The Lantern Men

by Elly Griffiths

  ‘Weirdos? What does that mean?’

  ‘It means people who are friends with serial killers, or married to serial killers. I don’t want Katie going back there.’

  ‘Well luckily it’s not up to you,’ says Ruth. And she terminates the call.

  Nelson sits there for a few minutes, drumming his fingers on the desk. He feels deeply aggrieved. He is surely within his rights to tell Ruth not to take Katie, his daughter, to a house that once belonged to a murderer? How dare Ruth hang up on him like that? Does she know what it’s like for him, trying to identify one killer’s victims, while another madman is out there, strangling innocent women? And how come all these people are suddenly convinced of March’s innocence? Cathbad, Crissy, Ruth (by association), even Judy had sounded doubtful. What’s the matter with everyone?

  But, after a few minutes, he starts to calm down. He knows that he can’t interfere in Katie’s upbringing, though he suddenly wonders, with a fresh surge of rage, whether Frank knew all about the trip to Grey Walls. But he can’t take his frustrations out on Ruth. He’s about to press call back when he changes his mind and writes a text.

  Sorry. N.

  After a good ten minutes – he wouldn’t expect it earlier – Ruth texts back.

  That’s OK.

  Encouraged, Nelson texts, Sending email. N. Then he finds the photo of Jenny with the four men and emails it to Ruth with the message, ‘Jenny with Ivor, Bob and Leonard. Don’t know who the fourth is? Do you recognise him? Is it the Lantern Man?’

  Seconds later, Ruth emails back. ‘I don’t know if it’s the Lantern Man, but I do know who it is.’

  *

  Tanya and DC Bradley Linwood, her sidekick of choice, catch Josh in a free period. He’s still in his tracksuit and has a whistle round his neck. They sit on a bench looking out over the playing fields. For Tanya, the whole scene – the newly mown grass with the lanes marked out, the girls wearing running vests, the sound of tennis balls being hit – reminds her exhilaratingly of school. She excelled in sport as a teenager, athletics and rounders in summer, hockey and netball in winter, and studied sports science at university. Her wife Petra is also a PE teacher, though at a private school, something that occasionally affords them both a twinge of conscience.

  ‘Do you play cricket here?’ Bradley asks Josh. ‘I loved cricket at school.’

  This is why Tanya likes working with him.

  ‘Yes,’ says Josh. ‘Lots of state schools don’t play cricket but we’ve got a good team. A boys’ team and a girls’ team,’ he adds, with a glance at Tanya.

  ‘I’m surprised to find you back at work,’ she says.

  ‘They offered me compassionate leave,’ says Josh, ‘but . . . I don’t know . . . I found that it helped being back at work. It’s a busy term and we’re short-staffed . . .’

  His voice trails away. They are short-staffed, Tanya knows, because Heidi Lucas taught PE here too. She wonders what it can be like for Josh, being reminded of his girlfriend at work and at home. Two girls pass carrying javelins, giggling.

  ‘Hallo, Mr Evans.’ They gaze at him soulfully.

  ‘Hallo, girls. Be careful how you carry those.’

  More giggling.

  Tanya waits until the students are out of earshot. ‘I’m sorry to trouble you again,’ she says, ‘but we’ve found this picture of Heidi. I wondered if you knew anything about the people in it.’

  She shows Josh a colour copy of the photo. It has been enlarged which makes the faces slightly blurry. Only Ivor March seems to be in focus.

  ‘I don’t know,’ says Josh, sounding distracted. He rubs his short, ginger hair. He’s the sort that will be bald by forty, thinks Tanya. ‘Maybe it’s the cycle club.’

  ‘The cycle club? Lynn Wheels?’

  ‘Yes, I don’t recognise the others but that man,’ he points, ‘he’s a member. Len something.’

  Tanya looks at the key thoughtfully provided by Judy. Leonard Jenkins.

  ‘Did Heidi know Leonard Jenkins well?’

  ‘I don’t think so. We had a drink with him once. He seemed like a nice bloke. Good cyclist too.’

  ‘Do you remember anything about this barbecue?’ asks Tanya. ‘It was only last year. July.’

  ‘I think so. I remember Heidi saying that some other people from the club were going.’

  One other person, thinks Tanya.

  ‘Why didn’t you go?’

  Josh blushes. He has the complexion that goes with red hair. ‘I don’t think I was asked.’

