To Adam and Kirsty’s frustration, Graham Yates continued to be elusive. On the Saturday, having still been unable to raise him and clinging to the unlikely possibility of his phone being out of order – a possibility denied by British Telecom – they drove out to his home, to find no car in the drive and the outer door firmly shut. A man was working in the next-door garden and Adam called over to him.
‘Excuse me, could you tell me if the Yates are away?’
The man looked up. ‘Know them, do you?’
‘Yes, as a matter of fact he’s my godfather. My name is Adam Carstairs.’
‘Ah. Well, you can’t be too careful these days. Yes, Sue’s mother has moved into a care home and they’ve gone over to help her settle in.’
‘Wonderful!’ Adam muttered under his breath. He raised his voice. ‘Have you any idea when they’ll be back?’
‘Monday, I believe. Want me to give them a message?’
‘No, it’s OK, thanks, I’ll contact him then.’
‘Bloody infuriating!’ Adam raged as Kirsty pulled her car door shut.
‘It is,’ she agreed, ‘but having waited twenty-six years, I suppose we can last another two days.’
He nodded grudgingly. ‘It’s just that having got so close, I’m now obsessed with the fear that the culprits will somehow get wind of us and manage to escape.’
‘If they’re still in that area they’ll know we’ve been asking around,’ Kirsty pointed out. ‘In which case, it might already be too late.’
‘Proper little ray of sunshine, aren’t you?’ He glanced as her as he started the engine. ‘By the way, I told Nick the whole story.’
He saw her quick frown, but all she said was, ‘Oh? Why?’
‘Chiefly because he asked what I was doing over half term.’
‘And what was his reaction?’
Adam flicked her another glance. ‘He was more concerned about you than anything.’
She spun to face him. ‘Me?’
‘I told him you’d only just learned the truth, and he regretted having snapped at you.’
She didn’t speak, and Adam continued, ‘In fact, he’s asked after you once or twice. I shouldn’t be surprised if he contacts you again.’ Still no response. ‘Would you like to see him?’
‘That’s for you to wonder and him to find out,’ Kirsty said tartly, and he wisely let the subject drop.
On Monday morning there was another bombshell, in the form of an excited phone call from Lois.
‘Kirsty, you’re never going to believe this! Matt Armstrong’s been taken in for questioning in connection with that murder! Chrissie’s beside herself!’
Kirsty’s legs gave way and she sat down abruptly, coldness washing over her.
‘Kirsty? Are you there?’
‘I’m here. But … I don’t understand …’
‘Nor does anyone, but I have to warn you – she’s got it into her head that it’s your fault! Don’t ask me why, she was quite hysterical – going on about you stealing his car of all things, and him being kind enough to let you off. “And this is how she repays him!” she said. Sounds quite bizarre to me!’ She paused. ‘Can you make sense of it?’
‘It was all a mistake,’ Kirsty said out of a dry mouth. But was it? Oh, God, was it? Or was her blind instinct for self-preservation totally justified?
Lois was rattling on. ‘Her mother came and collected her and bore her off to Brighton or wherever, so now we’ll only have press reports to go on.’ She paused again. ‘Did something happen between you and Matt?’
Kirsty closed her eyes. ‘It’s a tremendous shock,’ she said with difficulty, ‘but thanks for letting me know. I’ll be in touch.’ And she switched off her phone, her heart thundering.
‘What’s a tremendous shock?’ Angie enquired, coming into the room. ‘Kirsty? Kirsty, what’s happened?’ She hurried over, taking hold of her friend’s arm.
Kirsty looked up at her blindly. ‘Matt has been taken in for questioning about the murder,’ she said.
Angie gasped, her eyes widening. ‘You’re not serious? Matt? My God! Just think, if you hadn’t made a run for it, he might have killed you too!’
EIGHTEEN
Matt’s arrest was reported on the lunchtime news, though he featured only as ‘a local man helping police with their enquiries’. Relatively few, Kirsty hoped, would be able to put a name to him, and she prayed Lois wouldn’t repeat Chrissie’s allegations.
