She told Tasha about having to abandon Kim and her family and, most especially, her mum. She shed a few tears and felt better for it. Tasha listened with quiet understanding, until the DI had gotten it all out.
“Thank you, Tasha,” The DI blew her nose.
“Any time.” Tasha smiled.
It was early evening, by the time Yvonne headed home. She felt calm and more focused, if tired. It was strange going back to an empty house. She kicked off her shoes, made and ate beans on toast, then took the stairs to bed. This time, she slept.
Rain and sleet had settled in again. Yvonne wore a mac over her jacket. Dai Clayton had thoughtfully brought the car round. She smiled at him. He was a traditional gentleman.
She ran out of the station and, holding her hood in place, threw open the car door to jump inside. “I doubt much work will be done up there.” She pulled her hood back, mopping the rain off her face with a clean hanky.
“You’d be surprised,” Clayton said, keeping his eyes on the road as he pulled out of Park Street junction. “They’re on a tight schedule. I’ve seen parts of the site still working in worse than this. And I’ve been stuck in the traffic jams that have resulted.”
“What does he do, this Sam Walters? I mean, what does he do on site?”
“Far as I know, ma’am, he’s one of the foremen. Something to do with the initial area stripping.”
“Oh, I see.” She didn’t, but wasn’t about to admit it. “Does he know we’re coming?”
“I spoke to him on the telephone this morning. He told me his break-time is around ten-thirty. We’re ten minutes early but, by the time we find the pre-fab office, we’ll be about right.”
Dai parked the car at one end of the field.
Yvonne grabbed her bag. “I’ve come prepared.” She pulled out her notebook, running through the list of thoughts and questions she wanted to ask. She donned her wellingtons for the muddy tramp across the field.
They found him easily, spotting his hard hat and high-vis, as they entered the field. He was carrying a clipboard and shouting to the other guys to take shelter. He made his way to the hut. He spotted them, and wandered over, his gait awkward. He struggled to meet their eyes.
“Sam?” Yvonne held out her hand.
He hesitated, and she thought he wasn’t going to shake. He did, however, and held the hut door open for them to enter.
“Kettle’s boiled,” a young lad shouted to Sam, before leaving the hut.
Yvonne hoped the other men were either in their vehicles or another hut. The rain was now torrential.
“Yeah. I’m Sam.” His voice was deep and husky. The DI thought it attractive. “How can I help you, officers?” He lined up three mugs. “Tea?”
Yvonne and her DC nodded.
“No sugar for me, please.” Yvonne double-checked her notes. “Sam, I don’t know if DS Clayton has already mentioned it, but we’re here to discuss your time in the army.”
“I know,” he said, in hushed tones, keeping his back to them. His preparation of the tea had slowed.
“Specifically, we wanted to know about Helen Reynolds.”
He stopped moving altogether, staring down at the brewing tea. “What would you like to know?” He sounded tired.
“What was she like?”
“Helen was lovely.’ He poured milk into each mug and then turned to hand them theirs. “But I’m not sure she was cut out to be a soldier.”
“What makes you say that?” Yvonne accepted her mug, warming her hands on it.
“She was headstrong and strong-willed. She constantly clashed with the NCOs, particularly Callaghan. She was attractive with it: fiery eyes and high cheek bones. She looked like a woman you wouldn’t want to mess with. And yet, there was something about her that drove most of the regiment mad, wanting to get to know her better. If you get my drift.”
“Did you want to know her better?” The DI studied his eyes.
“I did know her better.” He looked down at his tea. “We dated for a short while, but she was too independent for a serious relationship. We quickly fizzled out.”
“Were you disappointed?”
“I was and I wasn’t” He took a big gulp of tea. “I hadn’t expected it to work out, if I’m honest. Like I said, she was strong-minded and not the sort of girl you could pin down. I was happy to be her friend. She needed friends and was loyal to them.”
“What about Callaghan? Why the clash with him?”
