Martina's smile was lopsided. "I suppose after that I can't exactly say no."
With a last glance over her shoulder at Drew, who'd stopped outside Melissa's office, Harriet grabbed her coat from the back of her chair. "Let's go then."
A short while later, Harriet sat in Marjorie Campbell's overly warm living room. The woman opposite her looked exhausted. The dark circles beneath her eyes only served to highlight the hollowness of her cheeks, and she clutched a picture frame in her birdlike hands. "DC Nicoll said you wanted to ask me some questions?"
"I'd like to if you're willing?" Harriet took the seat she'd been offered.
"You're here now," Marjorie leaned back in her chair. "I've waited twenty years for this and now that it's here I'm finding it a little more difficult than I thought it would be." She sighed. "That came out wrong. I always knew it would be difficult, but--"
"But there's too much finality in knowing the truth," Harriet said.
Marjorie nodded. "There's a kind of freedom in it too, you know? I now know where Jack was all this time. I never believed he would deliberately stay away, but if you hear that often enough it only adds to the anguish. You start to wonder if maybe you've been lying to yourself, if perhaps your memories are not as real as you once thought them to be."
"I can't begin to imagine how that must make you feel," Harriet said gently. "But if you're willing, I'd like to know a little about Jack and the life he led?"
Marjorie glanced down at the picture she held clasped in her lap. "Will it help you to find out who killed my son?"
"We hope so," Martina interjected before Harriet could get a word out.
Marjorie's smile was wan. "What do you want to know?"
"Did Jack have many friends?"
Marjorie seemed a little taken aback to begin with, and she stared down at the image of the young man with the bright eyes. "He made friends with everyone he met," she said softly. "But that's not what you're asking me."
Harriet shook her head. "No. From what I've read in the diary Jack was a wonderful young man, so full of love for everyone he met."
Marjorie's eyes glistened with unshed tears. "You got all of that from the diary?"
"I can see it here, in your home," Harriet said. "It shines out of him, out of every picture you have. And in the words you wrote about him. I could feel how much you loved him. He clearly brought you great joy."
"Do you have children?" Marjorie asked, never lifting her gaze from the picture.
"No." As she said the word Harriet couldn't help but feel a pang of an emotion she'd never allowed herself to explore before and she pushed it away now too.
"They're a blessing--" Marjorie continued without looking up. "And a curse. They bring you the greatest of joy, create in you a love you never thought you were capable of, but they bring their own kinds of heartache too." She closed her eyes as though the memories were too much to deal with.
"Do you need a break?" Martina asked. "This was a mistake, we should--"
"No. I'm not some weak-willed ninny. I let my son down once before, I won't do it again. If this helps you to get closer to his killer, then I will happily help." She opened her eyes again and levelled her determined gaze on first Martina and then Harriet. "All this to say, Jack didn't have many friends, and that broke my heart. I tried to give my son everything he wanted. He'd suffered so much, so I wanted to give him as much happiness as I could. It was the reason I allowed him to go with the scouts in the first place. It made him happy, so I let him go."
She sighed and lifted the picture from her lap and set it down on the table next to her chair. "But the other children didn't see him in the same way he saw them. Children are so easily influence by their parents."
"You mention in the diary a girl," Harriet said. "I was wondering if that was the same girl who went missing?"
Marjorie shook her head, the briefest flicker of a smile crossing her lips. "No. Matilda wasn't the same girl who went missing. She was the only one who treated Jack as a friend. She was good to him, invited him out into the woods for nature walks and the like whenever she could. But her father was kind, he was the one who allowed Jack to go out with the scouts in the first place."
"We were hoping to speak with him," Martina said, but cut off as Marjorie shook her head sadly.
"That won't be possible. Graham died a few years ago. Cancer, I think Matilda said. She dropped by after they found Jack's body. A sweet little thing. She said she'd wished there had been more she could have done for him. I was just so pleased to know he hadn't been forgotten..." Marjorie choked off as her tears spilled over her lashes and raced down her papery cheeks.
