The Spider's Web

by Ben Cheetham

  The empty eye-sockets gaped sightlessly at Anna. Its jaw hung open in a mockery of a grin. Its mottled white-brown surface was fleshless, but wisps of brittle hair clung to it. Long blonde hair. Like Jessica’s. Anna’s pulse beat in her ears. Was this her? Was the search finally over? The fabric dissolved beneath her fingers as she peeled away more of it, revealing a ribcage with a coin-slot sized hole to the left of the sternum. The bones were bent inwards, clearly the result of a knife being thrust through them. An image came into her mind of Spider looming over Jessica, a knife raised in his hands, his face warped with pleasure. She couldn’t imagine, though, the terror Jessica must have felt at that moment – if such a moment had existed. To die in such a way. No one deserved that. Except maybe the fucker who would commit such a crime in the first place.

  Tears threatened to rise into Anna’s eyes. She didn’t let them out. Crying wouldn’t help catch Spider. Clutching handfuls of roots, she worked her way backwards. She emerged blinking like a mole into the sunlight. Her gaze flitted uneasily around the clearing as she dialled Jim. When he picked up, she said breathlessly, ‘I think I’ve found her.’

  ‘Found who?’ he asked.

  She steadied her breathing, then said, ‘My sister.’

  8

  Jim and Reece stood beside their West Yorkshire Police counterparts watching plastic-suited officers carefully remove the skeleton from the hole. Other officers swarmed around the tree, taking photos, dusting the carving for prints, bagging and tagging the ribbons and items tied in them, combing the undergrowth. When Jim saw the skeleton laid out full length on plastic sheeting, he guessed that Anna was most probably wrong. Jessica Young was four foot eleven at the time of her abduction. The skeleton belonged to someone who’d been a good few inches taller. Unless Spider and Freddie Harding had kept her alive for several years – which was extremely unlikely considering Harding’s MO – this wasn’t her skeleton. Ruth Magill, the senior pathologist, examined the skeleton, paying close attention to the skull, teeth, ribcage and pelvic area.

  ‘What are we looking at?’ asked Jim.

  ‘I’ll need to do a more thorough examination to be certain,’ said Ruth. ‘But from the general lack of wear and tear, the absence of wisdom teeth and the size of the pelvic inlet, I’d say we’re looking at an adolescent female. Five foot four or five. Dyed blonde hair with brown roots.’

  That final detail confirmed Jim’s guess – Jessica Young was a natural blonde.

  ‘Possibly she was something of an alternative type,’ continued Ruth.

  ‘Why do you say that?’

  Ruth pointed to a scrap of clothing. ‘She was wrapped in a tie-dye skirt. I used to wear them myself back when I was in my teenage hippy phase.’

  ‘It makes sense that that kind of girl would be attracted to someone with Spider’s far-out beliefs,’ observed Reece.

  ‘Cause of death seems fairly obvious. The puncture wound is directly over the heart. Death would have been instantaneous. Of course, it’s impossible to say at this stage how long she’s been down there. Could be months or years.’

  ‘Any signs of ligatures on the wrists or ankles?’ asked Jim.

  ‘No. But any ligatures may well have rotted away with the flesh.’

  Jim’s gaze moved from the skeleton to the crude face carved into the tree. It stared inscrutably back at him.

  ‘What are you thinking?’ asked Reece.

  Jim’s hand dipped unconsciously into his pocket, then emerged empty. At times like this his fingers always itched for a cigarette. Anna had filled him in over the phone about how she’d found her way to the skeleton. Although he’d given her Freddie Harding’s key more in hope than expectation, he wasn’t surprised she’d located the door it fitted. Nor was he surprised she’d ignored his plea to keep nothing from him. He was quickly coming to realise that she had an investigative brain to put most of his colleagues to shame. But she was also a loose cannon. He could no more control her than Garrett could control him. ‘This is a place of worship, right? And what do worshippers do every Sunday morning?’

  ‘Go to church.’

  ‘So maybe our guy comes here once every full moon, or whatever, to do his thing.’

  ‘In which case we should put some surveillance on this place.’

