Deep Fear

by Deep Fear (retail) (epub)

  Kelly sat in her Audi and stared at the lake. Coniston was serene and calm, unlike Ullswater, which always had some form of power vehicle ploughing up and down the water. There were isolated sections, but Kelly knew that the killer would never have got away with dumping a body so close to the larger, more tourist-oriented lake. He knew the lakes very well indeed. Probably born or raised here; and that put to bed the idea that their suspect might be connected with the transient summer workforce, or labourers on the numerous building sites, paid by the hour.

  The care home angle bugged her. Brian Leith had disappeared off the face of the earth after the fire in Whitehaven. How could that be? Unless he was dead like they all presumed. Same for the girl called Gardener. Maybe she was chasing shadows and the two teenagers had perished after all. Was she clutching at straws? It was highly likely that she was suffering from fatigue, and that it was clouding her judgement. She called DS Umshaw.

  ‘Kate. Have we found Brian Leith yet?’

  ‘No, Guv. But we do have an old photo. It’s been generated and digitalised for release to the press, with your go ahead. DCI Cane is here.’

  Kelly rolled her eyes. Cane wouldn’t snoop around Eden House for a nice cup of coffee; he was getting twittery. She dismissed the development until she could properly deal with it, face to face.

  ‘Has Brian Leith popped up in any of our searches of NHS trusts in Yorkshire between 2009 and 2012?’

  ‘Not yet, Guv.’

  ‘Right, I’m on my way. The fourth victim – not confirmed yet, but it looks like it, Kate – is a staff nurse from the Penrith and Lakes called Nicola Tower. Get her next of kin ready to be informed will you? I don’t know when I’ll be back, Coniston is heating up and the traffic will be choked. Tell the notification to go ahead without me. Maybe DCI Cane would like to do it?’

  Umshaw stifled a smirk. ‘Yes, Guv.’

  ‘The coroner is here and he’s taken tracks from a vehicle, two in fact. I want the tracks from Aira Force chased, who’s free?’

  Umshaw sighed. ‘I’ll find someone.’

  ‘Kate, there’s something I need to tell you, but I don’t want the rest of the team in on it just yet. They’ll know soon enough. The press is going to have a field day.’

  ‘Guv?’

  ‘My sister, Nikki, is missing. Given the hospital link, I need to consider the possibility that our Teacher knows me. It sounds crazy and egotistical, but my mother was nursed by Nicola Tower, and Catherine Tring was nursed on a ward that my mum stayed on two weeks ago.’

  ‘I don’t know what to say.’

  ‘That’s not like you, Kate. That cheers me up a little.’ Kelly tried her best to laugh, because it was true; Kate Umshaw always had a word ready, whether it was welcome or not.

  ‘We’ve inputted the NHS trusts from all four Yorkshire areas, as well as the council houses fitted with the carpet. Oh and we’ve got the results back on the earth found in Moira’s mouth and nose.’

  ‘Please give me some good news.’ Kelly closed her eyes and sat back in her seat. The forensic officers in suits were still processing the scene behind her car.

  ‘The samples were sent to a palynologist…’

  ‘A what?’

  ‘A pollen expert – it narrows down the search for the origin of soil.’

  ‘Oh.’

  ‘They confirmed that the soil in Moira’s ears, nose and mouth isn’t indigenous to Watermillock. In fact, it’s a mixture of bog standard garden centre organic compost, mixed with domestic earth from the Penrith area, notably from either Scaws, Redgill, or Clifton Bridge.’

  ‘Scaws again?’

  ‘Right.’

  ‘And Timothy Cole’s rental properties came up blank?’

  ‘Yes. They’re simply in the wrong part of town. Of course, anyone can buy garden centre compost, but it’s what was mixed with it that was narrowed down so specifically.’

  Kelly knew that forensic soil analysis was one of the things that would stand indisputably in court. Sediment, colour, structure, mineral content and density couldn’t be contested. The science was absolute. Now all they needed to do was find the garden it had come from.

  ‘Border force?’ All airports, sea ports and rail networks had been given Timothy Cole’s details, as well as those of his wife and children.