“He’d come on to her, after she first arrived at camp. She’d slapped his face. In my opinion, he never really forgave her for that. He and one or two other NCOs gave her a hard time.”
“In what way?”
“Shouted at her on parade, gave her extra exercises and punishing physical workouts.”
“How did she react?”
“She got on with it. She was never going to let them see her beaten. That’s what she told me. She’d push herself every bit as hard as they pushed her, to prove to them that they couldn’t break her.” He turned to stare out the window, over the mud, flood water and silent machinery. “It was only afterwards that she would come and find me and…sob her heart out.”
“Are you okay?” Yvonne put her mug on a little table, which wobbled, spilling some of the mug’s contents.
“Me? Yeah. I’m fine.” He sighed. “I was often the shoulder she cried on.”
“What happened, the day she died?”
He closed his eyes for a couple of seconds. “I don’t know. I mean, I don’t know how it started. One of the lads came running to find me. It was an unusually hot day. Must have been thirty-five in the shade. He told me they were beasting Helen in the exercise hall, meaning they were punishing her for something. Making her do hard physical exercise. Well, the day was too bloody hot for that. What were they thinking? I ran over, to ask them - beg them - to stop. But I was too late. She’d already collapsed and a medic had been called. She was massively overheated. Her core temperature had rocketed.”
“How did Callaghan react?”
“I don’t know. I mean, I don’t remember. I was too busy trying to help cool Helen down while we waited for the ambulance. I think he left the scene.”
“You said officers, plural. Who was with him?”
“I don’t… I’m not sure.” He shook his head. “Could have been Staff-Sergeant Jones, but I couldn’t swear. Like I said, I was too busy worrying about Helen.”
“I’m sorry to ask.” Yvonne leaned forward in her chair. “Did she die on the base?”
“She died in the hospital, but was probably already in multiple-organ failure by the time the ambulance got there.”
“Was there an inquiry?”
“There was, and a report was published. They conceded it was a tragic accident. Like they couldn’t have foreseen it. The officers got off with a warning and retraining. That was criminal in my book. They should have been done for murder.”
“Well, perhaps manslaughter.” Yvonne sighed. “Is that why you left the army?’
Sam’s forehead furrowed at the question. “I’d lost my respect for them. I’d lost my faith in their ability to keep us safe. And, yes, it wasn’t the same with Helen gone.”
The DI nodded and got up to place a hand on his arm. “Thank you,” she said in hushed tones. “That couldn’t have been easy.”
He shook his head. “I’m okay. I just hope you to bring her killers to justice.”
The rain stopped, as they left the hut and gingerly avoided the largest muddy puddles at the bottom of the steps.
“Do you think they knew she’d die?” DC Clayton was struggling to believe that could be the case.
“Who knows.” Yvonne shook her head. “It could have been a tragic accident.”
“But you don’t think so?”
“I don’t know, Dai. I don’t know.”
10
Another death
Dewi came running to greet her, as she and Clayton pulled up in the car park.
“Ma
’am.” He was out of breath and panting hard. “They want to know if we want to go up to Chester.”
“Why?” Yvonne screwed up her face.
“Cheshire police are at the priory. Stephen Whyte was found dead this morning.”
“What?” The DI’s hand flew to her chest, as she held her breath.
“His throat was slashed. A deep cut. He was almost decapitated, they’re saying.”
“Oh, no. No. No. No.” She bent over, trying to get her breath and stop herself being sick. “I knew it. I knew it might be too big a risk. What was I thinking?”
Clayton and Dewi took an elbow each, and escorted Yvonne into the station.
She pulled her arms free. “We’ve got to get there. Are Dick and Harry still here?”
“Yes.” Dewi nodded. “They’re about to set off. We’ll go in our car and meet them up there.”
“Right.” Yvonne was focused again, though deeply saddened by the news. “Before we go, could you ask the DCI to obtain clearance from Cheshire Police?”
“Will do, ma’am.”
