On the RIB, an officer manned the side-scan sonar, from which signals and readings were sent to the truck on the shore where Kelly waited.
* * *
Steve felt warm and settled into the dive. He checked his buoyancy and hovered just above the lake bed. Divers who couldn’t control their buoyancy, drifting up and down, kicking up silt and scaring wildlife, irritated the hell out of him. Visibility was good at about twelve metres, but all three divers knew that it would reduce rapidly the deeper they went.
There wasn’t much to see. The lake bed was mostly made up of rocks and pebbles. Steve spotted the odd anchor, and a few beer cans. Under water, tin and litter gradually turned brown, like everything else. They were looking for anything that stood out; that shouldn’t be there.
Strong currents swept them from side to side, and Steve’s ears were filled with the magnified sound of rock tapping on rock. The deeper they swam, the more silt surrounded them. He flicked on his torch. His ears adjusted as they passed twenty-five metres, and he became aware of the temperature dropping. They moved little, apart from forward, and it did nothing for the cold.
After bottoming at fifty-one metres, they were on their way back to shore when Karen stopped and held up her hand.
‘There,’ she said into her mouthpiece; she’d spotted something. The other two halted, and one of the team on the surface signalled to the RIB to stand by.
They hovered over a sandy area dotted with rocks. Steve checked his depth: they were at fifteen metres. Pondweed above them prevented the sun’s rays penetrating this far down, but their torches lit up the area as long as they stayed fairly still. Their movements were slow and deliberate. Steve adapted his buoyancy and sank a foot, taking him to just above the pile of rocks in question.
To the side of one large rock, a canvas handle sat in the sand. Karen had a keen eye; it could have been a plant or a fish. It was neither. He lifted the rocks very carefully, one at a time. They were light underwater and he moved them easily, but he took care not to discard them roughly and so disturb the lake bed. Karen and John took it in turns taking the rocks from him until they’d removed eleven in total. Silt had kicked up, and they waited for a minute while it settled again. They didn’t move.
It was a large holdall. The torch beam revealed it to be a royal blue and black Head bag. Steve tried to lift it, but it was too heavy. He made a decision not to open it. He suspected it had been weighed down with something, but forensics would want to go over every item, including whatever had been used to sink it to the bottom of the lake.
The truck on the shoreline was equipped with a portable winch, and the RIB collected it. Steve was running out of air. If they didn’t get a move on, he’d have to surface. Karen and John both gave a thumbs-up, signalling that they were going up. They’d been under water for forty-five minutes. Steve spoke into his radio.
‘See you at the top. I’m staying.’ Someone would have to tie the winch.
Karen and John swam ten feet away from where Steve waited on the lake bed with the bag, to keep silt to a minimum, and began their ascent.
Finally the RIB arrived and the winch was lowered. As Steve tied it to the bag, he checked his air. It was dangerously low. He finished tying and the bag lifted gently from the bed. As he watched it rise, he noticed that there was something on one end. He shone his torch as the bag moved away from him.
Two large initials had been written in black marker pen: F. H.
Chapter 19
Kelly arrived at Eden House with her stomach churning. Finding Freya Hamilton’s bag changed everything. Of course they would need to wait for definitive results to confirm ownership, but with the Head bag listed among Freya’s belongings, as well as the initials, it made for a morbid atmosphere in the incident room, and rightly so. Kelly had assembled her whole team. It didn’t occur to her that it was Saturday. It didn’t matter.
* * *
Outside, DS Kate Umshaw stubbed out her cigarette and decided again that this was not the week to quit. The cloud of toxic fumes followed her inside, but no one commented. She pressed the button for the lift rather than take the stairs, knowing that it would only add to the exertion already forced upon her clogged lungs. As she walked out of the lift and along the corridor to the incident room, she was thankful that she’d avoided promotion again: Kelly Porter would have to face this one.
DC Rob Shawcross sat back on a chair with his feet up and studied his computer screen. DC Will Phillips stared pensively out of a window, glancing occasionally at the door, expectant for the moment of Kelly’s arrival. DC Emma Hide read poetry. Kate walked past them and sat down.
