Deep Fear

  The man puffed out his chest, and the uniform rolled his eyes.

  ‘What’s she done now?’ the man asked. Emma couldn’t tell if he was referring to the mother or daughter. Clearly he expected both to cause trouble.

  ‘May we speak to Sharon Carter please? Is she in?’ Emma asked.

  ‘She is, but you won’t wake her. She’s pissed up, as usual. Good luck, I’m off out,’ he said. The man had clearly been at the back of the queue in charm school. He tried to push past them.

  ‘I’m afraid that’s out of the question, Mr…?’ Emma said.

  ‘Me?’ he asked, jutting his chin towards them.

  ‘Yes, you,’ said Emma. She thought she’d like to knee this man in his fat groin, and watch him wobble. The uniform’s money was on his colleague.

  ‘I’m a…friend,’ he finally said, cagily.

  ‘Name?’ Emma insisted again.

  The man looked evasive. ‘Dave,’ he said, finally.

  ‘Surname, Dave? Don’t waste my time.’

  ‘Kent,’ he replied. His chest deflated a little.

  ‘Thank you, that wasn’t so hard was it? Excuse me. Stay here please,’ she said, and squeezed past him, walking into the flat. It smelled of stale cigarettes and was laden with dirty air. In the living area, a woman lay on the sofa. She was laid on her side, and Emma could only see her back. When the uniform walked in behind her the woman farted but, other than that, remained comatose.

  Emma walked over to the woman and put her hand on her arm, still she didn’t move. Emma shook her gently and the woman rolled over, just a little, and Emma saw her face. It was haggard and too old; deep wrinkles crisscrossed the yellow, puffy skin and broken veins slivered across the woman’s nose and cheeks. Emma didn’t need to be close to smell the alcohol.

  Dave Kent appeared behind them, and Emma turned around.

  ‘Mr Kent, we need to speak with Mrs Carter as soon as possible. What was your relationship to her daughter, Brandy?’ she said.

  ‘Was?’ he asked, warily.

  Emma said nothing and waited.

  ‘She moved out ages ago, I haven’t seen her in months. She was shacked up with her boyfriend. Sharon hasn’t seen her either,’ he said.

  ‘Do you live here, Mr Kent?’

  ‘Kind of, yes.’

  ‘What does that mean?’ The man was evasive to the point of suspicious.

  ‘I stay here sometimes but not all the time,’ he said.

  ‘Right, so were you here for the past week?’ Emma ploughed on.

  ‘No. I was on the road. I’m a driver,’ he said.

  Drivers had poor alibis.

  ‘Mr Kent, we need to speak to Mrs Carter because Brandy is dead. Her body was found this morning near Aira Force.’

  Dave Kent bent his head but didn’t appear overly bothered; more shifty and uncomfortable.

  ‘As soon as she sobers up, can you call me?’ Emma asked. Dave Kent nodded and took the card offered by the detective.

  ‘When was the last time you saw Brandy?’ Emma asked.

  He shifted from foot to foot and ran his fingers through his thinning hair.

  ‘Erm… I’d say about two months ago, she was round here after money from her mother, I…’ he stopped.

  ‘You what?’

  ‘Nothing, I…are you sure?’ he asked. A chink of compassion glanced over his face, then disappeared.

  ‘Yes, we’re sure. But Mrs Carter will have to formally identify her daughter for our records. So you say she was likely staying with a boyfriend? Where might that be? Name?’

  ‘I don’t know, she was always hanging around with the wrong people. I saw her with a crowd over Scaws Estate a lot. Someone told me she was hanging round with Brian Wick, he’s a nasty piece of work if ever I knew one,’ he said.

  The irony, Emma thought.

  Chapter 26

  Karen Cole answered the phone.

  ‘Karen.’

  ‘Tim? Are you alright?’

  ‘Look,’ he said. He paced up and down the street outside Eden House. He was thankful to be out of that wretched room, and he’d been toying with what to tell his wife. The detectives would be there soon, and he didn’t have much time to warn her, and come up with a plausible excuse. He ran his fingers through his hair, and to a passer-by he looked like an office worker, stressed and perhaps in trouble, having got some figures wrong.