The priory was a hive of focussed activity when they arrived: police tape; cars with lights flashing; several ambulances and army personnel. People everywhere. The photographer had finished up and medics were about to go in to put Stephen into a body bag.
“Can we see him before you take him?” Yvonne asked one of the medics.
They paused in their tracks, shrugging and looking towards a superintendent from the Cheshire force. He was deep in conversation with Broderick Forster.
Yvonne flashed her ID at the medics, and they stepped to one side.
“He was terrified, Dewi.” Yvonne turned to her DS. “Look at his eyes and mouth. Who had he seen?”
“There isn’t much blood, considering.” Dewi looked around. “He’d been hidden under those bushes. I reckon he was killed somewhere else, and then moved back here. The question is why?”
“This is my fault, Dewi. I asked to meet him here.” Yvonne knelt next to the body. Her instincts were to touch his face. She stopped herself from doing that, but did put her hand on his. It was cold. The cold of the dead. A tear dropped from her lashes.
“Well, if I’m right,” Dewi knelt down next to her, “it wouldn’t have mattered where you met him. Looks like someone wanted him dead. Full stop.”
“Yes, but to bring him here, Dewi. They had to have known I met him here.”
“This may be their warning to you.” Dewi stood again and held out his hand to help Yvonne up.
“They’re warning me off.” She felt angry. “It makes me all the more determined to hunt them down.”
“Just look where they chose to leave him.” Dewi pointed up at the priory tower. A wooden, human-shaped coffin was set, vertically, high in the tower. The inside of it was painted black. White letters inside read ‘Dust to Dust’. Yvonne shuddered.
Dewi turned her to face him. “You may be in danger. Leaving his body here, and under that coffin, is their way of saying back off and leave things alone. Perhaps you should back off, for now. Let’s think this through. Cheshire Police will investigate Stephen’s murder. We can talk to them.” Dewi put his hands on her shoulders.
She shrugged them off. “I’m not backing off. Several young soldiers have died at someone else’s hands. I owe it to them and their families to find who is responsible. I can’t walk away from this. Stephen Whyte put his life on the line and lost it trying to help us. We owe him.”
“Okay. Okay. But let’s regroup. Let’s go through everything back at the station. Sort out what we’ve got and where to go next. If we’re going to do this, we need planning and back-up, for if things go wrong. Llewellyn said we can liaise with Cheshire. He’s allowing us to stay on the case. If we mess up, he could limit us to investigating only Kate’s death.”
Yvonne nodded. “You’re right, Dewi. Just know that I’m not gong to give up.”
She felt nauseated. Even now, her hands had a slight tremor. She joined Dewi with notebook and pens at the ready.
“Okay.” Dewi sat with two coffees and a plate of digestives. “Suspects.”
Yvonne grabbed a coffee and left the biscuits. “Sergeant Callaghan has to be high on the list. He had issues with several of the victims and had been coming on to Helen Reynolds and Kate Nilsson.”
“And you said Stephen Whyte told you to look at him and Staff-Sergeant Jones first.”
“That’s right. And then work up. Broderick Forster. He’s got to be on the list, though I find it hard to believe that he, himself, would have committed any of the murders.”
“Right. But he could have ordered them.”
“Maybe, but why? What did all the victims have in common? What made them targets.”
“Something they’d seen? Maybe something out in the field: Iraq or Afghanistan. Maybe another war theatre.”
“I like your thinking. So, something like prisoner torture?”
“Or the illegal killing of prisoners, maybe.”
Yvonne pulled a face.
“It’s just a thought.”
“If that’s what happened, whoever was in charge would want it covered up. Could be career-ending.”
“To be honest,” Dewi scratched his head, “we’ve got a whole battalion of potential suspects, and the leadership goes right up to the MOD, and even the queen.
Yvonne raised an eyebrow. “I think we can rule out Her Majesty.”
“Yeah, but she is the commander-in-chief of the forces, isn’t she?” He gave her a big wink.
