by Gwyn GB
‘It’s hundreds of years old, not a police matter,’ Harrison replied, keen to get on, and thankfully Jack also knew him well enough to know that he wasn’t being rude. It was just his way.
‘Right, Inspector Morgan is due in ten minutes. Let’s head downstairs.’ He grabbed the last of his roll and it disappeared in two mouthfuls. The wrapper was screwed into a ball and thrown into Sergeant Steve Evans’s bin en route.
‘In one Taff,’ Jack said to the sergeant, who had put his hand up for a congratulatory high five.
Harrison was glad to follow Jack out of the incident room. He was getting that feeling again, the same one he’d got when they’d gone to visit the sister of the Nunhead cemetery murder victim. It was a dark shadow just behind his shoulder. He could feel it, cold and foreboding. Its breath sent shivers down his spine and made his neck and shoulder stiffen. He wanted to know the truth, but something told him to run.
‘So, Inspector Morgan was a PC in 2004, at the time of your mother’s death,’ Jack left the joviality of the incident room behind them and briefed him on the way down the stairs. ‘He worked out of Carmarthen, which you may remember is about ten minutes from where you both lived. Obviously he was only a junior but when I spoke to him on the phone a couple of weeks ago, he had some interesting things to say. I’m thinking we might be able to pull enough evidence together to re-open the case soon.’
Harrison said nothing as they exited the stairs. His mind was in Carmarthenshire. From the mile upon miles of fields and the vast stony landscape of the Brecon Beacon mountains, with its fairy and dragon legends, to the county town of Carmarthen, home of Merlin. It was a beautiful place, but it brought back dark memories. Things he had tried hard to bury, but which were about to be split open.
‘I thought we could go to Maggie’s, get us a coffee and some privacy,’ Jack said to him. ‘Here he is.’
They walked into the reception area of Lewisham police station and Jack headed towards a man who sported more hair on his face than he possessed on his head. Harrison strained to see behind the thick brown beard. Did he recognise the police officer in front of him? His mind was blank.
‘DS Salter, Dr Lane,’ Inspector Morgan held out his hand in greeting and returned Harrison’s stares with his own intense gaze. ‘I’m pleased to see you’ve done well,’ he added to Harrison. ‘Last time I saw you, you were in a bad way. It was a big shock for a young lad to deal with.’
Flashbacks of an angry eighteen-year-old raging at the police came into Harrison’s mind. He hadn’t handled any situation well in those days, let alone that one. He didn’t recognise the young man he’d been then, and he pitied anyone who’d tried to deal with him.
‘I wasn’t much older than Dr Lane myself,’ he said to Jack, ‘not long out of police college and hoping to change the world.’ He smiled wryly to himself. ‘That case introduced me to the reality that it wasn’t going to be as simple as identifying who or what was good or bad.’
It was a strange feeling for Harrison. He’d spent seventeen years believing he was the only one who would ever think of his mother’s death as murder and not suicide. Now, he might have another witness from that time to corroborate his view. It was almost unbelievable. He was grateful to Jack for trusting in him and looking into the case. Jack had already identified inconsistencies with the investigation and evidence. Now they had a serving police officer who had been there at the time. As they walked to the cafe, him following the two men who gossiped about another colleague they’d both worked with; he wondered if Inspector Morgan knew what had happened to him after the inquest recorded the suicide verdict. Perhaps he would avoid the subject, save Harrison any awkwardness. Either way, it didn’t matter. He had left that young man behind a long time ago.
Inspector Morgan gave a quizzical glance to Harrison’s herbal tea as they all sat down in Maggie’s. He had a large Cappuccino in front of him, into which he deposited two heaped teaspoons of sugar and proceeded to stir it rhythmically. Jack flopped onto the green leather bench next to Harrison and facing Inspector Morgan. He pocketed his wallet and took out his notebook to signal they were getting down to business.
‘Firstly, thank you again, Inspector, for taking time to talk to us today,’ he started.