  ‘Did you think that was odd?’

  ‘Not really. I mean . . . we didn’t do everything together. Anyway . . .’ A rather pleading look. ‘I thought Len was gay.’

  ‘Leonard Jenkins is gay, as far as I know.’

  Josh exhales. ‘It doesn’t matter now, I know, but I’m sure Heidi would never have cheated on me. We were happy together. Ask anyone.’

  Tanya believes him.

  *

  Judy and Tony sit facing Steven and Denise Ferris. Denise is holding a picture of Nicola as if this is the nearest that she can get to her daughter.

  ‘I’m so sorry,’ says Judy. She has got to know the couple well over the last year. Steve is a taxi driver and Denise an ex-nurse. They have two younger children, Louise and Joe. Louise is married with a baby and Joe still lives at home. Nicola was the ‘career girl’, the one who wanted more from life than a husband and children. She went to university, spent a year in Paris, qualified as a French teacher and worked hard on her art. And now she’s dead.

  ‘At least we can have a funeral,’ says Steven, with a bravery that tugs at Judy’s heartstrings. ‘At least we can do that for her.’

  ‘We knew really,’ says Denise, looking at Nicola’s photograph. It’s a grand studio affair, showing Nicola looking mistily glamorous in a black evening dress, her blonde hair piled up. Judy wonders what the occasion was. ‘We knew that she was dead, that he’d killed her. Were you there when they . . . when they dug her up?’

  ‘Yes,’ says Judy. ‘Dr Galloway, the archaeologist, was very careful, very respectful. Everyone on the site felt the same. My partner said some prayers when we . . . when we found them.’

  ‘Is he a vicar?’ asks Denise.

  ‘No,’ says Judy, feeling inadequate at the thought of describing Cathbad. ‘But he’s very spiritual.’

  ‘Will he be charged with her murder?’ says Steven. The couple always avoid saying Ivor March’s name.

  ‘Yes,’ says Judy. ‘I mean, he told us where to look. We’re hoping for some more forensics too.’ This is a problem, one that Judy doesn’t dwell on now. So far there has been no sign of March’s DNA on any of the bodies found in the pub garden. Instead she says, ‘You ought to know that a third body was found.’

  ‘A third body?’ echoes Denise. ‘Did he kill another girl?’

  ‘It seems so,’ says Judy, ignoring the voice in her head – Cathbad’s – saying that there’s no evidence to link March to this third victim. ‘Does the name Sofia Novak mean anything to you?’

  ‘No,’ says Steven. ‘Novak like the tennis player?’

  ‘Yes,’ says Judy, who is a big Andy Murray fan. ‘Except that it’s her surname.’

  ‘I’m sorry,’ says Denise. ‘It doesn’t ring a bell.’

  ‘That’s OK,’ says Judy. She is convinced, in her own mind, that the dental records will show that the third body is Sofia but as she was obviously killed before the others, it’s unlikely that Nicola would have known her.

  ‘Just to prepare you,’ she says, ‘there’ll have to be an inquest. It’ll be quite short and the family liaison officer and I will be with you throughout. Dr Galloway will give evidence, and the pathologist too. You can ask them questions if you want to. The coroner will then pass a verdict, which I expect will be “unlawfully killed”. We need that if we
are going to trial. I’m so sorry that you have to go through this.’

  ‘It’s all right,’ says Steven, though clearly nothing will ever be all right again. ‘We just want justice for Nicky.’ Judy’s heart contracts, as it always does when the family use this abbreviation. Nicola, it seems, was only Nicky to a few people.

  Judy says goodbye and stands up to leave. Tony shakes hands with the couple and then says, suddenly, ‘I’m so sorry. My sister died when I was ten. I know what it’s like.’

  Judy stares at him but Denise puts a comforting hand on his arm. ‘I’m so sorry, love. You never get over it, do you?’

  *

  Nelson rings back immediately. This is not something that can be discussed over email.

  ‘What do you mean, you know who it is?’

  Ruth says, slowly, ‘I think it’s Larry. One of the porters at my college.’

  ‘Jesus,’ says Nelson. ‘Are you sure?’

  ‘Pretty sure. I mean, he’s younger in the picture but he hasn’t changed much and I see him every day.’

  ‘Did you have any idea that he knew Ivor March?’

