Guilty Waters

by Priscilla Masters

  And, irrationally, she felt angry that Rudyard Lake, where she and Matthew had spent so many happy times, would somehow always be spoiled. It would always hold this memory. Defiled.

  Barker’s homecoming was very low key. An unmarked police car dropped him off right by his front door. He unlocked it and walked in without a backwards glance, leaving the two officers to look at each other. Was he guilty? Had he outwitted them?

  PC Dawn Critchlow was spending most evenings speaking to the residents of Rudyard. Interestingly, few seemed to know Barker. Not only did he live half a mile out of the village, but he patently kept himself to himself. People knew of Mandalay but not its owner. No one had ever seen him with the girls. But then, why would they?

  She’d met some strange folk during her house-to-house enquiries: a couple with a Pit Bull, a man who’d answered his door in his underpants, another elderly lady who had only spoken from behind her front door, and then there was the occupant of the end house. The woman had eyed her suspiciously from behind the curtain and Critchlow, whose husband had suffered from depression on and off ever since his garage business had failed, recognized only too well the signs of mental disturbance. She tried to coax the woman to open the door but it wasn’t going to happen. Instead she was reduced to mouthing through the window. We’re looking into the disappearance of two French girls. Can you help us?

  The woman simply stared.

  From her list Dawn knew that the woman’s name was Wendy Murdoch and that she lived with her son, William, who worked in the village.

  You had to hand it to PC Critchlow. She was persistent. She rapped on the window again and tried to look her most appealing. Mrs Murdoch’s response was to draw the curtains tightly shut.

  So Critchlow was reduced now to shouting through the letterbox. ‘Mrs Murdoch, we need to talk to you.’ She caught a movement in the hallway and continued. ‘When is a good time to talk to you?’

  ‘You’ll have to wait till my boy’s home.’ The voice was thin and reedy, as quavering as a very old woman.

  Joanna climbed the hill to speak to Mark Fask. He had spent the day combing through every inch of Mandalay and had not found anything further to link Barker with the girls’ disappearance. But Barker was back now and Fask was preparing to move his van out of the drive. Job over.

  ‘I’m sorry, Joanna,’ he said, peeling off a pair of gloves, ‘but I can’t find evidence that the girls were killed here. There’s absolutely nothing that’s the least bit suspicious. No blood. No tissue. It’s as clean as a new pin.’

  So was that, in itself, suspicious? Joanna thought probably not. Barker was, by nature, a very clean and tidy man.

  She and Fask stepped out into the garden and looked around. ‘Does Mandalay have cellars?’

  He shook his head. ‘There’s nothing there. I’ve looked into all that, Jo. The team have done a proper search of the place and its surrounds. They’re not here. And they’re not in the garden either. If you want my guess …’ His gaze drifted across to the lake, today still and secretive, hiding her secrets in an innocence of water. Fask didn’t finish his sentence but jerked his head in accusation.

  ‘We’ve dragged it, Mark,’ Joanna said. ‘We’ve found nothing but Dorothée’s purse. We can’t drain the entire lake. Besides, the level’s about as low as it gets. And their bodies would have floated.’

  ‘Not if they were weighted down.’

  She nodded, dejected. With Rush breathing down her neck she needed to find these girls and nail the killer. And not just for her reputation. Like many detectives on a murder trail, it was becoming something of a mission. She wanted answers.

  But as she tramped back down the hill she had to admit that she wasn’t surprised that Fask hadn’t found their bodies. She’d never thought that Barker would have killed the girls and kept their bodies in Mandalay. She felt that Mandalay was, for Barker, almost a sanctified place. A shrine to the great poet where he stayed with his Supi … lady. As she had felt that Rudyard would always be defiled by the girls’ disappearance, so Barker would have felt the same about a killing in his beloved Mandalay. Not only would it have sullied the place for ever but spoiled the memory of Kipling himself. They needed to extend the search.

  She strolled back down the hill, meeting Korpanski at the bottom. She wanted a quiet word with him, not in the incident van but somewhere else, somewhere more private. The coffee shop was still open but it was a hot day and she was thirsty for an ice-cold drink. So they took a seat outside. October this year was more like August – warm and sunny, the lake innocently pretty.

