Dark Truths

by A. J. Cross

  ‘I see it.’ Traynor started down the slope. Reaching the chain-link fence, he followed it along to the open gate. Some four metres inside the compound a heavy-set, black-brown dog was moving restlessly back and forth. Seeing Traynor, it stopped, raised its massive head, fixed its eyes on him. A low rumble started up deep inside its compact chest.

  A man some feet away, less vigilant than the dog, turned, saw Traynor and pointed. ‘Hey, you! Get the fuck out of here, now.’

  Traynor remained where he was, the big animal coming slowly towards him, head lowered, flanks quivering. ‘You heard me! He’s off his leash. You shouldn’t be here.’ Traynor’s eyes stayed fixed on the dog. The man moved towards it, his face agitated. ‘Easy, Titan! Stay, boy.’ The dog gave a low, lingering growl, its eyes locked on Traynor.

  ‘You need to stay quiet and calm,’ Traynor said to the man.

  The man stared at him. ‘You’ll be “quiet and calm” when he rips your head off!’

  ‘Sshhh.’

  The dog was still on the move, its head raised now, teeth exposed, coming towards Traynor … closer … three metres … two … one … Traynor looked down as it raised its head to his hand hanging loose at his side, ears twitching at his low words. ‘Hey, boy … good boy …’

  The man’s voice was barely audible. ‘Are you mental, or what?’

  The dog sniffed Traynor’s hand, opened its mouth … and licked. Traynor slowly raised his hand, gently rubbed the black-brown fur. The man came slowly towards them, reached for the dog’s thick leather collar. Hands shaking, he clipped a heavy-duty plaited lead on to it. ‘I don’t know who you are or how you managed that but you’re one lucky bastard is all I can say. Now, clear off or I phone the police.’

  Traynor ran his hand over the dog’s head and nose, his face turned to the distant high ground. ‘No need. You are Bill Shaw?’

  The man looked up at the line of officers gazing down from the top of the hill. ‘Yeah. What of it?’

  ‘Do you own a motorbike, Mr Shaw?’

  ‘Piss off.’

  Traynor watched as Shaw led the dog in the direction of the prefabricated buildings, then took out his phone, looking up at the waiting officers. ‘Bring it all, Adam.’ He cut the call, his eyes back on the buildings. If Zoe Roberts’ killer was familiar with this place, there would be evidence of it.

  Frustrated, Judd fell back against her chair. ‘We’ve been at this for nearly an hour, Sarge. There’s nothing that remotely links with the Roberts case.’ She hit a key, sending on-screen details flying upwards. ‘Only five decapitations listed in the last two decades. They look as though they were done for the killers’ own convenience, as a way of concealing or transporting the body or possibly in an effort to slow identification.’ She pointed. ‘See those two? Both cases included a history of domestics, and … those three were homicides linked to organized crime.’

  Watts reached out and switched on a nearby fan. ‘Blimey, it’s hot in here.’

  Her hands propped either side of her face, Judd stared at the screen. ‘What other questions can we ask the database?’

  Watts started gathering papers. ‘We’ve finished.’

  She looked up at him. ‘Why?’

  ‘Because whatever we ask would be guesswork.’ He pointed at the computer. ‘Put guesses into that and we’ll get enough “might be’s” to keep us busy from now till Christmas.’

  ‘What if we interrogate for abductions?’

  ‘Zoe Roberts wasn’t abducted. As for the others, we don’t know how they ended up at the scene.’ He headed out of the squad room and down the stairs, Judd following. ‘Heard anything from Traynor?’

  ‘No, Sarge.’

  SIXTEEN

  Saturday 20 August. Twelve fifteen p.m.

  His eyes fixed on Shaw, Traynor pointed to forensic officers approaching. ‘They’re bringing test equipment for both of these prefabricated buildings. They’re ready to search for all kinds of evidence.’

  Shaw gave a quick shrug. ‘What’s that to do with me?’

  ‘I don’t know, Mr Shaw. Is Gerry Williams the night security guard a friend of yours?’

  ‘No. I told that other officer, the older one, I don’t have nothing to do with Williams.’

  ‘You’re not benefitting from anything he might be into?’