  ‘Nothing.’

  Kelly exhaled deeply. She felt impotent.

  ‘What’s Cane up to?’

  ‘Practising his fire-breathing.’

  ‘Keep him busy.’

  ‘I’ve got over five hundred NHS staff names to give him if he gets pesky.’

  ‘See you soon.’ Kelly rang off. She dismissed her junior officer’s minor impertinence; everybody did it, and it was a natural stress buster. Shit travels downwards and Cane would say the same about Super Ormond, given half the chance.

  She couldn’t complain. Super Ormond had granted her more boots on the ground since the body count had gone up. Not that it had made much difference. Their killer seemed to have planned everything like a production, some kind of macabre summer play in which no-one knew the outcome but him. They were all being directed and staged until he decided to stop, and that didn’t seem likely. Her only consolation was that, in her experience, killers this voracious and brazen always made mistakes.

  She spent the journey back to Penrith working out exactly what to ask for from her bosses. They’d already arranged a search of the Coniston area, combing for witnesses. Geographically, The Teacher was making her life harder by the day. She drew a map in her mind and turned up the music. Coniston was thirty miles away from Ullswater – where the other three women had been found. What was The Teacher up to?’

  With a sickening knot in her stomach, her thoughts turned to her sister, and she knew that she’d have to add her family to the data this afternoon. They were now in the loop, as peripheral interest or not, they were leads.

  Kelly went over the times she’d visited the hospital – for work or family visiting. Momentarily, she thought herself mad – mad that she’d found herself at the centre of this circus. She figured that, during the countless hours she’d spent at the Penrith and Lakes Hospital, be it for personal or professional reasons, she knew that she’d been watched. They’d been watched. And she had reached the awful conclusion in her mind that Nikki Morden was highly likely to be the next victim. She searched her memory, hoping for some detail to click into place, someone who’d had contact with both her mother and her sister. If The Teacher had Nikki, that meant that he’d selected her – he’d watched her, and worked her out. He’d got to know her routines, her habits, her weaknesses and her family. Nikki only ever stayed near their mother, she didn’t wander around the hospital, unless to go to the shop. That meant the killer had come to them, in that room.

  And got to know their mother.

  Chapter 50

  Kelly’s team assembled at six p.m. for the last brief of the day. She studied them. There were at least seven detectives whom she didn’t know, and hadn’t got time to get to know. They remained simply names as she dished out jobs. They’d been loaned officers from Glasgow and Lancashire and her small incident room was looking cramped. They nursed cups of water and mugs of coffee. Outside, the story had stoked the interest of the international press, and tents had been erected, remaining there through the night, waiting for information. They felt like insects in a bell jar, examined and directionless.

  DS Kate Umshaw perched on a table, having given up her seat, studying a document. Her eyes looked more sunken than normal and she’d wafted in on a cloud of fag smoke, stronger than usual indicating that she’d sucked on two in the time it took for one. DC Phillips flicked through a bundle of photographs and sighed from time to time. He ate a sandwich bought hastily from Boots on the High Street. DC Emma Hide looked fresh as always. She looked after herself. Even when called into work at eight a.m. Hide would manage a visit to the gym. She reminded Kelly of herself in her London days, but without the booze: Hide never touched a
drop. The tide was changing in the force. Whereas ten years ago officers unwound by getting hammered, today they were more likely to enter a triathlon or a marathon. Emma was training for the Grisedale Grind and she had her sights set on winning the title of the Lady of the Forest. It was a brutal four kilometre, fifteen hundred foot toil through Whinlatter Forest and then up the spine of Grisedale Pike. Eden House’s money was on Emma, who now sat in a chair with her head in a book recommended by her old English Tutor about the Romantic Movement in the Lake District. Kelly walked to the white board and everybody in the room looked up.

  Cane was still there. He’d come in to her office earlier, when she’d returned, after a hellish journey through the centre of The Lakes, and he’d rightly demanded an update. She’d been rehearsing what she’d say all the way back.

  ‘Sir. It’s clear that the victimology in each case is some kind of sin.’

