by Ann Cleeves
‘Who do the other bones belong to?’ Watkins looked up from the notes he was making. There was a bottle of ink on the table and he was using a fountain pen. Vera was distracted for a moment. She hadn’t seen a real pen for years. It seemed an odd pretension for such a young man.
‘I’ve no idea,’ she said. ‘But I’ll be back at Warkworth first thing, asking John Brace why he never mentioned a second body.’
‘What’s Brace’s story?’ Watkins was poised with his pen in his hand. ‘How does he say Marshall’s body got into that culvert?’
Vera told him, almost word-for-word, replaying the interview with Brace in her head. The story came easily; she could almost believe she was in the box-like interview room in Warkworth with Brace again. She’d been repeating it to herself since she’d left the prison. She left nothing out, except her questions about Mary-Frances Lascuola. Later she couldn’t have explained why she’d kept that information to herself. Perhaps she truly believed the identity of Brace’s lover was irrelevant. More likely, she decided, she knew that information was power, and she wanted to hold on to that particular gem, knowing that it might come in useful later.
* * *
She sent out for pizza for the team in the office; she was starving and she knew they wouldn’t have eaten properly since getting back to Kimmerston. Even Holly, who usually seemed to survive on a few lettuce leaves and a tub of low-calorie hummus, took a couple of slices. Charlie ate as if he hadn’t seen food for a month.
‘How’s Joe getting on at the site?’
‘The pathologist had already arrived before we left.’ Holly wiped her mouth with the napkin that had come with the meal. Very ladylike. ‘They reckon they should have the skeletons away before the tide comes in, and any objects found in the drain bagged. They could still work onsite if the water comes up – it’s not a particularly high tide apparently, and the culvert slopes up away from the shore – but it would be much more difficult.’
‘What have they found so far?’
‘The CSIs were in there just as I left. According to them, some scraps of clothing were still attached to the bones. Not much, but it should help with ID. There was a belt, I think. They were working on the debris on the floor of the culvert when I came away. They’ll be here for this evening’s briefing. I called it for seven to give us a bit of time.’
Vera nodded her approval. ‘Any idea of the gender of the second body?’ She wished she could be there with the team of CSIs, asking them these questions, getting the information as soon as they had it, out in the fresh air, the salt wind and the sunshine. But she knew that wasn’t her role, and really she’d just be getting in the way.
Holly shook her head. ‘Dr Keating wasn’t giving anything away.’
Vera started clearing the pizza boxes and sticking them into a bin. At the same time she was clearing her mind of the recent detail and trying to pull together a coherent picture of the background to the case. ‘Hol, did you get anywhere with that timeline? This is going to be a bugger to work, if we don’t have a framework to keep us straight.’
Holly slid off the desk where she’d been sitting and took centre-stage. It occurred to Vera that Holly was the sort of officer who’d do well under Watkins’ regime. She’d make it to Vera’s rank while she was still a young woman. And she’d do it brilliantly, Vera thought. She’d be terrific at all the things that were important now in policing: organizing material, supervising the team, presenting her case for more resources. Vera would always struggle in those areas, no matter how many management courses she was sent on. But she knew Holly would never be a better cop. She couldn’t mix comfortably with people of different ages and backgrounds, listening, probing, understanding. She didn’t find them fascinating.
Holly was fiddling with her laptop and a projector, and soon an image appeared on the whiteboard at the front of the room. ‘I think this is right, but give me a shout if I’ve got anything wrong.’ Despite her competence at all things technological, she sounded a little nervous about the facts themselves.
She’d set it out almost as a simple family tree, with John Brace at the top of the chart in the middle, running in a straight line to the bottom. Decades were marked at the side of the spreadsheet, and Brace’s contacts and specific events of significance were written around the central line.
