by Helen Phifer
A couple of hands went up. Josh looked across at Sykes. ‘Yes.’
‘Boss, what if she’s already dead and been put into a grave?’
‘We can only hope to God that she isn’t.’
‘But, there’s a chance she’s already dead, right?’
‘There is a strong possibility she might be. If she’s been put into a box or a coffin, then her air supply wouldn’t have lasted more than six to seven hours max. If he’s keeping her captive somewhere then we have a chance to get to her before he kills her. Doctor Adams explained at the post-mortem for Chantel Price that she had to have been dead at least twenty-four hours before she was put into the grave; this was because of the fly pupa Doctor Adams found in the body. We know that the last confirmed sighting of Chantel was three days before Florence Wright’s funeral, so by my calculations – and if the killer is following the same MO as his first victim – we have approximately forty-eight hours before it’s too late. We have to keep on looking.’
‘Funeral homes would be a good place to start, boss.’
Josh debated about telling them what Barker had said to him yesterday. This was his team, they needed to know. ‘They would, and it’s a great idea. I actually went to Dean & Sons yesterday for an unofficial look around. Let’s just say that unless we have enough to get a warrant, I’m not allowed back there.’
Laughter echoed around the room, and Josh checked outside the door to make sure Barker wasn’t around or, even worse, the chief super.
‘On a serious note, I want any evidence we can get our hands on; Paton, I’m not saying that you messed up not bringing Thompson in yesterday, but it could have gone a lot better. I want him located today. Task force are going to assist you in tracking him down. There’s a couple of addresses to be checked out for ex-girlfriends and family members that were already on the system. Hopefully he’s hiding locally and not gone too far away. I don’t think he’s our man per se, but he hasn’t helped himself, has he? And the boss wants his picture released to the press today.’
‘What about the guy from the nightclub? Is his picture being released? Someone might recognise him.’
‘Absolutely not. He’s a hotter suspect and we want to let him think we’re barking up the wrong tree by going for Thompson. Let him think he’s clever, let him get cocky and start making mistakes. I want all the shops, cafés, pubs and restaurants in the local area canvassed. There are PCSOs on their way up from Barrow and Ulverston to assist with those enquiries. Sykes, I want you speaking to every hotel employee, and a still of the mystery man shown to them in case he’s stayed there, or they’ve noticed him hanging around in the bar. I want background checks on everyone who works at the hotel and all the local undertakers. Sam, could you go to the cemetery for me? I need to know about any burials that may have taken place yesterday or if there are any scheduled in the coming days. If there are then I’ll organise a team to go undercover and keep a watch on them in case he turns up.’
He left before they could start asking too many questions. He needed something to go on and fast.
Fifty-One
‘Good morning, Doctor Adams, I’m James Dean, still alive despite the rumours.’
He smiled at her, winked and then held out his hand. Taking it, she gripped it firmly. He was wearing shirt and trousers, no suit jacket, no tie. She was taken aback by just how good-looking he was, not what she’d been expecting. Just because he was a funeral director, it didn’t mean he couldn’t be good-looking, did it? She of all people knew how shallow it was to judge a person by their vocation.
‘Our receptionist said you needed to speak about the recent exhumation. Would you like to come with me, and we can chat somewhere a bit more private? Would you like another coffee?’
‘No, thank you. One was enough. And yes, that would be great; I have a few questions.’ She stood up. The fact that he’d made no acknowledgment that the receptionist was his niece jarred her. Was he being professional, or was she picking up on some animosity between the pair of them? She placed the cup on the coffee table and followed him, throwing a quick glance to Alex, who smiled back.
Beth followed him into a large room with rows of filing cabinets lined up against the walls, a big desk and the most amazing view out of the huge windows onto the formal gardens with a view of Orrest Head, the very first Lakeland Fell that Wainright walked in the distance.
‘I think I’d struggle to get any work done with a view like that, it’s beautiful.’
