by Marion Todd
Any pointers would be a huge help. I’ll stand you a drink in return.
Cheers for now,
Michelle
Michelle tapped as Clare spoke then she held out her phone. ‘Look okay?’ she asked.
Clare nodded. ‘Thanks Michelle. I really appreciate it. Obviously if she gets in touch let me know without delay. Don’t open or answer the message. Just call me and I’ll come right over.’
* * *
Janey looked up as Clare put her head round the incident room door. ‘John Mason,’ she said.
‘You’ve got him?’
‘Got an address and a workplace. It’s a care home.’
‘Good work, Janey! Give me the details.’
Janey handed Clare a sheet of paper.
‘Pitlethie Care Home,’ Clare read. It rang a vague bell, then she remembered it was the home where Alison Reid’s mother was.
‘I know it,’ Chris said. ‘It’s in Leuchars.’
Clare grabbed her coat. ‘Right. We’ll try the care home first. I want you to follow us, Janey. Get someone else with you and another couple of bodies too. Chris and I will lead the way.’
They raced outside and jumped into cars, Clare and Chris in the first, Janey and Gary with another two uniforms in the second.
‘Blues and twos,’ Clare told Chris and he flicked the switch to turn on the siren and lights. At the roundabout in Guardbridge the traffic from other directions came to a standstill to let the police cars through. As they neared Leuchars Chris killed the siren and lights and they slowed their approach to avoid alerting John Mason.
The care home was a low, modern building in red brick. It sat on a flat, windy site with Tentsmuir Forest to the east and the Eden Estuary beyond. Chris pulled into the car park, followed by the second car. They jumped out and Clare directed the others to go round the side of the building. ‘There must be a few entrances. Fire doors and the like,’ she said, her voice low. ‘Look for the kitchen door too. Staff might nip out for a smoke so it would be an easy exit.’
Once they were all in place Clare pressed the buzzer and asked for the matron.
They were buzzed in and greeted by a smiling woman in a blue dress. Clare thought she was maybe fifty, but a young fifty. There was a youthful energy about her but the light brown hair was threaded with silver here and there and her eyes had crinkled into crows’ feet. She held out a hand. ‘I’m Maria Wilkins. How can I help?’
‘Can we speak in your office?’ Clare said, her voice low.
Maria led them into her office and stood, waiting for an explanation.
‘I don’t want any fuss,’ Clare said, ‘but I need to speak to a member of your staff urgently. John Mason. I understand he works here as a care assistant. Could you ask him to come here please, but don’t tell him the reason.’
Maria spread her hands. ‘I wish I could help, Inspector. But John isn’t working today.’ She moved to a chart on the wall. ‘I’ll have to check but it looks like he’s not due back until Saturday. Late shift so he’ll be here about two, if that helps?’ Her brow clouded. ‘I do hope he’s not in any trouble. He’s an excellent worker and so good with the residents.’
Clare shook her head. ‘Nothing to worry about,’ she said, hoping she sounded convincing. ‘But if you do hear from him before Saturday would you let me know please? It is important.’
Maria nodded. ‘Of course. And I’m guessing you don’t want me to tell him you’re looking for him.’
Clare smiled. ‘That’s correct. We’ll try his house now. But thank you for your time.’
Chapter 47
John Mason lived in Fern Place at the north end of Leuchars, just half a mile from Pitlethie. The street was a short cul-de-sac of narrow two-storey houses with single pitched roofs. Chris pulled up outside the address they’d been given, Janey nosing in behind him.
Clare surveyed the house. There was a side gate leading to a back garden and she directed Janey and two of her party round there while she, Chris and the other uniformed officer went to the front door. The curtains on a window near the door were drawn back and as Clare rapped on the door, Chris peered inside.
‘No sign of life,’ he said.
Clare put an ear to the door but could hear nothing. There seemed to be no bell to press so she rattled the letterbox. Again, there was no sound from within. ‘Must be out,’ she said.
‘To be honest, Clare, there’s not much sign of life at all,’ Chris said. ‘Have a look.’ He indicated the window.
Clare shielded the sunlight with her hands and squinted through the glass. ‘See what you mean,’ she said. ‘Furniture, but no bits and pieces lying around.’
