Deep Fear

  ‘How can the writing be cool and angry at the same time?’

  ‘Good question. The execution is cool, the emotion is angry.’

  It was a good answer.

  ‘Can you confirm a definite match between the first and second samples, Doctor?’ she asked. They’d have to get a second opinion, to tick that box, at a later date.

  ‘Emphatically, yes.’

  Bingo. She pumped the air and slapped her desk. A few heads poked round her doorway and she smiled and pointed towards the phone. Such gesticulation from DI Kelly Porter usually meant good news, and a buzz spread around the office. It was their watertight proof that Moira and Brandy were killed by the same sicko.

  ‘Can you tell if the writer is left- or right-handed, Dr Modus?’

  ‘Sometimes, yes. But not always and it’s not foolproof. Sometimes (in about one percent of the population) a writer crosses their t in such a definitive way that you can tell if it’s been done to the left or the right. I think this person is left-handed, but I couldn’t say one hundred percent.’

  ‘What about the eight samples I sent to you marked appendices 1 through to 7, Doctor?’ She referred to the samples they’d collected from witnesses of interest so far: James and Colin Tate, Terrance Johnson, the Reverend Neil Thomas, Timothy Cole, plus Brian, Jason and Barry – the jolly trio who, in Kelly’s eyes, had abused Brandy’s body as badly as had her killer on her last night alive.

  ‘Of course, that’s why I called, Detective, I’m afraid none of them are matches.’

  ‘Really?’ Kelly felt deflation but, in honesty, not huge surprise.

  ‘Really, Detective. There are several clinchers in all eight cases. I’ve included it in an email I’ve prepared, I’ll send it this afternoon.’

  Thank you so much, Dr Modus. And the four examples I sent together, under the heading, ‘Yorkshire’? I explained that they were from several years ago.’ Her fists clenched, and her breathing slowed.

  ‘Of course. These examples were fascinating, and I spent a long time on them, letting a sizeable number of other priorities slide, I have to tell you,’ he said, pleased with himself.

  ‘Thank you so much, Doctor. I really appreciate that,’ her heart pounded. ‘Did you reach any conclusions?’ Kelly closed her eyes.

  ‘I think I’m right in saying that a graphologist confirmed that the four cases were a match,’ he said. Kelly hadn’t explained herself properly, she chided herself. But before she could go further, the doctor was talking again, about how wonderful it was to find such specimens.

  ‘Now, I specialise in handwriting over time, and there is always the possibility that a person’s handwriting changes completely from, say, adolescence, to adulthood, but that’s not the case here.’ Kelly’s heart sank.

  ‘The changes are more subtle. I have no doubt at all that the loops, use of punctuation, and personality traits obvious in the text, are all the same work as the first two examples from this month. The slant is all over the place, but when the slant goes back – as it does in the older adult – it’s a match. The force is less but one would expect that in, perhaps, an undecided mind, or one that regrets one’s actions or is not wholly certain of them at the time. By way of example, the reference to Hebrews 12:5-7, “Those whom the Lord loves, he disciplines, and he scourges…” There are no spelling mistakes, and look at the inverted commas – people either use double or single speech marks and this never really changes throughout their lives – it’s a learned behaviour, like all habits.’

  Kelly’s stomach was churning. It couldn’t be, she dared not believe. Surely, this was an enormous break, on a gigantic scale. Now they could pool resources with Yorks and Humberside Police, treble no, quadruple the scale, and nail this bastard, who was running out of places to hide.

  ‘Dr Modus, are you happy to state in a court of law, under oath, that it is in your opinion that the same person penned all six passages?’

  ‘Yes, I am.’

  ‘Thank you,’ she said simply. She covered her head with her hand.

  ‘Now, the loops are another thing altogether,’ the doctor took off again, and Kelly had to find a way to slam down the phone and call the DI in West Yorks.

  ‘Dr Modus, I’ve just had a message passed to me, and it’s urgent I’m afraid, thank you so much for your help, and I can’t wait to read your report in full detail. I’m so sorry I really need to leave it there.’

