Callum was calling from his car and the reception wasn’t good, but despite that, I could hear the triumph in his voice even before he told me the rest. I felt relief flooding through me like a warm tide, relaxing the muscles in my neck and shoulders. It was only then I realised how knotted with tension I’d been all night.
‘To be honest, I was cursing you–’
‘Thanks!’
‘Well, be fair, it wasn’t much to justify calling out the cavalry.’ There was a pause and for a second I thought his signal had gone, then, ‘I think we’ve got him, Jo!’
‘Oh, thank God! Was he on the houseboat?’
‘No, but the team found a space in the hull under the wheelhouse. I’m on my way to yours now. I’ll explain when I see you. Seeing you must have spooked him. He’s done a runner but he didn’t get much of a head start. We’re all over the area. Helicopter with heat detectors, dogs. We’ll get him.’
‘Do you know who he is?’
‘David Woodhouse. Boatyard owner gave us his name and address. He’s his electrician. I’ll be there soon. I can show you what we found.’
I sat on the living room floor with Callum. His laptop was between us so we could both see the video taken from the body cams of the search team.
The interior was still under construction and there were tools and debris lying about. The team moved through the main room and headed towards the stern.
‘No more work was scheduled until next spring. So if you hadn’t sent us back there, God knows how long this would have stayed hidden.’
Callum shifted his position and I felt his arm slide across the seat of the sofa behind me. I could smell the soft cologne he wore as he leaned closer.
‘There’s a hollow space in the hull with a crawl space under the whole thing that they fill with concrete for ballast.’
‘Concrete?’ I thought back to the post-mortem report and the concrete dust found on the body.
He nodded. ‘They poured it six weeks ago and laid the suspended floor over the space. Once Woodhouse had finished the electrics, that part of the hull should have been sealed.’
Harvey nuzzled up against me and lay down by my side. I ruffled his ears as I thought it through. ‘Work stopped on the boat just when Linda Baker was killed. He didn’t have his little hidey-hole then, so she was a rushed job on the towpath. He knew he couldn’t act this out on one of the holiday boats – too messy. Anyway, he wanted time with his next victim, to savour the moment, so that’s probably when he constructed this. No one would be working on it and he could hold Julie there and go back to her every night.’
He fast forwarded the video. The camera illuminated an iron-walled room about five feet high that sloped down at the sides and was rounded at the stern of the barge. The suspended ceiling was held up by huge, square wooden posts sunk into the concrete floor.
‘They found a digital camera,’ Callum said. ‘These were taken off it.’
Obscene photographs of Julie Lamont in various stages of nakedness and distress. In most of them she was alive, her eyes wide and petrified. I imagined her terror and the utter horror of realising just how she was going to die.
In all of them, she was bound with white electrical flex and gagged with wide strips of duct tape, her eyes giving a hint to the horrific scene being played out in front of her.
The last few images were so horrific I had to turn away.
‘Oh my God,’ I breathed, quietly. ‘He’s butchering her alive!’
Callum switched back to the body cam video. I could make out a pair of Reebok trainers. There was a bundle of clothing and a rucksack neatly stacked beside the trainers.
‘The rest of Julie’s clothes, and we think the rucksack will turn out to be Linda Baker’s.’
There was a small wooden platform against one wall and the cameraman concentrated on it.
Callum breathed softly. ‘Bloody unbelievable. It’s like a shrine!’
There in the centre of the short wooden table was a serrated hunting knife. Beneath the table was a coil of electrical flex and a roll of duct tape.
Callum reached across and switched the video off.
We sat on the floor in silence.
That could have been me. A shudder ran down my spine. I remembered the sound of his grunting as he chased me up the embankment. If he’d caught me tonight, I would have died in that torture chamber. So close to safety that I would have been able to hear the traffic outside as he cut me to pieces.
I felt Callum’s arm around my shoulder as he squeezed gently. ‘Need a drink?’
