BURIED CRIMES: a gripping detective thriller full of twists and turns

by MICHAEL HAMBLING

  ‘I’m fine, honestly. It was warm on the tube. And Harry Turner kept plying me with beer at lunchtime. I tried desperately to resist.’

  ‘I vaguely remember him, I think. How old was I? About four or five?’

  ‘When we were here, yes. But he did pay us a short visit when we were in the Midlands. He was on some course, and came over for an evening. I think he read you some stories before you went to bed.’

  ‘Was he the one who made Captain Haddock sound as if he was from deepest Somerset?’

  ‘That’s it. Although he veered from west country to Irish, sometimes in the same sentence. I found it hard to keep a straight face, but he did try.’

  ‘How is he?’

  ‘Sad. His wife died in the summer. I could see that he misses her terribly, even though he didn’t admit it. That’s the way of things, Hannah. Anyway, have you decided what you want? I’ll just have my usual coffee, please.’

  Hannah ordered from the lurking waitress. ‘Would it help if I saw him occasionally?’ she said. ‘Maybe somewhere like this for coffee? I remember calling him Uncle Harry.’

  Sophie smiled. ‘Yes, that’s right, you did. I’m sure he’d appreciate it, if you could find the time.’

  ‘I saw a short report about your current case in one of the papers this morning. Is it likely to be a tough one, do you think?’

  Sophie shrugged and took a sip of her coffee. ‘We can’t tell at this stage. It might not even be murder, though why anyone would bury the bodies of two children in a garden for any other reason is beyond me. But I have to keep an open mind about it.’

  ‘Okay. I won’t ask any more. You said on the phone just now that you’re off to see your grandad in Gloucester to tap into his knowledge. Aren’t you a bit worried about getting them involved? I mean, they are a bit frail.’

  ‘Do you think I’m using them? Is that what you mean?’

  ‘Well, since you’ve put it so bluntly, yes. You can be a bit unscrupulous, Mum. We both know that.’

  There was a brief, strained silence.

  ‘Well, since you’ve brought it up, your great grandfather did say some time ago that if he could ever help, he’d really like to. And I did think about it before deciding. I even phoned your dad to get his opinion. Okay now?’

  Hannah shrugged. ‘Maybe. I do trust your judgement, Mum. Just treat him gently, please.’

  Sophie laughed. ‘Stop lecturing me, Hannah. You sound like my mother. I’m starting to get worried about my old age. You’ll be watching me like a hawk, I can see. Anyway, I love those two old people far too much to put them under any pressure. You must realise that.’ She looked into her daughter’s eyes. ‘I’m not the person I was, not after last year.’

  ‘Hmm . . . I haven’t seen much evidence of it. You can still be pretty single-minded. Maybe bloody-minded would be a better word. I might look like you, but Jade’s got your personality. Absolutely. To a tee.’

  Sophie gave another wry laugh. ‘Can we change the conversation now? I wasn’t prepared for such a lecture. Tell me about your current boyfriend. Well, as much as you want to tell me.’

  Chapter 4: Be At Peace

  Monday evening

  ‘What I need, Grandad, is background. I need to talk to someone who has worked with troubled families and has been involved with cases of child violence on a professional level. I can get statistics and case histories from our own county records. I can get an angle on the subject from books, but there’s nothing like talking to someone. I got a lot of help from my old boss, Harry Turner. I saw him today in London. He only saw things from a police perspective, in the course of investigations. He suggested I speak to someone involved with social services, and I thought of you. That’s why I phoned. Are you sure you feel up to it?’

  Sophie’s grandmother, Florence, was tidying things away in the kitchen, leaving them to talk over coffee. It was little more than a year since Sophie had discovered the existence of the elderly couple, her long-dead father’s parents. They were both frail but enthusiastic about helping Sophie and her family wherever possible. They had no other descendants.

  ‘Of course I’ll try to help, my dear, although my brain is a lot slower than it was. It might need a while to get it into gear. What kind of things do you want to know?’