  ‘Oh, of course, Detective. I understand. Well, I’m glad I was of service and if you need anything explaining, my handwriting is appalling. That’s a joke, by the way,’ he said. Kelly was glad that she wasn’t Mrs Modus.

  ‘Lovely, Doctor, bye now.’ She hung up.

  It was just the boost they needed.

  She called Yorkshire police.

  Chapter 38

  The quickest way up Hart Crag was to land a helicopter at Boredale but, of the two available, one was in maintenance, and the other – recently occupied by Johnny to get to the lady on High Street – was on its way to Furness General Hospital in Barrow-in-Furness. The next quickest way was for Johnny to hike from Patterdale. He could be up there in twenty-five minutes, but the coppers would take twice that time. Kelly could smash it, but she might not make it here in time to allow them to set off, and he looked at his watch again. The police suggested that one officer go with Johnny and the other wait for the helicopter to drop off the patient and head back, then meet them at Boredale with the medics.

  ‘You need to lose all that mate,’ Johnny said to the officer in full kit. The sun was searing, and the climb was notoriously steep. The officer agreed, and gave his stuff to his colleague, who’d hand it over once they were on top.

  ‘Have you got sun cream?’ Johnny asked.

  The officer shook his head. Johnny reached into his back pack and brought out some factor fifty; he never wore anything less. The officer rubbed it into his face, concentrating on his nose, and handed it back. Johnny drove the short drive to Patterdale and parked in the car park, as close as he could to the small gate at the bottom of the climb. Most of the ascent was exposed to the elements; there was no shade whatsoever, and it would be hot. Johnny carried three litres of water and gave another to the officer.

  It wasn’t the first time that Johnny would’ve seen a dead body on a mountainside, but it was the first time he’d led a mission to ascertain if it was indeed a body in the first place. He tried to think what items could be mistaken for a body, but came up blank. The hikers had not approached the object, but had made the call from a distance of around sixty metres. Johnny knew, from experience, that bodies were most certainly identifiable from sixty metres.

  ‘I’m Johnny, by the way,’ he said, and held out his hand for the officer.

  ‘Dan, nice one, mate. Huge respect for you guys, you do an awesome job,’ said Dan.

  Johnny didn’t care much for compliments, but appreciated the sentiment.

  ‘You do much hiking, Dan?’ Johnny was trying to gauge the correct pace; he didn’t want to kill the bloke. He looked late twenties/early thirties so he should have been fit but these days one never knew. A twenty-year-old could easily look fit but, if they played Xbox all day long and ate burgers, then it wouldn’t be long before Johnny could have them blowing out of their arses, on their knees.

  ‘Most weekends, mate. I want to do what you do, when I leave,’ Dan said. Thank God, thought Johnny.

  They heard a woman’s voice and looked behind them. True to her word, Kelly had managed to get into some walking gear and head over to Patterdale. She owed Johnny, big time. Without him, she’d have found out hours later. It could be a hoax, a fake, an animal, or even a mannequin, but Kelly was taking no chances.

  Johnny looked at Kelly’s body underneath her shorts and small vest top. She’d make it up this hill in less than thirty minutes if the copper kept up. He smiled at her and popped his sunglasses onto his head.

  ‘Detective Porter,’ Kelly said and held out her hand to Dan. Dan shook her hand and
allowed her to go ahead of him.

  Johnny set off hard. They turned a sharp corner past a house, and then the hill stretched upwards ahead. Kelly had been up the path dozens of times. During the summer, it was brown from over use, and bracken framed it: thick, heavy and green. Another twist in the path offered a natural water stop and Johnny sucked hard on his Camelbak, Dan did the same, and Kelly waited. She looked back to the White Lion at Patterdale and it looked tiny already. The ascent was one of the sharpest in the area so it wasn’t rammed with walkers, like the lower fells, but they spotted the odd group of friends, and a few couples, descending. They all exchanged hearty greetings, and the walkers carried smiles so wide, Johnny called it the fell face. Eyes enlarged, cheeks red, breathing deep, and a smile threatening to burst off the face meant only one thing: a summit in the lakes.

  Finally, they came across a path that levelled out a little and Dan caught his breath. Kelly decided to take a drink. She took off her small back pack, and took out a bottle of water.

