Both women wore walking gear for the one-and-a-half-hour trek up to Pole Bank, the highest point on the Long Mynd. Nicole’s makeshift grave had been between Pole Bank and the place known as Boiling Well and Tasha wanted to see it for herself. The circuitous route would take them back to the cafe and lunch.
Tasha shouldered her rucksack and helped the DI on with hers. “What have you got in there, Yvonne?” she asked, as she heaved it up.
“Two litres of water, a camera, my notebooks, iPad and spare clothing.” Yvonne grinned. “Too much?”
Tasha laughed. "We’re walking ten miles, not climbing Mount Everest."
Yvonne pulled a face. She took a folded map from her trouser pocket. "Okay, we’re here." She pointed to the cafe and toilet symbol. "We should follow the stream, taking the trackway past the top car park to the head of Carding Mill Valley, then take the right. When we meet the fork, we follow Mott’s Road up the Hill. We’ll look at the map when we get to the fork."
“Sounds good.”
Yvonne grimaced. “Sorry, Tasha. Could you grab my camera from my bag?”
Tasha fished it out, and the DI put her head through the strap. “Good to go. Thank you, Tasha.”
They walk up past the top car park. The track wound up through the valley. The hills served as a colourful back drop, with trees and small shrubs adding interest and a sense of balance.
Tasha took deep breaths, turning now and then to gaze at the valley below.
Yvonne's thoughts were on Nicole and whether the young woman had walked this pathway on the day she died.
When they reached the fork in the tracks, they took the right and headed along Mott’s Road.
“Wow.” Tasha said, as she turned to look behind them.
“I think Nicole came up here the day she died.” Yvonne took in the view with Tasha.
“I agree. It’s a long way to carry a body uphill.”
“I think it’s likely she knew her murderer and met him here.”
“How far is the grave from here?” Tasha asked, stopping, her breathing laboured.
“A mile, maybe,” Yvonne answered, examining the small map.
Tasha pulled a face.
“It’s not all up hill,” Yvonne reassured.
They could not see the figure stretched out amongst the heathers, high on Calf Ridge, to their left, binoculars in hand. The figure who had watched them from the moment they parked the car. The figure who would continue to follow and watch them as they made their way along Portway and on up the hill to Pole Bank.
“This is it. The highest point of the Long Mynd.” Yvonne checked her map once more. “You can see both the Brecon Beacons and the Malvern Hills.” She showed the relevant directions. “And there is where he buried her.” She pointed down to the place near Boiling Well. It was still an open wound on the landscape, bordered by police tape and various markers.
“So, given the terrain, he or she killed Nicole around here, somewhere.” Tasha turned in circles, examining the landscape. “I wonder if he was watching her before he killed her.”
“You mean spying on her? Like stalking?”
“Well, let’s face it. There’s no shortage of vantage points.”
Yvonne nodded. “Which makes it as likely to be a stranger-murder as it was someone she knew?”
“Has anyone else disappeared from this area?” Tasha turned her gaze back to the DI.
“Dai and Callum are checking other cases. So far, nothing for this specific area.”
“Can I have a peek at the case file this week?” Tasha rubbed her chin.
“I’ll speak with the DCI on Monday.”
Tasha wandered around the perimeter of the grave and continued to peruse the surroundings, steeped in her own thoughts.
6
Trouble and Strife
Rosie glared at her husband. “When did the police talk to you about Nicole?”
Craig threw down his bag, loosening his tie and running a hand through his already dishevelled hair. “A few days ago. They came to the school.”
“What did you tell them?” Rosie rolled her sleeves up, glasses pushed onto the top of her head. Rigid.
“Well, there wasn’t a lot I could tell them, except what I knew.”
“Did you tell them you were seeing her behind my back? Did you tell them that?” Rosie reached behind, grabbing a plate from the breakfast bar and hurling it at her husband.