‘What time is it?’ asked Kate.
‘Eight twenty-two,’ replied Will.
Kate nodded and fiddled with her laptop, wishing she’d squeezed in one more smoke.
* * *
Kelly entered the room and walked straight to the whiteboard. She opened her Toughpad – they all had them; officers were notoriously clumsy and too many had been damaged. Cost-cutting was at the forefront of everyone’s mind.
Three photographs appeared behind her on the white screen: Sophie Daker, Hannah Lawson and Freya Hamilton.
‘Three women, similar appearance, disappeared into thin air. Let’s start with Hannah and Sophie. What have we got?’
Will Phillips was the first to speak.
‘Guv, the bag found on Loadpot Hill has been identified as Hannah Lawson’s; the mother confirmed it. The mobile phone is being downloaded, though it’ll take some time. There was a silver hip flask – that’s being tested for DNA. The stains on the bag tested positive for human blood and we got a quick result on it: it’s confirmed that it’s Hannah Lawson’s. That’s not all. The blood spatter at the scene where the bag was found also matched Hannah’s. We retrieved and cast a single tyre track at the scene, and some trainer prints. None of the prints are in our databases; the track is from a bog-standard Land Rover – they’re fairly common round here, used by pretty much every farmer from here to Barrow. It’s a generic model.’
‘So we’re looking at abduction for sure.’ Kelly made notes on her Toughpad. Every computer in the office was hooked up to the HOLMES 2 system, and the information updated their working model instantly. The dynamic reasoning engine was like an extra officer in the room, but one who didn’t need to sleep, eat or think. It made sure that no detail was missed, but then the details had to be inputted first; if there were no details, then there was nothing to compare, and comparisons built investigations.
‘Yes, guv. But to take two women is no easy job, and Hannah is a judo expert. It must have been pre-planned.’
‘Or they were disabled somehow. Right, Freya Hamilton?’
‘Lancaster has sent the file; the case is back to us now. The bag contained personal stuff: a toilet bag, various items of clothing – including a grey sweater, official merchandise from her sixth-form college in Doncaster – and some electrical goods. No phone or ID. The sweater and the bag were positively ID’d by her sister, who lives in Cleethorpes.’
Two investigations – one of which they’d thought was on Lancashire turf – had just potentially become one, but they needed to find links, and so far all they had was the fact that the girls were of similar appearance and last seen in the Lakes.
‘Why is the sister Freya’s next of kin?’ Kelly was curious.
‘The parents washed their hands of her a few years ago. Cocaine addiction. From what I can make out, it was assumed at the time that Freya had wandered off in search of a score and a party weekend getting high. She’d been in and out of jobs in the Lakes, including the Peak’s Bay on Ullswater, so no one except the sister seemed to miss her. Lancaster closed the case when the leads dried up.’
‘Because they were in the wrong place,’ Kelly said. ‘But we’ve still got no body, and all three girls could still be alive. I want the photos re-released to the press, as well as last sightings and everything we know about their movements.’
‘Frey
a’s last movements were quite erratic,’ Will said. ‘She’d been missing a lot of work. It sounded like she fell in with the wrong crowd, and spent more time trying to scrape enough money together for drugs rather than at work. It was no surprise to anyone when she failed to turn up for her shifts. She wasn’t even reported missing until three weeks after the last sighting in Carnforth.’
Kelly nodded: she’d known her team would have done their homework.
‘We’ve also had the results back from Garth Cooke’s clothes. No other DNA was found apart from his own,’ Will added.
‘So there’s nowhere near enough for an arrest. He’s not our man,’ Kelly said. ‘Our MO has changed. If we’re going with abduction, Garth has no transport, he’s a wet weekend and couldn’t overpower two women in my opinion, and he was drunk and stoned in his tent for three days. A scuffle would have left something. Also, if they’re linked – and it’s a big if – Garth Cooke had nothing to do with Freya Hamilton. We’ll keep him as a POI and notify Lancaster police to keep an eye on him.’
