Monument to Murder (6 page)

T
HE WORK OF
the forensic pathologist had always fascinated Kate. Tim Stanton was one of the best she’d ever come across. A Bachelor of Medicine, Fellow of the Royal College of Pathology and honorary lecturer at Edinburgh University, he’d made significant contributions to major investigations over the years, examining scores of murder victims, young and old.

As devoted to his work as she was to hers, Kate regarded the married father of two as a personal friend as well as a professional
colleague. Watching him now, she mourned the fact that they rarely, if ever, saw each other socially. There was a simple explanation for that: their meetings only took place across the stainless-steel slab of his examination room or at her grim crime scenes. Either way, there was always a third party present – one who’d drawn their last breath.

Hardly dinner-table conversation, was it?

Tim had barely mentioned Abbey Hunt when the door burst open and the woman herself marched in fresh from the shower. At least a foot shorter than the DCI, her hair was still damp and tied in a bun at the nape of her neck. She wore no make-up, a pair of navy cargo pants and a pale blue V-neck T-shirt revealing a flabby spare tyre.

Her barefoot technology footwear obviously wasn’t up to much
.

Grabbing a newly laundered white coat from a shelf near the door, she slipped her arms into it and walked towards them buttoning it up. A smile played on her lips as she came closer, an I-know-something-you-don’t expression forming on her round face.

‘Have you told her yet?’ she said.

‘Told me what?’ Kate said.

Stanton shook his head.

Abbey turned to face Kate. ‘That’s what I love about Tim, he’s so self-sacrificing,
so
gallant. He knows how much I ache to be the one to drop a bombshell.’

‘Bombshell’ sounded ominous.

Kate waited, her eyes darting left and right between the two medics, the hairs rising on the back of her neck at thoughts of a breakthrough in her case. Abbey was savouring the moment but itching to divulge her findings. Despite her casual appearance and jocular attitude, which for some reason was never on display when
Naylor was around, she was a meticulous and committed professional of international standing. If she had something to say, it was probably worth hearing. No matter how small her insight, Kate was sure it would kick-start her enquiry.

At least, she hoped it would
.

Walking between two stainless-steel tables, Abbey glanced at the skeletal remains lying on each and then refocused her attention on Daniels. ‘Tim probably told you that the manner of death is undetermined. Accidental is out of the question. If that
were
the case, the girls would’ve been found before now. A suicide pact only works if they had the ability to bury themselves after the event—’

‘Unless a third party was involved,’ the DCI cut in.

‘Quite so. Thank you for reminding me.’ Abbey dropped her head a touch, peering over the top of square-framed specs. ‘So . . . given the fact that they were buried together, are we all agreed that these two unfortunate young women were in all probability murdered?’

Trying to work out where this was leading, Kate cocked her head on one side, her eyes sliding over what was left of her two young victims. Apart from a well-healed fracture in the older girl’s right tibia that might prove useful in identifying her, preliminary examination of the bones had proved inconclusive. Stanton had already told her he’d found no obvious signs of trauma that would indicate fatal violence on either victim: no caved-in skulls or bullet holes; no nicks on hands or arms to suggest defence injuries; no ligatures round their necks. Furthermore, no instruments of death had been found by crime scene investigators in the vicinity of the bodies. In short, there was nothing at all on which a reconstruction might be based.

Replaying Abbey’s monologue in her head, Kate suddenly realized
what she was getting at. The anthropologist’s words had been chosen carefully, designed to mislead in the short term so she could emerge victorious and put the SIO in her place.
Again
. No malice intended, simply a bit of humorous banter between fellow professionals to lighten the seriousness of the proceedings.

Kate wasn’t fooled.

The words ‘
buried together
’ could be taken two ways.

Abbey grinned. ‘I see our clever DCI is awake and paying attention, Tim.’

‘Her default setting,’ Stanton replied. ‘But then I guess you already knew that.’

‘So, they were buried in the same place . . .’ Kate interrupted, ‘but not at the same time. Is that what you’re telling me?’

‘And we’re not talking weeks.’ Abbey pointed at the shorter of the two skeletons. ‘As a ballpark figure, I’d say this one’s been buried for around ten years, the other about five. I need to complete more tests to be absolutely sure, but I’m confident enough for you to work on that assumption, yes.’

Thanking them, Kate left the morgue immediately. No point hanging around any longer; better to let the medical examiners get on with it. She didn’t need telling that cause of death might never be established. To be certain how her victims died she might even require an offender to cough.

No pressure there then
.

