Hunting the Silence: The Yorkshire Murders (DI Haskell & Quinn Crime Thriller Series Book 4)

by Bilinda P Sheehan

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Tilly Mayhew was a mouse of a woman, at least in demeanour. She sat on the other side of the table, her shoulders rounded over so that she appeared smaller than she truly was. Her handshake had been warm, the palms of her hand calloused and her grip strong; the antithesis to Andrews, Olivia thought. Her brown hair was scraped back from her face, revealing wide, honest brown eyes. She was attractive, but nobody would ever call her beautiful. Her nose had a bump that suggested it had been broken in the past, and her complexion was a little too rosy a testament to the amount of time she spent outdoors.

  "Thanks so much for coming in," Tim said. "We just have a couple of questions."

  "Of course, anything I can do to help," Tilly said, her voice a low burr. "I don't know how much use you'll find me. Oliver wasn't with the scouts very long."

  "But you were a scout leader at the same time?"

  Tilly nodded. "I led the troop. He came out on two trips with us, but dropped out shortly after."

  Olivia glanced down at her notes. "According to his mother, he went on at least five trips. Three overnights camping in the woods."

  Tilly shook her head, her smile apologetic. "I'm sure what you want me to tell you, DC Crandell, but Oliver only came out on two trips with us, neither of which were camping trips." Tilly looked genuinely confused. "I keep records, I brought them with me."

  "You keep your records from three years ago?"

  "I have records that go back ten years," Tilly said. "I don't like to get rid of them because I don't when that knowledge will prove useful." She shrugged and slipped a folder from her bag on the floor.

  Olivia took it gratefully and flipped through the contents, giving everything a cursory glance. "This will be very helpful," Olivia said.

  "Why would Mrs Poole think Oliver had gone out five times with the scouts?" Olivia asked as she noted the calendar dates in the file Tilly had shared with her. "Honestly, I have no idea. We don't have that many camping trips away. At least not at that age. We do a few, but never in such a short period of time. She has to be mistaken."

  Olivia nodded. "I suppose that could be true."

  "Is there anything else I can help you with?" Tilly asked.

  "When did you last see Oliver?" Tim asked.

  Tilly glanced down at her hands. "The afternoon he went missing."

  "Excuse me?" Olivia asked, straightening in her chair.

  "I don't just work with the scouts," Tilly said. "A group of us do the safe crossing for the children going to school. The last time I saw Oliver was the afternoon he disappeared when he crossed on his way home."

  "How did he seem?"

  Tilly shrugged. "Normal, I guess. He was with his pal Darren. They both waved, and that was it. I was distracted because Chrissy fell as she ran over the road and I had to go and help her..." Tilly trailed off. "I wish now I'd paid more attention to him."

  "Why is that?" Olivia asked.

  Tilly shrugged. "Maybe if I had, I'd have more information for you." Her eyes glistened with unshed tears. "I can't imagine what his parents must be going through. It's a good parents worst nightmare, not knowing if their child is safe, or..."

  "Is there anything else you can remember from that day?" Tim asked. "Anything at all."

  Tilly shook her head. "I wish I could."

  Olivia nodded. "Thanks for coming down here."

  "I just hope you find him safe."

  Olivia nodded. "We'll do our best to bring him home."

  Tilly stood, and Olivia and Tim did the same and saw the other woman out of the interview room.

  "Well, that was a bust," Tim said once they were alone. Olivia sighed. She couldn't argue with him. They had nothing to go on, and Tilly Mayhew had just proven that Mrs Poole's accounts couldn't be entirely relied upon to be accurate. If she could misremember information regarding Oliver attending scouts, then what else had she got wrong?

  "I just hope Drew and Maz are having better luck with John Taylor, because as it stands right now we have no leads on Oliver Poole's whereabouts."

  Tim nodded. "Want me to run the details of the two people we spoke to over to the analysts?"

  Olivia nodded. "Good idea. Have Jodie run backgrounds on them both. And anyone else, including the information Andrews gave us about the other three missing children."

