by Sarah Ward
The gun had been passed to Forensics with a fair amount of excitement within the team – and rightly so. Guns weren’t unheard of in Derbyshire, but they weren’t as much a problem as in the neighbouring Manchester police district. Sadler had taken one look at it and didn’t think it was the sort of thing to be found on the streets of any city. It was old. He was no expert, but it most certainly wasn’t a modern weapon. They would need to wait for someone to pinpoint its exact make and also whether it matched the bullet extracted from the body of Andrew Fisher.
Start with the sex. Well, according to Lena’s statement at the time, she had sex with the man before she smothered him. Despite the fact she had lied about the identity of the person she had killed, Sadler was going to start with the hunch that part of her testimony had been true. That the man in her bed had at least been there voluntarily.
Palmer had prepared a list of men of around Andrew Fisher’s age who had gone missing about the time of the murder. It was pulled from the national police database, and Palmer had done a good job of keeping it sensible. His accompanying note listed who he had crossed off – known absconders, those with a history of drug convictions and petty thefts. Palmer had gone with the hunch that the man they were looking for did not belong to the group of people who were normally reported missing.
Sadler wondered about this approach. The man’s relations didn’t seem to have kicked up much of a fuss. This likely placed the victim outside a secure family unit. However, given that Lena had been in bed with him, if Andrew was anything to go by, her tastes ran to upwardly mobile men.
‘Sir.’ Palmer stuck his head through his office door without knocking. Unusual for him. ‘We’ve got reports of a woman’s body found in the stream by Fearnley Mill. An initial description suggests it might be a match with Lena Gray. Might, sir, but I thought you should know.’
Sadler grabbed his coat and followed Palmer out of the station. When they reached the car park, he made towards his car. ‘Any idea where Connie is?’
‘Interviewing the woman who believes she saw Andrew Fisher in Whitby, I think. She should be back soon. I tried to call her. Want me to give her another ring?’
Sadler started up the car and reversed, tugging at his seat belt in frustration. ‘Let’s get there first. We’ll probably get nowhere near the body until Forensics have finished. Far better Connie continues with what she’s doing.’
The drive to Fearnley Mill was slow. The beginning of the tourist season meant that sightseers were on the roads, driving well under the speed limit, their eyes drawn to the hills rather than concentrating on the traffic.
‘Not putting on the siren?’ Palmer looked at his watch.
‘I was just thinking about it.’
Palmer gave him a conspiratorial glance as Sadler switched it on. The car in front of them braked suddenly, causing Sadler to swear.
‘Why do they always do that?’ Palmer’s voice was amused. ‘They hear the siren and slam on the brakes. I’m surprised there aren’t more accidents.’
‘Bloody idiots.’ Sadler was in a hurry to get to the scene. He sped along the main carriageway and watched with a grim sense of satisfaction as cars moved out of his way.
The entrance to Fearnley Mill was taped off. For a while it had been a small complex consisting of a boutique wool shop, a small art gallery and a café. It hadn’t survived the recession. There was a car park for about fifty cars. A constable, spotting Sadler, pulled across the tape to let them into the parking area. As they got out of the car, a scene-of-crime officer left a group of crime-scene investigators and made her way over to them. ‘It’s going to be a while, I’m afraid. There’s a lot of work to do first.’
‘What can you tell us?’ Sadler looked towards the stream, but the now-verdant trees shrouded the spot he wanted to see.
‘It’s a woman, lying on her front and partially submerged. Her face and upper part of her body are in the water. The lower half is on the bank.’
‘Does she look like she drowned?’ Palmer asked.
‘There aren’t any obvious marks to suggest how she died. Drowning is certainly a possibility.’
‘Who found her? I thought this place was closed.’ Sadler watched as the group made its way back down the path.
‘It is. There are plans, or proposals at least, to open the place up to the public again. The managing agents were showing some potential investors around. They discovered the body – almost immediately on arrival, apparently. The investors were worried about flooding, so they went down to look at the river—’
Sadler didn’t recognise the officer, but she sounded competent. Calm and steady. ‘Have you turned the body yet?’
‘Not yet, sir, and I think it’ll be a while.’
‘You know we’re investigating the disappearance of Lena Gray, don’t you? As part of the wider investigation into events in 2004.’
‘Yes, of course.’
‘And you’ve seen the body. Do you think it could be her?’
She nodded. ‘I remember her from the original case. It’s the same body type. She was tall and slim, wasn’t she? And the hair’s similar. Long and dark as I remember. It’s possible it’s her. That’s all I can tell you at the moment. It could be her.’
26
Kat went with the policewoman even though she just wanted to go home and step into the old cast-iron bath. It might be chipped and stained at the bottom, but it was a reassuring reminder of her childhood. The huge water tank in the bathroom still pumped out boiling-hot water even though she and Lena lived in constant fear of it packing up. How would they ever afford to replace it?
But she wouldn’t be going home yet. The policewoman, for all her tartness, had shown her compassion. A different type to that shown by Mark, but still welcome.