I
T WAS ALMOST
five-fifteen when their squash game ended. Having a court within the confines of the prison was a wonderful facility, Jo
thought. What better way for staff to end a shitty day than by smashing a little green ball around to the point of exhaustion? Especially when it represented Principal Officer Do-As-I-Say Harrison from B-wing who’d upset Emily McCann on her first day back.

‘Good game!’ Stamp said. ‘I see you haven’t lost your touch.’

He was being kind; he was much the better player, the more athletic of the two. Always had been, even at uni. Jo’s cheeks were burning, her clothes so drenched they stuck to her skin, whereas
he
hadn’t even broken sweat.

Retrieving her sports holdall from the rear of the court, she tucked her racquet inside, slung it over her shoulder and walked towards him extending her right arm. They shook hands awkwardly, a sporting gesture between two old friends that seemed formal and somehow inappropriate.

Jo was so out of breath she could hardly speak. ‘Return match later this week?’

Stamp nodded. ‘Suits me.’

‘I’ll see if the court’s available on my way out and confirm by text.’

‘Actually, I need a word. You up for a quick drink on the way home?’

‘Can’t, sorry. Wish I wasn’t, but I’m tied up.’

What had seemed like a good idea at the time now felt like a chore to Jo. It had been a long day. Much as she liked Ron Naylor, she’d just as soon cancel their arrangement, go home and sink her aching body into a hot bath. She loved the quaint little place she’d rented at the coast. She’d always wanted a traditional Northumbrian cottage overlooking the sea and now she had one. Adorable it was too.

Pity Kate wasn’t there to share it
.

Taking in the clock on the wall, Jo missed the rejection on Stamp’s face.

‘Actually,’ she said. ‘I’d better get a wriggle on.’

‘Anyone I know?’ he asked. ‘Or is it a secret?’

Jo shook her head as she made her way off court. ‘Detective Super I used to work with.’

A twinge of regret edged its way into her thoughts. If she was honest, she missed Naylor and the rest of Northumbria Police’s Murder Investigation Team, Kate Daniels in particular. Finding out that her ex had moved on with a local artist – the delectably gorgeous Fiona-bloody-Fielding – Jo had thought it best to cut and run. But had she acted hastily? Not only had she failed to get Kate out of her head, but the research job at the prison was a bloody disaster. It bored the tits off her most of the time.

There: she’d
finally
admitted she’d made a mistake.

‘Hello?’ Martin Stamp waved a hairy hand in front of her face. ‘Earth to Jo . . . I said it’s a woman’s prerogative to be late.’

Jo gave an emphatic:
No!
‘It’s also impolite to keep people waiting.’

‘C’mon,’ he pleaded. ‘Half an hour? It’s about Em.’

Why didn’t that surprise her?

‘Please,’ Stamped begged. ‘I’m seriously worried about her.’

‘Don’t be, Martin. She won’t thank you for it.’ Jo made a move for the door on legs so weak she could hardly stand up, her anger boiling over as she walked past him. ‘And stop playing the bloody hero, why don’t you?’

‘What’s that supposed to mean?’ he yelled after her.

Ignoring the question, Jo entered the eerie corridor. This part of the prison was deserted at night. She didn’t want to talk about Emily behind her back. She was a good mate to both of them. It would feel like a betrayal.

Stamp caught up with her, barring her way as she reached the shower-room door, demanding an explanation for her throwaway remark. His behaviour reminded her of what he was like before he grew up – an immature hothead. It also brought to mind her late ex-husband: easy-going one minute, petulant the next.

Her eyes flew to the door handle on which Stamp had a vice-like grip.

‘Move please, Martin.’

He stood his ground, refusing to budge. ‘Not until you tell me what you meant.’

‘Can your ego stand what I have to say?’

He didn’t answer.

Jo was
really
pissed now. Bullying was her pet hate. Controlling men a close second. She’d put up with an abusive husband and had vowed never to be a victim again. ‘You want the truth or the toned-down version?’

Still no response.

Her sarcasm wasn’t helping. She calmed herself, tried talking some sense into him. ‘Martin, I know Emily has leaned on you big-style since Robert died, but you’re rushing her. She’s not ready for another relationship. Don’t pressurize her. Keep supporting her by all means but be sensible about it. Do the decent thing. Accept that you can’t take up where you left off two decades ago.’

‘Who said I want to?’

