by Gwyn GB
‘He uses software that most forces have available but adds a few extras of his own,’ said Harrison. ‘I don’t pretend to know what it is, but it works.’
‘We know that Mark and Christopher went to the same school, which incidentally, Annabelle went to. This helps prove a solid link between him and the Moatside gang. Let’s put this all to Ms Keyes and see what she has to say.’
Annabelle Keyes was a slim, verging on too slim, sporty young woman with pale skin who Harrison could clearly see was anxious. She didn’t seem to know quite what to do with herself and over-exaggerated everything with her hands. When she wasn’t gesticulating, she was clenching her fists tightly, but the anxiety had to escape and invariably her right leg would jiggle instead. He also saw signs that she’d been stressed before coming in. The skin around her fingernails was pink and red where she’d bitten her fingertips.
‘Thank you for coming in, Miss Keyes. I’m DS David Urquhart and this is DC Emily Mitchell. Observing is Dr Harrison Lane, who is helping us with this enquiry. Dr Lane is trying to build up a profile of the person who killed George Marshwood and we are also looking into whether Christopher may have been one of his victims.’
Annabelle nodded jerkily, the nerves coming out in her movements.
‘Firstly, we just wanted to give our condolences. I know Christopher has been missing for a year but the news must have come as a shock to you.’
‘Yes, it was,’ she replied quietly. ‘I’m just relieved that he’s been discovered.’
Nerves aside, Harrison didn’t think that it had been a shock at all. Annabelle was all contradictions. She said yes, but her body and voice said no. She did look as though she might burst into tears at any point; but was that because of Christopher or for a more selfish reason? She’d also used the word ‘discovered’, which seemed an odd choice to him.
Before he’d come into the interview, he’d read her original statement from the missing persons enquiry. To him there was a distinct lack of urgency in her words, as though she knew there was no point in the police trying to find him. What he’d seen and read already suggested to him that Annabelle Keyes knew her boyfriend had been killed. Question was, why and by who? And why hadn’t she spoken out before?
‘Would you like to tell us in your own words how you knew, Christopher?’
‘We were at school together, Charterhouse, and had been going out for two years before we came to Durham. He was a lovely guy.’
‘I know it’s a year ago now, but can you take us back to the days before Christopher disappeared? What was he doing, who was he seeing?’
‘I told the other police all this,’ she said. ‘We didn’t always see each other every day because of lectures and stuff, plus we didn’t want to crowd each other at Uni. I’d seen him the day before. He was fine.’
‘Who were his friends?’
Annabelle shrugged, and Harrison noticed her jaw tighten as she clenched her teeth. Again, contradictory indications. The question clearly stressed her, but she was behaving as though she didn’t know, and it didn’t matter.
‘No one in particular. We saw a few friends from school, and Chris’s roomie and he often went out.’
‘Room mate, that’s Luke Thomason?’
‘Yes.’
‘And school friends, did that include Mark Lloyd-Jones?’
Annabelle blinked and paused.
‘I think he bumped into him around college a couple of times.’
She blinked again and seemed to hold her breath.
‘We have two photographs of Christopher and Mark together. They looked quite friendly. More than just bumping in to each other.’
Annabelle stared at the two printouts of the images Ryan had sent through. She shook her head.
‘I wasn’t there.’
‘Did Christopher seem upset or anxious about anything in the days before he went missing?’
‘No.’
That no was firm. She could say that with conviction, and Harrison saw her breath again. This question didn’t stress her like the previous ones. So Christopher hadn’t been expecting what happened.
‘Did Christopher join, or want to join any societies or perhaps even secret clubs?’
Annabelle clasped her arms around her body as though giving herself a hug. She clearly found this question distressing, and her emotions showed in the tenseness of her jaw and mouth.
‘I don’t think so.’
‘Did he have any enemies, someone who may have threatened him.’
‘No.’
