‘There’s the poor boy who killed himself, second from the left on the next to back row. His brother’s on the very back row, the lad on the end … he’s so like Harry, that for moment I thought … The kid who died was in the lower sixth … Adrian Medlock … he had a non-identical twin brother … let’s see … Howard. So, no connection. Just a weird coincidence.’
Olivia was struck by Markham’s unnatural stillness and the sudden haggardness of his face.
‘What is it, Gil?’ Then, more urgently, ‘Why are you looking like that?’
‘Oh, Liv,’ came the reply, barely above a hoarse whisper. ‘I think you know.’
The colour drained from Olivia’s face, leaving her like the ghost of herself.
‘No,’ she breathed. ‘It can’t be.’
Automatically, she reached for Markham’s hand. It was there waiting, and as the strong fingers closed on hers, she found the willpower to say one word through clenched teeth.
‘Harry.’
With gentle inexorability, Markham confirmed, ‘Yes, Harry.’
Olivia felt as though the fragile cocoon that she was weaving around herself had been brutally torn open, leaving a desperate little moth struggling for life inside. Nevertheless, she looked trustfully at her lover and tightened her clasp on his hand.
Markham spoke with quiet seriousness, reaching for another printout emblazoned with the headline Tragic mum dies of broken heart.
‘It says that after Adrian’s death, his mother got involved with groups for survivors of child sexual abuse. At the inquest, before the coroner shut her down, she talked about Cothill being a “perverts’ paradise”.’
‘Mothers just know when something’s wrong, don’t they?’
Not all mothers, Markham thought sadly as he recalled the abuse that had blighted his own childhood and the parent who looked the other way.
Aloud, he said, ‘If there was something dodgy about Cothill, Adrian’s mum might have felt it without being sure. Maybe she only put two and two together after the poor boy died and his diary came to light. It just says here that he had suffered bullying of a sexual nature and suggests staff protected and may even have encouraged the bullies.’
Anger blazed through Markham, but his voice remained even.
‘Clearly there was a cover up. This was fifteen years ago. It couldn’t be buried in the same way today.’
‘But how …’
Olivia’s bewildered, stricken face pleaded for answers.
‘What was it people said about Jimmy Savile – something about him hiding in plain sight? That poor boy’s family probably felt staff at Cothill were doing the same.’
Markham stood up, walked across to the window and threw back the curtains, looking out into the darkness as though throwing down a gauntlet to the forces of evil.
Then he turned back to Olivia.
‘It was the twin brother Howard who accused Adrian’s teachers of having blood on their hands.’
The older brother.
It will have blood. Blood will have blood.
‘I think we’ll find that JP was one of the teachers at Cothill,’ Markham said slowly, ‘probably Adrian’s form tutor.’
‘But how did Harry … I mean Howard … ever come to be at Hope?’
‘It’s been staring us in the face all along, Liv! Someone who’s waited all this time in the shadows. Someone who was just a young man when his brother died. Someone who reinvented himself then bided his time. And all the while he had James Palmer in his crosshairs.’
‘Why would JP give … Howard … a job at Hope if he knew who he really was?’ It was too much for Olivia to take in.
‘Guilt, Liv, guilt. Plus, Howard knew all about JP and Cothill. No way did Palmer want the governors getting wind of that.’
‘Where did Ashley fit into it?’
‘JP had fallen in love with Ashley. Howard planned to kill the man Palmer loved and lay his life waste. Then frame him for Dean’s murder.’
‘But it all went wrong … Audrey …’
‘Yes, Audrey.’ Markham’s face twisted. ‘She must’ve seen or suspected something. That first day at the Learning Resource Centre, she didn’t want to go in, seemed frightened of someone who was already inside. Harry Mountfield.’
‘So, Audrey tried to blackmail him then?’
‘Who can say? Maybe the poor woman actually sympathized with Mountfield. If she got wind of how Ashley had made her a laughing stock, she wouldn’t have been sorry to see the back of him. She was religious, so maybe she was able to square her conscience by coming up with some plan for Mountfield to make amends …’
‘What about Jim Snell?’