Jo tried not to snigger. ‘I’m a lot of things but blind isn’t one of them. Believe me, I know what I’m talking about. Recapturing a lost love is
never
that simple. It takes time and patience, only one of which you appear to have. Emily’s not going anywhere, so why the rush?’ She glanced again at the door handle. ‘Now, are you planning to let me in there, or shall I call security?’

But Stamp was sulking, unwilling to let the matter drop.

Jo tried again. ‘Look, all I’m saying is give the woman some space!’

‘We’re talking at cross purposes here . . .’ he insisted. ‘I do have feelings for her, of course I do, but this isn’t about what I stand to gain. It’s more a question of what she might lose.’

‘Meaning?’

He scanned the corridor. ‘Not here—’

‘Oh, for God’s sake! Cut the melodrama.’

Jo fell silent as a group of off-duty prison officers left the gymnasium. Instead of heading towards the two of them, they turned the other way, pulling their coats on as they headed for the main exit, shouting their goodbyes. She felt like calling after them, telling them she would walk out with them, but thought better of it. They would misinterpret her actions. By morning it would be all round the prison that she and Stamp had been fighting.

As they disappeared through a double door, Stamp opened the shower-room door and pushed her inside.

‘Get off me!’ Jo yelled. ‘What the hell is wrong with you?’

‘Shh, keep your bloody voice down!’ Stamp put his ear to the door and listened before continuing: ‘I can explain everything. Please, Jo . . . meet me at the pub and hear me out.’

Jo’s pulse raced.

No point screaming. The officers were long gone
.

‘I told you, I’m
busy
,’ she said. ‘Now get out of here.’

Stamp wouldn’t release the door.

‘Martin, stop it! You’re freaking me out.’

‘I’m sorry . . .’ He let go of the door handle, shifting his hand to her forearm. His touch made a shiver run down her spine. Responding to the fear in her eyes, he spoke again. ‘Jo, don’t be scared.
Please . . . accept my apology. I don’t know what came over me. That was totally out of order—’

‘Damn right it was.’

‘I said I’m sorry!’

Jo liked Martin but he was beginning to unnerve her.

Despite his apology, his eyes were like two black pools, devoid of any emotion. Looking down at her arm, she tried to shrug his hand away but he wouldn’t let go. His fingers had closed around her wrist so tightly his knuckles were white. He just stood there, a weird look on his face that made the hair stand up on her neck. She had to get out of there.
Fast
.

A
RMED WITH THE
knowledge that her victims hadn’t been buried at the same time, Kate headed back to Alnwick station. It was cold and dark outside. It had stopped snowing but heavy footfall had made the pavements all grey and slushy. Not that it mattered. Now that the enquiry was up and running she’d be spending much of her time inside.

An old man was struggling to cross the road. Offering to help him over, she got the brush-off. Ignoring her outstretched arm, he muttered something about managing by himself for eighty-odd years – or words to that effect – waved her away with his cane and shuffled off, mumbling under his breath.

With neither the time nor the energy to care whether or not he made it to the other side, she walked on, a dozen separate actions competing for attention in her mind. Naylor was nowhere in sight when she reached the incident room. The rest of the team were exactly
where she’d left them – except Hank, who’d shifted to a desk near the window.

He was eating a chicken wrap and washing it down with Coke, a newspaper spread out in front of him. Kate was worried about him. Since his marriage hit the rocks, he’d let himself go. He’d been drinking and smoking more than usual, eating out to avoid going home. Not taking care of his health had become a habit of late, and it was beginning to show. She’d bullied, coaxed and pleaded with him to stop the rot, but may as well have been talking to the wall.

Well, if he wanted blocked arteries, so be it.

Sensing a presence, he looked up.

Seeing her standing on the threshold, he rose from his seat and lumbered over to greet her. He seemed tired today, more so than usual, but she knew his lethargy was down to inactivity rather than the size of his waistline. All day she’d felt much the same. Having little to occupy their minds when they were used to working at breakneck speed hadn’t been easy to take. Kate was restless too, knew exactly where he was coming from.

‘Any news?’ He binned the wrap packaging in a wastepaper basket.

‘Some, but don’t get too excited.’ She draped her coat over the nearest chair. ‘It looks like we’re in for the long haul on this one. Has the guv’nor gone for the day?’

Gormley nodded, licking Caesar sauce from his fingertips. ‘He’s got a conference call with Bright scheduled. Then he’s off to get himself spruced up for a night out with you-know-who . . .’ He sniffed at the air and screwed up his face. ‘You changed your perfume, boss?’

Kate grinned. ‘Wanna slap?’

He smiled back. ‘Just making an observation.’