I nodded numbly and felt him get up and go into the kitchen. A minute later he was back, but not with the wine I’d expected. He held the brandy glass out for me.
‘Thought you might want something a bit stronger.’
I took it gratefully, suddenly looking up as I realised he didn’t have a glass.
‘I can’t,’ he said, reading my thoughts. ‘I’ve got to get back. I have to be at the incident room. As soon as we got a name, I woke up a magistrate to get a search warrant for his bedsit in Shipley. The team are over there now. I just wanted to show you the footage. Tonight was down to you, Jo.’
I sipped the brandy, feeling the welcome burn in my throat as it worked its way down.
‘How come he wasn’t questioned with everyone else at the yard?’
Callum ran his hand through his hair and I tried not to notice how good he could look, even at a time like this.
‘He was delivering a narrowboat to Skipton. Apparently it takes over a week to sail that far. Uniform made a note to pick him up later. Events overtook them and he got overlooked. It happens.’
He looked at me in silence for a moment, and then asked, ‘How did you know?’
I took another sip of brandy. ‘The cuddling couple.’
‘What about them?’
‘When I walked it, I realised that Julie would have been at the same spot as those lovers when the fisherman saw them. And if she had been there at the same time, she’d be alive because she’d have walked up those steps to the Interchange and caught her bus. But she never made the bus. The fisherman didn’t see her – why not? It didn’t fit.’
He raised his eyebrows in a silent question.
‘The lovers had to be Julie and her killer.’
Callum sat on the sofa, his thigh brushing my shoulder.
‘Lovers?’ he said in disbelief.
‘I don’t think they even spoke at all before he punched her in the face and broke her cheekbone. He’s holding her limp body against his just as the fisherman comes around the bend in the path. I timed it tonight. It takes twenty-four seconds from there to the Interchange. So he just hugs her to him and tries to look like they’re a couple until the fisherman is up the steps and out of sight. After that he couldn’t have moved her far. He only had a minute or so before she came round and started giving him trouble. I looked across and saw the light in the disused boat and it all fell into place.’
‘Trouble is,’ Callum said, softly, ‘he saw you too.’
I couldn’t hold his gaze, so I looked at the carpet and fiddled with the stem of my glass.
‘Which was why I ran for it.’
I heard him sigh slowly and then he got up to leave.
‘I’ll have uniform outside the farm tonight – until we track him down, I’m not happy about you being here alone.’
‘Is that really necessary?’
‘He saw you tonight, Jo. He came after you because he couldn’t risk you getting away and blowing the whistle.’
‘But I did get away.’
‘Precisely.’ His tone was exasperated. ‘That’s why he’d shoved off by the time we got to the boat. He knows it’s over and he’s on the run but he’s going to be pissed off with you, isn’t he?’
I stood to face him, still having to look up at him, but feeling less like a scolded child than I had when sitting on the floor at his feet.
‘He doesn’t know where I live or even who I am
for that matter.’
He raked his hand through his hair and shrugged. ‘I don’t care what the hell he knows. People do know you from the TV and the press. Perhaps he did recognise you. Perhaps he does have transport. He might know where to find you – I don’t know. But what I do know is that at this late stage of the game, I’m not taking any chances. So, whether you like it or not, I’m going to have a car up here tonight.’
I opened my mouth to reply, but I was already looking at his back as he walked out of the room, calling over his shoulder. ‘Lock the door and pull the curtains. Don’t go outside. If Harvey needs a pee, get one of the officers to take him out.’
5 August
Kingsberry Farm
I woke up and winced. Turning my head was agony. I slowly slid my legs off the sofa and put my feet on the floor. The crick in my neck felt like it was going to be permanent. My foot knocked over the empty brandy glass and Harvey lifted his head to watch me curiously as I sat forward and held my head.
After Callum left, I knew there was no chance of sleep. I heard the police arrive and the officer knocked on the door and introduced himself. I paced up and down and poured another brandy – then another. Funny how after the first one, the others went down so easily. I must have dozed in the early hours, waiting for Callum to call with some news.