‘Audrey could’ve let something slip. Or maybe Mountfield got careless. The strain must have been immense. His exquisite revenge, that he had been incubating for so many years, suddenly derailing before his eyes.’
Markham joined Olivia back at the desk, slipping an arm around her shoulders.
‘There was a part of Harry Mountfield that people didn’t know. But the Harry you knew as your good friend, he also existed, Liv. No-one can take that away from you.’
‘I still can’t take it in, Gil. Are you sure?’ Olivia stammered. ‘I mean, our Harry … the joker, the gentle giant … did that?’
‘Yes, dearest, I’m sure.’ Markham’s voice rang with conviction. ‘I think we’ll find that as a young man he had unresolved homosexual leanings. What happened to Adrian turned all his impulses inwards so that they festered and became deformed. When he mutilated Ashley Dean, I think at some level he was trying to obliterate himself.’
Olivia’s eyes shimmered with tears.
‘How horrible.’ She was clearly grieving for the man she had never really known. ‘What’re you going to do, Gil?’
‘Nothing tonight. I’m briefing the team first thing tomorrow. We’ll draw up a plan to bring him in … He thinks we’re looking at JP and Sullivan—’
‘Oh God, yes.’ Olivia’s gentle nature was roused. ‘How could he let Matt fall under suspicion?’
‘Well, he planted that letter designed to steer us in the direction of JP – the unsigned one we found in Ashley’s locker divulging Palmer’s feelings for him. It wasn’t part of his plan to implicate Sullivan.’
Olivia began to shake, her skin a sudden rash of goosebumps.
‘I’m going to fetch you a brandy,’ Markham declared. ‘For the shock. And then we’re going to turn in. You’ve had enough for one night.’
Outside in the darkness, the wind had picked up, its relentless susurration an ominous murmur.
To Olivia’s ears, it seemed the agonized moan of a soul in torment.
‘Harry Mountfield! You’ve got to be joking, Guv!’
Noakes stared at the DI in lumpen perplexity. Burton and Doyle, meanwhile, stood as though turned to stone.
‘Lemme get this clear, Guv. You’re figuring Mountfield for the murderer. But he’s a straight up bloke, for God’s sake. Just about the only genuine character in the whole place … ’cept your Olivia and that funny old geezer in the batman getup.’
Noakes found support in an unexpected quarter.
‘Are you quite sure, sir?’
Kate Burton’s tone was respectful but troubled.
‘You said Mountfield and Sullivan were the good guys, sir.
“On the side of the angels” was how you put it.’ Noakes was swaying like a mortally wounded rhino.
‘She’s right, boss. Mountfield’s a total softie. You saw how he was with spacey Jakey an’ those other kids. How could he fake that? An’ he’s practically one of us. Scored the winning goal for our lads against the Pendleby Pistols.’
The DI looked at Noakes compassionately.
‘Sit down, Noakesy.’
He turned to Burton.
‘Check with the uniforms on reception that the building is completely clear. And tell them no-one in or out except on my express say-so.’
Burton was out of the door almost before he h
ad finished speaking.
‘Doyle, you get the teas in. Well sugared.’
The young PC hastened to obey, casting a wary glance at the DS. But, for once, there was no running commentary on ‘people with two left feet’. Noakes sat as though stunned.
On Burton’s return, Markham explained his discoveries of the previous night.
Doyle scratched his five o’clock shadow in bemusement.
‘Is Mountfield – or Medlock, or whoever he is – a phoney, then? Not a real teacher?’
‘I’ve no doubt his qualifications are the real deal.’ Markham was crisply authoritative. ‘A bright articulate bloke like that. It was the perfect career. The perfect cover story. Hiding in plain sight.’
‘How could Mountfield bottle everything up for so long?’ Burton wondered.
‘He kept it all inside, stoking his hate.’
Markham was soberly matter of fact.
‘He must have gloated over the punishment he planned to inflict on Ashley and JP. It was the only way to cauterize the appalling guilt he felt for having failed his vulnerable brother—’
‘Adrian’s death wasn’t his fault,’ Burton interjected.
