Detective Markham Mysteries Box Set

by Catherine Moloney

  ‘So, no sign of him at the hospital . . . No medical emergency or call-out.’

  The DI looked at his watch. ‘Nearly twenty past seven, which means the residents will most likely have headed out to Hope.’

  ‘Yeah, so they c’n chow down on them mince pies before all the caterwauling an’ speechifying.’

  The doorbell rang. Trust the Ledwidges to have ‘Edelweiss’.

  A sturdy young uniform announced herself as PC Lynda Hart and was duly installed in the living room to keep Eileen Ledwidge company.

  ‘Distract her . . . put the telly on, fetch a snack . . . whatever it takes,’ Noakes hissed. ‘We’ll give you the nod once we’re off.’

  Then it was back to the kitchen.

  ‘No point sealing the close, guv?’

  ‘Our man’s long gone, Noakes. That text to Mr Ledwidge’s mobile was to set up a meeting . . .’

  ‘Cos he realized Ledwidge knew.’

  ‘Yes, I think as he walked in on his wife’s guests and saw one of them, something clicked in his mind . . . The pieces fell into place and he suddenly guessed the killer’s identity.’

  ‘Got such a shock, he couldn’t hide it.’

  ‘That’s right.’ Markham swivelled a breakfast bar stool with a force that betrayed his frustration. ‘A eureka moment . . . but we don’t know what triggered it.’

  ‘An’ the doofus thought he could handle it hisself. Shoot me now!’ Noakes groaned.

  ‘Doubtless he took a pastoral view.’ The DI’s sigh was almost as despairing. ‘Or maybe he hoped he was mistaken . . . wanted an explanation.’

  ‘Wanted to — what did his missus say back there? — make a connection. Well, he’s likely managed that alright . . . connected hisself to summat sharp an’ pointy, I shouldn’t wonder.’

  Now Noakes too was spinning the bar stools like a manic juggler spinning plates.

  ‘What next, boss? We ain’t got the first idea where he was meeting Ledwidge?’

  ‘I think it might be Hope.’

  ‘Why the school?’

  ‘Because that’s where all the residents are headed this evening. Everyone’s expected at the concert — three-line whip, courtesy of Mary Atkins — no excuses. Think about it.’ The handsome face was suddenly flushed with animation. ‘Perfect cover.’

  ‘An’ we know he c’n move quickly . . . jus’ has to slip away for a mo . . . an’ hey presto, it’s problem sorted. Fuck,’ the DS burst out, ‘so you’re saying we’re too late, guv, is that it?’

  Markham’s flush receded, leaving him ashy pale. ‘Would to God I’m proved wrong, Noakes, but it would make sense for the killer to corner Ledwidge at Hope. No need to worry about an alibi since that’s precisely where he’s supposed to be.’

  ‘Hey up though, boss. Schools are big on security these days. Folk have to be swiped in or wear a lanyard, an’ all that jazz. Tougher than frigging Alcatraz . . . So anyone turning up early to have a mooch around the place would stick out like a sore thumb.’

  Distractedly, Noakes rumpled his hair into myriad porcupine quills. Not a good look.

  ‘The concert’s not due to start till half eight with eats first . . . an’ Ledwidge told his missus he’d be back here at quarter to six to get ready. It’s only about ten minutes by car from the close to Hope, so that gave him more than an hour for a meeting before he had to get gussied up.’ The DS rasped his stubbly chin. ‘But someone’s bound to have asked what they were doing there, guv. They couldn’t have snuck in without being noticed . . . There’d be a teacher or receptionist or the caretaker . . . or someone . . . I mean, it’s wall to wall nosey parkers in all them places cos they’re obsessed with paedos an’ pervs . . . Nah,’ he sounded decisive now, ‘couldn’t be done.’

  ‘I think it could, Noakes.’

  The DS waited. That intense light was back in his boss’s eyes.

  ‘Mr Ledwidge would have had no trouble getting in . . . retired clergyman from St James’s . . . special assemblies, bit of kudos for management. He’d be given the run of the place, no questions asked . . . Ms Atkins would have seen to that.’ Now Markham was running his hands through his hair, though the effect in his case was distinctly more Byronic.

  Noakes couldn’t but be infected by his superior’s conviction.

  ‘Well, I s’pose he was doing the prayers an’ that tribute malarkey . . .’

