by Coles, Linda
As the van that Rochelle was in pulled up in the church car park, she looked around at the location and what they had to deal with. The coordinates were only feet from where they were right at that moment, yet there was nothing to see, only the church, the graveyard and some other small buildings. It had to be in one of them, or the church itself, which didn’t seem particularly realistic. Who would kill somebody in a church and then move the body to Hunsbury Hill at a later date? Surely, they’d just leave the body where they’d committed the original crime. Why risk moving it and someone seeing you? As the SIO gave orders, DI Mason scanned the area again and noticed a familiar vehicle parked up nearby.
“Now why is that minicab driver here? Why is his car parked in this car park at this time?” she said, almost to herself.
“What was that, boss?”
It was DC Flint. “I know that car over there,” she said, nodding towards it. “It belongs to a local minicab driver. He volunteers at the Refresh Centre and has tried on several occasions to insert himself into this investigation. Name is Will Peters, you’ve met him.”
“I have, yes. Could be inside praying? It is a church.”
“I hate coincidences.”
“You think he might be involved?”
“I’m beginning to wonder now,” she said. “He works with the homeless, he wants to get involved, keep an eye on things, and as you well know, often those types turn out to be the culprits, that’s their primary reason for keeping up with what’s going on.”
“I guess we’ll find out soon enough. Have you seen him?”
“Not yet.”
Fifty-Eight
As Birdie and Will ventured further down the tunnel, Stanley made his own way slowly back towards the rear entrance to the church where they had first entered not long ago. There seemed little point waiting at the top of the steps, there was nothing he could do there, so he figured he may as well stay where it was a bit warmer and wait for them to reappear. If anybody saw him, he would go with his excuse of just having a look around, say he meant no harm, and hoped that that would suffice. When he reached the door, what greeted him on the other side was not what he expected. From his spot by a nearby window he could see the flashing lights of emergency services, but he couldn’t hear sirens. That in itself was strange, but he ignored it and watched with interest as several van loads of uniformed police, and what looked like a forensics team by their white paper suits, stood around in conversation. He realised something was adrift. Will and Birdie were someway under foot, and he hurriedly tried to send a text to them both, alerting them that they had important visitors. His fingers didn’t seem to want to work, and he fumbled to make a coherent message he could barely see, his reading glasses in their case back in his living room. Not needing them to show his friends how to get into a tunnel, he hadn’t thought to bring them.
“Dammit,” he said as he struggled to see what he was typing. Deciding a phone call might be better, he pressed for Will and waited for it to connect. It went straight to voicemail. He did the same with Birdie and hoped that hers might give him better reception – maybe she was with a different provider – but hers went the same way, voicemail. “I might as well leave a message,” he mumbled and waited for Birdie to stop talking. “Get back here and quickly,” he blurted and ended the call. He glanced out of the window to see what was happening just as half the group set off towards the back door of the church.
“Shit!” he said to himself and pressed send on his rough typed message, hoping that something, message or voicemail, would get through to the tunnels below. From memory they ran in every direction, and he just hoped that Will and Birdie had had the good sense to stay on the main track and not go branching off and getting lost, that they could find their own way back easily enough. He had no sooner had the thought than the back door opened, and a woman with bluish hair was standing in front of him. Even though Stanley’s hearing wasn’t the best, there was no mistaking the sound of other police officers that were entering through the main door, all entrances covered. What the hell were they looking for? He waited to see what would happen next.
“DI Rochelle Mason. Who might you be?”
“Stanley Kipper,” he said clearly.
“What are you doing back here, Stanley?” she asked.
“Just browsing.” He hoped it sounded enough.
“Browsing? Browsing what exactly?” she said in order to clarify, obviously not convinced by his nonchalant comment.
“Always wanted to know what it was like at the back of the church,” he said. At that moment the vicar came out of her office, having heard the police arrive, and raised voices in conversation.
“May I ask what’s going on?” she asked. “I’m Joanna Cox, the vicar.”
“Good afternoon, vicar,” Rochelle said. “DI Mason. We have reason to believe that somebody is being kept on these premises against their will. We are here to search,” she said.
“I can assure you there is nobody being kept on these premises,” said the vicar, in a tone that relayed her displeasure, “but please feel free to confirm that.” She opened her arms as if to invite them to search every crevice. “Any idea where this person is supposedly being held?”
“Our intelligence tells us this location, not exactly which room.”
“Well, feel free to look around. If you need my help, I’ll be right here.”
Both the vicar and Stanley watched as the gathered police split into groups and went off in various directions. Stanley could hear a distant ‘clear’, followed by another distant ‘clear’, as each room in turn was searched. The crew that had entered through the front entrance of the church met up with the rear-entrance team and evidently all was ‘clear’ there too. DI Mason made her way over to Stanley and said, “You appear to be the only person here apart from the vicar. What is the reason for your visit and how did you get here?” she asked.
“I said, just browsing, and to answer your other question, by car,” he said. “Like I could walk very far?”