‘The tragedy happened when he was an adolescent,’ the DI pointed out. ‘A difficult age. At some level, he blamed himself for the way his little family went smash. And if he was conflicted about his sexuality, that would have compounded the guilt. Nowadays he’d be whisked in for counselling and what have you, but fifteen years ago …’ Markham raised both palms in a gesture of despairing futility.
Noakes was still shaking his head.
‘But Mountfield’s nothing like a gay bloke, Guv.’
‘I think you’ll find there’s no e-fit in such cases, Noakes.’
‘But look at him an’ your Olivia. They’re like that. Best mates an’ all!’
The DS crossed his chipolata fingers and waved them in front of Markham for emphasis. ‘Been friends for donkey’s years, haven’t they?’
The sadness in Markham’s face was more eloquent than any words.
Noakes subsided into wretched silence, looking at the DI like a forlorn child.
‘The man passing himself off as Harry Mountfield is a chameleon, Noakes. That’s what makes him exceptionally dangerous. Olivia never suspected any of this for a moment.’
‘Did you never have an inkling, sir?’
There was no impertinence in Burton’s enquiry, just a grave curiosity.
‘Hindsight’s a marvellous thing, Kate.’ Markham addressed her as an equal. ‘I did very briefly wonder … it was when I was talking to Helen Kavanagh about the letter we found in Ashley’s locker – the one which purported to come from Palmer.’
‘What happened?’ Noakes’s lethargy was forgotten, his expression eager.
‘Nothing specific. But our man was there in the room with Helen Kavanagh when we were talking about it. I said the letter could have been planted to frame Palmer and he said it would take powerful hatred to do something like that.’
‘Is that all?’ The DS sounded disappointed.
‘Not quite. When I replied that it could be hatred or love, because they were two sides of the same coin, he gave me a peculiar look. I didn’t interpret it correctly at the time. But now I realize he was applying those words to himself. He hated JP and Ashley, but maybe at another level he was obsessed with them too … maybe half in love with one or the other, or both.’
‘Creepy,’ said Doyle with feeling. Markham could tell he was winning them over.
‘Then there was the first day of the investigation,’ continued Markham. ‘When I was standing outside with him looking at the tributes to Ashley, there was something disturbing – almost avid – about the way he stared at them and watched JP.’ He looked round at the team. ‘I hold my hands up,’ he said quietly. ‘There were signals I should have picked up on but didn’t.’
Had over-reliance on Olivia’s judgement prevented him from seeing Lucifer lurking beneath Harry Mountfield’s bonhomie? Had his relish for her wit and candour prevented him from seeing the bigger picture? Had Audrey Burke and Jim Snell died because he had been a blind fool?
‘Don’t, sir.’ Burton broke in upon the tumult of his thoughts.
‘Don’t what?’ Markham could barely trust himself to speak.
‘Don’t beat yourself up, sir. If Audrey had come to us, she’d be alive. But she was obsessed with Palmer, remember. Probably thought she could protect JP by doing a deal with Mountfield.’
‘She’s right, Guv. Audrey wasn’t going to open up for any of us. Even Tracey Roach said she hadn’t twigged that something was bothering her.’
Burton shot Noakes a grateful look.
Doyle chipped in. ‘Jim Snell was hell bent on going it alone too, sir.’
‘Probably getting off on it,’ commented Noakes sagely. ‘Imagined he was pulling the strings. One in the eye to everyone who’d written him off as Hope’s resident saddo.’
‘I dismissed Snell as a pathetic crawler. Audrey too. When all the time …’
Markham recalled Harry Mountfield’s hulking leonine radiance and maverick charm.
‘He was a split personality, sir.’ Once again Burton demonstrated her uncanny ability to read his thoughts. ‘It was the only way he could survive. Part of him must’ve somehow closed off after what happened to Adrian – functioning normally as far as anyone could tell, but all the anger buried deep inside.’
Like a man being pursued by the Furies, Markham silently added. In a sudden flash of insight, he saw how Mountfield’s malice could become omnivorous, insatiable; how he must secretly have craved revenge upon those who were gloriously whole, not maimed as he was.
Noakes was becoming uncomfortable with the psychoanalysis.
‘Mountfield’s an evil bastard, end of. Next thing you’ll be saying he didn’t get enough cuddles when he was little or some other bullshit excuse.’