‘John Arthur Brace was born in October 1950 and he was an only child. His father was a deputy in Bebington’s Isabella coalmine. Brace went to Bebington Grammar School, where he met Robert Paul Marshall in 1961.’ That point of first contact had been captured on Holly’s plan. ‘Marshall was also an only child; his father was a butcher and his mother, Eleanor, a teacher before she married. When Robbie was twelve the family moved to Wallsend but he remained at Bebington school. Eleanor still lives in Wallsend.’ She paused for breath. There was silence in the room. Even Charlie was taking notes.
Holly continued: ‘Brace left school in 1969 and joined the police force as a cadet. Marshall left at the same time and became an apprentice in the Swan Hunter shipyard.’ Again, these facts were written clearly on the sheet. ‘They both did well in their respective careers – Brace ended up as superintendent and Marshall as procurement manager.’ Another pause. ‘By the late seventies and early eighties the force was already receiving complaints about Brace’s behaviour, but none of these seem to have been taken too seriously. In January 1983 Patricia Mariella Lascuola was born. It seems generally accepted that Brace was her father, so we can assume that he knew Mary-Frances at least by the previous year.’ Holly turned to her audience. ‘Is all that making sense?’
‘It’s brilliant, Hol.’ Vera meant it. ‘Dead clear.’
‘Patty married Gary Keane in 2003 and their first child, Jennifer, was born in 2005. In 2007 Glen Fenwick, a gamekeeper on the Standrigg Estate, was murdered, and nearly two years later John Brace was charged in connection with the crime. Just before he was imprisoned he purchased a house for Patty and her family. Jonnie Keane was born soon after, and Patty’s third child, Archie, two years after that. You can see the births here on the plan. I’ve updated the timeline with Vera visiting the prison last week and the discovery of the bodies today. I’ll maintain it as a document online and add to it as we go along. I can make printouts for the briefing tonight and every time there’s any new information about past events.’ She switched off her computer.
There was a moment of silence before Vera led the applause. Holly looked uncertain for a moment, as if she thought they might be mocking her, then she grinned and pretended to bow.
‘That, ladies and gentleman,’ Vera said, ‘is why every team needs an officer like Holly. That’s how we’re going to get an ID for the second body and how we’re going to find our killer.’
Chapter Fifteen
Joe Ashworth got back to the station just in time for the seven o’clock briefing. In the corridor outside the operations room he phoned Sal to explain that he’d be late home.
‘It’ll be a big one. You’ll see it all over the late news. Could be an all-nighter, but certainly don’t wait up.’
Her response was one of dull resignation. After the birth of their youngest child, they’d talked about the possibility of his leaving the police service, finding something with more regular hours, but she’d always been more enthusiastic about the plan than he was. She’d investigated the possibility that he might retrain, had it in her head that he’d make a great teacher. When she’d gone into the details, though, even Sal had admitted that it wouldn’t be practical. She might not like the demands that the job and Vera made on his time, but she loved the salary and the flexibility. Although he’d never let on, Joe had been overjoyed when the idea had been dropped. He’d never have given up policing, not even for Sal and the family, and had been dreading a confrontation. Sal already accused him of always putting Vera first.
‘I have been around for most of the summer,’ he said now. He wished she understood how much he loved his work. He shouldn’t have to make excuses abou
t it.
And perhaps she did understand. ‘I know, pet, and it’ll be fine. We’ll be fine. Just take care and don’t take any crap from Vera. You know how bossy she can be and, when she’s in the middle of an investigation, she seems not to realize that other people have a life away from the job.’
Joe thought Vera wasn’t the only bossy woman in his life but he didn’t say anything. He pushed open the door to the operations room and felt himself relax. He loved his wife and kids. Of course he did. But this was where he really felt at home.
They were just about to start. Holly was handing out a kind of spreadsheet that gave the details of John Brace and Robbie Marshall’s contacts, and another sheet of A4, which was a biography of Marshall’s life, containing everything they’d learned about him so far. In the room were officers drafted in from other teams and the senior CSI, who’d been supervising the scene at St Mary’s for most of the day. Vera was on her feet, about to speak. She’d been giving it the max since before first light, but she looked as fresh as if she’d just woken up.
