The Girl in the Grave: An unputdownable crime thriller with nail-biting suspense

by Helen Phifer

  ‘He’s taking the piss now.’

  ‘Maybe he’s not in a position to speak to you; he might have Jason Thompson pinned.’

  Josh grunted and began to type one of the many passwords into his hand-held tablet, to get access to his emails and look at the picture Smithy had sent. He needed to know if the dead girl in the photograph was Chantel Price, or someone else. The bloody thing took forever to load; he hated technology with a passion. He could feel his blood pressure rising with every second that went by. This was turning into a nightmare. He needed to put a stop to it, and now, before any more girls went missing, or were murdered; he’d kill whoever it was with his bare hands when he found them. He hadn’t felt this way since the night he’d arrived at Beth’s house all those years ago, the night of her attack. The hate he felt towards Richard Hartshorn had given him nightmares for months afterwards. He wouldn’t stand by and let another sick bastard terrorise innocent women; it wasn’t happening. Not on his watch. But a voice inside his head whispered, but it already has, and it already is, Josh. You can’t protect them. You never could.

  Thirty-Two

  Beth finished up the paperwork releasing Florence Wright’s body back for burial. There was no way she should have been exhumed in the first place. It was really bothering her; it had to have been a set-up, arranged so the body buried underneath her would be discovered. But why? Why go to all this elaborate effort to cover up what you’d done, only to undo it all again? It was risky. She knew it was possible the killer, or someone close to him, had spoken to her as well as the police. Granted, she couldn’t remember an awful lot about the voice on the end of the phone all those weeks ago, but he’d seemed genuinely distressed about what he’d discovered about his great-aunt Florence, and she remembered how she hadn’t wanted to upset him further by scrutinising his every sentence. She had a record of his phone number, and she’d spoken to him personally, so she had assumed it was all legitimate. Stupid, is what she’d been. She could see that now. After everything she’d been through, she should have known not to take anyone at face value. Her head was pounding, making her unconsciously rub the puckered scar on the side of her face to ease the tension; the late afternoon sun was still shining through the office window and it was unbearably hot. After the coolness of the mortuary she hadn’t expected the day to be such a scorcher. She wanted to go home, shower, eat, have a large glass of ice-cold wine on the patio and watch the sun set over the lake. She wanted to breathe fresh air and push all of this out of her mind for a couple of hours. Chantel Price wouldn’t be so lucky.

  There was a soft tap on the door, and she knew it was Abe.

  ‘Come in.’

  He opened the door, looking as hot and tired as she felt. That last post-mortem had been long and arduous.

  ‘Thank you for today. I think it’s time for you to go home and get some rest. Maybe a cold beer or two?’

  He smiled. ‘What about you, Doc? You know I won’t go until you do.’

  ‘I’m walking out of that door right behind you. I have the headache from hell and need all the alcohol I can find.’

  She stood up; her linen trousers were a lot more wrinkled than when she’d first put them on this morning. Grabbing her jacket off the coat hook near the door, she threw it over her arm and picking up her bag she followed Abe outside.

  * * *

  The drive home had been glorious, the air con blasting her full in the face, and the roads relatively quiet for a Monday night in the Lake District. She was excited to get home, had even stopped off at the supermarket for a piece of salmon and some fresh salad for her supper; there was no way she could eat red meat after today.

  Despite the exhaustion, she took time to take a cursory check of the area before driving through the gates to her house. She wondered if the camera guy had managed to get the spare part for her. As she turned to get out, she noticed the letter she’d thrown into the footwell of the passenger seat, and sighed. Snatching it up, she decided to put it with the rest of them inside the house; there was no way she was giving him the pleasure of reading them.

  Grabbing her bag of shopping, she climbed out of the car and let herself into her house. No dead birds today, thankfully. Setting the alarm again behind her, she headed to the kitchen where she opened a drawer and threw in the envelope, slamming it shut with her hip without even looking inside. Next, she unwrapped the piece of fish, placing it onto a baking tray with some freshly ground salt, pepper and a sliver of garlic butter. Sealing it in foil, she placed it in the oven, poured herself a large glass of chilled White Zinfandel and went upstairs to shower.

