by Rick Murcer
Tears welled in his eyes. ‘A father is meant to give his daughter money, not the other way round.’
‘I read something once: Some people earn millions investing in themselves, and some people give of themselves investing in society for very little reward. I’m grateful, not only for all the help you gave me when I was younger, but also for giving what you had to give, so that I could live in a safer society. Think of it as payback, and believe me when I say that to me it’s a piddling amount that I’ll recover before the day is out. Right, shall we go?’
He wiped his eyes. ‘Look what you’ve made me do.’ He hugged her, then bent down and grabbed his bag. ‘Lead the way, daughter of mine.’
At the heliport they hugged again.
‘Remember, you have to give me away soon.’
‘I don’t know if I want to give you away anymore.’
‘And be nice to mum, you never know what might happen.’
‘She’d die of shock that’s what would happen.’
‘See you soon, dad.’
‘Yeah.’
***
At four-fifteen Hobb Whitley landed at Withybush Aerodrome. Inigo had dozed off for most of the flight. Under normal circumstances he would have given him a tip, but he thought that ten percent of a helicopter was probably beyond his resources, so he just waved goodbye instead.
He’d left his car at Milford Haven train station, which was along the coast in the opposite direction, so he caught a taxi to Little Haven. It was five past five when he arrived, and found they’d set up an incident room in the hall of Little Haven Primary School.
‘DS Saunders said you wouldn’t get back until late tonight,’ the Chief said as soon as he entered.
‘Helicopter.’
‘I hope you don’t think I’ll sanction that expenditure?’
One of his people was missing, and all the Chief was worried about was a few pounds out of the budget. ‘Have you found DC Griffiths yet?’
‘No, we’re still searching.’
‘What have you done so far?’
‘The cottage, the surrounding area, a house-to-house in the village.’
‘What’s your next move?’
‘Well, I suppose we’ll have to move further afield.’
‘How many officers have you got on the ground?’
‘Thirty-one now that you’re here.’
‘Thirty-one, is that all?’
‘Unfortunately, that’s all the manpower available.’
‘What about getting people from neighbouring forces?’
‘Do you know how much that would cost?’
‘How much is DC Griffiths’ life worth, Sir?’
‘Be careful, Inspector, you’re treading on very thin ice.’
He walked away then. If he’d stayed, he would have put his own neck in the guillotine, and that wouldn’t have done Tig any good at all.
At the place set aside for refreshments, he made himself a black coffee. He didn’t normally take sugar, but there wasn’t a lot of fuel left in the tank, so he spooned a couple of sugars into the treacle-like liquid. What he needed was to stay awake, and for his brain to be operating at maximum efficiency. Tig had been missing for at least six hours. Where was she? There was no sign of her at the cottage, or in the local area. Had they retraced her steps? If the killer had taken her, maybe he was a local, or at least staying locally. Maybe she’d knocked on his door, he’d invited her in, and then overpowered her. Were they already too late?
‘You must be on the take if you can afford a helicopter, Sir.’
‘There’s got to be some perks to the job, Tony. Listen, have you retraced her steps?’
‘As far as we were able.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘Well, we relied on eyewitnesses who saw and spoke to her as usual.’
‘And where does it end? Where do the sightings tail off? What times did people see her?’
‘We haven’t collated all the information yet.’
‘Put more people on it, Tony. It’s been over six hours now.’
‘Okay. Was London any help?’
He remembered the sheets of paper Bridget Knight from the Pentonville Mercury had given him. ‘Maybe, but I need to do some reading.’ Where had he put his holdall? ‘Oh crap! I’ve left my holdall in the boot of the taxi.’ He shook his head. ‘I can’t even remember the name of the Taxi Company.’
‘I’ll get people onto mapping out Tig’s last known movements.’
‘Okay, the sooner the better, Tony.’
What an idiot! He was tired, and tired people made mistakes. He needed to get onto the taxi companies in Withybush, phone around, try and find... The stick! He rummaged in his jacket pocket and found the memory stick.
