Watching the Ghosts (18 page)

‘I'm meeting George here, he's due any moment. I'll join you later.'

She gave him a sideways look. ‘Make sure you don't get sidetracked. I want your input on this one.'

‘Don't worry. I also want to ask Creeny if he knows any reason why Dremmer should have taken a screwdriver to that basement wall. But, in view of his attitude, I'm not getting my hopes up.'

‘I don't see how it's relevant to our murders, Joe. I wouldn't waste time on it.'

‘It's niggling at me, that's all.'

She rolled her eyes before sweeping out through the front door. As he watched her disappearing back, Joe's phone chimed to tell him he had a text message. He read it and discovered that Lydia wanted to see him that evening. From where he stood he could almost see her flat door but he knew she was at work. After a few moments of hesitation, he texted back. I'll pick you up at eight. He hoped he was doing the right thing and that the investigation wouldn't get in the way.

George arrived on the dot, looking round nervously as he walked in as though he feared he was intruding. Joe saw him start to make a shy approach to one of the uniformed officers who were hurrying in and out of the building and he walked forward to the entrance to greet him.

‘George. Good of you to come.'

George looked relieved, as though he'd been rescued from an awkward social situation. ‘No problem, Joe. Glad to help.' He pointed to the graveyard which was cordoned off with tape, suddenly solemn. ‘Is that where . . .?'

‘Yes.' Joe saw George bow his head in a moment of silent prayer. ‘Dremmer had his equipment set up in the basement so I don't know what he was doing outside. We think he was killed where he was found.' He took the clergyman by the elbow and guided him to the basement door. ‘I'll show you where he was working.'

George halted at the top of the basement steps, looking down at the bright scene below, lit like a stage set.

‘You OK, George?'

George nodded. Joe noticed that he had been fingering the wooden cross around his neck and he knew that he wasn't the only one who sensed something evil in that place.

‘This was where he spent the night.' He saw George staring down at the sleeping bag and the empty mug with the dried brown crust of chocolate in the base that still stood on the cold stone flags. ‘A lady from one of the flats took pity on him and brought him a hot chocolate down. He'd set up his recording equipment here but that's been taken to our lab for analysis. I've seen some of the notes he made – just rough jottings with times and observations. He mentions orbs and noises . . . and a temperature change.'

‘Pretty standard stuff. I'd like to know what's on the recordings.'

‘We're hoping the killer's voice might have been recorded.'

George smiled. ‘That would be useful.' He paused, standing absolutely still and staring at the far wall. ‘I definitely feel something hostile in here, Joe. I know you'll think it fanciful but I've been to a lot of reputedly haunted sites and this . . .'

‘How do you mean exactly?'

‘You know as well as I do that it's not an exact science . . . however much Karl Dremmer was trying to make it one. It's just a strong feeling that something doesn't want us here. But it could be my mind playing tricks. I always like to eliminate the earthly explanations first – that's why I'd like to know what's on Karl's recordings.'

‘I'm sure that can be arranged.'

George approached the wall and turned to face Joe. ‘I make no claims to be a psychic, you know that, but even I can sense that dreadful things have happened here.'

Joe would have been lying if he said he hadn't felt an atmosphere of terror and deep sadness down there. He had tried to convince himself that it was his imagination, something conjured from his knowledge of the building's past. But if George felt it too . . . ‘I think Dremmer was trying to scrape the mortar away from the bricks in that far wall. I think he might have been trying to see what was beyond it.'

‘Is there anything?'

‘We're going to speak to the architect and find out.'

‘Let's get out of here,' George said.

Joe didn't need asking twice.

On his way to the police station Joe dropped George back at the cathedral. Both of them would rather have walked but time was tight. George had been uncharacteristically quiet during the short journey. The basement had disturbed him and George wasn't an impressionable man. In all the time he'd known him, Joe had found him to be remarkably down to earth – he had to be if his role in the church wasn't to become a laughing stock. A diocesan exorcist – or rather a deliverance minister – dealt with unquiet souls and Joe trusted him to recognize true evil when he came across it.

