by Kate Ellis
That was about it. The colleagues who’d reported her missing knew nothing about Janna Pyke’s life before she started working at the House of Terrors eight months before. They had implied that she had hung round with some other people who worked there who were into something unsavoury – nothing specific had been mentioned but the writer of the report had assumed drugs.
That was it.
Joe himself, of course, could supply a little more information. Janna Pyke had lived in what was now Carmel Hennessy’s flat and when she had disappeared suddenly, the landlady, Peta Thewlis, who was a colleague of Carmel’s, had assumed she’d left to avoid paying the rent. He also thought he knew the identity of the actor boyfriend – he and Carmel’s new friend Tavy McNair, jobbing actor and ghost tour guide, must be one and the same person.
He also knew, courtesy of Tavy McNair, via Carmel, that Janna had mixed with some strange friends and had frequented a pub called the Black Hen which had a reputation for being the hangout of misfits and the seriously weird. And McNair had told Carmel that Janna had been into the occult … black magic.
Just like Gloria Simpson.
This was getting stranger and stranger. And Joe wasn’t sure what it all meant.
Emily Thwaite looked up at Joe and frowned. ‘I think we should make it our priority to find this Janna Pyke and fast. And we need to find out all we can about her. Where her family live and who her friends are. I’ve sent Jamilla over to the university. They’re bound to have her home address. I’ve told her to have a word with Janna’s supervisor if possible. He might be able to tell us something.’
‘You reckon she’s gone home?’
‘If she’d got involved with something in Eborby that was scaring her so much that she felt she had to do a runner, she might have cut her losses and gone home to her family to lie low,’ Emily said hopefully, although at the back of her mind she knew that the Resurrection Man was still out there somewhere. Maybe waiting for fresh prey.
Joe nodded. He had a bad feeling about Janna Pyke. She was linked with Jack Wendal in some way – receiving actual threats. And Gloria Simpson was afraid of Wendal for some reason. More than afraid. She was terrified.
But could Wendal be the Resurrection Man? Had he been trying to abduct Gloria Simpson? Joe put his head in his hands and took a deep shuddering breath.
‘You all right?’ Emily asked, watching him carefully. The last thing she needed was her second in command going wobbly on her now.
Joe looked up at her and smiled bravely. ‘Just a twinge in my shoulder. It happens now and then. I’m fine. Don’t worry.’ He straightened his back, trying to ignore the nagging pain around the site of his old gunshot wound. It flared up every so often as if to remind him of the frailty of human flesh.
‘You sure you’re all right?’
‘Course I am,’ Joe replied quickly. The last thing he wanted was to be treated as some sort of invalid.
Emily felt relieved. As senior investigating officer, she needed all the support she could get – not that it was wise to show it. ‘Have you looked at that list of employees we got from the Eborby Permanent yet? No mention of a Gloria Simpson by any chance, is there? Or it might not have been Simpson back then. According to the neighbours, Simpson’s her married name.’
‘There’s no Gloria Simpson but there was a Gloria Marsh who worked in Accounts for six months in 1996. Gloria’s not a common name these days. Could that be our woman?’
‘And she had an old score to settle with Wendal? It’s a possibility.’
‘I’ll get it checked out.’ Joe was about to add this to his long list of things to do when Sunny Porter burst into the office bearing the pained expression of a messenger who feared he was about to the executed for bringing bad news.
‘Sorry, ma’am, but another body’s turned up. Churchyard in Evanshaw eight miles east of Eborby. Lady doing the church flowers spotted it and raised the alarm.’
Joe glanced at Emily whose expression gave nothing away.
‘Same as the others?’ he asked.
‘Same as the others.’
‘Man or woman?’
‘It’s a young woman. Fits the description of that lass that’s missing. What’s her name? Jane …?’
‘Janna Pyke?’
Sunny nodded. ‘Aye. Janna Pyke. That’s the one.’
