THEIR LOST DAUGHTERS a gripping crime thriller with a huge twist

by Joy Ellis

  ‘It is not a straightforward, simple process. But because of the number of victims, I’m using the university and a private lab run by a colleague of mine. They deal mainly with paternity testing, but have volunteered to chip in. I can’t tell you exactly when they’ll be back — hopefully not long, but I’ll fast-track anything of real urgency.’

  ‘Make Fleur the number one priority, will you?’

  ‘She already is. You’ll realise why when you speak to Jan Wallace.’

  Jackman ended the call and was suddenly overcome by a feeling of unease.

  ‘Right, Henry. First stop, the crime scene.’

  The professor doffed an imaginary cap. ‘Lead on.’

  They spent almost an hour underground, and the psychologist was silent for most of the drive back to the station.

  ‘Such method!’ he said suddenly. ‘Everything planned and laid out so perfectly. A tidy, methodical mind. Even the beds are exactly the same distance apart. I’m certain that if you measured those gaps they would be perfectly equal.’

  ‘What does that tell us?’ asked Jackman.

  Henry O’Byrne took a deep breath. ‘A lot. The whole setting spoke volumes.’ He turned in his seat and faced Marie, his eyes shining with excitement. ‘I think I can show you more about the man who engineered all that than you would ever hope to get from one of your profilers. I never imagined that we’d find such a beautiful blueprint of the mind.’

  ‘You said ‘he.’ You’re certain it’s a male?’ asked Jackman.

  ‘Without a doubt.’ And Henry lapsed back into silence for the rest of the journey.

  * * *

  When they returned to the CID room, Max told them that “the archaeologist woman” had phoned. Marie rang back immediately.

  ‘I know you’re busy, Detective,’ said Jan Wallace, ‘but I was wondering if you could come over to the mortuary. I’ve got a lot of information regarding your earliest victim, Fleur. Some of it is quite complicated and needs explaining in person.’

  Marie winced. ‘I’ll try, but could you give me the basic details now, and I’ll get there as soon as I can. We’re up to our necks here.’

  There was a pause. ‘I understand, but you should know that I counted twenty-seven different bone injuries on that young woman. After studying the pathology of her bones, I found them to be severely lacking in minerals, and as the analysis showed malnutrition and anaemia, I believe she starved to death.’

  Marie hadn’t expected that.

  ‘I can also confirm that she was indeed disinterred. However, and this is quite remarkable, most of the skeleton is still present, just some of the very smallest bones are missing. She was fifteen when she died, which is what the name plaque says. There is quite a lot more, Sergeant, when you have the time, although nothing as important as what I have just told you.’

  ‘Look, I really appreciate your help, Professor Wallace, and I’ll get over to see you just as soon as I’ve tied up a few things here, okay?’

  She replaced the phone, her brain running riot. ‘Starved to death?’ she whispered to herself. ‘And exhumed after burial? What was going on?’

  Rosie sat down next to her. ‘You look a trifle perplexed.’

  ‘And so will you, flower. Listen to this.’ She called to Max and Charlie, and relayed Jan Wallace’s information.

  ‘Bloody hell,’ said Max. ‘I know I’m supposed to be the detective, but what the hell is this all about?’

  No one answered.

  * * *

  As soon as Jackman emerged from his office, Marie brought him up to date on what Jan Wallace had found.

  ‘Get some refreshments organised for the professor, Marie, and tell the team to come to my office. The prof is going to give us his thoughts, and then you really should go and talk to Jan Wallace.’

  A few moments later they had all gathered in Jackman’s office. The professor began.

  ‘Earlier, DI Jackman asked what the murderer’s very particular attention to detail meant. Well, there is an enormous difference between an organised killer and a disorganised one. The organised killer is usually of average or above average intelligence, forensically aware and careful to select a location in which he feels comfortable. He chooses his times carefully, is well prepared, and likes to feel that he is in control. The disorganised killer, on the other hand, is often of lower intelligence, acts spontaneously, and uses whatever comes to hand, so the scene that he leaves behind him can often reflect his disorganised state.

  ‘So our man is organised?’ said Marie.