He laughed. ‘That’s why the chair faces away from the window. It’s far too easy to sit and daydream instead of working. So, how can I be of assistance, Doctor Adams?’
‘As you know, the body of Florence Wright was exhumed three days ago after a relative made some allegations of possible misconduct surrounding her death.’
‘Actually, all we knew was that there were some discrepancies brought to light. As you know, the procedure for exhumation is that an application to exhume usually takes around three months in order to ensure it’s a necessary procedure. So whoever submitted the application must have given a valid reason for the application to be approved. This one seemed to go through very fast, so someone along the line must have had sufficient concern to give permission. We initially dealt with the body after it was released to us, like we deal with the hundreds of other bodies each year. She was brought here from the hospital mortuary after death, and nothing untoward was noted when she was embalmed and prepared for burial.’
‘How do you know that; did you speak to the embalmer?’
‘I am the embalmer. I prepare the bodies; wash, dress, hair and make-up. That’s my department.’
‘Oh, do you have an assistant?’
‘I do, I have two. Both are very good, but I specifically remember dealing with Mrs Wright’s body myself because both of them were off work. It was a weekend.’
‘Don’t they work weekends?’
He shook his head. ‘No, we like to give our staff the weekends off to enjoy with their families or whatever it is they like to do to relax. At weekends the place is run by Harry, my brother who runs the front of house, and Harry’s daughter, who you met on the reception. Alex has all calls routed to her mobile.’
‘That’s very noble of you, but surely you need a break as well?’ Not even realising she was doing it, her fingers reached for her hair to make sure it was covering the scar on her face.
He shrugged. ‘Thankfully, it’s not always busy of a weekend. People have a nasty habit of dying all hours of the day and night. As you well know. Can I ask what any of this has to do with the exhumation?’
‘Not a lot. I guess I’m just fascinated. I’m sorry. When I conducted the post-mortem there was nothing to suggest that Florence Wright had died of anything other than natural causes. Obviously, she’d been buried for eight weeks, so things had started to decompose. I thought it might be useful to speak to you and see if you had any concerns since you dealt with her immediately after her death.’
He shook his head. ‘I’m sorry, I can’t help you. I didn’t notice anything, which was why I thought it was strange she was being exhumed. If I had, at the time of receiving her body, I’d have contacted the coroner’s officer to raise my concerns.’
Beth smiled at him; he was good. ‘I thought as much. You know I deal with the bodies just after death, but I’ve never really thought about what happens to them once I’ve finished the post-mortem. I just move onto the next case. Sometimes they stay with me and, thankfully, sometimes they don’t. I guess it must be the same for you.’
‘Yes, I suppose it is. The kids are the hardest. I don’t like dealing with them. But I do because it’s part of the job. So, is there anything else I can help you with?’
Beth pulled a copy of the photograph of Chantel Price that Josh had taken in the mortuary out of her bag, even though she knew this was unprofessional and Josh would probably kill her for it. Standing up, she handed it to James, who took it from her.
‘This is a bit of
a wild shot, but you don’t know this girl, do you? Have you ever seen her around? I was hoping she might look familiar.’
A voice inside her head whispered, you have just well and truly crossed the line, Beth Adams. She ignored it and watched James to see if there was any reaction. He stared down at the picture of the girl and his head shook.
‘I’m sorry, I don’t recognise her. She isn’t one of our clients. It’s Harry who deals with the actual funerals. You could ask him, or do you want me to take a copy and show it to him when he gets back?’
‘No, it’s fine. I’ll call back another time to ask Harry. Thank you, I really appreciate your time, Mr Dean.’
He stood up, handing the photograph back to her. ‘Anything to help. Are you okay to see yourself out? I was in the middle of preparing a body.’
‘Of course, thanks again.’
She turned and walked out into the corridor. He was close behind her. Shutting the office door, he walked off in the opposite direction to where the reception area was, and Beth headed towards it. Alex was typing on the computer. She looked up and smiled as Beth walked towards her.
‘Thank you so much for all your help, Alex.’