  Tim took the files and took off like an overly excited puppy. They might not have had very much to go on, but at least the interviews had run smoothly. Despite it all, Olivia had a sinking feeling that their best efforts would be for nought. Oliver had been away from his family for too long now and they would soon all have to admit that they were no longer searching for a living missing boy, but a body. But she wouldn't let that thought intrude... Not today, at least. They would find him and they would bring him home. They had no choice.

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  "I don't want to talk about it, Ambrose," Martina said, raising her voice to be heard over the sound of the trolleys clattering up the hall.

  "All I'm saying is, if you need somebody to talk to, I'm here."

  "Thanks, but I don't need your pity." Her voice was razor sharp. Guilt swelled in her chest as she watched Ambrose swallow down the hurt, but he didn't say another word about it, and for that she was grateful. He was well meaning and all, but she didn't need him poking his nose into her business.

  Sighing, she stared down at the take-away cup of coffee she'd picked up from the vending machine. While it wasn't the worst coffee—that dubious honour belonged to the old filter machine they had in the office—it certainly wasn't the best, but it would just have to do. Taking a swig of the contents, she grimaced as the bitter taste of lukewarm coffee flooded her mouth. Swallowing it, she glanced over at Ambrose, who at that moment had taken a keen interest in the tile pattern on the floor.

  "Did they give you any kind of hint as to who the body belongs to?" She was aiming for amicable, but there was still an underlying hint of the harsh tone she'd used earlier.

  If Ambrose noticed, he didn't give anything away. Sighing, he straightened up and fiddled with his crooked tie. "Not really. Jackson said he had an ID, and that we needed to speak to the anthropologist." Ambrose shrugged. "After that, your guess is as good as mine."

  "I've never spoken with a forensic anthropologist before," Martina said. "What do you think they'll be like?"

  "I've always found us to be just like everyone else." The statement took Martina by surprise, and she swung around to find a petite woman, with large dark eyes, and greying blonde hair standing behind her with a bemused expression on her face. "Of course, I suppose that depends on your view of the world."

  Heat swept up Martina's neck and rapidly climbed her cheeks. "I'm sorry, I didn't--"

  “No need to apologise. I’ve got this terrible habit of sneaking up on people. And you didn't say anything bad, I've certainly heard much worse in my time. My mother was right when she said eavesdroppers never heard anything good about themselves, but in this instance she was incorrect.”

  Her smile was inviting and warm. "I'm Dr Grieves." Martina noted that she didn't offer her hand, opting instead to keep them down at her sides. "If you're ready to come in, we can begin. Dr Jackson said he would join us shortly."

  Martina cast a sideways glance at Ambrose—who studiously avoided her gaze—as he clambered to his feet and followed the woman into a small room off the corridor. Drawing in a breath, Martina tried to quell her embarrassment. After all, it wasn't as though she'd actually said anything bad. Then again, that wasn't really the point. If the forensic anthropologist could sneak up on her like that, then she was clearly off her game, and she knew why. But knowing the reasoning behind her behaviour didn't give her a path toward fixing said issue.

  Pushing the thoughts aside, she followed Ambrose and Dr Grieves into the examination room. The smell of formalin was stronger in here. Reaching into her inside jacket pocket, Martina felt around for the tub of Vicks she normally carried there, but her fingers cam
e up empty. Wrinkling her nose in disgust, she swallowed the saliva that flooded her mouth. Don't you dare up-chuck here, and now, Martina. Just focus on Dr Grieves words.

  Catching the anthropologist's eye, Martina did her best to plaster a smile on her face, but judging by the surprise that crossed Grieves' face, Martina assumed she'd failed in her attempt to appear unperturbed. The poor woman probably thought she was some kind of nutter. Once they were suitably attired, and gloved up, Dr Grieves took them into the main room where the skeleton lay on a metal examination table. There was an oddness to the manner in which the skeleton had been displayed that surprised Martina.

  "What can you tell us?" Ambrose said. How he could appear so at ease in this place of death never failed to take Martina by surprise.