Melanie Hawkes had been given the task of finding out what had happened to one of Havenby Hall's residents who had met an unexpected end. And Karl Dremmer had been investigating the place. Maybe there was something there somebody hadn't wanted them to find. And Peter Brockmeister's name kept coming up again and again. Peter Brockmeister, the killer who had been transferred from prison to Havenby Hall and had met his death soon after the place had been closed down.

He knew Sebastian Bentham had interviewed several people with connections to Havenby Hall when he'd been researching his play and speaking to those individuals was at the top of Joe's list of things to do. But Emily had told him to join her down in the interview room to speak to Jack Hawkes as soon as he returned so it would have to wait. In view of Janet Craig's report that Hawkes hadn't returned home till three in the morning they knew he'd been out and about around the estimated time of Dremmer's death.

Joe parked the car and he was making for the police station's front entrance when his mobile rang. It was Janet Craig and she sounded anxious.

‘There's been a call from the kidnapper,' she said breathlessly. ‘Jack wasn't here so I had to let it go on to the answering machine and he left a message. Is Jack being held?'

‘For now. The DCI wants to question him. What did the message say?'

‘The kidnapper was annoyed that Hawkes didn't answer and he said he'd call back in two hours with instructions. The call's been traced to a phone box in another village. No CCTV coverage again.'

For someone whose attempts at obtaining money had so far failed, the kidnapper was showing remarkable presence of mind. Joe said he'd pass on the information and hurried straight to the interview room where he summoned Emily out into the corridor to relay Janet's news. He looked at his watch. They'd have to be quick. Hawkes had to be back at his house when that call came through. Getting the child back unharmed was their top priority.

They had ninety minutes before the call. Ninety minutes to discover whether Hawkes had murdered his wife. And perhaps Karl Dremmer too. He followed Emily back into the interview room and they sat down side by side opposite Hawkes and his solicitor.

He left it up to Emily to break the news of the phone call from the kidnapper and Hawkes' only comment was that he'd better be back at the house when the call came through. If he didn't make it he'd hold the police responsible for anything that happened to Daisy. Joe sat in silence, watching him carefully. He could detect no warmth or worry when he spoke Daisy's name and he had a strong feeling there was something artificial about his show of concern. Perhaps he'd only accepted Daisy because Melanie had insisted she was a non-negotiable part of the package and, already having three children of his own, he resented her presence in his new marriage. Or perhaps he already knew she was safe. Perhaps he'd arranged her abduction, maybe to get at Melanie, and now he was forced to keep up the charade to avoid detection.

‘Where did you go last night?'

‘I told you. I went to see my ex then I went for a drive. I knew I wouldn't be able to sleep so . . .'

‘Where did you drive to?'

‘I visited a friend.'

‘What's this friend's name?'

He hesitated, weighing up his options. ‘Yolanda,' he replied after a long period of silence. ‘She'll vouch for me. I just needed some company.'

Emily pushed a notebook towards him and told him to write down the address. After passing it on to the constable by the door with orders to get it checked out, she leaned towards Hawkes.

‘We'd like to talk to you about Peter Brockmeister,' she said, sweetly threatening.

Hawkes' surprise wasn't faked. This was something he hadn't expected. ‘What about him?'

‘Your father worked on the case.'

‘Yes.'

‘And you have a collection of books on the subject. And some case notes, presumably belonging to your late father.'

Hawkes half rose from his seat, his hands clenched. His solicitor touched his arm and he sank back but there was no mistaking the fury in his eyes. ‘How the hell do you know that?'

Joe saw Emily glance at him. ‘Never mind how we know. Is it true?'

‘Has that Janet been snooping? Because if she has . . .'

He looked pleadingly at his solicitor who cleared his throat. ‘If my client's house has been searched without his permission or a warrant . . .'

‘We can easily get a warrant,' said Emily sweetly. ‘But if your client has nothing to hide it shouldn't be necessary.'

