Lost Souls

by Chris Merritt

  A hundred metres or more later, the trees thinned slightly and Lockhart emerged into a clearing.

  ‘Jesus Christ,’ he exclaimed.

  Sweeney’s body hung from a low tree branch. One end of the skipping rope had been slung around the bough, and the other snaked around his neck. As Lockhart’s eyes began to pick out more details, he could tell that Sweeney’s skin had already started to change colour. The tip of his tongue was poking out between his lips. His feet were in contact with the ground, but behind the cord, giving him the appearance of leaning forward. Lockhart knew this was called a ‘partial hanging’, but he’d never seen it in real life before. Sweeney’s bodyweight was pulling him down and the improvised ligature was clearly cutting off his airway. His limbs jerked with tiny movements and one hand flapped up to his neck briefly before dropping again.

  He guessed Sweeney had less than a minute to live.

  Instinctively, Lockhart took his Leatherman multitool out of his trouser pocket and flipped open the three-inch knife blade, which he kept razor sharp. He knew straight away what he should do. But something stopped him.

  He thought of the three children this man had murdered in cold blood, and of the fourth life he’d been about to end, just moments ago. Sweeney wasn’t the first child killer to try taking his own life after being caught; the names Brady, Huntley, and Bellfield all flashed through his mind. And part of Lockhart felt that death was probably no more than those scumbags deserved. They’d meted it out so callously to those younger and weaker than them, who’d had so much to live for.

  But, despite the strength of that feeling, Lockhart also believed in the law, and in justice. A quick end like this for Sweeney denied that resolution and closure to the relatives of his victims. It was Lockhart’s job to ensure that those who did care about Donovan Blair, Charley Mullins and Jordan Hennessey had their day in court. That he presented a watertight case to the CPS that would get Sweeney life without the possibility of parole. More than that, it was his professional duty to preserve life, whoever’s life that was. He wasn’t judge, jury and executioner.

  There were medics on the way.

  All he had to do was step across the clearing and cut the rope.

  But still he stood there, watching the limp, suspended body. His eyes flicked down to the knife blade in his hand and back up again.

  Sweeney’s limbs had stopped twitching.

  Sunday

  24th January

  Ninety-Three

  Lucy Berry had asked Mark for one last favour, after which she’d promised things would go back to normal. His exasperated smile had told her that she’d put about as much strain on her family life with this extra work as they could all take. But Lucy wouldn’t have pushed it so far if she hadn’t thought it was so important. And, like the lovely man he was, Mark had agreed to look after Pip and Kate solo for the weekend while Lucy saw this project through to its end.

  It’d taken her two full days of digging, with late nights and early mornings over Friday and Saturday, poring over the financial records she’d requested and the output from Marshall’s research, matching everything up. But she was very confident they had a case now. And that was why she’d foregone her usual cosy Sunday morning at home – when Pip and Kate would snuggle into bed with her and Mark – to stand in the cold outside an impressive house on a quiet residential street. Lucy realised that she was shaking a tiny bit, but it wasn’t due to the Baltic temperatures. It was because they were about to make an arrest.

  For almost all of the missing children flagged as ‘anomalous’ disappearances by Marshall’s computer programme, over the past twenty years, Lucy had found a corresponding cash deposit into a business bank account, and onward transfer from there just days later to a personal account, in the name of the individual Lucy knew to be in charge. The coincidence of those events alone would be enough to bring this person in for questioning.

  But, according to Max Smith, what had clinched the sign-off of the arrest warrant they were about to execute was the testimony of a key witness, who had been able to confirm at least one instance of the pattern which Marshall’s data had spotted, and which Lucy’s financial investigations had supported.

  This witness had given his testimony from a hospital bed, in writing, because he had been unable to speak, having just undergone emergency surgery to stent his crushed trachea and save his life.

  Gabriel Sweeney had voluntarily described how, some fifteen years earlier, he’d been handed over to a man who had proceeded to give him drugs and sexually abuse him over a period of several years, before he made the choice to escape. Lucy wasn’t a psychologist like Dr Green, but she guessed that those traumatic experiences had played some part in setting Gabriel on the path to becoming a killer.