‘You looking for John?’ a voice said and they turned to see a neighbour standing on the doorstep of the next house.
‘Yes. Any idea where we might find him?’
‘Sorry, hen. He moved out last week. Think he has a flat in St Andrews now.’ The neighbour jerked her head towards John’s house. ‘Landlord wants to sell this so John had to find somewhere else. Going on the market next week, I hear.’
‘You wouldn’t know where in St Andrews?’
The neighbour shook her head. ‘Sorry.’
Clare took out a card from her pocket. ‘If he does come back, could you ask him to give me a call please? It is important.’
The neighbour took the card and looked at it. ‘Police, eh? He in a bit of bother?’
Clare smiled. ‘Nothing like that. We just need to speak to him.’
Janey and the others appeared from the side of the house and Clare nodded them across to the cars, away from the neighbour’s gaze.
‘Seems he’s moved on. Just last week. Obviously not had time to tell his employer.’
‘Dammit,’ Janey said. ‘Any idea where?’
‘Neighbour thinks St Andrews.’
‘Rental Central,’ Janey muttered.
‘Quite. So we need to get back to the station and get onto every solicitor, estate agent and rental agency in the town. Anyone moved into a property since Christmas, check them out, even if the name’s different. If he’s trying to slip under the radar he might have given a different name.’
‘Hold on, though, Clare,’ Chris said. ‘Any reputable agency would want to know he was employed before giving him the keys so they’d be onto the employer.’
‘Not if he’d rented from them before,’ Janey said.
Chris nodded. ‘That’s true.’
‘Right,’ Clare said. ‘There are a few things we can try. Check the rental agencies anyway. If he’s an existing tenant they probably didn’t contact the care home. Next, try Gumtree, Facebook pages – what’s it called?’
‘Facebay?’ Chris said.
‘Yeah. All that. And the local papers. We need backdated adverts for flats to rent. Go back a month.’
‘What about vans?’ Janey said. ‘To shift his stuff.’
‘Good point. Given it’s a furnished let he probably didn’t have much but he might have hired a van. So let’s get onto car rental companies. See if anyone hired one with this address. And while we’re at it, let’s try DVLA. If he has a driving licence he might have his own vehicle. That could help.’
Chris exhaled. ‘It’s a helluva lot of work, Clare.’
‘Yeah, I know Chris. Tell you what, let’s ask women to stop being murdered. That’ll keep the work down.’
‘Okay. Just saying.’
‘Just don’t.’
* * *
Chris drove while Clare called the DCI. ‘I want to go public, Al,’ she said. ‘John Mason wanted for questioning in connection with murder.’
‘You got something concrete?’
‘I wouldn’t put it as strongly as that. But he’s one of the few in that class who has some medical training. Plus he was at Lexy’s party the day Sam Harris died. And the headteacher described him as being a bit of a loner and a poor soul.’
‘It’s a bit thin, Clare. You sure?’
‘Not really. But I’d
rather be wrong than end up with another corpse. We’ve been to his work and to his house and he’s nowhere to be seen. Work are not expecting him until Saturday afternoon and his neighbour says he moved out a week ago. We don’t have his new address and I really can’t risk him being at large any longer.’
‘Fair enough, Clare. I’m happy to trust your judgement. I’ll get it across to the press office. Got a photo?’
Clare swore under her breath. She should have asked Maria Wilkins for a copy of his ID badge photo. ‘Not yet but I’ll get onto the matron of the care home where he works and get her to email it over.’
* * *
It was almost three in the afternoon by the time Clare saw the press statement on a local news website. It wouldn’t be long before the nationals picked it up. She studied the photo of John Mason. Sandy hair and eyebrows, pale blue eyes. But, from the head and shoulders photo, Clare thought he looked thick-set, possibly quite powerful – certainly strong enough to overwhelm a half-drugged woman.
She wandered into the incident room. ‘Any luck on those flat rentals?’
Heads shook.
‘Got DVLA, though,’ Janey said. ‘He has a licence and a car.’
‘Got the reg?’
‘Yep. It’s a Skoda Fabia.’