The man's bluster subsided, as though he sensed it might be unwise to make waves.

‘It's just that you seem to be taking a great deal of interest in Peter Brockmeister's crimes, Mr Hawkes,' said Joe. ‘And as there are strong similarities between those crimes and the death of your wife, surely you can understand why we have to ask you a few more questions.' He made the statement sound so reasonable that it would have seemed churlish for the solicitor to challenge it.

‘OK, I admit I've got some stuff about Brockmeister. It all belonged to my dad. I think he was planning to write his memoirs only he never lived long enough. I found them when I was clearing out his house after he died.'

‘And you kept them.' Emily's words were a simple statement of fact.

‘I knew Brockmeister had spent time in Havenby Hall so when I started working on the plans for the place I read up on its history, that's all. Look, I had nothing to do with Melanie's death and I can't believe why you aren't out trying to catch the bastard who killed her,' he added self-righteously.

‘The bastard who killed her copied Peter Brockmeister's modus operandi, Mr Hawkes,' said Joe. ‘I wonder why that is.'

Hawkes squirmed in his seat. ‘Because he's famous around here. Everybody knows what he did to his victims. It's all in the public domain.'

‘He didn't torture his victims though. He didn't burn them with cigarettes and cut their flesh.'

Hawkes' eyes widened, horrified, and Joe thought that either this was news to him or that he was a very practised deceiver.

‘That's what happened to Melanie,' he continued. ‘Why would anyone want to do that, do you think?'

‘I don't know. But doesn't it mean it might not be connected with Brockmeister after all?'

Joe caught Emily's eye. The man could be right. This was a deviation from Brockmeister's MO. This was the work of an even more savage mind.

‘Let's talk about Havenby Hall . . . sorry, Boothgate House. I noticed that the basement doesn't extend underneath the whole building.'

‘That's not uncommon.'

‘Can I see the plans?'

‘Be my guest. Now unless you're going to charge me, let me go and see if I can at least get Daisy back and salvage something from this bloody disaster.'

Emily stood up. ‘Very well, Mr Hawkes.''

‘And I've got a funeral to arrange. When are you going to release Melanie's body?'

‘We'll keep you informed,' said Joe, suddenly feeling sorry for the man.

‘I'll tell you something for nothing,' said Hawkes, leaning forward, prodding a finger in Joe's direction. ‘My dad always believed that Brockmeister was still alive. He reckoned he was living under another identity. In fact he said he saw him once.'

Emily leaned forward. ‘When was this?'

‘It was just before he died two years ago. He said he saw him in Eborby by the castle. Said he looked quite different but he knew it was him. My dad was sharp as a knife till the end. And he never forgot a face.'

E
mily provided a patrol car to take Hawkes home. His solicitor had been right when he'd said they had no reason to hold his client . . . certainly not on the strength of a few true crime books and his late father's notes. And his alibi had checked out. He was with Yolanda from nine thirty until around three in the morning when he'd returned home in the hope his absence wouldn't be noticed. But with Janet Craig wise to his nocturnal wanderings, he was unlikely to abscond again without them knowing.

There was only half an hour to go before the kidnapper made contact and Janet had instructions to let them know as soon as it happened. The holdall containing the cash had been returned to Hawkes as Emily didn't want to take any risks with the child's safety. But a tracking device had been concealed in the fabric of the bag and technical support was on hand to put a trace on the phone call.

She had called Daisy's biological father, Paul Scorer, to keep him up to date with developments. He'd sounded more worried than Hawkes and frustrated because he didn't have the wherewithal to do anything about it. It was Hawkes who could lay his hands on ransom money. Scorer, she observed to Joe, didn't have two halfpennies to rub together.

Emily said she'd covered all bases and Joe hoped she wasn't being over-optimistic.

As soon as Joe returned to the CID office, he found the card with the numbers of the individuals who'd helped Seb Bentham with his research scrawled on the back: the chaplain, the nurse and the former patient. Melanie Hawkes had the first two names in her file, along with another name, a Cecil Bentham.