by Carol Wyer
TUESDAY, 8 JUNE – LATE AFTERNOON
Hartington, a picturesque village in an area known as the White Peak, which formed the southern part of the Peak District National Park, was heaving with visitors. Emma parked behind a coach and hunted for sight of Morgan, spotting him beside the village pond. Cooper couldn’t have found a better place to lose himself, she mused, as a crocodile of schoolchildren marched past her car, clipboards in their hands. She waved to Morgan and he ran towards her.
‘Hi. I’ve not spotted him yet,’ he said.
‘No shit, Sherlock! Have you counted the number of tourists here? It’s like the crowds at an FA Cup Final.’
He lifted his phone to show an image of Cooper: shaven head, wide eyes and a large flat nose. ‘I’ve got his photo. All we can do is ask about.’
‘Bluetooth it to my phone. We’ll split up and ask around.’
Image received, Emma set off in the opposite direction to Morgan, stopping everyone to ask if they’d seen the man. She was about to try her luck at a quaint thatched cottage pub with colourful baskets hanging by the door when Morgan sprinted across to her and pointed towards the three-arched façade of the town hall.
‘Woman over there saw him only minutes ago.’
‘Where?’
‘Outside Hartington Hall, sitting on a six-seater pub bench, staring at a map.’
Emma broke into a trot. ‘Come on. He could take off from there along the Tissington Trail, and then we’ll lose him for good.’
Morgan was hot on her heels as they jogged down the road with green hills and medieval stone walls as a backdrop. They raced on, past whitewashed pubs and tables of revellers, until, swerving around a group of hikers, the manor house came into sight. They slowed by the entrance, held up by couples and families out enjoying the warm afternoon.
‘If he’s not still in the grounds, we ought to head in the direction of Parsley Hays,’ Emma said.
‘What makes you think he’ll go that way?’
‘There’s both a railway line and a cycle path there, which will give him more options. I’d head there if I wanted to gradually edge my way deeper into the Peak District.’
The manor house was an attraction in itself, built in local stone to an H-plan with three storeys and gabled bays. Nowadays a YHA, it offered affordable accommodation, a bar and a restaurant, and was also a popular wedding venue. They skirted around the crowds and Emma was the first to spot Cooper, folding up a map.
‘He’s still here. On the bench. Ten o’clock.’
They continued along the path, only metres from Cooper, who was eyeing them. Without warning, he stood up, shouldered his backpack and began to stride away.
‘After him!’ Morgan powered ahead, legs and arms pumping, but the ex-military man was quick and darted away, putting a greater distance between himself and his pursuers. Morgan rounded the bench and jumped over a small bush. Emma raced after them both, veering to the left to head Cooper off. Cooper sprinted behind the building, pursued by Morgan, who gained rapidly on the older man.
‘Police! Mr Monroe, we need to talk.’
Cooper drew to a sudden halt and raised his hands. ‘Police? Thank goodness.’
Cooper was compliant and polite. Seated on another bench flanked by both officers, he apologised again. ‘I’m sorry, I totally freaked out. I was sure you were hit men.’
‘Why would hit men be after you?’
‘It’s a long story, and I’ll tell you, but can I ask first, why have you been looking for me?’
‘It’s in connection with Bradley Chapman.’
‘What’s he done?’
‘I don’t know. What has he done?’ said Emma, throwing him a hard look.
Cooper laughed. ‘You’re a tough nut, aren’t you? I’ve met women like you before. Got fucking great chips on their shoulders and have to prove themselves. To my knowledge, Bradley hasn’t done anything wrong, okay?’
Emma scowled, her dark eyebrows almost meeting. ‘His alibi for Corby’s murder doesn’t stack up. Can you throw any light on it?’
‘What do you need me to tell you?’
‘Which day, or days, you saw him last week.’
‘I saw him twice last week. The first time was after he dropped off my daughter, Sierra, from a driving lesson. Sierra left to catch the bus and Bradley was in his car on the phone when he spotted me in the garden. He got out of his car and came to talk to me. He was with me for an hour or maybe just under, and then had to go. He had another lesson in the afternoon and he needed to grab some lunch. I saw him again a few days later – Saturday night. He came around for a chat.’
