Monument to Murder Page 4

  ‘Decided to have myself a little trip to the seaside,’ he said.

  Bearing in mind his appearance, his comment sounded ridiculous.

  Everyone laughed, Naylor included.

  He extracted something from his pocket and held it out to Kate with a curious look on his face. Her personal mail: three postcards from three different locations, the same message on each, just four words – Are You Hungry Yet? Each card signed with a flamboyant: F.

  Fiona Fielding.

  Kate could feel herself blushing. These cryptic messages had been dropping into her in-tray with alarming regularity in recent months, sent by an artist who was never far away from her consciousness of late.

  Gormley was grinning.

  He knew she and Fielding had more than a love of fine art in common.

  Popping the cards into her bag, Kate made a mental note to text the artist her home address. She couldn’t keep receiving these curious messages at work. It was funny but rather embarrassing too. It had to stop.

  Taking off his coat, Naylor shook it violently and hung it over an open cupboard door. DC Andy Brown passed him a mug of something hot. The Super sat down, cradling the cup in his huge hands, confirming what the team already knew. There was little to be done until the results of the postmortem were in.

  ‘And then there were two,’ the DCI said sadly. ‘Abbey filled you in, I take it?’

  Naylor nodded. ‘She’s gone with the bodies to the morgue. Her team will continue digging in the morning. For now the scene is secure with an officer posted on overnight watch. Shit duty for some poor sod, but we have to assume there could be more until we’re told otherwise. For all we know that’s a mass grave out there.’

  ‘What a cheery thought.’ Kate drew in a big breath, wishing they were back at the purpose-built major incident suite in Newcastle. Something was telling her she would need its state-of-the-art technology at her fingertips. ‘I’m already regretting my decision to run the incident from here.’ She sighed, looking around her. ‘What a dog’s bollocks!’

  ‘What’s up with you?’ Naylor said. ‘It’s not that bad!’

  Either Abbey hadn’t told him or Naylor was being very understanding.

  Kate cleared her throat. ‘I hadn’t realized the first one was a kid, guv.’

  ‘Don’t beat yourself up over it. You weren’t to know. You called it as you saw it. I’d have done the same in your shoes.’

  She thanked him for being so understanding, adding, ‘The second victim is a little older. Mid-teens is Abbey’s best guess. Knowing her, it’ll be spot on.’

  ‘Is she ever wrong?’ Naylor made a face. ‘Bloody woman gets right up my nose.’

  ‘What is it with you and her, guv?’ Gormley asked. ‘You got history we don’t know about?’

  ‘You are joking?’ Naylor’s mouth turned down at the edges. ‘She’d eat me for breakfast!’

  Ignoring their banter, Kate moved on.

  ‘Lisa ran the unsolved cases through the system, guv. There are none where two young kids went missing together. The press are going to be all over this if we don’t keep a lid on it.’ Kate wondered why he’d come, what on earth possessed him to venture out in such atrocious weather. He normally ran from encounters with Abbey Hunt and there were easier ways of being briefed on a new case. Unlike her former boss, Detective Chief Superintendent Bright, Naylor had never been one to interfere. ‘You sticking around for the briefing or heading back to town?’

  ‘I might sit in for a bit. Actually, I’m meeting Jo at the Railway later for a bite to eat. Two birds, one stone, seeing as I’m up here. Forty pence a mile doesn’t go far these days. By the looks of the weather, I might have to find a room too.’

  ‘Win win . . .’ Kate tried for a smile but it didn’t come off.

  Naylor didn’t notice. ‘Filled my car up the other day,’ he griped. ‘Cost me nearly ninety quid!’

  As he continued his rant about the price of diesel, Kate’s mind strayed. Jo Soulsby was a psychologist who’d worked for Northumbria Police as a criminal profiler for the past few years. She’d resigned recently in order to take up a post at HMP Northumberland. Right now she was probably hard at work only ten short miles away from where they were standing. She wasn’t just an ex-colleague either. She was Kate’s ex: her lover, confidante and the best friend she’d ever had. Their relationship, or former one to be precise, was a closely guarded secret only Hank knew about.