  The boat-hire business man, Keith Armitage, from the board, was looking glum. He strode towards Joanna, a big man with the rolling gait of a sailor. ‘How long are you going to be stopping people from taking my boats out? I’m losing business here. The weather’s warm. Plenty of people want to take a boat out.’ His voice was accusatory.

  ‘We won’t be much longer,’ Joanna tried to reassure him. ‘I’m really sorry for the difficulty.’

  ‘Oh, that’s OK,’ the boat owner responded grumpily. ‘But you won’t find them in there. Water’s too clear.’

  ‘And the mud,’ Korpanski put in.

  ‘Might take a dog,’ Shannon said. ‘Not a couple of girls. No way,’ he said firmly before turning his back on them and stumping back to his perch on an upturned boat and lighting a cigarette, smoking it with quick, angry puffs.

  Will was waiting for them in the café with a big grin. But the drinks he brought them were warm. ‘Sorry,’ he said. ‘There’s been a run on cold drinks. We didn’t expect it to be so warm this time of year.’

  They waited until he’d gone before Joanna spoke. ‘OK, Mike,’ she said. ‘So what next?’

  ‘There’s still plenty of space we haven’t explored, Jo.’ Korpanski looked concerned. ‘And maybe we should extend our search area? It’s possible they left Rudyard and were heading back out towards the moors, Ramshaw Rocks, perhaps thinking of leaving another letterbox?’ He too looked troubled.

  ‘But the rucksacks? Left at the B&B when they were hitchhiking?’

  ‘Barker said they’d walked all the way to Leek one day. Maybe that’s where they went.’

  ‘They packed up on Saturday night. Barker said they intended leaving early on the Sunday morning.’

  ‘How much can we rely on Barker’s statement?’

  Joanna shrugged. ‘Your guess is as good as mine, Mike. Killers have to tell lies, you know that. Horses for courses. Goes with the job.’

  Both of them knew instinctively that this investigation would take up plenty of time and use up plenty of resources before they found an answer. And sometimes – Korpanski’s face looked troubled – they failed to find an explanation at all. It was possible that the girls’ fate would always remain a mystery.

  Just then Dawn Critchlow entered the café and, to their surprise, instead of stopping at their table, she gave them a cursory nod before walking past and heading for Will. He looked surprised too. ‘Can I help you?’

  ‘I’d like to talk to your mother, Will.’

  He now looked astonished. ‘My mother? Whatever for?’

  ‘We’re trying to speak to all the inhabitants of Rudyard – anyone who might have seen something of the two girls who are currently missing.’

  ‘My mum won’t be able to help you.’

  ‘You don’t know that.’

  ‘But she’s not a well lady.’ He must have thought he needed to emphasize the point as he said, ‘She’s very ill.’

  ‘I realize that, William.’ Dawn was very good at sweetening people. ‘But as she’s around in the day and most of the other people in the square are out I wondered if she might have seen something.’

  ‘I wouldn’t have thought so.’

  ‘She spends a lot of time looking through the window.’

  Will frowned, and to Jo he seemed to be caught between the need to protect his mother and not getting in the way of the police investigation. His face was pi
nk and his feet were shuffling. He gave it one last shot. ‘I’d prefer you not to. You might upset her.’

  ‘We can speak to her while you’re present, in your house,’ Dawn said, before twisting the thumbscrews just a little. ‘It would be better than summoning her to the station, which might cause her some distress.’

  He caved in at that. While Joanna and Mike watched, he capitulated. ‘OK,’ he said. ‘I’ll be home by eight. You can come by then, if you like,’ he added, a little grumpily.

  ‘Good,’ Dawn said. ‘It’d be much better if you’re there.’ She finished with a winning smile. ‘See you later then. OK?’

  Patently it wasn’t. The normally pleasant face of Will Murdoch told as much. ‘I guess so,’ he said sulkily.

  Joanna and Mike practically clapped. ‘A lesson in getting your own way,’ Joanna murmured.

  Dawn then came over to the table where Korpanski and Joanna were sitting and sat down. ‘What was all that about?’ Joanna asked.

  ‘We-ell,’ Dawn said, hesitating, ‘my team have gained access to all the properties in Rudyard except this one. Mrs Murdoch stares at me through the window but won’t let me in. Her son, William, is her carer.’