  He hadn’t questioned her rather metaphysical approach, he’d simply nodded. She’d recounted each snippet of poetry, and quoted DC Hide’s immaculate analysis on each.

  ‘It appears that The Teacher got to know each victim quite well, sir. We did think we were on to something with a hospital janitor called Paul Bamber – he’s local, has access to all wards (he delivers papers and snacks), he’s a gym bunny, and he’s somewhat of a loner, but he’s got solid alibis for the period of Moira’s disappearance and that of Aileen Bickerstaff, and they check out. I’ve got everyone working the council property lead and I’m chasing the vehicles tracks. I think we’re going to catch him the good old fashioned way, Eddie.’

  ‘Crunching data.’

  ‘Exactly.’

  ‘It’s tedious, Kelly. I know. I’m behind you, you know that – but Super Ormond is under the hammer here.’

  ‘Yes, I’m well aware of that, but I’m also aware that – as yet – Super Ormond hasn’t sent me a fucking transformer, or a super hero to help.’

  Cane coughed to stifle his laugh.

  ‘He wants to know why, in this day and age of DNA and advanced technology, we’re still working paper leads.’

  Kelly didn’t respond, she merely held his gaze. She knew that he knew that keeping her any longer was detrimental to what they were both trying to achieve.

  ‘You’ve been here all afternoon, you know how hard my team is working.’

  ‘I know. But you’re in charge, so the buck stops with you.’

  His words still stung when she stood in front of her team at six o’clock. Dozens of faces stared at her, looking for answers that she couldn’t yet give. She was torn. What she wanted to be doing right now was taking Matt’s statement about Nikki’s last known whereabouts, and arranging the foot search. But she knew that if she allowed her judgement to be clouded, she’d be taken off the case. She was perilously close as it was but if she kept her head she knew they wouldn’t want to lose her; she, more than anyone, knew the case so far inside out, backwards, forwards, sideways, and blindfolded. Not that it was doing them much good.

  ‘Good evening everybody. I’ve got a few updates. HR at the Penrith and Lakes hospital sent me this just an hour ago.’ She tapped her laptop and the email came up on the white board. ‘I’ve copied everybody in.’ Her eyes were fuzzy and she rubbed them. Cane stood at the back of the room, holding a coffee.

  ‘It’s a list of everyone who has ever worked with Timothy Cole. If you look at the third page, you’ll see the name of a hospital porter called Paul Bamber. His name pops up three times in the space of six years. He worked at the Royal in Hull, he worked at Furness General – which is where Cole works once a month – and he’s working at the Penrith and Lakes. He has access to any ward, any time because part of his job is moving patients around by wheelchair. All staff on wards 5 and 7, as well as the fracture clinic, know him to chat to. He’s a gym bunny and visits the hospital gym regularly, which is free to staff.’

  Kelly pressed a button and Paul Bamber’s photograph appeared on the board. ‘Thirty-seven years of age, white male. Umshaw and Phillips: I want you two on nurseries, schools, parents, siblings, career history and previous.’

  ‘Now, the gym has been checked by DC Shawcross, and he’s well known there. He’s there every day, and he holds the record for the most pull-ups; his upper body strength is nothing short of impressive. He lives in Stockham, next door to the Scaws Estate. It’s an ex-council property, and it’s on our list of places supplied with the grey carpet. He’s being paid a visit as we speak. His details are also chugging through the PNC. The only sticking point is that his alibis for two of the abductions check out. He remains a POI.’

  One major detail bothered Kelly about the new suspect: she’d never met the guy. But, then she had to remind herself that her theory about the killer knowing her, and her mother and sister, was just that – a theory. Nikki might be in the Bahamas with her new lover. Kelly hoped that she was. Word had spread throughout Eden House and Kelly was aware of lingering looks and sympathetic stares, and she didn’t like it. She had to face it head on.

  ‘We have a new missing person.’ A photograph of Nikki came up on the white board. A few whispers were stifled, and Cane watched his SIO carefully.