  ‘Just tell me about some of the worst cases. What the family background was, how the children coped or failed to cope. Relationships between the parents. You might want to leave out the Wests, though. I’m not sure if I’ll ever be ready to hear more about that level of evil.’

  ‘I’m not sure that my experiences in the county social support department would be of much use. I didn’t really deal directly with the children under threat then. What would probably be of more use is the more recent work I did after I retired, for the charity. Would that be suitable, do you think?’

  ‘Try me. Tell me about any cases that stick in your mind.’

  Sophie’s grandfather settled his thin frame back into his chair, looking thoughtful. ‘There was a young boy with a stutter. His father was a tough, brawny type, keen on sports, whereas the boy was slightly built, shy and introspective. The man made his son’s life almost impossible, subjecting him to constant taunting for not being a “proper man.” Whenever the mother spoke up on behalf of her son, she got an earful. The father didn’t use any physical violence, just constant, demeaning comments.’

  ‘What happened?’

  ‘The mother came to see us, and we talked the father into attending a couple of sessions with us. We pointed out that things would just continue to get worse if he didn’t alter his unreal expectations for his son. He was the cause of the boy’s stutter and lack of confidence. He claimed he didn’t realise it. Things improved once we made him realise what he was doing. He started to hold back a little. I don’t think he ever became close to his son, but at least the boy became less anxious and got his stutter under some kind of control.’

  ‘So that one turned out well?’

  ‘From our perspective, yes. I couldn’t say what happened later.’ James closed his eyes. Sophie thought he might be nodding off, but then he began to speak again.

  ‘Another case involved a teenage girl, abused by her mother and the mother’s boyfriend. It appeared to be sexual, but of course it was all about power. They forced her into all kinds of unspeakable acts just to see how far they could go, as far as we could tell. We put her into care, of course, and they ended up in prison, but those experiences will be with her forever. And that’s the saddest part of it all, the fact that these children will never be able to forget. She seemed so brash on the outside, but you only had to talk to her for a few minutes to see just how vulnerable she was. I can still picture her now. Her face was so pale and tired. But that wasn’t due to physical exhaustion or loss of sleep. She was almost broken by her experiences.’ He looked at his granddaughter. ‘Like us, in some ways. Haunted by the past and what happened to Graham.’

  Sophie stood up and went to put her arms around her grandfather. ‘At least you have me now, Grandad. And the girls. I’m like you. I spend all my time wishing things had been different. It’s like I’m hammering on the granite walls of a huge castle with my bare fists, knowing that I can never break them down. I never knew him. I wish I had known him. He was my dad and your son, and we just have to accept what happened. But I have you two, and you have me. That’ll have to do, won’t it?’

  The old man’s eyes were moist. Sophie held his face between her hands. He nodded and seemed to pull himself together.

  ‘I’m alright,’ he whispered. ‘You’re right. We have you, his daughter. And that will do just fine. Let’s carry on, shall we?’

  She forced a smile and nodded, kneeling on the carpet in front of him, stroking his dry, gnarled hands.

  His voice dropped almost to a whisper. ‘There was a child sex-ring. They organised young girls for abuse. Even boys at times. I’ve never liked talking about it.’

  ‘They were caught, though? Did the
prosecution succeed?’

  He nodded. ‘The problem was no one ever knew how far it extended, or how many other children had been involved. They were all vulnerable, you see. From care or foster homes. Not that any foster parents were involved, the checks were too thorough. But the group had some kind of access to contact details and we never got to the bottom of it. I think about five were caught, four men and a woman. But I know that the local police team suspected more.’

  ‘It’s unusual to target both girls and boys, isn’t it?’

  ‘It was a business. It looked very much as if they picked children to order. It was just . . . horrifying. We couldn’t believe it when we found out what had been going on.’

  ‘What happened to the children?’