Adam hadn’t been reassuring. ‘But let’s face it, she’s right, isn’t she?’ he’d said, after his initial shock. ‘Following on your adventure, the obvious explanation is that they matched fibres and such from your clothes with those the killer left on his victim.’
She was stunned at the thought. ‘God, do you think so?’
‘Seems logical. You did well to run, my girl!’
She shuddered. ‘It just doesn’t seem possible – not someone we know! And he hasn’t been charged or anything. They could still release him.’
‘Time will tell. In the meantime, Graham should be home this evening. With luck, I can take the film round.’
‘I want to be there when he develops it,’ Kirsty said quickly.
‘I’ll call him first and let you know the score.’
‘Something horrible’s just occurred to me,’ Angie said when Kirsty rejoined her in the kitchen. ‘The police thought the attacker and the murderer were the same man, didn’t they? Which means it must have been Matt who raped Alicia, his own sister-in-law!’
‘That’s sick!’ Kirsty exclaimed.
‘And one more thing for poor Chrissie to face,’ Angie added soberly.
It was late that evening before Graham Yates answered his phone.
‘Adam!’ he exclaimed. ‘Good to hear from you! How …?’
‘Graham, the most amazing thing has happened!’ Adam broke in, unable to contain himself any longer. ‘Kirsty and I have found a film that we’re pretty sure is the one Mark took that last day.’
‘Hey, slow down! You’ve what? Where? How?’
‘I’ll explain when I see you. Will you be able to develop it?’
‘Depends what condition it’s in,’ Graham said. ‘Whether it’s been stored in a cool dry place and so on.’
Adam sent up a quick prayer that Bear hadn’t been hugged too enthusiastically or seen the inside of a washing machine. ‘It looks OK from the outside.’
‘Well, I’d certainly be fascinated to have a look at it. I—’
‘When can I bring it round?’
Graham gave a short laugh. ‘Yesterday, for preference?’
‘Sorry, it’s just—’
‘Of course, I understand. How about tomorrow?’
‘That would be perfect. Will you be able to tell at once if it’s salvageable?’
‘Probably, but bear in mind that it’s God knows how old, so the image will have regressed and base fog increased. It’ll need special treatment – I’ll have to change my processing routine, for instance – but it can probably be done.’
‘Have you the right equipment?’ Anxiety was strident in Adam’s voice.
‘The equipment, yes. Not so sure about the paper; it’ll have to be higher grade than usual, but if I haven’t any I could no doubt get hold of some.’
‘Obviously we’d reimburse you for any expense.’
‘Adam, your father was my best friend. If I can do anything to help nail his murderers, believe me I’ll do it, if it takes my last penny.’
Thank you,’ Adam said gruffly. ‘Tomorrow evening, then? And I think Kirsty would like to come.’
‘It’ll be great to see her at last. Eight o’clock-ish?’
‘We’ll be there,’ Adam said.
They didn’t speak as they drove out to the Yates’s house the next evening. Both were tense, turning over in their minds the possible answers now lying within their grasp. But suppose Bear had been through the washing machine? Suppose the film had been damaged beyond repair? They’d be back to squar
e one again.
Sue greeted them at the door. ‘Hello, Adam. And Kirsty – how lovely to see you after all this time! Come in, Graham’s expecting you.’
He came into the hall to meet them and, taking hold of Kirsty’s hands, kissed her on both cheeks. ‘I’ve waited a long time for this!’ he said. ‘I’d hoped to watch you growing up, but your aunt had other ideas. No doubt she had her reasons.’
‘Thanks so much for agreeing to help us,’ Kirsty said.
‘Well, come in and let the dog see the rabbit.’
They all went into the sitting room and Adam produced the canister from his pocket. His hand was shaking as he passed it over.
‘Where did you find it?’ Graham asked curiously as he tipped out the film.
They related the story and he shook his head incredulously. ‘It was pretty quick thinking on Mark and Emma’s part. What an ingenious hiding place.’
‘A bit too ingenious,’ Adam remarked feelingly. ‘It was sheer luck that we found it at all.’