  Shaw’s face darkened. ‘I don’t know what you’re talking about. I don’t get involved in anything. I’ve got a ten-year-old kid I don’t see enough of. I don’t do nothing that might be used against me where he’s concerned. You’re wasting your time asking me for information because I haven’t got any. I do my job. I go home. That’s my life, apart from my kid.’

  Traynor left him with a uniformed constable and followed forensic officers to the nearest building, one of them carrying a small camcorder, another handing Traynor a white coverall. He stood at the door, pulling it on, watching the synchronized activity as Luminol was sprayed on to various surfaces. At a signal from Adam, Traynor came inside and closed the door. All of the blinds were pulled down, all internal lights extinguished. No bright, blue-green glow leapt out of the darkness.

  Adam switched on the lights. ‘No blood,’ he said.

  Traynor pointed at the two large tables. ‘How about testing for something else?’

  ‘Got anything specific in mind?’

  Traynor’s eyes moved over the surfaces of each table. ‘I’m thinking motorway access, rural location, a private place and a motorbike picked up by CCTV in the small hours, plus a night security worker who didn’t respond to a police order.’ He looked up at Adam. ‘What that’s telling me is drug distribution.’

  ‘Put like that, you’re not the only one.’ Adam nodded to his officers. Snapping open metal cases, they got busy. Traynor watched them wipe each of the tables with small squares of what looked to be plain paper. A small tool the size of a biro released liquid on to each square. Colour bloomed on the squares. Adam pointed. ‘Indications on this one of significant traces of cocaine and methamphetamine.’ They moved to another table, Adam pointing to several small, liquid filled sachets. ‘These indicate the presence of heroin. We’ll take additional samples back to headquarters for definitive testing.’ As the evidence was bagged Adam looked at him. ‘Where does this get us in terms of Roberts and the other two victims?’

  Traynor was silent for several seconds. ‘I don’t know.’

  He left the building and walked across the compound to where Shaw and the uniformed officer were still standing. He pointed towards the high ground, looking Shaw in the eye. ‘Any idea why police have been here these last few days?’

  ‘I heard something on the radio that some woman got killed around here a few days back.’

  Traynor removed his coveralls. ‘What do you know about that?’

  Shaw stared at him. ‘Nothing!’

  ‘What about your colleague who works nights? The one who’s already in deep trouble?’

  Shaw’s eyes slid away. ‘I had my suspicions he was involved in some kind of racket here, but if you’re asking do I think he murdered somebody, no. A thief is what he is. Always on the lookout for an earner.’

  Traynor left him, walked up the hill, oblivious to officers’ eyes on him, got inside his car, drove it slowly down to the compound, followed the access road and on to the motorway.

  Watts looked up as Traynor came into the office. ‘Where’ve you been?’

  Traynor dropped on to a chair. He looked drawn. ‘Working on the case.’

  ‘As SIO, I need to know where you are and what you’re doing.’ He studied him. ‘You look edgy. What’s up?’

  ‘Nothing. I can tell you that it’s possible to drive from the Works Only compound to Blackfoot Trail. I requested Adam’s team test the prefab offices for blood and drugs. No blood but they got traces of cocaine, meth and heroin. It looks like Williams the night security worker is part of a drug-running racket there. The motorbike on the CCTV recording was probably a courier. Adam has the evidence.’

/>   Watts headed for the door. He was back within five minutes. ‘Good work, Traynor. I’ve sent two officers to arrest Williams.’ They sat in silence. ‘I’ve been looking at the information we’ve got on our victims. According to Edward Arnold, Broughton told him that he had a client who wanted something special built. Barlow’s father told you that an unidentified male had offered Annette a well-paid job. Both have got my interest. What do you think?’

  ‘I hear what you’re saying but as I said, Barlow can’t be trusted on timings of events or the quality of his information.’

  Another silence grew between them. Watts looked at Traynor, saw his jaw muscles moving beneath the skin. ‘You look wired. Like I said, what’s up?’

  Traynor got to his feet. ‘I’ll give you a reality check. My reality. No sleep. Talked to a bereaved father this morning. Spent what felt like a month at the Roberts scene in thirty degrees.’ He walked to the open windows, looked out. ‘I know. It’s the same for everybody.’