‘Big enough for a flitting?’
Janey considered this. ‘Depends how much stuff he has. Might need two trips.’
‘Okay. Let’s cross-check van hires against his licence number. And run the Skoda reg through the ANPR database. Anything in the last two days. Plus, I want his photo out to every officer in the town. You never know. It might help.’
* * *
It was just after five when Clare emerged from her office to make a cup of tea. She noticed Zoe’s chair was empty, her computer screen blank.
‘Zoe away?’ she asked Jim.
‘Aye. She’d built up a couple of flexi hours and asked if she could take them.’
‘I think she’s got a date,’ Sara said, rising from her computer and rubbing the back of her neck.
‘Let’s hope it’s no one from Attracto,’ Clare said.
Sara said nothing.
‘Sara, you are joking? Please tell me she’s not gone out with someone from that site?’
Sara hesitated. ‘She said they’d made contact before the site was shut down. She also said her pal’s going along to sit in the bar to keep an eye on her.’
An image of John Mason’s face flashed across Clare’s mind. Thickset, she had thought. A man who’d almost certainly overpowered and killed three women. Zoe wasn’t tall. She was slim, too. Suddenly Clare’s mouth felt dry. She ran her tongue round her lips. ‘Who’s she meeting?’
Sara shrugged. ‘Not sure. Want me to text her, boss?’
‘Yes. Do it now. And find out where she’s gone.’
Clare stood while Sara sent the message. A few minutes later the phone buzzed with the reply. Sara held it out for Clare to see.
Just arrived.
Bluesie Bar on Market St. Don’t tell the boss but it’s that guy Stoneman. He sounds great. I sent him a message today. No reply but hopefully he’ll be here.
Anyway, Becca keeping an eye from across the bar.
Wish me luck!
Z xx
Whether it was seeing the name typed out on Sara’s phone, or the fact that they’d been hunting John Mason all afternoon, she wasn’t sure; but it was suddenly as if someone had turned the lights on and Clare saw what had been in front of her nose all this time.
‘Get Chris,’ she said, her voice level, ‘and as many officers as you can. Then text Zoe back and tell her not to drink anything – nothing at all! And get onto the bar. Describe Zoe and tell the bar staff to keep an eye on her. She is not to leave that pub, understood?’
‘Clare?’ Jim said, his expression clouded.
‘John Mason,’ she said, heading for her office to fetch her coat. ‘Think, Jim. Mason – the name. Where does it come from?’ She pushed open her office door, Jim trailing in her wake.
‘Well, I suppose from stone masons, originally… oh God.’
‘Stoneman. John Mason. It’s too much of a coincidence.’ She slammed her office door shut, heading for the exit. Chris was waiting, pulling on his jacket. ‘Come on, Chris. Let’s hope we reach the bar before Stoneman does.’
Chapter 48
‘I don’t know what all the fuss is about,’ Zoe said, her face flushed. ‘I know how to look after my drink and, anyway, Becca was over there watching me like a hawk.’
Clare glanced across the bar at a slightly built girl of about nineteen and thought she wouldn’t have been much of a match for John Mason.
‘He didn’t turn up,’ Zoe went on. ‘But, even if he had, I’d have been perfectly safe.’
The officers were drifting away now, heading back to the station but the other customers were still watching the proceedings with interest. Clare and Chris steered Zoe and Becca over to a corner and sat them down at a table.
‘Zoe, listen to me,’ Clare said, trying to keep her voice calm. ‘This man could be our killer. He’s already killed three woman, older and more experienced than you. There’s any number of ways he could have diverted you – and Becca – and slipped something into your drink. He might have suggested going onto another pub, having some food, walking you home. Even if you’d got into a taxi without him, he could have followed you in another car then turned up at your door. Surprised you with flowers or asked if you’d picked up his keys by mistake. Then you’d go looking in your handbag and he’d be in your flat. These people are clever.’
Zoe said nothing, her expression mulish. ‘I’d have known,’ she said, sounding less certain than before. ‘I’m not stupid.’