Six computers had been set up in the hall. Four of them were in use. He sat at a free computer and slotted the memory stick into the USB port, but even as he was doing it he knew it wouldn’t work, and it didn’t.
‘I need a computer technician,’ he said in a rather loud voice.
Constable Anne Sanderson was sitting at the computer next to him and shook her head. ‘I’m sorry, Sir, there are none here.’
He raised his voice again. ‘Somebody must know how to access a memory stick?’ He wondered if his feelings of desperation manifested themselves in his voice.
‘Try the Chief, Sir, he’s a computer whiz.’
Wouldn’t you know it, he thought? The last person in the whole world he wanted to ask for help. ‘Chief?’
‘Yes, Inspector?’
‘I need to get into this memory stick, and I hear you’re the man who knows how.’
‘It’s against regulations, you know?’
‘There might be something on here that can help us find DC Griffiths. This is what I went to London for.’
The Chief held out his hand. ‘Just this one time, and don’t watch what I do.’
Inigo passed him the memory stick, stood up, and turned around.
‘What did you find out in London?’
‘The victim’s name is Joy Lawson. She used to work at the Pentonville Mercury as a reporter. In October 2009 she disappeared, which was shortly after Verona Izatt’s aunt died and left her the cottage here in Little Haven. Around the same time, Verona Izatt was killed herself in a hit-and-run accident. Joy Lawson then found out everything she could about Verona Izatt under the guise of writing an article about the accident, but it was a fake. She then became Verona Izatt, and came here to start a new life. What I don’t know, is why. I’m hoping the answer to that question is on that memory stick.’
The Chief stood up. ‘Okay, but in the future, remember I’m the Chief Superintendent, not a computer technician.’
‘If there’s information on that stick that will help us find Tig... DC Griffiths, then you can be anything you want to be, Sir.’
Inigo sat down and began wading through Joy Lawson’s files. The majority of articles related to local news in Pentonville and the surrounding areas. Man robbed by gang, dog rescued from tree, the Cultural Minister visits, and computer scam hits local businesses – to name but a few, but there was one folder entitled ‘Research’, which contained one document and three images. He opened up the images first. Each image was a grainy black-and-white photograph of a man in his late fifties, or early sixties, hunched into a donkey jacket taken on the same day. His hair was unkempt, he was unshaven, and his whole face sagged. Inigo didn’t recognise him as a local.
Next, he opened up the document. There was only one paragraph:
Arthur Morris is a serial abuser of children who has escaped the attention of the authorities and the police. The first person he abused was his daughter when she was just five years old. Since then, as a registered carer of looked-after children with his wife Mary, he has abused hundreds of vulnerable children between 1987 and 2009.
That was all there was. Inigo sent the three images and the paragraph to the printer, and then stuck them on the incident board.
‘Wh
o’s that?’ the Chief asked as he came to stand next to Inigo.
‘Arthur Morris, but I have no idea whether he’s connected to DC Griffiths’ disappearance, or not. It was the only item in Joy Lawson’s files that could be considered remotely interesting and out of the ordinary.’
‘A child abuser?’ DS Tony Saunders said.
Inigo shrugged. ‘So it would seem, but there’s no evidence to support Joy Lawson’s claim that he is.’
‘What about putting his name through CrimInt and giving copies of one of those photographs to the officers on the ground. Let’s see if anyone recognises him?’
‘Good idea, DS Saunders,’ the Chief said. ‘It’s not as if we’ve got any other leads to pursue.’
Tony Saunders called over one of the Constables. He pulled the best picture of Arthur Morris from the incident board, told her to put his name through the CrimInt database, and to organise the copying and distribution of the photograph.
‘What’s happening with the collation, Tony?’ Inigo said.