  ‘They went back into care until they were old enough to look after themselves. We tried to keep an eye on them but most of them wanted to get away from the places that reminded them of what they’d suffered. How they are coping now, all these years later? Well, your guess is as good as mine. A lot of them will still need counselling. If they’ve got any sense, they’ll still be getting support if they need it. But how many of them are in a position to seek it? Not many, I would think.’ He paused. ‘They were traumatised at the time. That would have faded over time, but it never disappears completely.’

  ‘They didn’t kill any of the children, did they, Grandad?’

  ‘No. Around here, it was only the Wests that did that, and you said you didn’t want to talk about them.’

  ‘No. Is there anything else that I should know about?’

  James thought for a while. ‘Yes. You probably know about this already, but just as a fact. The youngsters often feel an enormous sense of guilt. They think they are somehow to blame for what’s happened. They feel ashamed. The feeling of shame fades and alters as they grow older. Then they start to feel a deep, burning anger and can experience long periods of depression. They are often unable to trust anyone again. They feel set apart. Their whole life may be dominated by the awful events they experienced as youngsters. If you meet them as adults, you have to remember this.’

  ‘I think I understand,’ said Sophie.

  ‘But so much will be different now, because of the internet. It’s so much easier for abusers to get organised, and find others like them. The internet allows them to talk — and hide. What is it they call it? The part of the internet that’s totally unmonitored? It was on the news a couple of days ago.’

  ‘The dark web. It’s hidden from view, apparently, and most people aren’t aware of its existence. I can’t tell you much about it, Grandad, but I do know there are several agencies that try to monitor what’s going on there.’

  Sophie got up, leant forward and kissed her grandfather’s brow. ‘Bless you. This has all helped me so much.’ Florence came slowly into the room.

  ‘Are you sure it’s alright for you to stay over for the night, Sophie? It seems strange to me, being on your own without Martin and Jade. It’s this modern life, isn’t it?’ Her grandmother seemed bemused.

  Sophie smiled. ‘Yes, it is. But we’re used to it, Gran. I suppose it’s the downside of us both having such high-powered careers. But neither of us would want anything else. Anyway, it’s so lovely being able to stay here with you both, just me. Martin and Jade will be fine at home. They’re both better cooks than I am.’

  ‘Well, you have a choice, dear. You can use the room you’ve been in before, when you’ve stayed over with Martin. Or you can have the single, the one that was Graham’s. It’s up to you. It’s been used lots of times, of course. Jade slept in it when you all came to stay at Christmas.’

  Sophie understood the implication of her grandmother’s words. She had been offered her father’s room for the night. It would be the final step.

  ‘I’ll use the small room, Gran.’

  * * *

  Sophie looked around the room, decorated in pale green. There were tasteful, geometrically-patterned curtains that matched the furnishings, and a carpet in mottled green. The room smelled clean and well-aired. Her father’s room. Her father, who had disappeared before she was born, and who she’d mistakenly hated throughout her childhood and teenage years. That hatred had led to a breakdown the previous year. Perhaps this was the final opportunity to settle her restless thoughts, to finally put to rest the churning emotions she felt about the person who had, on occasions, dominated her thoughts while growing up.

  ‘Be at peace, Dad,’ she murmured. ‘I love you.’

  She stood in the centre of the room with her eyes closed. After a while she picked up her travel bag, which she had left on the floor near the door. Slowly, she unzipped it and took out her wash things and a nightdress, borrowed from Hannah that afternoon. She went to the small bathroom. Soon she climbed into her father’s bed and fell into a deep sleep.

  Chapter 5: Bullying By Proxy

  Tuesday morning

  ‘Was your trip to London worthwhile, ma’am?’

  Sophie looked closely at Barry Marsh. He returned her gaze with a smile. The question had been a genuine one.

