Fear the Silence (DI Angus Henderson 3)

by Iain Cameron

  Five minutes later, the officer occupying the visitor’s chair in the DCI’s office departed, and she called him in.

  ‘Morning Angus, how are you?’

  ‘Tired, as you might expect, how’s yourself?’

  ‘You should be as high as a kite for arresting Dominic Green. He’s before my time of course, but I do understand we’ve landed a big catch.’

  ‘The worst sort, an out and out criminal posing as a respectable businessman, as he’s feted by some and hated by others.’

  ‘Was anybody injured from our side? I assume no as I didn’t hear of anyone.’

  ‘Nope. The only down-side is the fatality, Green’s right-hand man, John Lester.’

  She sighed. ‘Another IPCC investigation and losing a good officer for six months or a year, what a stupid way to run a modern police force.’

  ‘I couldn’t agree more.’

  ‘What do we know about Lester, and don’t tell me he’s got five children and half a dozen dependent relatives or newspapers will make him sound like Robin Hood?’

  Henderson smiled. ‘Nope, nothing like that. He’s married but no children.’

  ‘That’s a relief. I imagine when someone goes round there to tell her it won’t come as a sudden shock.’

  ‘If she knew anything about his employer, it won’t.’

  She tidied her desk, cleared a space in the middle, clasped her hands in front of her, and stared hard at the DI.

  ‘The Kelly Langton case. Can we let the dogs of the CPS loose?’

  ‘I’m not sure we can.’

  Carefully, as he didn’t want to get bogged down in detail, he summarised the work he, DS Walters and DS Wallop had been doing over the last few days and laid a summary report in front of her. She started reading.

  Lisa Edwards was aged 45, tall with short, blonde hair, a noble facial bone structure, and flawless skin, surprising for a woman of her age and considering the job she did, which at times could be highly stressful and made huge demands on her time, day or night, and could take her outside in all weathers. The view of the troops downstairs was of an attractive woman with a fiery temper but with a scowl to curdle milk and frighten small animals.

  She finished reading and sat for a few moments considering the implications. He liked that about her, as many senior officers, including his old boss, DCI Steve Harris, would shoot from the hip in a display of macho bravado, emphasising their hunger for action and the need for a quick solution.

  ‘I understand your argument Angus, but many of the factors you mention can be found in just about every misper case we investigate.’

  ‘Yes, I know and I suspect it’s the reason why no one spotted anything was going on. However, in all three cases, we have found the same list of factors, because the women disappeared only with whatever was in their handbags. No woman voluntarily making a break for it, or running away with a new boyfriend would leave home so light-handed.’

  She nodded.

  ‘Also, no one’s heard a peep from any of them by phone, email, postcard, or letter and their credit cards have never been used. In every misper case I’ve ever heard about or worked on, at least one transaction shows up on their credit cards or someone receives a text, giving us the confidence they’re still out there, even if they don’t want to come back. With these three, we’ve heard nothing and both Kelly and Amy were regular Facebook and Twitter users, Kelly in particular had over two hundred thousand followers.’

  ‘Yep, I see where you’re coming from. The point you’re making about the only items missing being the things they needed for the day ahead is a good one.’

  Henderson nodded, thinking. She’s getting it.

  ‘More importantly,’ Edwards continued, ‘no woman I know would run away from an abusive husband or try to start a new life in another town or another country without her children. When my sister ran away from her violent husband she spent most of the morning packing up an estate car. It isn’t a case of just grabbing the kids and making a run for it, they need their favourite toys, clothes, food. Her daughter can’t sleep unless it’s with her battered teddy.’

  This was the first time Edwards had ever mentioned her family, he hadn’t known until now she even had a sister. He suspected this lack of personal information was behind an opinion held by some that she was aloof and not a team player.

