by Vicky Jones
“Why do I have the pissin’ police crawlin’ all over my property, askin’ if I’ve seen the girl whose mum has gone missin’?” he barked down the line.
Chapter 18
“So, how did you get on last night?” Michelle asked as Rachel sat down at her desk and sipped her morning coffee.
“Well, I spoke to the fisherman who seems to live there. He said he hasn’t seen anyone who matches the description of Amanda, or her mother, or Amanda’s car. How about you?”
“I’ve been doing some digging, and found out that Amanda was having therapy with a man called Richard Baker. He has his own private practice at his home in St. Ruan.”
“OK. So at least we have a name now.”
“Don’t you recognise that name?” Michelle then realised why. “Oh, of course, you hadn’t moved here back then, had you? Well, he was the guy whose daughter got murdered. Quite horrifically, as it goes. I felt sorry for the poor sod. He does a lot for the community now, to turn his grief into a positive.”
“What case was that?” Rachel asked, sitting up straight.
“His daughter’s killers burned her alive. Some out of town detectives offered to work on the case out of hours as it was so grotesque, but the scumbag killer got a shit sentence because of her age, and there was some kind of technicality.”
“Her?” Rachel asked.
“I know,” Michelle replied, nodding.
“Wow. You don’t hear of that very often. Fucking hell. It sounds like he needs the therapy. That’s gonna fuck you up no matter who you are.”
“I don’t know how he managed to cope with it. I’d be one angry bitch. I wonder how he dealt with it?”
Rachel checked her watch. “I think I’ll go over there now, ask him a few general questions about Amanda. Did anything come back from the coppers we sent over to Prussia Cove?”
“Nothing. They showed the locals Diana’s photo, but no one remembers seeing her.”
“Right. OK.” Rachel rose from her desk, a determined look on her face. “Well, we need to crack on. If Diana Walker is in some kind of trouble, personal or otherwise, we need to start getting some tangible leads. Hargreaves is getting twitchy again.”
“Press are sniffing around. They’ve got wind we’re still investigating her as a misper.”
“Well, we are, I guess. Until I see Diana Walker alive and well in front of me, we keep looking.” Rachel pushed her chair underneath her desk and picked up her handbag.
“Roger that. See you later,” Michelle said, returning to her paperwork.
“Richard Baker?” Rachel asked, as the smart, black door to a very expensive red brick mansion opened. Behind the door stood a dark-haired, middle-aged man wearing dark blue denim jeans and a purple Ralph Lauren shirt.
“Yes,” the man replied. “And you are?”
Rachel fished into her pocket and took out her warrant card. “Detective Inspector Rachel Morrison. May I have five minutes of your time?”
Baker leaned in and strained his eyes through his expensive looking frameless glasses to look at Rachel’s ID. “What’s this in relation to?”
“A local lady, Diana Walker, has been missing for over a couple of weeks now. There have been no sightings of her and no activity on her phone or credit cards. So, we’re just making some routine enquiries, talking to people who knew the family, that sort of thing.”
“I see. Please, come in.”
He stood away from the door and allowed Rachel to pass into the opulent hallway. The walls were laden with expensive looking artwork and dominating the hallway was a huge staircase leading up to a gallery landing.
“You have a beautiful home, Dr. Baker. And your therapy business is based here too?”
“Yes. Yes, it is. I have an office in the extension at the back.” He folded his arms. “So, how can I help you with your enquiries, inspector?”
“One of your clients, Amanda Walker, is the daughter of our missing woman. I was hoping you could give me a bit of an insight as to what Amanda was coming to therapy for?”
Baker let out a derisory snort. “Inspector, you know I can’t divulge private information about my patients.”
Rachel smiled. “So, she is one of your patients? And yes, I know that I can’t force you to talk about your patients. However, I am sure you know that I could go to a judge and get him to force you to cooperate. That can be a lengthy and, well, intrusive process, which I am sure we both want to avoid. So, if you have nothing to hide I think it is in both of our interests for you to answer my questions and for me to leave you in peace.”