  Lucy couldn’t help but feel some degree of sympathy for him, now that she had some idea of the terrible things he’d been through, but none of that excused his shocking violence. He wouldn’t be able to harm any other children now. In fact, the greatest risk he posed was to himself. Lucy knew he was being guarded twenty-four-seven in hospital after his suicide attempt in the woods, which Dan had stopped by cutting the ligature with which Gabriel had tried to hang himself. If Dan hadn’t done that, they wouldn’t have Gabriel’s testimony now to support the arrest they were about to make.

  Ordinarily, a civilian analyst like Lucy wouldn’t be present for the execution of an arrest warrant. But Max had suggested she come along to observe. The veteran DS had told her that being able to see the real-life results of her hard work was one of the best bits of the job. And, if they found the person they were looking for at home this morning – someone whom they believed to have brought such harm to vulnerable children for two decades – then Lucy was certain she’d feel the same.

  Lucy stood at the back of the small group. In front of her were Leo, Andy, Priya and Mo. At the front, poised to knock, was Max. She looked around at them all, nodded once, then turned back to the door and hammered firmly on it three times.

  ‘Open the door, please, this is the police.’

  She knocked again. Lucy watched as a light eventually came on behind the frosted glass of an expensive-looking front door which, a moment later, opened to reveal the person they were looking for.

  ‘Susanna Chalmers,’ said Max, ‘I’m arresting you on suspicion of child trafficking, contrary to section two of the Modern Slavery Act, 2015. You do not have to say anything, but it may harm your defence if you do not mention when questioned…’

  As Max recited the caution, Chalmers stared blankly at them, her eyes moving from one to the next before alighting on Lucy, who felt her heart jump. Her first instinct was to break eye contact, to look anywhere but into the eyes of someone whom she strongly believed to have violated one of the most sacred principles of adulthood: protecting children. Worse, of using her position at the head of a charity to identify vulnerable kids and pass them on to anyone willing to pay the going rate. But she didn’t shy away, holding Chalmers’s gaze as she was led down the steps.

  Lucy didn’t yet know who the ‘customers’ were for this woman’s ruthless trade in human beings. Perhaps they were people whose records would prevent them from fostering or adopting officially. Maybe there were those who sought to exploit the children for their labour. Or for something much worse than that, which Lucy didn’t even want to think about.

  The details of how Chalmers did it would emerge in time, no doubt, but Lucy suspected that her movement of children from the care system or streets into private homes, off the radar, used a range of tactics. Some, like Gabriel, were already probably struggling with drug problems and would’ve been controlled that way. For others, there might have been offers of money, or perhaps threats and coercion. Whatever the methods, Lucy would do everything she could to ensure that Susanna Chalmers received the maximum possible sentence for her crimes.

  As Max and Leo guided the charity director into the back seat of their unmarked car, Lucy allowed herself to relax and enjoy
the success. Max had been right that it was one of the best feelings.

  ‘Nice one, Luce,’ said Andy, giving her a thumbs-up.

  ‘Great job,’ added Priya, laying a hand on her shoulder.

  Lucy felt herself blushing, but the feeling was quickly overshadowed by a little pang of guilt. No one except Marshall knew that she’d only been able to identify Chalmers by breaking the rules for the first time in her career… maybe even in her life. There was still a small chance that she’d get in trouble for this, but she’d take that punishment if it came to it. For what they’d done today, Lucy believed it was worth the risk.

  Ninety-Four

  Lexi was glad that Dan was driving at something approaching normal speed this time. As they joined the freeway heading south out of London, a road sign for Gatwick Airport flashed past her window.

  ‘Hey, uh, thanks for the ride,’ she said, tucking a loose lock of hair behind her ear. ‘I appreciate you going out of your way, you really didn’t have to.’

  ‘No dramas,’ replied Dan, glancing left at her and flashing a grin. ‘It’s on the way to Whitstable. Sort of.’

