Cyril flicked his feet back to the carpet and sat up.
“Let’s imagine that Valerie was jealous of her younger sister, that she was the one responsible. Let’s imagine that they were by the side of the busy road and she was holding hands with Jennifer and as they were about to cross, Valerie pushed Jennifer into the side of a passing car by accident or a deliberate act. Witnessed only by her brother, a brother who should also have been holding Jennifer’s hand. Imagine the mental turmoil, the maelstrom of emotional conflict. He couldn’t tell the truth. Valerie probably had it already worked out, even at her young age. That’s why James was so morally judgemental about Cooper’s cheating.”
“So why would his mother refer to him as cold like his dad?”
‘Look, Cyril, this is all hypothetical. The only person to alleviate some of the guilt was his father, when they were fishing or chatting or mending his bike, I don’t know. But at some stage the lie or should we say the truth was shared. A burden shared is a burden halved.”
“So why not hand in the laptop, wash his hands of the whole thing? He seemed up until that point to have his life together.”
“To show Cooper’s immoral nature, to expose him for what he was and is. Same with Grant, he wanted to set the record straight.”
“So why go missing, why keep the data that everyone’s chasing?”
“He’s denying his sister. He’s eventually paying her back. If Grant had received the information, there’s a strong likelihood that the recognition she would receive posthumously would have been more than she received throughout her career. James knew just what that meant to her so he pulled the plug. She gave him the chance; she tried to right her wrong. It was like saying to him after all these years, you do what’s right, James.”
“The workings of the female mind!” He stood and stretched. “Need to get back. Thanks, Julie.”
“You’re not walking.” She picked up the phone and dialled for a taxi.
***
Cyril went directly to the Incident Room. He checked the boards and the latest information, trying to get up to speed. Peg was in a far corner.
“Just the lady I wanted to see. Have you eaten?”
“Showered, changed and feasted.” She brought her nose to her armpit and sniffed loudly. “Can’t you tell?”
Cyril chuckled. “The delicate smell of roses!”
She simply smiled but what she really wanted to reply was, men!
Perching on the edge of one of the tables, he took her through Julie’s theory. She rejected none of it.
“Intuition, Cyril. She’s made some interesting points that certainly help to make sense of things, but with Valerie’s death died the truth.” She paused. “I’ve had a word with my boss and he’s organised more troops from afar for tomorrow’s search. We’ll need them!”
His phone rang. “Bennett.”
Cyril started to wave his hand at the large screen signalling that he wanted it made ready. Peg moved quickly and switched it on.
“There’s a new video, arrived fifteen minutes ago. Just get Mortimer in here! Is Owen about?”
“Wouldn’t stay home, went to shower, change and is back, armed with a large pork pie and crisps. As I say I’ve eaten.”
“Please get him in here too.”
Within seconds, the mood in the room had changed, the atmosphere seemed thick and viscous. Butterflies jumped in Cyril’s stomach and he felt suddenly weak. He was not a religious man but he found himself closing his eyes and saying a few words in the hope that Liz was still alive.
Owen, Mortimer and Peg came into the room.
“I sent Shakti home. She protested but she went, “Owen said as he sat next to Cyril. They both took a deep breath before starting the video.
The room and table were familiar, it was as if nothing had changed. Liz was still in the same place, strapped and bound, her eyes blindfolded with tape, her legs strapped; the same red-brown stain still visible. The camera focussed solely on her. They watched as she moved her head from side to side as if trying to glean any clues as to her location; it was a pitiful spectacle. Owen pointed to the screen, demanding that they look at her right breast. Cyril paused the video. Protruding from the paper coverall was the elaborate, jewelled head of a Charles Horner pin. The opposite end could be seen exposed.
“It looks as if the pin has been attached as a brooch. There’s no blood, it’s through the cover not through Liz, thankfully.”
The video was restarted and the camera panned away from Liz, revealing more of the table. Sitting open was a laptop, the screen looked hazy until the camera zoomed in. Prominent on the home page was a photograph of Valerie and her friends taken at some time in Harrogate. Cyril paused it again.
“Those icons are displayed in exactly the same sequence as we saw on the laptop collected from Dan Rowney. All we had was the videos,” Cyril observed.
He then pressed play. A hand moved into shot and the mouse moved the arrow to one of the icons and opened the file. Valerie Atkins’s face filled the screen as she whispered to the hand-held phone camera. She then allowed the camera to pan around. Rows of cannabis plants were brightly visible under high intensity lights. The screen went back to the home page before another file was opened. Again Valerie was talking quietly to camera, her voice a little shaky. She turned the camera again to show a group of young girls some white and some coloured, huddling naked in the corner of a room. Each carried a Venetian-style mask. Again the screen went dark.
The camera panned away again revealing Liz, only this time she had a sheet of paper attached to her chest by the pin and her head was down. There no longer seemed to be any awareness. The camera zoomed in again showing only the hand-written message:
Game, set and match, Bennett.
Goodbye,
Charles.
The screen went dark.
As before, nothing was said. They were each momentarily lost in their thoughts.