‘Please, it’s Rob, call me Rob.’
‘Would you like to tell us what you remember about the case, Rob?’
‘Sure. I was young, a rookie, but they had assigned me a more experienced partner to learn from, Sergeant Christopher Jones, and we were first on scene. You weren’t there at that point,’ he said, nodding to Harrison. ‘I think you’d gone away for a couple of nights and didn’t get back until we’d contacted you.’
Harrison gave a small nod of his head in agreement.
‘We found Isabel Lane. She was already deceased, hanging in a barn, which I believe was used by the commune for meetings. On first look, my partner and I both felt that it wasn’t a suicide. There was no obvious way for her to have climbed up there for one thing, no kicked away chair or stool. Plus, there was bruising on her arms and you could just see some marks on her face. We called it in as suspicious.’
‘What happened then?’ Jack asked.
‘We started interviewing the rest of the group. It was led by a Desmond and Freda Manning, I’m not sure which one of them I disliked the most. Both of them made me feel uneasy. They seemed to have an influence over all the others there. They wouldn’t say or do anything without their agreement. It had the feel of some kind of cult. My partner said we would have to take them out of the situation, interview them at the station to separate them from the others, and that was the only way we’d get to the truth. It was a good call, but unfortunately didn’t happen.’
‘Oh?’ Queried Jack.
‘The boss arrived. Chief Superintendent Morris O’Neil. He was a couple of years out from retirement, which couldn’t come soon enough in most of our views. He had a word with Chris, my partner, and after that it became a suicide.’
‘Didn’t you query it?’
‘Of course I did. Couldn’t understand the sudden change when it was obvious that something wasn’t right. Chris wouldn’t discuss it. Told me to drop it if I wanted a career in the police force. He was angry about it, I could tell. Next thing I know, a stool appeared in the barn and that became evidence that she’d taken her own life. That along with the testimony of group members who all reported that she’d been depressed and suicidal beforehand. I’m sorry,’ he said, looking at Harrison. ‘I was young, out of my depth. I didn’t understand what had just gone on and so I kept quiet.’ Rob Morgan looked down at his coffee. ‘It’s haunted me all my career. I knew it was wrong, that O’Neil had pulled rank and shut us down, but how could a new PC do anything about that?’
‘Any ideas why Chief Superintendent O’Neil did it?’
‘I saw him talking to the Mannings. It wasn’t friendly, they weren’t chatting like mates. They had something on him I know it, but what I’ve no idea. Either way, he was in their pockets. He looked uncomfortable around them and afterwards there was no discussion about the investigation.’
‘Did you have any theories as to why Isabel would have been murdered?’ Jack asked Rob.
‘No. I just know that not long after, they all disappeared. I think even before the inquest, they’d gone. None of them turned up for it.’
‘They killed her because we were going to leave,’ said Harrison. ‘I think she’d been living there under duress for a while, but it was like she put up with it while I was with her. It was odd because on the one hand she seemed to protect me from them, yet she didn’t seem to contemplate taking us out of the situation until I’d become eighteen. I think they also had some kind of hold over her. Maybe she found something out about them too.’ He looked at Rob and Jack, who were studying him closely. He found it hard to voice his thoughts, and he didn’t like the undertone of sympathy in their eyes, so he stopped.
‘There was definitely more to them than what they appeared
,’ agreed Rob. ‘I heard other rumours too about how they had various people, all around the country, in their pockets. Nothing concrete though, no names or any idea of what it could relate to.’
‘Is O’Neil still around?’ Jack asked.
Rob shook his head. ‘He popped his clogs ages ago, massive stroke. No great loss, that one. Unfortunately, Chris is also gone, prostate cancer. I’m not sure how many others who were on the Force then might know anything. Might be worth digging around. What about the Mannings? You found them?’
‘They found me,’ Harrison said, his jaw clenching.
Rob frowned.
