Deep Fear

by Deep Fear (retail) (epub)

  The news piqued Kelly’s interest. ‘Where are you? Are you on your way back?’

  ‘That’s not all. I spoke to the niece of a woman who had a life changing fall while in the charge of Tania Stewart in Workington, in 1999. She said it was well known that Stewart believed in sterilisation for orphans and euthanasia for the elderly. The woman was scared out of her wits, but she did tell officers investigating accusations of abuse, just before Stewart left to go and work in Yorkshire. She slipped through the loop of coordinated police checks, and her history stayed back here in the North West. No-one in Yorkshire knew what she was like,’ he said.

  ‘Do you know where the old resident lives?’ she asked.

  ‘Penrith.’

  ‘Name?’

  ‘Douglas Alexander.’

  It wasn’t one of the names of the children from the Whitehaven fire, whose fate was, as yet, uncertain. But it was another lead.

  Chapter 44

  Sarah Tate’s original statement had been taken by two uniforms, and it had been perfunctory and standard. Nothing had flagged red lights to Kelly, and it had been filed away with all the others.

  Until now.

  They’d had a call from her wanting to meet with a detective and Kelly’s interest was stoked. She’d set aside half an hour or so to meet with the woman, and Rob was available to assist.

  She was a small woman in her late thirties who fiddled with the corners of her jacket, which she’d thrown over her arm as an afterthought. They sat in an interview room in Eden House and waited for Ms Tate to get whatever it was that was bothering her off her chest. They were calm and patient, though inside Kelly began to regret setting aside time, and her mind wandered to other things she had to do. The woman had been fetched coffee and water in an attempt to make her feel relaxed. As relaxed as one could be in a police interview cell.

  ‘I’m worried about my brother.’ Sarah finally began speaking.

  ‘Colin? Why is that, Sarah?’ Kelly asked. Once again, she had to remind herself that the small meek woman before her was not related to any of her family, but she bore an uncanny resemblance to her adoptive mother, Emily. They shared the same mannerisms and both took up minimal space in the room. Sarah didn’t overtly share Emily’s misery, but her brow was furrowed, and her mouth turned down at the corners.

  ‘He has problems dealing with emotion, you know. I don’t see him very often, but I saw him yesterday, and he’s basically shut himself away in his flat. He let me in eventually, but he’s in a complete mess.’

  Kelly clasped her hands together and placed them on the table. A fan whirred in the corner and she was desperate for some air. ‘And why do you think he might be acting like that?’

  ‘It’s because you think he had something to do with Moira’s murder,’ said Sarah.

  ‘Right. That can explain why persons of interest who have been interviewed by the police become jittery. It’s quite normal. No-one wants to be associated with such a crime. Colin is only one line of enquiry. We can’t rule anything out until we’ve consolidated all the evidence, but let me assure you, that I’ll let Colin know as soon as we make a decision either way. We did explain that to him.’

  Colin Tate was a minor part of the puzzle, but his adoptive sister didn’t need to know that. The fact was that they had virtually nothing on the man. His feet literally didn’t fit, his DNA didn’t match, his handwriting certainly didn’t match – he could hardly string together a sentence on paper – and he had no links to the other women. Their most promising lead to date was the elusive Timothy Cole who had either gone walkabout with his family, or killed them. And even then his links to the women were so glaringly obvious that the man was either stupid or innocent.

  ‘Is there anything else that we should know?’ asked Kelly. Sarah Tate was nervous for sure, but she could be holding back. The cues from her face were worrying; she twitched and grimaced oddly, as if she was play-acting, or very scared.

  ‘We went to meet Moira, in Penrith.’ It was blurted out, but instantly, Sarah Tate’s face broke. It had been a huge burden, Kelly could tell. She looked at Rob, who was taking notes. Sarah looked between both of them. Kelly didn’t answer, or show that she was affected by the news. She merely allowed Sarah to continue.

  ‘You have our attention,’ Kelly said.

  ‘We agreed to meet her in a pub, near the hospital. She agreed, it was all arranged. She never turned up.’