‘Are we upgrading the investigation, guv?’ Emma Hide made her first contribution. Kelly looked at the whiteboard. The three girls could have been sisters: around the same age, with the same beautiful blonde hair and wide smiles. All three had taken very little with them in terms of personal items when they disappeared, as if they’d simply gone for a stroll and never returned.
‘I’m ruling nothing out, let’s put it that way. We’ll investigate them as two cases but I want everything cross-referenced as we go. The chances of three young pretty women going missing innocently with the evidence of foul play we’ve got sitting in the lab is about as likely as Kate giving up the fags.’
Kate Umshaw took a half-bow from her seated position.
‘The proximity bothers me too. Hannah and Sophie were last seen on the shores of Ullswater; Freya worked in the area and her bag now turns up at the bottom of the lake. From Freya’s mobile phone records and bank activity, we’re looking at three months missed while the case sat in Lancaster. It’s a hell of a long time. When the press get hold of this, they’ll tear us apart.’
Kelly stared at the board. ‘How did a junkie get a job at the Peak’s Bay Hotel?’ The Peak’s Bay was arguably the most exclusive resort in the Lake District. Everybody looked at their screens. ‘We’ll need to pay them a visit. They should have CCTV and up-to-date files on employees.’ She paused as notes were jotted on pads.
‘Turning our attention to the Earl of Lowesdale,’ she said. Eyes bobbed up. Kelly knew they’d all wanted to visit Wasdale Hall and were eager to find out what she had seen, but each acted professionally and waited patiently.
‘It’s big. A bit unloved, but my bet is someone wants to get their hands on it. The housekeeper is set to inherit a hundred grand; the grandson gets the rest. Any takers for interviewing Zachary Fitzgerald with me?’
Their nonchalance deserted them and hands flew up. Kelly went to the end of the table and picked up a file. She plonked it in front of DC Emma Hide and smiled.
‘There you go. Have a look through that lot, and as soon as I hear from him, I’ll let you know.’ Emma was a slave to detail, and the rest of the team knew that if anyone could scour a pile of papers four inches think by the afternoon, it was her.
‘Am I looking for anything in particular, guv?’ she asked.
‘Financial affairs mainly. Payments or gifts. Any skeletons: usual stuff.’ Emma nodded. Kelly continued. ‘I need someone to give cold cases a real thorough going-over – dating back at least five years. And Rob? Put some pressure on Jack Sentry, will you? I don’t like him. Find out his background and get back to me. Right, everyone, let’s meet again at the same time tomorrow. And let’s hope we get to the bottom of this before your holidays kick in.’
They packed away their things and turned to their screens. Emma took herself off to a quiet corner and Rob left the room. Kate said she’d be happy to trawl through cold cases, Kelly assumed it was because it involved leaving the room and going downstairs, creating an opportunity for a trip outside into the sunshine to smoke.
Chapter 20
Hannah shivered in the dark. The place was a hovel. And it was freezing. Her only companions were the spiders weaving busily in corners and behind beams. When light did come in, it was through shutters that remained closed, and any warmth from the sun’s rays never penetrated deeply enough into the small room in which she found herself. Her head pounded. She’d thought she’d known hunger when she’d given up bread for Lent, but now the knowing emptiness in her gut, alongside a thirst that stuck her lips together, made her realise that she’d never been deprived of anything in her short life, ever. She’d even licked the dried blood from her hands, but now that had gone too.
Her tongue felt swollen in her mouth and she counted the rhythm of her breathing … one two … in … one two three … out. With her faculties of taste and sight diminished through malnutrition and an endless dark, her others went into some kind of hyper-drive. She heard the tiniest sounds – a mouse scraping, a fly buzzing or a tap running – but she never heard Sophie. She smelled everything too, including herself. She closed her eyes and tried to imagine flowers, perfume, Sophie’s clothes, but one smell kept creeping in above the others, even stronger than the burger she craved: him. His smell was all over her.