  ‘Do all three missing women have children?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘There you go, that does it for me. Let me think about this a second.’ She pushed back the chair and rested her legs on an open drawer. The view of nylon-clad legs looked a prettier sight than Steve Harris with his smart suits and stylist-cut hair, but he knew it would be stupid to underestimate his replacement or attempt to get too friendly.

  She sat up, her stare unwavering. ‘You do know the folks in Malling House will hate me for telling them this. Not only will they say we’ve been incompetent in arresting Brian Langton, but we’ve been doubly incompetent for not spotting a serial abductor.’

  ‘I know but–’

  ‘The press will have a field day with headlines like, ‘Serial Killer Stalks’ and ‘Is No Woman Safe’ plastered all over their front pages and we’ll be under pressure every day until we make an arrest.’

  ‘I agree and so we can’t let this story out without stronger evidence.’

  ‘No, Angus, we can’t let this story out full stop. In any case, when you get stronger evidence you’re only a couple of steps away from finding out who the perpetrator is.’

  She chewed her lip. ‘Put together a small team of officers and fully investigate all three cases, but we need to keep this under the radar until we’re confident of our ground. Get out there and talk to the friends and relatives of the two new cases, much as you did with Kelly Langton, and see if you can find anything definite that links them together, such as a boyfriend or a personal fitness trainer.’

  ‘Ok.’

  ‘These women do look similar, they come from good homes, they’re all married with kids, and they look after themselves and all the rest, so there must be something in this mix which is attracting this guy to them.’

  ‘I agree.’

  ‘Thinking outside the box, what if there isn’t one?’

  ‘What do you mean, one thing that’s attracting him, or one guy?’

  ‘What if he’s picking his targets at random and the factors you’ve got here, are nothing but coincidence?’

  ‘It’s too much of a coincidence if you ask me, but statistically it’s unlikely because–’

  ‘I know the stats,’ she said, with a dismissive wave of the hand. ‘I did an FBI Profiling Course, but what if this guy is a genuine gold-star one-off? What if his only criteria on picking up these women is the opportunity when it presents itself?’

  Henderson ran fingers through untidy hair. His hair always grew long during an intensive investigation, but far from discovering a new biological truth and something he could market to balding men, it was a case of personal grooming being often ignored until a case had been resolved.

  ‘It would give us a major problem,’ he said, ‘as random killers are, by definition, the hardest to catch. However,’ he said, holding up a hand to silence the anticipated interruption, ‘it’s a risky strategy from his perspective, because it means he needs to invent an MO again and again and in doing so, sooner or later he’s bound to make a mistake.’

  ‘Whether he’s using your MO or not, finding commonality among the three cases is key, but also, look for differences in approach, places where he might have made a mistake.’

  Henderson left her office a few minutes later and headed downstairs. He walked into the Murder Suite and found Walters at her desk and told her about the decision taken by the Chief Inspector to set up a small team.

  ‘Great news, but how come you don’t look so pleased?’

  He slumped into a seat. ‘I wasn’t thinking like a DCI and considering how the press and top brass are going to react. I’m only focussed on c
atching our kidnapper. If word gets out about this kidnapper, we’ll see panic in schools and gyms and everywhere else where these women hung out. We’ll be inundated with sightings and handed lists and lists of missing people by tearful relatives. We’ll be involved in daily press briefings, top brass meetings and experts in psychology, sociology, and personality profiling will descend and occupy all the meeting rooms.’

  ‘We’ll just need to keep a lid on it,’ Walters said, ‘like the DCI says. It will be pointed out to everyone in the team every day, and we’ll threaten them with the sack if they don’t.’

  ‘It’s not as simple as that, Carol. In order to investigate this further, we’ll need to talk to investigating officers at other cop shops, witnesses, friends of the victims, relatives, and all the rest. How do we keep a lid on all of them?’

  THIRTY-ONE

  Henderson trudged up the path, his legs feeling heavy. It was eight in the evening and this would be their seventh interview in two days, this time at a house in Maidenbower, Crawley, and the least imposing property visited so far: a modest three or four-bedroom detached house built in close proximity to its neighbours in a large, modern housing estate on the edge of town.

