The Hanged Man (Bone Field 2)

by Simon Kernick

  ‘That’s right.’

  ‘I thought you were suspended. Didn’t you kill someone during that riot in Hackney?’

  ‘It was an accident. I was exonerated.’

  ‘So what has my cleaner got to do with poor Kitty?’

  ‘She was your cleaner then?’

  Lola smiled, as if my attempts to put her on the back foot were too amateur to bother with. ‘As far as I can recall, a woman by that name did clean for me many years ago. But I’ve had quite a lot of cleaners over the years, so I remember very little about her. I can’t even recall what she looks like.’

  ‘Don’t worry,’ I said. ‘You’ll be seeing Tracey’s photo a lot in the coming days. She’s the first victim to be identified from the Bone Field. We’ve also recovered a recording of her murder that we believe was filmed at the farmhouse there.’

  Lola gave me a shocked look. ‘A murder video? How awful. The things human beings do for kicks never ceases to depress me.’

  ‘Nor me. Even though I’ve seen a lot of it in my time.’

  ‘I know. I heard what happened to you as a child. I’m sorry you’ve had to suffer so much. It must be hard to keep going sometimes.’

  ‘You know a lot about me, Miss Sheridan.’

  ‘You have a high profile for a police officer. I’m not sure that’s always a good thing.’

  As we talked, Lola never took her eyes off me. Her voice was deep and sultry, almost hypnotic, and she had a confidence and poise that even the best cop in the world would have trouble breaking down. I’ll be honest, she unnerved me. But there was no way I was going to let her know it.

  ‘Tracey was last seen alive in autumn 2004, about the time she was cleaning for you.’

  ‘Can I ask you something, Officer Mason? How do you know she was cleaning for me at that time?’

  I saw no reason to protect Paul Moffatt. ‘Tracey’s boyfriend at the time told us. He also said you encouraged her to leave him.’

  She laughed. ‘That sounds like a bitter ex-boyfriend to me. I don’t remember any of that.’

  ‘He also said Tracey told him she’d started a new life in a shelter outside London. Did you recommend it to her?’

  ‘No. As I told you, I can hardly remember her at all, and I certainly didn’t encourage her to leave her boyfriend. I’ve never had that sort of relationship with any of my cleaners. So you said this was connected to Kitty’s killing. How so?’

  Officially, there was still no link between Kitty and Dana Brennan’s murders and those that had taken place at the Bone Field. Obviously, though, as one of those responsible Lola knew there was a link. But I wasn’t sure if she knew I knew it. I decided it was time to tell her.

  ‘We believe that the Bone Field killers also murdered Kitty, which is something of a coincidence, given that they also murdered your cleaner, Tracey.’

  ‘Yes it is,’ she said. ‘It seems they’ve murdered a lot of people. Well, I hope you find them soon. But if you don’t mind, I’ve got nothing else to add.’

  ‘Oh don’t worry, we’ll definitely find them now,’ I said. ‘We’re putting out a huge appeal across the media to track Tracey’s movements after she left her boyfriend. It was a long time ago, but it’ll jog people’s memories, and that way we’ll find her trail to the farm in Wales. And when we find that, we find the killers, and your cousin finally gets to rest in peace.’

  There was a knock at the front door, and we both turned round.

  ‘Are you expecting visitors?’ I asked her.

  ‘As a matter of fact I am,’ she replied. ‘So if you don’t mind, I’ll say goodbye now.’

  She escorted me back to the front door and opened it.

  Standing on the doorstep was a tall, slightly overweight man in his late forties with a fine head of blondish hair and a wide, disarming smile.

  ‘Hello,’ he said, seeing me, ‘I’m Alastair Sheridan, Lola’s brother.’ He was already putting out a hand and I smiled back, shaking it and introducing myself, even though we both knew exactly who the other was. Alastair had a firm, dry grip, and the same confidence as his sister.

  ‘Officer Mason was just leaving,’ said Lola, not quite pushing me out of the door but standing close enough to give me a good shove if she felt so inclined.