  Jim’s mouth curled sceptically. His voice dropped so only Reece could hear. ‘I’d agree with you if it wasn’t for the fact that Villiers probably already knows what’s been found. And if he knows then no doubt Spider or Clotho Daeja, or whatever the hell he’s calling himself now, does too.’

  ‘Chief Inspector Monahan.’

  Jim turned towards the sound of his name. Garrett was striding towards him, his jaw set in a grim line.

  ‘We need to talk,’ said Garrett. His voice was flat and authoritative, but a cold undercurrent of anger was detectable. Without waiting for a reply, the Chief Superintendent headed back the way he’d come. Exchanging a glance with Reece, Jim followed. They passed between the lock-up garages. Forensics officers were going over Spider and Freddie Harding’s garage with the proverbial fine-toothed comb. A scene that, Jim knew, would be being repeated again at the Cowper Road house where Spider had lived for sixteen years. If the bastard had left any trace of himself behind – a partial fingerprint, a strand of hair, a flake of skin, anything – forensics would sniff it out like bloodhounds.

  Garrett led Jim to the mobile operations lorry. Anna was sitting in the back of it, her clothes and hands still grimy from crawling into the hole. There was a sort of numbness in her eyes, as if she was struggling to process what she’d found. Garrett looked from Jim to Anna, his arms crossed as if awaiting an answer to a question. ‘One of you had better start talking,’ he said sharply. ‘Because none of us is leaving here until I know what the bloody hell’s going on.’

  ‘I told you most of it yesterday,’ said Jim. ‘You didn’t believe it then. So why would you now?’

  ‘We didn’t have a body yesterday.’

  ‘We had thirty-seven bodies,’ Jim threw back, anger sparking in his voice. ‘This is just one more to add to the list.’

  ‘You’re saying this girl is connected to Edward Forester and Freddie Harding?’

  Jim looked uncertainly at Garrett. The Chief Superintendent was a by-the-book careerist. In other words, to use Reece’s vernacular, he was an arsehole with a capital A. But there was another side to him. One that, as far as Jim was aware, no one on the force besides himself had seen. Garrett wasn’t as inflexible as he seemed. If pushed hard enough, he would bend. As proved by Jim’s continued presence in the job. Considering the weight of evidence, surely he would now have no choice but to open up on Villiers with every weapon in their arsenal. And if he refused to do so, then there was one final card Jim could play. He could threaten to reveal the truth about how he’d discovered Edward Forester’s grisly secret. Of course, that would not only mean the end of Garrett’s career, but Reece’s and his own too. ‘I’m saying it’s all connected. Forester, Harding, Villiers, the Hopeland abuse, Jessica Young’s abduction—’

  ‘Hang on,’ broke in Garrett, his forehead furrowing. ‘Now you’re telling me Jessica Young was a victim of Forester and Harding.’

  Jim looked at Anna. ‘Show him the sketch.’

  She brought up the image of her sister’s abductor on her iPhone. Garrett squinted at it. ‘It’s the caretaker from Lance Brennan’s Hopeland file.’

  Anna shook her head. ‘That’s the sketch the police made from my description of the man who took Jessica.’

  Garrett’s eyes grew big in realisation. ‘Jesus.’

  ‘There’s more,’ said Jim. He held his hand out to Anna. ‘The key.’

  She unhooked the key from the Horned God keyring and handed it to him. He showed it to Garrett. ‘Do you recognise this?’

  ‘No. Should I?’

  ‘Yeah, you should. It’s a copy of a key we found in Edward Forester’s bunker. A key that had Freddie Harding’s prints on it.’

 
Garrett’s frown hardened. He thrust a finger at Anna. ‘Then why did she have it?’

  ‘Because I gave it to her.’

  ‘So you admit you’ve been leaking evidence to Miss Young.’

  ‘I admit I’m willing to do whatever it takes to break this case. But then you knew that when you gave me the job, didn’t you?’

  ‘That’s not why I offered you the job. I offered you it because you’re bloody good at what you do.’

