Monument to Murder

by Mari Hannah

  ‘Doesn’t that strike you as odd?’ Kate asked. ‘Honestly?’

  They had retired to her office at Jo’s suggestion, to take ‘a few moments alone for a quiet word’. Kate expected a row for not having warned her before Carmichael blurted out the news, an awkward situation for both of them with the entire squad looking on. With the benefit of hindsight, the DCI was forced to accept that she might have handled it better.

  ‘Let’s not condemn him just because he kept it to himself,’ Jo warned. ‘You’ve miscalculated before – well, Bright did – and I ended up inside. He was wrong then. You’re probably wrong now.’

  The dig was entirely justified.

  A couple of years ago, Jo had fallen under suspicion and spent time in custody, wrongly accused of her ex-husband’s murder, pilloried in the media, her name splashed across every newspaper and TV screen, her reputation in shreds. It took ages for the press to leave her be, even longer to put the experience behind her.

  ‘Don’t do that!’ she said.

  ‘What?’ Kate looked baffled.

  ‘That sulky thing you do when you’re in a mood.’

  ‘I’m not in a mood!’

  ‘Yes, you are. I’m not getting at you! I’m just making the point that I’ve been there too. It’s not a good place to be and I’ve not spoken about it since to anyone, except you. If Martin was pulled in for police questioning, especially for such a serious matter, it would hardly be his finest hour, would it? He’s a professional with a reputation to protect – same as us.’

  ‘I’m not accusing him of anything.’

  ‘Aren’t you?’

  ‘No!’ Kate said. ‘I’m not!’

  ‘Carmichael obviously thinks he’s involved.’

  They both fell silent: a simmering, resentful silence that dragged on and on. It seemed inconceivable that just last week they had been jumping on each other’s bones. And now they were bitching again – a customary state of affairs in recent months – a complete head-batter as far as Kate was concerned. She’d rather be single-crewed facing an angry crowd on night shift than fight with the woman she loved this much.

  Even if Stamp was an innocent caught in the crossfire, she was convinced that there was a rabbit off somewhere and the stench was coming directly from HMP Northumberland. She had a job to do and she would damn well do it.

  ‘Does Martin know Kent well?’ she asked.

  ‘No, yes, I don’t know.’ Jo hesitated. ‘He may have mentioned something about them working together in the past. I can’t remember if he did or not.’

  Bullshit!

  Jo caught the look of a sceptic. ‘OK, so he mentioned it . . . but only in passing. Happy now? I just don’t believe he’s involved, if that’s what you’re suggesting.’

  That much had been obvious from the moment Carmichael mentioned the psychiatrist. Kate cleared her throat. She hated putting Jo in such an awkward situation, the police on one side and her friend, Martin, on the other. But she was well placed to provide inside information on people who might be hiding something that could help the investigation.

  ‘I’m not one of your snouts, Kate.’ Jo crossed her arms, glaring at her from across the desk. ‘And I’d hate to think the reason you wanted me back on the team is to keep obs on Martin. If that is the case, then please say so. In fact, don’t bother. I’ll pass on this one, if it’s all the same to you.’

  ‘Quit, you mean? After what you walked in on this morning? Jo, you can’t! If Sophie Kent turns out to be my unidentified victim, then it stands to reason Rachel could well be the third. If she isn’t already dead, she’s in great danger. Emily’s your friend too. Doesn’t she count?’

  Jo didn’t dignify that with an answer.

  ‘For God’s sake!’ Kate said. ‘I’m not trying to score points here, I’m asking for your help. The men pulled in after Sophie went missing all worked together at Coleby Prison in Yorkshire – only a few clicks from Kent’s home, and not much further from the home of our other victim, Maxine O’Neil. There was a mass exodus when the prison closed down in 2002 and staff were dispersed around the country, but four of the men interviewed in connection with Sophie’s disappearance washed up at HMP Northumberland.’

  ‘I’m not saying Martin is directly involved in any wrongdoing. He was quickly ruled out of the Sophie Kent enquiry: as I understand it, he had an alibi, and the witnesses to back it up. Even so, he has knowledge of what happened ten years ago. I need to talk to him about Kent and two other prison officers.’