  Back downstairs in a pair of cotton pyjamas, she took the salmon out of the oven, added a large heap of salad which she then smothered in full-fat mayonnaise. Tucking a knife and fork under her arm, she grabbed her wine and plate and let herself out of the sliding glass kitchen doors and took a seat at the wicker table on the patio which faced the lake. She could hear voices in the distance and focused on the water, searching them out. A loud splash followed by a high-pitched screech made her pick out the boat nearest to the shore. There was a group of teenagers messing around on it, drinking bottles of beer and jumping into the icy cold waters of Windermere. It didn’t matter how brightly the sun had shone on the water all day, it would still be freezing cold. The boat was quite some distance away, but the noise carried because it was so peaceful and there wasn’t any breeze. She smiled at them, just kids having fun.

  She wondered if Chantel Price had ever known what it was to be carefree. Can’t have been much fun living in care with no family. A lump formed in her throat and she had difficulty swallowing the mouthful of food she’d forked in. Washing it down with a large gulp of wine, she made a silent promise that she wouldn’t forget the girl that no one had even noticed had gone missing. Would anyone even care that she’d been murdered? Beth was determined to find out. Although it was going against her best interests, she decided she would be paying Dalton View a visit tomorrow. She wanted to speak to the staff, find out as much about Chantel as she could. Beth owed her that, at least; someone had to fight her corner and she was more than happy to do it.

  Thirty-Three

  Sam drove them down the narrow street to reach the hotel, where several police vans and the dog handler were already parked up. A large group of tourists who had just disembarked from a coach hovered round with their cameras taking photos.

  ‘What the hell is going on?’

  Josh jumped out of the car and jogged towards the flustered PCSO standing at the entrance to the Windermere Lake Hotel trying to move them on. He saw a look of fear cross her face when she recognised him and smiled back reassuringly; he didn’t want her to think he was angry with her: he knew how difficult big crowds could be. He heard a woman’s voice shout so loud behind him everyone stopped what they were doing and turned to look back.

  ‘Move on now, please.’ Sam had her hands outspread, preventing the group from getting any closer to the hotel. Josh joined in and between the pair of them they managed to push them back some distance.

  ‘You can’t come closer, I’m afraid. No photographs, please.’

  Sam pointed to their cameras and shook her head.

  The PCSO whispered, ‘The bad news is they’re all guests at the hotel. The good news is that another coach should be picking them up any minute to take them on a sightseeing tour.’

  ‘Thank Christ for that. If there was any evidence out here, we can kiss that goodbye.’

  ‘Sorry, Sarge. There was nothing I could do.’

  ‘It’s not your fault. Are they sending more officers to help out?’

  ‘I asked thirty minutes ago but there’s been an accident in Kendal that a couple of them got diverted to.’

  ‘Walker.’

  Josh turned around to see that the dog handler, Jack, had joined them, leaving his dog in the car for now.

  ‘Jack. Good to see you.’

  ‘This is a bit of a cock-up. I doubt the dog’s going to be abl
e to pick up much after they’ve been through.’ He nodded his head in the direction of the group of tourists.

  Ashley, the PCSO, smiled. ‘Actually, they think the main scene is around the back of the hotel, at the staff entrance, and no one has been around there since Helen sealed the area off. Staff have checked the main entrance CCTV and there is no sign of the girl leaving that way. The manager said she had to have gone out of the staff exit, but there are no cameras around there.’

  ‘That’s something. Shame it’s in a blind spot.’

  Josh, Sam and Jack all headed inside the hotel entrance, where they were met by a very attractive woman. Josh and Jack both stared a little longer than necessary. Sam coughed and smiled apologetically at the woman, who was pale and seemed visibly upset.

  Josh held out his hand. ‘DS Joshua Walker, this is DC Sam Thomas and PC Jack Booth, one of the force’s dog handlers. Could you show us where the staff exit is and where it can be accessed both inside and outside of the hotel?’