  ‘Why have you only told us this now, Sarah?’

  ‘We knew what you’d think. Colin is innocent! He’s so scared that he’ll get framed for this like so many other things in his life. It’s putting so much strain on him, I’m scared he’ll do something stupid. He can’t know I’ve been here.’ Sarah looked frantic and Kelly felt pity for her. She allowed Sarah to calm down.

  ‘Would you like a tissue?’ Kelly pushed the generic box wheeled out for interviewees towards Sarah, who took one gratefully. She was beginning to relax.

  ‘What day was it? Your meeting with Moira, I mean,’ Kelly asked.

  ‘It was the Monday, the eighth. Just before she was found on the Wednesday. She didn’t call and cancel, and she didn’t answer her phone when we tried.’ Sarah’s shoulders sagged and she sniffed into the tissue.

  ‘You blocked caller ID?’ asked Kelly. Several incoming calls on Moira’s records had shown prior to the phone ceasing all comms, late on the Monday evening. One of them was a no caller ID call: the Tate siblings.

  ‘Yes,’ Sarah replied. Kelly tapped her pen.

  ‘What was the meeting about?’ Kelly asked.

  ‘She’d agreed to be a kind of go-between for my father and Col. I begged her to do it. Colin is…special. He’s vulnerable, and my dad is old-fashioned. They never should have fallen out, but they did, and he turned to Moira. It was all a terrible coincidence but Col blamed Dad, and vice-versa. I think Moira liked the drama.’

  ‘So, why would she agree to act as peace maker?’ Kelly asked.

  ‘Because I promised to sign over my trust fund,’ Sarah said.

  Kelly and Rob stopped what they were doing. If Sarah noticed, she didn’t show it. Kelly didn’t have to communicate her thoughts to her junior. Money, greed, selfishness… Motive. Kelly gathered herself and went back to Sarah.

  ‘So she doesn’t show up. Which pub and what time?’ Rob made notes.

  ‘The Red Cock, King Street. 9 p.m.’

  Kelly calculated the times when Moira had been roaming the streets, ranting down the phone to Timothy Cole. He said he last spoke to her about 10 p.m. so she could have easily have made her meeting; a meeting that she stood to gain from handsomely.

  ‘How much is your trust fund worth? I assume that Colin no longer has one?’ Kelly asked.

  At this point, Rob received a call and looked at his boss.

  ‘Go and take it.’ He left the room, apologising to the two women. Kelly knew that he was expecting an important call.

  ‘My dad stopped Colin’s but he never closed it. When Dad passes away, I know it will go to Colin, he never changed his will, and deep down, I know he never would. They’re both worth £100,000.’

  ‘Each?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘There’s no way Moira would have missed that meeting by choice. Why would you let £100,000 go to Moira?’

  ‘To show my dad that we love him more than the money.’

  Chapter 45

  The phone call to Rob’s mobile was from Douglas Alexander, who was willing to meet a male officer for a brief conversation. Kelly thought she could change his mind, and they left Eden House after they’d thanked Sarah Tate for her courage in coming forward.

  ‘Jesus, Rob. This family. It just keeps getting filthier. You know, the fingers thing: it fits with the greed idea. But there are no connections between the Tates and the other victims. It’s as if whoever is doing this knows these people, and is playing them all together in some kind of macabre production. This is what happened to Yorkshire Police. They went round and r
ound in circles, turning up zero forensics that actually matched the killer. Case unsolved.’

  Kelly’s shoes tapped harshly on the tiled floor, and Rob knew her well enough now to know that she was perplexed. He remained quiet. They reached the Audi and got in. Kelly slammed her door harder than necessary and Rob hid a smirk. He looked out of the window. Newton Rigg was a five minute drive.