He was right though. She stank to high heaven. Every pore on her body seemed to ooze disinfectant and chemicals. The sickening, overpowering stench of death was in her nostrils too.

She looked at her watch.

It was past teatime and her tank was empty.

She nodded towards the rest of the squad. ‘Have they all eaten?’

‘Fed, watered and ready to go,’ he told her. ‘And there’s something green and boring in the fridge for you too.’

‘OK, briefing in ten. That’s everyone. No excuses.’

Picking up the overnight bag she carried in her car in case of emergencies, Kate vaulted the stairs two at a time to the rest room on the floor above. She took a hot shower, a touch of jealousy creeping into her thoughts over Naylor’s dinner date with Jo. She’d been sorely tempted to accept his invitation to join them. But how could she? Especially when she and Jo were not on the best of terms right now.

With no time to indulge that thought, she got dressed quickly. Repacking her bag, she stowed it in a free locker, then reverted to type and went back to work. By the time she walked into the incident room, Hank had prepared the team for a full briefing.

Kate ate while she brought the team up to date with Tim Stanton and Abbey Hunt’s findings.

Or lack thereof
.

‘I have an observation to make,’ she said. ‘Bamburgh’s like a lot of coastal villages in that it’s not a place you come upon by accident. In my humble opinion, that could be highly significant.’

‘It’s not on the main road, if that’s what you mean,’ DS Robson said.

‘Exactly my point, Robbo. To get there you need to leave a major north-south border route. I’m pushing the scientists for a time of year when the burials might’ve taken place. In the meantime,
I want checks on all hotels, guest houses and holiday rentals for anyone staying in the area during 2001 and 2006. That’s everyone, leisure guests or business. I want names. And I don’t give a monkey’s if we have to copy every database in the area to get them.’

‘Are we releasing this to the press?’ Lisa Carmichael asked. ‘They’ve been on the blower already from both sides of the border.’

‘Good question. The answer is no. Let’s be clear here . . .’ The SIO scanned the faces of her team, making sure they were all paying attention. ‘What we have is two bodies of young girls: one approximately ten years old, the other fifteen. The ten-year-old has been buried about ten years, the fifteen-year-old about five. From a media point of view, we found two bodies on a beach. I want no hint or suggestion that those girls were buried at different times. Nothing I’ve told you leaves this room. If you get asked any awkward questions you say we’re doing random checks, building a profile of people visiting the area. I’m particularly interested in regulars.’

Kate’s eyes searched the room and came to rest on DC Maxwell. ‘Neil, you’re on missing persons. You’re looking for kids who went AWOL in the relevant years and a couple of months either side. Got that?’

Maxwell answered with a nod.

‘That’s a very precise timeline, isn’t it, boss?’ The question had come from DC Brown. He blushed as heads turned in his direction. ‘I mean, can we really be that certain? Look at them!’ He pointed at the murder wall where crime scene photographs of the two victims were pinned side by side. ‘If we’re out by a year we’ll be wasting our time, won’t we?’

‘You’ve obviously not met Abbey Hunt.’ Hank slipped into cowboy drawl to make his point. ‘She don’t make no mistakes, boy! Pity anyone who suggests she do.’

Everyone laughed.

The next question came from Maxwell. ‘With regard to missing persons, you want me to concentrate only on our force area or what?’

‘For the time being, yes. Then, depending how you get on, we widen the search gradually. I suggest we start with neighbouring forces: Lothian and Borders, Durham, Cumbria – in that order. Maybe North Yorkshire too. We go national after that, if necessary.’ She waited as he scribbled a note to that effect. ‘I want to be informed each time you intend to redraw the search boundaries. It’s important to keep control and let everyone know where we’re at.’

DCs Brown and Carmichael were sitting next to each other as usual, so close it surprised Kate that their hips hadn’t fused together. They had joined the force in the same intake, had come to MIT as a pair. And what a great pair they were proving to be. An inseparable combination, they were complete opposites in terms of skills and personality. Brown was Daniels’ obs man. Quite a shy lad with the patience of a saint, he was highly skilled in surveillance techniques. Carmichael was an all-rounder. Technically savvy, an outgoing, gregarious detective with bags of confidence – an officer who could turn her hand to anything, pretty much.

‘Lisa, I want a trawl of the database: all suspicious incidents in and around Bamburgh the last fifteen years. Liaise with the back record team for that. Andy, concentrate on known offenders, any MO that remotely mentions dressing victims up. That’s it, guys. I declare this enquiry officially underway.’