The café that Connie took her into didn’t immediately look appealing. It was busy, which repelled Kat, whose buzzing head needed peace. After ordering two coffees, Connie pushed her into one of the booths. ‘One of my favourites, this place. The coffee’s fab.’ Kat smiled at the expression. She liked this detective. More than she had at first when she met her at her home. And she was right. The coffee was strong with a dark bitter taste.
‘I don’t know where the gun came from. The boy said he was a friend of Lena’s. But she wouldn’t know anything about guns. The whole idea is preposterous.’
The detective wasn’t interested in the gun. She shrugged. ‘It’ll have gone straight to Forensics. We’ll get the results in a few days or so. If it’s the gun that shot Andrew Fisher, then your sister’s got some explaining to do. Mind you, even if it isn’t, she still needs to tell us what her connection is to the boy and the gun.’
Kat was shaking her head. ‘I just don’t think it’s going to have anything to do with her.’
Connie leant forward, her elbows on the table. ‘What were you doing in Whitby, Kat?’
Kat felt unable to look her in the eye. ‘Lena loved Whitby because of the Dracula connection, initially. We used to stay up late in the eighties and watch the old Hammer movies. Our parents let us have a TV each in our bedrooms.’
Connie smiled. ‘A TV in the bedroom? I’d have died for that as a teenager.’
‘Well, they were actually quite old-fashioned. That’s why we had the TVs in our rooms. Dad didn’t really want one in the living room so we were allowed our own. Mum and Dad preferred the radio, which they’d listen to in the kitchen.’
‘Did you watch the TVs separately?’
‘It depended. We were both big movie fans, especially Lena. We loved all the old horror films. I dreaded her going away to university as I’d have to watch them by myself, but she stopped wanting to watch them anyway.’
‘And was it? Bad, I mean, when she left home?’
Kat stirred her coffee. ‘She never did. She was expected to go to university, of course. That was the plan for both of us. But aged eighteen, she changed her mind. Didn’t want to go away, didn’t want to leave Bampton.’
Kat saw Connie frown. ‘Any reason for this?’
‘Difficult to say. She did okay in her exams. She definitely could have gone but, for whatever reason, she decided to stay put.’
‘She became a well-respected artist though. Was she self-taught?’
‘No. She eventually did an art degree at the college, but that was later. She worked in a florist’s first and then started to paint seriously.’
‘What did your parents think?’
‘Do you know what? That was the funniest part. They didn’t say anything. It was quite strange really. They just took everything in their stride. Let her do what she wanted.’
‘And Whitby?’
‘Well, she went there when she was fifteen or so on a school trip and fell in love with the place. Have you been?’
Connie shook her head.
‘It’s got a very strange energy about the place. Quite a lot of black-haired goths wandering among American tourists. Anyway, Lena loved it and used to go there a lot. Especially after I left home to go to university. She found a place to stay and spent days there at a time.’
‘What for?’
‘What for?’ echoed Kat. ‘Not for anything. To get away from Bampton. You’ve seen what this place is like. We all need to get away.’
Connie looked unconvinced. ‘So when she went missing, you thought she might have gone there.’
‘Exactly. It really was the only place I could think of. I had an old address from years ago, and I went there. It was a long shot really. It’s still a holiday home, but the good-looking guy next door said that Lena used to visit a lot and then one day stopped. It must have been about the time of her arrest.’
‘But you didn’t find her. This time, I mean. You didn’t find out where she was?’
Kat shook her head. ‘Like looking for a needle in a haystack really.’
Connie lifted her cup. ‘It was a good hunch. It’s what we usually do. Look for a pattern and investigate that in the first instance. You really should have mentioned it to us, you know. You could have called and we would have contacted the local police. There are procedures in place for working with other Forces. Please don’t go haring off on investigations again.’
‘But why are you so interested in Whitby? Do you think there’s a connection?’
‘There’s a witness who says she saw Andrew in Whitby a few years ago. There’s a possibility that’s where he was hiding.’
‘What?!’
Connie opened her mouth to speak as her phone went in her bag.
Kat watched her answer and saw her face blanch. She felt the deep pull of dread within her. Connie cut the call. ‘I’m sorry, Kat. I’ve got to go.’
‘What is it?’ She could see her debating how much to say.
Connie reached across and touched Kat on the arm. ‘Go back to the house. I need to be able to find you. I don’t know if it’s news, but please make sure I can contact you. Can I have your mobile number?’ Kat watched as Connie tapped in the digits.
‘I’m ringing you so you’ve got mine. Try not to worry. I’ll call you when I can.’
27
Saturday, 29 August 1987
Kat turned the volume down low and listened for a noise from Lena. Any noise. But it was silent, not a stir from the bedroom below. The credits for the earlier film were coming to an end, and the feature of the night would be starting soon. The Devil Rides Out. A particular gore fest that they had watched years earlier to squeals of horrified delight. However, when Kat had invited Lena up earlier that evening, she’d received a look of scorn. Since then, silence.
