Playing with Bones

by Kate Ellis

  ‘Anything else you can tell me?’

  Karen shook her head.

  ‘It was bloody hard work, specially when Andrew made himself scarce. Said he had a stomach bug. Left me and Nat to it.’

  ‘How did you cope on your own?’

  Karen gave Jamilla a withering look. ‘Most of the work had been done by then. It wasn’t a problem.’

  ‘You didn’t ask your brother to help? If he was at a loose end and …’

  Karen’s eyes widened for a second. ‘No. I told you. We did it on our own … me and Nat.’

  ‘Did Mr Cassidy call in?’

  She rolled her eyes. ‘Yeah. He liked to suck up to the old codgers … get his face in the local paper. Saint Benjamin. If only they knew.’ She shook her head, a smirk spreading across her face. ‘I still can’t get over Natalie and those parties. I mean, she kept it all so quiet. And with Cassidy.’ She wrinkled her nose with disgust. ‘Screwing bloody Cassidy.’ She glanced at the clock. ‘Look, is that all? I’ve got revision to do.’

  Jamilla knew when she was being dismissed. And she knew she wasn’t likely to get anything useful out of Karen Strange just at that moment.

  So once she was outside the house, she took out her mobile phone and made a call to Inspector Plantagenet.

  But she wished she hadn’t bothered when he gave her more work to do. He wanted her to visit two old ladies who lived in Caleb Selly’s street. At least there, she thought, she’d probably be offered a cup of tea.

  Confessing to Joe Plantagenet that she’d lied to him and that she was, in fact, Gordon Pledge’s estranged wife had taken courage. But Polly had felt the need to call him, to find out what she could about Gordon and ask him about the man who’d been found dead at the scene of his arrest.

  She had been surprised that he already knew about her deception. And he also said that he’d been looking for her, which gave her a small glow of satisfaction. She’d explained that she’d needed to get away, that she hadn’t felt safe while Gordon was at large. Joe had seemed to understand.

  The little house in Singmass Close had never seemed like home to her. Perhaps it was because it was rented. Or perhaps it was because it had a strange atmosphere. She hadn’t believed in ghosts until she’d lived there but now her mind was open to all sorts of possibilities. Or it could be all Yolanda’s talk of the supernatural that was making her over-imaginative.

  Now that Gordon had been rearrested she felt she could relax, although Joe Plantagenet had told her that he had been given leave to appeal against his conviction. The man found dead at the scene had apparently committed suicide. Gordon hadn’t killed him and she felt more relieved at this news than she’d expected. She found herself hoping that Joe would make the effort to keep in touch. He was different. He had understood and hadn’t threatened her with punishment for lying. Perhaps it had been a mistake not to tell him the truth about Gordon from the beginning.

  She watched as Daisy played on the floor in front of her dolls’ house, keeping up a constant narrative, asking Mary questions and listening carefully to answers only she could hear.

  She walked over to the front window and stared out at Singmass Close through the thin layer of muslin. The flowers still lay where those girls had died. For a while she’d feared that Gordon might have killed them; that he had found out where she lived and done it in front of her house as some sort of awful, twisted warning. She’d reasoned that if Gordon had killed Francesca, he was capable of killing again, especially after spending time in prison in the company of other killers, fuelling each others’ violent fantasies. They say prison changes people.

  With hindsight she should have known from the beginning that Gordon hadn’t killed the girls in the close. Daisy insisted that Mary had seen the first one die and she hadn’t said that it was Daisy’s daddy who killed her. Perhaps she should have believed Daisy’s little ghost.

  It had begun to rain on the dying flowers. On Monday Polly would return to work and Daisy would start school again after half term. On Monday things would be back to normal.

  As for Gordon, Polly would treat herself to a bottle of wine that evening and contemplate the problem.

  Caleb Selly’s neighbours, Vera and Doris, had taken a liking to Jamilla, offering tea, asking her about her family and her job and telling her all about their grandchildren, illustrating their revelations with photographs.