That last no was firm, much more convincing than her previous reply. If Christopher wasn’t killed by an enemy, then it strongly suggested it had been a so-called friend, or even girlfriend, who’d been responsible for his demise - accidentally or not.
They got little more out of the interview. Harrison watched Annabelle leave.
‘What do we know about Annabelle Keyes?’ He asked David.
DS Urquhart looked up from his notes.
‘Nothing flagged up on her records. She comes from a stable family background, did well at school and has always kept her nose clean. She used to be a gymnast for her county, won a lot of awards and nearly went to the Olympics by all accounts. That must have taken a lot of focus and clean living to keep that up.’
‘Gymnast? Then she would be agile,’ Harrison said, as much to himself as David.
‘Agile? Well, yeah I guess so, they jump around and do somersaults and stuff. Not my sport, but I’ve seen it on the TV when the Olympics have been on.’
After the interview with Annabelle, the tiredness came back in a tsunami and Harrison returned to his hotel for an early dinner and bed. He ate in the hotel restaurant, choosing to sit by the big windows where he was able to look out over the river. Despite the exercise earlier, he wasn’t massively hungry. Tiredness was often an appetite killer and his stomach was still struggling to find a balance from the emotional morning. In the end he chose a Thai fish curry which was tasty and not too heavy.
The waitress was a thirty-something Asian woman who had dyed her hair bright pink. Her personality matched her hair. She was bright and cheerful and a real antidote to his day. Although Harrison didn’t usually strike up conversations with strangers, he managed to glean a potted version of her life story before he’d even finished his main course. She, however, learned nothing about him other than that he was polite and a good listener.
While he ate, he texted Tanya to test the waters and see if she was still annoyed with him. He felt guilty about his lack of attention to her. She deserved better. It wasn’t as if he didn’t want to see her. There were times he could feel the ache inside when he thought about her, or looked at a photograph, but he couldn’t compromise his work. It was everything to him. If he was honest, it wasn’t just work that kept him at arm’s length; it was also the Mannings and the dark shadows in his head. He wondered if she would get tired of him. He wouldn’t blame her.
Dinner eaten, Harrison headed up to his room. A full belly made him feel even more exhausted, and he had an image of the bed that awaited him, imprinted on his mind.
In the lobby, he saw the woman from the gym. She was dressed-up and on the arm of an older man. He gave her a nod in response to her smile, and the pair disappeared out through the main doors and into the city beyond.
Tanya texted about 7.30pm to say she was up to her eyes at a big value break-in and would speak to him tomorrow. An hour later, Jack also checked in on him, obviously concerned about how the morning’s meeting had affected him. He texted back that he was fine.
He was fine for as long as he kept his eyes open, but each time he closed them, Freda Manning’s face wormed its way back into his head and floated across his eyelids. He was desperate for sleep, his nerves were jangling through tiredness and so he turned on some classical music to purge the memories from his tired brain. It took another hour before his head and body stopped struggling to escape, and he slipped into sleep.
19
Th
e emotional and physical exhaustion meant that when Harrison awoke to the sound of his mobile phone ringing at 8am the next morning, he opened his eyes with his heart racing, not knowing where he was momentarily, or why he was there. It took just seconds to adjust, but it felt like he was dragging himself out of a long dark tunnel towards the light.
DS David Urquhart’s voice pulled his conscious back into reality.
‘We’ve arrested the ghost monk,’ he said. ‘Extra patrols last night finally managed to trap him. He’s due to be interviewed in around an hour. Do you want to be there?’
‘Absolutely. I’ll be in.’
Harrison jumped in the shower, alternating the water from hot to cold to shock his body into re-starting. He felt like somebody had taken one of those strawberry or apple corers, and stuck it right into his guts so that there was an empty, painful hole in his centre. It made him so angry that the Mannings were still able to do this to him. He’d tried hard to take back control of his life and emotions, and yet just the mention of their name made his stomach churn.