I slowly parted the living room curtains and sharp sunlight jagged at the back of my eyes, sharpening the dull headache. I groaned and turned as Harvey brushed against my leg, jumping up to rest his massive paws on the windowsill and look outside with me.
The patrol car was still there. The PC leaning against the open door. He glanced up and raised his hand in a half wave. I nodded gingerly and let the curtain fall back.
The clock on the wall said 7am. It’d been a long day already.
I was loading the dishwasher and contemplating my second dose of paracetamol when the telephone rang, jagging bright red pain across my eyes. I dived for the receiver to stop the pain.
‘Yes?’
‘Jo, it’s me.’ Callum’s voice banged like a drum.
Using economy of effort, ‘News?’ was all I could manage.
‘We’ve got him. Early hours of this morning.’ I expected him to sound happier about it, but he just sounded bone-weary.
‘Why didn’t you call?’ I knew I sounded petulant, but decided my hangover was more than enough justification. ‘It’s after seven.’
‘Sorry to state the obvious, but you weren’t exactly my top priority. You’re bloody lucky I’ve snatched a minute now!’
I pushed the dishwasher closed with my foot, drying my hands as I cradled the phone under my chin.
‘Okay, okay, sorry.’ I tried to soften my tone, realising we were both too strung out to risk an argument. ‘I’ve been worried, that’s all. Are you okay?’
‘Just knackered. I could do with a week’s sleep and a change of clothes. CSI are processing the houseboat and we need to get samples of his DNA from the flat to tie him to the scene. Now we’ve got him in custody, the clock’s ticking.’ I imagined him checking his watch as he spoke. ‘I’ve got my best tier 3 trained interviewers lined up to have a crack at him as soon as his brief arrives.’
Tier 3 officers were trained in advanced techniques, looking for hidden ‘tells’ in interviewees – body language, speech patterns that indicated deception. I’d been part of a team of forensic psychologists called in to help design some of the training years ago.
‘We should be good to go anytime now. I just took the chance to nip out and call you.’
‘Thanks.’ I meant it. I needed to know that he still wanted to keep talking to me. ‘Need any advice on what you’re looking for at the flat to evidence his state of mind?’
There was a pause. Slightly too long, and then he said, hesitantly, ‘No it’s fine, Jo, we’ve got that covered.’
I felt that sickening sensation when you find out your best friend had a party at the weekend and didn’t invite you.
‘Oh?’
I let the silence at the other end lengthen. I’d long ago learned that there was something about the power of silence that often made people say far more than they would otherwise.
‘Hoyle wants Taylor-Caine to advise.’
The knot in my stomach tightened and the bile of outrage rose in my throat, along with the words that spilled out before I could stop them.
‘Great!’
Harvey jumped as I slammed my mug onto the table, spilling tea. I could feel the throbbing pain across my eyes intensify as my blood pressure went through the roof.
‘It was my profile, Callum, and me on that sodding towpath last night – or have you forgotten that?’
‘Jo, listen–’
But I was too far gone to listen.
‘No, you listen!’ I paced across the kitchen as my anger boiled over. ‘You roped me in on this, despite my saying that Taylor-Caine should be your first port of call. But you insisted and said Hoyle would just have to live with it. That you would let him know you used my profile in preference over hers–’
‘And he does know–’
‘You let me put in half my week and over twenty years of experience for free, while that inefficient lightweight sits on her arse in a nice warm office and gets a hefty salary, thank you very much!’
‘It’s not about money, is it, Jo?’
‘Damn right it’s not!’ I exploded. ‘It’s about professional credit for bringing sexual psychopaths like Woodhouse to justice. None of which I’ll get now, thanks to Hoyle and his bit on the side!’