  The first task of his clandestine misper team was to interview teachers, parents, maintenance teams, administration staff, anyone with a connection to Williamson College and Leapark School, schools the Langton and Sandford kids attended. Leapark made the task a little easier, being a primary school any movement of pupils between schools was usually from there to Williamson and not the other way around.

  He knocked on the door and a vivacious Hispanic-looking woman with waves of deep, jet-black hair and wearing bright red lipstick opened it.

  ‘Detective Inspector Henderson and Sergeant Walters I presume,’ she said. ‘I am Leticia Richardson. How do you do?’

  She proffered her hand, which Henderson shook. It felt light and soft and not really a handshake at all, more like a delicate touching of hands. Perhaps it passed for a handshake in the part of the world she came from. She invited them inside and the two detectives took a seat on the sofa. The television was on, but soon switched off by Leticia when she came back into the room.

  ‘Can I get you something,’ she asked, ‘a cup of tea or coffee perhaps?’

  ‘No, thank you Mrs Richardson, we’ve still got a few more calls to make. We don’t want to keep you long.’

  Their initial analysis of movement between schools threw out fifty-seven names, but reduced to a more manageable size following introductory phone calls as several families had moved from the area and a few lived abroad. They were put on a reserve list and would be visited later if the initial search proved fruitless.

  The teams were instructed to cover ten points with the two items at the top being the most important. One: they were to meet every member of the family involved in taking children to school and assess their ability to stage a kidnap, along with their character, motivation, and knowledge of the victims. Two: determine if they have access to a place where a kidnap victim could be held, either at home or at their place of work.

  ‘My husband will be down in a minute, Inspector. He is just putting the children to bed. It’s his job in the evening as I deal with them all day.’

  ‘Your garden looks neat and trim,’ he said, standing up and walking towards the patio doors.

  It looked small, a developer’s idea of a garden and already crowded with only a few shrubs, a barbecue, and a shed, and through its dusty and rain streaked window he could see numerous garish-coloured children’s toys.

  ‘Thank you. I do it myself as Henry hates gardening.’

  Henderson walked back to the sofa and a few minutes later, a short, slightly plump man with thinning salt and pepper hair entered the room.

  ‘Sorry to keep you,’ he said, shaking hands with the officers, ‘the little one wanted to know who was at the door and so I made something up and incorporated it into the story I was telling.’

  Henderson did a double take of the man in front of him and the wedding picture beside the fireplace, unsure if he was Leticia’s uncle or father, as he seemed so much older and more dishevelled than his well turned-out partner. The picture matched the features on the face but with a lot more hair, less wrinkles and a great deal slimmer. If confirmation was required, he sat on the edge of her chair, put his arm around her shoulder and gave her a kiss.

  ‘So what can we do for you?’ he asked, turning to look at the police officers.

  ‘As my sergeant said on the phone,’ Henderson said, hoping his face did not betray his amusement, ‘we are here in connection with the disappearance of Mrs Kelly Langton, a parent at the school your children attend–’

  ‘We know Inspector,’ she said, ‘as it’s all over the school. I thought you’d arrested her husband and charged him with her murder?’

  ‘Yes, you’re quite right, we did. What we are doing today is additional background checks to help strengthen the case.’

  ‘I see. Well, I didn’t know her personally as our children are in different year groups from her children, but I know of her because of her celebrity status.’

  ‘What about you sir?’ Walters asked.

  ‘I work in London and leave early in the morning so it’s always been my wife who takes the children to school. I only know Mrs Langton from what I read in the paper and seeing her occasionally at the school ball and sports day, nothing more. It’s hard to miss them. Shrek and Beauty, I call them.’

  His wife gave him a playful slap. ‘Don’t be cruel, Henry. She is a nice person, despite what is written in some newspapers.’

  ‘Where do you work sir?’ Henderson said.

