Bone Dancer

by Anna-Marie Morgan

  “We’re working on her now. We’ll get back to you as soon as.”

  “I’d appreciate it. Thanks, Roger.”

  Yvonne put the phone down and sat back in her chair, hands clasped behind her head. She suspected that the crimes were about ownership of the victim. An ownership that didn’t cease with the victim's death.

  15

  A mother’s love

  Susan Denham stood in the reception area of Newtown station, eyes puffy. A screwed-up ball of tissue protruded from the sleeve of her sweatshirt.

  “I’d like to see DI Giles, please.”

  The civilian behind the desk grimaced. “I'm sorry, that won’t be possible. She’s about to go-”

  “It’s all right, Steven.” Yvonne appeared in the doorway, coat and bag, tucked under her arm. “I haven’t gone, yet.”

  She walked over to Mrs Denham, taking in the sunken eyes and tear-stained face. “How can I help?”

  Susan took out the tissue and scraped it under her nose. “You might think I’m crazy, but…” She paused, eyes flickering, as though she was fighting for the right words, “I’d like to... I’d like to see my daughter’s reconstruction. Would that be possible? I’d like to touch her. I never got the chance to say goodbye to her. Seeing her face would… It would make all the difference to me.” She clasped her hands in front of her, searching Yvonne’s face.

  The DI could see how earnest Susan was, and her heart went out to her. The request made perfect sense. “I don’t have access, Mrs Denham.”

  “Susan.”

  “Susan. We don’t have it here in the station. It’s with the anthropologist who made it.”

  Mrs Denham’s mouth turned down at the corners. She appeared much older than her years and more lined than the last time Yvonne had spoken to her. She looked about to cry.

  “I tell you what. I’ll call him and find out if we can go over there sometime today.”

  “Thank you.” Susan sighed with relief, her shoulders relaxing.

  “Wait here. I’ll be right back.” Yvonne gave her a reassuring smile and returned to the office upstairs.

  “That was quick.” Dewi raised his eyebrows.

  “I haven’t been out, Dewi. There's something to attend to first. I need to make a quick phone call.”

  Dewi frowned. “Why not use your mobile?”

  She pulled a face. “Forgot to charge it and the battery is almost dead. I’ll charge it when I get back.”

  Wyn wasn’t answering his work phone. She hung up and dialled his mobile.

  I took several rings. “Wyn Sealander.”

  “Hi, Wyn. It’s Yvonne.”

  His voice softened. “Well, hello. I was just thinking about you and wondering if you would get in touch. Is this business or pleasure?”

  “Business, I’m afraid.”

  “I feared as much.” He exaggerated a sigh.

  “Wyn, Susan Denham has come into the station. She’d like to see your reconstruction of her daughter for herself, today. I was wondering if we could pop down as soon as possible?”

  “But…” He cleared his throat. When he continued, his voice sounded more cold. Distant. “Not today. She can’t see it today.”

  “I could show her-”

  “I lock the studio and I’m in Swansea. The key is in my pocket. I’m sorry…”

  “Maybe tomorrow?” The DI fidgeted through the extended silence that ensued.

  “I tell you what, why don’t I call you tomorrow and tell you when it will be convenient?”

  “Okay, tomorrow, then. Good. Thank you.” She hung up, a frown darkening her features.

  Dewi came over. “Is something wrong?”

  “Not really.” She sighed. “Susan Denham came all the way here for nothing. She’s got to come again tomorrow.”

  Back in reception, Susan was crestfallen.

  “I’m so sorry.” Yvonne placed a hand on her arm. “We can’t get into the workshop. The anthropologist isn’t there, today.”

  Steven, on reception, whistled to get her attention.

  She walked over to him. “What is it?”

  “Do you want the spare?”

  “Spare key? To the workshop? Have you got one?”

  “Yes.” He walked over to a metal cabinet and opened it, searching along the rows until he found what he was looking for. “There you go.” He held out the keyring.

