by Helen Phifer
He waved the nurse over. She looked at him and held up her hand to ask him to wait. He shook his head and beckoned her over again, this time more urgently. Sighing, she crossed the room towards him. Pulling down his mask, he croaked, ‘Get me a guard, I need to speak to someone.’
‘I will when Abby comes back off her break, I’m on my own.’
‘Where’s the guard who was watching this block?’
‘With Abby.’ She rolled her eyes.
‘Phone someone and tell them it’s a matter of life or death.’
‘Whose life or death, Robert, how would you know?’
Lunging for her, he wrapped the elastic cord from the nebuliser around her neck, pulling it tight.
‘Yours, you stupid bitch, I need to speak to someone. Now.’
The only other patient in the wing finally opened his eyes at the racket. Turning, he stared at the sight of Robert, wheezing whilst trying to strangle the nurse. He got out of bed and hobbled towards the emergency button on the wall by the nurses’ desk. Slamming his palm on it, the alarm began to ring and the thundering sound of footsteps began to head their way.
Robert smiled to himself. He needed fast action and this was the quickest way to ensure he was listened to. He didn’t want them to think it was the rambling of a morphine-infused brain.
The swarm of guards that rushed into the small wing was impressive. They took one look at the situation and began to shout at him to let her go.
Robert smiled at them and whispered in her ear.
‘I’m not going to hurt you. I just need to talk to the governor, and this is the only way to get him to come and pay me a visit.’
She sobbed; obviously she didn’t believe him. He didn’t care. His chest was on fire, burning with the effort, but still he kept a tight grip on her.
‘I need to speak to the governor now.’
‘Come on, Robert, that’s not going to happen, is it? Let her go and then we can arrange for you to speak to him.’
‘No, I want to speak to him, and a copper called Josh Walker. Get hold of him, tell him it’s life or death and I need to speak to him before someone he saved once before needs saving again.’
The burly guard who had stepped a little closer looked behind at the others. Turning back, he looked at the whimpering nurse being choked by the man who looked as if he could pass away at any given moment. He might be frail, but there was no telling what he could do because he had nothing to lose.
‘Go get the boss.’
The younger guard, who was only on his second day as a newly trained prison officer, turned and ran as fast as he could towards the governor’s office, hoping he was in.
Seventy-One
Barry had a daily paper tucked under one arm and a spade under the other. He’d done nothing but worry about where that stupid bugger Jason had disappeared to. He didn’t think for one minute he’d hidden that girl in the grave; for one thing he was far too lazy to go to the effort of putting a body in there and shovelling soil on top of it. No, as far as he was concerned, the daft sod was guilty of maybe shagging the girl or selling her a bit of weed. As he strolled up the hill to the new grave he was in the process of digging, he nodded at the huge monument as usual. He spotted a bunch of red roses in the cracked vase at the base of it. In all the years he’d worked here not once had he seen anyone at this grave. He hesitated then turned to look at it, walking closer. He stood there staring at the wilted roses. Why would someone come here and lay a bunch of red roses after all this time? A memory of seeing someone here the other day itched at the back of his mind. Bending down, he checked to see if there was a note with them, but there wasn’t. Hadn’t there been something familiar about him?
Of Your Charity,
Pray for the Repose of the Soul
of Father Abraham Caffrey
The date read 1888. Why would someone lay flowers here now, after all this time? He shook his head and continued walking towards the chapel. Taking out his phone, he dialled Jason’s number again. Swearing when it went straight to voicemail. Again.
‘Here, you stupid bugger. I know you had nowt to do with that dead girl, so get yourself back here and we’ll sort it out. I need a hand, not that you did much but that’s beside the point. If you get this message stop messing around and come back. I’ll go with you to the cop shop, lad, and we’ll put it right.’
Ending the call, he put the phone in his pocket and wiped his brow with his sleeve. It was a warm day and that hill never got any easier to climb no matter how many times a day he walked up it. Almost parallel with the open grave where it all began, he noticed another bunch of now-faded, dried-up red roses on a grave opposite. He walked towards it. They were similar to the ones left at the base of the monument to the priest. Someone called Vincent Naylor was interred here, the date on the grave stone 1945. He scratched at his head; something wasn’t right. Who was leaving flowers around the graveyard? Sitting down on the marble bench opposite the chapel, he placed the spade next to him and shut his eyes. Was it the same guy? Why would a man visit two graves on different days and lay the same red roses for men who died years ago? Was there a bloke here the day the girl was found in the grave? The thought tugged at the edge of Barry’s consciousness; there was something he’d missed. They had plenty of regulars at the cemetery, but this guy was new. The guy in the beige baseball cap. He’d seen him down by the mausoleums, he was sure of it.
