by Sarah Ward
Palmer was looking at Stephanie’s picture. ‘Do you think everything that happened is down to us? The life she had in the end? If we’d given her more support, do you think things might have turned out differently?’
‘I don’t know. I always shy away from simple explanations, but one thing’s for sure: we did things wrong. When I started this case, I thought the outcome would be greater scrutiny for the way we identify recent deaths, but I would personally welcome anything that improves the way we treat these women. The victims.’
‘And yet, our focus is on the perpetrators. We’re spending all our time and resources on finding who killed them.’
Sadler felt suddenly tired. ‘We’re bringers of justice. Whatever form it takes. Whatever we feel about the people in question.’
‘You think Lena Gray was culpable too?’
‘In her own way. For killing Philip Staley. There are a lot of women being denied justice because she administered her own particular brand of it.’
‘You still think it was unpremeditated.’
‘Probably. I don’t always understand people’s motives. I’m not endowed with extra gifts of insight, even after years in the job. I don’t know why Lena decided to help her husband when she knew him to be an associate of the man who raped her.’
Palmer was back at his computer scrolling through his emails. One caught his attention. He squinted at the screen. ‘What the—’
Sadler looked up. ‘What is it?’
Palmer picked up a sheet of paper from the printer. ‘This can’t be right.’
‘What? What is it?’
Palmer laid the paper down on the table and ran his finger down numbers.
Sadler joined him. ‘What’s the matter?’
‘I’ve got Daniel Frears’ mobile-phone records here. Andrew Fisher was shot at Hale’s End on the ninth of May.’
‘Right.’
‘Well, according to these records, Daniel was using his mobile at regular intervals around the Whitby area.’
Sadler picked up the paper and looked at the dates. ‘He could have lent his mobile phone to someone.’
‘It’s possible, I suppose. But why would you travel from Whitby to Bampton without your mobile phone? When you go on a journey you would usually take your mobile with you, wouldn’t you?’
‘Perhaps he was trying to confuse us. In case of an arrest, his mobile would be being used by someone else.’
‘I don’t think he was thinking like that. If he’s angry about his sister, would he be thinking that clearly?’
They glanced at each other. ‘So if he was in Whitby, he can’t have been in Bampton murdering Andrew Fisher.’
‘But he definitely killed Lena.’
‘He was in the house around the time of her murder. Kat confirms this and he’s now missing. That certainly makes him our prime suspect.’
‘And if he wanted to kill Andrew Fisher, then Lena would also have been in his sights. It was she who sent Andrew to Whitby in the first place.’
‘Unless someone beat him to it.’
‘Where’s Connie?’
Palmer shrugged.
Sadler lost his temper. ‘What the hell’s that shrug for? Where’s Connie?’
‘She went out. Talking about tying up loose ends. We think the boy who left the gifts for Kat Gray was Stephanie Alton’s daughter.’
Sadler slammed the paper down on the table. ‘Get her on the phone.’
91
Mary Alton lived in a newly built housing-association flat close to the river. The street jutted up at right angles from the water’s edge. Those living at the top of the row were furthest away from the scenic view. It was a prime Bampton location, but Connie wondered how it must have felt living there given that Mary’s mother had willingly filled her pockets with stones and entered the water further along its bank.
Flat 12b was about halfway down the row. Connie pulled up her car close to the front door and got out, thrusting her keys into her trouser pocket. She rang the bell and clattered the letterbox. One of the doors further along the row opened. ‘Can’t you keep the noise down?’ A tousle-haired face peered out her.
Connie nodded towards the flat. ‘Do you know who lives here?’
The man opened the door fully. He was wearing a blue dressing gown. ‘Who’s asking?’
Connie thought about showing him her warrant card but this looked like a small community. Mary Alton clearly had a problem with authority, and she’d hardly welcome her neighbours’ knowing she’d been visited by the police. ‘I’m a friend. I’ve not heard from her the past couple of days, and I’m worried. After what happened to her mum.’