  Douglas Alexander was a tower of a man. He worked lumbering timber in a yard just to the north of Penrith, near the Newton Rigg estate. Kelly and Rob watched as the man casually threw planks the size of railway sleepers over his shoulders as if they were tea towels. He worked shirtless and his body was tanned and muscular. Kelly couldn’t help feel a pang of pity as she watched. It would be easy to dismiss the man as a drop out, a layabout, a social misfit. So much in life was left to chance, and either one of them could easily have ended up where Douglas Alexander was. Stats such as these were so often the background music to their job: kids who’d missed the right launch time – and then the boat completely – who ended up being adults in the wrong place, and at the wrong time.

  They walked towards the site, and Douglas stopped what he was doing. Kelly knew he could tell who they were, and that they didn’t belong here. It was their clothes, their demeanour, and probably the man’s own experience of institutions and the law. Kelly watched him grab a rag and wipe his hands and his brow. His back muscles rippled and shone, and Kelly looked at his body: his physique was stunning. Rob had said that over the phone the man came across as articulate and intelligent. Kelly wondered what other surprises he had for them.

  ‘Douglas?’ Rob asked. He’d asked for a male and Kelly encouraged Rob to give the impression that he was the lead detective.

  Douglas nodded and gave a half-smile. He looked at Kelly warily, and she felt examined. Douglas knitted his brow. Rob introduced himself, and they shook hands.

  ‘I asked for a male detective only.’

  ‘I know, Douglas. This is my inspector.’

  ‘Kelly Porter.’ She held out her hand, and it was taken. Douglas’s grip was strong and manly. It smacked of confidence. Kelly matched it. He eyed her, and she passed some sort of test. He nodded.

  ‘Let’s go inside the brew shed.’

  They followed him. It was quite cool inside the shed, and the windows were open. Metal chairs and tables were scattered about, and jackets, kit and lunch boxes littered the place. Douglas cleared a space for them. Kelly could see that he was mindful that the shed wasn’t somewhere he’d want to take a lady. There was something endearingly sensitive about him.

  ‘Sorry,’ he said to her.

  ‘Not a problem, Douglas. It is alright if I call you Douglas?’ she checked.

  ‘Call me Doug. I can make you tea, but I can’t guarantee a clean mug, so I wouldn’t bother if I were you.’

  ‘No problem, at least you’re honest,’ she said. Doug pulled out three metal chairs and they sat down. The guy was pretty calm, and it reminded Kelly of the saying about still waters…

  ‘Doug, like I said on the phone, we’d really like to ask you some questions about your time at the Whitehaven Home for Children and Adolescents.’ Rob lead again.

  Doug flinched, just perceptibly. If they’d blinked they would have missed it.

  ‘Do you remember two kids who were there about the same time as you – Brian Leith and Amy Gardener?’

  ‘Sure I do. They were killed in the fire.’

  ‘We’re not so sure,’ Rob said. This had a strange effect on Doug, who began to smile.

  ‘Really?’ asked Doug. ‘Why do you say that?’

  ‘No bodies were found, not even traces, and they were assumed dead, not confirmed dead. The fire was pretty hot, it is possible that they left no trace but it’s highly unusual. How well did you know Brian Leith, Doug?’

  Kelly watched Rob, he was growing in confidence and she liked that. He was comfortable in charge. More importantly, Doug was loosening up.

  ‘As well as I knew anyone in there. We talked about running away, maybe, you know to get away from those fucking animals.’ He stopped smiling. ‘We all talked about setting fire to the place ourselves, so I always believed Brian or Amy did it and ran away. I hope they did.’ The smile returned.

  ‘Why, Doug? What happened there?’ Rob asked. Doug looked out of the window and didn’t speak for several minutes. Neither Kelly nor Rob pushed him.

  ‘Can you ask the lady to wait outside?’ Doug finally asked. Damn. He still couldn’t open up.

  ‘I’m difficult to shock, Doug,’ Kelly said.

  ‘I bet you are, Kelly. But it’s non-negotiable I’m afraid. I can’t say what I have to say and look a lady in the eye.’ He held her gaze. Rob looked between them. They were about the same age: his boss and the giant man, but Doug was like something from another era: he was a gentleman.

  Kelly gathered her things.