  Higher up, they crossed a few brooks and Johnny suggested they take advantage of the fresh water, it was crystal clear and full of the earth and her minerals. It was delicious. Dan rubbed some on his face, and they ploughed on.

  Johnny noticed that Dan was falling behind, and stopped to wait for him to catch up. Kelly waited higher up. No-one rushed the policeman; the last thing any man wanted to be told, was that their physical prowess was lagging behind another’s. Especially when there was an age gap of around twenty years and a woman up ahead. They took more water.

  ‘Look,’ Johnny said, pointing south. ‘Brotherswater.’

  Dan turned and followed Johnny’s finger. It was an excuse for another stop. Kelly was growing irritable, and Johnny knew it, but they had no choice but to all ascend together.

  The snaking road over Kirkstone Pass was clearly visible, and they even made out caravans clogging the route. To the north, the southern tip of Ullswater looked miles away, yet they didn’t feel as though they’d climbed far. They carried on.

  They finally reached a level expanse, and Dan took deep breaths as he recovered, his thighs burning. He wished he’d eaten more for lunch. They took on water and enjoyed the wind whipping across the vast grassland that could take them east to Beda Fell or south to Angletarn Pikes, but they were going north back towards Ullswater, and past Place Fell, to Hart Crag. Dan looked ahead, thinking they might be close, because of the distance they’d climbed vertically. It must be almost two thousand feet, he thought. But they still had a way to go. Kelly strode ahead and Dan began to think that she was some professional hiker or something. Detectives were supposed to languish behind desks, eat cold pizza and drink warm beer.

  Johnny handed him a chunk of Kendal Mint Cake and he took it gratefully. ‘Cheers, mate,’ Dan said. They headed towards another steep ascent, and this one was rocky.

  ‘Almost there now,’ said Johnny encouragingly. He watched Kelly ahead. She was bull-headed, like he used to be, and it amused him.

  They met several walkers coming the other way, and Dan looked for signs that they’d seen the same view as the two hikers who’d reported the body, but none seemed to. It must be well hidden. Perhaps the hikers were lost, or strayed from the path for some open air fun and games, like a lot of youngsters did. It was rare to find opportunities for outdoor sex these days, and the Lakes offered perhaps more than its fair share. Dan had been called to many a rendezvous to move people along, and it still made him smile. Why people couldn’t just use a bed was a question he asked himself over and over again but then he supposed it was the risk of getting caught that they loved.

  A dead body would certainly put that fire out.

  Dan’s thighs wobbled under the strain of the final ascent, and he clambered on hands and knees over the rocks. He was only twenty-nine years old, but he smoked too many fags, and when he walked at the weekend with the Mrs, they took it slow, had countless breaks, took in the scenery, and ended up in the pub. These two were mountain goats, and he felt embarrassed.

  They made it to the top and Johnny pointed to the trig point for Place Fell, it wasn’t far now. Hart Crag was just beyond, and hopefully the helicopter could take them all down.

  Dan was thankful for the even terrain at the top. A few steps towards Ullswater, and the story was much different. The helicopter could hover up here, but it would be impossible to land, and Hart Crag was another five hundred feet higher.

  They stopped for water and another piece of Kendal Mint Cake, then carried on towards the higher fell. In the distance, they heard the chopper, and Johnny took his radio out of his pocket and spoke to Marie. Kelly watched him. They were nearly there.

  ‘They’ve landed at Boredale, they’re waiting for further instruction. Let’s see if we can find something,’ said Johnny. He spoke into his radio again, ‘Marie, where exactly were the hikers when they spotted it?’

  ‘Close to the summit, Johnny, on the north side. Repeat: north edge.’ Johnny replaced his radio, and carried on.

  ‘North edge,’ he said to Kelly. She nodded. The wind picked up as they became more exposed, the higher they went. Johnny turned around and shouted to Dan, but his voice got lost in the wind and, again, he waited until the policeman caught up. Kelly stopped and took a sweater out of her back pack. She put it on.

