by Val McDermid
‘It is, isn’t it? He’s the only one who could possibly have witnessed anything like what you’ve accused me of. Why are you believing him, not me? He’s the one who dug all the graves for the nuns. If anybody was burying bodies at the Blessed Pearl, it must have been him. Him or somebody he owed a favour to. And I’ll tell you one thing for nothing. I’m the last man walking that Jezza Martinu would do a favour for.’
41
Examining the contradictions between witness statements often tells us where we need to look to find what we need to learn . . .
From Reading Crimes by DR TONY HILL
Rutherford pounced as soon as Paula and Karim left the interview room. ‘I was observing you,’ he said. ‘Nicely done. I’ve told Sophie to set up a ReMIT briefing straight away so we can decide how to progress this new information. Squad room—’ He glanced at his smart watch and tapped the face. ‘Ten minutes.’ He walked briskly away.
‘Barely time for a pee and a coffee, never mind digesting what we’ve just heard,’ Paula grumbled, heading in the opposite direction. Karim hesitated for a moment, then made his way to the squad room. By the time Paula arrived, he was tapping frenziedly at his keyboard. Clearly he wasn’t going to be caught napping with his reports a second time.
By the time Rutherford returned, they were all there. Alvin had scarcely had time to take his jacket off, but the DCI turned to him first, asking for an update from the forensics lab. Alvin flicked through the pages of his notebook, passing on what Chrissie O’Farrelly had said. He spared them no details and was gratified to see a couple of them looked as green around the gills as he’d felt when he got to the bit about the contents of the plastic bag. ‘They’re confident they’ll get DNA for some of the victims,’ he concluded. ‘But that may not in itself lead us to an ID if they’re not on the database.’
‘Which is a pity,’ Paula said. ‘As Tony Hill always says, the more you learn about the victims, the more you know about their killer.’
Rutherford gave her an unfathomable glance. ‘Well, theory is all very well, but we’re dealing in hard facts here, DI McIntyre. Which brings us to DC Chen. What have you got for us?’
Stacey glanced over from behind her barricade of screens. ‘I’ve tracked down all of the nuns from the Bradesden convent. Alvin has already spoken to the ones in York. The Mother Superior was sent to Galway in the first instance and although she doesn’t show up in the convent roster now, she’s on the electoral register and I have an address for her that appears to be very close to the convent. There are four other women registered at that same address, but none of them corresponds to the names on the electoral roll for Bradesden.’
Rutherford nodded. ‘We’re going to have to talk to her sooner rather than later. I’ll task that later today when I have a better sense of who’s doing what. Anything on the second group of victims?’
‘I’ve compiled a list of misper males who fit the rough age guidelines and the timeline we’ve got so far,’ Stacey said. ‘But I don’t have to tell you how partial that’s likely to be when it comes to street people. They’re where they are for all sorts of reasons and a sizeable tranche of them will not have been reported missing. To make it to the list, you have to have come from a place where somebody cares enough to mind that you’re not around.’
A moment’s silence as they all digested that. ‘Pass that list to Sophie,’ Rutherford said. ‘Sophie, spread that out among DCI Fielding’s team. Let’s get as much background running as we can.’
Good luck with that. Paula was relieved she hadn’t been landed with that particular piece of baton-passing. But her turn was coming.
Rutherford took a long swig from his brushed steel water bottle. ‘DI McIntyre. Today’s star turn so far. Time to share your interview product.’
Paula led them through their interview with Father Keenan, step by step, giving her opinion on his demeanour throughout. She gave Karim regular questioning glances, checking that her recollection chimed with his. ‘His denials were, as I’ve said, vehement and apparently sincere. We’ll have to check his assertions about access to a vehicle and lack of driving experience and the absence of a licence, or indeed a driving test. Where it gets interesting, I think, is when he puts two and two together and works out that Martinu is our key witness against him.’