  ‘At AIG Insurance in the city, I’m a loss assessor.’

  ‘Do you travel much, for example to see clients or visit sub-offices?’

  ‘I don’t do much travelling nowadays, not as much as I did six or seven years ago as I’ve got a team of twelve staff to do it for me. I’m a desk jockey now and up at head office in London every day, rain or shine.’

  Over the next fifteen minutes they discussed the culpability of Brian Langton and Leticia told them how everyone at school looked forward to the trial and obtaining justice for poor Kelly, wherever she might be.

  When they returned to the car, Walters drove while Henderson completed an interview assessment form.

  ‘I think they’re a green, a definite green,’ she said, as the car nudged though a narrow space between several parked cars and bounced over sleeping policemen, one after another.

  ‘Don’t joke about this, Carol, it’s serious. Neither of them needed to open their mouths to tell me it isn’t them.’ He pulled out a red highlighter and made a broad stroke over the top corner of the form.

  ‘Sorry boss.’

  He picked up the interview list from the folder and ran his finger down the names. ‘The Archer’s are next. Their two kids attend Williamson College but they used to go to Leapark. They live in Horsham at–’

  ‘I’m on it boss,’ Walters said, pointing to the in-built satellite navigation system in the dashboard of her most recent purchase, a three-year-old VW Golf. ‘It says we’ll be there in sixteen minutes.’

  ‘Still enjoying the new car then?’

  ‘Make the most of it, it’ll soon wear off.’

  ‘You need to use a sat-nav around Maidenbower, it’s a warren. One wrong turning and we could be here all night.’

  Driving slowly through the chicane on Billinton Drive, another experiment by urban planners to slow traffic, they approached the lights at Three Bridges Railway station. ‘What did you think of the Richardsons, as a couple I mean?’ Walters said.

  ‘She must have bad eye sight or all the effort he’s been putting in to satisfy his young wife is having a detrimental effect on his appearance.’

  ‘I agree. It makes you wonder how such different people get together. It’s the same in my street where this handsome, young guy is living with a woman who looks twice his age. Bought
him on eBay, if you ask me.’

  Henderson opened his mouth to say something, but thought better of it. With only three serious girlfriends in his life and a marriage he’d mistakenly thought would last forever but four years ago ended in divorce, he didn’t feel qualified to philosophise on what might be the main ingredients for a happy relationship. In fact, far from philosophising, he realised after the previous interview he knew less than he thought.

  They drove past the Hawth Theatre where this week’s offering was a romantic comedy called Afternoon Delight featuring several actors and actresses he didn’t know, not much of a surprise there, as he rarely went to the theatre much and only occasionally watched TV. A few minutes later, a place more to his liking came into view, the home of Crawley Town Football Club. He still called it the ‘Crawley Stadium,’ refusing to acknowledge its dopey new name after a large company signed a lucrative sponsorship deal and re-christened it.

  ‘Does visiting all those fancy houses and seeing those flash cars give you a hankering for a more expensive lifestyle?’ he asked.

  ‘Is this the part when you tell me I’m not getting a pay rise?’ she said laughing. ‘No, I’m not jealous of them. I mean, it’s not like pop stars and footballers with money coming out of their ears for doing next to nothing. These people are lawyers, doctors and businessmen who work for their money. I respect that. Even Kelly Langton started at the bottom.’

  ‘Don’t you think with the good start in life many of them enjoyed, and no doubt their children will follow suit, you might have gone to university and became a lawyer or a doctor as well?’

  ‘Life is what you make of it, my old gran always told me.’

  ‘I think your old gran was right.’

  The satnav directed them into Compton’s Lane, a broad tree-lined street on the outskirts of Horsham. They soon found Rusper Lodge, a large and imposing double-fronted house with a wide front garden. It was planted with several mature trees and a variety of shrubs, the soil underneath friable and black, as if recently turned over and composted, ready for planting this autumn or next spring.