  Sweat stained under his arms, and he’d completely removed his tie. He was free to go, and the only place he could think of was back to work. The priority, though, was coming up with a suitable story. Thank God the kids were at school; on Saturday mornings they were submersed in sports and revision and wouldn’t be home for hours.

  ‘Karen, I haven’t got a lot of time, and I’ve got to get back to work, but something has happened and I don’t want you to panic. You know that woman who they found up at Watermillock recently?’

  ‘Yes, of course I do. It’s in all the papers.’

  ‘Well, she was a patient of mine. Now they’ve found another one. Another body, Karen. She was my patient too.’

  ‘Tim, you’re scaring me. What do you mean they’ve found another body?’

  ‘A young girl was found this morning, up at Aira Force. I operated on her two years ago. They think they’re connected.’

  ‘What?’ Her voice was pitched. He had to be careful. Karen wasn’t known for her calm nature under duress.

  ‘Karen, calm down. I need you to think. They have a search warrant for the house.’

  ‘What?’ she screamed.

  ‘Karen! Karen! Listen to me. It doesn’t mean anything. They aren’t charging me with anything. They don’t think it was me, I’m their only connection because I’m a fucking doctor, sorry – a doctor: I was their doctor, but look, everything will be alright. They’re the police, Karen; I can’t keep them away. They can do what they want, and, right now, what they want is to snoop around our house.’

  ‘You’ve got to come home!’

  ‘Karen, I can’t. You have to stay calm. You can do this. They just want to look around. I have to get back to work. I’m operating on a twelve-year-old and if he doesn’t get this operation, chances are he’ll never walk again.’ It was a white lie. He’d already operated on said twelve-year-old, saving his legs, yesterday. But neither Karen nor the police needed to know that.’

  Karen whimpered. Tim closed his eyes. ‘The children.’

  ‘They’ll be gone when they get home.’

  ‘What are they looking for, Tim? Is there something you haven’t told me?’

  ‘No! I don’t know. They might take some stuff, Christ, Karen, can you just hold it together, for once? Please?’

  It was a low blow.

  She hung up.

  He went to work, calling the best lawyer he knew, on his way.

  * * *

  DC Will Phillips and DC Rob Shawcross were virtually five minutes away from the property when Tim Cole’s wife slammed the phone on to its port. She heard the gravel on the driveway and went to the curtains to peek outside. They were obviously coppers; they wore cheap suits, drove an inexpensive Ford, and looked generally as though they were on sub-fifty grand salaries.

  Besides, no-one else was expected.

  She rung her hands, took a deep breath and went to the door.

  ‘Good afternoon.’ The shorter one was in charge.

  He handed her a piece of paper, like Tim told her he would, and she stepped aside.

  ‘We need you to stay inside the property, ma’am. We don’t want to disturb you any more than we have to.’ The true reason was so if they were accused of planting evidence, they could testify in court that the homeowner was present during the search. They’d decided to go ahead in the absence of Mr Cole, though, firstly because DI Porter had him, and secondly, so he couldn’t tamper with anything. It was a big house, including a pool house and various wings used for games and leisure. They guy was loaded. They waited for her to read the document.

  Karen r
ead the sheet of paper. It gave them free rein to search everywhere. She hadn’t even had time to tidy up. All the beds were unmade. Last night’s dishes were in the sink, and several empty bottles of wine sat on the counter. She blushed.

  She watched as the two men carried in two hefty satchels, opened them, and took out plastic covers for their feet. They also put on gloves.

  Once inside, Will and Rob spread out. There was a rigid protocol surrounding searches under warrant, and it was all to do with protecting the integrity of the scene, should, in the future, the evidence be challenged in court. If the scene were to be compromised, then it could ruin a case. Everything - from a sweet paper in a waste paper bin, to evidence of bodily fluid - would be photographed, logged, written up, sent to the lab, and witnessed three times. Lawyers made a living off derailing investigations and suing on behalf of clients who are guilty as hell, and it was a nightmare for any force.