She’d fought, but quickly realised that the only thing to attack was the rags around her and the cable ties holding her hands together. He wasn’t stupid. And she knew he’d done it before. She went over and over in her mind how stupid they’d been. Sitting on the ridge line with Sophie, watching the rising sun in the east, she’d felt a blow to her head, heard Sophie’s gasp. He’d appeared from nowhere, offering to help. They were confused and Hannah was momentarily dazed; of course that was the plan all along. He hadn’t given them any indication that he was a fucking raging lunatic, but then she guessed they never did. That was why she felt stupid. If only she could turn back time. People said it all the time, but Hannah knew what it really meant now.
He’d told them he had a first-aid kit in his car, but they hadn’t questioned why he had a car up there at that hour; they hadn’t questioned anything. She’d been so wrapped up in what Sophie had said minutes before. Finally the wait was over. Sophie wanted her. She wanted to be with her, not like a friend any more, but like a partner. It made her dizzy. And weak.
Now she was angry, but it was too late. Her questions counted for nothing and there was no going back on the foolish decisions they’d made. He’d helped them to his car (how the hell he’d got it up there in the first place was another fucking mystery that she’d overlooked in her befuddlement), promising first aid and shelter nearby. He’d seemed nice. Normal. They’d got into the car and she remembered very little after that, apart from a banging head and this dingy, grime-infested room. And his smell when he was on her, breathing on her, touching her, laughing at her, choking her.
She’d tried to keep track of the days, but her muddled brain wouldn’t allow it, and days merged into nights in one long torment. She thought she’d known fear. Like when she almost got struck by a speeding car on a zebra crossing: her heart jumped into her mouth, her gut froze, her skin prickled and she couldn’t stop shaking. But this was different. This was menacing, visceral, all-consuming fear, and she felt constant pain as a reminder. She knew that he must have drugged them shortly after getting into his battered old Land Rover, but how? And more importantly, why? She’d never met anyone with whom she couldn’t reason before – well, apart from Garth. But Garth was stupid; this guy was not.
She’d tried to work out why he was doing this to them, but each time it made her head ache. And now she’d worked out that he didn’t have a reason, and he didn’t need one. He was just an evil bastard. The frustration flushed adrenalin through her body and she kicked the wall, hurting her swollen foot. She had injuries all over her body and had stopped counting them or worrying about them. Nothing else mattered apart from getting out.
She fought at first, but she’d underestimated him. Her martial art meant nothing here in this hellhole. She tried desperately to keep her wits about her, and to hope. She needed her sanity to see her through. He’d only been there in the room with her twice, but that was enough to confirm that he had no intention of letting them go.
Maybe they wouldn’t make it out – Sophie might be dead already. But she couldn’t give in to negative thoughts. Sophie must be somewhere else, and she had to believe that she was still alive. From minute to minute, hour to hour, Hannah didn’t know if he would visit, and, if he did, whether it would be for the last time. She stank. She repulsed herself, but he didn’t seem to notice or care. Occasionally she heard him moving about, or a door banging, but try as she might, as much as she strained her ears and closed her eyes tight to help them along, she never heard a whisper of another soul.
She felt like she was turning into an animal: that was what he’d done. In the periods of long absence, she rubbed up against the grimy bedding, or wiped her face on her forearms; anything to mimic grooming, as if that would cleanse her. It didn’t. She checked her discarded water bottle again, as she had done a thousand times before: it was empty.
The floor was brick and it chilled her bones. She made it to the door and reached up with her restrained wrists to try the handle. It was just something that she did to occupy her mind. It was a normal thing to do, trying a door handle, and so she did it. Every hour. It was still locked. She rattled it, but not too hard. She had no idea where he was. She didn’t even know where she was. Her mind played tricks on her; it was the lack of water. Her brain felt fried.
‘Sophie,’ she whispered. She placed herself prone on the ground and put her lips to the crack under the door. ‘Sophie,’ she whispered again. She heard nothing. The skin on her lip split anew and it stung. She licked the fresh blood and tried to swallow. Not even tears came any more.
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