  ‘Nikki Morden. Yes, she’s my sister – to put that one to bed straight away. Which is why I’m keen to nail the theory that he knew all of his victims. You all know that I virtually live at the Penrith and Lakes; so does my sister. Nicola Tower nursed my mother, and my mother also spent time on the same ward as Catherine Tring, though not at the same time. We’re convinced that my sister wouldn’t leave her kids without word; her phone is dead and she hasn’t used her bank card. If you’re wondering about motive; my sister enjoyed tearing a strip off the nursing staff – publicly and loudly. She was last seen on Thursday morning, yesterday. The evidence and the MO both suggest that she’s being held somewhere – close to the Scaws Estate – see the report on the soil. For the record, I can’t ever remember meeting Paul Bamber.’

  Kelly didn’t vocalise what everybody was thinking: that the MO of The Teacher also suggested that, if he had Nikki Morden, then, right now, she’d be either dead or close to it.

  Kelly stayed professional, and brought up the report on the board. The atmosphere in the room became maudlin, but she pretended not to notice. She couldn’t have her position compromised else she’d never find Nikki.

  ‘We’ve also got an update on the tyre tracks from the Nicola Tower site. The small tracks belong to a shifting skate. It has three sets of wheels and can shift loads of up to one and a half tons. It seems that even Mr Universe couldn’t manoeuvre Nicola satisfactorily. The larger tracks are from a Volkswagen Touran. I need someone to pull the hospital CCTV for the VW. This is our strongest lead yet. They match the tracks taken from Aira Force car park. VW Tourans aren’t exactly rare, so it really is a needle in a haystack but it’s something. We’re trying to get the tyres narrowed down to a supplier.’

  Kelly waited for her team to finish reading and adding notes. They’d soon be given their next assignments and many of them wouldn’t get home until way after nightfall tonight.

  Her stamina was flagging. She desperately wanted to close her eyes but her evening spread out before her like a gaping Milky Way, deep in space. There was no way she was going anywhere before ten o’clock. She doubted she’d get any sleep at all tonight. After work, she’d head straight to Matt’s. She had no idea what he’d told the kids.

  Nikki’s disappearance hadn’t been released to the press, but knowing the size of Katy Crawley’s mouth and the chances of her wanting her five minutes of fame on TV, it wouldn’t be long. Having dished out work and deciding who was going where to check what, Kelly thanked everyone and walked back to her office, closing the door behind her. She sat at her desk and put her head in her hands. She could have drifted off there and then, and she rubbed her eyes again. Her mind spun. Names, places, faces, wounds, characters of the alphabet and dark sinister rooms eddied in and out of her conscious. She saw vivid images and pressed her tem
ples, willing the noise to stop.

  When she looked up, she stared straight ahead. A nagging detail made her switch on her computer and she pulled up a file. She sat up straight with renewed vigour and pressed a few buttons, finding the right email.

  It was the file of an employee at the Penrith and Lakes. One who’d been looked at, time and again, but overlooked. It was crazy, she knew, but she had to make sure.

  She checked the names of the children resident at the time of the Whitehaven fire, and wrote some notes. Next she checked on the history of one child in particular. The child had been put into care after the death of the mother. The mother’s death had been ruled an accident; she was partial to a sherbet or seven. She’d fallen downstairs and broken her neck. The injuries were very similar to those of Ms Sara Moyles from the Whitehaven care home. The child took the father’s name, not the mother’s and that’s where they’d slipped through the piles of paper.

  Kelly tapped more details into her computer and wrote more notes. After the mother’s death, the property was consumed by fire, similar to another blaze only a few years previous which had consumed another property five doors down the street. Again, it had been seen as an accident. The guy was old and incapacitated. He could never have got out.

  The death of Albert Ferguson had not been seen as suspicious. But Kelly noted that he was on the sex offender’s register. The mother, five doors down, had given a statement. Her name was Pearl Richmond. Other neighbours at the time had supported the fact that Mrs Richmond was in and out of the Ferguson property regularly. Kelly went into the incident room and began hunting for something. Everybody carried on as normal. She found what she was looking for: an employment file from the Penrith and Lakes. DCI Cane looked up and watched her. She walked back to her office. Cane followed her.

  She sat down and opened the employment file. The first page was a CV, and on the second was clipped a photograph.

  Cane banged on her door.