  ‘I was just letting your sister know that we may have a lead connected to the murder of your cousin, Kitty Sinn.’ I briefly explained about Tracey Burn and the DVD while Alastair listened with a polite smile on his face, showing absolutely no sign of nerves whatsoever. I have to say, if I was looking to invest a few million quid, he’d be the type of man I’d automatically want to trust. Which just confirms the old adage: never judge a book by its cover.

  ‘That’s excellent news,’ said Alastair when I’d finished, as if I’d just told him he’d won top prize in a raffle. ‘Please keep us posted of progress. I have very fond memories of Kitty.’

  ‘I have no doubt,’ I said, smiling back.

  I’d driven about fifty yards down the road from Lola’s house when Dan appeared out of the trees. As I slowed down, he jumped inside, and I accelerated away.

  ‘Well, did Tracey clean for her?’ he asked me.

  I smiled. ‘She certainly did. And did you get the tracker on Lola’s car?’

  He nodded. ‘Yeah, but I almost got caught when Alastair showed up. I wasn’t expecting that. What do you think he was doing there?’

  ‘Who knows? Maybe the progress we’re making is rattling them. Not that I’d have guessed it with Lola. I don’t think much is going to rattle her.’

  ‘That was the whole idea of visiting her, wasn’t it? To panic her a bit.’

  ‘Maybe. But if what we’ve heard is right, Tracey Burn went to stay with someone outside London after she left Paul Moffatt. For all I know it might have been the house I was just in, or somewhere else belonging to one of the killers. If that’s the case, Lola’s going to want to warn them now, so let’s see where she goes.’

  ‘She may go nowhere.’

  I shrugged. ‘Then we haven’t lost anything. Either way she’s going to start to feel the pressure. And that’s when they all make mistakes.’

  Twenty

  Lola Sheridan was far more concerned about events than she’d let on to Ray Mason.

  All her life she’d lived by the philosophy instilled into her from earliest childhood: survival of the fittest. The strong must, and will, always overcome the weak in order to continue the survival and, indeed, improvement of the human species. It was the direct opposite of the feebleness inspired by Christianity. Lola considered herself a warrior, and a hunter. She made sacrifices to the spirits who represented Mother Nature and considered herself a higher being than so many of those around her.

  And yet, she knew that this enlightenment and strength wouldn’t always protect her. The whole point of nature was its careless cruelty. No one, even the best, was exempt from destruction, and the only way hunters survived was by continually adapting to the situations they found themselves in.

  So far, Lola had sat tight and waited, knowing there was no real evidence to tie her in with any of the murders. She was sure that neither her brother nor Cem (who was also like a brother to her) would ever betray her. But it was possible that events would spiral out of their control too.

  This morning she’d read the cards for the first time in weeks, looking for signs of what the future might bring. She’d drawn the hanged man and the six of swords together. For her, the meaning was obvious. Her life as she knew it was coming to an end. It was time to make sacrifices and to move on to pastures and people new. Mason’s visit had been a warning. She must go soon and not delay.

  She and Alastair stood by the front window and watched Mason drive away, then Alastair took her by the hand and led her into the back garden.

  ‘How long was he here for?’ asked Alastair as they stood together in the shade of a weeping willow.

  ‘Only a few minutes. I got rid of him easily enough.’

  ‘And he ca
me alone?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘He’s trying to scare you.’

  ‘Did you know that they’d identified Tracey Burn?’ said Lola. She remembered Tracey well enough. Weak, soft and stupid – easy prey. Lola felt no guilt over her death. Her life had been dull and meaningless. In the wild she wouldn’t have lasted a minute. All they’d done was put her out of her misery, strengthening themselves in the process.

  ‘I’ve only just found out about it,’ said Alastair. ‘The police held a press conference an hour ago. That’s why I came here, to reassure you that everything’s under control. I’ve just heard from Cem and he says none of this makes any difference. They’ll never be able to get enough evidence even to question us.’

  ‘But they’ve already identified me as someone who knew her.’

  ‘She cleaned for you.’ Alastair shrugged his shoulders. ‘So what? That’s hardly a crime.’

  ‘You know I’d never say a word, don’t you?’

  ‘Of course I do. You’re my sister. You’re made of sterner stuff.’