  ‘It’s round there,’ Johnny shouted, pointing north. The climb wasn’t as taxing as the first ascending quarter of Place Fell, but the wind made it surprisingly cold.

  Johnny stopped abruptly and beckoned behind him with his hand. Dan and Kelly understood, and followed Johnny’s gaze. A small elevation above them, and to the north, something looked out of place. The terrain was a mixed fudge of brown and green, as far as the eye could see, until it met the sky, and then it was pure azure blue. Further up, into the hemisphere, it turned silver, with the sun.

  But what they saw was none of these colours. It was a grey-white mass, dotted with dark tangles, and the three walkers knew straight away that it was, indeed, a body. Johnny reached for his radio, as did Dan. Kelly called Eden House.

  ‘Marie, I think it’s a body. The two officers with me agree. It’s twenty feet away from us. I can get to it, but we’ll have to make the rescue from the air, you can’t land. Repeat, you cannot land,’ Johnny added. ‘It’s definitely female, but she looks young, I’m not even sure she’s an adult.’ Johnny looked away. There was something so adolescent about the body – maybe it was her hips, or breasts – he didn’t know, but he knew that he felt sick.

  And angry. His thoughts turned to Josie.

  Dan spoke to his colleague, waiting in the helicopter.

  ‘Tell the medics to get ready,’ Johnny said. ‘We’re literally just short of the summit, and we’re dropping down to the northern face. There’s a huge boulder, Marie. It’s above that.’

  ‘Nobody’s going anywhere until I’ve searched the whole scene, including the body, Johnny. It could take me hours,’ Kelly said. Johnny nodded, and relayed the message to Marie, who’d have to find some way of putting the helicopter on stand-by for when the search was complete. By then, it might not be available, and the poor girl might have to stay up here overnight.

  As they waited, Johnny came to one conclusion: that whoever got this body up here was not just strong, but scary as hell, and he wasn’t sure he wanted Kelly going after him. But he also knew that he couldn’t stop her.

  Chapter 39

  The team in the incident room watched the sixty-inch TV screen mounted on the wall. They were silent.

  Kelly bit the end of her pen. Rob shook his head and drained his coffee. Others tutted. If Sky TV had ordered a backdrop to perfectly match their coverage, then they’d done a good job and knew important people in high places. Torrential rain drenched the fells, and a woman in a red raincoat stood alone, in front of a Penrith housing estate, with the distant brown mountains brooding behind her. The wind-driven deluge soaked her clothes, and she’d left her raincoat slightly open to further dramatise the
brutality of the setting, where three women had been tortured and killed – and the police were doing nothing about it. It was the first rain for two months, and it fell hard, as if on order from Sky News.

  The journo’s face was heavily made up, and Kelly couldn’t help thinking that she must be touched up by the make-up artist between each take, to keep looking that good.

  ‘The Teacher seems still to evade Cumbria Police who have not, as yet, given a statement about the latest body to be found here in the Lake District.’ She paused to waft dramatically behind her, as if the mountains themselves were to blame. They remained stubbornly silent in answer.

  ‘The latest victim, fourteen-year-old Aileen Bickerstaff, brings the total to three in the space of just one week. Cumbria Police say that they are working a number of leads, but an inside source told me this morning that they have no solid suspects and don’t know where to turn next.’

  The woman paused again, smiling stoically, and adjusting her hood for just long enough for the general public to think the Cumbria Constabulary a bunch of muppets. Grunts and exclamations went up around the room and Kelly bit the end of her pen clean off.

  ‘Fuckers,’ she said, unable to help herself.

  ‘Too right, Guv.’

  The screen panned to a small living room, and Kelly let out a groan. ‘For God’s sake! Who sobered her up?’

  Sharon Carter sat meekly on the edge of a sofa, and Kelly wondered how long it had taken the Sky production team to clear a space in her flat.

  ‘My Brands was everything to me,’ Sharon sobbed. Dave Kent sat next to her, holding her hand, occasionally looking towards the camera, enjoying his moment of fame.

  In the incident room, heads fell into hands through sheer embarrassment, and Kelly’s blood boiled.

  ‘You have got to be kidding!’ said Kelly.