Clare looked at Zoe. She’d taken such care with her appearance. Her dark red jersey dress and black Doc Martens went perfectly with her ruby lips and dark eyes. She’d tied a matching scarf in her hair and her ear was studded with pink earrings. She must have looked stunning when she’d entered the bar but now she was close to tears. ‘Look, Zoe,’ she said, softening her tone. ‘It’s okay. You’re fine and no harm done. But, please, no more dates until we’ve caught this man. Promise?’
Zoe nodded. ‘Suppose.’
Clare smiled. ‘Now, Chris will run you two ladies home if you’ve had enough excitement for one night.’
* * *
At quarter past eight Clare stood the officers down. ‘With luck the news reports will throw up John Mason’s whereabouts. Meantime, I doubt there’s much more we can do tonight.’
‘Why do you reckon he didn’t turn up to Zoe’s date?’ Sara asked.
Clare shook her head. ‘I’ve no idea although, from what Zoe said at the bar, it sounds like it was her making all the running. Maybe she said something like See you there if I don’t hear from you and he didn’t bother to reply.’
‘Do you still think he’s our killer?’ Chris asked.
‘John Mason? Yes. I’m convinced of that. But I’m starting to wonder if he is Stoneman. The similarity in the two names might just be a coincidence. I’m probably overthinking it.’ She yawned. ‘I need to go home. Come on, guys. We’ll review things in the morning.’
As if on cue the phone began to ring. Jim moved to answer it and Clare wandered into her office. She wondered idly when she might have a day off. Not until this killer had been caught, that was for sure. Thankfully, Moira was happy to step in with extra walks for Benjy. She glanced at her phone and saw that Moira had been round to Daisy Cottage and had fed Benjy for her. She really was a godsend. Maybe she would pick her up some…
‘Clare!’ Jim’s voice broke across her thoughts. ‘999 call.’
She stared at him. ‘Is it…’
‘Think so. Chris has gone to start the car.’
She grabbed her coat and ran for the door, not stopping for an explanation. Out in the car park she could see exhaust fumes coming out the back of the car, cutting through the still night air. She skidded on a patch of early
frost but regained her footing and reached the car. She jumped in and Chris roared away out of the car park, not even waiting for her to pull on her seat belt. She checked over her shoulder and saw another three cars following, blue lights flashing. As Chris raced past a car that had pulled into the side of the road, Clare wondered where they were going – and what they would find when they got there.
* * *
‘It’s an old farmhouse, on the way to Dunino,’ he said, overtaking a taxi. ‘South of the town. The control room said the caller was incoherent so we don’t really know what we’re going to. She kept saying The man on the news, over and over again. That, and the address, is all they could get out of her.’
Clare felt sick at the thought of what they might find when they reached Dunmerry Farmhouse. She lurched forward as Chris hit the brakes, swinging the car round and up a farm track. The house stood at the top of the track, silhouetted against the night sky. It was a two-storey, solid block of a house with stout chimney stacks at either end. Lights burned in the ground floor windows and the front door stood open. As they neared the entrance Clare saw the figure of a woman, bent over, her arms clutched round herself. She could see the woman was sobbing uncontrollably and when they leapt out of the car they heard her cries cutting through the air like an animal caught in a trap. Clare raced towards her as the cars behind disgorged officers. The woman fell into Clare’s arms, her body convulsed with sobs.
‘Get an ambulance,’ she said softly to Chris, ‘and make sure you have overshoes on before you go inside.’
Sara and Gillian rushed up and Clare handed the woman to them then followed Chris into the farmhouse, pulling the overshoes from her pocket. As they stepped inside she felt a stillness as the sound of the sobs receded.
‘In here,’ Chris said, from a doorway further up the hall. Clare followed him in and stood surveying the room. It was a large dining kitchen, probably formed from two smaller rooms. To one end there was a wall of kitchen units finished in sage green with deep Belfast sinks under the window. The room was dominated by a large island with a gas hob in the centre, an orange Le Creuset casserole standing on one of the rings. To the left was a round oak table with four matching chairs and at the other end of the room a brick-red sofa faced a wall-mounted TV. A side table held a bottle of wine and two glasses and in front of the sofa was a brightly patterned rug covering what seemed to be original flagstones.