Baker’s left eye twitched. He paused a moment, scratching his chin. “As I said, I can’t talk about the specifics but I sense you may already know the answer to some of the questions you are asking. So, let’s chat and see where it takes us.” He turned his back. “Would you like a drink? Coffee, tea?”
He led her into the pristine kitchen, complete with black high gloss worktops and expensive Neff appliances.
“Oh, no thank you. I won’t put you to any trouble, I know it’s early. I have reason to believe Amanda may be involved in a serious crime, so if I may ask you some questions about her, it would be very helpful to our case.”
“Serious crime? What is it she’s supposedly done?”
Rachel paused, realising she didn’t actually have a definitive answer to that question. Going with the one thing she did have hard evidence of, she straightened her back. “She has been caught on camera causing criminal damage to her mother’s car. Quite significant damage.”
Baker gave a slight smile. “Oh dear.”
“So, you can see why we would like to gather some more intel on Amanda’s state of mind, given that her mother has now gone missing. Has Amanda ever mentioned harming her mother in any way, in any of her sessions?”
Baker thought for a moment, then shook his head. “Look, you know I can’t talk about my patients. You’ve already worked out she was my patient, so that’s no secret. However, I can’t put anything on record. It would ruin my reputation. However, off the record…” He paused and looked Rachel in the eyes. “Off the record, I don’t have any recollection of her saying she would harm her mother.”
“Has she ever said anything in your sessions that you would perceive as concerning?”
“I’d have to say no on that one too. She’s just working through some things in her past. Pretty standard entry requirements for seeking therapy really.”
“I assume you keep client notes from your sessions?”
Baker’s smile faded. “Yes, I do. For reference so I know where to pick up with them next time.”
“I’d like a copy of Amanda’s notes, please. Redacted in places, if they must be. But your cooperation with anything you can help us with would be very much appreciated, Dr. Baker.”
The icy-cold wind howled as it blew across Lizard Point, bending over every shrub and fern it buffeted against. The white peaks of the waves below rolled over and crashed against the sharp rocks, smothering them with freezing ocean water.
“Where the fuck have you been? You said six.” A tall, athletic looking man seethed as The Therapist approached him standing at the foot of the lighthouse. He pulled his Thinsulate woolly hat down over his ears and held the collar of his wool coat close to his neck. He was in his early thirties with piercing blue eyes and a light brown stubble beard. “The Fisherman has filled me in on this shitstorm that’s going down here. He’s gone up already.” He nodded to the top of the lighthouse.
“Sorry, couldn’t get out. The wife was faffing about. Had one of your lot visit me this afternoon. Know anything about that?” The Therapist squinted into the biting southwesterly wind.
The man shrugged his broad shoulders and ran a hand over his chiselled jaw, smoothing down his stubble. “Nothing to do with me. I don’t work in that station. Why would I want any attention coming our way? It’s bad enough being caught up in this shit for how long now?”
The Therapist scowled. “Stop whin
ing. You knew the job when you volunteered.”
“Whining? This has gone way too far, Rich. You told me this was all finished, after the last one. Three you said. That was it.” He jabbed his finger into The Therapist’s face.
“Keep a lid on it, will you!” The Therapist barked, swatting the man’s gloved finger away. “And remember, we don’t use names, only aliases here. None of that ‘Rich’ crap. I’m The Therapist and you’re The Copper, you got that?”
“It’s such a load of bollocks, all this,” The Copper growled. He paced the marshy ground outside the lighthouse, stopping to cast his gaze out to sea. “My role in all of this was simple. I texted Amanda the info on the target from a burner phone. I set up the scene, and then she comes in and does the business. I clear up the mess, bring them to The Fisherman and he sorts out the rest from there. They go down as just another missing person and the police file it as another case their budget cuts won’t allow them to get round to.” He turned and pressed his face into The Therapist’s. “So how the fuck did this mess happen?”