  ‘None at all.’ Nelson thinks that Ruth sounds rather shaken. After a brief pause, she says, ‘I was here alone the other night and I thought I heard someone outside my door. I went to look and there was no one there but Larry was in the court. I thought he was just doing his rounds. I was relieved to see him actually. But now . . .’

  ‘I’m coming over,’ says Nelson. ‘I want to talk to this Larry.’ He knows that this isn’t his job. He should relay the information to Judy and let her interview Larry. And it isn’t a good use of his time, Cambridge is over an hour’s drive away. But he is already gathering up his car keys.

  ‘Thanks, Nelson,’ says Ruth.

  *

  In the car, Tony says, ‘Sorry’.

  Judy says, ‘I’m sorry about your sister but . . .’

  ‘I know,’ says Tony. ‘I shouldn’t have said anything.’

  He’s looking straight ahead but his colour is up slightly. Judy feels sorry for him. She says, ‘It’s just . . . I know you wanted to empathise and that’s great but Denise and Steven have enough on their plates without having to feel sorry for you too.’

  ‘I know,’ says Tony. ‘I don’t know why I said it. I usually never talk about Lily.’

  ‘Do you want to tell me?’ says Judy.

  ‘There’s not much to tell,’ says Tony. ‘Lily died of meningitis when she was five and I was ten. Nothing anyone could do. She felt ill one evening and was dead the next morning. But nothing in our family was ever the same again. Everything was either before or after, if you know what I mean.’

  ‘I know,’ says Judy, thinking of all the families that she has visited with bad news. And, even as she asks them to sit down and begins her careful statement, she knows this: nothing will ever be the same again.

  ‘Life is bloody unfair sometimes,’ she says. ‘Do you feel up to visiting Jenny’s family?’

  ‘Of course,’ says Tony, sitting up straighter. ‘You can count on me.’

  Judy is starting to think that she can.

  *

  Patrick and Mary McGuire live in Holt. Jenny lived with them after her divorce and her ten-year-old daughter, Maisie, still does so. Maisie is at school today but there’s evidence of her everywhere: a scooter in the hallway, her artwork stuck on the fridge, her photo, grinning in school uniform, on the mantelpiece.

  ‘Our lives revolve around Maisie now,’ says Mary. ‘It’s such a comfort. Sometimes it’s as if we have Jenny back.’

  ‘God rest her soul,’ says Patrick. There’s evidence of the couple’s faith everywhere too: a holy water stoup by the front door, a painting of Jesus pointing accusingly at His Sacred Heart, palm crosses poking out from picture frames, a candle from Lourdes in front of Jenny’s picture. It reminds Judy of her childhood home, her parents are also Irish Catholics, but she wonders what Tony makes of it.

  Judy tells Mary and Patrick about the excavation and the third body. She prepares them for the inquest and a possible further trial. They both cross themselves often but say little. Like Steven and Denise Ferris, they were prepared for this.

  Tony doesn’t mention his sister but his manner is empathetic and kind. Judy asks if Jenny might have known Sofia Novak.

  ‘I don’t remember the name,’ says Mary. ‘But Jenny saw lots of people in her work. And at her evening classes at the community centre.’

  Jenny had worked in the gift shop at a stately home. Judy imagines that most of the people she met there were harmless National Trust types. The community centre is another matter.

  ‘I’ve seen the short story Jenny wrote,’ says Judy. ‘“The Lantern Men”. It was very good.’ Actually, she has no idea whether it was good or not. She has no patience for literary analysis, which is one of the many reasons why she has never joined Cathbad’s book club.

  But Mary seems pleased. ‘She was a talented writer. Everyone says so.’

  ‘Maisie writes stories too,’ says Patrick. ‘They’re so good. I’ve kept them all in a special folder.’

  Stop writing stories, Maisie, Judy wants to say. It can only lead to trouble. Aloud, she says, ‘The story mentions someone called The Artist. Do you have any idea who that was meant to be?’

  ‘I couldn’t bear to read it,’ says Mary. ‘I just gave the box to that nice reporter, Maddie Henderson. Do you know her?’

  ‘She’s my stepdaughter,’ says Judy. It seems the closest explanation to the truth. She gets out the photograph of the group around the campfire.

  ‘This was in the box with the short story,’ she says. ‘Do you recognise any of the people?’