“Peg, anything on James Atkins?”
“As yet, nothing.”
“Seems strange that the only possible link with Valerie Atkins’s computer has disappeared at the same time it turns up in Charles’s hands. There are two possibilities; Charles discovered that he had it and therefore Atkins is no longer with us or he’s involved and has been since receiving the laptop. Who knows what’s on it, but I bet it gave a clue as to the location of the farm if the title of the project is to be believed. Brave man who approaches the lion’s den and shoves in a stick like young Albert.”
Owen turned to look at Cyril. “Who the hell’s young Albert?”
“With his stick with a horse’s head handle he shoved it in Wallace’s ear! Never mind you’re too young, Owen, just too young. Dangerous game. He may now not cut and run. He’ll close down, change the place, probably stash all the equipment or bury it, but now he feels he’s safe. The ‘Goodbye’ is a sham. If he’s there, if he’s in the area, we’ll find him or his henchmen tomorrow.
***
Carla Bonhomme moved the chair away from the table and tidied the studio. She was still a little shaken by what she had witnessed and her hand shook slightly. She’d experienced many things in her time, particularly since working specifically for Charles. The pornography was nothing now, it was easy, mechanical; she could blank that, forget it and move on. Besides no one died in the making of the videos. The promotional sales’ packages that she produced were pure marketing, she actually enjoyed the creative side and the girls were often willing participants. Fancy dresses and luxury locations filled the girls’ minds with an expectation that, in most cases, proved totally false. After all, prostitution was just that, one of the world’s oldest professions; even so, it didn’t prevent her from feeling sorry for some of the young and immature girls. Tonight’s filming had been downright callous and sadistically cruel.
She moved across the yard to the main house. A single, high-powered spot light came on as she triggered the sensor. The light flooded the cobbles and illuminated surro
unding walls. As she entered, she heard one of the girls singing in a language that she didn’t understand, soft and melodic, adding a strange ambivalence to the Yorkshire farmhouse that had witnessed murder and depravity. At least there was one person with some hope, whether that hope were misplaced was not for her to judge. Who knew what hell those girls had experienced in their young lives.
The rooms were now almost empty of the luxuries that Charles so enjoyed. There were only two girls left, both entrusted with cleaning and feeding the skeleton staff that remained.
Charles had been angry at the loss of the van, the girls and particularly the drugs. He had shown little charity to the only person who had managed to flee the police; returning to the farm was considered irresponsible, as far a Charles was concerned. He would not do it again.
Carla rested her hands on the oak table and stared at the brown stain; she had heard the graphic details and knew that it was all that remained of Dan’s life-blood. Her hands still shook slightly as she lifted them before clamping them together and then she made her decision. She went to her room. Having ensured that the video had been sent to the police-held laptop, Charles had left the farmhouse. She did not have the worry of seeing him or more to the point, his seeing her. She checked her watch; it was a quarter to midnight. She packed the bare essentials but double-checked that she had the three memory cards. She slipped them inside a condom and tied it. To be caught with them would prove to be a costly and no doubt very painful mistake. Initially, she contemplated swallowing the package but then decided she might need to retrieve and dispose of it quickly soshe inserted it into her vagina. She collected another sweater and a travel rug and stuffed them into a small rucksack before going to the kitchen. She collected a lump of cheese and a bottle of water; it was going to be a long, cold night. It was time to go.
The courtyard would remain in darkness and would continue to do so until the sensor detected movement within its range. Carla worked her way round the periphery, keeping as far as possible from the sleeping light before exiting on to the long, tree-lined farm track that led to the road. She had escaped and she relaxed briefly. She glanced at the star-filled-sky as her breath streamed in clouds. She pulled her coat tighter and lifted the small rucksack onto her shoulder. There was going to be another frost.
Her eyes slowly grew accustomed to the dark as she hugged the edge of the track. The gravel was sharp and uncomfortable against the soles of her shoes. It was when she rounded the bend that her heart missed a beat.
***
It was Peg who had decided to move early on the search of James Atkins’s house, purely out of concern for his welfare. It had proved a wise and professional decision. The house had been found tidy and organised. On the kitchen work surface they had been left a collection of scrapbooks and personal correspondence. Each item had been photographed and sent to Harrogate. Peg and Shakti read through them.
The news cuttings of the accident were upsetting, three children had left home for some fun at a local playground but only two returned, Jennifer, the youngest, was reported as being struck by a hit and run driver. Each cutting was carefully stuck in the book. However, the contents of the accompanying exercise book contradicted the reports, adding a greater degree of detail.
They sat and read the evidence. Being the oldest, James had been given money to buy sweets for the three of them. Apparently, there had always been a good deal of sibling rivalry, falling out and jealousy between the girls, usually because Valerie was envious of her spoiled, younger sister. She knew that their father doted on her, he called her his little Poppet but he never had a pet name for Valerie. According to James, after leaving the playground they called in for sweets. On the way home, Valerie had eaten hers and was bullying Jennifer for some of hers. They started to squabble over the bag and it was then that Valerie had pushed Jennifer off the kerb and into the path of a passing car.