  He came close and touched her cheek gently.

  ‘We need to warn Aunty,’ she said.

  ‘I know. You need to call her. But not from here. Just in case the police are listening in. Give it an hour or two then call her from a public phone box. Tell her to stick to the script.’

  Lola looked up at him, feeling safe in his presence, as she always had. ‘OK, but I don’t trust Mason.’

  ‘I know. He’s a problem. I’ve been pushing Cem to get rid of him permanently.’

  ‘I think you may need to push harder, darling,’ she said, putting an arm round her brother’s waist.

  ‘Don’t worry. I will.’ He ran a hand through her hair, smiling now, his eyes giving off their telltale twinkle. ‘Now I’ve come all this way, pretty sister, and we’ve both got some free time. How do you think we should spend it?’

  He leaned down, his breath warm on her face, and she closed her eyes.

  Twenty-one

  I had to hand it to Sheryl Trinder. She could do a brilliant press conference.

  It was half past six and Dan and I were back in the office watching a rerun of her performance as she gave the news to the world that the first victim from the Bone Field had now been positively identified. The photo of Tracey Burn we’d seen earlier had been blown up on the wall behind her, and was also being shown in the bottom corner of the screen as she spoke. Sheryl’s expression remained stoic, but there was no mistaking the emotion in it as she explained how many years ago, when she’d been a young PC, she’d met Tracey on several occasions, and found her sweet and vulnerable. She went on to say that Tracey had last been seen in October 2004 and that she’d died at some point before July 2005. She concluded by appealing to anyone who’d seen her during that period to come forward urgently.

  There was the usual barrage of questions, mainly centred around how we, the police, could be so certain that Tracey had died before July 2005, and why she’d never been reported missing, but Sheryl gave very little away, and left the podium soon afterwards, her job done.

  And now, as with the Hugh Manning case, it was just a matter of waiting.

  Dan sipped his coffee and turned to me. ‘What do you think? Will anyone come forward?’

  I sighed. ‘I honestly don’t know. It was a long time ago, so it’s not going to be like the Manning sightings. But she did call Paul Moffatt and her half sister after she’d left, so she was staying somewhere, and that means someone might have seen her. We could definitely do with a bit of luck. I’m assuming we’ve got no movement from Lola Sheridan?’

  ‘Nothing yet,’ he said, checking the screen on his PC. ‘Her car’s still at home, although she may have gone somewhere with Alastair.’

  I had to admit, our plan with the tracker was a long shot, as was the press conference. In the end, Tracey Burn was a pretty average-looking woman, and she’d been dead at least eleven years. It wasn’t a good combination when you were looking to give people’s memories a nudge.

  The phone rang in my pocket. It was Tina. I immediately perked up.

  ‘How’s France?’ I asked her. ‘Have you sorted out your business over there?’

  ‘All done,’ she said. ‘I’m on my way back now. I’ve also been doing some digging into Alastair and Lola Sheridan’s past, and I’ve found out something that might give us more background on why the Sheridans and Cem Kalaman are so closely intertwined.’

  ‘OK. I’m in the office with Dan. He ought to hear this too. I’m going to put you on speaker.’

  I got up and closed the door.

  ‘Sure,’ she said. ‘Hey Dan.’

  ‘Hey Tina,’ said Dan, ‘nice to hear your voice. I’ve heard a lot about you over the years.’

  ‘Most of it bad, I should think.’

  ‘No. Quite a lot of it good. The Met should never have let you go.’

  ‘I think they think I’m a troublemaker. Like Ray.’

  Dan laughed. ‘He’s definitely a troublemaker.’

  ‘So what have you got for us, Tina?’ I asked, thinking it would be nice if we could get Dan and Denise over to Tina’s place one night for a dinner party. Maybe when we had something to celebrate, like putting the Bone Field killers behind bars.

  ‘In 1976, Kitty Sinn’s mother Mary hired a private detective in Northampton, a man called Brian Foxley, to investigate her sister Janet’s death. As you know, Janet was married to Robert Sheridan and was the mother of Alastair and Lola. She died in a road accident in Italy in 1975 where she was holidaying with Robert, without the kids.’