  ‘There’s Jenny,’ says Mary, pointing to the figure at the front. ‘I don’t recognise anyone else.’

  ‘That’s him,’ says Patrick, in a hard, tight voice. ‘That’s Ivor March. And that’s his girlfriend. I recognise her from court.’ Patrick had attended every day of the trial, against Judy’s advice.

  ‘Oh yes.’ Mary drops the picture. ‘That’s him.’

  ‘Do you recognise this girl?’ Judy points at Heidi.

  ‘No,’ says Mary. ‘She looks nice. She looks a bit like Jenny.’

  ‘Yes, she does,’ says Judy.

  ‘Maddie reminded me of Jenny too,’ says Patrick.

  Suddenly Judy has a powerful desire to cross herself or mutter a prayer or light a candle. Anything to ward off the evil eye.

  Chapter 20

  Ruth is with one of her PhD supervisees, an anxious woman called Cho, when Nelson appears at her door. Cho becomes even more confused than usual and stops her rambling account of variations in the human cranium.

  ‘Thanks, Cho,’ says Ruth, glancing at the clock. ‘I think that’s enough for today. Are you clear about what to do now?’

  Cho mutters something and scuttles past Nelson as if he’s the devil incarnate. To be fair he is scowling and looking at his most intimidating.

  ‘Didn’t you see the sign on the door saying that I was with a student?’ asks Ruth.

  ‘No,’ says Nelson. ‘I haven’t got time to read signs.’ Ruth is willing to bet that he walked on the grass too.

  Nelson sits in the chair vacated by Cho. ‘Larry Hanson, that’s his name,’ he says. ‘I’ve got an appointment with him in ten minutes.’

  ‘You didn’t mention me on the phone, did you?’

  ‘No. I just said that his name had come up in connection with the Ivor March case.’

  ‘I bet that terrified him. It would terrify me.’

  ‘He didn’t sound scared,’ says Nelson. ‘He was very polite and pleasant. Of course, he may not even have known Ivor that well. One photo isn’t evidence of anything.’

  ‘No,’ says Ruth. ‘It’s just . . . with Crissy going on about this fourth man and everything . . .
I suppose I just freaked out a little.’

  ‘That’s understandable,’ says Nelson, in his ‘good with women’ voice which always makes Ruth want to throw something at him. ‘I’ve been thinking about this fourth man that Crissy mentioned. On the back of the picture was the word BILL, in capitals. I thought it was a name but now I’m wondering whether it’s initials. Bob, Ivor, Leonard and Larry.’

  ‘Who wrote that?’ says Ruth. ‘Jenny?’

  ‘I assume so since the picture was found with her things. Her parents found a box with some old photos in, plus printouts of her short stories. Maddie went through it and found this, plus a picture that shows Ivor March with Jenny and Heidi Lucas.’

  ‘Was that the girl who was killed the other day?’

  ‘Yes. It’s the first evidence of any link with Ivor March and the Grey Walls mob.’

  Ruth notes the word ‘mob’. She would have called them a group, a cabal, a sect. Something infinitely more sinister.

  ‘There’s this picture too.’ Nelson produces it with something like a flourish. The print shows Crissy Martin, laughing in a halter-neck dress, while two men stare at her adoringly. Ruth is almost certain that she’s seen them before.

  ‘Leonard Jenkins and Bob Carr,’ says Nelson. ‘The other two Lantern Men.’

  Now Ruth remembers. The picture Crissy showed her on Sunday. Ivor, Bob and Leonard. The three musketeers. All for one and one for all. She thinks about the writing on the back of the other photograph. BILL.

  ‘If Jenny kept these pictures,’ says Ruth, ‘it suggests that she knew all these people quite well. Ivor, Bob, Leonard and Larry. Any one of them could have been The Artist in her story. Crissy said that Bob was a printmaker and Leonard was a sculptor.’

  ‘Larry isn’t an artist. He’s a college porter.’

  ‘He told me once that he used to make pots,’ says Ruth. ‘Potters are artists. Look at Grayson Perry.’

  Nelson looks as if he would rather not do this. ‘What did you think of the story?’ he asks.

  ‘It was a bit odd,’ says Ruth. ‘And I find all that S and M stuff rather boring. But some parts were good. She obviously did some research into local folklore. I hadn’t heard of the lantern men before but it’s a popular legend around here.’