Emily bit her lip, looking past him to the cell-block corridor beyond. ‘If anything happens to her and that bastard is involved, I’ll hunt him down, I swear. No matter how long it takes.’

‘Short of ripping your clothes off and accusing him of sexual assault, I can’t see what more you can do to keep him in.’

‘Don’t think it hasn’t crossed my mind,’ she scoffed.

‘So what’s stopping you?’

Emily just looked at him.

‘I won’t tell if you don’t,’ he said.

She shook her head. ‘I couldn’t do it.’

Ash met her gaze head on. ‘He plays dirty, why shouldn’t you?’

‘I’m a better person than he is, Ash. Women who make false allegations are despicable in my view. It’s taken years for genuine rape victims to be heard. I couldn’t betray them. I just couldn’t.’

‘Even for Rachel?’

‘Especially for Rachel. If I did, he’d make damn sure she was never found. I’d be signing her death warrant. That’s assuming she’s not already . . .’ She looked away, her words trailing off, her emotions bubbling to the surface again.

Walker sighed. ‘He made threats to kill in your presence, didn’t he?’

‘Yes, he did. But you think anyone will believe that now? The Governor, Harrison, the police – they all think I’m nuts.’

‘I’m sure that’s not true.’

‘Isn’t it?’

Walker tipped his head on one side, his eyes full of sympathy. ‘They all know what it is you’re going through. Come on, Emily. You need to get out of here. Let me buy you a drink.’

He helped her on with her coat. But as she bent to pick up her briefcase, she lost her composure in spectacular fashion. Walker put his arms around her and held her while she wept. As the sobs subsided, he kissed her ever so gently on the forehead. Then, without warning, her need for physical comfort overwhelmed her. Spontaneously she kissed him back.

J
UST HOW THEY
managed to make it to her place, Emily didn’t quite know. Her emotional need was so intense it obliterated everything else. Next thing she knew, she was lying postcoital in bed, staring at the ceiling in the small hours, a tear running slowly down her cheek. Walker lay on his side, stroking her hair. Then he fucked her again when she asked him to take her pain away for just a little longer. Afterwards, her body finally gave in. She fell into a deep and dream-filled sleep in the crook of his arm.