"What is Matilda's surname?" Harriet asked. "We'd like to speak to her too if at all possible."
"Of course," Marjorie said, swiping the tears away with the back of her hand. "Matilda Mayhew, I can give have Greg dig you out her number."
"That would be very helpful," Martina said.
"After Jack went missing, did anything unusual ever occur?"
"Such as?"
"Maybe phone calls, or..."
Marjorie was already shaking her head before Harriet had the chance to finish speaking. "No. Never anything like that." Marjorie's hands shook as she pulled a handkerchief from her pocket. "I know you probably don't want to hear this," she said. "The people working on Jack's case in the beginning certainly didn't want to hear it."
"Anything you can tell us will be helpful," Martina offered, as she gave Harriet a sideways glance. "Sometimes the smallest of details can crack a case wide open."
"I know who killed my son," she said finally.
Harriet felt her mouth drop open, and she stared at the woman opposite her.
"I'm not sure I understand," Martina said hoarsely. "If you've known all along who murdered your son, why didn't you say it the first time we came to see you?"
"Because nobody has ever listened to me before," Marjorie said, her voice a fierce whisper. "No one listened to me when Jack disappeared. Nobody believed me when I said something had happened to him. What am I supposed to think? How could I know you would be different?"
"Who was it?" Harriet asked.
"David Wilkes, Stanley Forder, and Gus Barre." She gripped the handkerchief so tightly Harriet could see the strain of it in the fabric.
"The fathers of the missing children?" Martina didn't bother to keep the incredulity from her voice. "You can't honestly believe..."
"You didn't see David Wilkes the night he punched Jack," Marjorie's voice dropped to a hoarse whisper.
"Mum, I think that's quite enough." Greg Campbell stood framed in the doorway of the living room. "You said you'd let this go."
"Let it go?" Marjorie's voice rose in pitch. "He's dead, Greg, and you want me to just let it go? You can't expect me to ignore the truth of the matter."
"I don't expect you to ignore anything," he said, sounding weary. "But you know those men didn't kill Jack. Deep down you know it."
"They attacked him. They threatened him," she said, fresh tears coursing down her cheeks. "Why wouldn't I think them capable of murder?"
"Do you have any proof of this?" Martina asked. Hearing how calm she seemed to be took Harriet by surprise.
"I know it in here," Marjorie said, as she thumped her fist against her birdlike chest.
"You know that's not proof, mum," Greg said. "And you know accusing those people of something they didn't do won't bring him back."
"I can't promise that anything will come of it," Martina said. "But we will look into it." She pushed onto her feet, and Harriet followed her.
"If I'm so wrong in all of this, then answer me this." There was a triumphant note in Marjorie's voice as she spoke. Harriet could feel her stomach sink as she waited for the grieving woman to drop her bombshell. "If those men are so innocent, then why is it Stanley Forder's grandson who was found murdered in those woods in the exact place where they put Jack?"
"How do you know this?" Harriet got the question out before
Martina could say anything.
"This is a small area," Marjorie said. "Bad news travels fast."
"Mum, this is serious," Greg said, aghast.
"As far as we're aware there's no connection between the Poole boy and your son," Martina said.
Marjorie shook her head. "Then you don't know the full truth because Karen Poole is the older sister of Allison Forder. The little girl who disappeared all those years ago. She only became Poole when she married Carl."
Harriet had known it couldn't be a coincidence that Oliver Poole's body had been left in the same place they'd found Jack Campbell. But at the time when Drew had asked her what she thought, she didn't have the proof to back up her theories. But slowly the pieces of the puzzle were beginning to unravel, and there was no doubt in Harriet's mind that when the truth finally surfaced, the people of Darkby would wish it had stayed buried.