He skipped breakfast and went straight to the station to hunt down David and their phantom monk. This could be the breakthrough the case had been waiting for.
David and DC Mitchell were preparing to go in.
‘So, any thoughts on how you feel we should handle this, or what you’d like answered?’ He asked Harrison.
‘Who is it?’
‘It’s a Martin Jones. He’s a student at Collingwood. Told the arresting officers he was just doing it for a laugh and he’s got nothing to do with the murders.’
‘Mmhh,’ Harrison replied.
David and DC Emily Mitchell were both sat watching his face, waiting on some guidance.
‘You go ahead with the interview but I have a suspicion he’s telling the truth.’
Both of the detectives exchanged eyebrow raises. They hadn’t been expecting that.
Harrison wandered over to the incident board. The photograph of the ghost monk sent to the local newspaper had been placed alongside some grainy captures from the mobile phone footage. There was absolutely no possible way of identifying anyone from these images.
‘Bloody phantom monk is causing us no end of headaches. There were another fifteen reports in first thing this morning. I’m thinking copycats and nothing to do with our case. You?’ DI John Steadman had come up to stand next to him.
The musky scent of his aftershave enveloped Harrison, and he noticed John was looking a little smarter than he’d seen him in previous days. There was a tie poking from his jacket pocket and it looked like he’d used some kind of product on his black hair, which was slick and lustrous.
Harrison nodded.
‘Do you think the original ghost monk is even out there still? It could have been George.’
‘Maybe. Maybe not. Originally I think there was a purpose to the appearances which had to do with Christopher. Now the sightings are random and these,’ he nodded to the board, ‘are definitely looking like whoever it is wants to be seen. Could be a member of the Moathouse Monks in amongst the sightings, but definitely at least some, if not all now, are copycats.’
‘We’re verging on mass hysteria out there. I’m having to do a press briefing later and I could really do with some good progress. International TV crews have arrived to cover the story. We’re making headlines in the States and Canada, and even Australia. I need to get this sewn up and a lid put on our phantom. Worst possible combination, a ghost story in a city full of students who love nothing more than to prank each other. If we’re not careful someone is going to get injured. The locals aren’t always as humoured by their jokes as their fellow students. You watching the interview downstairs?’
Harrison nodded again.
‘I’ll join you. I’ve got to think of something to say at the press conference. The media team are arriving in around an hour, and they’re hounding me every minute of the day for some progress.’
Martin Jones turned out to be a Geography student from Surrey who looked like he was about to face a firing squad and would burst into tears if anyone said boo to him.
‘Don’t think he thought this one through, do you?’ John sighed next to Harrison. They were watching via video in a viewing room next door to the interview suite. Even from the other room, they could smell the fear.
‘I suspect not!’ Harrison replied.
John wasn’t sure if he was being deadly serious or not.
‘In your own words, would you tell us what you were doing last night dressed as a monk on Bow Lane?’ DS Urquhart said to Martin in the interview room.
The young lad’s eyes widened, and he launched straight in.
‘It was a dare, a joke. I didn’t mean it to get serious. Everyone’s been talking about the ghost monk. Some of the girls were going into town and they’d been winding themselves up in case the ghost appeared. A few of us thought it would be a laugh to scare them and then film it. We were going to freak them out and then go and rescue them. Thought one of the TV crews might be around, too. Give them something to talk about.’ Martin looked incredibly sheepish and looked down at his lap. ‘I know not exactly PC, but it was just a bit of fun. I didn’t hurt anyone or anything.’ His eyes welled with tears.
‘We?’
‘Myself and two friends from College.’
‘Are you a member of any societies?’
‘Societies? Err, yeah I’m in the Curry Club and the Craft Beer Society.’
‘Any secret societies?’
‘No.’
‘Did you know George Marshwood?’
Martin shook his head so violently he looked like something out of the exorcist.
‘No. Never met him. I swear I’ve got nothing to do with his murder. I don’t know anything about it. I wouldn’t joke about that.’