  The professor tilted his head to one side. ‘Obsessively. He had taken great care of his victims. There were no instruments of torture, no restraints, nothing to scare or threaten. Everything was clean and tidy, down to the flowers and neatly stored clothes. According to the photographs, the bodies were undisturbed and made to appear comfortable and peaceful.’

  ‘That ties in with what the pathologist has told me. Forensics found nothing to show that they had been killed there,’ said Jackman.

  ‘Everything in that chamber contradicts the fact that the girls were drugged, abducted, beaten, possibly sexually assaulted or raped, and then murdered.’

  ‘Could he have some kind of split personality?’ asked Charlie.

  The professor nodded. ‘Multiple personality disorders are very rare, but it’s a possibility. He would have different characteristics and skills, and the two personalities would most likely not be aware of each other.’

  Jackman rubbed at his temple thoughtfully. ‘What would trigger the transition from one state to the other?’

  ‘Generally trauma of some kind.’

  ‘That would fit,’ Jackman said. ‘After he’s murdered his victim, the trauma of what he’s done causes the second, nurturing personality to take over.’

  ‘It would be very, very unusual, but not impossible.’

  ‘So where would he initially take his victims after he’d drugged them?’

  ‘I would suspect somewhere close by, but not the house. There was too much going on there with all the building work, and he could have been seen. And we know that he used the tunnel from the marsh to access the room, so I’d say look within a mile or so of the tunnel entrance.’

  ‘And if our murderer is Micah Lee, that is where he could be hiding,’ added Marie.

  ‘I can’t believe that he’d go back there, with half the police force out looking for him, but we can’t take the risk. We’d better get a search party out to the marsh and the surrounding fields before darkness falls.’ Jackman glanced at his watch. ‘And we don’t have long.’

  Max jumped up. ‘I’ll go and alert uniform.’

  ‘Just make sure that Windrush remains under careful guard, Max. I want new officers brought in. We can’t afford to leave Windrush unprotected.’

  ‘Wilco, sir.’

  Marie looked at Jackman. ‘And Jan Wallace?’

  ‘Better hold off until we get this search underway.’

  Max hurried from the room and Jackman turned back to the professor. ‘Do you really think we are dealing with a man with two personalities, Henry?’

  ‘It would answer a lot of questions. I’d like to know how this progressed, so we have to know everything we can possibly discover about that first body, the one you call Fleur. Especially if she wasn’t murdered.’ He drew in a breath. ‘And, DI Jackman, regarding what you said earlier about not going back to Windrush? Not only is it well documented that killers like to return to the scene of their crime, you ought to know that as an organised criminal comes to the end of his career, he often descends into chaos. His mind cannot go on being calculating and clever forever. He is under constant pressure, and begins to break down. That’s when he makes mistakes and gets caught.’

  ‘So you think it’s possible that he will find his way back if he can?’

  ‘He is by now in turmoil. His mind will be a vortex of anger, hate and confusion. The world has turned on him, and he knows there will be no happy ending. He
’ll go back because he has nowhere else to go. And even if he is breaking down, there’s a very good chance that he’ll think he is clever enough to take on the entire police force.’

  As he began to digest this information, Jackman heard Rosie’s phone ring. She walked quickly over to him.

  ‘That was Gary, sir. Apparently Ethan Barley has been dragging his brother Nick round all the sleazy bars and low spots in the area in an attempt to find the man who paid him to copy the chapel key.’

  ‘And they got lucky?’ Jackman felt a surge of excitement.

  ‘They did, sir! He rang Gary from a grotty dive on East Street, in Harlan Marsh. Gary’s tailing the man now. He can’t afford to bring him in because it would mean the next party would be cancelled, and then we might lose our chance to take Cade down. Gary’s going to keep tailing him and find out who he is and where he lives.’

  ‘Excellent, but we need to be very, very careful. Nothing about this must reach Cade’s ears, or we’re snookered. And that cannot be allowed to happen.’

  Jackman looked across to see Marie staring at him. She desperately wanted Cade to pay for something he had done in the past. Jackman just wished he knew what it was.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

  A team of uniformed officers were now scouting the area around Roman Creek, so Jackman and the team pressed on in the CID room.