She leaned forward in her chair, elbows on knees, hands clasped. ‘He claims Martinu has made accusations against him because he bears a grudge. Once he’d calmed down a bit, Keenan made a serious allegation against Martinu. He says he caught Martinu spying on the older girls’ dormitory. Quite a detailed claim – Martinu had drilled a spyhole in the ceiling of the room. The priest discovered it because Martinu had to pass his rooms to get to the loft above the dormitory. He wondered why the handyman was going up to the loft so often at odd times – first thing in the morning, late in the evening. So next time he passed, he followed him and caught him in the act. Keenan claims he thought Martinu was going to attack him but thought better of it. Keenan reported the matter to the Mother Superior, Mother Mary Patrick. Martinu was abjectly contrite, offered to do whatever penance they thought was appropriate, begged to keep his job.’
‘Should have reported the sleazebag to us,’ Steve muttered.
‘You’re probably right, Steve,’ Rutherford said. ‘But when you preach the forgiveness of sins all the time, you have to put the theory into practice every now and then.’
‘And it meant his employer had power over him,’ Paula said. ‘Anyway, by that time, Martinu had bought his cottage from the church. Mother Mary Patrick and Keenan both knew the convent closure was on the cards. The last thing they wanted was a stain on their reputation as they continued their careers in the church. So it suited everybody to keep quiet. The key part of this sordid tale is that Martinu isn’t interested in boys. He’s very interested in teenage girls.’
‘That’s borne out by the internet porn he accesses most frequently,’ Stacey chipped in. ‘He’s not been looking at guy-on-guy action at all. It’s all straight, a bit rapey, but nothing that would indicate any homosexual tendencies.’
‘Yeah, but you don’t have to be gay to kill men,’ Steve offered. ‘It might be that his victims were gay? They might have come on to him and he was so disgusted that he decided they didn’t deserve to live.’
Paula pulled a face. ‘Once or twice, maybe. But eight times? He’s not that hench. I can’t see him regularly sending out the kind of signals that would draw enough attention from gay men to provoke a murderous response. I’m not saying this lets Keenan off the hook, but it does speak to Martinu having a reason for dropping him in the shit.’
‘We need to check out his assertions about cars and driving licences. DC Chen, get on that right away. Alvin, you spoke to the nuns in York. Get back on to them and ask whether Keenan ever drove them around.’ Rutherford turned back to Paula. ‘But you’re not finished, are you?’ His smile was conspiratorial. A man happy to take credit for the successes of his team.
‘He harped on about Martinu being the gravedigger. He had the equipment and the expertise and nobody would question whatever he was doing in the grounds. He said if it wasn’t Martinu doing the killings, it must be somebody he knew. One of his friends, or some other kind of contact. When I pressed him for more detail, the only name he could come up with was Martinu’s cousin. Martinu’s big obsession is Bradfield Victoria, and his cousin shares that. The cousin regularly comes round to Martinu’s cottage to watch football on his big fuck-off TV. But it’s Martinu who owes his cousin big time, because the cousin is on the board of Bradfield Vics and they go together to games, home and away. Martinu goes to the board rooms with him, watches the games from the directors’ box, gets to meet the players.’
‘We know this how?’ Alvin asked.
‘Keenan says Martinu would get autographed photos of the players for the girls sometimes.’
‘So who is this mysterious cousin who’s important enough to be on the board of a top-flight footb
all club?’ Rutherford butted in. He knew the answer; he’d been observing the interview. But he clearly enjoyed a grandstand moment.
‘He’s a businessman called Mark Conway. He owns the MARC sportswear chain. And a couple of smaller, more exclusive outdoor stores. He’s—’
‘Mark Conway?’ It was Sophie, startled into looking up from her tablet. ‘You’re kidding, right?’
‘No, why would I be kidding?’ Paula was bemused.
Sophie shook her head, bewilderment on her face. ‘I used to work for Mark Conway.’
42
By its nature, therapeutic practice is a lonely business. You are hedged in on every side by patient confidentiality and you can’t readily bounce your ideas off anyone. Working as a profiler is the diametric opposite of that.
