by Mari Hannah
Another nod from Jo. ‘And if you get any hits?’
‘I’ll TIE-action all of them.’
Jo understood the term – Trace, Implicate or Eliminate. ‘You look worried.’
‘I am. I don’t want a Yorkshire Ripper scenario. Sutcliffe was interviewed several times about five-pound notes and size of feet and the police did fuck-all about it. I want these men questioned so I can work out what the tale is.’
‘Do yourself a favour. Take Rachel out of the equation, at least in your head. If you don’t, it’ll be too much of a distraction, preventing you from doing what you do best. Just find the bastard that took her. You’ve uncovered a huge link here: dates, prisons, girls buried here that went missing in Yorkshire. Now all you have to do is work out what it all means.’
68
DANIELS WAS UNAVAILABLE on the incident room number, so Emily rang her mobile and left a text message she couldn’t pretend she hadn’t received:
KATE, I’M SO SORRY. I WAS WRONG ABOUT KENT: RACHEL’S DISAPPEARANCE HAD NOTHING TO DO WITH HIM. HE’S BEEN TRYING TO HELP ME. I FEEL TERRIBLE FOR HAVING DRAGGED HIM INTO THIS. PLEASE FORGET WHAT I SAID ABOUT HIM. STUFF HAS HAPPENED. IT’S FEARON. DEFINITELY. PLEASE GET IN TOUCH WITH ME OR SERGEANT LOWTHER ASAP FOR A FULL EXPLANATION.
Kate sighed.
She’d already had words with Jane Lowther and knew exactly what had taken place at the prison in the early hours. Emily wasn’t coping. Hardly surprising. She was living on a knife-edge, clearly not thinking straight. And she was wrong about Kent. Somewhere along the line he was involved in all this. Daniels was sure of it. She texted a reply, choosing her words carefully:
DON’T CONCERN YOURSELF, EM. ANY CONVERSATION WE HAD IS CONFIDENTIAL TO THIS OFFICE.
There was no way she could tell her of the covert operation being carried out. Not at this stage at any rate.
Maybe never.
ON THE FLOOR below, Sergeant Lowther welcomed Emily to the station and led her to the same interview room where she’d given a brief statement that her daughter had gone missing to a slip of a lad pretending to be a detective.
Was that only six days ago?
It seemed like for ever to Emily.
Lowther appeared professional and businesslike. She was around forty years old, six-two if she was an inch, with wavy blonde hair, worn short and brushed straight back, just touching her uniform shirt collar. She reminded Emily of South African actress, Charlize Theron. She had high cheekbones, a generous mouth and eyes that could kill at a hundred yards . . .
They were looking directly at Emily.
Before either of them had a chance to say anything, there was a gentle knock at the door. The young PC who’d seen Emily the first time she’d come into the station stuck his head in. He smiled at her, apologized for interrupting, and warned Lowther that psychiatrist Martin Stamp was insisting on joining them.
‘Apparently Mrs McCann is expecting him, Sarge.’
Emily was expecting no such thing but nodded her consent when Lowther looked at her pointedly. She figured that a little moral support wouldn’t go amiss right now. Still crushed by the find in Fearon’s cell, she wanted answers. With his complete disregard for authority, Stamp would help her get them should she meet resistance from the police a second time.
Lowther nodded at the PC.
The rookie disappeared, closing the door behind him.
Under the female sergeant’s steady gaze, Emily began to fidget, trying her best not to prejudge the outcome of Fearon’s police interview. But a sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach increased in intensity as the seconds ticked by. Desperate to hear what had gone on, she imagined him drooling over Lowther, eking out the time he was in her company, playing his games. Enjoying another ludicrous fantasy, acting the innocent all the while.
Sick fuck.
The door opened and Stamp was shown into the room.
Leaning across the table, he shook hands with Lowther and introduced himself. Charm personified. He was good at that. Except, on this occasion, the woman on the receiving end wasn’t having any. He sat down next to Emily. Taking her hand, he squeezed it gently, giving her a little smile of encouragement as he apologized for keeping her waiting. So convincing was he, Emily began to wonder whether she had asked him along after all.