  Lexi chuckled, but then she recalled why Dan was headed there. He’d told her about the lead on Jess, the sighting by a fisherman, and even the possibility that his brother-in-law, Nick, might know something about his own sister’s disappearance. It was crazy, but Lexi just hoped that Dan was OK, and that maybe he could even get some closure on what’d happened to his wife. Lexi began to wonder if she wanted that closure just for Dan, or for herself, too, when he spoke again.

  ‘In any case, I owe you for getting me out of that van.’ Staring at the road in front, he shook his head at the memory. ‘I didn’t realise you were so… strong.’

  ‘Well, I’m not, really, not compared to some…’

  ‘Come on!’ He snorted. ‘That stack of shelves weighed a ton.’

  ‘I dunno.’ Now she thought about it, that was probably the heaviest thing she’d ever lifted. She imagined her CrossFit coach Erica complimenting her on it, then telling her to add more weight. The image brought a smile to her face. ‘Main thing’s that you stopped Gabriel’s suicide attempt, right?’

  When Dan didn’t reply immediately, Lexi looked at him. He was chewing his lower lip. ‘Yeah,’ he said eventually.

  ‘And he was able to give you the testimony about Chalmers,’ she added. ‘Double win.’

  Dan blinked.

  ‘What?’ said Lexi. ‘You don’t believe him?’

  ‘I do. About Chalmers, at least. But this is a guy who lied for a living, for years. Who carried out three – nearly four – murders by lying to his victims about stuff he could offer them.’

  ‘He told you that?’

  ‘Yeah. And it’s not ideal for your key witness to be a self-confessed liar as well as a serial murderer.’

  ‘You’ve got other evidence on Chalmers, though.’

  Dan arched his eyebrows. ‘We have. But it’s nothing a decent defence brief couldn’t drive a tank through if we can’t back it up better.’

  ‘I guess you can see what you find in her house.’

  ‘The team’s still there now,’ he said. ‘As well as searching her office.’

  ‘So, Gabriel lied about his military past?’

  Dan nodded. ‘He claimed he was in the Parachute Regiment, one of the best infantry units. The truth is he was in the Army Catering Corps, for a bit under two years, until he got caught stealing supplies. Ben Morris was a real paratrooper whose identity Sweeney stole after the guy was killed in Afghanistan.’

  ‘Huh.’ Lexi sat back in her seat. Now it made sense why Gabriel hadn’t mentioned his time in the army.

  ‘Morris was an orphan,’ Dan went on, ‘so, when he died, there was no one close to spot that his identity was still being used.’

  ‘And Gabriel used elements of both identities to commit his crimes,’ she stated. ‘Ben Morris’s clean record to get a job with access to kids, and his own registered vehicle to carry out the murders.’

  ‘Without you recognising him, we might never have connected the two.’

  ‘Just lucky we got there in time.’ She shifted in her seat, glanced at Dan’s strong, square hands on the steering wheel. ‘And that you made the call to break open the van when you did. Any longer, and…’ Lexi didn’t finish her sentence. She didn’t want to go there.

  ‘How is Paige?’

  ‘She’s doing pretty good.’ Lexi had dropped into St George’s Hospital to check in on her. ‘Her doctor says there’s no serious damage to her throat. She’d managed to get her fingers inside the skipping rope just before Gabriel tried to—’ Lexi broke off as a different memory came to her. She swallowed, touching the scar on her own neck. Remembered how it’d got there, and how close she’d come to dying. Took a deep breath.

  ‘It’s fucked up, isn’t it?’ Dan said. ‘Seeing something like that.’

  ‘No shit. And we weren’t even the ones being attacked. Imagine how Paige feels right now.’

  ‘Do you reckon she’ll get PTSD?’ he asked. ‘I mean, kids can get it, can’t they?’

  ‘For sure they can. Honestly, I don’t know. Everyone deals with stuff in different ways, and the effects of trauma can often come through years later. But I’ve made an appointment to check in with her, and if she needs some trauma sessions, I’ll make time in my schedule after I get back from the US.’