The man looked Connie up and down but seemed to accept her explanation. ‘She’s probably in. She just never answers the door. It doesn’t matter who knocks. I’m always being woken up. Try around the back and tap at the window so she can see who’s knocking. She might answer if she knows you.’ He turned around, and Connie saw a large ‘S’ on the back of his dressing gown. Superman.
She headed down towards the water’s edge, counting the number of the doors she passed. She needn’t have bothered. At the back of the development the wheelie bins were all numbered with their owners’ address. Out of curiosity, Connie peered inside 12b’s to see the contents, but it was empty. She opened the gate, walked up to the back window and rapped again hard. This time she could sense movement. ‘Are you in there, Mary? Your neighbour suggested coming around the back.’
‘Who is it?’
‘It’s DC Childs. We met at the station recently. I talked to you about your mum.’
‘I can’t come to the door. I’m not dressed.’
‘I’ll wait. I wanted to see if you were okay.’
There was silence. Connie patted her pockets for her electronic cigarette, but she must have left it at the station. She was craving nicotine, and it was typical she had nothing on her.
After five minutes, she wondered if Mary had done a bunk out the front when, with a click, the kitchen door opened. Instead of inviting her in, Mary pulled the door to behind her. Her face was heavily made-up, like the first time Connie saw her. She was wearing a pinafore dress, lightly sprigged with pale flowers, over a pair of jeans. Her bare arms were thin but muscular with thin sinews winding up her forearms. On her feet were a pair of trainers. It was these that Connie focused on.
‘When I interviewed Kat Gray, she told me a boy had been leaving gifts for her. She couldn’t give me a very good description because of the hood he was wearing. Just that he was medium height and wearing Converse trainers.’
Mary dug deep into her pockets and pulled out a packet of cigarettes. She carefully lit one, not offering one to Connie. ‘So?’
‘I keep forgetting that Kat is tall for a woman. Medium height for a boy might mean tall for a girl. Someone like you, for example.’
‘Me? Do I look like a boy?’
‘Do you know what? I think you could pass for one. You’re tall and thin. Okay, you’re wearing make-up, but without it I don’t think your features are girlish. You could be the boy who was passing gifts to Kat. If you are, I want you to tell me why.’
Mary shrugged. ‘I don’t know what you’re talking about.’
Connie took a step forward. ‘Mary, you’re the victim here. Talk to me and tell me what’s been going on.’
Mary threw the cigarette on the floor. ‘Come inside. I’ll tell you what I know.’
Connie followed the girl through a small kitchen into a tiny living room furnished with just one sofa and a small square pine table. The table was covered with cheap women’s magazines, an ashtray overflowing with cigarette butts and cups containing half-finished brews.
‘Take a pew.’
Connie looked at the sofa and rejected it. It was too low down, and she didn’t want to be stuck there if the girl got agitated. Instead she picked up the chair by the pine table and sat down with her back to the wall, near the front door. The girl shrugged and pulled out the other
chair and sat down opposite her.
‘You think I’m really a boy.’ She sounded amused.
‘ I think you’ve been impersonating one.’
‘Me? Why would I do that? I like being a girl.’
‘Tell me, do you know Kat Gray?’
Mary examined the tip of her cigarette. ‘She’s the woman whose sister was killed yesterday.’
‘You know that then.’
‘It’s all over the news. It says you’re looking for a man in connection with the killing. That was on the news too.’
‘Let’s talk about her sister, Lena. Did you know her?’
‘Never heard of her.’
‘Your mum knew her.’
At the mention of her mother, Mary froze. ‘My mother killed herself. What’s she got to do with anything?’
Connie was trying to formulate thoughts in her head. To make connections. ‘I think your mother was involved with a man, your father, who was involved in an assault that traumatised Lena. I think Lena may have played on that, exploited you even, to get you to help her.’
Mary was still sitting stock still, her eyes on Connie. She made an effort to smile. She got her packet of cigarettes out of her pocket and threw them across at Connie. ‘Go on, have one. I can see you’re dying to.’