  A sardonic smile stretched across Jim’s lips. ‘Come on, let’s not kid each other. We both know why I got this job, the same as we both know why you got your promotion.’

  Garrett’s gaze slid uneasily to Anna, then back to Jim. There was resentment in his eyes – resentment at the knowledge that just as Jim’s lie had put the Chief Superintendent’s star and crown on his shoulder, so he could take it away too. His voice was low and overly controlled as he said, ‘I don’t think we should be discussing this in front of Miss Young.’

  ‘Neither do I. I think we should be talking about why Freddie Harding’s key opens a garage that was rented by a man who used to work for Thomas Villiers.’

  Garrett took the key off Jim. He stared at it thoughtfully, then heaved a sigh. ‘What you said the other day was right. I’m getting pressure on this like I’ve never known before. The powers that be want this case to die away as quickly and quietly as possible.’

  ‘But we’re not going to let that happen, are we?’ There was an unmistakable note of implied threat in Jim’s voice.

  ‘No.’ Garrett’s knuckles whitened on the key. With a sort of morose resolve, as though he was thinking, Why is this happening to me? he said, ‘We’re going to tear Thomas Villiers’ life apart. And all the rest of their lives too. But first we’ve got to deal with this.’ He opened his hand. ‘How are you going to explain Miss Young having Freddie Harding’s key?’

  ‘I’m not. I was the only one with a copy, so it’s obvious where it came from. And I’m willing to take full responsibility when this is over. But until then I need you to keep them off my back.’

  Garrett pursed his lips doubtfully. ‘I’ll do my best. But they’re gunning for you. I had a call from the IPCC this morning. They’re going to be investigating the leak.’

  Jim gave a little snort of derision. ‘And what about the fact that I can’t make a move without Villiers knowing about it? Are they going to investigate who’s leaking information to him?’

  With another sigh, Garrett shook his head. His eyes narrowed suddenly. ‘I hope you don’t think I’ve been speaking to him.’

  ‘If I thought that we wouldn’t be having this conversation.’ Jim knew Garrett would be willing to do almost anything to further his career. But he felt sure that almost anything didn’t stretch to protecting criminals. Garrett had repeatedly said as much himself. And regardless of his misgivings about Garrett’s ambitions, he’d never been given any reason to doubt that the Chief Superintendent wasn’t as good as his word.

  Garrett’s expression relaxed, not much, but enough to make it plain that having Jim’s trust was important to him.

  ‘That doesn’t mean you haven’t been unintentionally passing on information to Villiers’ source,’ pointed out Jim.

  ‘The same applies to you.’

  Jim grimaced agreement. ‘That’s why we need to be especially careful about what we say to whom from now on.’

  ‘What about Miss Young?’

  ‘What about me?’ Anna demanded, her eyes flaring to life.

  Garrett treated her to a searching look. ‘Can we trust you to keep everything you’ve heard here to yourself?’

  ‘Of course you fucking can. That’s my sister out there. Do you really think I’d do anything that might prevent her killer from being—’

  ‘No, it’s not,’ interrupted Jim.

  Anna turned to him sharply. ‘What?’

  ‘It’s not your sister’s body.’

  Anna blinked. Her tongue darted over her lower lip. ‘Are you sure?’ Her voice was tentative, as if she both wanted and didn’t want to believe Jim. She’d been searching for Jessica for so many years. So many long, long years. The thought that her sister had been murdered and stuffed into that hole was devastating beyond words. And yet in some corner of her mind she could barely bring herself to acknowledge, she’d felt a sense of relief at the possibility that her search might finally have come to an end.

  ‘Yes. I’m sorry, I should have told you as soon as I came in here.’

  Anna’s gaze dropped away from Jim. ‘So it’s not over,’ she murmured more to herself than anybody else. She took a steadying breath and lifted her eyes. ‘Do you have any idea who it could be?’

  ‘Not yet. If she was reported missing, we might get a hit on the DNA database.’

  Garrett’s phone rang. Raising a finger for quiet, he put the phone to his ear. Lines of tension worked their way outwards from behind his glasses as he listened to the caller. ‘Well keep it under control,’ he said exasperatedly. ‘He’ll be there ASAP.’ He hung up and turned to Jim. ‘You’re needed back in Sheffield. Linda Kirby’s turned up at Villiers’ house along with a mob of her supporters.’