He ducked in time. The plate smashed against the wall. The pieces rebounding onto his head and neck. “I wasn’t seeing her behind your back.”
Another plate.
“Rosie. Rosie, Stop!”
Another plate. “First, you were home all the time. Then, you were out a lot. I found that note in the drawer you keep locked. The ‘see you later’ note. A note you seemed desperate to hide.”
Craig shook his head. “That note was innocent. She left because she hadn’t been able to keep our earlier session. It wasn’t what you thought. We've been through all this. Hell, even if I had wanted to have an affair with her, Nicole just wasn’t a loose girl. For God’s sake, she was your best friend.”
“Was she?” Rosie glowered in his direction, but her eyes did not focus. She was somewhere else. A different time. “All the extra tuition. Did she need it? Or, did you?”
“Rosie, we were engaged-”
“What?” Rosie pulled a face. “We didn’t get engaged until two months after she disappeared. Is that what you told the police? That we were engaged at the time?”
He stopped crouching, slowly coming to his full height. “It’s been a long time. I forget the order of things.”
Rosie grunted. “Well, that’s convenient.”
“It’s true.” He stood, hunched over, staring at his shoes.
“Did you tell them the truth about where you were, the day she disappeared? You had told them you were with me. Got me to lie for you. But, you weren’t with me, were you?”
“You know what happened. We argued, again. I had to cool off.”
“With Nicole.”
" Not with Nicole. Alone. Rosie, for heaven’s sake, just stop. You need help." He looked straight into Rosie’s eyes. "What if you saw her after our argument?"
“What?”
“You could have killed her.”
“Don’t be ridiculous.” Rosie shook her head, her pupils so large, her eyes appeared black.
“You found the note, got mad, and killed her.”
“Really? How did I get her body up the Long Mynd to bury her? Hm?”
“Maybe you killed her up there?”
Rosie made a move towards the rest of the plates.
Craig ran for the door.
“I'm glad she has a name.” Tasha put her head level with Wyn’s model of Nicole. “Can I touch?”
“Sure.” Wyn perched himself on a nearby stool, wiggling his toes. “Be my guest.”
He was barefoot. Yvonne stared, surprised that she hadn’t noticed it before. She stood at the back of the studio, giving them room.
Wyn leaned against the wall, cool and casual. “Are you any nearer to finding her killer?” he asked, looking in Tasha’s direction.
“No.” Yvonne shook her head, forcing her eyes from his toes' soft hair. “We’re still examining her close associates. Tasha is working on a profile for us. This could be a stranger-murder.”
Wyn nodded. “Sure.”
Tasha gazed at the model. “She has an open countenance… Trusting.”
“Are you getting vibes?” Yvonne tilted her head to one side as she tried to read Tasha’s thoughts.
The psychologist returned to the DI’s side. “I’ll finish reading the file and I’ll have a workable profile for you within twenty-four hours.”
“That’s great.” Yvonne waited for more, but nothing came.
Instead, they thanked Wyn and walked to their cars in relative silence. The DI thought better of quizzing her friend but Tasha was still concentrating.
True to her word, Tasha w
as back at Newtown station the following day with her profile of the killer.
Yvonne greeted her with good news. “The DCI says we can pay you for your help. West Mercia force have agreed to contribute a portion.”
“That’s fantastic, Yvonne. Thank you.” Tasha gave the DI a broad smile, but the smile faded. “You’ve hit the headlines, by the way.” Tasha placed a copy of the County Times on the desk.
“What?” Yvonne picked up the paper.
‘Lead detective digs deep, but not deep enough’ the headline ran. Underneath, a photograph of Yvonne and Tasha at the open grave on the Long Mynd, fronted by police tape. The article, itself was not complimentary regarding the lack of news and slow progress of the investigation. It included comments from locals, who spoke of their horror and how they couldn’t sleep at night. A killer was on the loose and the police were tight-lipped.