‘But everyone knows it was your profile, Jo.’ He was trying to calm me down, but his gentling tone just made me even angrier. ‘Everyone on the team knows it. That’s what we all worked from and that’s what got him.’
‘So how does Hoyle square that one now?’
‘It’s all about justifying her on the budget, Jo. You know how it is. He just wants her to be visible. No one will say it was her profile.’
‘No, they just won’t say it was mine!’
‘Jo–’
‘Don’t ever ask me to help unofficially again, Callum. Not ever!’
I slammed the phone down and winced as my head banged in sympathy. My stomach was churning and I knew it wasn’t the brandy. I sounded like a spoiled child, but my professional pride was punctured and something else – Callum had called me in as a personal favour, one he knew would cost me time and effort, and after last night, nearly a hell of a lot more, and I felt let down.
I didn’t want the glory. I just wanted to know that Callum had the strength of character to back up an unpopular decision when it counted. It felt like he’d backed down when it was politically expedient, leaving me out in the cold because it wouldn’t be a good career move to upset the established order. That hurt. It hurt like hell.
5 August
The rest of the day dragged by in a monotonous grey that matched my mood.
My mother rang to see what I was doing for the weekend and I lied. I just couldn’t face the play-acting I always had to do around her as she dropped very unsubtle hints about my being ‘unattached’, the fact that I had a job she couldn’t understand anyone wanting to do, least of all a woman, and that I didn’t see enough of Alex.
I pottered around the garden, making a half-hearted attempt to clear some of the paths, and finally gave up and decided to walk Harvey across the fields.
Old George was striding across the top acre by the woods, his shotgun across his arm. He waved as he saw us and leaned against the fence.
‘Did you have a good birthday, lass?’
‘Worked it, as usual.’
He frowned – absently patting Harvey’s head. ‘All work an’ no play.’ He tutted.
I laughed. ‘Careful – you’re starting to sound like Jen.’
‘Wise woman, that.’ He scratched his forehead. ‘Heard from your Alex?’
‘He called me to say happy birthday. He’ll be home for Christmas hopefully.’ I threw a stic
k for Harvey. ‘Do you ever hear anything from your boy – Simon, isn’t it?’ I vaguely remembered George’s son coming to visit once, just after I moved into the farm. An abstract image of a fancy car and an expensive suit that looked out of place along our old dirt track.
He sighed, looking out over the fields rather than meeting my eye. ‘Nay, lass. He was never one for staying in touch. I get a Christmas card – but that’s about it.’
I studied his weathered profile, aching at the thought of growing apart from Alex like that. I could tell he was trying hard to give nothing away.
‘You must miss him?’
His wide shoulders shrugged beneath the Barbour jacket. ‘Nothin’ in common, lass. Soon as he could, he left home. Nothin’ here for him. I mean he was never going to be a farmer, was he?’ He turned to me and smiled. ‘Moved to Durham for a while but once his mam died, he went off down London for some fancy job that I don’t even understand. Reckon he must’ve got his mother’s brains.’
I patted his arm and raised a smile. ‘Well, if he got her brains – he must’ve inherited your looks then?’
‘Aye.’ He grinned at me. ‘Lucky bugger, eh?’ He sniffed and wiped his hand across his face – looking out towards the woods. ‘I’ve cleared the old cottage of some muck, lass, and done a few running repairs.’
I smiled, touched as always by his consideration and happy to let him change the subject. ‘Thanks, George. What do I owe you for your time?’
He snorted. ‘Catch yourself on, girl. I’m not going to bother about a few days fixing up the old place.’
I watched Harvey as he bolted around the field, running off pent-up energy.
‘Not sure what to do with that old building, George. Needs a new roof for a start – it’d cost a fortune – and for what? I wouldn’t want to sell it.’ I grinned at him. ‘Don’t want any neighbours apart from you.’
He looked across to the edge of the woods at the small white building that was more of a one-roomed bothy than a cottage. He pushed his cap up with his thumb.
The Murder Mile Page 8