  ‘I thought Lisa said there were four.’

  ‘One has since died.’

  ‘Who are the others?’

  ‘Edward Harrison, an SO—’

  ‘He’s a PO now and public enemy number one. A nasty piece of work.’

  ‘In what way?’

  ‘In every way. Ask Emily, she hates him. The man’s a complete pig. Who was the one who died and what happened to him?’

  Kate knew where Jo was heading. ‘Hung himself. His name was Ronald Cohen. He was a main grade officer. But you’re right: dead or alive, he needs ruling out. There was no suicide note.’ Kate glanced at the list she’d prepared for the briefing. ‘What’s Ashley Walker like? He’s last on my list.’

  ‘OK . . . but not very intuitive.’ Jo began to blush.

  ‘He tried it on with you?’

  ‘’Fraid so.’

  Kate raised an eyebrow. ‘He has good taste then.’

  ‘Are you reviewing the original evidence?’ Jo asked. ‘In Sophie’s case, I mean.’

  Nice sidestep.

  ‘After months of intense activity, the investigation went cold. Detectives were moved on to other cases and the enquiry wound down, although it was still very much alive. I’ve got Hank liaising with the receiver on that job, feeding information to my lot up here.’

  ‘Surely Kent, Harrison and Walker weren’t the only ex-Coleby officers transferred up here. There must be others at the prison.’

  ‘It should be easy to check.’

  ‘Why are you so certain it’s Sophie you found?’

  ‘She fits the profile: her age, the timing of the abduction, the fact that she had no broken bones, had never been treated by a dentist, according to her father. Neither had our victim. Of course that could all be coincidental, but I’m fairly certain it’s her. Don’t ask me where the pearls fit in. If Sophie is the first victim, Maxine O’Neil the second and Rachel the third, then Cohen can be ruled out. He’s been dead a while.’

  ‘Five-year gaps figure somewhere,’ Jo said. ‘It sounds like you’re on to something. Didn’t they take a DNA sample for Sophie?’

  ‘No match found.’

  ‘Maybe someone made a mistake?’

  Daniels shrugged. ‘Human error is one possibility. The results could simply have been assigned to the wrong case file. Or it could have been deliberate: the evidence tampered with. My next step is to identify which it is.’

  72

  EMILY CLOSED THE photograph album. She’d spent much of the evening in tears, leafing through happy memories, grieving for her dead husband and missing child, festering over her spat with Harrison and the rest of her team.

  A sharp knock at the door made her jump.

  She froze.

  She hadn’t heard a car drive up. It was a thirty-minute walk to the nearest village and her only neighbour had gone abroad.

  Rachel?

  Putting the album down, she rushed into the hallway and was immediately deflated when she yanked open the door. Stamp was on the step, a take-away in one hand, a bottle of wine in the other – a sheepish look on his face.

  ‘Thought you might like some company?’ he said.

  Emily wanted nothing of the kind but moved back to let him in, a plan forming in her head. Maybe he could still save the day. Taking the food from him, she put it in the oven, opened the wine and poured them both a large drink. She joined him in the living room, sat down on the sofa and lit a cigarette. He didn’t initiate conversation, just stood
by the fireside as she raged about her day, her nightmare situation, lack of support from the police, from colleagues, from him too. From the prison chaplain, a man she described as ‘even more deluded than Walter Fearon.’

  ‘Can you believe that idiot?’ She stabbed her cigarette out in the ashtray, exhaling smoke through her nostrils as she glanced up at him. ‘If God exists, I’d like to know where he is right now. What terrible thing did I do to deserve what he’s dished out lately?’

  Her thoughts were all over the place: Robert, Rachel, Fearon – whose imminent release from prison she was determined to prevent, no matter what the probation officer said. Theoretically, Emily agreed with her. It would’ve been far better if the evil shit had been let out on parole with the threat of instant recall hanging over his head should he put a foot wrong. But it was too late for that now. Besides, would it really make any difference to an offender like him? Emily didn’t believe so. South Yorkshire Probation Service couldn’t keep him under surveillance 24/7.

  He’d be up to his old tricks in no time.