  Yeah right, Kate thought.

  A run-in with former Assistant Chief Constable Martin – who’d since retired in disgrace – had outed her in spectacular fashion when an offender she was chasing sent him an anonymous letter. Though the ACC had no proof of her relationship with Jo, he’d sure as hell be making his mouth go about her private life now, dishing the dirt to anyone who’d listen. Whatever he was saying would eventually filter down to the whole damn force.

  Kate sighed.

  She found it hard to accept that she and Jo were finished, harder still to define her feelings for someone who steadfastly refused to return her texts. Recent attempts to contact her on landline or mobile had failed. Fair enough. If she didn’t want to talk, Kate wouldn’t push it. No point in chasing a lost cause.

  ‘Kate?’

  A combination of her boss’s voice and Hank’s interest dragged the SIO back into the room. Apologizing for the lapse in concentration, she said, ‘Give her my love when you see her, won’t you, guv?’

  ‘Are you even listening to me?’ The Super put down his empty mug, a curious expression on his face. ‘I said why don’t you join us?’

  ‘Maybe next time. I want to get stuff up and running here first.’

  Puzzled, Naylor looked around him. The temporary murder wall was almost blank. There wasn’t a thing going on. The squad were bored out of their brains, itching for the enquiry to get under way. A couple of detectives were playing cards. Others were texting or tweeting on mobile phones.

  Naylor didn’t question her in front of the troops. Not in words. But when he turned to face her, he held her gaze long enough to let her know that he wasn’t fooled by her avoidance tactics. He knew something was up. He also knew that, whatever it was, it had nothing to do with the investigation.

  11

  INCENSED WITH HARRISON for giving her such a hard time, Emily didn’t hang around after the sentence-planning meeting. As soon as it broke up she was out of there, returning briefly to her office to dump her case-notes before heading straight for the medical wing with her bag slung over her shoulder.

  As she shut the gate behind her, she glanced back through the thick steel bars. Like a smiling assassin, Principal Officer Harrison was standing in his doorway shaking hands with the chaplain but looking right past him in her direction. Wishing she could wipe that supercilious smirk off his face, she turned away, determined to deny him the satisfaction of knowing that he’d got to her.

  She’d felt vulnerable since losing Robert. It was as if her confidence had died and been buried along with his body. It had taken all her resolve to crawl out of the black hole she’d fallen into when the news of his death reached her. Now this ignorant arsehole was trying to push her back in it again.

  Well, she’d see about that.

  Turning the key in the heavy metal gate, she rattled the bars to make sure it was properly locked, a habit she’d developed years ago. Her shoes squeaked on the highly polished floor as she turned and hurried down the corridor feeling the weight of Harrison’s beady eyes between her shoulder blades.

  Emily couldn’t afford to dwell on Harrison.

  She had more important things to do.

  Once out of sight of the wing she slowed her gait, took a long, deep breath and tried to focus on the task ahead. It was then she realized she should’ve called first. Medical staff liked to be informed when staff wanted to visit the sick. She hoped it wouldn’t lead to yet another row. Assuming Fearon was even there. Last she’d heard, he’d been shipped out by civilian ambulance to Alnwick Inf
irmary for treatment, attached to a burly prison officer, despite his poorly condition.

  It wouldn’t be the first time an escape plan had masqueraded as a suicide attempt.

  Preoccupied with that thought, she failed to notice Martin Stamp emerging from the prison library. But he saw her, more especially the look on her face, a confusion of worry and anger.

  Doing an about turn, he fell into step, asking what was up.

  Emily kept on walking, giving chapter and verse on her spat with Harrison, ranting about his superior attitude, how embarrassed she’d been when he slapped her down in front of fellow professionals.

  ‘Welcome back to the mad house,’ Stamp grinned.

  Unable to see the funny side, Emily didn’t respond.

