“No. Did Tim tell you that we think it’s all part of the same case, but we can’t decide how?”
“No, but I’d be thinking the same thing if I were you. Have you tried creating a story-board?”
Setting out the details of a case on a transparent glass screen and adding to it as many photographs, maps and diagrams as she could gather was one of Juliet’s favourite ways of cracking refractory evidence. It was an enthusiasm she’d shared with Katrin.
“No. No time.”
“If you’ve got time later today, I’ll come in to the station and help you.”
“Thanks. I’d appreciate it.” Juliet meant it, but privately she was thinking that if she and Tim hadn’t found the missing girls by the end of the day, their chances of being recovered alive were minimal. She remembered she’d told Louise Butler she’d return to take her statement that afternoon. She supposed that the story-board was more important: a uniform could as easily talk to Louise.
“What’s the matter?” said Katrin. “You look furious!”
“Sorry! I was just thinking about the case. I’ve never had to deal with such a hodge-podge of contradictory details. Did Tim tell you about the woman who died at The Pilgrim Hospital yesterday, by the way?”
“No.”
“An emaciated young woman was taken to the Johnson Hospital by Matthew Start, Councillor Start’s son, and a woman who claimed to be her mother. She was desperately ill and they transferred her to Boston, where she died. Louise Butler says the death was suspicious. Matthew Start was the last person to see the Finnish au pair in the cold case I told you about. I know it’s far-fetched, but I ‘m convinced that he’s up to his eyebrows in all of this.”
“So there are how many possible victims altogether? I’m losing count.” Katrin put down the packet of bacon she’d been holding and counted them off on her fingers. “The Finnish au pair. The baby. The two schoolgirls. And the girl who died at The Pilgrim Hospital, if it wasn’t of natural causes.”
“Correct. Any ideas?”
“You’re much more familiar with the detail than I am. I can only state the obvious: that if I were you, I’d get some DNA tests done, and quickly.”
“Patti Gardner’s already sent the baby’s remains for testing.”
Katrin winced. “I’d get the others done as fast as you can. Is there still stuff belonging to the Finnish au pair that can be used?”
“I don’t know. I think that some of her possessions were collected at the time. I’ll have to see if they’re still in storage.”
“And presumably getting DNA for the others won’t be a problem?”
“I think we already have it. We’ve taken the toothbrushes of both the missing girls.”
“There’s a lab I use sometimes for emergencies – not very often, because they know how to charge and Superintendent Thornton loathes paying. But they’ll work fast, and at weekends. If you have the samples ready today, you might have the results by Monday.”
“How’s the bacon doing?” Tim called from the sitting room.
“Coming!” Katrin shouted back. She tore open the packet and shoved a row of rashers under the grill.
“Incidentally,” she said casually. “You mentioned Dr Butler. How is she?”
Chapter Fifty-Two
DAYLIGHT STRUGGLED WITH darkness and insinuated itself haltingly and without enthusiasm over the netball courts at Spalding High School. Small knots of people had already begun to gather. Two girls dressed in school uniform were serving tea and coffee from urns on a table. The modest crowd was huddled there, clasping steaming Styrofoam beakers in gloved hands. Verity Tandy and Giash Chakrabati were standing on the periphery, largely ignored by the adults. A few students drifted about – evidently spectators rather than participants in the forthcoming event – and eyed them curiously. The mood was subdued. Some of the parents were speaking to each other in low tones. One or two members of the netball team arrived by bicycle and emerged from the bike sheds carrying holdalls. They entered the building rapidly, brushing importantly past the girls at the refreshments stand.
Tim nodded briefly at Giash and Verity and Juliet gave them a half-wave. More uniformed police would be arriving, as well as Ricky MacFadyen and Andy Carstairs, but he didn’t want the crowd to know the extent of the police presence.
Juliet asked for two teas and posted two pound coins in the voluntary donations box. She noticed a scrawny woman engaged in animated conversation with Verity Tandy.
“Do you know who that is?” Tim asked.
“No, but at a guess I’d say it’s Mrs Painter, the mother of one of the girls who saw the prowler. She fits Verity’s description of the woman.”
“Well, I wish she’d leave Verity alone. I don’t want people to take any more notice of her and Giash than we can help.”
“She’s bound to feel involved. She protected the girls from the prowler and her daughter is one of Cassandra Knipes’s best friends.”
“I suppose you’re right,” said Tim grudgingly. “I’m going to find Richard Lennard. He said he’d be here by 9.30. I expect he’ll have a high profile today: it’s his style. But I want to make sure he doesn’t make any unhelpful announcements. I also want to know when The Bricklayers are expected to turn up. Have a walk round the back of the school, will you, while I’m gone. Make sure there aren’t any girls wandering about there on their own – or other loiterers with no business to be there.”
“You can’t think there’ll be another kidnapping?”
“Not unless I spot an extremely fair girl with incongruous-looking parents. But I’m not prepared to take any chances. The media would make hay of it if another girl was taken from under our noses. And I can’t even think about what Thornton would say.”