Yvonne looked up. “The DCI has scheduled a press conference tomorrow. That will help reassure the locals. We’re doing everything we can. They need to know that.”
Tasha nodded. “I know. I have the profile. Would you like to hear it?”
“I can’t wait.”
Tasha talked Yvonne and her team through the details.
“I believe the person who disinterred Nicole’s remains, putting them on display, was the same person who killed her. The intimacy of exhuming her body, polishing the bones and piecing them back together, suggests the unsub was likely someone she knew. Either that, or it was a stranger who had stalked her for some time and knew her through his obsession with her. I further suspect there will be other victims.
“I think the killer is likely male and a loner, with artistic leanings. He may be a painter or photographer, but unlikely to be an abstract artist. His work will be meticulous.
“He'll be somewhere in his mid-twenties to mid-thirties and fit. Likely bullied in school, he had a strict father and an overbearing or absent mother. He needs to control the things he possesses and the people he loves. Everything he does or achieves is art.”
She continued. “Explore disappearances over the last few years. This guy has a type, and we should examine whether there were other victims. That’s as far as I can go with the limited information given me. I hope it helps.”
“How many more could we be talking about?” Dewi scratched his head, his face drawn.
“Hard to say.” Tasha folded her arms. “Not that many, though. I suspect he's still early in his career.”
“Are we likely to see more dressed skeletons turning up on our lanes, then?” Callum placed his hands on his head, with a sigh.
Tasha nodded. “If he has killed others, it’s likely he will display them, too. A lot depends on his motivation for putting the remains out there. The killing, and articulation of the bones, are about the relationship with the victim, real or imagined. Placing them on display is about the wider community. He’s saying, 'Look at me. Look at what I can do. Be afraid.' And he’s taunting you, the police. ‘I did this and you won’t catch me’. It’s possible, he became frustrated that no-one was looking for him. The excavation was an attention-seeking move.”
“It was still an open case…” Yvonne frowned.
“Yes, but there’s a difference between an open case, and an active incident room.”
The place buzzed with the team’s chatter. The energy in CID was palpable.
“Thank you for that.” Yvonne gave her friend a hug. “It’s given us something to work with. It’s energised my team and we can produce some of it at the press conference tomorrow. That may help reassure the public that the investigation is progressing.”
Yvonne cloaked herself with mac and scarf, grabbing her bag from the corner of the desk. She checked her watch. Nine-thirty. It had been a manic day. The rest of CID had already left.
Several cars sat in the station car park, most belonging to the late shift. Thankful she wasn’t on late, she threw her bag onto the passenger seat and fired up the engine, unaware of another car being started on the opposite side of the car park.
She clicked on the music system, listening to an old Keane album she’d found in her bedroom drawer. The gentle strains of ‘Bed shaped’ struck up. Released the week he lay in a coma, it would always remind her of her late husband, David. She had listened to it, the morning he died.
She thought of him often. Still needing the occasional quiet time to grieve. This album represented that for her. It was cathartic. An album she loved and yet, one that hurt. Before she had even left town, salty rivers meandered down her cheeks, blurring the taillights in front of her. She wiped them away with the back of her hand, letting out a barely audible sob.
Full beams on, she left the town traffic behind and headed out onto the dark. She turned the music off.
A vehicle approached from behind. Gaining on her. She realised her speed had slowed to thirty miles an hour. She sped up to a respectable forty.
As they rounded a bend, he dazzled her with full beams.
“What the…?” She slowed down and pulled to the left, giving the other car room to overtake. It didn’t. Instead, the driver honked and flashed his headlights.
A dirty number plate meant she couldn’t make out the registration. An overwhelming feeling of dread welled inside her, her heart banging in her chest.
She pulled into a lay-by and extracted her warrant card, expecting the other driver to stop and have a go.
She needn’t have worried, the other car sped on. Paying her no further heed. She placed a hand to her heart and bent forward, to slow her breathing and stop herself from being sick. It was a good ten minutes before she was ready to resume her journey.