‘What did you talk about?’
‘About life and what a crock of shit it is.’
‘Really?’ Emma couldn’t keep the incredulity out of her voice.
Cooper turned towards her. The capillaries in his eyes were bloodshot and his breath smelt sour. ‘Look, you don’t have to believe me, but you know nothing about me, or about my life, and you’re in no position to judge me or make snide comments. I was having a particularly bad day. Bradley helped me through it. Okay?’
‘Fair enough. I apologise,’ she said.
He studied her again. ‘Good. Thank you.’
‘And, for the record, I don’t have to prove myself to anyone,’ she added.
He gave a half-hearted laugh. ‘You’ve got spirit.’
Emma gave a tight smile. ‘I understand you needed some time out, but I don’t get why you took a burner phone with you to contact your daughter. Why all the cloak-and-dagger stuff, Mr Monroe? Why not ring her from your usual mobile?’
Cooper didn’t answer at first, but when Emma opened her mouth again he held up a hand. ‘I was . . . anxious. I’ve been getting gradually more paranoid the last few months. I thought somebody was following me and, more recently, I’ve had a couple of anonymous phone calls to the house – ones where the caller hung up when I answered. I left my mobile in my drawer at home so if anyone was tracking it, they wouldn’t know where I was, and I used the burner phone simply to check in on Sierra.’
‘Could just have been wrong numbers,’ said Morgan.
‘No. I’m pretty certain somebody has been watching me. I’ve been involved in enough covert ops in my time to develop instincts for that sort of thing.’
‘So you came here to hide from them?’
‘No, I came here to decide what to do about the mess I’ve got myself into.’
‘What mess?’
‘It’s a long story.’
‘We’ve got time.’
‘I got involved in something that led to the deaths of several innocent people.’
‘Can you be more specific?’
He pressed his fingers to his temples and inhaled. ‘I think I’m partly responsible for the attack on the Euston train on January the sixteenth.’
Morgan sat back down and waited for the confession. As Cooper spoke, Emma’s eyes grew as large as saucers.
CHAPTER FORTY-THREE
TUESDAY, 8 JUNE – EVENING
Ervin hadn’t uncovered anything else at the Maddox Club. ‘Look, why don’t you swing by the lab and see Faith? She was working on some items removed from Ian Wentworth’s place and she might have something on the white fibre Harvey found under Xavier’s fingernail. She won’t mind you disturbing her – in fact, she’ll probably be glad of some company.’
‘Yeah, okay. I’ll drop in on her.’
‘Good. I’ll speak to you again tomorrow.’
Kate ended the call and stared again at the names Chris had written down: the men who’d used the Gold Service. She’d also spent a long time going through what information she could find on Dickson, only to discover what she already knew: he was a well-regarded officer with an unblemished record. A trip to the club and a night with a prostitute ought not to be ringing the alarm bells they were. Nobody she had contacted had been willing to discuss the Gold Service, saying they had done nothing wrong and committed no crime. Raymond was still not picking up his phone
and, like Cooper, seemed to have disappeared.
The pencil she’d been holding at both ends snapped in two, and she threw both halves on the desk. The frustration had been building all day, and knowing Dickson could remove her from the investigation at any moment was making matters worse. She was getting closer to the answer, she knew she was. Faith might have something to enable her to piece it all together.
It was rush hour in Stoke-on-Trent, and although she didn’t have far to travel, she snaked alongside other frustrated commuters on Queensway, attempting to circumnavigate the city centre. She’d pulled on to the A52 and was level with Hanley Park when her phone rang again.
This time it was the pathologist who spoke. ‘I’ve been examining your latest victim, Xavier Durand. I recovered another white fibre suspiciously like the one I found under his nail from his nasal cavity. I’ll have it couriered to Forensics as soon as I finish up. I thought you might also like to know there was a good handful of undigested peanuts in his stomach and digestive tract – twenty of them in total, but no apple. I’ve cleaned up inside his mouth, and although there is substantial damage to his tongue, inside of cheeks and soft palate, I believe there are one or two similar marks to those we found in the other victims. I can’t say with a hundred per cent accuracy the same object was used to stretch open his mouth, but I’d say there’s a strong likelihood. I’m not done yet, but I’ll keep you up to date if I find anything else unusual.’