  ‘Exactly. What could be more natural than him being around to supervise things . . . kids gone home for the day . . . staff sloping off early. Nobody would have batted an eyelid. All totally respectable and above board.’

  ‘Okay, that’s Ledwidge sorted . . . but how’d the killer sneak in?’

  ‘Remember the Ashley Dean investigation, Noakes? That place is a warren, full of nooks and crannies . . . lots of back doors and stairwells. I reckon if someone managed to get their hands on a set of keys, they could be in there in a trice. Or with everything going on this evening, it’d be a cinch to blag their way past the front desk . . . especially if they were a familiar figure—’

  ‘Cos Atkins bullied ’em into helping out with stuff in the school.’ The DS contorted his pudgy features into a pious simper. ‘“Let’s do it for the kids.” God, they’ve probably all had their arms twisted.’

  ‘Precisely, Noakes.’ Markham’s face darkened. The thought of that figure on the playing fields behind the close, watching the residents unseen, had never gone away. ‘Whoever it is, nothing was going to deter him. And the timing was good . . . almost the holidays . . . everyone demob-happy . . . normal vigilance relaxed. Hell, there might not even have been anyone on the front desk. When we called on Mat and Olivia, we just strolled in with another teacher.’

  ‘Thass right . . . they swiped us in cos that airhead receptionist was gassing to one of the kids . . .’

  The DS looked at Markham with blank-eyed horror.

  ‘Christ, boss, we can’t jus’ close the place down. I mean, we ain’t got anything to say Ledwidge is in there . . . somewhere . . .’ He swallowed hard. ‘Sidney’ll have you doing Traffic for the rest of your natural if you kibosh that concert an’ then we got nowt to show for it.’

  It was typical of Noakes’s Sancho Panza-like devotion to the DI that Markham’s career prospects were his predominant concern. As Olivia put it, beneath that rough-hewn exterior was a diamond.

  ‘We’ll go to the concert, Noakes.’

  The DS knew that look of old. It meant wild horses would not deflect the DI from his chosen course.

  ‘There’s an alert out for Brian Ledwidge. I want you to get on to Burton and Doyle and have them meet us at the school . . . no fuss, no blue lights, no sirens.’ He drew a deep breath. ‘Once the tra-la-la-ing’s started, we can search the building.’

  ‘How do we square it with Atkins?’

  ‘We don’t . . . I’ll have a quiet word with Mat Sullivan and get the caretaker on side.’

  ‘Thank fuck it ain’t Jim Snell.’

  For a moment, Markham fell silent, oppressed by unwelcome thoughts of that other hideous investigation at Hope. Then, the light of battle in his eyes, he said, ‘Are you up for it, Noakesy?’

  ‘Behind you all the way, boss.’

  ‘Right, let’s make our farewells to Mrs Ledwidge and get out of here.’

  ‘We’re looking for her Brian’s body, ain’t we, guv?’ Noakes’s fists were clenched. ‘The poor sod was a goner as soon as that bastard saw that look on his face.’

  ‘Yes, I think Ledwidge was dead not long afterwards . . . maybe even before his poor wife told us he was missing. But,’ the concentrated pain in the DI’s face was palpable, ‘I want Eileen to get him back intact.’

  Not mutilated or desecrated or chucked away like so much rubbish.

  ‘D’you remember the first time we met the Rev, he was twitchy . . . nervous about summat, guv?’

  ‘Yes, that’s true. Something was definitely bothering him.’

  ‘Mebbe he was already feeling antsy about one of the neighbou
rs . . . had his suspicions about one of ’em. Mebbe he knew summat weren’t right . . .’

  ‘That’s a definite possibility, Noakes. I think it’s very likely something had been tugging at his subconscious and then it crystallized when he saw the residents all together in his front room.’

  ‘Why didn’t the daft beggar tell us? Talk about playing God . . .’

  ‘Come on, Sergeant. We need to be on our way.’

  Markham looked as though he had the weight of the world on his shoulders but, standing outside Eileen Ledwidge’s living room, he straightened up and composed his features. His wingman watched in admiration as the guvnor dealt with Brian Ledwidge’s desperate wife and telegraphed the state of play to PC Hart.

  In less than five minutes, they were back in the car heading to Hope Academy.