“Amanda’s gone rogue. She wants to kill her mother.”
The Copper recoiled. “You what?”
“Yeah. Her mum’s currently locked up somewhere. Sick or what?”
“Fucking hell. What does Amanda want from us?”
The Therapist let out a long breath. “She’s concocted this story to the police over the last few weeks, making out she’s been kidnapped. Her mother will then mysteriously, and conveniently, make a call from the edge of these cliffs or something. Then…well, you can imagine the rest.” He pointed over the edge into darkness.
“Why?”
“So, when her mother’s call is listened to, Amanda can blame the police for doing a shitty job investigating her mother’s disappearance. She wants to sue them for being negligent, with her mother being vulnerable. She’s making it look like suicide. Then the press will blame the police, and Amanda will literally get away with murder.”
“What does she want from us if she’s got it all planned out?”
The Therapist’s frustration was growing by the second. “Come on, for fuck’s sake, you’re a copper. What’s the one part of our procedure that Amanda’s not involved in?”
The Copper thought for a moment, then looked out to sea. “Disposing of the body. Cleaning up the scene.”
“She wants us to do that for her. To get rid of her mother’s body. Otherwise she’ll expose the whole bloody lot of us. The others are on their way here to discuss what we do.”
The Fisherman wrenched open the door of the lighthouse, his face like thunder. “Right, come in then. Everythin’s prepared.”
The Copper, still reeling from the Therapist’s revelation, stood back. “Amanda can fuck off. No. This ain’t like any of the other jobs. This is murder for murder’s sake. Her mother hasn’t done anything wrong like those other bastards.” He turned to walk back to his car. “I’m done with all that shit now. I don’t need the money that bad to get in the shit with this. It all died down and nobody went looking for those other three people. We all got away with it. And they were the scum of the earth. So it’s justice. This is wrong.”
The Therapist let out a long sigh of defeat. “The problem is, Amanda has an audio recording of all our involvement in the three murders.”
The Copper turned around. “You what?” he said, horrified.
“She said that if we don’t get rid of her mother in the way we have done the other three, she will kill her anyway and no doubt make a hatchet job of getting rid of her body. And when she gets caught, she’ll take us all down with her.” He walked over to The Copper. “So, we either help her commit one murder, and get away with it, or we all get done for four murders.”
“Hobson’s bloody choice then, isn’t it?” The Copper said, pocketing his car keys. “But I’m warning you. As soon as you deviate from how it’s worked before, things always go wrong. People make mistakes. We could all get caught anyway. Then we are all fucked. For nothing. And an innocent woman would be dead.”
As they stood in the moonlight, The Teacher, The Nurse and The Gardener approached the lighthouse from the coastal path, looking windblown and frozen to the bone.
“Who’s he?” The Nurse asked the Therapist, as she looked at The Copper.
“Part of the organisation. You just haven’t met him before.”
“Come inside. All of you,” The Fisherman barked. “Even this meetin’ is a poxy risk if we get seen.”
“Amanda just wants to know where the burying place is. I have to tell her. What else can I do? It’ll save us all,” The Therapist said as he descended the steps to their usual meeting room, following the others.
The Fisherman, walking behind him, stopped dead on the top step.
“You know where it is?” The Copper exclaimed, looking up at him from the step below. “I thought only he was supposed to know?” He pointed up to The Fisherman.
The Therapist stared down at The Copper. “Of course I know. All of this was my idea, remember? I asked The Fisherman where would be a good place to bury the bitch who murdered my daughter, when she came out of prison. I wanted to make sure it was the darkest depth of hell imaginable. Luckily, he knew just the spot. Then I heard about all the other worthless bastards in this area who deserved the same punishment and I had to do something.”
“It became a bit of a habit though, didn’t it?” The Fisherman said. “I didn’t plan on doin’ it three times more for you.”
“We were doing good work. That damn Amanda. Why did she have to ruin this?” The Therapist’s normal, cool exterior slipped for a second. He smoothed his hair back and set himself.