She turned the volume back up to mask the sound of her footsteps and stepped out onto the landing. It was chilly, and her bare feet stuck to the wooden steps as she made her way down. She crept towards Lena’s room and put her ear to the door. At first she could hear nothing. She wondered if her sister had gone out without telling anyone. Without telling her. Then came a scraping sound. Muffled movements. Kat lifted her hand to the door and tapped softly.
‘Go away.’
‘The film’s about to start. It’s The Devil Rides Out. One of your favourites.’
‘You told me at tea. I’m not interested. I’m painting. Leave me alone.’
Kat stood outside the door for a moment. Willing her sister to open it just a fraction. But it remained in place. All Kat could hear was silence.
She padded down the remainder of the steps and into the kitchen where her mother was reading the Guardian while perched on a stool. Her reading glasses, on a chain around her neck, were smudged with ink from the print. She looked up. ‘What’s the matter?’
‘Lena. She’s locked herself away. Again.’
Her mother looked back at the paper. ‘Best leave her be. It’s a difficult time for her at the moment. She’s got her A Levels coming up soon.’
‘I’ve exams too. There’s no way I’m as moody as she is.’
‘Count yourself lucky then.’ Kat felt the sting of the words, but her mum looked up and smiled. ‘Fancy cheese on toast?’
‘Wouldn’t mind.’
‘Well, put these on first. You’ll freeze without them.’
Ten minutes later, Kat walked back up the stairs with freshly laundered socks that had dried on the Aga warming her feet and the smell of melted cheese wafting from the plate she was carrying. As she passed Lena’s door, she comforted herself that it was only in her imagination that she could hear the sound of sobbing.
28
Christ. It looked like Lena Gray was dead. Connie was having difficulty digesting the information. From what Kat had said, she would have sworn that Lena’s absence had been voluntary. The bed had been made, and plans were evident for an unnoticed exit from the house.
But the body in Fearnley Mill matched Lena’s description. She’d probably given away too much to Kat about the discovery. She clearly knew something was up.
The drive to the mill took about half an hour. The misery of the Derbyshire winter was beginning to thaw into a fragile spring and small flashes of colour brightened the grass verges.
Sadler and Palmer were waiting for her in the car park, their two suited figures incongruous in the rural idyll. Connie was struck once more by how different the two men were. Sadler was tall with blond hair. He had a rangy remoteness that Connie had seen was attractive to women. There had been girlfriends, most recently a glamorous Greek, Christina, but by all accounts he was now single. She had allowed herself to go a short way down that road and had then stopped. He was her boss and, as such, had control over her career. She found him attractive but was prepared to leave it at that.
Palmer was her competitor. He may have had a more senior rank, but they were both, hopefully, on the way up. And because they were both ambitious, and perhaps because he was newly married and therefore unavailable, Connie was prepared to admit her attraction to him. He was much more her type. Taller than her, obviously. Everyone was. Around five nine and stocky. His prematurely grey hair, clipped into a crew cut, added to his attractiveness. And he knew it. Palmer fancied himself. This was what amused Connie the most. His vanity was attractive in itself. It added a human dimension.
Sadler and she had attended his wedding to Joanne. In spite of the wobbly Palmer had thrown on the eve of his wedding, pleading with Connie to let him stay in her flat, he now looked content and back to his usual arrogant self. Connie hadn’t liked the doubtful version of him. However much his self-assurance might wind her up, she preferred confidence to vulnerability.
It was Palmer who came towards her, looking grim. ‘We’ve got a body that matches the description of Lena Gray. We’ve not been able to get near it but we’re about to be given the green light according to the CSIs. You’ve arrived at the right time.’
‘Drowning?’
Palmer shrugged. ‘She’s down by the river. Partially submerged. Bill’s been and gone and said he’d call through the results once the PM’s taken place. He didn’t want to commit himself in relation to cause of death
when I asked.’
‘He’s playing it safe, I suspect. We all are.’ Connie looked towards Sadler. ‘What does the boss say?’
‘Not much. I think he’s glad the body’s out in the open. He seemed a bit freaked out at finding that guy at Hale’s End. The great outdoors is more his thing.’
Connie smiled, and their eyes met.
‘Where’ve you been?’ he asked her.
‘With Kat, Lena’s sister. I’ve found a Whitby connection although I’m not sure what it means. It was Lena’s favourite place. Why Andrew Fisher would use it as a place to hide out isn’t clear.’
‘Well, it doesn’t sound like he was running from her. They must have been in it together. The deception, I mean.’
‘Possibly.’ Connie again looked at Sadler, who was making his way towards them.
He acknowledged her with a nod of the head. ‘We’ve been given the okay to see the body. We need to get a move on. It’ll be dark in an hour or so.’
The three of them made their way down the path. The gravelled car park gave way to grass. It was wet underfoot. Recent rainfall had raised the water table, and Connie could feel her boots sink into the soft ground and the moisture reach up to her ankle. Sadler and Palmer were both wearing wellington boots and trudged ahead of her, their heads bent towards the ground.
The path opened out as it reached the river, where a crowd of white-suited personnel were still going about their business. A woman came towards her, and Connie recognised her from a previous case. Her first name, she thought, was Tracy.
‘Do you want to take a look before we turn her over?’