  Of course they remembered those kids from Hicklethorpe Manor who’d done that decorating for them. Not that some of the kids looked too delighted about it: positively sullen some of them were. Doris was surprised that Mr Selly had accepted their help, being rather a recluse and very odd with that big birthmark on his cheek. They were sorry he was dead, of course, but he’d kept himself to himself, never saying a word to any of the neighbours from one year to the next. Jamilla hadn’t mentioned Selly’s murderous past. The ladies would read about it soon enough in the tabloids – all the details the police knew and probably a few more besides from the journalists’ fertile imagination.

  Eventually Jamilla steered the conversation round to the students who had come to do their decorating. Vera and Doris said they were a couple of stuck-up little madams who hardly said a word to the old folk and spent a lot of time complaining. But the other one was all right … positively chatty compared to the madams and very appreciative of Vera’s fruit cake. And that headmaster, Mr Cassidy, had called in a couple of times – such a nice man.

  When Jamilla returned to the police station, her stomach filled with tea and fruit cake served in the traditional local manner with a slice of Wensleydale cheese, she made straight for Joe’s office. He was closeted in there with Emily and they looked up as she came in.

  ‘Well,’ Joe said as soon as she crossed the threshold. ‘How did you get on?’

  ‘Very well,’ she said. ‘The girls and Cassidy weren’t the only ones who visited Caleb Selly’s house during the community project. Someone stepped in to help finish the decorating.’

  ‘Go on,’ said Emily. ‘Who was it?’

  Jamilla felt rather pleased with herself as she said the name and saw the look of excitement on the DCI’s face.

  Emily stood up. ‘We’d better get over there,’ she said with more than a hint of urgency.

  Jamilla watched as she swept out of the office with Joe following close behind, and felt a warm glow of job satisfaction.

  *

  When Joe and Emily reached Brett Bluit’s house there was nobody at home and Emily was almost tempted to kick the door in frustration. This was the best lead they’d had in ages. But she controlled her destructive urges.

  ‘How about breaking in?’ she said, giving the door a gentle push.

  ‘Without a search warrant?’ Joe’s eyes met hers in mutual understanding. ‘I think in view of what Jamilla’s just told us, we’d be neglecting our duty to the public if we didn’t take a little look.’ He grinned. ‘Have you still got those skeleton keys in that handbag of yours?’

  Emily hesitated. She had never been one for doing things strictly by the book – that was how she had managed such a good clear-up rate back in Leeds. But this was rather blatant even by her standards. And Joe was egging her on.

  She fished the keys from the depths of her bag and they walked round to the back of the house. She jiggled the key in the lock and the back door swung open. ‘Some people never learn about security,’ Emily observed with a wink. When they reached the bedroom they found the computer switched on. Emily put her hand on the mouse and clicked until the e-mails appeared.

  ‘Bloody hell, Joe,’ she whispered. ‘Dead Dolls. This is it.’

  She felt Joe’s hand on her shoulder and she took a deep calming breath. When she looked down at her hands she saw they were shaking. They were in the killer’s room. Reading the killer’s e-mails.

  ‘Who’s it addressed to?’

  ‘Someone calling themselves Alice.’ Emily clicked on the message. ‘Witness elimination tonight. Double event. Caleb.’ She look
ed up at Joe. ‘What witness? Someone who lives in Singmass Close?’

  ‘It must be.’

  ‘This Alice can’t be Alice Meadows. There’s no way she could …’

  ‘Hardly. She wouldn’t know one end of a computer from another. Anyway, she’s safe in a nursing home and Selly’s dead.’ He thought for a moment. ‘This means our friend knows all the details of Caleb’s crimes, including the first unsuccessful attack on Alice Meadows. And he’s not working alone. That’s something we never considered till now.’

  Emily sighed. ‘Perhaps we should have, Joe. They’ve been running rings round us.’

  They began to search the room, opening drawers and cupboards, then shutting them carefully. It wasn’t long before Joe found a large wooden box on top of the wardrobe. He took it down and Emily held her breath while he opened it. Inside were four dolls lying squashed up to each other, their dresses crushed and their hair matted. Next to them was a silk stocking, stretched out of shape. And next to that was a smaller box – a plastic ice-cream tub with some kind of liquid inside. He didn’t bother opening it. He knew what it contained.