“You know what? Fuck it. Tell ‘er. Tell this Amanda where the bodies are, who gives a fuck. Let ‘er dump ‘er mum ‘erself though, that’s my compromise.” The Fisherman jabbed a finger at the Therapist as they all walked into the meeting room. “Not a single sailor dare go out around that headland, I’ve made sure o’ that, after the horror stories I’ve spread around this village about that current, and those bastard rocks. No one even knows I go out there, I’m so careful not to be seen by anyone. I pick my time perfectly. Tell you what, I’ll even tell ‘er how to weigh the body down correctly.” The Fisherman banged his fist against the table. “But I will not let ‘er use my fuckin’ boat.”
“Where is it?” The Nurse asked in a quiet voice. The others turned to face her.
“What?” The Therapist replied.
“The burying place.”
The Fisherman let out a grumpy sigh. “Mullion Cove. In a part where no one e’er goes. There’s a point where the seabed is at its deepest. I weigh ‘em down, so they sink to the bottom and become fish food. Believe me, no one is findin’ them. But I won’t be blackmailed by some rich bitch.” He turned to face The Therapist. “I don’t care about the secret any more, just tell ‘er where it is.”
“We can’t. We’re not killers!” The Teacher exclaimed. “Her mum is innocent. How can we sit back with all the torment we already have in our head, and knowingly let this monster kill an innocent person? How long has she been locked up now? A week? Two? More? We can’t keep this to ourselves.”
“We have to,” The Gardener said in a quiet voice. The group turned to stare open-mouthed at him. There was a lengthy pause. “Look, if we don’t, we all go to prison for knowing about the other murders. We’ve all played a part in them. We’ve got no choice.” He sank his face into his hands.
The air in the room was thick with silence. One voice pierced through it. “I’ve got an idea.” The group looked at the speaker. It was The Copper, who had been sitting quietly, thinking methodically throughout the panic.
“We’re going about this the wrong way, don’t you think? Amanda wants us to make someone disappear for her, and we don’t want to do that, right?”
“Right,” the group said in unison.
“The answer, it’s staring us in the face,” The Copper said, smiling.
“Spit it
out, man,” The Fisherman barked.
“Why don’t we just make Amanda disappear?” The Copper replied.
Chapter 19
“Hi, I got your message. Chinese, right?”
Poppy held up a takeaway bag as Amanda stood back to let her through her front door. “How are you doing?”
Amanda sighed at length as they walked into the kitchen. “Yeah, I’m doing OK, in the circumstances. I mean, what can I do? If my mum decides to kill herself and leave me alone in the world, then what can I do?”
“Oh, Mand. I’m sure it won’t come to that. What did the police say last time they were here?”
“Nothing… But, anyway. It obviously got too much for Max. He dumped me. Seems like everybody is leaving me right now.” Amanda took out a box from the takeaway bag and ripped off its plastic lid.
Poppy tutted. “Max dumped you? Of all the times. What an arse.”
“I know, I’m better off without.” Amanda picked up a fork and began tucking into her chow mein.
Poppy spooned out her fried rice onto a white dinner plate. “Oh, I was meaning to ask. You never did tell me what happened with that dodgy group you were looking into?”
Amanda coughed and wiped her mouth with a piece of kitchen roll. “Oh, nothing. Never found anything. Dead end, really.” She put her fork down and fixed a mischievous stare on Poppy. “Hey, what’s say we get drunk tonight? You can help me drown my sorrows.”
Poppy hesitated. “I’d better not. I’ve got work in the morning.”
Amanda grunted. “Oh, come on, Pops. Don’t be a total bore. You’re supposed to be here cheering me up.”
“Oh, OK. Why not?” Poppy relented. “Shall I get a bottle from the cellar? I know where the good stuff is.”
“No,” Amanda said, so abruptly it made Poppy jump slightly. “I’ve got a bottle in the fridge Max brought round the other night. We’ll have that.”