From Reading Crimes by DR TONY HILL
Just as the briefing was coming to an end, Paula felt the vibration of a phone alert against her leg. She slipped her phone out of her pocket and gave the screen a quick nonchalant glance. A flash of panic seized her and her heart raced. She’d completely forgotten that she’d booked a couple of hours out that afternoon. The office diary said ‘hospital appointment’ but that was not her destination.
Rutherford finished handing out assignments, charging her with interviewing Martinu again. She waited till the others had filed out then spoke to him. ‘I’ve got a hospital appointment,’ she said. ‘It’s a scan. It might be serious. I’ll only be gone a couple of hours and then I’ll get straight back to Martinu. In the meantime, Karim can build some background?’
He looked outraged. ‘Can it not wait?’
‘I’ve been waiting. It’s women’s stuff, you know? It’s hard to concentrate, worrying all the time.’
He shook his head and sighed, the perennial put-upon man. ‘I thought your partner was a senior consultant? Can she not pull some strings, rearrange the appointment?’
‘She’s already pulled strings, that’s how I got this slot.’
With ill grace, he turned away. ‘Get back as soon as you can.’
Sometimes it worried Paula, how convincingly she could lie. By teatime, half the squad would be convinced she was facing terminal cancer. She didn’t enjoy being duplicitous but she knew there was no chance of keeping her appointment if she’d told the truth.
The traffic was relatively light and she got out of town on to the motorway sooner than she’d anticipated. The journey passed quickly; Sophie’s revelation had given her food for thought. At first, they’d all expected her to be able to give them an inside track on Mark Conway. But it was soon clear that although Sophie had climbed the managerial ranks, she hadn’t got high enough up the greasy pole to make it to a level where she’d learned anything beyond the superficial. At least, that was all she was admitting to, and Paula had no reason to doubt her.
Paula parked the car and walked up to the entrance of HMP Doniston. She mingled with the other visitors then, when her name was called, presented her VO, gritted her teeth through the humiliating procedures and finally followed the flow into the dispiriting visiting room. Serried rows of tables, uncomfortable chairs facing each other. It looked like speed-dating for the dysfunctional.
She could have used the fact of her job to make a police visit. But that would have been a flashing light in the system that a routine visit was not. So she endured the waiting and the humiliation for half an hour with one of her best friends.
Tony was third through the door, his face lighting up at the sight of her. He dropped into his chair and grinned. ‘It’s great to see you.’ His face looked puffy and pale, but that was the only real change in his appearance. His body remained wiry and lean, his eyes as sharp and lively as ever. He sniffed noisily. ‘You use Evian skin cream, and sometimes you wear L’Air du Temps . . . but not today.’
She snorted with laughter, recognising the quote. ‘And how are you doing, Dr Lecter?’
‘I think I’m slowly getting the hang of this place. How to keep busy, how to stay out of trouble. How to be useful.’ His smile was tinged with sadness. ‘I’ve always liked to be useful.’
‘Still teaching them how to meditate?’
He smiled ‘It’s a better way of helping people stay calm than the sea of drugs that washes up in here.’
‘No blowback from twats who think you’re taking the piss?’
He shook his head. ‘They probably think I’m too insignificant to bother with. I’m no threat to their little fiefdoms and smacking me around would just give me credibility. The other thing I’m trying to get off the ground is basic literacy classes. I’m dressing it up as a way to be a better dad. Learn to read to your kids, give them the childhood you never had.’ His hands were moving constantly, fingers fidgeting, touching the table, touching his thighs. There was a nervous energy to him that was unfamiliar to her.
‘That’s an interesting approach. How are you going to manage that? I don’t imagine you’ve got many kids’ books in the prison library.’
Tony tapped the side of his nose. ‘I called my publisher, who is very happy with me because I’m writing the book they contracted years ago. I told him we needed a big box of children’s books ASAP, and he’s promised to sort it out.’
‘Result. And how is the book going?’
‘Well, I’ve got no excuse not to be writing, have I? Five hundred words a day – I should have the first draft by the end of the year. The only problem is not having access to my notes or to the internet. I’m having to rely on memory, so there’ll be a lot of fact-checking and filling in the blanks afterwards.’