‘We don’t know where they are right now,’ Jack added, ‘but we will find them again. We need to gather as much evidence as possible and get this case reopened. We also believe they were responsible for the murder of a young woman in Nunhead Cemetery in 1993.’
‘I’ll help all I can,’ said Rob. ‘It would be good to see this put right after so long.’
Harrison had watched Rob Morgan closely throughout the conversation. He seemed genuine. There were no signs of stress. His breathing was regular and eye contact firm. He didn’t hesitate in his answers. This was a man who they could rely on, and who was telling the truth.
Jack took as much detail and as many names as Rob could supply and wrote them down in his notebook. It would be a slow process checking them all out, especially as he was doing it in his spare time, but Harrison knew he’d be thorough.
After four cappuccinos and two mint teas between them, they were done, and it was time for Rob to head off back to Gloucestershire where he now lived and worked.
‘I meant it, it’s good to see you’ve made something of your life and not allowed what happened to dominate it,’ Rob said warmly to Harrison as he left.
Harrison thanked him but didn’t mention that, on the contrary, what happened had dominated his life and career and would continue to do so. His entire focus was on finding and catching the Mannings and anyone else like them, and he felt they were getting tantalisingly close.
4
Harrison didn’t feel like making small talk on the way back to the station, not that he indulged in small talk at the best of times, but right now he really wanted to be alone to allow the last hour’s conversation to sink in. He did, however, know that he owed Jack a debt of gratitude. He didn’t need to do this for him, put in time outside of his own job, and he appreciated it.
‘How’s Marie and Daniel?’ Harrison asked.
Jack smiled. That was a good sign.
‘They’re good. Daniel is trying to crawl, which means we’re going to need to start baby-proofing the house, but he’s also a lot more fun now. He babbles away to his toys, nothing coherent but no worse than me after a good night out. Marie’s on pretty good form too. That trip to her parents really helped. She still gets the odd bad couple of days, but she’s started socialising with other mums now.’
‘That’s a huge improvement,’ Harrison replied. ‘Means she’s gained in confidence about her mothering skills. A couple of months back you couldn’t even get her to go out of the house.’
‘I know, and yeah, it’s good. Those first few months were…’ Jack didn’t finish his sentence. He didn’t need to. Harrison knew he’d been to hell and back with Marie’s postnatal depression, but the main thing was they were putting it behind them all. It also explained why he looked less stressed and had put on those extra couple of kilos.
‘I’d better get my arse back to my desk before the boss notices,’ Jack said as they reached the station, and with a hand raise, ducked inside.
Harrison also needed to head back to his office and was on the way to being reunited with his Harley Davidson, when he saw Jack’s boss, DCI Sandra Barker, in the car park. She was talking on her mobile and looked a little upset, pacing back and forth. He thought it best to give her some privacy, but she saw him and waved for him to hold on while she finished her call.
Harrison looked away. It was hard for him not to analyse people and their mannerisms and expressions. Occasionally, like now, he felt like he was intruding, because his mind immediately began to examine every gesture for clues as to what was going on in her mind. She’d clearly come outside, away from the office, to prevent anyone else from doing the same. Instead, Harrison concentrated on checking his emails on his phone.
‘Harrison, how are you?’ Sandra asked as she walked up to him. DCI Barker was in her fifties, with dark blonde bobbed hair that contained the streaks of grey which gave away her age. Despite her desk job and passion for chocolate, she’d managed to keep the middle-aged spread from her hips and waistline. She put that down to nervous energy, but her irregular eating habits and good genes were probably more likely to be responsible.
‘Fine, and you?’
‘So, so. Got a few stresses going on at home. Gemma has gone to Uni and I think she’s homesick. That was her. Sam thinks she should be having the time of her life, but I just don’t think she wants to do the things he did when he was a student. There’s so many expectations. Any advice on how to ease separation anxiety? For her and us.’ Sandra smiled as she said it, but Harrison knew her well enough to see past it. She dealt with hardened criminals and some of the results of their worst crimes, and was a dedicated officer, putting in way over the regular hours. She valued and fought for every one of her team, but her family were number one and she never lost sight of that, even if she may struggle to spend the time with them that she should.