‘I won’t beat about the bush.’ Lowther’s eyes were on Emily. ‘I’m afraid I have nothing positive to tell you. Walter Fearon no replied his way through most of his interview. I wish I had better news, but I don’t believe in giving people false hope. As it stands, there is no evidence to link him with Rachel’s alleged abduction.’
‘Alleged?’ Stamp scoffed. ‘What the hell do you mean by that?’
Lowther glared at him.
‘Surely the photograph proves—’
‘It proves nothing,’ Lowther said. ‘Unless his prints are on it.’
‘They’re not?’ Emily’s voice was barely audible. She’d been in her job long enough to know what was coming. ‘He swears it was planted in his cell, right? Well, he would do, wouldn’t he? An offender’s default position, wouldn’t you agree?’
‘She’s right,’ Stamp switched his focus to Lowther. ‘Like claiming they slipped in the showers when they get beaten up. You’re not buying his crap, surely?’
Lowther’s eyes held a warning. ‘Let me be quite clear on this. The photograph was not wiped clean. There are prints on it, but none that belong to the offender in question. In the absence of evidence, my hands are tied. I’m afraid I cannot authorize his further detention.’ Pausing for breath, she opened the manila folder she was holding. Then she levelled her eyes at the psychiatrist, watching his reaction as she carried on talking. ‘He claims any number of people had access to his cell in recent days, yourself included, Mr Stamp.’
‘That’s—’
‘I’m not finished,’ Lowther cut him off. ‘Fearon gave me a long list of visitors to his cell, an even longer list of those with access. Including Officer Kent, who I gather has a serious, well-documented and long-standing attitude problem, and Senior Officer Walker, who ordered the search without reference to the duty security SO. Strange behaviour in the middle of the night, wouldn’t you both agree? And you, Mrs McCann – you have keys, do you not?’
Neither Stamp nor Emily had an answer to that.
Lowther was on a roll. ‘There are others: his personal officer for one; the discharge officer; Principal Officer Harrison; even the prison chaplain. You see my problem here? You’ve got to admit he has a point.’
‘He wouldn’t know the truth if it ran up and bit him,’ Stamp said.
Emily looked at the floor.
Lowther was right. Cell doors were often left open. In the days leading up to release, it wasn’t unusual for a range of professionals to sign off on an inmate with a one-to-one pep talk. Hell, she’d done it herself often enough. No. Without his prints on the photograph, there was no way they would make the theft stick.
Her disappointment was not lost on Lowther. ‘I’m so sorry. Whether Fearon is involved indirectly in your daughter’s disappearance, I’m afraid I cannot say. But DCI Daniels has asked me to assure you that she is looking into the other matter you mentioned.’
Stamp glanced at Emily, his expression a mixture of surprise and bafflement.
‘Other matter?’ he said.
69
WHAT A WASTE of an SlO’s time. Kate Daniels slammed down the phone. She’d spent the best part of an hour arguing the toss about cross-border money with her counterpart in the East Yorks force. One of her victims was abducted from there. Two, potentially. One or both may have been killed on their patch. And yet the divvi she’d been speaking to wasn’t bloody interested.
Well, she’d see about that.
Ordinarily, she’d rather die than let some officious prick get one over on her. But, on this occasion, she had more pressing matters to attend to. Like her job; her real job, not the horrendous pile of admin that came with it. Naylor would sort Yorkshir
e out and, if he couldn’t get through, her former guv’nor would. There would be hell to pay if Bright got involved.
That image made her feel all warm and fuzzy inside.
Taking a deep breath, she extracted her ID from her computer, slid it into its leather pouch and stood up, ready to meet her team. They had spent the morning reviewing the original investigation into Sophie Kent’s disappearance, trying to establish whether she was indeed their second victim. The most worrying fact was that, along with four prison officers, all adult males known to the girl, Martin Stamp had been questioned in connection with her disappearance.