  ‘Should we bring in that vet for questioning?’ asked Max, munching thoughtfully on a sandwich. ‘We’ve decided that Elizabeth Sewell couldn’t be our killer, yet she knows someone called Fleur, her cards are in that hellhole, and she’s written almost identical cards for the animal cages at Philip Groves’ veterinary practice.’

  ‘He’s got a point, sir,’ said Rosie. ‘Even though I cannot see that man being a cold-blooded killer.’

  Jackman stared at his sandwich and put it down. ‘Maybe we should. He does live close to the marsh, and if we are looking at a split personality, then who knows? How would we know what to look for?’ He looked across the room to where Marie sat a little apart from them, deep in thought. ‘Penny for them?’

  She looked up. ‘Not worth it. My thoughts are about as clear as sump oil.’ She leaned back in her chair, stretched, and said. ‘Okay. Twelve dead girls, all born on a Wednesday. In the same room, another dead girl, but she died of starvation. One girl, Toni, abducted and lives. One other girl, Shauna, abducted and dies, but in a totally different place. Two out of three spoke of a man with dead eyes. Have any of us seen anyone with “dead” eyes? No, we haven’t. Micah Lee has a horrible face, but his eyes are deep and very expressive. Benedict Broome has perfectly normal eyes. Elizabeth Sewell is a woman. And not one of the people that we’ve interviewed, and we’ve spoken to quite a few, had weird eyes.’ She groaned loudly. ‘And who the hell is Fleur?’

  ‘It all comes back to her, doesn’t it?’ Jackman said.

  ‘There is absolutely nothing on record of anyone by that name going missing,’ added Max miserably.

  ‘What am I missing?’ Gary breezed in with a smile on his lips. He looked around and the smile faded. ‘Well, I see things are not too good here, but at least I have a name and an address for one of the drinking club organisers. It’s Brendan Keefe, and he lives on the outskirts of Harlan Marsh town. He’s ours for the taking, when we are ready.’

  ‘Good work, Gary. I suppose he didn’t have strange eyes, did he?’ asked Jackman hopefully.

  ‘Shifty, sneaky, piggy, but strange, no.’

  ‘Pity. Sit down.’ He pushed across his untouched sandwich and said. ‘We are still trying to fathom out who Fleur might be.’

  Gary picked up the sandwich. ‘Ah.’ He bit into it gratefully, chewed and then said, ‘Not a very common name, although—’

  A civilian entered the room.

  ‘Sorry to bother you, DI Jackman, but the duty sergeant thought you should know that the body of a white male has been found out on the edge of the marsh. It seems that it’s a hanging, but because of its location he thought it might be of interest to you.’

  Jackman sat bolt upright. ‘Where exactly is the location, Constable?’

  ‘The old mill at Goshawk End.’

  Gary said, ‘I know it! It’s between Roman Creek and Hurn Point, and right inside the area we’re searching for Micah Lee.’

  Jackman was already halfway to the door. ‘Then you come with me, Gary, and you too, Max. It’ll do you good to get some fresh fenland air. Once in a while you need to break that chain that attaches you to your computer.’ He smiled at Marie. ‘And you can have a break from dead people. You and Rosie keep chasing Fleur. Have another word with Jan Wallace. There might be something new from the forensic point of view.’

  ‘I wonder if it’s Micah who has killed himself?’ said Marie, almost to herself.

  ‘It could well be. Don’t worry, I’ll ring in and let you know.’

  * * *

  There wasn’t much to see at the old mill. But what they did see was surprising.

  The body wasn’t swinging slowly on a creaking rope. It was lying in a crumpled heap on the dirty floor, surrounded by broken vegetable crates.

  ‘One body, life undeniably extinct, with rope still attached, and it’s not Micah Lee,’ murmured Jackman.

  ‘Some sort of fight took place by the look of all this mess,’ said Max.

  Gary shook his head. ‘Don’t think so. It looks to me as if he climbed up these boxes . . . No, that’s not right. They are too far away from the body.’

  ‘And how did the rope become detached from the timber spar?’ Max stared up to the heavy beam. ‘It seems sturdy, and it doesn’t slope downward.’

  Jackman stared at the dead man. He looked at the twisted body, thankful that the face was turned slightly away. ‘I think the question we should be asking is how did a dead man loosen the rope from his own broken neck?’