It was authentic Noakes. Clearly the DS was staging a recovery.
‘I’m just saying nothing’s straightforward here.’ Burton was emollient. ‘I think Mountfield’s sick. Maybe he even wants to be caught. Like he knows that the Harry Mountfield who took over Howard Medlock has to be done away with.’
The other grunted.
For an instant Markham felt envious of Noakes’s blissfully uncomplicated world view. The narrative of the human spirit was to him a script easily perused rather than a mysterious palimpsest.
‘What do you want us to do, Guv?’
Noakes was back where Markham needed him. Four square behind his guv’nor.
‘The man we know as Harry Mountfield – in reality Howard Medlock – has no idea we’re onto him. I want discreet surveillance on him right away. Palmer too.’
‘D’you think JP knows the score, sir?’
‘Oh yes, Kate. I think that’s what he meant when Noakes and I overheard him raving to Kavanagh that it was a nightmare and there was no way out. He knows who the killer is all right. Must be crucified by guilt that Ashley died because of what happened all those years ago in another life.’
‘What about Kavanagh?’
‘I’m not sure how much she knows, Noakes. She said to JP, “He played you”, remember? She could have meant Ashley Dean or Mountfield.’
‘Maybe Kavanagh made it clear to Palmer that she didn’t want to hear the specifics – so she’d have deniability.’ Burton’s mind was racing. ‘Maybe she thinks it’s something to do with Matthew Sullivan or some sort of homosexual love triangle.’
‘Anything’s possible.’ Markham realized he was gripping the sides of his chair so hard that his hands hurt. Consciously, he willed himself to relax.
‘The priority is to bring Mountfield in safely. You see, I think he may be decompensating.’
‘You mean he’s starting to enjoy killing, sir?’
‘Exactly that.’ Markham’s voice was insistent. ‘He hadn’t even bothered to do a proper trawl of Snell’s office, otherwise he’d have disposed of that press cu
tting.’
‘Shouldn’t we bring him in right away, sir?’ Burton was taut as a bowstring.
‘We need a confession, Kate. Something incontrovertible. No room for doubt.’
The words DCI Sidney hung unspoken in the air.
The DI rose to his feet and the others followed suit.
‘Burton and Doyle, get the surveillance sorted.’
‘On it, sir.’
Markham turned to the DS.
‘We need to track down Helen Kavanagh. She may know or suspect Mountfield’s the killer. Either way, she can give us some sort of inside track to his thinking.’
‘I’ll bring the car round, Guv.’
Markham remained alone in the little office and bowed his head.
Help me resolve this, he prayed desperately.
The hairs on the back of his neck suddenly rose.
As though Harry Mountfield’s victims were in the room, their arms outstretched, begging for justice.
‘Not long now,’ he promised.
Then he was striding to the door.
14. Nemesis
MARKHAM AND NOAKES SAT in their unmarked squad car outside Helen Kavanagh’s address. Cromptons Lane was an undistinguished street of Victorian terraced houses off the motorway leading out of Bromgrove. Tall sycamores lined both sides of the road, their spindly branches splayed in a tangled canopy against the louring sky.
Kate Burton had radioed that all was quiet at Palmer’s address, JP having waved his soon-to-be-ex-wife Cheryl off from Calderstones Drive before vanishing indoors. Since then, nothing. Meanwhile, PC Doyle and two other officers in plain clothes were stationed at a discreet distance from Ramleh Villas where the man known as Harry Mountfield had a ground floor apartment. Mountfield had emerged once, but only to buy a newspaper and cigarettes at the corner shop.
Markham should have felt secure, but a hard knot of fear would not let him relax, the very trees seeming to plot against him like conspiring ghosts.
A thin drizzle began to fall, and the October day turned even murkier.
‘What’s our approach with Cruella, then?’ asked Noakes.
Markham winced. That was Mountfield’s nickname for Kavanagh, and it had stuck.
‘We ask for Kavanagh’s help,’ he said baldly. ‘Tell her what we’ve got and throw ourselves on her mercy. We need a confession. Maybe she’s the one to help us get it.’
Detective Markham Mysteries Box Set Page 37