‘Over here.’ He led them to two tables pushed together. There were three Constables hovering over a large-scale map of Little Haven. ‘Okay, we’ve mapped out where she went based on the approximate times of the reported sightings, and identified where the reports ended. She started off by calling at the nearest houses to the cottage on Point Road and St Brides Road and went as far as the Post Office.’ He pointed to the roads on the map. ‘She then retraced her steps and travelled along Grove Place to Walton Hill. At the Y-junction she turned left along Settlands Hill. The last confirmed sighting of her was by Marian and Andrew Pearson at Number 107. They also said they saw her go to Number 109.’
‘That’s old Pam MacRuary’s Guesthouse, isn’t it?’ Inigo said. He lived on Wesley Road, but he knew Pam and her sister very well.
Tony nodded. ‘Yes, but there was no answer when officers called at the house earlier.’
Inigo scratched his head. ‘That can’t be right, Pam – or her sister Janet Barr – are always there. Come on, Tony, you can drive.’
The time was quarter to seven, but it was still light outside. Tony Saunders had a Ford Mondeo from the motor pool, and they were there within ten minutes.
Tony knocked on the front door, but there was no answer. Inigo peered through the windows, but couldn’t see anything out of place. Tony went left, and Inigo went right. They met round the back. Inigo banged on the window and shouted, ‘Pam? Janet?’ but there was no response.
‘Look on the table,’ Tony said.
‘Keys.’
‘People don’t go out and leave their keys on the kitchen table.’
‘That’s enough for me. Contact the Chief, and get permission to break in.’
Tony moved away and rang the Chief. After a few minutes he came back and said, ‘Do it.’
Inigo picked up a chunk of stone from the rockery, smashed the window in the back door, and put his arm through the hole. He turned the handle, but the door wouldn’t open. ‘One of those keys on the table must open the door,’ he said.
‘Watch yourself, Sir.’
Inigo moved out of the way.
Tony aimed a kick at the lock. The door splintered, burst open with a crack and the sound of smashing glass on the kitchen floor.
There was nothing downstairs, but they found Pam MacRuary and her sister Janet Barr in an upstairs bedroom. Their throats had been cut, and they were lying in a pool of their own blood. Tig was nowhere to be found. Tony rang the Chief and told him what they’d found.
‘Dr Reese and forensics are on their way,’ Tony said.
‘The guest bedrooms are empty.’
‘Maybe Marian or Andrew Pearson saw something.’
They went next door and questioned the Pearsons, who confirmed that a male guest had been staying for a few days.
Inigo showed them the picture of Arthur Morris.
‘Aye, that’s him,’ Marian said. ‘Got shorter hair, and uglier, but that’s him all right.’
An All Points Bulletin was issued for Arthur Morris, but if he had gone to ground, Inigo knew it was as much use as a concrete parachute.
***
Who was Arthur Morris? How did Joy Lawson find out about him abusing children? She must have threatened to reveal his dirty little secret, and then he came after her. She used Verona Izatt’s misfortune to disappear, but after three years he’d found her. Now he’s got Tig, but where? And more importantly, why?
It was twenty-five past ten before the results of the database search came back. Inigo was on his last legs, and he ached all over from swimming ten lengths of Marielle’s swimming pool like a crazy old man. All he wanted to do was lie down and close his eyes.
‘No formal charges were brought against him due to a lack of evidence,’ Constable Jane Whitfield said.
Inigo tried to concentrate, but he kept hallucinating.
‘But his wife left him in October 2009, and he was removed from the Local Authority’s list of registered carers.’
‘Joy Lawson must have notified people about what she knew,’ Tony said. ‘Including his wife.’
‘Maybe Joy Lawson was one of Morris’ victims,’ Tony suggested.
‘That would explain a lot,’ Inigo said. ‘What about the daughter?’
‘There’s nothing on the database, Sir, except that her name is Sarah.’