  "As you know, your skeleton belongs to a young male. 6ft 2inches in height. Originally I placed his age range in the region of 18-30--"

  "Dr Jackson had us looking at people mid to late twenties," Martina interjected. She half expected the other woman to be irritated by the interruption, but Dr Grieves instead seemed to be unperturbed by it.

  "There was a little disagreement between myself and Dr Jackson, but now that we have an ID we can say with some degree of certainty that the young man in question was twenty-four."

  "So who is he?" Ambrose said.

  "I'll leave the formal identification to Dr Jackson. He has the report from the forensic odontologist. We have however established a CoD."

  Despite feeling ill, Martina perked up at the thought of getting a cause of death. When it came to skeletal remains, she knew from studying past case files that it wasn't always possible to determine one definitively.

  “So, go on,” Ambrose urged. “You’ve got us on tenterhooks here.”

  "I'd prefer to show you," she said, directing them over to the skeleton. The pieces of the skull were gathered together to form an approximation of its original shape. The other bones which had been recovered from the crime scene had been laid out in what Martina assumed was anatomically correct positioning, but the overall picture was a disturbing one. The spinal column had been laid out with a distinctive ‘S’ shape curvature, which seemed to throw off the rest of the skeleton.

  “It’s not all here,” Martina said, more to herself than the rest of the room.

  “Good eye, detective,” Dr Grieves said, sounding particularly pleased. “Despite combing the area, we weren’t able to recover a complete skeleton.”

  “Did the killer remove some of the body?” Ambrose’s question brought a sickening image to the forefront of Martina’s mind.

  “It’s a possibility. It seems more likely some of the smaller, more delicate bones simply decomposed over the years. And there’s evidence of animal predation which could be attributed to some of the missing pieces too.”

  “But it is possible,” Ambrose pressed.

  Dr Grieves sighed. “Of course. At this point in the investigation, anything and everything is fair game.”

  “Is the spine placed like that because of the missing bones?” Martina asked, unable to tear her eyes away from what remained of a once living, breathing human being.

  “No, they’re all here and accounted for,” Dr Grieves said. “This young man had scoliosis, which is what has given the spine that shape, but that isn’t a contributing factor to his death. If you look here, you’ll see there has been extensive trauma to the parietal bone." As she spoke she indicated a large rounded piece of skull that to Martina's unqualified opinion looked like the back of the skull. “There has been fracturing to the maxilla, the mandible, orbital, and superciliary arch, and the zygomatic arch--"

  "I don't mean to interrupt," Ambrose said. "But we didn't spend years in university studying obscure bones."

  Dr Grieves smiled indulgently. "Sorry, I get carried away sometimes." She sighed and glanced down at the skull. "This young man sustained some very serious blunt force trauma to his skull, probably received in the form of a severe beating."

  "How can you tell? I mean, the skull was in pieces when it was recovered," Martina asked.

  Dr Grieves nodded. "Yes, that complicated matters." She picked up a piece of the skull, and indicated a large hole, with several spider-web style fractures which spread outwards from the injury. "This is the parietal bone, it sits at the back of the skull above the occipital, or base of the skull. This kind of injury wasn't caused by natural predation, or even the incident which occurred during the recovery of the body. This is a blunt force trauma. Obviously I can't tell you exactly what it was that he was struck with, but I can tell you that from the fracturing that occurred this injury alone is not congruent with survival. When you look at this particular injury along with the fracturing which has occurred in the bones of the face, it paints a very disturbing picture." She sighed and set the bone back down on the metal table gently.

  “There is extensive damage to the rib bones, several fractures of the lower arm bones, and legs, which are also in congruence with my hypothesis that this young man received a sustained and vicious attack directly before and leading up to his death. Staining on the bones indicates he suffered substantial internal haemorrhaging directly preceding his death.”

  “Please tell me he was already dead, or at the very least unconscious for it?” Ambrose asked.

  “There’s honestly no way to know if he was awake, or unconscious. The staining on the bones, along with some evidence of repair suggest he was still alive for a time after the attack.”