  Pausing for breath, she took a slug of wine, almost choking on the stuff before carrying on with her tirade. ‘It’s not good enough, Martin! There would be a public outcry if it got out that we release prisoners early, not because they deserve it, but because we’re scared witless that they’ll disappear into the ether if we don’t.’

  ‘Statistically speaking—’

  She glared at him. ‘Don’t you dare quote statistics at me!’

  ‘I was going to say that the sex offenders’ register—’

  ‘Is a joke!’ Emily snapped. ‘Prevents re-offending, my arse!’

  ‘No system for tracking recidivists is perfect.’

  ‘You can say that again! Sex offenders should serve indeterminate sentences with release dependent on professional risk assessment – end of story!’

  ‘What do you think I’m doing here?’ Stamp moved away from the fire and sat down. ‘It’s under review, the raison d’être for my research project.’

  Emily knew that much was true. ‘But you know as well as I do it’ll take years to implement. Meanwhile, more children go missing and parents like me go through a living hell until they’re found.’

  She stopped ranting as the aroma of food reached them. She hadn’t eaten all day and needed to if she was going to avoid collapsing in a heap in sheer exhaustion. She suspected Stamp hadn’t either. Getting up, she set two places at the table, then went into the kitchen and spooned a small portion of food for her, a generous one for him and left the rest to keep warm in the oven.

  Arriving back in the room, she put the food on the table, apologizing for yelling at him. ‘Thanks for this, Martin. I must sound so bloody ungrateful.’

  They ate in silence, lost in their own thoughts. His probably on their relationship, hers very firmly on her current situation and what she had in mind to do about it. A few mouthfuls in, she pushed her plate away. She couldn’t face food with her stomach in knots. Then it all got too much for her and she began to weep.

  Stamp put down his knife and fork. He leaned across the table, placing a hand on her forearm, his eyes misting up too. ‘It’s killing me seeing you like this, Em. Please let me take care of you.’

  ‘I don’t need taking care of,’ Emily sobbed. ‘I just need my daughter back.’

  ‘I know. And I’ll do anything I can to help you.’

  ‘Will you?’

  ‘Of course.’

  Emily seized her opportunity.

  She wanted him to bend some rules.

  73

  DETECTIVE SERGEANT ROBSON had the floor. He was well into his stride, leaning against a desk at the front of the briefing room, feet crossed at the ankles, summarizing the investigation into Sophie Kent’s disappearance. On the face of it, East Yorkshire force had done a good job. For months, they had worked the case intensively, pouring huge resources, both human and financial, into finding the girl. Thousands of actions had been raised and logged on to the HOLMES computer system, the intelligence collected, checked and rechecked several times.

  ‘Eventually the leads dried up,’ Robson said. ‘Lisa spoke to the SIO.’

  Kate’s eyes found Carmichael. ‘What you got for me, Lisa?’

  ‘Kent was questioned at length. He married young. Pregnant girlfriend. Shotgun wedding forced upon the couple by her father, who died within the year. When Sophie was quite young, her mother became terminally ill. She left the family, quote “didn’t want to be tied down by a kid she never wanted” unquote. As far as she was concerned, her life was over before it began.’

  ‘Nice,’ Maxwell said.

  For once Carmichael agreed with him. ‘She’d never make mum of the year—’

  ‘Unless she was protecting the girl,’ Jo suggested. ‘I mean, making it easy for her. Can’t be pleasant watching your mum fade away and die when you’re eight years old.’

  It was fair comment, Carmichael and Maxwell concurred.

  ‘Anyway,’ Carmichael said. ‘That was the first place they looked, in case Sophie had run off to be with her mum. When investigators found Mrs Kent she was living in a hospice in Staithes, too ill to look after herself, let alone take care of a kid.’

  As her young DC carried on talking, Kate glanced to her left. Jo was listening intently and scribbling on a pad. Grateful she’d remained on the case, Kate looked over her shoulder at what was written there, some of it underlined.

  Three girls: 10, 15 & 20.

  Five year gap.

  All missing: February.

  DNA switch: mistaken or deliberate?

  Unwanted child?

  Bill Kent: single parent.

  It was nice to know they were thinking along the same lines.