  “Stephen, I could kiss you.” She grinned. “I didn’t even know we had one.”

  He smiled and winked. “We have spares to all of our premises.”

  “Thank you.” Her smile lit her face. “Come on, Susan. Let’s go.”

  The room smelled of old wood, chemicals, paint, clay and Wyn. Yvonne filled her lungs.

  She led Susan down the aisle between the benches and stopped at the tiny form, covered in a white dust sheet. “Are you okay?”

  Susan nodded.

  “You can remove the sheet whenever you feel ready.” Yvonne stepped back, allowing the other woman some room and a little privacy.

  Susan took a deep breath. The cloth shook as she lifted the edges, her movements slow and reverent.

  Yvonne held her breath.

  “My God.” Susan’s hands flew to her face, as she stepped back, open-mouthed.

  The DI watched on tenterhooks.

  “This could almost be her. She’s…” Mrs Denham reached with trembling hands, stopping just inches from the clay form. “Can I… Can I touch her?”

  Yvonne walked forward until she was at Susan’s shoulder. “Please, go ahead.”

  Hands still shaking, Katie’s mother felt her daughter’s likeness with her finger tips as a blind person might, exploring the forehead, the eyelids and down each side of the face. Her thumbs traced along the lips, her fingers cupping the chin. She bent to place a gentle kiss on the forehead, tears wending their way, once more, down her face. Saliva strings stretched between her lips as her mouth formed an anguished hollow. No sound emanated from the cavern of pain.

  Susan stayed with the model for several minutes before wiping her face and returning to Yvonne. “He’s done an amazing job, your anthropologist. Even the eyes are hers. Thank you.”

  Yvonne touched her shoulders. “You’re welcome, Susan.”

  “Promise me you’ll find who hurt her. Promise me you’ll find the person who murdered my daughter.”

  Although they'd always warned her against doing so, Yvonne whispered, “I promise.”

  Wyn called her at nine-thirty the following morning.

  “Hi, how did it go in Swansea?” she asked.

  “Did you take Mrs Denham to the workshop?”

  “I did. Turns out, the station has a spare key. I took that. Hope that was okay?”

  “How did she react?”

  “It blew away her.”

  “Yeah?”

  “She thinks you did an stunning job.”

  She heard him exhale. “Well, that’s good.”

  “Your work gave her a second chance to say goodbye. A chance, the killer had taken away. I was proud of you.”

  “You were?”

  “I was.”

  “Well, that’s good. Yes, that’s good.”

  His lukewarm response wasn't what she expected. Maybe his trip to Swansea had made him tired. “If you like, we could go for a drink. Perhaps, one night this week?”

  He cleared his throat. “I would like that. I’d like that a lot.”

  “Is everything all right? You seem on edge.”

  Wyn grimaced. “My department at Dundee University called me, asking when I’m going up there. They’re finishing a paper and models for a museum and need my input.”

  “Oh.” Yvonne pursed her lips. “When do you go?”

  “They’d like me next week.”

  “What about the case?”

  He shrugged. “Will you want me over the next few weeks?”

  “Well, I…”

  “You could always call them and say you need me here longer. It might be be
tter coming from you.” He tilted his head.

  Yvonne frowned. "Really? Are you scared of them?"

  He sighed. “They’re very persuasive.”

  “Do you have their number?”

  “Wait there, I’ll get it for you.”

  16

  Dundee University

  Yvonne dialled the number for Dundee University.

  It took several rings for someone to answer the phone. She shifted her weight several times, tapping the heels of her shoes on the floor.

  “Professor Robson’s office,” a female answered.

  “Ah, professor, I…”

  “Hang on, I’ll put you through.”

  Yvonne pursed her lips.

  “Professor Robson.”

  “Hello, professor. My name is Yvonne Giles. I’m a detective inspector with Dyfed-Powys police.”

  “Hello.”

  She cleared her throat. “I understand that Wyn Sealander is one of your post-doctoral employees?”

  “Er, yes. That’s right.”