Chapter Forty-One
"We need to have a chat with Taylor," Drew said as he shoved open the door to Melissa's office. He didn't wait for her response before he started to pace up and down the small space in front of her desk.
"I had the crime scene manager send up some copies of the pictures," she said, her gaze fixed on her computer screen. Drew didn't need to ask her what she was looking at. The expression of horror reflected in her eyes was proof enough. "How could he have these?"
Drew shrugged. "That's what we need to find out," he said.
"What do you think the writing on the back of the images means?"
Drew shook his head. "I have no idea. But I know it gives me the creeps."
"It's on them all," she said quietly. He watched as her eyes flickered back and forth on the screen. "This suggests he wasn't the one who murdered Oliver." She spoke the words he'd already been mulling over in his mind.
Drew snorted derisively. "He knew about these pictures," he said.
"How can you tell?"
"Because rather than get caught with them, he tried to hand himself," Drew said. "Harriet was right when she said he was probably hiding something."
"Drew, finding the pictures there isn't proof of anything. Chances are the minute we show these images to Taylor he'll say they're not his."
"He's not going to weasel out of this," Drew said.
"The shed doesn't belong to him," Melissa said. "It belongs to the school. He'll claim someone else put them there. You know this, Drew. We have to be prepared."
He nodded before he dropped into the seat next to the door and buried his face in his hands. "You don't think I haven't realised that already?" He groaned aloud, the sound animalistic and barely human.
"Are you all right? Maybe you need to go home and get some rest before we face Taylor?"
"No. I don't need rest. I need to string this bastard up by his balls," Drew said, his voice harsh. He glanced up at Melissa's concerned filled expression. "You didn't see the other pictures," he said. "It's enough to make me want to rip my own eyes out."
Melissa looked pale, but she nodded. "This isn't my first child-abuse case," she said gently. "But it doesn't change the fact that we need something more substantial before we go in there and--" She cut off as Maz knocked on the door.
"What is it, DS Arya?" Melissa's tone had lost the gentle note and was back to business.
"It's Taylor," he said, sounding apologetic. "He's been screaming down the custody suite for the past two hours. He wants to speak to one of you."
"What does he want?" Melissa asked, and Drew caught the curious glance she threw in his direction.
"Says he wants to know what's going on."
Drew sighed and glanced over at Melissa. "We need to have a chat with him, DI Appleton." It sounded weird to call her by her formal title, but using her first name would have been too familiar. "I think it's high time Taylor came clean on the secrets he's been keeping."
Melissa caught his eye and Drew knew she'd understood his meaning completely and the relation it had to the message on the back of the pictures. She pursed her lips, and he half expected to have a battle on his hands. When she nodded instead and pushed onto her feet, Drew didn't bother trying to conceal the relief he felt.
"You're right. We need to know what he knows."
Chapter Forty-Two
"Are you sure this is a good idea?" Martina asked.
Harriet studied the outside of the Poole house and steadied her breathing. If she was honest, she wasn't sure it was a good idea, but she was also certain she had no choice. They needed to know the truth, and if what Marjorie had told them was true, then it was important to explore the possibilities that it entailed.
"Maybe I should call Ambrose," Martina said, uncertainty colouring her words.
"If it would make you feel better," Harriet said. She pushed open the door without waiting for Martina.
She reached the front door and knocked gently as the first flurries of snow began to settle on the surrounding ground. The older woman who answered was oddly familiar, and she cocked her head to the side as she met Harriet's gaze. "Can I help?"
"I was hoping to speak with Karen. My name is Dr Harriet Quinn. I've been assisting on the case--"
The woman in the doorway shook her head. "My daughter has been through quite enough already," she said. "She needs time to rest and--"
"Mum, who is it?" Karen Poole's voice filtered through from the living room and a moment later she appeared in the doorway. She looked smaller and more frail. From where Harriet stood she could see that her eyes were a little unfocused, which made Harriet wonder what medication they had her on.