  Fairly certain in her own mind that the body in the morgue was Sophie Kent, Kate didn’t intend sharing her suspicions with anyone outside of Jo and her immediate team. Not until she had hard evidence to back up her claim. Besides, she didn’t want to upset her friend, Emily McCann. The poor woman had convinced herself that Fearon was behind her daughter’s disappearance. To be perfectly honest, it suited the DCI to let her believe it for a little while longer, even though she suspected it wasn’t.

  Carmichael was still talking . . .

  ‘Stamp was eliminated fairly quickly by the woman he was with.’

  Jo’s expression said: I-told-you-so. ‘What about Officer Cohen?’

  ‘Locked down in the prison when the girl went missing with umpteen witnesses.’ Carmichael checked her own notes. ‘Walker and Kent were both off duty, but therein lies the problem: it would appear that they spent most of the day together but gave conflicting statements when questioned. Timings were out by an hour or so. The SIO didn’t have a lot of time for either man.’

  ‘And Harrison?’

  ‘Playing golf. His tee-off time confirms that. He was seen at the clubhouse afterwards by several fellow members of the Beverley and East Riding Golf Club.’

  ‘Who was he playing with?’ Kate asked.

  Carmichael made a face.

  Robson whistled. ‘So Billy-No-Mates-Harrison hits a ball into the trees, disappears to look for it, goes walkabout for three hours, grabs the girl, then rejoins the course on the fifteenth so everyone sees him walking down the fairway for a pint the steward has already pulled. Very suspicious.’

  ‘Exactly!’ Carmichael said. ‘My money’s on the golfer . . . or Walker, who also happens to be the girl’s godfather.’

  ‘Emily never mentioned that to me,’ Kate said.

  ‘Maybe she didn’t know,’ Carmichael countered. ‘Apparently, he was more gutted than Kent when Sophie disappeared. Walker called her his little princess.’

  Jo sat up straight, on high alert.

  Kate could almost see the cogs turning. But before she had a chance to open her mouth, the penny dropped. Bamburgh was a fairytale castle far from home. Fit for a little princess.

  Her mobile bleeped twice.

  It was a text from Hank th
at she opened right away:

  URGENT INTEL FROM AILSA. STAMP’S ALIBI UNSOUND. CORROBORATING WITNESS – HOOKER FROM HULL – GAVE SIMILAR ALIBI FOR SOMEONE ELSE IN EXCHANGE FOR CASH. SHE WENT DOWN FOR P THE C OF J. NEEDS LOOKING INTO. END OF MESSAGE.

  Daniels looked at the others. Perverting the course of justice, eh?

  There were still four in the mix.

  74

  LEAVING THE FRONT door wide open, Emily ran. Stamp was a few yards ahead, charging towards his BMW, his grey coat flapping in the wind, his arm outstretched, thumb poised over his key fob to open the car doors.

  The lights of the car flashed twice.

  Stamp got in, threw his coat on the back seat and slammed the door. He turned the engine over, but before he could drive away Emily jumped in the other side, breathless from tearing out of the house after him. She didn’t speak immediately, just stared out of the front windscreen, trying to work out what to say to him.

  They had argued when she broached the subject of Walter Fearon. She needed her friend’s help to keep the inmate locked up beyond his release date, a transfer under the terms of the Mental Health Act the best way to achieve that now. Probably the only way – Emily couldn’t do it alone. But he refused to assist, flying off on one before she’d had a proper chance to state her case.

  Turning her body to face him, she asked him to come back inside.

  He looked at her coldly. ‘You are unbelievable, you know that?’

  ‘It’s a signature on a bit of paper, that’s all!’ She put her hand on his. ‘Please, Martin. You said you’d do anything to help me.’

  ‘You’re asking too much, Emily. He’s not mentally ill—’

  ‘Oh no?’

  ‘Not according to the law, he isn’t.’

  ‘Hey, we’re the good guys, remember?’ Emily didn’t want another row but she wasn’t backing down without a fight. She took a long, deep breath to calm the situation and talk some sense into him. If she argued, he’d ask her to get out and drive away. ‘The law should be on our side, Martin. I’m asking you to section him, not kill him. Can’t you see? It’s the only avenue left open to me so close to his release. If there was any other way—’