‘What about Christopher Downey?’
His name had the same effect.
‘They’re both University College, and not in my faculty either. Never met them.’
‘Are you aware of any secret societies that exist in Durham?’
‘Secret societies?’
‘Yes.’
Martin shrugged and thought for a moment.
‘I don’t know any that are secret. There’s sort of semi-secret ones that everyone has heard of like the Hatfield Cavaliers, The Exiles and the Castle Fives, but I think they’re like dining clubs for the rich public school crowd. That’s all. I guess if they’re secret I wouldn’t know.’
‘Have you dressed up as the ghost monk any other night besides last night?’
‘No. Honestly, you can ask my mates. It was just last night.’
‘He’s definitely not the original ghost monk. I think your problem is there are a whole load of Martins out there who are causing a state of hysteria just to have a laugh. The original monk has gone to ground because I think their purpose has been achieved.’ Harrison said and turned to John.
‘Murder?’
‘Maybe, maybe not. If we work on the idea that Christopher’s death was an accident. The hazing got out of control, then there were several people who knew about his death and who were party to the disposal of his body. One of them wasn’t happy about it, but for whatever reason couldn’t report it. Perhaps it was them who visited his burial site because they knew eventually someone would take notice and maybe they also wanted to spook the others.’
‘What about George?’
‘The original ghost monk could have been George. I don’t think so though. Analysing the witness statements, I think they were still active the day after George died. It could be that the monk killed George in revenge for Christopher’s death, or that they were simply drawing attention to it. Until we find out the members of that group then we are going to have to keep on guessing. We need to focus on the house in Moatside. Try to get a search warrant.’
‘A lot easier said than done. The lawyers will resist any attempt to look at those lads. I need some strong evidence to get a warrant.’
‘T
hen we have to find something and get clever about it.’
‘OK, I’m going to find every past girlfriend they’ve had in the last two years and ask them if they have a tattoo on their hip. If we can get proof of a secret society, then we can really start to go to town. Right now though, I’m going to solve our phantom monk epidemic and hold a press conference. It’s Martin’s lucky day. We can cut him a deal, no charges, but he needs to tell the world that the ghost monk has been caught and end this now. He will get his day in the limelight and we’ll get some peace to focus on our murder enquiry.’
There had been one loose end in Harrison’s jigsaw of clues, and that related to what the rugby lads had said about the ghost simply disappearing when they’d given chase. He went back upstairs and asked for CCTV covering the whole of Durham city centre that night after George’s murder. He knew nobody in a monk’s cloak had been caught on camera, but maybe they’d already ditched the cloak. There was one face in particular he was looking for.
It took him two hours, and two large mugs of green tea, but he found it. It was a camera on North Bailey that captured her. She’d obviously ditched the cloak and mask before she got to the street, but even from the grainy image, he could tell she looked flustered. As she got onto the street she smoothed down her hair and looked around her, no doubt worried that the lads might have made their way there too. A few moments later, they did indeed appear, jogging down the road, clearly still looking for where their phantom could have re-appeared. She turned and looked in a shop window and they jogged straight past. Then Annabelle Keyes carried on walking past Hatfield College and towards Sadler Street.
Harrison sat back, closed his eyes, and let his brain do some thinking.
20
By lunchtime, the team had three women who all said that they’d seen the tattoo of the double M on James Althrop, Oscar Whittington, and Mark Lloyd-Jones. That was three out of the five in the house. In addition, they had a male student come forward who had been to a beach party a couple of weeks before, which had been held by the Moatside Monks to choose their next members. Needless to say, this student hadn’t been chosen, and while he was keen that nobody knew it was him talking to the police, his sour grapes at being rejected worked in their favour. The net was closing, and John Steadman was keen to pull it tighter. He called the core team together for a quick tactical meeting. Seven of them sat around the meeting room table, including Harrison, David Urquhart and Emily Mitchell.