Rochelle had to agree with that, the elderly man obviously doddery on his feet, but since he was wearing trainers, she had to be sure. She pointed to his feet, “You didn’t run here, then?”
“What planet were you born on?” said Stanley. “Do I look like a bloody Olympic athlete?”
“I guess not,” she said. She’d known the answer, but wanted to check anyway. Plenty of older people ran to keep fit. “Is that your car outside?”
“Not my car, no,” said Stanley, starting to enjoy himself. He wasn’t going to give the police anything. It wasn’t his car, and if they’d bothered to look the registration up, she’d have known that it belonged to Will Peters. He’d let her wait until she did so. “Any chance of a cuppa?” he asked the vicar, before turning back to smile at the female detective. It had been a long time since he’d had so much fun with the police. He only hoped that when Will and Birdie returned, they weren’t in any real trouble.
Fifty-Nine
Some feet below where the police were now standing, Will and Birdie made their way along the tunnel in the dim light of their phone torches.
“We should get the samples,” said Birdie, “then at least we’ve got what we came to get. Then we can carry on if we want to.”
“I’m not sure I want to go all the way,” said Will. “This could go on for miles, and I don’t want to be down here at dark, although I know that sounds silly since it’s dark down here anyway, but you know what I mean. Plus, we ought to get Stanley home and drop you back, and Louise will be wondering where I’ve got to. Nobody knows we’re here, remember.”
“Good points,” said Birdie. “Then we should get the samples and make a date to come back. Maybe tomorrow morning? Although that’s Saturday and you may have family commitments?”
Will tried not to work on a Saturday because Louise very often had shifts to cover at the weekend, though not in the outpatients. They did have plans, they were due to take the girls out to the theme park for
the day, but if the weather turned to custard like it had this afternoon, they might have to change to indoors activities. He’d think about that later.
“Let’s give it another five minutes,” he said. “We’ll get the samples and walk a little way further, and then yes, you’re right, we should get back.”
“I’ll hold your torch while you get them then,” she offered, and watched as Will scratched tiny particles off the walls and put them into one pot, then added scratchings from the floor to another pot. He pulled a pen out of his pocket and wrote on the labels which was which.
“I’ll grab some more from further up before we turn around,” he said, as if by explanation of what the other pots were for. He slipped the two used ones into his pocket and they slowly carried on down the tunnel. They’d only gone ten feet or so when Birdie noticed that it branched off to the right.
“This looks like a spot where we should turn back,” she said.
“I agree, we don’t want to get lost, though it is only the first branch we’ve come to so why don’t we just go on for a couple more minutes and see where the right fork takes us? If we come to another fork, we won’t take it. We know when we eventually turn around that we’ve just got to go left at the fork and walk straight back home. Agreed?”
“Sounds good to me,” said Birdie. “I don’t fancy getting lost and being down here all weekend. No one would notice me gone.”
“Well, Louise would have no idea where to look for us, certainly not down here anyway. I’ve not told anybody where we are, although my car is parked back up above ground. Not that it means we’re here.”
“Come on, let’s hurry,” said Birdie, picking up speed, and the two carried on at a slightly faster pace to see where the right fork went to. Time was nearly up when Birdie exclaimed, “It forks off again, end of the line for today.”
“I agree,” he said, relieved the end had come, for today at least. They couldn’t go any further at that moment, it wouldn’t have been wise. Both shone their torches in the same direction.
“You know, I don’t think that is a tunnel,” said Birdie. “It looks more like cellar, a room. Look,” she said, pointing her light beam at the wall. “You can see the back wall; it doesn’t go anywhere.”
“I think you’re right, Birdie,” he said, “let’s go the few more feet and have a snoop around. Then we’ll definitely go?”
“Yes,” she said. The two carried on just a few more steps to confirm their thoughts. It was, in fact, just a room and not another tunnel.
“Look at that,” said Will. “Who would want to stay down here?” A single metal bed with a soiled mattress was the only thing in the room. “There’s food wrappers,” he added, pointing at them.
“And they look like McDonald’s,” said Birdie, having taken a closer look.
“Probably kids, like Stanley when he was younger, drinking beer. They probably come down here and smoke.”
“It’s a long way to come,” said Birdie. “Not the nicest of places. I could think of easier places to go and smoke dope.” Will had to agree about that one, it was unusual. “And unless they know another way in, they’d have to come in through the church.”
Will shone his torch around the room. Yes, there were food wrappers, and there looked to be half a dozen or so all in one corner. He walked over and shone his light down at them. “Fresh ones too,” he said, sniffing. “Curious there’s nothing else here…” There were no cigarette butts littering the floor, no beer cans, no nothing. “Come on, let’s get back. Stanley will be ready to get home. I know I am.”
The two made their way, turned left at the junction, then headed back up the steps and into the rear passages of the church. It didn’t take that long at all, and when they re-entered the storeroom, both were surprised that they could hear voices. There were quite a few. Birdie looked at Will and both wondered what was going on. As he opened the door, it all became clear. What he wasn’t expecting was to again come face to face with DI Rochelle Mason. Over her shoulder, he could see Stanley with a half-smile on his face, and he wondered what had been said. His phone pinged with a text message and then again with a voice message. Birdie’s phone did the same.