  “He’s helping us with an investigation. His work has been excellent.”

  The professor grunted. “Has he helped you solve your case?”

  “No, but the victims have a name, thanks to Wyn. We couldn’t have identified them without him.”

  “He’s a true professional. Dedicated to his work. He takes his time and he’s one of the best reconstruction artists in the country. Most of us use CGI these days, but not Wyn. He still prefers the feel of clay. I’m glad he’s been able to help.”

  “He has. We were hoping to keep him for a little while longer? If that’s okay with you?”

  Another grunt. “We’re working on an historical figure for a national museum. I was hoping he’d be available to help us. Will he be finished with you soon?”

  “Perhaps in a few weeks. Would that work for you?”

  The professor grunted again. “You’re still working a murder case?”

  “Serial murder case.”

  “I see. I guess, we can wait a while longer. Please ask him to get in touch though. We need to chalk a few dates in the calendar. I don’t like open deadlines.”

  As she hung up, Yvonne wondered why everything had to be so complicated.

  17

  Suspect DNA

  Dewi placed a steaming mug down on the desk next to her. “What’s with the frowny face?”

  Yvonne surfaced from her reverie. “Dewi-”

  “I brought you some tea. You look like you need it.”

  “I was miles away, wasn’t I?” The frown lines dissipated.

  “Want to elaborate?”

  “Something, Mrs Denham said.”

  “Go on…” Dewi pulled up a chair.

  Yvonne grimaced. “I don’t know.”

  Dewi laughed. “Now, you’re losing it.”

  “I know I’m not making much sense. What I mean is, something’s been niggling at me, since I spoke with her. The trouble is, I can’t remember what it was and I can’t remember when she said it. I’ve checked my notes from the first interview and there’s nothing in them that rings a bell. The last time I saw her, I didn’t take notes.”

  Dewi rubbed his chin. “Why don’t you call her and ask?”

  “I will, Dewi, but maybe not today. She’s been on an emotional rollercoaster these last few days and she needs a little space. I’ll call her in a day or two. It couldn't have been that important, but I remember feeling curious.”

  “Well, drink up,” Dewi ordered. “We’ve got a date with Tozer’s team. They’ve completed DNA tests on Nicole Benoit’s friends and the results are in.”

  “Already?”

  Dewi pulled a face. “Don’t get your hopes up, just in case.”

  Tozer led them into the main office. In contrast to their own, it was large and populated by at least twice as many officers.

  “I’ve emailed across a copy of the results. Would you like to help interview him?”

  “You have a suspect?” Yvonne leaned on the edge of his desk, her arms folded.

  “The hair we found on Nicole’s clothing, matches Terry Mason. He’s now top of our list.”

  “Well, that’s great.” Dewi patted Tozer on the back. “Can we see the report?”

  “Sure.” Tozer reached for a thin file from his desk. “The identification is pretty conclusive.”

  “He admits being with her that day.” Yvonne accepted the file. “They had a picnic together. The hair could have transferred from his blanket.”

  “Agreed.” Tozer nodded. “However, we didn’t find a single trace of anyone else. Not one. He is the only person with a proven connection to her on the day she disappeared. He’s got to be suspect number one.”

  “Is he here?” Yvonne handed the file to Dewi.

  Tozer grabbed a pen and pad. “Yep, he’s in interview room one.”

  “Okay, let’s hear what he has to say.”

  Dewi took up a viewing post in the room next door while Tozer and Yvonne interviewed Terry.

  “You told officers you hadn’t seen Nicole’s bicycle, tethered in the upper car park at Carding Mill.”

  “I didn’t see it.” Terry shook his head. He fumbled with a plastic cup of water, spilling its contents on the tabletop.

  Tozer leaned back in his chair. “Yet, you had tethered your own bike there.”

  “I know.”

  “Would you have recognised Nicole’s bike, if you had seen it?”

  Terry nodded.

  “Describe it to us.”