‘Was he okay with you, or was he his usual cocky self?’
Beth sensed there were some real issues between them. ‘He was very polite, but unfortunately he couldn’t help or answer my questions. I guess it was just a stab in the dark. That coffee was really very good, thanks.’
Alex laughed. ‘It is, isn’t it? That coffee machine is probably the best thing about this job. If you’re ever passing feel free to pop in for one. It gets a bit lonely sitting here all day. I must be the only person who gets excited to see a Royal Mail van pull up outside.’
Beth chuckled. ‘Thank you, I might just take you up on that offer.’ She turned to walk out of the door and then hesitated, wondering if she should… She pulled the photograph out of her bag once more. ‘I know this is probably pointless, and I don’t think she would have had any reason to come here.’ She passed the picture towards Alex, who took it from her and looked at it. ‘But I wondered if you recognised this girl.’
‘She’s dead?’
‘Yes.’ Beth realised her mistake. Alex might not actually have much to do with the bodies if she was running the reception and suddenly regretted showing it to her.
Alex hesitated for a moment too long.
‘I’m sorry, I don’t know her.’
Something about the horrified expression on Alex’s face told Beth that she might not be telling the whole truth. Beth could feel in her gut that Alex recognised her.
‘I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have bothered you.’ She took the photograph from Alex. ‘If you ever get that lonely you need a chat, I don’t live that far away. I’ll see if I can pop round for one of your lovely coffees.’
Alex grinned at her.
‘Yes, do that. It would be great. Bye, Beth.’
‘Bye, Alex.’
Beth stepped outside, not sure what she’d done. The fleet of limousines had left, leaving only her car, sitting on its own. She crossed towards it wondering if she should ring Josh and admit poking around outside of her remit. Driving away, she didn’t look back.
Fifty-Two
Josh wondered what time it was and reached into his pocket to retrieve his phone. It was then he found it wasn’t there. Checking his desk, he realised he hadn’t had it since he left the house. There was no way he could survive all day without it. No one would be able to get hold of him, so he had no choice but to go home and get it. He hadn’t managed more than two bites of toast this morning and it still felt lodged like cardboard in the back of his throat. He hadn’t even managed a mug of coffee to get his brain going because he felt as if he was wired enough and running on his nerves and wasn’t sure what a shot of pure caffeine would do to him. It was far too early in the day to be making mistakes: he needed a clear head.
As he turned into his street, he noticed one of the CSI vans parked a few houses up. He wasn’t aware of any jobs that had come in; normally someone would have mentioned it. There was nowhere to park, so he drove around to the next street and got out. Walking around the corner he scanned the street, wondering which house the CSIs were at. Not that it mattered, as long as it didn’t come in as a job for him or the team it was fine. They had enough to do. They were no closer to finding Annie Potts than they had been as soon as the call had come in.
He pushed the handle of the front door down and swore when it didn’t open. He knew Jodie was off work today, as he’d left her in bed and crept around so as not to disturb her. Pulling the key out of his pocket, he inserted it into the lock and swore again when it wouldn’t go all the way in. She must have got up, locked it from the inside and gone back to bed. She never locked the bloody door, why today?
He went around to the back of the house: the chance of her locking both doors was slim to none. He let himself through the side gate and walked towards the kitchen door, passing the window. This door was open, thank God, and he let himself in. The kitchen was exactly as he’d left it; his plate of toast on the side, his still-full mug of coffee next to it. His phone wasn’t on the table and he’d put it on silent, so he’d either left it on the corner of the bath or it was still tucked under his pillow from when he’d switched off his alarm.
Stepping out into the hall, he heard a moan. He stopped. A louder one followed, then the unmistakeable sound of a man’s deep grunt. Josh’s chest filled with dread, then hurt, then anger – all at once. How could you? Behind my back. In my bed. He stood at the bottom of the stairs, wondering who it could possibly be. Someone he knew? A stranger? He didn’t know which was worse. He considered turning around and walking straight back out of the door, then he realised he couldn’t; he needed his phone.