  ‘It’s not personal,’ Doug said.

  ‘I know.’ She smiled at him warmly and left.

  Rob turned back to the man. Doug looked at his hands and wrung them together. He took a long, deep breath and began talking.

  * * *

  It was forty-five minutes before Rob emerged from the shed, and the colour had left his cheeks.

  Kelly waited for him by a wall.

  ‘Jesus, what did he tell you?’

  ‘I wrote it all down, and he checked it and signed it. I’ll tell you in the car.’

  When they were back in the car, Rob turned to Kelly and said, ‘We need to find Brian Leith.’

  Chapter 46

  The drive to Coniston was leisurely. The exact spot where Wordsworth had penned his celebration of daffodils would stay forever unknown, but people guessed. Most said Ullswater; after all, his lines had been penned years after his walk with Dorothy there by the lake. Some said Coniston.

  The Touran stopped at a deserted spot, close to the lake. The water was still and flat, like a pure sheet of expensive crystal. A light breeze moved small branches gently up and down. No-one ever came here, apart from the odd ranger to make sure there were no campfires.

  It was getting worse, like Byron said. The Lakes was ruined by people: a scourge of sick-minded, vain, hypocritical and superficial hordes, intent on banality and infirmity. People were messy and noisy, and they interrupted the silence on the fells. The great swarms, which descended every summer, abused the beauty and ruined the sanctity of the peaks. Images of Moira came back, and with them, the feeling of consummate power. The strap tightening around Brandy’s throat, Aileen begging for forgiveness…

  With Nicola Tower quiet for once, the selection of words could begin. It had to match the candidate: each was unique. The grass was warm, under the tree, and nothing stirred but the odd cloud in the sky. No children frolicked, no lovers rowed up and down in wooden boats, no motor boats roared, no steamers disturbed the water, and no Harrier jets left thunder in their wake. The lake was perfect, like the Old Man of Coniston himself, behind them. Peace was absolute, and with it came clarity of thought.

  It had to be Wordsworth.

  And with him, she’d become one with the land again. Like poor Drummer Hodge.

  It had been Old Albert’s favourite too.

  They throw in Drummer Hodge, to rest

  Uncoffined, just as found:

  His landmark is a kopje crest

  That breaks the veldt around…

  Yet portion of that unknown plain

  Will Hodge forever be…

  Nicola was still quiet after the sun went down behind Coniston Old Man. The Touran had driven around the lake a few times and had returned after sundown to avoid the last rangers.

  She was heavy, as was to be expected. That’s why it was important to park as close to the trees as possible, and use the shifting skate. It made a huge difference, and meant that Nicola could be positioned in the perfect spot.

  She fell on to the skate with a thud, and it probably broke a few bones, but it didn’t matter now to Nicola; s
he wouldn’t feel a thing. The moon was a waning crescent, and the heavy cloud conspired with it to provide excellent cover. The Touran’s lights had been switched off since turning off the B5285, at Guards Woods. Rangers looking for illegal campers or fly tippers would have checked the area earlier, and might check again before dawn, depending on their mood. Most people respected the laws of the National Trust.

  The lake beckoned, and its black silky surface looked like deep inky oil – so different from this afternoon. This side of Coniston was by far the quietest, and that was the reason for the location. Each candidate had to be matched perfectly to their final resting place. This place was about as quiet as could be found inside the National Park, and that’s why Nicola would have hated it. The serenity, intoxicating calm and regal beauty was the perfect place to introduce Nicola to what she might have been.

  Humble.

  Moira was left forever exposed (her worst nightmare) in the middle of a village, outside the institution she loathed – the church. Brandy was submerged in clean, fresh running water, to cleanse her of the filth she allowed into her. Poor Ailing Aileen was left overlooking the exquisite perfection of the Lake District, to make sure she never forgot about Nature’s law: that weaklings are a nuisance, and cannot be allowed to drain the resources of others. Now, Nicola, possibly the most irritating woman on the planet, had no-one to talk to anymore, in one of the most isolated locations in the Lakes.