  Methodology was their best friend, and they set about combing each room at a time. They’d get to the out houses soon enough. They’d brought everything they needed, from evidence bags and dusting kit, to swabs and ultra-violet torches. They were tasked with performing a regular search, plus looking for particular items such as straps, medical equipment, literature and DNA. By his own admission, Tim Cole had regular sex with Moira, so DNA evidence would be defunct. They needed more to make a charge, something linked to Brandy perhaps.

  In the study, a cursory rummage showed that Tim Cole was the landlord of several Penrith rental properties and was in fact quite a real estate magnate. They took the details and photographed relevant documents. The bookcase was photographed. It contained various medical journals, and works by obscure physicians.

  The inside search took over an hour, and in that time, Karen Cole hadn’t moved. She watched as their search went outside to the garage and sheds. There, they found what any garage might contain: rope, tarpaulin, garden tools and cable ties. A quick ultra-violet test confirmed that no blood was present. Two cars were parked in there and both were unlocked. A thorough search of them was carried out, and fibres, litter and the boot contents were collected. It was all very pedestrian. The tyres of both vehicles were photographed for their prints. The prints from Tim Cole’s private vehicle – the Aston Martin – had been done at Eden House.

  DC Phillips called DI Porter.

  ‘We’re pretty much done here, Guv.’

  ‘Anything of interest?’

  ‘Not on first glance.’

  ‘Ok, come in and let’s process the lot.’

  After the officers had gone, Karen Cole closed the door and leant against the cold wood. She felt violated. Her watch told her that, in under an hour, her children would return home, and she’d have to begin thinking about their dinner. Her priority was to make sure that their rooms all looked normal. She found toothbrushes missing, as well as some personal items, and even underwear. She could make excuses for everything. Besides, the children wouldn’t even notice.

  Her main focus was waiting for her husband to come home.

  He had some explaining to do.

  Chapter 27

  They had to wait until gone eleven o’clock for the sun to completely disappear over the mountains to the north of Aira Force.

  Kelly had explained her reasons to her team and had asked for a volunteer. Of course Rob had offered straight away, but she’d made sure the others weren’t overly keen to tag along; she didn’t want anyone thinking that she was favouring the young man who was swiftly fancying himself her protégé. The moon was in a new phase and the waxing sliver of silver shone brightly in the clear sky. As they pulled off the A592, there was no other vehicle about, and the road was eerily quiet. Perhaps the same had been true the night Brandy Carter had been driven here. Ted Wallis had given her time of death as approximately fifteen to twenty-four hours before she was found, and Kelly believed that she’d been dumped at night: the tourist attraction would be far too busy during the day. Even for a narcissistic giant ego, it was too risky.

  ‘I want to see what it’s like without any ambient light,’ she said to Rob, who yawned. They’d worked fifteen hours straight, but Kelly was still bright, and she pulled off the road and parked. The uniform whose unfortunate job it was to make sure no-one passed the police tape at night, nodded, and untied one end to let the vehicle enter the car park. Rob got his jacket from the back. The day had been a scorcher, but without the sun, the temperature soon fell, and he guessed it to be around ten degrees. Kelly pulled on a hooded sweater. They both wore casual clothes and footwear; they weren’t strictly on duty.

  They got out and Kelly walked to the uniform behind the police tape.

  ‘All quiet?’ she asked. He nodded. He had a vehicle to shelter in when he felt like it, and probably a few flasks of coffee to keep him going.

  ‘On your own?’ Kelly asked.

  ‘Yes, ma’am. My partner rang in sick and she wasn’t replaced. I’m fine,’ he said, reading her concern.

  ‘We’re just going to have a look around,’ she said to him.

  ‘At night, ma’am?’ he asked, curious.

  ‘It’s a different perspective,’ she said, and the young copper nodded. If it was him, he’d be at the pub or in front of the TV, but he’d heard that the detective liked to do things her way. Strange lot, detectives, he thought. Rob shook the policeman’s hand and they headed off to the trees. Kelly held a large diving torch because it was the most powerful she had.

  She’d walked the route during the day a thousand times, but it was so different at night. She’d expected it to be so, but was still surprised at how it changed the senses. The noises were different, the smells were different, it felt different under foot, and it made progress slow. There were so many invisible obstacles to tackle without daylight.