‘I appreciate it, Harvey. Thanks.’
Although she couldn’t be sure of it, Kate’s instinct told her the killer had tipped the nuts down Xavier’s throat using a choke-pear device. It was the same perpetrator, although they hadn’t tortured this victim. Was it because they had insufficient time, or because they were getting sloppy?
She arrived at the university car park minutes later, entered the glass-fronted building and took the lift up to the top floor. She was met at the lab by a technician who was on his way out. He recognised her and held the door open for her, telling her Faith had just popped out for a minute. Kate wandered across to the window and stared out at the trees beyond, then strolled around the lab, taking it all in.
Although it had only been a few days since she’d last been here, it already felt like a lifetime. Her attention was drawn to a mobile phone on the bench that suddenly lit up. She let it ring out, and spotting a picture of Faith, she picked the device up for a closer look. It was a woman who looked a lot like Faith but with a plumper face. She had her arms around the waist of a handsome boy in his late teens, wearing shorts, T-shirt and a braided bracelet in green, gold, red, black and white – the colours of the Zimbabwe flag, if her memory served her correctly. Kate stared at the picture of contentment, the happiness of both woman and teenager. It was an arresting picture and reminded Kate of her father. Somewhere in her house was a strikingly similar photograph of them both, her father’s arms wrapped her as she beamed for the camera.
‘What are you doing?’
The sharp tone made Kate jump. ‘Your phone rang. I think it was Ervin. I noticed the photo so I was just having a better look.’
Faith stretched out her hand for her phone.
Kate dropped it into her palm. ‘Your sister? You look alike – the same smile, same eyes.’
‘Yes. I suppose we do share certain features.’
‘Is that her son?’
‘It is.’
‘So he’s your nephew. I’ve got a nephew, too, although I’ve never actually met him. Daniel lives in Australia with my stepsister, Tilly. He’s four. How old is he?’
‘He was fourteen in the picture . . . He’s no longer with us.’ Faith’s face closed.
‘Oh, shit! I’m sorry. I didn’t mean . . . I was only being . . .’
‘I know. No harm done. I’d rather not talk about it, though, if you don’t mind.’
‘Sure.’
Faith slid the mobile into her lab coat pocket. ‘I wasn’t expecting you. What can I help you with?’
‘Ervin suggested I visit in case you’d stumbled across anything useful on those items from Ian’s house.’
‘I’m sorry, I’ve not found anything, but I’ve still loads more tests to run.’
‘He also sent across a white thread. Have you had a chance to analyse it yet?’
Faith nodded. ‘I examined it as soon as I got it. That’s partly why I haven’t finished testing everything from Ian’s cottage. It was a type of tissue paper, and matched identical threads from a leading brand of luxury toilet tissue.’
Xavier must have picked up the thread when he last visited the toilet; maybe he even blew his nose on a piece of toilet paper, which would account for the fibre in his nose. ‘Damn!’
Faith steepled her fingertips; a small gesture of apology. ‘I’m sorry I didn’t have the news you hoped for. That’s the trouble with forensic evidence. We collect loads, but not all of it is relevant to the investigation.’
‘I was hoping the fibre would be a clue.’
‘I have other news for you, regarding Ian Wentworth. I recovered fingerprints from Raven Cottage that clearly belong to children.’
‘Oh, no!’
‘I’m afraid so. I’m still working through the prints, but it’s apparent what was going on there.’
Kate swallowed hard.
Faith seemed to study her for a moment. ‘Is it . . . is this case more difficult than others you’ve headed?’
‘In some ways it is. You know the saying, “Two steps forward and one step back”? Well, I seem to be taking several steps back and none forward.’
‘I’m sure you must be making progress. You’ve all been working really hard on this. I’ve always wondered what it would be like to head an investigation.’
‘Tough.’
‘I can imagine it is.’
‘Some days, we’d get nowhere without Forensics.’
‘And some days, even with our help, you still get nowhere,’ said Faith, eyebrows arching high.