  The DI had always felt there was something magical about twinkling baubles and Christmas trees in the darkness, even if his number two grumbled that decorations seemed to go up earlier with each passing year. But now, with a terrible sadness weighing on his heart, he knew these festive fripperies were lighting the way to the Reverend Brian Ledwidge’s final bourn . . .

  * * *

  The feeling of unreality persisted once they arrived at the school.

  Normally the place struck him as a cross between a giant fish tank and a women’s prison. However, the bunker-like building, with its awful sixties’ architecture, had received some sort of overhaul, boasting an enormous real fir in the main foyer and a nativity scene next to it.

  ‘Nice to see they remember whose chuffing birthday it’s meant to be,’ the DS muttered. ‘Makes a change from all them “winter festivals” with pixies an’ elves . . . I reckon half the kids round here think it’s summat to do with the Goblin King.’

  Predictably, Noakes’s anti-Christmas syndrome had kicked in. It was always the same. He would loudly protest his intention to ‘boycott the whole sodding circus’ before eventually succumbing as wholeheartedly as any child.

  There seemed to be nobody about.

  ‘You were right about the reception desk, guv.’ Noakes glowered at the vacant-looking blonde sporting a pair of red novelty antlers. ‘Didn’t even check our credentials . . . prob’ly been getting stuck into the Prosecco all afternoon.’

  The DI suspected this was not far from the truth.

  ‘Let’s check out the LRC,’ he said. ‘That’s usually where they lay out the food.’

  But there was no one in the learning resource centre apart from a disconsolate teenager, also wearing reindeer headgear. Sitting at the librarian’s desk, she appeared clamped to her iPod. Tinsel and crêpe-paper streamers festooned every spare corner, as though management was determined to squeeze every last drop of faux jollity out of the occasion.

  ‘They’re in the gym,’ she said listlessly to Markham, unclamping herself from Beyoncé. ‘But there’s plenty of mince pies left . . . an’ some chocolate log . . .’

  The prospect of free provender had quite lost its allure for Noakes, given the nature of their mission.

  ‘You’re alright, luv,’ he said kindly. ‘Has it started yet . . . er, the singing an’ what have you?’

  ‘Yeah, I think so . . . there were a few last-minute problems had to be sorted.’

  Like no one to lead the prayers.

  It was beginning to dawn on the lethargic teenager that they weren’t the usual run of visitors and definitely not parents.

  ‘Is everything okay?’ she asked nervously.

  ‘Tell you what, luv . . . We’re after Mr Sullivan. Any chance you could nip over there an’ tell him Mr Markham needs a word?’

  With a doubtful glance at the thick-set man who nonetheless had a fatherly air about him, she headed for the corridor.

  ‘This lot need to buck up their ideas,’ the DS growled on her departure. ‘The lass didn’t even ask to see our ID. We could’ve been anyone . . . I mean, what happened to stranger danger an’ all that?’

  There was something soulless and creepy about a school out of normal hours. Like a stage set deserted by the actors.

  They didn’t have to wait long.

  ‘Gil!’ Mat Sullivan had arrived, looking unusually smart in his academic gown. ‘I know, I know,’ he said forestalling Noakes’s raillery. ‘Mary insisted, so ours not to reason why.’

  ‘Is the head around tonight, Mat?’

  ‘Don’t you mean the executive head?’ Sullivan grimaced. ‘He’s down at Medway High.’

  ‘Ah yes, your partner school . . . Don’t tell me, they’ve got something on as well.’

  ‘Yep . . . impeccable diary planning as always . . . but at least it means he’s out of our hair for tonight. God knows, Mary’s hard going but this time of year he’s like the Duracell Bunny on speed.’ Sullivan registered something about their demeanour. ‘What’s up, Gil? Has there been a break in the case?’ Then looking at them more closely, ‘Oh no . . . not another one.’

  ‘Brian Ledwidge is missing.’

  ‘Ledwidge? Oh right, I’m with you . . . He was meant to be doing the Advent Prayers but no-show . . . Mary had another tame clergyman in reserve, luckily. We just assumed Ledwidge had been called out to the hospital.’

  ‘He had a call-out, but it wasn’t Bromgrove General. Let’s just say we’re concerned for his safety . . . think he may have been lured over here.’

  ‘What can I do?’

  That was the great thing about Mat Sullivan. For all his languid appearance, he was cool and incisive in a crisis. No explanations necessary.