‘Am I that obvious?’
Connie reached into the packet and, as she did so, became aware of Mary standing up suddenly and swinging the pine chair above her head.
92
Kat was stuffing what she could of her clothes into the tiny chest of drawers in Mark’s spare bedroom when the phone rang. She thought it might be Theresa calling back to say that she couldn’t go through with it, that everything they had discussed would have to wait. Kat wouldn’t have blamed her. But it was Mark. She looked at her watch. He’s only been gone fifteen minutes. He was breathing hard down the phone.
‘We’ve got a problem. I’ve come to River Terrace. The front door was open when I arrived.’
‘Is the girl there?’
‘There’s no one here.’
Kat exhaled with relief. ‘Are you going to wait for her?’
‘We’ve got a big problem, Kat. The living room’s a mess, and there’s blood on the floor. Not much, but some.’
‘Do you think DC Childs has already been there?’
‘I don’t know but it doesn’t look good. It’s where she told us she was going.’
‘Good God.’
‘Call the police for me, will you? I’m going out to Hale’s End.’
‘Hale’s End!’
‘I’ve been in the bedroom. There’s stuff there about that disused morgue. Maps and old black-and-white photos. The girl seems to have been obsessed with the place.’
‘But what about you?’
‘Call the police but don’t come. You’ll be putting me in danger. I can’t look after you and myself. Do you understand? You need to stay there.’
The connection was cut.
Christ, thought Kat. She dialled 999.
93
The girl held the knife across her throat, and Connie felt suddenly calm. So this was how it would end. At the hands of someone young enough, nearly, to be her daughter. She could feel the girl’s thin strength through her sweat-drenched T-shirt and knew she was no match for it. The blade was touching her skin, and she felt small drops of blood trickle down her neck. Her mouth had closed up, and she could only breathe heavily through her nose.
The bang from the chair had stunned her. Stupid.
She’d remembered her training up to a point. Had sat near a door as a means of escape if necessary but hadn’t really seen Mary as a threat. When she’d come to, Mary had been half carrying, half dragging her outside to a car. Her car. She threw Connie onto the back seat and tied her hands behind her. She must have taken her car keys from her pocket.
And now she was here, at Hale’s End, where it had all begun, in dense woods with a girl damaged by her past and her heritage. She was the offspring of a night so indelibly etched in her mother’s memory that it had tainted her life and that of her child’s. Some smart-arsed sergeant had once quoted her a line from Confucius: If you embark on a journey of revenge, dig two graves. Now here she was, contemplating her own destruction by someone anxious to prevent her mother’s shame being paraded for all to hear and her own tainted blood picked over with the same embarrassed attention.
It doesn’t have to end like this. This is what she wanted to tell the girl but her throat remained closed, paralysed in fear. She shut her eyes and leant back against her assailant. She could feel Mary’s body tense in surprise. She thought of Palmer’s hands on her. Would he be sorry that she was gone? Or would she remain forever that niggle of guilt on nights out with Joanne when she was regaling him with mutual friends’ stories.
The girl leaned forward and whispered in her ear. ‘I don’t want to kill you.’ Her voice sounded strong but not sorry. Simply stating a fact.
‘Then don’t.’ At last she got the words out. Mary wrapped her arms around Connie’s body, her forearms across her breasts. The touch was not sexual but still reminded her of Palmer.
Mary’s mouth remained by her ear. ‘I’ve got to, you see. I’ve started a train of events, and this is how it ends. Lena thought she was playing me. Giving Kat presents from the past to try to make her remember but I’d already started everything off. Because it was me who killed him. Andrew Fisher.’
‘But it was Philip Staley—’
‘—who was my dad. I know that. But they worked as a pair. Did you know that? I found out because Andrew came back. He was hiding at his mother’s. Lena told me. I went looking for a gun, but I didn’t need to find one because Lena had one all along. She showed it me because I told her I was scared. Told me where to find it if there was a problem.’
Connie closed her eyes. What a stupid thing to do. It was Lena who’d unleashed the chain of events again.