With that thought lingering in her head, Kate left her desk and wandered into the incident room to find everyone waiting for the briefing to start, Jo Soulsby among them. Naylor had given permission for her to be there. She’d assisted them many times and had always been the first point of call if they needed the opinion of a criminal profiler. But her inclusion in a formal briefing at a critical stage of a double homicide made it official. She was back – if only in a part-time role.
That warm feeling again.
The DCI’s eyes were drawn to a second visitor present. Sergeant Jane Lowther was perched on the edge of Brown’s desk, the two of them deep in conversation. She’d promised to liaise with the Murder Investigation Team following her interview with Emily McCann.
She stood up as Kate approached.
‘Hello, Jane.’ The DCI gestured for Lowther to sit. ‘Thanks for joining us. How did Emily McCann take the news?’
‘She was pretty stoical, given the circumstances. She’s a lovely woman.’
‘Yes, she is . . . I understand Martin Stamp was present when you interviewed her.’
‘Yes, ma’am.’ A flicker of doubt crossed her face.
Kate pounced on it. ‘Problem?’
‘Not exactly. I’m fairly sure she wasn’t expecting him, that’s all.’
‘What? He turned up here unannounced?’
‘According to the desk sergeant.’ Lowther gave a little shrug. ‘Emily hadn’t mentioned he was on his way.’
‘Interesting. What did you make of him?’
‘Good-looking nowt.’
Kate grinned. Lowther was a woman after her own heart. No point in beating about the bush. ‘I take it you didn’t warm to him?’
‘Not a whole lot, no. Don’t ask me why. He was pleasant enough, but he got a bit arsy when I told them Fearon had blanked me out during questioning. Are they an item then?’
‘Just good friends.’
In her peripheral vision, Kate noticed Jo turn to face them, a mixture of annoyance and puzzlement on her face. Like Emily, she had no idea as yet that her friend and colleague, Martin Stamp, might be implicated in a serious offence. It was time to share the unpalatable truth.
‘Can you excuse me a second, Jane?’ Kate said. ‘I have some beans to spill.’
She moved towards Jo with the intention of having a private chat before the briefing began. But she hadn’t gone two paces when Carmichael walked in, a big smile on her face, and intercepted her.
‘Jane tell you about the photograph debacle? Sounds like a smokescreen to me, boss. They’re all in it together!’ She grinned and continued, loud enough for the whole room to join in the joke: ‘It’s like four weddings and a funeral. Only we have four prison officers and a psychiatrist in the frame!’
Jo’s face was a picture as she spun to face Kate. ‘Mind telling me what’s going on?’
70
THERE WAS LITTLE air in Principal Officer Harrison’s office. Emily McCann was finding it hard to concentrate after her unproductive meeting with Sergeant Lowther. Of course Fearon denied taking the photograph. Did anyone expect him to admit it?
Pulling at her roll-neck sweater, she scanned the faces of the department representatives crammed into the room: Harrison, the wing probation officer, the chaplain, Kent, Stamp. Their lips were moving but their conversation was drowned out by two words whizzing round in her head in perpetual motion, driving her insane.
Alive . . . or dead
Rachel must be alive.
Emily had to believe that. The alternative was too painful to accept, too awful to contemplate. She’d convinced herself that she’d have known if that were not the case. Now she was having doubts. Robert had been dead for two hours before she found out. There had been no special sign, no feeling of doom or dread the day she received the news.
The day her world collapsed.
Back then, had anyone asked whether things could get any worse, she’d have laughed in their face. But they had. And now she was drowning. Trapped between her professional conscience at work and her private hell at home. The world was crumbling around her and she felt powerless to do anything about it.
‘What preparations are in hand for Fearon’s release?’ Harrison asked.
His words cut through her. He had to be joking. He wasn’t seriously suggesting that Fearon was still getting out, not after all that had happened in the past twenty-four hours? Christ, only a matter of hours had passed since the police hauled him in to be interviewed on suspicion of collaborating in the serious offence of abduction.
Fuck’s sake!
