The Lantern Men

by Elly Griffiths

  ‘Did you want something?’ says Maddie.

  ‘I read Jenny’s story and I just wondered if you had anything else of hers. You said something about her parents giving you a box of her things. In that article of yours there was a photo that I hadn’t seen before. Do you have any others?’

  ‘There was one more pic, I think,’ says Maddie. ‘Jenny with March and some other men. I thought it might be a little insensitive to print it. ‘

  It’s news to Nelson that Maddie ever considers such things. ‘Can you send it to me?’ he asks.

  ‘OK. What’s the news on the excavation? Did you find the bodies? I saw the coroner’s van.’

  ‘Bye, Maddie,’ says Nelson. ‘Go back to sleep.’

  ‘You’ve ruined it now,’ says Maddie. ‘I might as well get up. I’ve got to go to some stupid agricultural show later.’

  Nelson drives on to the prison. He waits in the interview room, thinking about his last visit with Ruth. Was Tanya right and was there something strange about March’s insistence that Ruth should take charge of the excavation? March must have known that Ruth, who is the best forensic archaeologist around, would find the bodies and that must point to March’s guilt. March has always pleaded his innocence. Why is he suddenly telling them where to find his victims? And, furthermore, he must have known that Ruth would find the third body. If March is convicted of three more murders then the chances are that he will never be released from prison.

  Nelson decides not to mention Heidi Lucas. If March isn’t involved, then he won’t have heard about the murder. If he is somehow involved, then this is a whole other conversation. Besides, Nelson finds himself badly shaken by the young woman’s death. Not only is she a similar age to his eldest daughter, she was also a primary school teacher. There’s even a superficial likeness to Laura, especially in the pictures provided by Josh Evans: Heidi as a bridesmaid, flowers in her long blonde hair; Heidi riding a City Bike in Brighton; Heidi at a beach bar, suntanned and happy, surrounded by friends. And now this glowing young woman is dead and Nelson has another killer to catch.

  March, when he appears, seems as unconcerned as a man can be when handcuffed and attended by a prison officer. He sits opposite Nelson and smiles. Nelson remembers the last line in Jenny’s story. And, smiling, he put his hands around her neck.

  ‘Hallo, Ivor,’ says Nelson. ‘How’s life imprisonment treating you?’

  March still hasn’t been sentenced but Nelson wants to remove the smile.

  It doesn’t work although the grin starts to look slightly forced. Surely March must know that he’ll spend the rest of his life behind bars, whether in a prison or a psychiatric hospital?

  ‘We excavated the garden at the Jolly Boatman,’ says Nelson, ‘and we found two skeletons which we believe to be female. Dr Galloway is confident that enough DNA will be retrieved to allow for a formal identification.’

  This isn’t quite what Ruth said but Nelson knows that she is hopeful that DNA plus dental records and isotope testing will give them a result. March just smiles some more and says, ‘I told you Dr Galloway was the best.’

  ‘She certainly is,’ says Nelson, watching March closely, ‘because she found a third body.’

  Not a flicker.

  ‘Well, well, well,’ says March, leaning back. ‘Fancy that.’

  ‘It’s a woman,’ says Nelson, resisting the temptation to hit March across the room. ‘Do you have any idea who she might be?’

  ‘I’m sure you have an idea, DCI Nelson.’

  ‘I asked you,’ says Nelson.

  ‘You asked me about Nicola and Jenny,’ says March, ‘and I told you where to find them.’

  What does he want, thinks Nelson, a good citizenship medal?

  ‘It’s a bit of a coincidence,’ he says, ‘a third woman’s body turning up. I don’t like coincidences. Who is she, Ivor?’ He doesn’t like using March’s first name but Madge Hudson (Queen of the Bleeding Obvious) says it’s important, to reinforce their so-called ‘special relationship’.

  March continues to smile at him, handcuffed hands clasped as if in prayer. The warder watches impassively from the doorway.

  ‘I met John Robertson recently,’ says Nelson. ‘I gather he’s a friend of yours.’

  ‘Not exactly a friend,’ says March. ‘More of an acolyte. John’s a simple soul.’

  ‘John was telling me about the fun and games you used to get up to with your friends Bob and Leonard. He mentioned an Eastern European girl who went missing.’

  ‘Did he?’ March examines his fingernails.