Tim passed the knot of spectators, noting that Verity Tandy was still talking to the animated, rather strangely-dressed woman. A girl had now appeared at the woman’s side, a pudgy teenager. As he entered the front door of the school, he saw a minibus drive slowly round half of the sweep and park in one of the bays on the far side of the building, next to the small chapel. He guessed this contained the netball team’s opponents. The match was scheduled to start at 10.00 a.m., so he would need to find Lennard quickly.
Turning left in the direction of the headteacher’s office, he saw a balding, thick-set man walking ahead of him. Although he’d only seen the man once, at the accident at Sutterton Dowdyke, and then only spoken to him briefly in the darkness, he recognised him immediately. It was Councillor Start. No great surprise to encounter him here, Tim thought: he’d known the Councillor would be on the premises today to conduct his mysterious meeting.
He was more than a little frustrated when, instead of heading for the hall, as Tim had expected, the Councillor turned left into the corridor leading to the headteacher’s office. He had no intention of passing up his conversation with Lennard because he was closeted with the Councillor. He decided to allow them just a few minutes alone before he announced himself. Impatiently, he waited at the top of the corridor, looking at his watch.
“Can I help you?”
Tim looked round to see an exuberantly fleshy woman with a dour face bustling towards him.
“I’m Kathleen Hargreaves, the school secretary.”
“DI Yates, South Lincolnshire Police.” Tim held out his ID card. He was sure she was the sort of woman who would want to see it. “I need to speak to Mr Lennard before the netball match starts.”
“I’ll just go and see if he’s available.” Her voice trilled up the scale as she spoke. Tim knew she’d return to announce that the headteacher was engaged with another visitor.
“It’s not a question of whether he’s available. I’ve waited here several minutes, as a courtesy, because I know Councillor Start is with him, but I need to see him now, before the match begins. I’m investigating the abduction of one of your students, not queueing up for the
bran tub. Is that clear, or should I tell him myself?”
“Perfectly clear,” she replied, her voice once more a deep contralto. She shot him a look of deep loathing. “Please wait here.”
Tim didn’t have to wait long. Richard Lennard came striding swiftly down the short corridor. He was attempting to smile, but clearly agitated. He held out his hand.
“DI Yates! I’m sorry to have kept you waiting. As you know, part of the school has been hired out today for an external client’s meeting – rather an unfortunate double-booking – and I’ve just been trying to sort out some details. We have to make sure that none of the students or their parents interrupts the meeting. Will you come this way?”
He almost pushed Tim into a small meeting room that faced the end of the corridor. As Lennard shut the door, Tim turned to see Councillor Start go lumbering into the school hall.
“Is there any news?” Lennard continued as he motioned to Tim to take one of the seats in the room, his mobile features assuming a look of compassion.
“No. We’ve continued the investigation through the night. I’m sure I don’t need to tell you that the next few hours are crucial. If we haven’t found Cassandra – and Philippa Grummett, the girl from Boston High School who has also disappeared – by the end of the weekend, our chances of getting them back alive are slim indeed.”
Lennard’s face contorted briefly and then reshaped itself.
“If there’s anything at all that the school can do . . .”
“Well, of course there is quite a lot you can do, Mr Lennard. Thank you for offering. As you know from your meeting with PC Chakrabati and subsequent conversation with Superintendent Thornton, we’re pinning some of our hopes on this netball match. We don’t know what kind of perpetrator we’re looking for, but we do know that sometimes kidnappers – and, unfortunately, also murderers – are drawn either to the scene of the crime or some place that’s important to the victim, even if it means taking the risk of getting caught. You and your staff should be aware that there will be several police officers among the spectators here today, some in uniform, others in ordinary clothes. We’ll be on the look-out for anyone who’s acting strangely, any talk that seems suspicious. You and the other teachers can help us best by just leaving us to it. Don’t draw attention to us and don’t talk to us unless you really need to.”
“That’s quite clear, DI Yates. Rest assured we won’t stand in your way.”
“Thank you. May I ask if you’re intending to make some kind of speech at this event?”
“No more than usual. I’ll welcome the guest team – they’re from Ken Stimpson Community School at Peterborough – and just say a few words of encouragement before the match starts.”
“Do you intend to mention Cassandra Knipes?”
Richard Lennard’s eyes swivelled around the room before finally meeting Tim’s own.
“I’m . . . not sure. What would you recommend?”
“I think you should say very briefly that the school is saddened by her disappearance and doing everything to support police enquiries. If you don’t mention her it will look odd. I’d appreciate it if you’d also ask the parents to be discreet and not try to discuss her with staff or students. I believe that PC Chakrabati has already asked you not to give statements to the Press. Please continue to observe that.”
“Certainly. I’ll brief the other staff.”
“How many of them are there?”
“Just the games staff – there are three of them. And I asked Veronica Start to come in. She has a pastoral job as well as being the head of languages. I thought her presence might be useful.” Lennard concluded virtuously.
“Good,” said Tim briskly. “I’m glad you mentioned Mrs Start, because you’ve reminded me that it’s her father-in-law who’s organised the ‘client’ meeting here today. That’s correct, isn’t it?”
Richard Lennard frowned.
“Yes. But don’t worry about it. I’ve made it clear that the meeting mustn’t be disturbed. I’ve promised Councillor Start his party will be left in peace.”