  Terry screwed his face up in concentration. “Well, if I remember rightly, it was a purple bike with a basket on the front. White- or silver-coloured… The basket, I mean.”

  Tozer nodded. “That’s right. Her bike was purple. So, you had waited for over an hour at Boiling Well, then walked back to the upper car park and you didn’t see her or her bike?”

  “No.”

  “Yet, you untethered your bike and rode it out of there. Didn’t you think it odd that you didn’t pass her on the way home from Carding Mill?”

  “Yes. I thought it strange at the time. My head was full of all sorts of stuff. I wasn’t thinking straight.”

  “No, you weren’t.”

  “I know what it sounds like…” Terry hung his head.

  “What does it sound like?” Tozer asked.

  “You think I’m lying because I didn’t check for her bike on the way back.”

  “Why didn’t you check, Terry?” Yvonne asked, her voice soft.

  “I didn’t check because, in my mind, I’d messed up and confused us both. I assumed she’d left, fed up of my antics up the Long Mynd. I assumed she'd gone home. I thought I’d messed up my chances of asking her to marry me. Under the circumstances, I’d kind of expected her to go.”

  “You said there were several families around.” Yvonne checked his statement. “At what point did you try to contact her again?”

  “I sent the first text as soon as I got home.”

  “And she didn’t reply.”

  “Right. I didn’t hear from her. The last time I had any contact was when I saw locking up her bike, at the upper car park.”

  Tozer tutted. “Why didn’t you stop and allow her to catch up?”

  "I told you, I wanted to surprise her. Wanted her to wonder what was going on. Then, I could pop the question at Boiling Well. I was younger and a lot more foolish than I am now. I thought, if she followed me, the setting and the question would blow her mind." He looked up at the DI. "I loved her. I did. Please trust me. I did not harm her. I would never harm a single hair on her head. She was everything. My entire world."

  “Explain how your hair found its way onto her clothing.” Tozer leaned forward, hands together, lips resting on his fingertips.

  “It must have been on my picnic blanket, or maybe one blew onto her from me, whilst we were eating.”

  “Did you have physical contact that day?”

  Terry shook his head, the corners of his mouth turned down.
“No. So many times, I have wished that we had. I wished that I had taken her into my arms, told her I loved her and kissed her. I still wish that with all my heart. Maybe she'd have cut me off. Maybe, I’d have escorted her home, and she’d be my wife, now. Maybe, she'd be someone else's wife. But, at least she’d be alive.”

  “DS Tozer, may I have a word?” Yvonne asked.

  Tozer nodded. “Interview suspended at twelve-fifteen.”

  “I think he’s being honest with us.” Yvonne levelled her gaze at the DS.

  "I agree." Tozer sighed and ran his hand though his hair. "Which is disappointing. We’ll let him go without charge, at least for the moment. However, he remains high on the suspect list."

  Yvonne nodded. “I understand. But, if he is the killer, he’s one hell of a convincing liar.”

  “Agreed.”

  “You look amazing.” Wyn smiled, his gaze intense, as they met after work for the promised drink.

  “Thank you.” Yvonne coloured, glad she had chosen a dress this time. Sea-blue, it complimented her hair and eyes.

  “Where would you like to go?”

  She shook her head, embarrassed that she hadn’t even thought about it.

  “I was thinking maybe Lakeside? We can eat and walk there.” He flicked his head towards the office. “It’s well away from here.”

  “We can’t drive if we’re drinking-”

  Wyn nodded. “We could book a taxi. If we take your car home, we can book a taxi from your place?”

  “What about your car?”

  “We’ll get the taxi to drop you back home and then me back home. I’ll get the bus into Newtown in the morning. I’m sure it won't kill anyone, if I'm late in, for one morning. Does that sound like a plan?”

  “It sounds very sensible.” She smiled at him, pleased to be doing something different for an evening, with someone who was growing on her.

  Situated along a lane, off the Newtown to Welshpool road, The Lakeside bustled. They chose a table near the windows where they could hear themselves speak.