"I'm sorry, Mrs Poole," Harriet said, taking a step forward so that the porch light illuminated her. "I was just asking your mother if it would be all right if we could have a chat."
"Why?" Karen's voice was devoid of emotion and she moved out into the hall, her movements slow and jerky.
"New information has come to light," Harriet said carefully. "It might be helpful."
"You don't have to do this, love. You've been through enough already," Karen's mother piped up.
"It won't bring him back," Karen said. "It won't bring either of them back."
"No," Harriet said softly. "I'm afraid it won't, but it might help us understand who is doing this."
Karen's jaw tightened momentarily, and Harriet half expected her to tell her to leave. Instead, the other woman exhaled, her shoulders rounding over, exposing her for the broken and vulnerable woman she was. "Come in."
"Karen--" Her mother started to speak, but was cut off by a determined shake of her daughter's head.
"Please, mum, don't. I don't want to hear it."
The older woman stepped aside, but Harriet could tell from the censorious look on her face that she wasn't happy. Harriet made it halfway into the hall before DC Nicoll caught up and made her apologies for her delay to Oliver's grandmother.
Harriet followed Karen into the living room. The Christmas tree stood in the corner of the room in complete darkness. The presents beneath the tree a painful reminder of everything that had happened.
Karen caught her staring at the tree and shrugged. "I haven't had the heart to take it down," she said shortly. "Part of me thinks if I leave it up, he'll come home and this will all have been a nightmare."
"That's understandable," Harriet said gently.
"Is it?" Karen raised her bloodshot eyes to Harriets. "Carl doesn't think so. He wants to rip the whole thing down."
"People handle things in different ways." It sounded woefully inadequate to Harriet's ears, but she wasn't here to help Karen navigate her relationship with her husband.
The woman across from her sighed and dropped into an armchair like someone whose legs had simply given up. "What did you want to speak to me about?"
"Your maiden name is Forder," Harriet said, keeping her tone gentle. Karen nodded and stared down at the tissue she'd pulled from the sleeve of her cardigan.
"What does that have to do with Oliver?"
"So your sister was Allison Forder?"
&
nbsp; Karen met Harriet's gaze. "What has Allison got to do with any of this?"
Harriet sighed. "We don't think what happened to Oliver was a coincidence."
Karen stared at her. "I don't believe this," her mother said from her place in the doorway to the living room. "You can't be serious about this."
"Please, Mrs Forder," Martina said. "We just have a few questions."
"No," Mrs Forder said emphatically. Two spots of colour appeared high on her cheeks, and her eyes flashed with rage. "I won't stand for this. I won't."
"You think there's a connection between Oliver's death and Allison's disappearance all those years ago?" Karen spoke slowly, as though she were struggling to digest the words.
"We're exploring the possibility," Harriet said. "We spoke to Marjorie Campbell."
Karen's gaze flitted to her mother as the older woman stumbled in the doorway. "Mum?"
Mrs Forder's short gasp as she clutched her chest made Harriet think she knew something she wasn't saying.
"This is ridiculous," Mrs Forder said, but her words came out sounding strangled.
"As you know, Allison and the other two children weren't the only people to go missing at the time." Harriet studied the expressions of the women in front of her and was rewarded by the flash of guilt that crossed Mrs Forder's face. "Jack Campbell also disappeared a short while after the disappearance of your sister," Harriet said, directing her statement at Karen who was at that moment shredding the tissue in her lap into confetti.
"I don't know what--" Karen tried to speak, but Martina cut her off.
"Oliver was found in the same spot where Jack's body was discovered. In the same spot where your son found the body." The sentence hung in the air.
Karen looked over at her mother, whose colour had completely drained from her face. "Mum?"
"I'm getting your father," Mrs Forder said before she disappeared into the hall.
Martina glanced at Harriet before she followed the older woman out.
Hunting the Silence: The Yorkshire Murders (DI Haskell & Quinn Crime Thriller Series Book 4) Page 23