“You may have promised that, Mr Lennard, but I’m afraid I shall have to over-rule you. We won’t intrude on the actual meeting without good reason, but I shall want to speak to those attending it before they leave. I shall tell them that myself – there’s no need for you to involve yourself further. Do you know what time they plan to start?”
“I believe at 10.00 a.m., the same time as the netball.”
“Good. As I said, I shall want to talk to them. Do you know how many of them there’ll be? Approximately, I mean?”
“No. The minutiae of how they operate doesn’t concern me.”
“Of course it doesn’t. So I’d be grateful if you’d steer clear of them and leave any interaction to me. Shall we go outside now? It’s almost ten o’clock.”
“But . . .” Richard Lennard met Tim’s eye again. Tim detected defiance, but also a look of real anguish. “Very well. Just let me get my coat.”
Chapter Fifty-Three
JULIET SLIPPED PAST the gathering crowd and, skirting the netball courts, walked along the edge of the playing fields that backed on to the main school building, which was broadly E-shaped. She scanned the horizon. There wasn’t a soul in sight. Turning up the collar of her coat, she carried on walking until she reached the square semi-garden that lay just beyond the main entrance. She knew from the plans she’d studied that the school hall faced the garden. Next to it were the changing rooms. A stream of girls dressed in shorts and sweatshirts emerged from the latter as she approached, carrying their day clothes. Walking past her, they crossed the garden to the back entrance, going in the direction from which she had come. Beyond this entrance was a kind of foyer area and beyond that a second set of doors, in front of which stood the refreshments table.
Pausing, Juliet could hear someone begin an address from a loudspeaker. She wasn’t close enough to hear the words. Glancing across at the full-length windows which ran the length of the hall, she saw two people looking out. One of them was Councillor Start; the other was his daughter-in-law, Veronica. Veronica Start turned away, but not before Juliet saw the Councillor make a grab for her arm. Juliet was debating whether to go to Veronica’s aid when she saw her hurry from the hall into the corridor and disappear through the front door. Turning back to the window, Juliet saw that Councillor Start had also vanished.
She continued walking, making her way to the far side of the school, where there was a small visitors’ car park beside the chapel. She heard a car door slam and voices issuing from the car park. Peering warily round the far corner of the main building, she spotted an elderly man in an automated wheelchair shrugging off the attentions of a mature but distinguished-looking woman. It took the man a little while to arrange himself in the wheelchair, the woman standing by patiently until he was ready to move. Eventually he set off at a cracking pace, careering round the side of the building, on to the main sweep, and finally out of sight. The woman followed.
Cautiously, Juliet walked in the same direction. The visitors’ car park had filled up rapidly. She inspected the row of vehicles as she walked past them. Stationed at the end of the rank of neatly-polished cars was one incongruous addition: a rusty, mud-splattered pick-up truck. Juliet recognised it immediately as Ivan Grummett’s vehicle. Briefly she was puzzled by why he should want to attend a girls’ netball match: it wasn’t being held at his missing niece’s school and as far as she knew he had no links with Spalding High School. The explanation was obvious: he must have come for The Bricklayers meeting.
As she reached the main sweep, she saw it also was being used as a car park. The female teacher supervising turned to face Juliet as she heard her approach. Juliet had already recognised Veronica Start.
“Good morning, DC Armstrong,” said Veronica brightly, as if the two recent taut interviews at the house in Blue Gowt Lane had never taken p
lace. Looking over her shoulder, Juliet realised that several students and their parents were within earshot.
“Good morning, Mrs Start. I hope the weather brightens up a little. I think the match’s about to begin, isn’t it?”
“Yes. I suppose we can’t complain about the weather. At least it’s not raining.” She attempted a smile. It warped uncontrollably into a rictus. As Juliet came closer to her, she saw again the bruise on the side of her face. It was massive and livid. Veronica’s attempt to cover it with make-up had, if anything, made it more unsightly. Juliet waited until the knot of people who’d left the parked cars headed off to the netball courts.
“Veronica, are you sure you’re all right? That bruise really does look nasty.”
“I’m fine,” she said. Juliet thought her lip wobbled slightly. “If you’ll excuse me, I need to close the gates now.”
“Do you usually do that when there’s a match? What if some of the spectators arrive late?”
“No, we don’t usually do it, but it was one of the conditions that Mr Lennard agreed with Councillor Start when we discovered there was a clash in use of the facilities. Anyone who arrives late will be disappointed, I’m afraid.”
“I see. Did Councillor Start demand other conditions that you know of?” Juliet didn’t comment on the fact that this was an odd way of referring to one’s own father-in-law.
“Only that the hall is out of bounds to everyone attending the match,” Veronica Start replied warily. “The home team was allowed to use the changing rooms, which are near the hall, because their kit was there, but the door to the corridor connecting them to the hall and the outside door have now been locked. The girls can’t return to the changing rooms. The foyer opposite has been turned into a temporary changing room for both teams. ”
“Isn’t the hall rather a strange place to hold a meeting for just a few people? Surely the staff room or one of the classrooms would have sufficed, and probably been more comfortable to use.”
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