  Suspecting there was a lot more going on that Traynor wasn’t talking about, Watts said, ‘If the case is getting to you …’

  Traynor turned to him. ‘Haven’t you heard? Work is the best means of achieving equilibrium. That’s straight from the mouths of two psychiatrists of my long acquaintance.’ He came back to the table, reached for his keys.

  Watts looked up at him. ‘I suppose that depends on the nature of the work.’

  ‘It’s been a difficult day, is all I’m saying.’

  ‘What about medication?’

  The door opened and Judd came inside. Traynor shrugged. ‘It doesn’t always work.’ He walked past her and out.

  The phone rang. Watts snatched it up, listened. ‘OK. I’ll come and get it.’ He replaced the phone. ‘Post.’

  ‘I’ll get it,’ said Judd. Halfway along the corridor she heard a sudden tumult coming from the upper floor, looked up at several officers coming down the stairs at speed. ‘What’s going on? What’s happened?’ she shouted above the din of voices and feet.

  ‘Development at the scene!’ shouted one.

  ‘Like what? Tell me!’

  They surged past her and out. Running back to the office, she flung open the door. Watts had his phone pressed to his ear, his face fixed. He cut the call, made another. ‘Will? We’re needed at the scene.’

  Heat hammering their heads, they walked to Adam who led them to an area of exposed earth. Chong was kneeling beside it, a red-and-white striped stake driven into the ground nearby. She gazed up at Watts, pointed at the smooth shape, its lower aspect still within the dry soil. ‘You just missed Jake Petrie. He’s spent two hours here, sending the drone, criss-cross fashion over this whole area.’ Watts’ arms hung at his sides as he stared down at this latest find. ‘I’m just about to lift it,’ she said quietly. Reaching for it with both hands, she applied gentle side-to-side pressure. It came away easily. She turned it slowly, examined its surfaces. ‘Zero indication of trauma.’ She placed it inside a plastic container, pointed upwards to two more red-and-white stakes. ‘As soon as the drone located it, I marked its position, plus those of the two previously found, Broughton on the left, Barlow to the right.’ She looked up at Watts. ‘If you can see any significance, any pattern, in the respective positions of all three, you need to tell me, because I can’t.’ Watts didn’t respond. She squinted up at Traynor. ‘See any pattern, Will?’

  His eyes moved over the three stakes. He shook his head, looked down at the area of parched earth from which the third skull had just been removed. ‘Was the manner of concealment similar to the other two?’

  ‘Yes. Carefully placed. Minimally covered. I’ll confirm his ID as soon as I have it.’

  Watts looked up. ‘Male?’

  ‘Yes.’

  He crouched next to her, staring down at the skull in its box.

  ‘Are you OK?’ she asked quietly.

  He shook his head. ‘This case is killing me. We’re doing all we can but … it just never lets up.’

  Glancing at Traynor and Judd now several feet away, she reached forward, gave his arm a quick squeeze. ‘See you later,’ she whispered.

  Watts stood, walked slowly down the incline. They returned to their vehicles, Watts tracking Traynor’s car as it left. They had to get together, discuss this latest development, the whole investigation. He closed his eyes, thinking of an admin job waiting for him in his office. Glancing at Judd, he said, ‘The chief wants an appraisal of your general progress on the investigation. When we get back to headquarters, I’ll make a start on it. You still haven’t given me your report of that wine shop visit. From what Traynor’s learned about Annette Barlow’s lifestyle, it could be relevant to what happened to her. Once I’ve read what you’ve got, I’ll go over there myself and have a chat with the manager. See if he’s got anything to add.’

  Judd stared out of the window. He started the engine, his attention suddenly taken by one of the officers guarding the entrance to the car park, his arms raised, barring the way to a man. Alec Prentiss.

  Watts got out, walked over to them. ‘I’ll sort it.’

  Prentiss looked like somebody had taken an eraser to every scrap of colour he’d ever had. He attempted a smile. It quickly disappeared. ‘DI Watts, I hope it’s OK to bring these?’

