Silent Crimes

by MICHAEL HAMBLING

  There was a sudden movement forward at the front of the group and she heard Buller shout, ‘Armed police. Stand up and put your hands in the air. Now.’

  Someone shone a powerful light on the back of the cave. Two men stood, screwing up their eyes against the dazzle. Sophie stepped forward. Trent Baker. Andy Atkins. Rae had been right.

  Chapter 34: The Knife

  Saturday Morning

  There it was. The knife. Safely sealed in a strong, transparent plastic wallet, still coated with dried fish slime and Catherine Templeton’s blood, along with other bits of residue. Residues that had perplexed the analysts at the time of Catherine Templeton’s assault a decade earlier, but now made total sense and provided that final piece of hard evidence. The forensic analysis a decade earlier had, of course, found large quantities of Catherine’s DNA. How could they not? The blade had been coated with her blood, as had the handle. What had puzzled them then were the traces of another person’s DNA, someone who had never been identified. Until now. Sophie had that particular ten-year-old profile laid out in front of her, along with the one that had arrived from the Somerset forensic lab, extracted from the bone marrow of the buried skeleton, which had been positively identified as being that of Katie Templar. Fortunately her dental records were still held in a Bishops Lydeard dental practice, even after more than a decade had passed. The two profiles matched exactly. She’d been killed with Trent Baker’s knife. But what was the story behind the act? Sophie still didn’t fully understand the complex interplay between the main protagonists. What had happened between them all those years ago? Financial pressures, loss of control and ownership of the farm, drugs, petty jealousies and rivalries, psychotic personalities and even an abortion. What a toxic mix.

  She examined the knife. Its blade was about eight inches long, dulled by the stains that had dried onto its once shiny surface. But it was the handle that caught the attention. It was made of a dark wood, with engravings of intertwined snakes running along its length. This wasn’t a knife that would be forgotten in a hurry, it would be too easy to identify for one thing. People would remember it and, equally important, who the owner was. This was the kind of knife an attention-seeking show-off would own and flash around to impress people. Who else but Trent Baker? Why on earth had he kept the knife after Katie Templar’s murder? Why hadn’t he at the very least cleaned it? Any sensible person would have disposed of it as soon as possible, maybe burying it well away from the body or throwing it in a waste bin in a neighbouring village. But then Trent Baker wasn’t a sensible person. Narcissistic, attention-seeking sociopath would be an apt description of this man, someone so self-obsessed as to be incapable of logical reasoning. Someone who clearly got a kick out of destructive and violent mischief-making.

  She faced him now, across the interview room table. ‘You see, Mr Baker, we don’t even have to prove that the knife is yours. That’s already been done, ten years ago, during the trial for Catherine Templeton’s attempted murder. So, for ten years we’ve had the weapon you used to murder Katie Templar safely under lock and key, vacuum-packed and kept in perfect conditions. We have witnesses who will testify that you frequently waved this knife about on the farm when you were drunk or high and wanting to intimidate people. What I want to know is this: why? Why did you kill her?’

  ‘I didn’t.’

  ‘Your knife, Mr Baker. And we know you had an argument with her. Why not make it easy on yourself and tell us the truth for once?’

  He didn’t reply.

  ‘Can you explain the money in your bank account?’ Sophie asked. ‘It’s been there for, what, just over twelve years? Where did you suddenly come by that amount?’ She glanced at her notes. ‘Interesting that it was originally about a third of the money that went missing from the farm’s account. Just coincidence maybe?’

  He sneered at her. ‘Fuck off, you cunt.’

  He said nothing else, refusing to answer any more questions. Any detailed account of the events that led to the young woman’s death would have to come from the other people involved, and how likely were they to cooperate? Sophie and Barry closed the interview and moved to the adjacent room, where Tim Brotherton sat, tapping his fingers nervously on the tabletop.

  ‘I still can’t believe it,’ he said. ‘I was convinced she’d left to join Paul Prentice.’

  ‘You’ve told us that a dozen times, Mr Brotherton,’ Barry said. ‘What we need now are facts. Why she was killed, for instance. So let’s go back to the time of her abortion, when she returned from London with Paul Prentice. Take us through what happened.’