  Emily leaned forward and picked up an old exercise book that lay on top of the dolls. She began to flick through it, stopping to read at the last page.

  ‘Caleb wrote it all down,’ she whispered. ‘Brett must have found this in his house along with the dolls when he was helping with the decorating. He’s copied the lot … can’t even think up an original idea.’

  ‘He’s got something planned for tonight.’ Joe sounded worried.

  ‘He’ll be picked up well before then,’ Emily said with confidence.

  After making sure everything was exactly as they found it, they sneaked out, locking the door behind them.

  CHAPTER 28

  It’s a joke,’ said Sunny Porter. ‘It’s a bloody joke. It must be.’

  Joe shook his head. There were times when Sunny got on his nerves and this was one of them.

  ‘You mean we’ve got to stop up half the night? Bloody great.’

  Joe turned away. Brett hadn’t returned home and there was no sign of him in any of his usual haunts. He was out there somewhere and so was his accomplice. And nobody had any idea where he’d got to.

  ‘We’ve no choice, Sunny. Unless he turns up in the meantime, we’ll have to stake out Singmass Close. That’s where it’ll happen and I intend to be there waiting for them.’

  ‘You’re sure?’ Sunny sounded doubtful.

  ‘I’ve seen his e-mails. It’s planned for tonight.’ He looked at Sunny and regretted his sharpness. Sunny was exhausted by a week of eighteen-hour days … as they all were.

  Half an hour earlier Maddy had called to ask if he’d be able to meet her from the station. He’d been at his most apologetic as he’d told her he was tied up with the case. She’d put the phone down without a word. But there was nothing he could do about it so he tried to put her out of his mind.

  He looked round and saw that Jamilla was standing near his desk looking concerned. ‘How did you and DCI Thwaite come by this information, sir?’

  It was a good question but one he wished Jamilla hadn’t asked. ‘A tip-off,’ he said quickly, hoping she’d be satisfied with the vague answer.

  Sunny stomped away, no doubt to call his wife to tell her he’d be home late, and Jamilla gave Joe a shy smile. ‘I don’t fancy being round that close in the dark. It gives me the creeps.’

  Jamilla was right. There was something about Singmass Close that made him uncomfortable. But perhaps it was just the place’s association with murder. ‘Don’t worry, we’ll get them tonight,’ Joe said with a confidence he didn’t feel and Jamilla gave him a wan smile in return.

  The killers had to be put out of action tonight. They couldn’t be allowed to kill again.

  Polly knelt by Daisy’s bed and watched her daughter as she slept, listening to her breathing, suddenly overwhelmed by a feeling of deep love as she put out a hand to stroke her hair. Daisy shifted slightly at her touch and hugged her doll, closer to her. Polly took a last look at the sleeping child in the bed and tiptoed out of the room.

  She’d already checked the house was secure and now she undressed slowly, examining her naked reflection in the dressing-table mirror. It was hard to judge these things, but she was sure that she was still desirable; the way that policeman – DI Plantagenet – had looked at her told her that. He had made her feel human again. Not just like the wife of a murderer trying to hide herself and her child from the world.

  She slipped into her pyjamas and went to the window, peeping out between the curtains at the close below. There were still lights in some windows – her elderly neighbours sometimes kept late hours. It was no longer raining and the cellophane on the dying shrine flowers shifted in the gentle breeze, catching the light from the old-fashioned street lamps, glistening like diamonds on the grey pavement.

  Polly climbed into bed and turned out the bedside light. Then, as she closed her eyes and drifted off to sleep she imagined she heard a faint rustle on the landing. Mary’s rustle.

  How she wished that child would go away.

  Only the chiming of the cathedral clock broke the pall of silence that had fallen over Singmass Close. As Joe had passed beneath the archway leading from one world to another, he had heard the sound of drunken singing – students on their way home from an evening of curry and karaoke at one of the pubs down Gallowgate. But then everything had been quiet and it felt as if the city had fallen into a deep sleep.