Chapter Seven
It was over for now. Until the next time.
The Resurrection Man – he wished they’d stop using that name. They didn’t understand that he only did what had to be done. It was necessary.
He put the scrubbing brush carefully into the bucket and a cloud of filth floated off it into the clear, cold water. Human waste. He wrinkled his nose at the smell then he began to scrub again. Everything had to be kept clean. Fit for its purpose. It was only a matter of time before it would be needed again.
Joe Plantagenet looked down at the dead woman, saying a swift, automatic prayer for her soul in his head while his heart twisted in compassion. She looked so young, this shell that had once been a living being. And the agony on the contorted face told of a hideous and painful death. He asked himself how anyone could do such a thing. It was something he’d always found hard to understand.
Joe knew only too well that evil exists, robust and resilient, deep down in every human being, ready to ripen and emerge given the right conditions. And he knew that when they caught the killer he would look quite ordinary … just like everyone else. He wouldn’t be some slavering monster with 666 tattooed on his brow. He would be the sort of man you’d walk past in the street without a second glance. The sort of man you’d sit opposite on the train or stand beside at the bar of your local. It was this thought that frightened him most of all.
He watched from a safe distance as the police photographers and the forensic team went about their allotted tasks. And after a few minutes Emily walked over to join him, her face solemn and businesslike.
‘I’ve spoken to the woman who found her,’ she said. ‘She’s not been able to tell us much. But then I didn’t really expect she would. She was coming to do the church flowers. Gave her a hell of a shock. Anything to report?’
‘Not really. Except that it looks identical to the others. And I think it’s her … Janna Pyke. Fits the description exactly.’
Emily studied the dead woman’s face. ‘Doesn’t look much like her photograph, does she? But I agree. She fits the description. In the absence of a next of kin, we’ll have to ask the friends who reported her missing to identify her.’
Joe nodded. ‘They’ll probably be at work. I’ll send someone round to that House of Terrors place right away.’ He took his mobile from his pocket and made the call to the station. Uniform could deal with it.
‘Seen enough? Emily asked. Joe sensed that she was anxious to be away from St Oswald’s churchyard with its lichen-covered headstones huddled in the shadow of the small, squat-towered church and its glowering yew trees. She knew as well as he did that the body had only been dumped there. The young woman had probably died miles away. And a few days ago judging by the condition of her body.
‘Let’s go,’ said Joe. ‘There’s nothing more we can do here. We’ll need to interview everyone who worked with her at the House of Terrors.’ He thought for a few moments. ‘Jamilla’s already gone to the university to get her home address – once we get that we can contact her next of kin. We need to talk to her supervisor and her fellow students. See if they have anything to tell us about the life and times of Janna Pyke.’
‘And there’s the boyfriend. The actor.’
Joe said nothing. It was early days. Carmel Hennessy had obviously taken a liking to Tavy McNair. But then the most vicious killers have been known to be charming. He certainly couldn’t be ruled out as a suspect. He was an actor after all … a trained dissembler. He hoped Carmel would exercise caution and keep him at arm’s length until he was cleared of suspicion. Kevin Hennessy’s daughter seemed a sensible girl and he could probably trust her judgeme
nt. But for Kevin’s sake he felt responsible. He would keep in touch with her and check on her regularly. Just to make sure she was OK.
They left the forensic team to their own mysterious devices and, after extracting a promise from the pathologist that she’d perform the post mortem early the following morning, they set off for the university campus at Hasledon, some two miles from the city centre.
As they drove a call came through from Jamilla at the university. In the process of winkling Janna Pyke’s home address out of the registry, she had discovered that there was no student registered under that particular name. There was, however, an MA student called Jane Pyke in the Medieval History Department and Jamilla, assuming this was their woman, had noted down the home address she had provided.