‘Let’s get going then, shall we? Now DS Ashworth has graced us with his presence.’
There were a few sniggers at the dig. Joe wondered if Vera had known that he’d been delayed in the corridor outside because he was phoning Sal, or if she’d guessed. Sometimes he thought she was a kind of witch and knew what he was thinking before he did.
‘Obviously no positive ID on either body yet.’ Vera looked round the room. ‘But until we hear otherwise, I think we can safely say that one of them belongs to Robbie Marshall, who went missing on 25th June 1995. The only reason we were digging around in the culvert was because our old friend ex-Superintendent John Brace told us we’d find Marshall there.’ She paused. ‘But there was no mention of a second body and I really want to find out why. If Brace knew about it, why didn’t he tell me? He’d realize we’d find it, once we started digging. And if he didn’t know about it, that’s even more bizarre. Brace claims Marshall was already dead when he found him, and that he stuck the body in the culvert because he didn’t want anyone here to make any connection between the two of them. I can just about buy that. Brace was already under investigation and late at night, coming across the body of his best friend, he might have panicked. But that there just happened to be another dead person already stashed in the same place? Nah, that’s just not possible. That’s the stuff of fairy stories.’
Her eyes swept the room again, checking that they were all still with her. ‘So the first priority is to ID both bodies. We take nothing for granted. We assume that Brace has been lying to us, big-style.’ Her attention landed on the CSI. ‘Have you got anything that can help us?’
‘One of the victims is certainly male, according to Dr Keating. And the clothes would indicate that too. There are big walking boots, still pretty well intact.’
Vera nodded. ‘That ties in with what we know about Marshall’s activity on the day he disappeared. He must be our most likely first victim.’
‘The other body was smaller, but it’s not so well preserved.’
‘Could it be a woman?’
The CSI shrugged ‘Hey! I’ll leave that one to the experts.’ Not wanting to stick his neck out in front of the team.
‘Did you find anything that might indicate gender?’
Joe could sense Vera’s impatience. She was missing senior CSI Billy Cartwright, with whom she was more used to working. Cartwright was away on holiday with his latest woman, and the couple weren’t due back until the weekend. Vera claimed to disapprove of Cartwright, but at least he was usually forthcoming in his opinions. She pressed the point. ‘I’m thinking jewellery, a wedding or engagement ring.’
‘Sorry, nothing so far that would suggest either gender,’ the CSI said. ‘No handbag or wallet, no watch.’
Joe wondered about the implication of that. Had anything that might identify the victims been removed by the killer or had it just disintegrated over time, or been washed away through gaps in the boulders at high tide?
Vera had obviously decided that the CSI had nothing useful to add and had moved on. ‘Robbie Marshall was working at Swan Hunter’s when he died. The shipyard had already gone into administration then, but he was still there helping tie up loose ends for the administrators. He was always good with figures, Robbie, and buying and selling was in his blood. Quite often the stuff he sold belonged to other people. His mam thinks he was a saint. We know he was far from that, but I need a picture of what was really going on in his life. According to Brace, he was anxious about a meeting he was having that night in June. We suspect he was mixed up with some of the major players, dabbling on the fringes of organized crime. Was the choice of Whitley Bay as the meeting place random, or was that where his contact was based? Can we come up with a few ideas about whom he might have been meeting there? Charlie, you can make a start on that one. It’d have been your era.’
Charlie grinned and gave a wave of acknowledgement, but Vera continued in full flow. ‘Let’s look at the dealers and the men who were running the working girls. Brace had a daughter with a woman called Mary-Frances Lascuola, heroin addict and likely sex worker, according to her records. Also according to her records, Mary-Frances seems to have disappeared without trace. Now I’m making a bit of a leap here, but at the moment I’d give a case of my favourite malt to know if Mary-Frances is our second body. Brace claims that she died long before Robbie Marshall went missing, but we know he’s a lying bastard. So let’s get everything we can find on Mary-Frances. Hol, you’ve made a good start on this one. Can you track down any women who might have been working with her in Whitley at that time? See if anyone knows what’s happened to her. And check out the rehab centre in Bebington. If it’s still there, they should still have some records.’