Harrison was looking at the probation officer, asking if she had any further comments. When the woman shook her head, Emily rounded on her, urging her to speak up against the injustice of Fearon being allowed out while he was under suspicion in an active investigation. The probation officer was a parent too. If anyone ought to understand the grim reality of the situation, surely it was her. Besides, she’d been friends with Emily for years, even before they came to work at the prison.
Her eyes said otherwise.
There was a mixture of concern and sympathy, but Emily could tell she didn’t have her full support.
‘Tell them!’ she exploded. ‘Please . . . what’s wrong with you?’
‘I’m sorry, Em. You were the one dead against parole. There’s nothing we can do now except trust hostel staff to do their jobs and guide him in the right direction when he returns to Sheffield. He’s done his time. Short of the Home Secretary’s intervention, he walks in three days whether you agree with it or not.’
‘And so he should.’ The chaplain shifted his gaze from the probation officer to Emily. ‘We all know how you feel. And we sympathize, truly we do. But I for one believe that Fearon has learned his lesson. He’s a changed young man since I first saw him on reception. He has become a regular member of the congregation and he’s promised to go straight when he gets out—’
‘Bollocks!’ Emily’s face was white with anger. ‘The despicable loser’s found religion and God has forgiven him, is that it? Well, that’s OK then. We’ll just pat him on the head and send the bastard home, shall we?’ Emily glared at him, hating everything he stood for, wanting to rip that white collar from his throat. ‘Don’t you understand? He’s a vile, dangerous lowlife. And one of his cronies has my daughter!’
‘You don’t know that, Emily.’ Harrison’s tone was sympathetic but his eyes also told a different story. ‘Where’s that professional integrity of yours? It wasn’t long ago you were lecturing the rest of us on prison protocol, how all inmates deserve fair treatment. Isn’t that so?’
‘That was before—’
‘That’s enough!’ Harrison cut her off, demanding that she calm down or leave.
‘No, you calm down, Ted. I’m not having this—’
‘Emily, please!’ Stamp was staring at her lap. ‘You’ll make yourself ill.’
Emily looked down. Her knuckles were white, her fists clenched so hard that a drop of blood had trickled on to her skirt from the cut her fingernails had made in her palm. Hot, salty tears ran into her mouth. She wiped them away with the back of her hand.
This wasn’t happening.
‘Doesn’t my professional opinion count any more?’ She wanted to scream out loud but could hardly breathe. Fearon was involved in Rachel’s disappearance, she was sure of it. He was clever and manipulative a
nd a lot of other things. Not like Emily, whose words were all jumbled up. Her argument sounded incoherent even in her own head. ‘Can’t you see . . . Fearon’s a risk . . . not just to my Rachel but to the public generally. We should be protecting them!’
‘Hallelujah!’ Harrison said. ‘We have ourselves a convert.’
‘With all due respect, sir. Emily has a point.’
The comment had come from Kent. It wasn’t like him to speak out, especially not in opposition to his principal officer. Harrison bristled. Stamp said nothing. Not a damned thing. Did he agree with them? Was he too gutless to press for something to be done? He’d had plenty to say to Lowther. For all the good it had done.
‘Please,’ Emily said. ‘Will none of you help me?’
‘I’ll take no further part in this fiasco.’ The chaplain picked up his belongings and got to his feet. ‘Walter Fearon deserves to be treated like a human being, and I for one believe his remorse is genuine.’
‘No!’ Emily was begging now. ‘He doesn’t know the meaning of the word remorse. He’s a manipulative psychopath. Can’t you see?’
‘Which is why release on licence should’ve been considered when we had the chance,’ the probation officer repeated. ‘Parole was always the lesser of two evils, but I was shouted down. By you, Em, as I recall. So now he walks, with no external control over his behaviour whatsoever. There is nothing we can do at this point. Our hands are tied.’
The chaplain said, ‘You know where I am if you need me, Emily.’
She told him to shove it and he walked out.
71
JO SOULSBY WAS visibly shocked by what she’d learned in the briefing room. In all the years she’d known Martin Stamp he’d never mentioned being questioned by the police about Sophie Kent’s disappearance.