  Brotherton looked down, frowning. ‘She was pale. She looked really ill. Exhausted. Even Paul looked depressed and anxious. I guessed something major had happened, but I wasn’t ready for what they told me. I hated the thought of what she’d done.’

  ‘But you’d abandoned her, hadn’t you? Several weeks earlier? Didn’t she find you sleeping with someone else? What did you expect, Mr Brotherton?’

  ‘I don’t know. Maybe I was too young and naïve. We all were, I guess. It was that day, more than anything, that made me realise how futile it all was. How our dream had gone sour.’ He paused. ‘How I’d let everyone down, but most of all her. I felt sick at myself.’

  ‘Who was it you were having a fling with? The one that caused the break-up?’

  ‘Catherine. Catherine Templeton.’

  ‘And what happened to that relationship?’

  He shook his head from side to side as if to dispel unwelcome memories.

  ‘I was so ashamed of myself, I stopped seeing her. I drank too much. Paul left shortly afterwards to see if he could find somewhere for him and Katie to live. His job had been kept open for him apparently. Katie was going to join him once the situation at the farm had settled down, that’s what he said. There was a lot of legal stuff to sort out.’

  ‘Did it ever get sorted out, Mr Brotherton?’

  He answered quietly, ‘No. She was the senior trustee. I was still trying to talk her round when she left.’

  ‘Talk her round to what?’

  He looked miserable. ‘To taking more of a backseat role. Handing responsibility over to me. Adding a couple more people as trustees.’

  ‘Who?’

  ‘Trent Baker and Catherine Templeton. He’d been pushing me to sort it out with Katie. He wanted to formalise his role in the group. The two of them were together by then. The thing is, with Paul gone and Katie threatening to leave, it only left me and Andy as trustees. Adding Trent and Catherine would bring us back to four. Well, that’s what I thought. Then, one evening, Katie told us the ownership had reverted to her. She refused to endorse Trent as a trustee, claiming he’d brought hard drugs into the group. There was a huge argument, with her on one side and Trent and Andy on the other.’

  ‘How did it end? Was there any resolution?’

  Brotherton kept his eyes on the table. ‘Not really. She said she was thinking of calling the police in because of the drugs. I just couldn’t believe what was happening. I had no idea there were drugs coming in. I hadn’t seen any. But she was adamant.’

  ‘How did it all finish?’

  ‘She walked out. I followed her and tried to reason with her, but she was having none of it. She told me it was over. When I got back to the meeting room it was empty. The others had gone.’

  Barry thought hard. ‘When did that meeting take place?’

  ‘I think it was the evening before she left. My memory’s a bit blurry, but I think that’s when it was.’

  ‘You mean the evening before she was murdered, Mr Brotherton. She never got an opportunity to leave.’

  *

  Sophie sat opposite Andy Atkins in the interview room, Barry beside her. She had an idea that he might break more easily than the others.

  ‘Think of the position you’re in, Mr Atkins. We have two dead bodies and you’re heavily implicated in both murders. Your friend Trent Baker has already served a ten-year sentence for the attempted murder
of Catherine Templeton with that vicious knife of his, and you just happened to be in the area at the time, on your supposed fishing expedition. Now we find the same knife was used to kill Katie Templar all those years ago and, lo and behold, who was present at that meeting at the farm, and supporting Trent Baker? You. He couldn’t have done it alone. She was buried in a properly dug grave, several hundred yards away from the farm buildings. He would have needed help to get her body up there. You’d been working on that farm, on and off, since you were a teenager. You knew the layout intimately — the fields, the woods, the hedgerows. You would even have known how deep the soil was, how pliable. And as for Paul Prentice, we have all the evidence we need. We’ve even got a statement from the pharmacist in Blandford who treated the scratches you got from the dog. How do you think it’s going to look to a jury? Do you seriously think you have the remotest chance of getting off? Because if you do, you’re living in fantasy land. To cap it all, we traced the doctor in Bath who gave you the rabies jab the following day. He remembers you well, along with the conversation about bat populations. Come on. Get real. Tell us what happened.’