‘But they’d have been expecting to retrieve it themselves as soon as they got home,’ Sue reminded them.
Noting their suddenly sober faces, Graham said briskly, ‘Well now, what part of the film do you think might be incriminating?’
Adam cleared his throat. ‘If, as we think, he’d only just seen this … incident, they’d be at the end – always supposing he finished the film. Why, won’t you be developing all of it?’
‘Of course, but first I suggest we do a test run, which would mean cutting eight or nine inches off the beginning. The danger is that this would have to be done in the dark and I might inadvertently cut through a negative, but if it’s unlikely to be a crucial one it might be worth risking. Several inches would be taken up by the tongue so we’d only get two or three images, but it would help me judge the increase in base fog and assess from that how much to increase the development time to achieve a reasonable image.’ He looked from one to the other. ‘Prepared to risk it?’
They both nodded at once.
‘At least we’d know then what we’re looking at.’
‘Could you do it now?’ Kirsty asked.
‘Yes, it’d only take about forty minutes.’
‘Just time for coffee and a chat!’ Sue said.
‘Then I’ll leave you in the capable hands of my wife. I’m as curious as you to find out what we have here.’
They were the longest forty minutes of their lives, and in fact it was closer to an hour before Graham rejoined them.
‘Unfortunately it wasn’t as straightforward as I’d hoped,’ he began. ‘The test process shows that due to age and storage the negs are likely to have a higher level of fog than I anticipated, which means I’ll have to increase development and then use a ferricyanide reducer to cut the base density.’
Adam grimaced. ‘I’m afraid that’s a bit technical for me. Does that mean they’re retrievable, or not?’
‘Oh yes; the results won’t be perfect but they should be good enough for your purposes.’
‘Can we see them?’ Kirsty asked eagerly.
‘Of course. They’re not quite dry, so take care only to hold them by the perforated edge. If you lift them to the light and look through this magnifier, you should be able to make out the subject matter.’
There were, as Graham had said, only two images, both seemingly taken at the fête Mrs Birchall had mentioned. It was just possible to make out an infant Kirsty nursing what appeared to be a baby rabbit and, on the other, Adam eating an ice cream.
‘You’ll be able to develop the whole film, then?’ Adam asked anxiously.
Graham nodded. ‘It’ll be a fairly lengthy process, but we should achieve the end product sometime tomorrow. I’ll let you know as soon as I have something.’
All through his classes that Wednesday Adam was longing to sneak a glance at his mobile which, of necessity, was on silent; but each time a lesson ended and he checked, it remained stubbornly uncommunicative. Suppose after all the film proved useless? It didn’t bear thinking about, but whatever the outcome, Graham had promised to let them know.
Fortuitously it was as he reached the staff room at the end of the afternoon that his mobile finally rang. He snatched it up and retreated to a corner, turning his back on the others in the room. ‘Graham?’
‘We have lift-off,’ Graham said crisply.
‘It worked? You could …?’
‘It did and I could.’
‘So what have we got?’
‘Come over and see for yourself.’
‘Give me half an hour,’ Adam said.
Kirsty, forewarned by his call, was at her gate when he drew up.
‘Did he say what was on it?’ she demanded as she slid into the car.
‘No, but it must be significant – he said we have lift-off.’
‘So the answer was in Bear all this time.’
‘It would seem so.’
There was an air of suppressed excitement about Graham as he admitted them.
‘Well, I reckon we’ve got ’em red-handed,’ he said with satisfaction. ‘Mark used a long-focus zoom so the faces should be identifiable. All we have to do now is track down who they belong to.’
He lifted a pile of prints from the table and sifted through them. Kirsty moved closer, leaning in to look as Graham handed over the first he’d selected. ‘This is the start of the action,’ he said.
The scene appeared to have been taken from a hill above Lake Belvedere, showing the lake bathed in watery sunshine. A boat bobbed at its edge, and on the bank three men stood facing each other, one with his back to the camera.
Adam’s eyes narrowed suddenly. ‘Is that a fishing line? There, propped against that rock? God, Kirsty! One of them must be Tony Vine!’