‘Where did you get the bullets?’
Mary smiled. ‘It was easier than you imagine. Easier than finding a gun. I carried on asking around Bampton and someone sold me some.’
‘But why kill Andrew? It was Philip who ruined your mother’s life.’
Mary pulled her closer. ‘Because, I told you, they worked as a pair. Don’t you see? They were as bad as each other. And my father lies dead in Lena’s bed and Andrew is sent away. Where’s the justice in that?’
‘It doesn’t have to end like this.’ Connie shouted it across the dank building. It was a mistake. Mary grabbed the top of her hair, causing her to cry out in pain, and spun Connie around to face her. Connie was smaller than her, and, looking up, she could see a pair of furious brown eyes.
‘How else can it end?’ Mary’s breath was sharp. She leaned into Connie’s face. ‘How . . . else?’ She hauled Connie towards the side of the room and smacked her face against the stone wall. Connie felt the impact of the cold granite and then a stream of blood from her nose that met the pool that had gathered at her collar. Mary gripped her hair, and slammed Connie’s head at the wall again and again.
It’ll end like this, she thought. The pain from the final blow was so great she was unable even to scream. Then, finally, nothing.
94
It’s all Palmer’s bloody fault, thought Sadler. I’ll have him up in front of the disciplinary committee for this. If he hadn’t been so busy playing it cool about Connie’s whereabouts, they might have realised the danger before now. Because Sadler had no doubt that Connie’s life was in peril. Blood in Mary Alton’s house was a bad omen. Blood anywhere usually was. Connie had clearly been taken somewhere against her will.
Connie’s phone was ringing on to voicemail. ‘Do you think . . . ’ Palmer was ashen-faced.
Sadler ignored him and walked to his car. Palmer got into the passenger seat, and, as Sadler pulled his seat belt across his body, opened the door and vomited onto the tarmac. After the final heave, he shut the door and sat in silence as Sadler reversed and drove quickly away.
‘Where are we going?’
Sadler ignored him and accelerated hard, forcing Palmer to hold onto the dashboard. It had just stopped raining, and, through the weak sunshine, Sadler could see the beginnings of a rainbow. The town sped past them, and messages on the communications system informed them of the progress of the support vehicles also hurrying towards Hale’s End Mortuary.
‘You think she’s there?’ Palmer sounded as if he had a mouth full of cotton wool.
‘I don’t know. A patrol car got to Mary’s flat quickly after Kat Gray’s call. Connie’s not there, and Hale’s End is a definite possibility. There are newspaper cuttings and maps in the bedroom. Brought him back to the scene of his and Philip’s past crimes. So it makes sense that it’s where she’s taken Connie. It’s a guess, of course, but it’s all we have at the moment.’
‘Oh God.’ Palmer looked like he was going to be sick again.
Sadler felt the rage boil over him. ‘What the hell have you been playing at? You should have gone with her to Mary Alton’s flat. Never mind what’s going on in your private lives.’
Palmer shrank into the seat. ‘It’s a consenting relationship.’
‘Relationship? I couldn’t care less about that. It’s the secrecy that might kill the best detective I’ve ever had. Don’t look at me like that. She’s a damn sight better than you are. I’d rather have her brave-faced passion than your indecision any day.’ From the corner of his eye, Sadler saw Palmer put his face in his hands. His mood darkened, and he took the corner too quickly, the back wheels sliding for a second on the still wet tarmac.
As they neared the entrance to the narrow track that would take them to the mortuary, he slowed right down and pulled into the nearby verge. He got out of the car and opened the rear door.
‘Shouldn’t we wait for Armed Response?’ asked Palmer.
For a moment, Sadler thought about hitting him. Instead, he pulled his coat from the back seat and strode ahead up the path. He was listening for the approaching sirens in the distance. He needed to get to the building before they arrived. According to Julia Miles, Mary Alton had a deep-seated mistrust of anyone in authority. The best chance they had of rescuing Connie was to get there first.