  ‘What was her name?’

  No answer. March looks at him steadily, although the smile has almost gone.

  ‘Is it Sofia Novak, Ivor? She stayed at Grey Walls, didn’t she?’

  No answer.

  ‘Did you kill her, Ivor? Did you bury her in the pub garden?’

  In the cognitive interviewing technique, as practised by Judy, you are meant to offer the suspect alternative scenarios, but Nelson is too angry by now. He glares at March who stares coolly back before saying, ‘Have you spoken to Bob and Leonard?’

  ‘We’ve been in contact with them.’

  ‘They haven’t visited me, you know,’ says Ivor. ‘Only the women are faithful. Chantal, Crissy and Ailsa. It was the same with Jesus. It was the women who stayed at the foot of the cross.’

  ‘So you’re Jesus now, are you?’ says Nelson. He might be a lapsed Catholic but, right now, he’s praying hard for a thunderbolt.

  ‘It is you who say it,’ says March. The line sounds oddly familiar. Nelson has a feeling that it comes from the Good Friday service.

  ‘I was reading a short story by Jenny McGuire,’ he says. ‘There’s a character in it called The Artist who reminded me of you.’

  ‘Ah, Jenny,’ says March. ‘She was quite an effective writer, if rather derivative.’

  As far as Nelson knows, Ivor has never written a book so he wonders what qualifies him to judge, or to teach creative writing at all. He remembers Ailsa Britain saying that March had ‘an artist’s instinct for language’. The A word again.

  ‘The story’s called “The Lantern Men”,’ he says. ‘That’s what you used to call yourselves, isn’t it? You, Bob and Leonard. When you went about abducting women.’

  ‘We weren’t abducting them,’ says March. ‘We were saving them.’

  ‘Did you save Sofia Novak?’

  ‘Yes.’ March meets his gaze squarely. ‘We saved her. She stayed with us for a while and then she went on to a better life.’

  That’s what people say when someone has died, thinks Nelson. They’ve gone to a better place.

  ‘I don’t think she did,’ he says. ‘I think you killed her and buried her in the garden of the Jolly Boatman. It was owned by a friend of yours, wasn’t it? Simon Winsome. You used to drink there.’

  ‘You seem confused, DCI Nelson,’ says March. ‘Why don’t you talk to Dr Galloway? I’m sure she’ll have the answers.’

  ‘She’ll have answers that’ll convict you for three more murders,’ says Nelson.

  But March just continues to smile at him.

  *

  Ivor March is also in the forefront of Judy’s mind. This is because Ailsa Britain, aka Lisa, is describing her feelings for the serial killer. They are sitting in a room at the community centre while, next door, the Italian Culture Class listens to Grand Opera. Tony Zhang seems to be finding it hard to keep a straight face as Puccini wafts through the walls.

  ‘He was so charismatic,’ says Ailsa dreamily. ‘He made you feel as if you mattered, as if you were the most important person in the world. And he was a brilliant teacher too. He made you look at everything. I mean, really look.’

  ‘You didn’t mention this the first time I asked you about March,’ says Judy. ‘You just said that you’d been on one of his cour
ses. You forgot to tell me that you were part of a commune at Grey Walls.’ This is rather a sore point with Judy who feels that recent revelations have made her original investigation look less than thorough.

  ‘It wasn’t a commune,’ says Ailsa. ‘It was just a few like-minded souls living together.’

  What is that if it isn’t a commune? thinks Judy. It makes her feel nervous when the Grey Walls set start to sound like Cathbad.

  ‘John Robertson thought that you and Ivor March had an affair,’ says Judy. ‘Even though you were in a relationship with Bob Carr.’

  ‘John knew nothing,’ said Ailsa. ‘He was just jealous because he loved Ivor too.’

  ‘Did you have a sexual relationship with March?’

  ‘No,’ says Ailsa, lifting her chin. ‘It was a marriage of minds only.’

  ‘John says that he saw you and Ivor in bed together. ‘

  ‘And you believed him?’

  ‘Are you saying it wasn’t true?’

  ‘Of course it wasn’t true. Ivor was married to Crissy who was my best friend. I adore Crissy. I’d never hurt her. I would never do that to another woman.’

  ‘Tell me about Bob Carr,’ says Judy. ‘How long were you two together?’