Taking the steps two at a time he reached the top where he could see their bedroom door was ajar. He looked at the heavy wooden candlestick on the small console table, but he didn’t pick it up; violence was never the answer. Right now his priority was finding Annie. If he lost it and got arrested, he’d be no help to anyone. Taking a deep breath, he strode towards the door and pushed it wide open, immediately recognising the mop of black hair on the man on top of his wife. That was why the van was parked in the street.
Ignoring the voice of reason telling him not to, he lunged at Carl and grabbed a handful of his hair, dragging him backwards off the bed. Jodie let out a strangled scream and pulled the duvet around her to cover her nakedness. Drawing back his fist, he went to punch Carl as hard as he could – but hesitated seconds before unleashing. Carl was a pathetic wimp, cowering on the floor, his hands up to protect his face. Josh realised that neither he nor Jodie were worth it.
He dropped his arm and strode towards the bed where Jodie lay whimpering. She flinched as he reached forward – she should know him well enough to know he would never hit a woman – and reached under the pillow to grab his phone. Without a word, he then turned and walked back out of the room and into the spare room, where he kept most of his clothes. There, he pulled out a small case and stuffed it with the essentials: clothes, underwear, socks. Going into the bathroom, he grabbed his toiletries off the shelf and threw them in. Snatching his phone charger from the socket in the kitchen and his laptop off the sofa, he walked out of the door, slamming it shut behind him.
Dragging the case behind him down the street, he realised he felt a small sense of relief. It was over, all the misery and suffering were done with. Neither of them had been particularly happy for the last couple of years or had the balls to do anything about it. Well, it was over now. He had no idea where to go or what he was going to do but he could sleep at the station if he had to. He didn’t know how he felt about Carl, what he was going to do about him. He just prayed he stayed out of his way for the time being. At least until the desire to smash his face in had subsided.
Fifty-Three
Beth had rung Josh several times and it had gone straight to voicemail. She was back home wa
iting for the security guy to come and repair the front camera, so she couldn’t go anywhere. Grabbing a bottle of water from the fridge, she went out into the garden and walked down to the lakeside. She’d changed into a pair of cut-off denim shorts and a Stranger Things T-shirt. Sitting on the grass, she stared at the water, looking out at all boats on the lake. She’d purposely asked for the mooring to be removed when she bought the house, because she didn’t want to risk anybody landing and coming onto her property. It was probably the only house that edged onto the lake without its own jetty. Would she actually have one now? She watched the boats big and small as they sailed along Lake Windermere. The large steamers were packed with tourists. This was a popular place to holiday; murders and missing girls didn’t happen here very often. Her phone began to vibrate in her pocket, interrupting her thoughts.
‘Hello.’
‘It’s me; sorry, I left my phone at home.’
Beth paused before answering: something was wrong. Josh’s voice sounded strained. ‘I did something that might make you mad, and I felt as if I needed to confess.’
‘You wouldn’t be the first person today. What’s up?’
‘It might be better to tell you in person. How’s it going? Any sign of the missing woman?’
The sigh was so loud she pulled the phone away from her ear.
‘No, we have a few leads we’re following. But you know how this works; it’s either a feast or a famine. To be honest with you I’m not holding out much hope for her: it’s been almost forty-eight hours with no sightings. Where are you?’
‘I’m at home waiting for the security guy to come and fix my broken camera. Have you eaten yet? I can make you something?’ She didn’t tell him she agreed with him that time was running out, he didn’t need to be told twice.
‘That, my friend, would be amazing. I’ll be over soon.’
He ended the call, and Beth sat there for a few more minutes. In spite of the underlying sadness for Chantel Price and the missing woman she enjoyed the view, the fresh air and peace. Things were beginning to shift in her life, she could feel it. As if her soul was beginning to wake from its self-induced coma. She turned to look at her house, so different to the Victorian terrace where it had happened. Where what happened, Beth? She closed her eyes and was immediately back there…