  Dr Grieves words settled over them like a mantle of sorrow, determined to weigh them down.

  The door at the back of the room swung open and Dr Jackson hurried inside, snapping on gloves as he moved. "Have you given them the cause of death yet?"

  Dr Grieves nodded. "I was just explaining it to them."

  From beneath his arm, Dr Jackson produced a file which he handed off to Ambrose without any preamble. "The odontologist's report. There was a full x-ray on file of the victim because he'd been to hospital to have some teeth removed."

  "Why hospital?" Ambrose asked, as he flipped open the file. "Jack Campbell, twenty-four. Reported missing in 1999 by his next-of-kin, a Marjorie Campbell."

  “According to the report from the dentist who treated him, and subsequently referred him onto the hospital he was a young man with a complicated medical history including a congenital disorder, and intellectual disability which required him to have precautionary measures taken when undergoing the dental procedure.” Dr Jackson glanced down at the report. “He had DiGeorge syndrome.” He raised an eyebrow as he scanned the notes. “Definitely a significant medical history. He had a repair on a cleft lip, and palate when he was quite young but it left him with quite extensive hearing loss.”

  Martina glanced back over at the skeleton. “Christ, this just gets worse, and worse.” From the corner of her eye, she noted the look of sadness on Dr Jackson’s face. In all the times she’s seen him give reports on post-mortems, she’d never once known him to be affected by the situation. Until now.

  “I’ve got a feeling this one is going to get worse, before it gets better,” Ambrose said, as they headed for the door.

  Martina kept her thoughts to herself. She didn’t need to say anything else, her silence was enough agreement.

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Hours later, and what felt like a million cups of tea later, Harriet made it back to the operations room. It had taken time to get Mrs Taylor to calm down, and by the time she'd managed that, Drew had returned with a veritable army of personnel to turn the elderly woman's house upside down. In the end, Harriet had persuaded her to contact her daughter so she could take her to stay with her sister, who lived in Staithes.

  "He's in a right mood," DC Olivia Crandell said as soon as Harriet walked in the door. "Please tell me you can put a smile back on his grumpy-arse-face."

  Surprised, Harriet tried to keep her smile to herself, but it proved impossible as Olivia grinned at her as she headed for the kitchen area. "You fancy a
cuppa?"

  "I'd loved one," Harriet said. "Let me help."

  Olivia started to shake her head, but Harriet followed her anyway. Her motivations weren't entirely altruistic, getting the inside scoop from a friendly face would give her the upper hand in her dealings with Drew. And considering the sensitive nature of the case they were dealing with, Harriet had the distinct impression that she needed all the help she could get.

  Olivia swung open a white cupboard door and removed a box of tea bags from inside. She dropped it onto the black faux granite counter next to the kettle. Catching Harriet's eye, she shrugged. "Gotta be Yorkshire tea," she said, as she set about setting out two mugs.

  "You'll hear no arguments from me," Harriet said. Coffee would always be her preference, but she'd been struggling to sleep, so tea seemed like a good idea. "What happened with John Taylor?"

  Olivia chewed her lip as she prepped the cups. Finally, she folded her arms over her chest, and leaned back against the counter, the picture of ease. Harriet couldn't help but notice how far she'd come since she'd first met her. It seemed getting out of uniform suited the young DC.

  "The hospital is keeping him overnight," she said. "Haskell is furious, as you can imagine. We spoke to some people from Oliver’s life today, but nothing that moves us forward." She sighed.

  Harriet nodded. She could imagine. The last thing Drew wanted was something getting in the way of him finding Oliver Poole. Although, as the clock ticked down the hours, Harriet was beginning to lose faith that they would find the boy alive, not that she would ever say that to Drew. He needed to cling onto the remnants of his hope. It was an integral part of his being, and she wouldn't ever take that away from him. The job would do enough damage without her interference.

  The boiling kettle clicked off, and Olivia turned to pour the water into the cups. "Can you pass me the milk?" Olivia asked.

  Harriet busied herself with the small fridge in the corner of the room.