  ‘Two years,’ says Ailsa. ‘It was one of the happiest times of my life.’

  ‘But then you married Leonard Jenkins, didn’t you?’ says Judy.

  Un bel di vedremo, sings Madame Butterfly. One fine day we shall see.

  Ailsa hesitates before replying. She puts her hand up to her bun. How does she get it to stay so smooth? Judy can never do anything with her own curly hair, except occasionally tie it back. Maybe she should get it cut. It might make people take her more seriously. Who ever heard of a DI with a ponytail?

  ‘Leonard is a lovely man,’ says Ailsa.

  ‘And he’s gay.’

  ‘Do you really think that things are so simple, DI Johnson? Gay and straight? Good and evil?’

  Maybe not, thinks Judy, but some things are simple. Ivor March is evil, he has killed at least four women. She tries not to think about Cathbad and his sudden assertion that March is innocent.

  ‘When you were living at Grey Walls,’ she says, ‘do you remember a girl called Sofia Novak?’

  ‘Sofia? Why are you asking about her?’

  ‘So you do remember her?’

  ‘I think so. She stayed for a few months.’

  ‘Did you hear from her after she left?’

  ‘No, I don’t think so.’

  ‘Leonard thought that you had received a postcard from Sofia.’

  Now Ailsa does look rattled. ‘I might have. I can’t remember.’

  ‘If you could remember, it would be a great help,’ says Judy. ‘Do you know where Sofia was from originally?’

  ‘Hungary, I think. She was a lovely girl.’

  ‘Was?’

  ‘I just meant . . . I haven’t seen her for so long . . .’

  ‘When was the last time?’

  ‘One evening, I think. Over supper Sofia said that she was leaving soon. It was a surprise but she was backpacking, after all. We knew she’d move on eventually.’

  ‘And you didn’t see her again?’

  ‘No, I was feeling sick the next day and stayed in bed. I assumed that Crissy took her to the station.’

  ‘You assumed?’

  ‘That’s what normally happened when girls . . . people . . . wanted to move on. Why are you asking about Sofia?’

  ‘I’m not at liberty to say,’ says Judy. ‘One last question: do you know a woman called Heidi Lucas?’

  ‘I don’t think so. Oh . . . was she the poor girl who was killed yesterday? Why are you asking about her?’

  Judy lets Ailsa’s question answer hers.

  *

  Back at the station, Judy finds Tanya giving a rather self-important briefing. ‘Last confirmed sighting of Heidi Lucas was at approximately 20.20 on Thursday night. Stella Patten, aged thirty-eight, walking her daughter home from Brownies, noticed Heidi cycling past. That was on the corner of Marsh Road. But we’ve had another possible sighting that came out of today’s door-to-door. A man called Ted Avery said he saw a woman answering Heidi’s description near Churchgate Way at 20.30. The woman was on a bike but stationary, talking to another woman who was also on a bike. We don’t have much of a description, I’m afraid, apart from the fact that they were both wearing helmets and were in cycling clothes. We’ll be talking to Heidi’s bike club to see if anyone else was cycling that route on Thursday night.’

  ‘What’s the cycling club called?’ asks a familiar voice at the back of the room. Judy turns to see that Nelson has come in. He looks like a thundercloud but that could just be because he’s been to see Ivor March.

  ‘Lynn Wheels,’ says Tanya.

  Nelson gives an exclamation. Tanya looks at him quizzically but Nelson nods at her to go on.

  ‘We’ve spoken to Heidi’s colleagues at Byways Academy. She taught PE and was apparently very popular. So far we haven’t turned up any jealous ex-boyfriends or potential stalkers. Heidi has been in a relationship with Josh Evans for five years, ever since they met at Loughborough University. Evans also teaches PE at Byways and has a solid alibi for Thursday night. He was with his parents in London and CCTV at the station shows him boarding the 16.44 train from King’s Lynn to London King’s Cross.’

  ‘Why was he going to see his parents mid-week?’ asks someone.

  ‘Apparently his mother has been ill,’ says Tanya. ‘He was back in time for school on Friday – he caught the 5.42 and was at the flat by eight. That’s when he found that Heidi was missing.’

  Tanya finishes off by telling everyone that they’re doing a great job. She knows it’s the weekend but the first forty-­eight hours are crucial, et cetera, et cetera. She’ll be a DI by this time next year, thinks Judy. She has even produced an information pack complete with maps and thumbnail sketches.