  ‘And?’ Joanna was still baffled.

  Dawn dropped her gaze. ‘I’ve had a shifty round the back, Jo,’ she said. ‘The kitchen is small. They’re all small cottages.’

  ‘And?’

  ‘In the lean-to in the back is a large chest freezer.’

  No bodies in the lake. The lack of any traceable putrefaction in the surrounding area. Joanna drew in a sharp breath. Was this the lead they’d been looking for?

  Charlotte Bingley was driving back to Rudyard still a little on edge after her trip to the rocks. Barker had rung her mobile number. ‘Just to let you know,’ he’d said in his slow voice, ‘I’m really sorry about having to leave you in the lurch. I hope you’ve found somewhere else to stay.’

  Charlotte was not in a particularly forgiving mood. ‘I did find somewhere,’ she said in a cold, clipped voice, ‘but it was most inconvenient, Mr Barker. And,’ she added pointedly, ‘it was more expensive.’

  ‘I had to leave due to a family bereavement,’ Barker continued. ‘All very tragic – and sudden. Quite unexpected, you see.’ He wasn’t going to tell her the truth.

  ‘Oh, I’m sorry.’ The words trotted out automatically, almost without any thought.’ Then she did think. ‘Is it possible I could come back to Mandalay then for the rest of my stay?’

  The words had a ring to them, Barker realized. One he recognized. Come you back, you British soldier; come you back to Mandalay!

  ‘Of course,’ he said warmly. ‘You’ll be most welcome. I was so sorry to inconvenience you. When would you like to return?’

  ‘Tonight?’

  TWENTY

  Having made her excuses at Leek’s only hotel, Charlotte Bingley arrived back at Mandalay at six p.m., just as the heat was leeching out of the day. Barker opened the door to her and they greeted each other almost as old friends.

  ‘I’m so sorry I had to leave you in the lurch,’ he said. ‘I did feel really awful about it. I’ve never had to walk out on my guests before. But it was a quite an unexpected event. A tragic accident,’ he added, to give his story extra colour.

  ‘Oh, dear,’ Charlotte responded, almost adding the dreadful cliché, do you want to talk about it? before telling herself not to be so stupid and replacing it with, ‘So will you have to leave again to attend the funeral?’

  For a moment Barker looked as though he didn’t know what she was talking about. Then he remembered his little white lie and slipped straight back into it. ‘Oh, yes,’ he said, ‘I will have to go to the funeral but only for half a day.’ The lie was gaining strength and detail. ‘And because they don’t know why she died there had to be a post-mortem,’ he added dramatically. ‘And the coroner’s involved so I’m not sure that the funeral won’t be for weeks.’ He gave her a reassuring smile. ‘But it’ll be well after you’ve gone, Charlotte.’ He gave her a warm smile that hid a bit of a smirk.

  No point in rattling the girl, was there? Telling her he had actually been with the police, under suspicion for liquidating two of his guests. Females, just like her. He showed his yellow teeth just as she shouldered her rucksack and headed for the stairs. ‘Am I in my old room?’

  Barker practically shuddered as he recalled the dreadful mess the officers had made of the wall where they had taken down his beloved Supi-yaw-lat, plastering over the hole in the wall with what had seemed to him to be malicious pleasure when he’d finally been allowed to return to Mandalay. They had taken his picture – as evidence, they’d said. She wasn’t evidence. She was his …

  ‘No, dear,’ he said quickly. ‘Best not go back to your old room. I’ve not had time to clean it.’

  Charlotte was about to say that it didn’t matter but Barker added quickly, ‘I’ve put you in the grand suite.’

  She was about to demur that she’d been quite happy in … but the words dried up in her throat. Barker was looking at her in a way that invited no protest.

  Joanna and Mike had returned to Leek and were holed up in their office. ‘I’m not happy about letting Barker go,’ she said suddenly.

  Mike pinned her with a stare. ‘We couldn’t keep him in custody for ever, Jo,’ he pointed out. ‘The evidence was kind of circumstantial and a bit flimsy and … well.’

  They both knew they needed to find the bodies.

  ‘We should at least be watching him.’ Her face changed. ‘What if he opens Mandalay up for business again?’