Perhaps, Joe suggested to Emily as they drove, she had adopted the more exotic Janna as part of a rebranding exercise. Perhaps she had become Janna, the moody, black-clad enigma, out of some desire to be different. But it hadn’t done her any good. If Jane Pyke was indeed Janna Pyke, she had met her death in the most hideous circumstances. Jane Pyke’s home address was in a suburb of Leeds but Emily made no sign that she knew the address or the district which Joe found a little surprising as she’d been working in that city until very recently. In fact, she sat there in the passenger seat, unusually silent, preoccupied with her own thoughts.
Emily took the road to the city centre. The university’s Medieval History Department was located in an appropriately medieval building not far from the cathedral. It had once been the lodging of the Abbot of St Peter’s and, when King Henry VIII had conducted his brutal destruction of England’s monasteries, he had left the Abbot’s sumptuous quarters intact for his own use when he deigned to visit the north. Eventually the building had passed to the city and then to the university and it was within its mellow stone walls that Janna – or rather Jane – Pyke had studied for her master’s degree.
Being a small department, it wasn’t hard to track down her supervisor. Dr Keith Webster occupied an office overlooking the stone-flagged courtyard through which all students and visitors were obliged to pass, a good place to observe all the comings and goings. He was a short wiry man in his thirties and he wore a small, dark beard and a wary expression. Joe sensed that he was uneasy in the presence of the police. And this made him watch the man’s reactions carefully. As a cat watches a mouse.
Dr Webster hurriedly shifted papers from chairs and invited them to sit down. The small office was cluttered with books and files and all available wall space was filled with colourful posters advertising past theatrical performances and museum exhibitions. It had a cosy feel, as if the man was truly at home there.
Joe glanced at Emily. She had hardly spoken during the journey, which was unusual for Emily Thwaite, who rarely let such a length of time pass without expressing her opinion on a variety of subjects. Joe wondered what was on her mind. Probably the case.
She gave him an almost imperceptible nod which meant she’d leave the questioning to him while she noted all the answers … and the things that weren’t said – the nervous looks and the body language which would betray Dr Webster as a liar.
Joe began by asking Webster when he had last seen Janna. The answer, when it came, was vague. She had last met with him at the department for a tutorial about two weeks ago. He had no idea where she had gone after she moved out of the flat on Vicars Green. He hadn’t seen her. Webster evaded their questions with unexpected skill, saying only that she hadn’t mentioned any accommodation problems to him.
‘What kind of person was Janna?’ Joe asked, looking at Emily, who was still watching in silence, a preoccupied look on her face.
Webster thought for a few seconds. ‘She had a good brain and I was impressed by her work at first but …’ He glanced at the clock, as though calculating how soon he could make his escape.
‘But what?’
‘She made a good start but then things started going downhill, as though her mind was no longer on her work. She’d taken a job at that House of Terrors place on Marketgate and it was about that time she announced that she was changing her name from Jane to Janna … don’t know why. I know students have to work to make ends meet but it seemed to be taking over her life. Then there was her research …’
‘What was she researching?’
‘The plague in Eborby. At first she concentrated on the medieval outbreaks. Thirteen forty-eight to nine.’ The man picked a pen up off his desk and began to turn it over in his fingers, faster and faster until it slipped from his grasp. Joe watched his face. Something was making him nervous. ‘Then she was er … sidetracked,’ he continued. ‘I tried to get her to focus more but …’
‘What do you mean by sidetracked?’ Something in the way he had said it made Joe suspect this was important.
‘She wanted to change the subject of her dissertation. She wanted to concentrate on the plague outbreak in Eborby at the start of the seventeenth century, which wasn’t exactly what I’d class as medieval. She began researching a group of women known as the Seekers of the Dead. They used to examine the bodies of plague victims to confirm …’
Joe interrupted. ‘I’ve heard of them before. So she took a special interest in these women?’
Webster nodded. ‘Yes. There are detailed records of their activities in the city archives. She spent a lot of time there researching.’