  She took his hand, shaking it firmly. ‘Of course. Estelle Carter, hotel manager. I’m so worried, the officer wouldn’t tell me what he’d found in Annie’s room. Will someone be able to talk to me properly about it?’

  ‘I’m sorry, of course. He’s just following procedure, which can be a little cold at times. As soon as I’ve taken a look at what he’s found for myself I’ll come and have a chat with you about it. Is that okay with you?’

  This wasn’t strictly true. Even if she owned the hotel, it was a police investigation and he would only tell her what he needed to. The less people knew about the details of the case, the better. He couldn’t afford for it to be leaked out to the press. And he wanted to keep it between him and the killer; that way they could weed out the crackpots from the real thing and narrow down the suspect pool.

  He followed as she led them through the hotel to a corridor and a wooden door with two frosted glass panels which had a big sign saying ‘Staff Only’ screwed to the front of it. She pushed open the door and they followed her through.

  ‘Does the hotel CCTV system cover back here?’

  ‘No, unfortunately not. It covers all the public areas or most of them. Daddy didn’t think it was worth the money having it installed back here. He said he didn’t want to know what the staff got up to in their own time as long as they worked hard when they were on shift.’

  Sam raised an eyebrow at Josh: so Estelle’s daddy was either in charge or owned the place. Strange a woman her age calling him Daddy; a psychiatrist would have a field day with that one.

  ‘Is your father around to speak to?’

  ‘He’s on his way; he was on his way to London on business. As soon as I told him he turned around and began driving back.’

  They reached a scuffed white door which Estelle pushed open. ‘Annie’s room is down the steps and straight along the corridor until you reach the end. The policeman is still outside her door. Do you want me to come down with you?’

  Josh shook his head. ‘No, it’s okay. Thank you, I’ll go and speak to him. If you could show my colleagues the exits and how to access them from the rear of the hotel, that would be great.’

  Estelle nodded. Her expression was one of pure misery and Josh felt sorry for her. Waiting for her to turn and leave, he realised he should have got suited and booted; he didn’t want to compromise any evidence the CSIs might later find. He went down the steps and shouted to Mickey, who popped his head around a corner at the far end of the gloomy corridor.

  ‘Have you got any kit in your van?’

  He shrugged. ‘I think so; I don’t know if there’s enough though. You might have to wait for Claire to get here.’ He threw the van keys in his direction. Josh deftly caught them and ran back up the stairs and out of the front of the hotel, relieved to see the tourists had all left for a couple of hours. His phone rang and he heard Paton’s voice on the other end. At last.

  ‘Sarge, he’s done a runner.’

  ‘For God’s sake, how do you know that?’

  ‘I spoke to him over two hours ago on the phone, when he agreed to come to the station. Said he was out walking and would make his way here. He didn’t turn up. I’m so sorry.’

  ‘No shit.’ Josh wanted to punch something, anything. ‘Circulate him as top wanted; I want his picture emailed to everyone and their dog. Have you been to his house?’

  ‘Sat outside it now. There’s no sign of him, but his car is here.’

  ‘There’s no chance he’s coming back for it. Too obvious.’

  A sickening thought filled Josh’s mind: what if he’d gone to finish Annie off? He had nothing to lose now, not if he thought they were onto him.

  ‘Go get a search warrant. I want the property searched from attic to cellar. Make sure it includes outbuildings, garages and sheds. Oh, and the car, I want it uplifted and sent for a full forensic examination.’

  ‘Yes, boss. I’ll get a couple of uniforms here to wait in case he turns up.’

  Josh ended the call. He knew it wasn’t much of a link to Chantel Price, but it was all they had and enough to go on for now. Innocent people don’t run.

  Thirty-Four

  Carl had been dropped off at home a couple of hours ago. He’d gone inside, had a cold shower and been ready to go back out a short time later. He hadn’t been completely lying; he had felt light-headed at the mortuary, but he’d faked passing out. Blood and guts didn’t bother him – he’d got hardened to all sorts of horrific stuff doing his job, but he’d realised he had to get out of there. He couldn’t watch any longer: he had much more pressing things on his mind. He needed to see her, couldn’t stop thinking about her. His wife had never had the same effect on him that she had. Maybe in the early days, but not now. They used to sleep in separate bedrooms when he was on call, but now it was a permanent fixture. He was a man, he had needs. She couldn’t really blame him for looking elsewhere, could she? He had no idea what he would do if she found out though.