  ‘C’mon, lighten up! Don’t make a crap day even worse—’

  ‘The man’s a bloody moron! If he talks to me like that again, I swear I’ll . . .’ Emily didn’t finish her sentence. Inmates were fast approaching from the opposite direction, escorted by two prison officers who were members of Harrison’s inner circle. They said hello as they passed by. She could tell by looking at them that they already knew what had taken place. Word spread quickly in institutions like this.

  She waited until they were out of earshot.

  ‘See that?’ She glanced at Stamp. ‘They’ll all close ranks if I go running to the guv’nor.’

  ‘Then use that psychology degree of yours and tackle Kent yourself.’

  ‘That’s easier said than done, Martin. The PO has marked my card. He’ll be watching every move I make. It’s all right for you. For a start, you’re a bloke. In twelve months you’ll be gone. I, on the other hand, will be here banging my head against a brick wall ad infinitum with that fucking idiot making my life hell at every opportunity.’

  ‘Ever thought Kent might be in need of counselling?’

  Emily stopped walking. ‘You know something I don’t?’

  ‘Maybe . . .’

  She caught his arm. ‘Well? Are you going to tell me or what?’

  ‘I’m not at liberty to say.’ He seemed profoundly troubled all of a sudden.

  Emily bristled. He knew her well enough to know that whatever was said wouldn’t go any further. Besides, she’d helped him out in the past. They had always been close. Back when they were at university, they’d dated for a while, going their separate ways after graduating. Even in those days Martin would cheerfully break every rule in the book but he would never betray a confidence. Where secrets were concerned, his sense of morality was delightfully old-fashioned. Endearing almost. She knew she’d be wasting her time trying to pry information out of him.

  More was the pity.

  He opened his mouth to speak and then closed it again.

  For a moment, she wondered if he was going to reconsider and compromise his precious principles. But if the thought had crossed his mind, he dismissed it in a flash.

  ‘Have a word with Ash Walker,’ he said. ‘Maybe he can throw light on Kent’s behaviour.’

  That wasn’t a bad idea.

  SO Walker had always been her go-to man for help and support. He wasn’t the only decent prison officer at HMP Northumberland by any means. There were plenty of those. But he had been her first ally on the wing when she’d taken up her current post. He knew Kent as well as anyone.

  ‘I’ll do that,’ Emily said. ‘I’ll catch you later, Martin. I really need to see Fearon now.’

  ‘Be careful . . .’ Stamp looked deep into her eyes, ramming home the warning. ‘I mean it, Em. He may be weak, but he’s extremely dangerous.’

  Emily gave a curt nod and raced off before he could stop her.

  12

  DETECTIVE SUPERINTENDENT NAYLOR paced the incident room. He grew more like former Newcastle United and England striker, Alan Shearer, as each day passed. Except, and this was unusual in this part of the world, what he knew about football you could write on a postage stamp. His hair was so thin on top he’d stopped trying to comb it over, opting instead for a virile baldness. He had nice eyes and a ready smile, more accurately described as a cheeky grin.

  A fiercely ambitious man, Naylor had climbed the ladder to his present rank without difficulty. He’d recently confided that the higher position was not all it was cracked up to be. He longed to get his hands dirty instead of sitting at a desk delegating the interesting stuff to others.

  Probably the reason he’d visited the crime scene.

  His obvious discontent made Kate question her future too. Could she really give up the job she loved to attain the next rank, knowing full well she’d be forced back in uniform before she made detective super? The very thought made her angry. She’d already given up so much in pursuit of her career, including a close and loving relationship with Jo Soulsby.

  As her boss moved away in search of a decent place to park himself, Kate scanned the room. Hank Gormley was sitting close by, facing the murder wall, Detective Sergeant Paul Robson to his left. Both had their legs stretched out in front of them, crossed at the ankle in relaxation pose. Next to them DCs Andy Brown and Neil Maxwell shared a desk but were otherwise ignoring each other in favour of their mobile phones. Maxwell was getting to grips with a new 3G device, the signal of which kept dropping out, displeasing him no end. At the back of the room, three civilian indexers were crammed together in a confined space waiting for something to do: phones to answer, intelligence to input into the HOLMES system, any bloody thing.