‘Is there anything we can send you? Books, or copies of your notes? Torin’s down at Steeler two or three times a week, he likes the peace and quiet down there. It’d be easy enough for him to dig out what you need.’
Tony smiled. ‘You’re such a good friend, Paula. I’m not asking any more of you guys than you’re already doing for me. How is Torin? And Elinor?’
She gave him a quick update, then added, ‘We had dinner with Carol last night.’
The fidgeting stopped. ‘How is she?’
‘She told Elinor she’s seeing someone about her PTSD. An alternative therapy, apparently. I don’t really understand it, but it’s all about bodywork?’
He closed his eyes momentarily, then gave a pained smile. ‘I’ve heard about it. With a degree of scepticism, I have to admit. But if it’s helping her . . . that’s the best news I’ve had in a while.’
‘She seems less wound up, that’s for sure. She’s not drinking. And she’s doing some investigative work.’
He looked suddenly wary. ‘What do you mean?’
‘There’s a group of professionals who have got together to form a sort of Innocence Project. They call it After Proven Guilty. They work on it in their own time, they take on cases where they think there’s been a miscarriage of justice and they reinvestigate. It’s Bronwen Scott’s baby, so that should give you a flavour of how seriously it’s being run. Anyway, Bronwen showed up at the barn and pitched Carol. She’s a bit tentative about it but I think she’s definitely hooked. And that can only be a good thing, right? Using the skills she’s got?’
Tony ruminated for a moment. ‘Probably. What happened to the carpentry thing? Is she still doing that?’
Paula spread her hands. ‘As far as I know. She was the last time I was out there. She learned so many new things when she was gutting the barn and rebuilding it, I think she’s really come to enjoy working with her hands. But it’s good for her to be using her head too, I reckon.’
‘And that’s the only investigative work she’s doing?’
It was, she thought, an odd question. ‘It’s all she told us about. Unless you know different?’ And how would he, given he hadn’t been in touch with Carol since he’d begun his prison sentence. Unless . . . ?
‘I know nothing,’ he said, channelling Manuel from Fawlty Towers. ‘I just wondered if she’d got the taste for it again. But what about you? What are you working on?’
&
nbsp; And so she told him. A breakneck run-through of the past few days, a key-point breakdown of what they were looking at. As she spoke, she saw the old Tony surfacing. The frown of concentration, the flicker of the eyes as he scanned his memory banks, the tilt of the head as if he was listening to an interior voice. ‘Clearly separate cases,’ he said when she finished her account of the interview with Keenan. ‘Do you like the priest for it?’
Paula gave a sardonic chuckle. ‘I did until I interviewed him properly. Now? I’m not so sure.’
‘He’s an easy scapegoat. These days, Catholic priests have got a target painted on their backs, and for good reason. If I was looking for somebody to frame for a crime like this and I had a priest handy, that’d be my first port of call. Do you think the groundsman is smart enough to have worked that out?’
‘I’m not sure. He’s hard to read. He’s scared of something, but we both know that might just be the product of being arrested and locked up. And he’s admitted to digging the graves. He knows that means he’s more than likely going to jail. Which is also a scary prospect.’
‘Tell me about it. He could just have kept his mouth shut. But he chose to go for the priest. He’s trying to divert attention from someone he’s worried about betraying. Is it because he’s scared of that person? Or is it because he can’t bring himself to betray someone he owes a debt to?’
‘You’re thinking about the cousin,’ Paula said. ‘Mark Conway. Sophie was adamant that it couldn’t be him. She had a senior job in one of his retail companies before she joined the police, she had direct dealings with him. She says he was all about getting people to be the best they could be with a carrot, not a stick. Doesn’t sound like a serial killer of homeless lads to me.’
‘Is he married? Does he have kids?’
‘I don’t know. Why are you asking?’ There had to be a reason. Tony never went in for idle questions.
‘I’m curious. To build an empire like he has, a person has to have real drive. And the one thing they always want once they’ve succeeded is legacy. They want to pass on the torch, to know the empire will continue to thrive. To grow, even. I just wonder where Mark Conway is looking for his legacy. You need to find out more about his background.’