  Nelson beckons Judy to come into his office. She follows him, knowing that Tanya’s eyes are following her.

  The boss sits at his desk and starts stabbing at his keyboard in a random way that makes Judy want to elbow him aside and take over. She thinks again that he looks tired and rather angry.

  ‘How did it go with March?’ she asks.

  ‘Waste of time,’ says Nelson. ‘The man’s just playing games with us. He admitted to knowing Sofia Novak though. He said that they’d saved her and that she’d gone on to a better life.’

  ‘Ailsa Britain said the same thing,’ says Judy. ‘But she was a bit vague about having heard from Sofia once she’d left Grey Walls. Leonard said that Sofia had sent a postcard to Ailsa but Ailsa didn’t seem to remember it.’

  ‘March killed her,’ says Nelson. ‘I’m sure of it. His latest is that he’s like Jesus. All his male disciples have deserted him and only the women are loyal.’

  ‘Like Christ on the cross?’ says Judy, who was also brought up a Catholic. ‘Bloody hell.’

  ‘Precisely,’ says Nelson. He jabs at the keyboard once more and turns the computer screen to face her. ‘I want you to look at something,’ he says. ‘It’s a short story that Jenny McGuire wrote. I’m emailing it to you. And this is a picture that Maddie sent me this morning.’

  He turns the screen so that she can see. The picture shows Jenny McGuire with four men. She thinks that the community centre is in the background.

  ‘That’s March next to her, of course,’ says Nelson. ‘But who are the others? Bob Carr and Leonard Jenkins? But who’s the fourth?’

  ‘Yes, that’s Bob and Leonard,’ says Judy. ‘I don’t know who the other man is.’

  ‘Maddie says that on the back it says “July” and “Bill”. Who’s Bill?’

  ‘I don’t know. The fourth man?’

  Judy looks at the picture. Ivor March has h
is arm round Jenny. Bob is looking at the camera but Leonard is looking at March. The fourth man, who is small and heavily built, has his arms crossed and stares ahead belligerently.

  ‘Where did this picture come from?’ she asks. ‘Ivor always swore that he didn’t know Jenny that well. This proves otherwise. Why didn’t her parents show me this photo?’

  ‘I think it’s only just come to light,’ says Nelson. ‘Apparently Jenny’s parents found a box with some of her stories in it. The photograph was in the box, along with another one of Jenny on her bike.’

  ‘Maddie has obviously got in with the parents,’ says Judy, trying not to sound as disgruntled as she feels. She had worked hard on gaining Jenny’s parents’ confidence. She genuinely liked them too and it’s for their sake – and that of the other families – that she is still working so hard on the case. But she had seen the McGuires yesterday, to tell them about the excavation, and they had never mentioned the photograph. Instead they had given it to Maddie, whom they had only just met. And Maddie hadn’t mentioned it either, thought Judy bitterly, although she’d had plenty of opportunities as she sat eating meals that Judy had cooked for her.

  ‘Maddie can be persuasive,’ says Nelson. ‘Just like Cathbad.’

  Judy sighs. ‘Did Cathbad tell you that he’s decided that March is innocent?’

  ‘He did say something of the sort. Why has he got that idea into his head?’

  ‘I don’t know. Apparently it was when he saw the bodies in the pub garden. He suddenly felt that March hadn’t killed them. I wasn’t very patient with him, I’m afraid. We had a bit of a row.’

  ‘I don’t blame you,’ says Nelson.

  ‘The thing is, though, boss,’ Judy stares at the computer to avoid looking at Nelson, ‘what if March is innocent? I mean, we’ve got this other murder, Heidi Lucas, that looks like all the others. What if the killer is still out there?’

  Nelson doesn’t answer for a few seconds and Judy thinks that he’s going to explode but, when he does speak, his voice is unexpectedly gentle. ‘Don’t beat yourself up, Judy. March is guilty. His DNA was all over Stacy and Jill’s bodies, he told us where to find Nicola and Jenny. He knew Sofia Novak and probably killed her too. We mustn’t let ourselves start imagining patterns where there aren’t any. Ten to one Heidi was killed by someone she knew, a jealous ex or an online stalker. March didn’t kill her.’