  ‘Yes. I didn’t explain very well, did I? I left in a bit of a rush yesterday. I decided to visit Harry Turner, the best copper I’ve ever worked with, to pick his brains. He was my first boss at the Met, and I haven’t seen him for nearly fifteen years. He’s retired now, but one of his jobs after I left was to head up a new unit specialising in violent crimes against children. This team developed the procedures we all follow today. Then I visited my grandfather who worked for a child protection charity after he retired. It was worth it. I feel a lot more comfortable now. I needed some background, Barry. You know what the tabloid press are like when it comes to violence against children. They smell the kind of story that can increase their sales by thousands, so they watch us like hawks.’ She glanced at her watch. ‘We’d better get the briefing started, even if we don’t have much to discuss at the moment. Has Matt Silver been in touch since the weekend?’ She saw the look on Marsh’s face and stopped. ‘Is there something you need to tell me?’

  ‘It won’t be the super in charge, ma’am. He had a serious cycling accident yesterday evening while he was training for a charity triathlon and he’s in hospital with several fractures of his right leg. The word is that he’ll be laid up for some time.’

  Sophie noticed something in Marsh’s tone. ‘So who’s replacing him? Who’ll be overseeing us at headquarters?’ But she was already beginning to get an empty feeling in the pit of her stomach.

  ‘DCS Dunnett. The word came from the top brass this morning.’

  ‘What? But he’s been gone for six months. He was helping to set up a Home Office training exercise. I thought it was going to be a permanent move. What’s he doing back here?’

  Marsh grimaced, aware of the friction between his boss and Neil Dunnett. ‘I don’t know the full story, but Matt Silver hinted that the placement was cut short because of a lack of progress.’

  ‘Why doesn’t that surprise me? So we’re landed with him again. Find a swear box, Barry, and move it to my desk. I think I’ll be in need of it. When can we expect to see him?’

  ‘He phoned just now and said he’d try to pay a visit this afternoon, but would confirm later.’

  ‘Right.’ Sophie thought quickly. ‘I want you with me when we meet, Barry. I’ll explain later. Let’s get going.’

  Sophie listened to the reports from Rae Gregson, Barry Marsh and the local Dorchester detectives, then discussed her plans for the day. She finished with a reminder.

  ‘You may think that because the bodies were in the ground for twenty years or so, the press won’t be very interested. Nothing could be further from the truth. There was a lot of interest at the press conference yesterday, most of it from local journalists. Once the post-mortem results are published and if it becomes clear that those poor children were murdered, which I think is a distinct possibility, then all hell will break loose, and quite rightly so. If a society can’t protect its most vulnerable me
mbers, its children, from sadistic violence, then it’s a poor reflection on that society’s core values. So, everyone, we’ll have the press on our backs all the time. They’ll be remorseless, particularly in the light of all the other child abuse scandals of the past few years. So you must be meticulous. Everything must be cross-checked and double-checked. Everything comes to me. And no talking to anyone outside the team, not even your family. There are to be no leaks of any kind. Leave all contact with the press to me. Understood?’ Everyone nodded but Sophie knew that, sooner or later, information would leak out. It was too much to ask human beings to remain totally silent about their work. Some were almost certain to talk to their spouses or other close family members at some time, particularly if they’d had a bad day. Then it would all depend on that second individual’s discretion.

  Sophie nodded to Marsh as she walked away, and left her office door open for him.

  ‘You know there’s been a problem between me and the DCS, don’t you?’

  Marsh nodded.

  ‘I hope it doesn’t resurface, and he just allows me to get on with the investigation without too much interference. We’ve managed to keep out of each other’s hair since the Charlie Duff case, and even then he kept his distance, so maybe he’s changed. But in case he hasn’t, I want you to be in on our meetings whenever possible. You’ll have to leave if he asks you to, but otherwise you should stay. I need a moderating influence. I try to behave reasonably in front of junior officers, so it’ll help me not to lose my temper and step out of line.’ She smiled grimly at Marsh’s perplexed expression. ‘It’s a matter of self-protection, Barry. Now there’s a new Chief Constable, I’ve lost friends. Presumably Dunnett will be based back at headquarters all the time and will be working hard to make allies, whereas I’ll be out of the office on the case. He might feel like flexing his muscles again, so I need to be prepared. Okay?’