  ‘He wouldn’t …’ Korpanski grinned suddenly. ‘I wouldn’t worry about that, Jo.’ He had a mischievous twinkle in his eye. ‘Phil Scott and Jason have plastered up the hole.’

  She laughed. ‘I hope they’ve made a neat job of it.’

  ‘Not particularly.’

  Then she sobered up. ‘But we don’t know what he’s up to, Mike. By letting him go are we putting someone at risk?’

  He swivelled round in his chair to face her and knew her concerns were serious. ‘Well, we can always re-arrest him.’

  ‘No, we can’t really, Mike. We need that evidence. We need to find the bodies. Maybe Critchlow will have some luck with that freezer.’ But Joanna was aware she sounded pessimistic. She really couldn’t see Will or his ill mother having anything to do with the girls’ disappearance.

  PC Dawn Critchlow was standing outside number eight on The Crescent. The property was not so much neglected – the garden was quite neat and the white paintwork in good condition – as unloved. The house was a little spoiled by the dingy pebble dash, probably applied in the fifties when there had been a fashion for it. No. Number eight was simply uncared for. A place of residence that had received no affection. It was a sad, bland little house. As she pushed the garden gate open she was aware of the strange woman staring at her through the window and behind her the boy from the café, Will.

  It was he who let her in, clearly unhappy about the disturbance. ‘I don’t know why …’

  In answer, Dawn addressed his mother directly. ‘Mrs Murdoch,’ she said. The woman was dressed in a tartan pleated skirt that was mid-calf length, thick brown tights and pink slippers. She wore a dark red cardigan that was wrongly buttoned up. There are few more obvious visible clues that hint at mental health issues than the combination of well-worn slippers with a wrongly buttoned up cardigan. Will clearly felt the need to be protective of her, though his glance at his mother also held some exasperation.

  Dawn was surprised when the woman’s steady brown eyes fixed on her. ‘Yes?’

  ‘I’m hoping you can help me.’

  ‘Yes?’ she said again.

  ‘Back in July …’

  The woman interrupted her. ‘I don’t have a good memory, you know. And it’s Wendy. You can call me Wendy.’

  Dawn continued: ‘Back in July two French girls were staying at Mandalay – the …’

  ‘Mandalay,’ Mrs Murdoch
cackled, ‘Mandalay, did you say? Barker’s place?’

  ‘Yes.’ PC Critchlow couldn’t hide her surprise. ‘Do you know him?’

  ‘Years ago, I did,’ Wendy Murdoch said. ‘More years ago than I care to recall.’

  ‘Oh?’ Dawn Critchlow was flummoxed.

  ‘We were – for a while – you might say we were sweethearts.’ She cackled again.

  ‘No. Really?’

  Wendy Murdoch looked mischievous. ‘We were,’ she insisted. ‘Indeed we were. Years ago. But, well, he had to look after his old mum.’ She looked up, directly at Will. ‘Just like you do, William, you could say. And then … we sort of drifted apart really. Maybe neither of us was a passionate creature. And then I met Ian.’ She smiled to herself. ‘But he took off not long after young Will here was born. And then, well …’ She looked up. ‘Life goes on, doesn’t it?’

  ‘Yeah. I suppose so.’

  During the exchange Will had hovered nervously in the doorway, hopping from foot to foot in a little tapping dance. Dawn looked across the room at him and wondered. She never quite trusted obedient sons. Maybe because she didn’t have one – not a son or a daughter.

  She returned to her original question. ‘So did you see the girls, Wendy?’

  ‘What did they look like?’

  Dawn produced the photograph. Wendy Murdoch stared at it for a while then commented, ‘Pretty, aren’t they?’

  It was not an answer but Dawn agreed. Thoughts were crossing her mind.

  ‘They look flirty, don’t they?’

  Dawn frowned. She puzzled over this for a while. They did look flirty, inviting in the picture but in real life it had seemed they were more engrossed in their poetry book. So what, she wondered, was the truth?

  Wendy hadn’t finished. ‘Just the sort of girls men would like.’ She looked at Will.

  ‘So, do you remember seeing them?’

  Wendy Murdoch folded her arms tightly and bunched in her lips. ‘No, I do not.’ She was almost shouting. ‘I did not.’