  She sat back and watched him. His head was bowed so she couldn’t see his eyes. His face was pale and drawn. Had he slept at all last night? She doubted it. He was an outdoor type, someone who needed open spaces and fresh air. His first night in the cells would have been a nightmare.

  Finally, he spoke. ‘I didn’t do either of them.’

  Sophie was about to speak but he held his hand up. ‘I was there, but I didn’t kill them. I’ve been set up as the fall guy, particularly for Prentice.’

  ‘Who by?’

  ‘It’s complicated.’

  Isn’t it always, Sophie thought. But she smiled brightly at him. ‘I’m all ears.’

  Chapter 35: Truth Will Out

  Saturday Morning

  ‘What is this all about? Why have you brought me here? I don’t even live in Dorset, as you well know.’

  Catherine Templeton was clearly angry, but she was managing to hold her temper in check. Just. Her cheeks were flushed, and her eyes were constantly darting around the room, occasionally settling on the two detectives sitting opposite her, neither of whom answered her questions.

  ‘Don’t think you can play your psychological games with me,’ she suddenly said, showing a spark of her usual anger. ‘This is ridiculous.’

  Sophie shook her head. ‘It isn’t a game, Ms Templeton, not anymore. When someone is murdered or subjected to a violent assault, what might have been a game up to that point becomes tragically serious, as you well know, having come within a whisker of losing your own life a decade ago. Tell me, did it change your outlook on life, being the victim of a murder attempt like that?’

  She watched Catherine closely.

  ‘Of course it did. Have you any idea what it’s like, watching and feeling someone stick a knife into you? Knowing your lifeblood is ebbing away? Feeling more and more distant from everything and seeing it all fade to nothing?’

  ‘I haven’t, no. The rest of us can try to imagine what it must be like, but it’s almost impossible. Particularly if we haven’t witnessed such an attack either. Unlike you.’

  Catherine sat up with a start. ‘What do you mean?’ She leaned forward in her seat and glared at Sophie.

  ‘Exactly what I said. You were there when Trent Baker killed Katie Templar in precisely the same way, two years earlier. And it must have shocked you. The blood. The look of total terror on her face as she realised what was happening. Tell me, does witnessing a violent death like that, close up, have a life-changing effect? Are you the same person afterwards? The evidence tends to suggest not.’

  Catherine became indignant. ‘I don’t know what you’re talking about.’

  ‘You got blood on your clothes. One of the other women on the farm saw you in the laundry room, early the next morning, trying to wash the stains out. She went out when she saw what you were doing, so you never noticed her.’

  ‘I’m not saying anything.’

  ‘Look, we’re not after you for Katie’s murder, not if you help us out. It’s got so many similarities to Baker’s attack on you that we’re satisfied he wielded the knife. But you were there. You watched. Maybe what happened shocked you. Maybe it wasn’t what you’d thought would happen. But we need to know. If you don’t tell me now, you’ll be charged with murder, alongside Trent Baker. Do you really want that?’

  Like the other two interviewees, Catherine stared down at the table. She shook her head. ‘She was such a goody-goody, that woman. She acted as if she was some kind of saint. What right did she have to tell us what we could or couldn’t do? Bloody Tim Brotherton had become totally withdrawn for some reason. When he did speak, he was all preachy too, as if he was some kind of messiah. He was worse than useless in that state. So we got her alone, to try and reason with her.’

  ‘Who’s we?’

  ‘Me, Andy and Trent Baker.’

  ‘About what?’

  ‘The future of the place. There was some kind of trust that owned the farm and she was on it. So was Andy, but she and Tim always kept him in the dark about the decisions they made. Andy and Trent reckoned this was the best time to change things, what with Tim living in a dream world of his own. So we got her into the meeting room late that night, after a formal group meeting had finished. We thought she’d see reason. I always thought she was a bit of a softie, but she showed a different side that night. I didn’t realise Trent and Andy were out of their heads on something. She refused point blank to add us to the committee. Then she told us that she was going to call the cops in. Trent blew a gasket and suddenly she was backed up against the wall with him lashing out at her. It was only when I saw the blood that I realised what he’d done. I didn’t know he was like that. It was a total shock to me.’