“According to this and obviously it’s been written much later, the driver neither saw nor heard the child make contact.”
‘I was frightened. Being the oldest, I felt responsible and when the ambulance and the police arrived, the severity of the situation instigated the cover up. A while later, having summoned enough courage, I mentioned it to father who simply beat me and continued to do so over the slightest misdemeanour. He also started drinking heavily, mother put it down solely to the death of his daughter but that was my fault too.’
Shakti brought two coffees and they both stretched.
“Some kids would be just fine without parents!”
They continued to read.
‘Valerie had initially welcomed the lies, in fact, she pleaded with me not to say what had really happened. As she grew older, she used the fabricated story to serve her own ends. I grew to loathe my sister, her insecurities and her jealousy, the blackmail and her vindictive personality. The only time I felt free was when I was away at university. On my return, I settled down, I’d found a place of my own and she was off to university herself. However, when she returned, I was teaching in Harrogate. She began to encroach again, befriending and living with my best mate. She’d be jealous if John came for a drink. I believe she was behind his cheating of the marking system; she was desperate that he should be promoted above me. I knew then that she was doing drugs, a habit from her student days. There were also rumours of her being sexually promiscuous. I warned John but obviously she had the ability to make him see differently. They say that love is blind.’
Peg turned to Shakti, “It’s all very matter of fact, and there’s a steeliness to his writing, a total lack of emotion. Do you sense it?”
Shakti nodded.
‘Her death.’ The word had been crossed through and replaced with ‘murder’. Her murder wasn’t a surprise to me. She played close to the edge. The documentaries she produced, the interviews, direct and frank. Some might say hard-hitting but there was more. So when the laptop arrived and the note, I thought she was setting me up for a fall. I wondered who else knew that I had it. I could see a lot of what was on the drive. Some files were password protected and I couldn’t see them but she’d given me the password for many. It was on seeing those that I realised the serious game she was playing. She was up to her neck.
I downloaded and kept the data before cleaning what I could from the hard drive. You know the rest. The note from Valerie pleaded with me not to let Grant have the data. I called John, to tell him I had the laptop. Up until that point, he was totally innocent, he knew nothing. I think that she tried to trick me even in death. She knew that I would do the exact opposite of her request which was to send it to Grant.
‘What I must do now is think, give myself time to think.’
“Cyril was nearly right with his theory on the Atkins,” Shakti proclaimed.
“It was his pathologist girl friend who came up with that. Takes a woman, Shakti, takes a woman!”
***
The dark figure stood, stock still, almost in the centre of the driveway.
“Charles. Is that you?”
For a moment there was silence.
“Carla, taking the air? Now where might you be going on such a nippy night, eh?” His voice was camp.
“I thought that you’d…”
She didn’t finish her sentence. He started to move towards her.
“Tell Uncle Charlie where you thought he’d gone.”
Chapter Nineteen
The dawn was slow to break as Cyril and Owen sat in the car park on the edge of Pateley Bridge, nursing two polystyrene coffee cups. Three coaches were parked regimentally straight, four police vans and a large command trailer with its large antennae positioned along one corner of the unit had been organised. A generator hummed a short distance away. As well as two CSI vehicles, there was even a small catering van positioned centrally, its own generator adding to the early morning chorus.
“She’s got to be here, Owen, in this area or we’ve bloody lost her.”
The two old fashioned, iron lamps positioned
on either side of the car park gates went off as the sky lightened even more. A grey, ethereal mist seemed to cling to the river like a protective blanket as it folded over the car park walls.
Officers climbed out of the coaches and the two dog teams mustered, a mass of hot breath and excitement. It was then that Cyril noticed the limp sign hanging loose and torn on the cricket pitch fence, Nidderdale Show, September 18th. He thought of Liz and what they had been doing just over a month ago. That short time had taken its toll on the sign and Cyril felt just as weather worn.
All the officers had their instructions and the Command trailer would co-ordinate in-coming information. One mini bus remained closed; it contained the Specialist Firearms’ Officers. They would remain there unless they were called upon.
Cyril’s phone rang. “Bennett.”
The group of police moved away from the car park, crossed the bridge before spreading out through Pateley Bridge. Cyril watched as he listened to Pegrelay the findings from James Atkins’s house. It brought a smile to his face as she commented that Julie was pretty much on the money with her theory. The thought of Julie at that moment lifted his spirits a little. He went across to the control unit.
It was 11:51 when the call came in. A fisherman, higher up the valley, just below Wath had reported what he believed to be a body.
“Says here, Sir, that it’s in the middle of a field, thought it was a scarecrow but then there’s no crops. It wasn’t there two days ago.”
Cyril’s heart fluttered. “Exact location?”
“Best take Lower Wath Road, you’ll be closer to the crime scene.”
Cyril and Owen, followed by one of the dog vans, headed along the advised route until they saw the sign for The Farmer’s Arms turning right over a narrow bridge, they crossed the River Nidd, the waterway was a mere two metres across.
Game Point Page 19