  He scrolled through Facebook, scrutinising her every photograph. She was so beautiful, so alive. There was something very satisfying in trying to decide if she was happy on the day it had been taken. It was kind of like a game, one he enjoyed playing. He showered and changed into something bland, clothes that would make him blend in with the crowd and not stand out. Discretion was the key thing in this situation. You didn’t want to do anything to draw unnecessary attention to yourself. Not when you had so much fun to look forward to. He didn’t want to spoil it by getting caught before he’d even got going. This could go on for quite some time, and he relished the thought of having a little excitement to look forward to in his otherwise dreary life.

  Driving to her house, he wondered if he should park up and wait for her. Should he surprise her, or let her know he was there? It was about time he upped his stakes; he wanted more. He didn’t know how she felt, but he was willing to take the risk for her. He just hoped she appreciated it.

  Thirty-Five

  Josh rustled his way into the hotel in an enormous triple-x-sized paper suit, the only one he could find in the back of Mickey’s van. It drowned him, but he didn’t want to wait any longer. He had to see the room for himself; he needed to see the fingernails and photograph in situ. He wouldn’t be satisfied until he had. He trusted Mickey, of course; he’d been a copper almost as long as he had, and experience was everything in this job.

  The reception area corridor which led to the staff quarters and kitchens had been cordoned off, and there was a PCSO standing outside. Guests could still use the main stairs, the lifts, go to the reception desk and enter the lounge and bar. He’d requested the PCSO guarding the entrance to the corridor to only let guests through who showed their key cards in and out of the hotel, to keep the foot traffic to a minimum. It wasn’t ideal, but it was the best he could do in this situation. As much as he’d like to shut the hotel, it just wasn’t possible without drawing too much attention. Thank God they thought the girl had been taken from the staff entrance around the back: it was f
ully sealed off and out of bounds to anyone except police officers and police staff.

  As he walked down the stairs he heard a burst of laughter come from Mickey, who stifled it when Josh glared at him.

  ‘Sorry, boss, but you look like the Marshmallow Man from Ghostbusters in that suit!’

  ‘Very funny. It’s the only size there was. I guess big Steely stocked the van up last. I don’t have time to wait for another smaller set of overalls, I need to take a look inside. She might not have long left, that is if she isn’t already dead.’

  The smile left Mickey’s face as the stark reality of the situation hit home. ‘What are we going to do, Josh? How are we going to find her?’

  Josh felt his mouth go dry. ‘I don’t know, but we can’t give up. We’ve got to keep moving and hope for the best. It’s all we can do really.’

  Mickey signed him into the crime scene logbook, and Josh stepped inside the room, which smelled much better than the musty corridor. There were scented candles on almost every available surface and a plug-in air freshener which smelled of those pear drop sweets he used to love as a kid. He slowly looked around. Nothing looked out of place. The bedding was a tangled knot of duvet on top of the bed; there was a plastic bucket on the floor which Estelle had told him she’d put there in case Annie was sick. He couldn’t see under the bed from this side. He walked around to the other side to find only a small gap between the floor and the bed frame. He bent down, pushed up the too-long sleeve of the suit and turned on the torch he was carrying. His breath caught at the back of his throat as it illuminated a normal-sized photograph decorated with the three chipped, pale green, blood-stained fingernails. Tilting the torch to get a better look at the image, his stomach churned at sight of Chantel Price’s bone-white, lifeless face staring back at him. The photo must have been taken with a strong flash somewhere very dark. It was instantly clear that whoever had taken Annie was the same person who’d killed Chantel. And they wanted to make sure everybody knew it. Unable to look any longer, he glanced around the room, searching for an item of Annie’s clothing to give to Jack and the dog to catch the scent. He picked up a discarded T-shirt from the bottom of the laundry bin.