‘Did she have any special friends amongst the students?’
The answer was a definite shake of the head. ‘Janna always kept herself very much to herself. She wasn’t one for socialising … at least not at the university.’
‘Can you let us see her work?’
He shook his head again. ‘As far as I’m aware, she has it all with her. I’m sorry but I don’t think I can help you.’ He fell silent for a few moments, as though he was making a decision. ‘To be honest, I’m not really surprised that she’s chosen to go missing. She’s been losing it since she started working at that House of Terrors place. I tried to talk to her about it but she wouldn’t listen. She’s over twenty-one and I’m hardly in loco parentis so there’s nothing much I can do if someone’s on the path to self-destruction.’ He leaned forward confidentially ‘I had this brilliant student once who started on drugs and …’
Joe looked at Emily again, wondering whether to break the news of their find in the churchyard. But she made the decision for him.
‘Dr Webster, I’m afraid it might not just be a case of Jane dropping out. Her colleagues at the House of Terrors reported her missing. And a woman’s body’s just been found in a village called Evanshaw about eight miles east of here. It fits the description we have of Jane Pyke.’
A look of horror passed over Dr Keith Webster’s face and he slumped back in his chair as though he’d been punched.
Joe watched him. The pain on his face was more than a teacher’s reaction to a student’s tragic death. Either he was putting on a show for some reason or she had meant more to him than he’d let on.
‘This is a terrible shock,’ he whispered after a few moments. ‘I don’t know what to say.’
‘She was found in the churchyard,’ said Emily almost brutally.
‘I’m afraid there are similarities to two other recent deaths,’ said Joe, his eyes still on the man’s face, searching for any tell-tale reaction.
Webster looked up, wary. ‘The … the Resurrection Man?’
Joe nodded. ‘You don’t happen to know whether Jane ever worked at the Eborby Permanent Building Society, do you?’
The man shook his head.
‘She moved out of her flat over three weeks ago. Are you sure about when you last saw her?’
Webster pulled himself upright and made a great show of examining his diary. He looked up. ‘Yes. It was two weeks ago here in my office. Here.’ He pointed at an entry and looked Joe in the eye, pleading, desperate to be believed. Joe knew now that Webster was hiding something. And he wondered what it was.
‘And she didn’t mentio
n where she was living?’
The answer was a shake of the head.
So Janna had moved out of Vicars Green over three weeks ago and the pathologist had estimated that she’d only been dead for a couple of days. That meant she must have been staying somewhere else in the meantime. Unless the Resurrection Man had kept her prisoner all that time. The thought of such protracted suffering made Joe feel cold inside, almost sick.
Emily stood up. ‘Thank you, Dr Webster. We’ll send someone to take a statement from you. And we may need to speak to you again.’
‘No problem,’ was the automatic reply. But Joe sensed a world of worry behind the bland words.
As they left, Joe turned and saw the stunned expression on the man’s face. And the tear that had begun to trickle down his cheek.
The children visiting the Archaeology Centre had seemed noisier and more restless than usual that morning and Carmel Hennessy couldn’t understand why. But perhaps it was something in the air because Carmel felt rather restless herself. She had done since her meeting with Joe Plantagenet had reawakened memories of her father. She felt she needed some air to clear her head … and time to think. So she decided to take a walk around the city walls at lunchtime.
Peta Thewlis was in a meeting with some men in suits. She’d looked harassed from the time she had arrived at work and Maddy Owen had whispered to Carmel over tea that there was something going on; some decision about next year’s funding. Maddy looked worried but Carmel preferred to bury her head in the sand and hope that she still had a job. It sometimes wasn’t wise to look too far into the future.
At one o’clock Carmel hurried out of the centre to buy herself a sandwich, planning to eat it in the park and take a stroll round the walls before returning to work for the afternoon. Intent as she was on her goal, she didn’t notice that someone was waiting for her by the centre’s entrance. Until he called her name.