“Fancy seeing you here,” Rochelle said.
Sixty
He certainly hadn’t been expecting to see DI Mason when he walked through the door and it was obvious she wasn’t too pleased to see him either.
“What’s going on?” he asked innocently. There must’ve been a dozen people, including the vicar and Stanley, in the small area.
“I’d like to ask you the same question,” she said. “What were you doing down there?”
“Sightseeing,” said Will. “I suppose that’s what you’d call it. I only learned of the tunnels just recently and only today learned that there was a way in from this church. Why, what’s wrong?”
“I don’t believe in coincidences and you’ve got some explaining to do, so I suggest we do that down the station.”
“What you mean?”
“We need to have a formal chat,” she said.
“Am I under arrest?” asked Will, sounding incredulous.
“I’m not sure yet, but I think it’s in your interest to explain exactly what you’ve been doing down there. I suggest you go with DC Flint. You too, Birdie Fox, and you’d better take your friend with you, not that he’s been much help.” She glared at Stanley. DI Mason was too young to know of Stanley’s involvement with the police from way back, which was probably to Stanley’s advantage.
“All we went down there for was to get some samples,” he said, pulling the two pots out of his pocket and handing them over. “One is off the floor and the other is off the wall. I thought you could compare them to any traces left on Clyde’s or Bowie’s body. I’ve no idea if they’re connected to these tunnels or not, it was just a hunch, it seemed like a good place to hide somebody. Plus, it fits in with the damp odour I detected on Bowie at the mortuary.” He was pleading his case as best he could. The last thing he wanted was to waste his time in an interview room.
“What did you find down there?”
“Tunnels. Cold and damp tunnels,” he said. “But just as we were about to turn around, we came across what we thought was another tunnel, but it turned out to be some sort of chamber, like a cellar. A room, if you like. We went in, but I think it’s just somewhere where kids probably hang out, because there was an old single metal bed that looked like it had been there since time began, and food wrappers, though those were recent. I could still see the grease on them – McDonald’s. But as Birdie pointed out, why would kids hang around in a cold, damp tunnel just to smoke weed or whatever? That bit that doesn’t fit. Plus, there were no cigarette butts or smoked joints in there, just the filthy bed and food wrappers.”
Something glinted in DI Mason’s eyes. Will knew he’d struck on something.
“How many, would you say? How many wrappers?”
“Probably half a dozen or so, we haven’t touched them. Why?”
“Good,” she said and turned to one of the forensic team and passed the message on. “Leave it to us now, Will, but if you had to go in again, could you remember the way? Could you tell one of the officers exactly where you found them?”
“Straight on, and at the first fork, take a right, and it’s not far off there, on your right.”
“Easy enough,” she said. “Right, we’ll take it from here now. Go with DC Flint, all three of you. I want to talk to you lot properly back at the station.”
“How long will you be? Only I’ve got to get these two back, and I’ve got a family waiting for me.”
“Then I suggest you ring your family and let them know you’re going to be a little late. I don’t know how long I’ll be here.”
Will thought for a moment. He wasn’t happy with her suggestion. “If we are not under arrest, I’ll meet you tomorrow morning, we can talk then. I want to get these two home. Stanley’s already had a soaking today and the last thing I want is for him t
o catch a chill, or worse, pneumonia. We aren’t going anywhere.” It wasn’t like she had any evidence against him, just because his car was parked outside, and being in the tunnel with Birdie didn’t mean he had done anything wrong. DI Mason knew when she was beaten, he had a point. Still, she didn’t believe in coincidence, and she still needed to find out where the person in the latest image was and if they were still alive. That was the priority now, not Will and his group. Knowing about the tunnels, it now made perfect sense. From the coordinates they had, the room must be off one of them. That meant a whole different search and she hadn’t time to waste on the nosey trio.
“Go home, all of you. I’ll be in touch later; it could be a late one here. But just don’t go anywhere,” she said sharply. “Stay close by.”
“I’m not planning on going anywhere,” he said. “I’m on your side, remember? I want to find Clyde and Bowie’s killer just as much as you do, and make sure there’s not another one.” Something must’ve flashed across Rochelle’s face and Will saw it immediately. “Oh lord, there’s been another one, hasn’t there? When?”
“I’m not going to talk to you about an ongoing investigation.”
“Hunsbury Hill again?”
“I’m not telling you any more. Now, if you don’t mind, let the professionals take over, we need to get down into the tunnels.”
“I’ll wait to hear from you then,” he said. “Stanley, Birdie, let’s get you two home. The DI knows where to find us if she needs us in the meantime,” he said, catching Mason’s eye.
Stanley was particularly glad to be getting back, he’d been on his feet far too long and cold was starting to settle into his bones. The three headed out to the car, though Will would be lucky if he could get it out with the amount of police and other vehicles that were parked around it. He was somewhat blocked in.
“Great,” he said. “How the hell do I get out of this one?”