  ‘Can you get hold of the caretaker for us, Mat . . . casually, without raising a hue and cry. We need to do a search.’

  ‘No problem. You’ve got at least another fifty minutes before they wind up in there. Mary’s in full gush mode . . . all that smarming to the governors and Councillor Callaghan should help spin things out.’

  ‘Good man. And Mat,’ Markham’s face was anxious, ‘no need to alert Liv. After last time, I figure she doesn’t need to be in on this.’

  ‘Don’t worry. She’s busy prompting her hopeless Year 9s — Journey of the Magi like you’ve never heard it before!’ He placed a hand on Markham’s arm. ‘Seriously, it’s okay. She was disappointed you didn’t make it to the drinks, but it’s been manic trying to deal with all those teenage divas!’

  ‘Kate Burton and DC Doyle should be along shortly, but they know to play it low-key.’

  ‘Right you are.’

  ‘Ledwidge could be anywhere, guv!’ Noakes exclaimed as Sullivan hurried off. Then he noticed the DI’s unusually absorbed expression. ‘What is it?’

  ‘Remember what Dimples said about the killer . . . that he was “a bit of a showman” . . . someone who enjoyed posing his victims.’

  ‘Arty-farty type.’

  ‘Yes, Noakes. Artistic . . . I think I know where he told Ledwidge to meet him.’

  The caretaker came bustling in. As unlike his predecessor as possible, he was young, personable and crisply efficient. And blessedly incurious.

  ‘Where do you need to look, Inspector?’

  ‘Can you show us to art and design?’

  ‘No problem. It’s in the new building.’

  Hope’s art and design department had apparently benefited from a council development grant and now occupied a modest two-floor red-brick annexe squeezed into the narrow space at the back of the netball courts.

  It was unlocked.

  ‘Staff have their own keys,’ their young guide explained in response to Noakes’s admonitory look. ‘They’ll have been in and out getting stuff for the concert and forgotten to close up afterwards.’

  ‘Of course.’

  A great calm had come over Markham. As though some invisible guide was leading him to the appointed destination.

  ‘I wonder, sir, if you’d be good enough to wait outside for us . . . just keep a look-out.’

  ‘No worries.’

  * * *

  Downstairs, they moved from room to room flicking on lig
hts and passing between craft tables.

  All appeared just as it ought. Canvases stacked against walls. Stencils, textiles and silkscreens at this workstation, ceramics and polystyrene blocks at that. What looked like a dressing-up basket overflowed with costumes in a variety of fabrics.

  Then it was up the stairs to the first floor, shoes squeaking on vinyl.

  There were just two interconnected studios upstairs, both full of mannequins and papier-mâché head masks in various stages of completion.

  ‘Creepy as fuck,’ muttered Noakes as they contemplated the unnerving spectacle of what looked like rows of sightless guillotined heads. ‘What happened to drawing with crayons? Now it’s all Freddy Krueger . . .’

  He wandered gingerly towards a small storeroom at the back of the larger studio.

  ‘Oh, there’s a full-sized one in here, guv. Pretty life-like with the head an’ all—’

  The DS suddenly broke off as though he had been karate-chopped. Then he called out hoarsely in quite a different voice, ‘Guv, you need to take a look at this.’

  Somehow Markham knew what he was going to find. Had known it from the moment he saw those balloon heads and the long strips of paper pulp wound about them like bandages on a mummy.

  Propped against the right-hand wall of the storeroom was a figure clad in a lavishly patterned kimono-style robe and delicate slippers. Atop it was a papier-mâché mask painted to denote a geisha girl, with long, heavily fringed, almond-shaped eyes and a rosebud mouth.

  ‘At first I thought it was a dummy, but . . . he’s still warm.’

  Markham gestured to the headpiece. ‘Lift it off,’ he said.

  With unsteady hands, Noakes obliged.

  Brian Ledwidge’s face was shuttered, peaceful, the eyes milkily unfocused.

  Almost as though at the end, death had come as a friend.

  12. Circling the Target

  ‘What the chuff does he mean by landing us with that wanker?’ Noakes was virtually purple with outrage. ‘An’ as for that sodding checklist, well he can stick it where the sun don’ shine!’

  DCI Sidney’s ‘gold command meeting’ on Friday morning had seen Professor Bill Macfadyen share the fruits of his profiling wisdom with the team.