Joe allowed himself a brief grin. He wondered how Holly would get on with a bunch of ageing prostitutes and druggies. But Vera had directed her attention to him now.
‘I want you to go and see Gary Keane.’ She turned to her wider audience to explain. ‘Gary was married to Brace’s daughter. He now runs a computer-repair business in Bedlington and lives over the premises. There are suspicions that he doesn’t only work for the law-abiding citizens of south-east Northumberland, but that he also sorts out the technical problems for members of organized crime in the region. He’d have been young when Robbie Marshall went missing, but there’s a possibility that he was already involved in criminality then. He would have known some of the players, heard the rumours. Just have a little chat. Find out what sort of man he is.’ Vera leaned back on the edge of a desk and closed her eyes for a moment, showing her age and her exhaustion for the first time. She opened them again and gave a wide grin. ‘And I’m going back in prison, to ask our old pal John Brace why he’s been playing games with us.’
* * *
Joe arrived at Gary Keane’s place early the next morning. He wanted time to talk properly, before the man felt obliged to open up his shop. The Indian summer was stretching well into September, but this early there was a chill in the air, the smell of dying leaves. Bebington was a former pit-town and had been down on its luck since the colliery closed, but Anchor Lane, a couple of streets away from the centre, had a slightly more prosperous air; there was an independent coffee shop, already open and selling cappuccinos to a steady stream of commuters waiting for the bus into Newcastle, and a bit of wasteland opposite had been turned into a community garden. Keane’s business was on a corner site close to the cafe, at the end of a terrace of small independent shops. His flat would have a view of the newly tended flowerbeds.
The shop window was covered by metal shutters. The area hadn’t been so gentrified that it would be safe not to take security seriously. Next to the door into the shop there was another entrance, with a bell. Joe rang that and waited. Nothing. He rang again, this time leaning all his weight on it and letting it ring. Eventually he heard heavy footsteps on bare wooden stairs. The door opened to Gary Keane, bleary-eyed, bigger than Joe had been exp
ecting from the photograph, older but still good-looking in a haggard, well-worn way. He was wearing a dark-green dressing gown and leather slippers that flapped as he walked. Nothing else.
‘What the fuck do you want?’
‘Police.’ Joe pulled out his warrant card, but Keane waved it away.
‘No need for that. I can smell you lot a mile off.’
‘Are you going to let me in?’
‘Only if you bring coffee with you.’ Keane nodded to the shop two doors down. ‘Flat white. And an almond croissant. I’ll leave the door open.’ He disappeared.
Joe pondered what Vera would have made of that kind of demand and decided she’d already be halfway up the stairs after Keane, telling him to get his own bloody coffee. But it smelled good, and Joe thought that one thing he’d learned from Vera was that there was more than one way to get a result. When he got back to the flat, carrying coffee and pastries in a cardboard tray, Keane was dressed. The place was small but pleasant enough. Tidy for a bachelor pad. Arty, with a couple of posters on the walls. The posters advertised Whitley Bay as a seaside town, the design resembling 1930s railway art. There was a bookshelf stuffed with paperbacks. It seemed that, like this part of Bebington, Keane had become more sophisticated. Maybe he even volunteered in the community garden.
‘What’s this about?’
Joe hesitated for a moment. What was this about? All they had to link Keane with Robbie Marshall was the fact that John Brace had once been Gary’s father-in-law. All the same, Gary didn’t need to know that.
‘Just a few questions. You’ll have seen in the news about the bodies found in the drain at Whitley.’
Keane didn’t reply for a moment. He stared at Joe across the top of his coffee. ‘What would that have to do with me?’