Graham flashed him a look of enquiry, but they were already passing to the next print, in which a man was gesticulating. By the scene after that he’d closed in to confront one of the others, his stance aggressive.
‘Now look at this,’ Graham said grimly.
They flicked through the remaining prints in shocked silence as the grim sequence played out – the punch, Vine on the ground, the raised rock, the actual blow, the third man belatedly hanging on to the attacker’s arm. But the shot of that third man kneeling beside him, his face raised, provoked an instantaneous and horrified reaction.
‘God, I recognize him!’ Adam exclaimed.
And Kirsty: ‘The photo at Mrs Ferris’s! Adam, it’s her second husband! Oh, that poor woman!’
‘You’re not saying you know that man?’ Graham demanded in amazement.
‘Not personally, thank God.’ Adam’s voice was shaking. ‘But we can tell you his name. It’s Dean Ferris.’
‘Then we’ve got him!’ Triumph rang in Graham’s voice.
‘He wasn’t the killer,’ Kirsty pointed out, but he dismissed the mitigation.
‘Believe me, he’s no innocent. See what happens next.’ And he handed over the final two prints: the inert body being heaved into the boat and the two men rowing out into the lake.
‘Murder most foul,’ he summarized. ‘Now, tell me how the hell you’ve managed to identify two of the three men.’
Sue, who’d been hovering quietly in the background, came in with a tea trolley. ‘I thought you’d be in need of something after all that,’ she said. ‘Sit down and relax for a while, and you can go through the rest of the photos. They brought back so many memories to Graham and me, seeing you as we knew you all those years ago. There aren’t any of Mark, unfortunately, him being the photographer – it’s the same in our family – but there are one or two of Emma, bless her.’
So, still shaken and disbelieving, they looked at the remainder of the prints, nearly all of which had been taken at the fête, while the hot tea served to diminish their shock, as Sue had intended. And they explained about Tony Vine’s disappearance on the crucial day and their visit to his widow, now Mrs Dean Ferris.
‘So what’s the next step?’ Graham aske
d.
‘We take the film to DI Fleming,’ Adam replied promptly.
‘Will it be enough to nail them?’ Kirsty asked.
‘Enough to bring them in for questioning, that’s for sure,’ Graham pronounced. ‘Any idea who the third man was?’
‘No, but he and Ferris must be close, if not before this happened then certainly after, though it’s possible he could have died in the interim.’
‘It’s Mrs Ferris who I feel sorry for,’ Kirsty commented. ‘Imagine discovering you’re married to someone who saw your first husband murdered and helped to tip him in the lake! You’re right, Graham, he’s almost equally to blame. Even if he didn’t strike the blow, he helped dispose of the body and kept quiet all these years. For that matter he might have been the one who killed Mum and Dad.’
‘They must have spotted Mark when they were out on the lake,’ Graham surmised. ‘Though how the hell they knew who he was or how to find him, God knows. I doubt if we ever shall.’
‘But why kill Mum too?’ Kirsty demanded, a catch in her voice. ‘What had she ever done to them?’
They stayed talking it over for another half hour, then Adam got to his feet. ‘I must get back – there’s a staff meeting at eight. We can’t thank you enough, Graham, for producing these for us.’
‘To say you’re welcome is an understatement. I’ll be waiting with bated breath for the next instalment.’
‘How soon can we go back?’ Kirsty asked, as they drove away from the house. ‘Will we have to wait for the weekend? I can manage anytime, but—’
‘It can’t be tomorrow, unfortunately,’ Adam said. ‘I have wall-to-wall classes, but Friday’s free. We could make an early start then.’
‘Couldn’t we fly up, rather than face that long drive again?’
He shook his head. ‘The nearest airport’s miles from Hawkston; it would mean all the hassle of arranging for a hire car and still having to drive fifty-odd miles. Not worth it.’
‘I’ll book rooms at the George, then. Will you phone Fleming in advance?’
‘No. I’d rather see his face when we hand him the prints. If the other man’s local, he’s sure to know him.’
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