  The identity of the victims would be a start.

  Waiting for news from Alnwick mortuary was frustrating, not to mention a complete waste of everyone’s time. But the hiatus provided Kate with the opportunity to ring her father and cancel her arrangement to take him out to dinner, a task she’d managed to avoid thus far.

  With a sense of unease – expecting an earbashing – she picked up the nearest internal telephone, dialled nine for an outside line, followed by his home number.

  He answered on the fourth ring. ‘Three-o-three.’

  A wry smile crept over Kate’s face when she heard his voice. Rigid was the word that best described her father. He was stuck in a time warp, viewing change as a threat rather than an opportunity, insisting on answering with his old phone number, ignoring the additional three-digit prefix that had been introduced years ago.

  ‘Happy birthday!’ she said, heart in mouth.

  She shook her head as Hank hauled himself off his chair and made a ‘drink?’ gesture by waggling a hand in front of his face. In her right ear, her father was expressing surprise at the number of cards he’d received.

  ‘That’s nice.’ She hoped she didn’t sound patronizing. ‘Have you seen the news?’

  ‘No, should I have? I’ve been out for a haircut.’

  Kate winced.

  Ed Daniels always visited the barbers for a short back and sides when he wanted to look his best. Torn by conflicting emotions, she felt guilty for having to disappoint him on his big day. Dinner was out of the question now, unless . . . did she have time to nip out and see him before Stanton’s report came in? She looked out at the snow falling in big fluffy flakes. Corbridge was almost fifty miles away. She’d never make it.

  ‘There’s been an incident, Dad.’

  ‘You don’t say.’ He sounded more angry than disappointed.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ she said. ‘It’s not like I arranged it just to piss you off.’

  She could feel his irritation down the line. Her swearing and backchat angered him. It wasn’t how he’d brought her up. He held the view that children should know their place and show respect to their parents at all times. Earning that respect didn’t come into it. His crackpot philosophy got right up her nose. As did his silence, calculated to provoke her.

  And it was working . . .

  Had he forgotten how old she was?

  What she did for a living?

  Kate was annoyed too now – with herself, for allowing him to get under her skin. She’d tried her very best to meet him halfway. At eve
ry opportunity the stubborn old git made it so bloody difficult. He’d never forgiven her for joining the police when she had won a place to study veterinary medicine at Edinburgh. His choice, now she came to think of it. Since then, each time she cried off on a prearranged social event due to the demands of her job – a frequent occurrence, unfortunately – he took great pleasure in reminding her that there was more to life than work.

  Well, actually there wasn’t.

  She’d made her choice fifteen years ago . . .

  It was time he got over it.

  Kate sighed. She ought to be used to her father’s disapproval by now. He’d behaved the same way when she told him about her relationship with Jo. Now that was a hanging offence. A complete abomination in his eyes and no doubt those of his precious church.

  Taking a deep breath, she counted to ten, wishing her mother was still around to let her off the hook and share his special day. But mentioning her now would only upset him further. So the dutiful daughter apologized again.

  He put down the phone without another word.

  Kate needed some air. Putting her coat on, she left the building, telling the others she wouldn’t be long. It was only a short trudge to Alnwick morgue. Tim Stanton, the on-call Home Office pathologist, was about done by the time she arrived. Unfortunately, he had no news on how her victims had met their deaths. But he did have information that might help, he told her.

  ‘That’s quick.’ Kate glanced at the skeletons lying on adjacent slabs. ‘I was steeling myself for a longer wait, given the condition of the bodies.’

  ‘We aim to please . . .’ Stanton scratched his head. ‘Abbey’s observations are correct. They are both children, one much younger than the other.’ He pointed at the nearest set of bones which were shorter than the others but not by much. ‘This unfortunate young girl is about nine or ten years old, the other around fifteen or sixteen. Their clothing was a definite ploy to mislead—’