  I thought about that. Alastair and Lola had been very young when they lost their mum. Just like me when I lost my family.

  ‘The circumstances of the accident look suspicious,’ continued Tina. ‘But it’s what happened to Foxley, the private detective, that makes it interesting. He stabbed his wife to death and then hanged himself that same year, 1976. I don’t know how long after taking the case this was but he never had any history of violence towards her, and from what I’ve read they had a very stable marriage.’

  ‘That’s a proper Kalaman MO,’ said Dan, ‘making a double murder look like a murder/suicide.’

  ‘Well, it worked,’ said Tina. ‘The case was closed straight away with no suspicion that there was anyone else involved.’

  ‘So what do you think really happened?’ I asked Tina. ‘Could Robert Sheridan have murdered his wife, the private detective found out, and Sheridan approached someone from the Kalaman organization to have him killed?’

  ‘It seems logical.’

  ‘Cem would have just been a kid then, no more than eight years old,’ Dan said. ‘His father was running the family business at the time. Volkan Kalaman was a pretty nasty character, and we’re almost certain he’d personally killed two men by the mid-seventies, but he was more of an old-fashioned gangster than his son. He only killed when he absolutely had to. This looks like a bigger, more complicated job than I’d associate with him. It can’t be a coincidence though.’

  ‘No,’ said Tina, ‘it’s definitely not a coincidence.’

  ‘Where did you get the information from?’ I asked her.

  ‘You know I’ve been looking into the background of the Kitty Sinn case for a while now – I just came across it. Can you do me a favour, Ray? Find out who the investigating officer was on the Brian Foxley case, and whether he’s still alive. If he is, I’d like to talk to him. I don’t know if it’ll come to anything, but I want to dig a bit deeper.’

  I told her to leave it with me then stood up with the phone, switching it off speaker, and turned away from Dan.

  ‘Is dinner tomorrow night still on?’ I asked quietly.

  ‘It is,’ she said, equally softly. ‘And I’m really looking forward to it.’

  When the call was over, Dan grinned at me. ‘Am I seeing the new, softer Ray Mason? I’m jealous.’

  ‘Why? You’ve got Denise and the girls. You’ve got a fantastic life.’
>
  ‘I know. But it’s a great feeling when you’re falling in love.’

  ‘Who says I’m in love?’

  ‘It’s obvious, brother. And do you know what? I’m pleased for you. It might calm you down a bit.’

  ‘We’ll see,’ I said, sitting back down and thinking about this new information from Tina.

  I’d always thought the link between the Sheridan and Kalaman families had begun with Alastair and Cem meeting at university in the late eighties, but it seemed now that it had started a long way back from that. But what had brought them together? And what had turned the three children – Alastair, Lola and Cem – into such monsters?

  I took the photo of Dana Brennan, the girl I’d always believed to be the first victim they’d abducted, from its place in my wallet, and examined it. A pretty young girl with blonde hair looked back at me with a huge gap-toothed smile. This little girl would have been forty now, a year older than me, but she’d been snatched from her bike barely half a mile from home before disappearing into thin air, only for her bones to emerge, along with Kitty Sinn’s, back in April.

  I stared at her photo. Dana had been their first victim; then it had been Kitty, killed by her cousins in an elaborate murder that had fooled the police for more than two decades, and had served to enrich both of them. And since then they’d carried on killing with impunity.

  But it was the case of Dana, their youngest victim, that had always affected me the most. I’d seen at first hand the destruction to her family, the terrible cost of not knowing what had happened to her.

  ‘Hey, we’ve got something here,’ said Dan, interrupting my thoughts. ‘It looks like Lola Sheridan’s on the move.’

  I replaced the photo in my wallet and went over to where he was staring at a map on the PC screen. He zoomed in on the flashing red dot of the tracker and we watched in silence for a few minutes as Lola’s car drove through the winding Buckinghamshire back roads for several miles before stopping in a small village.

  Dan switched the map to satellite and zoomed in further, then moved to Google street view. Quaint cottages appeared on either side of the road, as well as a pub slightly further down. But it wasn’t them that grabbed our attention. It was the red phone box in the foreground.