  Dan cocked his head. ‘I mean, I’m biased, but I reckon everyone could do with a bit of therapy from you.’ The side of his mouth rose in a half-smile.

  Lexi didn’t say anything, but she felt that glow that Dan was able to give her. The feeling that she’d made a difference. It made all the hard work worth it.

  ‘So, what’s the latest on your dad, then?’ he said, after a while.

  ‘Uh, he’s not so good,’ she replied. ‘Right now, I just want to be there with him. Helping out, supporting him, whatever he needs. Maybe even dragging him to the clinic personally if I have to.’

  Dan sucked his lips in, nodded slowly a few times. ‘I’m sure it’ll mean a lot to him to have you around,’ he said. ‘Let me know how he’s getting on, yeah?’ Then he turned his head to her, and their eyes met. ‘And how you’re doing, too.’

  ‘Sure. Thanks.’

  They drove along in silence for a few minutes.

  ‘By the way…’ Dan paused to clear his throat. ‘I’m sorry about focussing so much on your boyfriend. You know, if that made things difficult for you guys, I hope you can sort it out, now that—’

  ‘Don’t worry about it.’ Lexi cut him off.

  ‘OK.’

  ‘Anyway, things aren’t going that well between us right now.’ Lexi wasn’t sure why she’d just told Dan that.

  ‘Really? Because of our interest in him on Paxford?’

  ‘No, uh, actually it’s nothing to do with that.’

  ‘Right.’

  Lexi hesitated. But she’d gone this far, so she might as well continue. She told Dan about finding out that Tim used drugs. And Dan, being Dan, immediately linked it to her brother. Tim hadn’t done that, despite knowing about Shep and his overdose. She didn’t know what future there was for her and Tim. But, in that moment, it felt as though there could be one with Dan. Whether as friends, or colleagues, or… What was she thinking? Poor Dan was on his way to look for his missing wife.

  ‘Hey, let me know how your trip today goes, too,’ she said casually.

  He met her gaze again. ‘Don’t worry,’ he said, ‘I will.’

  Lexi sat back in her seat. Despite everything with her dad and all the other shit she’d been through in the past week or more, she felt herself start to relax a little. The next thought that came to her was that it was because she was with Dan. Somehow, he just made her feel safe. And, whatever happened, Lexi knew she didn’t want that to end.

  Ninety-Five

  Lockhart heard Jonah Tharpe arriving home long before he saw him. The slow crunch of gravel as weary footsteps brought h
im to the front door. The jangling of keys before they entered each of two locks, clicking them open in turn. The heavy sigh as he flicked the lights on, trudged across the flagstones to the kitchen counter, filled the kettle at the sink and placed it on the Aga hob. An odour of stale cigarettes, mingled with the faint smells of fish and brine, had wafted in with the man.

  ‘Evening, Jonah.’

  The fisherman jerked upright and spun around as if he’d just been hooked on one of his own lines.

  ‘Wh-who are you?’ he stammered. ‘How d’you get in here?’

  Lockhart ignored both questions. He got up off the chair he’d been sitting in for the last hour in the corner of the room and walked towards Tharpe. The older man shrank slightly as Lockhart towered over him.

  Frantically, Tharpe reached into his pocket for his mobile phone. He started stabbing at buttons before gasping and staring at the screen, incredulous.

  ‘It won’t work,’ Lockhart said calmly. The jamming device was in his own pocket right now.

  Tharpe looked over at the cordless landline phone, resting in its cradle across the room.

  ‘You’re welcome to try that,’ Lockhart told him. ‘But it’s dead too.’

  ‘I’ll shout for help,’ said Tharpe, but Lockhart could hear the doubt in his voice.

  ‘Your nearest neighbour’s fifty yards away,’ he said. ‘And they’re not at home anyway.’

  Lockhart had done his recce, and knew Tharpe Senior lived alone in the big cottage on the edge of Whitstable. His home didn’t even have an alarm. As targets went, it was pretty basic.

  ‘My sons will be here soon,’ said Tharpe.

  ‘No, they won’t,’ replied Lockhart. ‘They play football on Sunday nights.’