  ‘Shit, that’s all we need. Is he at home?’

  ‘Yes. We’ve got men with him, but they’re worried the crowd will turn violent if they try to get him out. You’d better speak to Linda. Calm things down. Because if anything happens to Villiers I won’t be able to protect you.’

  Flashing Anna a look, Jim headed for the door. She met his gaze squarely with no apology in her eyes. As far as she was concerned, Villiers deserved whatever was coming to him and more. Garrett followed Jim outside. ‘Chief Inspector Monahan… Jim. There was no need to threaten me in there. I’m on your side.’

  Jim looked at his Chief Superintendent – the overly pressed uniform, the smooth, pompous face – and it struck him how maybe one time in a thousand someone turned out to be better than you thought they were. ‘I know,’ he said, then he turned to hurry back to the woods. He found Reece where he’d left him, watching the bones being bagged.

  ‘I’ve just got off the phone to Scott,’ Reece told Jim. ‘He’s tracked down Donald Turner, the owner of the lock-ups. Do you want to go talk to him?’

  ‘Later. Right now, we need to get back to Sheffield.’

  ‘Why?’

  Jim explained the situation as they made their way to their cars. ‘I never thought I’d be saying this, Reece, but we need to make sure no harm comes to Villiers.’

  ‘How did things go with Garrett?’

  ‘He knows everything.’

  Reece’s eyebrows lifted. ‘And you’re still walking around with a badge.’

  ‘For now.’

  ‘Maybe he’s not such a prick as he seems,’ mused Reece.

  ‘Maybe, but even he won’t be able to keep me in the job if Linda Kirby gets her hands on Villiers.’

  Thomas Villiers’ house overlooked a hump of moorland that rippled up against the city like a purple-brown wave. It was late afternoon when Jim and Reece arrived there. Normally, the road would have been busy with commuters. But not that day. Police had cordoned off either end of it. Jim flashed his badge at a constable who moved aside some cones to let them through. He heard the crowd before he saw it. Chants of, ‘Lies, lies, lies!’ filtered through his open window. The crowd was clustered outside Villiers’ house – a big, detached place set well back from the road behind a wall and gates. There were maybe three or four hundred people. Many of them were wearing white t-shirts with Grace Kirby’s face on the front. Not Grace’s face as it had been when she died – worn down and hollowed out by life – but Grace’s face as it had been before she fell into Stephen Baxley’s clutches – beautiful and smiling, yet touched by a sadness that shone from her blue eyes. Above her face were the words ‘NO JUSTICE’. Some of the crowd were carrying placards whose slogans cried out ‘WHY ARE THE POLICE PROTECTING CHILD ABUSERS?’, ‘WE DEMAND ANSWERS’, ‘NO MORE LIES’ and ‘ENOUGH IS ENOUGH’.


  A line of constables had been drawn up in front of Villiers’ gates, separated from the crowd by the width of the pavement. Shouts of, ‘Move back!’ from the constables competed with the chanting of the crowd. Jim parked a stone’s throw from the scene and got out of his car. As he waited for Reece to join him, his gaze searched the crowd for Linda Kirby. He wasn’t surprised to spot her at the front, gesticulating angrily in a policeman’s face. The policeman had one hand extended out towards her. The other gripped a truncheon. The atmosphere was as explosive as a powder keg dangling over a bonfire.

  Jim and Reece approached Linda between the battle lines. ‘Fucking pigs!’ yelled someone, marking them for what they were in their suits. ‘Lying bastards,’ came another shout, followed by a glob of phlegm that hit Jim in the face. A policeman stepped forward to apprehend the guilty party, but Jim raised a hand to stay him. Wiping his face, he called to Linda. She jerked towards him, her eyes that had been so timid the first time they’d met now burning with passionate, indignant rage.

  ‘Look!’ She thrust an accusatory finger at Jim. ‘Here comes one of the chief liars!’