  ‘Ah, right. So who was here with him?’ asked Max.

  ‘If they tried to save him, then it had to be someone who cared.’ Jackman looked at the configuration of the old vegetable boxes, the timber beam, and the man’s body. ‘I’d say someone came in and found him, and then climbed up the pile of boxes and pulled the rope free of the beam. And because no one phoned this in or called an ambulance, I would guess it was someone who wanted nothing to do with the police.’

  ‘Since the body isn’t Micah Lee, could it have been Micah Lee that found him?’ said Gary. ‘I wonder how long ago all this happened? I’ll get a shout put out that Lee may be somewhere in the area and on his toes. There are only so many places he can get to from here.’ Gary moved towards the door.

  ‘Could he get to Windrush on foot?’ asked Jackman.

  ‘He could. But it would mean crossing a pretty bad stretch of wetland, best not attempted unless you know the paths well.’

  ‘But he worked close to here, didn’t he?’ ventured Max.

  ‘And if he knew the marsh that well, then maybe he knew about the tunnels,’ Jackman mused. ‘Right now we should get back. There’s nothing we can do here. Uniform will keep this place sewn up until our overstretched forensics department can sort that poor sod out and work the scene. We don’t even know who he is. There is no ID on him.’

  As they walked back to the car he wondered why the man had chosen to take his own life. The word that kept coming up was “guilt.” Guilt or desperation. Surely it was no coincidence that a man should kill himself in such close proximity to the crime scene? There had to be a connection. Perhaps he had done it out of despair at losing his precious girls?

  ‘I suppose it is suicide?’ said Max softly. ‘He could have been assisted.’

  ‘I don’t think so. Looking at the inverted V-shaped furrow in the victim’s neck left by that rough rope, I’d say it was definitely a deliberate, and in his case successful, suicide.’

  Jackman glanced back at the derelict old mill. All that was left of it was a shell of old bricks and a weather-beaten wooden door. It must have had sails at one time, but they had long gone.
And luckily it was nothing like his lovely home at Mill Corner.

  * * *

  ‘There’s someone asking for you, Marie.’ The desk sergeant pointed to a young woman sitting in the foyer.

  Marie was about to tell him to get someone else to deal with her, when she recognised Asher Leyton’s fiancée, Lynda Cowley.

  Marie went over and sat next to her in the almost empty foyer. ‘Miss Cowley, isn’t it?’

  The girl nodded. ‘I’m so sorry to bother you, Sergeant Evans, but he’s disappeared.’ She tried to hold back her tears. ‘Asher didn’t come home last night, and he’s not been at work today.’ She dabbed at the perfect make-up around her eyes. ‘It’s not like him, he’s so thoughtful. He’d never go off without telling me. Something has happened to him, I know it.’

  Marie thought quickly. Asher Leyton had talked to the dead girl, Shauna Kelly, on more than one occasion. And he had been warned about curb-crawling. They had talked to him about Shauna’s death, and now he had gone missing.

  ‘When did you see or speak to him last?’

  ‘Lunchtime yesterday. He rang to say he had a late appointment, but he’d be home for supper.’ She began to wail. ‘But I went to bed really late, and he never came home.’

  Marie promised to make some enquiries. ‘I’ll do what I can, but he’s a responsible adult, so you do understand that I can’t register him as missing?’

  Lynda nodded and left the station, still crying.

  Marie walked over to the desk. ‘Danny, get one of your crews to go have a word with the old toms down on Dock Lane, would you? See what they can tell you about a man named Asher Leyton. And maybe put an alert out on him. I’d like to have a quiet word with that young man.’ She gave the sergeant a description of Asher and made her way towards the lifts.

  Things were speeding up. In fact the flood of new developments was threatening to drown them. Time to find Jackman and tell him about this latest worrying event.

  * * *

  As evening approached, another call came in.

  Gary’s voice was sombre. ‘Uniform may have found your second crime scene, sir. It’s an old caravan on a piece of land attached to the Windrush estate. The problem is they only found it because it was on fire. There are men down there and a fire chief in attendance, but there’s no way they can get an appliance out there. It’s just mud and cabbages all the way to the marsh.’