While she probably never got her full eight hours of sleep a night, today she looked slightly more pinched than usual, with dark circles under her eyes.
‘How long has she been away?’
‘About three weeks now.’
‘What is she doing or saying that makes you think she’s anxious?’
‘She keeps ringing me up, for one thing. When she’s at home, I only hear from her when she needs something. Now, it’s every day, sometimes more than once a day.’
‘Is she worried about anything in particular? Or mentioning something or someone?’
‘Not really. She said she’s happy with her course, has made some good friends, but something’s not right.’
‘It’s quite normal for students to feel a little homesick when they first go away. It usually lasts a few weeks and then they just settle into their new lives.’
‘Yeah maybe I should try to avoid speaking to her each day, perhaps that’s not helping.’
‘Where has she gone?’
‘Durham.’
‘An excellent university, she’ll be fine, just give her time.’
‘Yeah, I’m sure she will.’ Sandra pulled her lips together. Harrison knew that was a sign she was trying to keep her anxiety under control. She changed the subject. ‘Good work on the roadworks vampire, by the way. The media have gone crazy for it, wanted to speak to the man who persuaded the workmen to get back on the job.’
Harrison held his hands up to say no in horror.
‘It’s OK, I knew what your response would be. Lee Matthews, that forensic anthropologist from MOLA, has jumped on it. Fancies himself as a TV presenter and is gagging for media attention. You can stay in the background. You’re more valuable to us anyway if you do. Got to get back. Take care.’
Harrison smiled at the fast disappearing back of DCI Barker. She had been one of a tiny handful to believe in him when he’d first started the unit. He’d often wondered if he’d still be doing this job if it wasn’t for her support.
Harrison’s ‘unit’, which admittedly only consisted of him and his analyst, Ryan Chapman, was buried deep in the bowels of New Scotland Yard. When he pushed open the door to his office, he was met by the sight of Ryan staring intently at a large rubber toad.
‘Boss,’ the young man said to him, placing it onto his desk. ‘A toad just arrived in the post. Can’t wait to hear the story behind this one. There’s a note with it from a DCI Whittaker, said it was a little momento for your work with them in Cambridgeshire.’
> ‘That was the jockey’s body found on the Fens. He was a toadman.’
‘Right. Takes all sorts,’ Ryan replied, returning to his own desk. He was used to the unusual when working with Harrison and he got straight on to Google and typed in What is a Toadman? You learned something new every day in this job. There wasn’t much that could surprise him. Not amazing considering their office was a mini museum to all things occult and spiritual. Along the walls were various artefacts from cases over the years, including VooDoo dolls, skulls, and spell books.
Ryan was in his late twenties, overweight and the colour of his skin indicated he hadn’t seen sunlight for some time. The fact they worked out of a basement office with no windows partially explained this away, but it was also indicative of Ryan’s overall allergy to fresh air, exercise and healthy food. He and Harrison were two opposites. Junk food was an improvement on Ryan’s original intake of choice, but Harrison was concerned that too was starting to take its toll. He was about to suggest he buy them both lunch, when a sharp knock sounded on the office door and it was pushed open to reveal a grey-haired man in a suit. He looked like he wouldn’t have been out of place in one of the old-fashioned spy movies, apart from the fact the suit had a modern cut and he carried an A4 white envelope and iPad.
‘Dr Harrison Lane?’ the man asked.
‘Yes. Leo Fawcett?’ Harrison replied.
The man’s face registered surprise before the mask of authority returned.
‘That’s correct. Yes. Leo Fawcett, Operations with the National Crime Agency.’
Harrison could see he wanted to ask him how he knew who he was, but for now he went for composure rather than inquisitiveness.
‘We have been trying to contact you, Dr Lane. I appreciate you’re a busy man, but there have been some discussions between the Met and the NCA and I wanted to talk to you about them.’