The attempt at humour made Kate chuckle. ‘Yes, pretty much.’
‘Is the Maddox Club crime scene the same as the others?’
‘There are similarities.’
Faith perched on a stool, her neat ankles together. ‘What sort of similarities?’
‘The victim was drugged and died of asphyxiation. He was found bound to a chair.’
‘Exactly like the other victims, then?’ Faith’s zeal almost visibly bubbled, and Kate understood why Ervin appreciated her passion. It emulated his own. ‘Did the perpetrator choke the victim with pieces of apple?’
‘No, but as I said, there are similarities.’
‘I’m sure you’ll get a breakthrough.’
Kate shook her head. ‘Unless something surfaces quickly, I’m in limbo. The assailant is like a ghost. Never leaves a trace.’
‘What, no evidence at all? There must be something.’
‘There are fingerprints, but I suspect they’ll belong to club members or staff. There was a spot of blood on the carpet and on an ornament.’
Faith’s eyebrows lifted slightly. ‘Blood? Nobody sent it across for analysis.’
‘Ervin tested out some new biomarker toy he got from the States and decided it was female. We ought to talk to the cleaning staff and obtain buccal swabs for comparison and elimination purposes. I’d have arranged it sooner, had we had time. I’ll chase it up.’
‘If you want to send those blood samples from the club across, I’ll prioritise the tests for you.’
‘Great.’
Faith’s eyebrows puckered. ‘I wouldn’t hold too much store by the biomarker results. They aren’t always truly accurate. Blood needs to be properly analysed and tested in laboratory conditions. We ought to run further tests on it to make sure.’
‘I’m sure Ervin will arrange them.’
‘You’re right. He wouldn’t trust the kit any more than I do. They’ve been known to screw up results. Still, if they’re right and the killer is a woman, then who do you have in min
d?’
Kate shrugged.
‘Alex’s wife?’
‘Fiona was in France when Alex was killed.’
‘Her mother?’
Kate threw her a look. Faith picked up on it, flushed gently and stood up, brushing imaginary dust from her lab coat. ‘Oh, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to muscle in on your investigation. I’m just fascinated by all of this and sometimes I get carried away. A regular Nancy Drew, eh? I’ll double-check the blood sample as soon it turns up and make sure it is missing a Y chromosome.’
Kate knew what it was like to be enthusiastic and want to succeed, and Faith was only battling to be the best. ‘Thanks.’
Faith felt the side of her pocket. ‘Someone’s calling me.’ She pulled out the mobile and glanced at the display. ‘Ervin again.’
‘I’ll leave you to it.’
Faith made signs for her to remain, but Kate lifted a hand and slipped out of the lab. She ought to arrange for Tabitha Grant and Poppy Notts, the women who’d cleaned at the Maddox Club, to give swabs. She had been so busy searching for information on Dickson she’d forgotten to sort it out. It was unlike her. She clattered downstairs, annoyed with herself for such an oversight. They should have eliminated these women as quickly as possible. Maybe Dickson was right and she was losing her grip.
Back in her car, she took a call from the technician, Felicity Jolly.
‘Kate, the encrypted file we located on Ian Wentworth’s laptop was hiding something – his IPS. Your victim was searching on the dark web.’
‘What was he hunting for?’
‘He was investigating bodyguards and hired muscle.’
‘He must have believed he was in danger.’
‘I can’t comment. I’m a mere technician. It’s up to you clever bods in the crime unit to interpret those findings. ‘I’ll send over an email with all the websites he visited.’
‘Thanks, you’ve been a massive help.’
‘My pleasure. I hope you’ll drop by again soon, even just to say hello.’
Cooper wetted his lips then began. ‘I got the job at the Maddox Club thanks to Alex Corby. He told me late November 2020 they were looking for somebody discreet to work a few extra shifts at the club, and asked if I’d be interested. All I had to do was escort some girls and boys in and out of the premises. When I say girls and boys, that’s exactly what they were, youngsters – some spoke no English, some were quite chatty. They were all immigrants sent over by a bloke called Farai. He and Xavier were mates. I think he was some sort of pimp.