“Very funny.” Yvonne tapped him on the arm with her pad. “Seriously, though. We’ve got to keep digging around the victims’ lives and backgrounds. Something links them. Until we find out what that is, we’re unlikely to crack this case. Our way in is Kate. We’ve got to find out what she knew.”
“Agreed. I think we should speak to Lars and Hayley Nilsson again. You said you felt they were hiding something. Just maybe, Kate fed back more to them than they are letting on.”
“Let’s do it.” Yvonne downed the rest of her drink, as the door swung open and Chris Llewellyn entered in a hurry.
“Come with me, guys, we’ve got a copy of the CCTV footage from Cheshire. The one you requested I ask for.”
“You got it?” Yvonne’s eyes shone. This was very good news.
“I did. I can also tell you that early results suggest Corporal Whyte was killed two nights before he was found. Come on.”
Yvonne and Dewi exchanged glances. Two nights before put his death the night Yvonne met him at the Priory.
Llewellyn held the door open for them to go first. “Cheshire are saying there’s a possible suspect on the CCTV. They’re working on cleaning it up to get a good visual.”
The rest of the team were already assembled and eagerly awaiting the footage from the DCI.
“Just got to get into my emails.” Llewellyn sat at the screen, to begin downloading the files. “Here we go.”
There was footage following Stephen en route to the Priory, walking through Chester and along part of the wall. He was continually looking over his shoulder and walking quickly.
“Looks scared, doesn’t he? Like he knew he was being followed. He knew someone was after him.” DC Clayton put his hands deep in his pockets, eyes narrowed.
Yvonne shifted from foot to foot. She ran a hand through her hair several times, sweat developing on her upper lip.
The footage at the priory was black and white and grainy. It caught Stephen as he entered the grounds, before he appeared to melt into the shadows.
The next bit of footage was clearly from another camera. It showed the approach to the priory from the street. A figure came into view and the DI held her breath. Heart racing, she could feel the heat in her cheeks, as they filled with blood. A cold tingle travelled down her spine.
“It’s a female, isn’t it? Definitely a woman.” Callum Jones leaned in towards the screen.
“You’re right.” Llewellyn frowned, pausing the file. “Let me j
ust check the email. Er…suspect comes into frame at nineteen hundred hours. Yes, this has to be the suspect. Damn it being so grainy. But a woman? Are we seriously saying that this woman inflicted those injuries on Corporal Whyte?” Llewellyn rubbed his forehead.
“We’ll have to find out who she is.” Clayton shrugged. “Well, Cheshire will. Look, she’s meeting with Whyte in the priory grounds.”
Yvonne watched as she and Corporal Whyte disappeared back into the shadows, remembering that he had pulled her into them. He had known where the CCTV cameras were.
The footage cut out shortly after.
“Is that it?” Clayton asked in frustration.
“I’m afraid so.” Llewellyn reread the email. “They said there was a problem with the camera after that. There’s no more footage from that night.”
“You have to be kidding.” Dai Clayton slapped his hands on his thighs. “Of all the rotten luck. Not that the footage was great, but still.”
“We’ve got to find out who that woman was.” DCI Llewellyn sat back in his chair.
Dewi looked at Yvonne, who cleared her throat.
“Sir,” she began tentatively, clearing her throat again. “The woman in the footage is me.”
“What?” It took a second or two for him to fully register, then: “My office. Now.”
The DI turned on her heel. She could feel a cold sweat on her skin. Behind her back, soft murmurs broke out amongst the team.
“You’ve got some explaining to do, Yvonne.” LLewellyn’s eyes bored into her. The colour in his cheeks heightened as he stood, both hands on hips.
She swallowed hard. Words wouldn’t come.
“What were you doing in Chester at that time, talking to a soldier in some dark churchyard? A soldier who is subsequently murdered. Maybe because he talked to you. How did that happen? How was that not on my radar? Why wasn’t I aware of this?”
She felt like a naughty schoolchild, not sure of which question to answer first. “I’m sorry,” was all she managed.
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