7
Lightning strikes
The sky was a uniform grey. The grey that is a fine drizzle. Slow and insidious. Penetrating clothing, hungry to find skin.
Yvonne had chosen a light coat and regretted that decision. A shiver travelled the length of her.
“Everything all right, ma’am?” Dewi leaned his head, studying her face.
Yvonne placed her hands deep in her pockets. “I think someone just walked over my grave.” She gave a wry smile. “I’m fine. Thank you, Dewi. But not looking forward to this.”
Dewi shook his head. “Me neither.”
They walked uphill for around a quarter of a mile along a narrow lane, bisected along its length by a thin line of grass. The muddy, puddle-ridden track was, cordoned off. Yvonne almost fell into the hedge twice, trying to keep her balance on the designated, foot-wide strip.
At the top, on a wooded ridge above the village of Abermule, lay the ruins of Dolforwyn Castle. Built by Prince Llewellyn-Ap-Gruffydd, the last prince of Wales, the castle was difficult to reach, and not visible from the road. For tourists, it was a hidden gem.
The Severn Valley disappeared into the mist below. Yvonne shuddered, as they reached the blue-and-white police cordon.
Callum squeezed the tip of his cigarette out and came to greet them.
“What have we got?” She squinted, struggling to see through the mass of plastic-suited colleagues.
“Another set of remains.” He rubbed the back of his neck. “The perp staged everything. Just like the last time. There’s a knife pinned under the jaw of the victim and she’s wearing a blood-stained dress.”
The DI scanned the horizon. "Same signature, different method of killing."
Callum continued. "Someone cleaned the bones again. The photographer is still working up there. They have asked us to stay back until he’s finished."
Yvonne nodded. “Is Hanson here?”
Callum pointed to a white tent. “Over there, talking to SOCO.”
“Okay, good.” Yvonne ran a hand through her damp hair. “I guess, we’ll just have to wait.”
“Shame we couldn’t get a car up here.” Dewi pulled a face.
Yvonne lifted the cordon. “Come on. We’ll see if SOCO have spare suits.”
The jaw bone hung low as though the victim was still screaming. The DI suspected t
hat was the intention. Several teeth were absent. Tangled, dark hair, clung to scraps of dried scalp. The perpetrator had tied this back in a rough ponytail using a red ribbon and placed it, like a cap, on the top of the skull. The torn dress had been navy blue and patterned with tiny white flowers. Many of the flowers were now a rusty brown, the victim having lost a lot of blood at the time of her death.
Yvonne’s plastic suit crackled as she knelt next to the pathologist. “Was she an older victim?”
Hanson shook his head. “I don’t think so. All the signs point to the victim being young.”
“But, the teeth?”
“It looks like someone pulled them out, after she was already dead.”
“To slow identification…”
“Most likely.” Hanson signalled for the stretcher as he rose to his feet. “This victim was killed more recently.”
“Fresh?” Yvonne’s eyes widened.
“Not that recent. But, less than a year. We’ll get the remains carbon dated. Give you a better idea.”
“I'm amazed that you can estimate the time in the ground by looking at the bones.”
Hanson smiled. “I can’t. It was the smell and slime in the excavated grave.” He pulled a face. “You get a nose for it.”
“I see.” Yvonne rose to her feet, rubbing her chin.
“This throws a spanner in the works.” Dewi said, taking photographs with his mobile.
Yvonne nodded. “We focussed on Nicole Benoit’s close associates, but it looks like we have a serial killer.”
“Here we go again.” Dewi sighed.
“I’m guessing, we don't knowing if sexual assaults occurred?” Yvonne asked Hanson.
The pathologist shook his head. “We didn't get useable DNA from the clothing of the last victim.” He pointed to the current remains. “I doubt very much we’ll get anything from her dress. We’ll do a thorough search, as always, for hair and fibres and hope that throws up something.”
Bone Dancer Page 4