  ‘Fuck!’ she said, as she tripped over a hidden root and tumbled into a bush. Rob came to her aid and, between them, they got her back on her feet. She had twigs and leaves in her hair, and her hands were muddy.

  ‘How the hell did someone carry a body through this lot?’ she asked.

  ‘No idea, Guv. I haven’t been up here for years but I have to say, there are so many other places which are easier to get to,’ Rob said.

  ‘I suppose that’s the point. It would have taken extraordinary focus and local knowledge. I wonder how long it took,’ she thought aloud. Rob looked at his watch.

  ‘We’ve been walking for twenty minutes already,’ he said.

  ‘How heavy was Brandy?’ she asked. Her whole team knew Brandy’s autopsy report inside out. Kelly knew the answer but was vocalising her train of thought. Rob was used to the way she did this now, and he didn’t answer.

  ‘Seven and a half stone wet through,’ she answered herself. ‘Could you carry a dead weight of fifty kilos this far, Rob?’ she asked.

  ‘No, I don’t think so.’

  ‘And you work out, don’t you?’

  ‘Yes, but it’s the terrain, Guv. Not the weight. He would have had to have taken it pretty slow, either that or fallen over a few times.’

  ‘There weren’t any superficial scratches on Brandy, so my guess is that she was wrapped up. I wonder if he dragged her.’

  They made it through the narrow pathway to where it opened out, and it was a relief. The next part was fairly easy. Kelly shone her torch around the path in case she spotted something. She was looking for anything – a caught piece of material perhaps, a scrap of fabric or a drag mark. There was nothing. After fifteen hours, Brandy might not necessarily have had any rigor mortis.

  ‘Why go to all this trouble?’

  ‘Maybe it’s something to do with the poem, Guv,’ Rob suggested.

  ‘But the poem isn’t about Aira Force is it?’

  ‘Not that I know of, Guv,’ Rob said. ‘It is pretty dramatic though. The first poem wasn’t about Watermillock, or a church,’ he added. Kelly agreed.

  ‘The reverend said something about the Lakeland Poets having their own kind of religion: in natur
e.’

  ‘It’s certainly no accident, you wouldn’t stumble on this place and say to yourself: oh this is a good spot.’

  Kelly agreed. But a church and a waterfall. She couldn’t make the connection.

  The sound of the water became all encompassing, and Kelly wondered if the killer found it comforting. It didn’t seem as though one was alone up here, with the water roaring as a constant reminder of life. The air was fresher nearer the water, and it pushed gusts outwards and upwards. The moon was shrouded in cloud and the night was blacker than anything Kelly had witnessed before. So much for choosing a new moon. The view of the stars was outstanding though, and Kelly believed their killer to be a lover of nature, and extremely comfortable in its company.

  Kelly felt chilly as they neared the top. She felt exposed and every one of the sixty-five foot drop beckoned her. If she didn’t know better, she would have said that it was an extraordinary mark of respect to leave someone here, but they knew the opposite to be true. No-one who tortured and maimed like their killer, knew any respect at all. They’d talked to the rangers, who hadn’t seen a thing, as well as appealing for tourists to come forward who’d visited the attraction recently. The family who’d made the grim find had packed up and gone home early, put off The Lakes for life.

  They reached the little bridge, and the might of the falls assaulted them. White water, clear in the little light available, tumbled endlessly into the depths below them. The power of it was staggering.

  ‘I wonder if he stopped to admire the view,’ Kelly said.

  ‘Where was she?’ Rob asked. Kelly knew the area better than he did.

  ‘Up here,’ she said, and he followed. She guided him above the waterfall, to a quieter glade of trees, where the water ran slower and calmer. Kelly stopped and shone her light towards some trees. ‘There,’ she said.

  ‘Christ,’ Rob said. ‘What an effort,’ he added.

  Kelly nodded. This is what she’d come for, at such an unsociable hour: to witness, like the killer himself, the isolation and staggering atmosphere of the place. She imagined him dropping the body while he took in the beauty and majesty of the spot. He must care, she thought. He had to care about the place. It was so significant that Kelly was convinced that their killer planned every detail to precision. He had a relationship with this place, as well as the church where he’d left Moira. Kelly bit her lip.