  ‘So, what happened then?’

  ‘It was late, so no one was around. They got her body out and I cleaned up. That’s when I must have got blood on my clothes.’

  Sophie smiled at her. ‘That wasn’t so hard, was it? Aren’t you glad you’ve got it all off your chest?’ Catherine nodded. ‘And everything you’ve told us is the truth?’

  ‘Oh, yes. Absolutely.’

  Sophie turned to Barry and raised her eyebrows.

  His voice was low, almost kindly. ‘Catherine, could you tell us how traces of your DNA came to be found on the remnants of a heavy wooden branch on Paul Prentice’s campfire at Arne?’

  She went white and started to shiver, pulling her thin summer cardigan more closely round her. ‘I want a lawyer.’

  *

  Rae wandered into the incident room and saw Sophie and Barry standing by the window, talking. ‘I’m exhausted. I hope all that driving you made me do was worth it.’

  Barry merely laughed. Sophie said, ‘What? Do you mean you ever doubted us, Rae? Shame on you! No, it may have seemed insignificant but that little bit of evidence from Catherine Templeton’s neighbour was crucial. Haven’t I always said that nosey neighbours are my favourite people? When we heard from Taunton that Prentice probably made a visit to Bath a few weeks ago, we had to check it out. So what was she like, this neighbour?’

  Rae rolled her eyes. ‘A bit snooty if you ask me. That’s probably why she remembers him calling on Catherine. I mean, a tramp. Who can approve of someone like that coming to call on your neighbour, particularly in a place like Bath? No wonder she was at the window with her ear pressed to the glass. Not that she would ever admit to that, of course. Anyway, from what she overheard, it sounds as if Prentice was getting close to the truth about what happened to Katie. It was only a couple of days before he was killed. Is that what you think happened too?’

  ‘Yes. He was probably getting closer to the whereabouts of the missing money as well. Remember his background in finance? He’d know what to look for. Maybe he dropped a hint about it. Our guess is that Catherine followed him to find out where he was based. Her work confirms that she was off ill the next day. It
ties in with the statement from the guy at the hostel in Taunton that Prentice had seen someone he recognised and left in a hurry. We know Atkins visited Catherine that weekend. He probably drove to hers to talk things over and they decided to silence Prentice one way or another. They travelled to Arne in her car, she clobbered Prentice and he went after the dog.’

  ‘So, was it Atkins that Jade saw, poking around the place a few days later?’

  ‘We think so. It was after we’d released the first press statement, the one after Jade found Prentice’s body. It mentioned that the dog was still alive. Our guess is that they thought we wouldn’t be that bothered by the death of a down-and-out and that we wouldn’t know who he was. But he must have remembered that the dog’s collar came off in the struggle. That’s why he was there, looking for it, before he started work that morning.’

  Rae frowned. ‘Do you really want Jade called as a witness? The defence barrister would have a field day with her being your daughter.’

  ‘We know,’ Barry said. ‘It’ll be up to the CPS. We’ll use Pauline Stopley if we can. She saw him the night Prentice was killed, and the description matches. They’ll only call Jade if they have to.’

  Rae frowned. ‘I don’t understand. If Catherine Templeton was only a witness to the murder at the farm and didn’t take part, why get herself involved in a murder now? I can’t see her doing it out of love for Atkins. She’s too indifferent to other people.’

  ‘I think you’ve answered your own question, Rae,’ Sophie said. ‘My guess is that she’s neatly swapped roles with Atkins in her account of what happened that night at the farm. I think it was her and Baker who killed Katie, with Atkins as the onlooker. And one or the other of them has manipulated him ever since. They’re two very unpleasant people. That’s why they fell out with each other. And once that happened, Baker had little choice but to try and silence her. He was the one who actually killed Katie, remember. When I read the transcript of his trial, I felt there was something unspoken, some kind of history between the two of them. Now we know what it was. Shakespeare got it right. Truth will out.’