  Watts looked at the flowers he was holding: white-pink lilies fashioned into a large wreath in one hand, in the other a container of small, white flowers. Prentiss raised the wreath. ‘This is from our parents. They’re having a bad day so I said I’d bring it.’ He nodded at the small flowers mixed with dark green leaves. ‘These are from me. Stephanotis. Zoe chose them for her bridal bouquet.’ He swallowed. ‘Actually, their scent is giving me a headache. Is it all right to leave them?’

  ‘No problem. Come on in and decide where you want to put them.’

  Prentiss came into the car park, walked to the shady corner, knelt and placed the flowers on the ground. ‘They’ll probably last a bit longer here.’ He remained there for several seconds then stood, turned to Watts. ‘Thank you.’ He walked slowly away, across the car park to the entrance and disappeared from view.

  Watts looked at the flowers. His own life felt like it was full of death. He returned to his vehicle, guessing that the look on Judd’s face was a mirror of his own: distracted weariness.

  SEVENTEEN

  Monday 22 August. Six thirty a.m.

  Coming into his office, Watts found Traynor already there. One glance told him that sleep problems had brought him in early.

  ‘Dr Chong has an ID for the third skull,’ said Traynor. ‘Justin Rhodes. Twenty-three years old when he disappeared in October, 2011.’

  Watts sat opposite him. ‘Which makes him the second most recent victim to Zoe Roberts. That might work to our advantage in terms of establishing a link.’

  Traynor reached across the desk. ‘Here’s the file on Rhodes’ disappearance. I had it fetched from the basement. I’ve gone through it. He worked as a reporter on a local newspaper. Their offices are fairly close to where Zoe Roberts was running the day she was killed.’

  Watts took it from him, winnowing its contents. ‘That could be the first link.’ He quickly read the first few pages. ‘How about we go and talk to the Rhodes family? See what they can tell us.’

  Traynor was looking elsewhere. ‘It might appear a little heavy-handed for both of us to go. Why not take Judd?’

  Watts eyed him. He’d talked to Annette Barlow’s father but Watts still suspected that Traynor was avoiding contact with bereaved family members whenever possible. Probably a wise move, given how rocky he was looking. ‘I’ve given Judd a late start today, so I’ll go and talk to the Rhodes family. How about you go and see Justin Rhodes’ colleagues at this newspaper he worked for?’

  As Traynor headed for the door, Watts made a phone call then went to the Smartboard, his eyes moving over the actions listed. The desk phone rang. He reached for it. ‘Watts.’ He paused. ‘Anything?’ He listened to Adam reporting zero results of a
search of Walk ’n’ Dior trainers purchased in the Midlands.

  ‘It was a long shot,’ said Adam. ‘The ones which made the prints we found could have been purchased anywhere. Most of those we traced were bought in London and Manchester by people whose names appear to be Japanese.’

  Eight a.m.

  A pleasant-looking woman in her late thirties-early forties with a mane of blonde-brown curls to her shoulders appeared in response to a phone call from the young woman behind the glass of the Southern Times reception area. ‘Dr Traynor,’ she said, smiling up at him, holding out her hand. ‘Jess Meredith, the paper’s owner. We spoke on the phone earlier. It’s good to meet you.’ Then to the young woman on reception: ‘Anya, can you make us some coffee, please?’

  The young woman nodded, sending Traynor a smile as he followed Meredith through a security door and into a large square office.

  ‘Everyone else is out, but they all predate Justin’s time here. Fortunately, I don’t so I’m happy to help you in any way I can.’

  ‘Thank you for agreeing to an early meeting,’ said Traynor.

  ‘No problem.’ She smiled. ‘The news world is known for its early starts.’

  He looked around at vacant desks, each supporting a computer, then on to shelves of files. She caught his glance. ‘Welcome to the paperless world, right? Except that it isn’t.’ She indicated a chair at one of the desks, taking another for herself. ‘Although, as the proprietor, I’m glad paper in some form is holding its own. At least, for now.’

  ‘For now?’

  ‘My dad started this business over twenty years ago. We’ve had a good run, still are, but we’re changing to a digital format in a year or so.’ She rotated her chair to him, her face open, gaze direct. ‘You’re not here to talk newspaper business. When I said it was good to meet you, I wasn’t being merely polite. I’ll help your investigation in any way I can. Justin Rhodes was a highly valued member of our team. I liked him a lot. It’s been a long time since he disappeared. Too long.’