  Once in Singmass Close, he stuck to the shadows, positioning himself in the darkness underneath the scaffolding that surrounded the old Ragged School, not far from the spot where Abigail Emson had died. From there he had a good view of the close and he could just see that number six was in darkness. He presumed Polly had returned there for good. Perhaps when this business was over – when they’d flushed out the killer – he’d make contact again just to make sure she was all right.

  He heard footsteps, soft and furtive, and he flattened himself against the wall. But when a shadowy figure emerged from the archway, he saw that it was Emily. She was clutching her handbag close to her body and when Joe stepped out of the gloom she jumped.

  ‘Bloody hell, Joe, you nearly frightened the life out of me,’ she whispered, her hand to her chest as though to still her pounding heart.

  ‘Everyone’s been on standby since sunset.’ Joe looked round. The officers keeping watch on the close were keeping well hidden.

  ‘Any sign of activity?’

  Joe shook his head. ‘Quiet as the grave,’ he said, immediately regretting his words. Talking of graves might be tempting fate.

  ‘I take it we’ve got people posted round the back?’

  Joe was suddenly assailed by doubts. What if the killer had changed his plans? What if he’d guessed the police were onto him? What if he’d made plans to strike somewhere else in the city since Joe and Emily had read that incriminating e-mail?

  He looked at his watch. Five to midnight and there wasn’t a movement in the close.

  Emily suddenly put out her hand and clutched his arm. ‘Did you hear that?’

  Joe shook his head. He hadn’t heard a thing.

  ‘It was like a muffled scream.’ Joe saw Emily freeze, listening, like a native tracker in some forest, listening for distant wild beasts. ‘There it is again. Where’s it coming from?’

  ‘He can’t have got in without being seen. No way.’ ‘Unless he walks through walls.’

  Joe felt the blood draining from his face. ‘He – or they – might have got in there early this afternoon, before we ever arrived.’ He was cross with himself for not considering this possibility earlier. He cursed his stupidity and one look at Emily’s face told him that she was thinking the same. ‘We assumed he’d go back home for the dolls but …’

  There it was again. A plaintive cry. Joe stepped out of the shadows to get a better view of the close. Then there was a sudden bang, as though someone had knocked a dustbin over.
The sound came from behind the houses that backed onto the old chapel. Joe and Emily edged forward. If they were right, they might just be in time to save someone’s life.

  Then Emily gave Joe a nudge as a ginger tom cat prowled across the flagstones as if it owned the place. They looked at each other and smiled, suddenly relaxing after the tension.

  For ten minutes they listened to the sounds of the sleepy city: distant traffic, an ambulance siren shattering the night-time peace as it made for the hospital; more amorous cats; a snatch of drunken shouting from outside one of Gallowgate’s many pubs. But Singmass Close was silent. Until they heard a thud, like something being kicked against a wall, followed by a muffled cry.

  Suddenly the front door of number seven opened to reveal a small figure. An elderly lady in hairnet and quilted dressing gown. She looked up and down the close then at the house next door.

  Joe began to run towards her, Emily puffing behind him. The woman looked alarmed and was about to close the door when he held up his warrant card. When she saw it, the door opened wide.

  ‘I heard a noise from next door,’ the woman said, suddenly garrulous. ‘Like there’s a fight going on. I heard she was married to that escaped murderer so I thought …’

  Joe’s heart began to pound. Word had got round fast. But whoever Polly was fighting with, it wasn’t her husband Gordon. As far as he knew, she was in there alone with little Daisy. He fumbled for his radio. ‘Number six. Break the door down if necessary but get in there now.’

  Suddenly the close was alive with police officers, all making for number six. Sunny Porter was first at the door, playing the hero to little effect. It was Jamilla Dal, accompanied by a couple of uniformed constables, who got in there first by breaking a window in the back door and turning the key in the lock.

  Joe and Emily dashed round to the side of the house to join her and the broken glass crunched beneath their feet as they stumbled into the kitchen. Joe signalled everyone to keep back. Going in mob-handed could be a mistake in a delicate situation. And this one could be very delicate indeed.