Inigo stood up and began pacing. ‘We need to find the daughter, and his wife should be brought down here to help us. Has Morris been down here before? Is there somewhere he might have taken DC Griffiths? We’re at a dead end. We have no idea which way to turn next. He could be in a different country by now. Tig could be lying dead somewhere with her heart ripped out. Fuck!’ He didn’t normally swear, but he was frustrated at the lack of progress. ‘Sorry,’ he said to Constable Whitfield. ‘I need to lie down before I fall down. Tony, we need more information about Arthur Morris. We need to know where to direct our energies next. When I wake up, I want to see his wife and daughter here waiting for me to question them.’
‘I’ll do my best, Sir.’
Inigo found a dark spot in the hall, curled up in a ball like a dog, and fell into a dreamless sleep.
***
Friday
‘What time is it, Jane?’ he said to Constable Whitfield after she’d shook him awake.
‘Half past four, Sir.’
‘Coffee?’
‘Here.’ She held a steaming mug towards him.
‘Thanks.’ He sat up and took the coffee in both hands. ‘I didn’t do anything I shouldn’t have, did I Jane?’
She smiled. ‘I’m sure I wouldn’t know anything about that, Sir.’
‘The story of my life.’
He stood up and walked over to the incident board. The Chief was nowhere to be seen, but Tony Saunders was sitting at a table staring into space.
‘Any news, Tony?’
‘All bad.’
‘Go on?’
‘Arthur Morris’ ex-wife had married again. They found the two bodies in the bedroom when they went to get her. He’d had his throat cut, and she resembled your first victim. Mouth sewn shut, silver hearts inside, heart ripped out.’
‘Seems to be about revenge. Sewing the mouth shut is probably because they talked. Ripping the heart out could be because that’s what they did to him. Joy Lawson tore his family apart when she spoke out, and his ex-wife did the same when she left him.’
‘And the silver hearts?’ Tony asked.
Inigo shrugged. What did he know? It was all speculation anyway. He wasn’t a profiler, or a criminal psychologist, but he had a good idea what went on in a killer’s mind even so. He felt much better after five hours of sleep. His brain was functioning again. Now, he had to find Tig.
‘What about the daughter?’
‘Disappeared. From about the age of fifteen, there’s no record of her.’
‘Ran away from home because of what he did to her?’
‘Could be.’
‘Okay, so wha
t are we doing? Tig’s been missing seventeen hours now.’
‘We’ve been extending the search in a semicircle from the village, but nothing yet.’
‘Let’s do some speculating, Tony. Let’s say Tig knocked on the old sister’s guesthouse. He invited her in, and then disabled her. We know they’re not there, so where did he take her? He obviously didn’t carry her over his shoulder through the village, so he must have put her in a vehicle. Did he have a car? Have we checked?’
‘Army green Landrover. It belonged to...’
‘...the old sisters. Yes, I recall. And we can’t find it?’
‘No, and it hasn’t been spotted once.’
‘In which case, he’s hidden it. Even if he’d switched vehicles, and he was on the move, we would have caught him by now. He’s gone to ground, and I think he’s still somewhere local.’ He turned to the map on the incident board. ‘I want all the farms checked again, but this time the barns and outhouses are to be searched. That Landrover is somewhere near. He’s hiding until things quieten down.’
‘What about the people further afield?’
‘Bring them in. The farms are our priority now.’
‘You could be wrong, Sir.’
‘You know very well that telling a senior officer he could be wrong is not something that will enhance your promotion prospects, Sergeant.’
‘I’m tired, and probably a bit reckless, Sir.’
‘If I’m wrong, Tony, then...’ He left the sentence hanging. If he was wrong they both knew the consequences of failure. Tig would probably die – if she wasn’t dead already, and he’d be retiring a year earlier than planned.
Tony began organising the new search pattern, bringing in the officers and cars that had gradually travelled out to Broadhaven, Haroldston West, Talbenny, Ratford Bridge, Hasguard Cross, and a number of the other surrounding towns and villages.
The only thing that Inigo could do was pace and drink lots of coffee. He was bereft of ideas. If this didn’t unearth Arthur Morris then Tig was lost, and a serial killer would have escaped.