Taking out his phone again, this time he dialled 101 and waited to be put through to Cumbria Constabulary. He needed to talk to that detective, Josh. He was pretty sure that the guy visiting the graves had been up to something. He wasn’t sure what, but he needed checking out. It wasn’t as if the coppers had anything better to do. They weren’t exactly on fire, and judging by the story on the front of the local paper they were no closer to finding that missing woman.
Seventy-Two
The gates to Beth’s house were wide open and Josh drove the van at speed straight through them. His heart was pounding in his throat as if he was about to regurgitate it. He didn’t think he’d ever felt panic like it in his entire life. The night he’d answered the call when she was attacked he hadn’t had time to think. Right now, he wanted more than anything to find her sitting on the patio, drinking wine and staring out at the lake. He knew that wasn’t going to happen though. Never, in all the time he’d come to know Beth, had she ever left the entrance gates wide open.
Suddenly his mouth was dry, and his palms were sweaty. He was terrified of what he might find inside. Why hadn’t he come back last night? Why had he pulled an all-nighter? He could have been here with her and protected her. Running from the van, he saw the front door ajar and knew then that he was too late. He stopped, tugged on a pair of bright blue rubber gloves and motioned for Sam to do the same. Stepping inside, he shouted, ‘Beth, it’s the police. Where are you?’
Sam pointed to the stairs, and he nodded. Running up them two at a time, he checked every room. No sign of Beth, but also no sign of a struggle; everywhere was as neat and clutter free as it always was. Apart from the guest room where his case was thrown on the middle of the bed looking distinctly out of place.
Sam’s voice echoed up the stairs. ‘She’s not here.’
Josh rushed back downstairs to see for himself, his breathing starting to slow. He heard the sirens as the backup van arrived.
‘Her car isn’t here, maybe she’s gone to the station.’
‘No, her voice was panicked. She said she’d found a fingernail and a photograph; we need to find them.’
He looked around at the pristine white granite worktops, and the dining table and then he glanced outside. He gasped. He could see it on the table, the small photograph with a single, pink, bloodied nail sitting on top of it. Unlocking the door, he slid it open and stepped through the gap. He recognised the terrified woman – it was Annie Potts – and knew immediately that Beth wouldn’t have left evidence this vital exposed to the elements no matter how scared she was. She’d
have bagged it up or covered it up; a strong gust of wind and it could have blown down to the lake or got lost in the trees.
The two officers that came running in both stopped as he lifted his hand up.
‘She’s not here, but I’m treating this as a crime scene. Thank you, but you need to retrace your steps and go back outside. Can you request CSI and the DCI to attend.’
‘Yes, Sarge.’
Both of them walked back out without touching anything.
Josh looked at Sam.
‘I’m wondering if she left in a hurry or was taken as she was trying to leave.’
‘Would she have left the house insecure though, Josh? I mean this is Beth we’re talking about. I’ve never known anyone so security conscious.’
‘True, but she has a bloody good reason for that, don’t you think?’
‘Yes, I didn’t mean it that way. It’s not a criticism. What I meant is she’s spent the last few years of her life living in fear, so I don’t think she’d run out of here and leave the door open no matter how spooked she was. If she had wouldn’t she be on the phone to you or the control room right now? What about her safe room, did you check that?’
He nodded. ‘It’s empty. Yes, she would. She wouldn’t run away and hide, it’s not her style. So she got scared, ran to the front door to leave.’
‘And got ambushed.’
‘How did they get in the gates though? In fact, how did they even get out here? It’s a fair distance from civilisation. I want an area search for an abandoned car. I also want an ANPR alert put out on Beth’s car.’
He pulled his radio out and began issuing orders to the control room. His heart was still racing but he’d switched into work mode. He could do this. The trail was minutes old. Walking down towards the lake, he needed to clear his head and think; he also didn’t want Sam or the two officers standing by the gates to see the tears in his eyes.
As he stared out onto the calm water, he whispered, ‘Hold on, Beth, I’m coming, and I’ll find you.’
Seventy-Three
Josh’s phone began to ring. He looked down at the display, begging for it to be Beth’s name flashing on it.
Unknown number
So it must be work. He answered it.
‘Sarge, there’s a phone call for you. It’s from a Barry Evans. He said you were talking to him the other day about the missing girl. Should I put him through?’
‘I’m a bit busy now, tell him I’ll ring him back.’
‘He said you would want to know he thinks he knows who it is.’
‘Put him through.’
He waited for the call to be patched through wondering what information Barry could have after so many days.
‘Is this Josh?’
‘It is, how can I help you, Barry?’
‘You know the other day when you were here looking for that girl, did you see the man standing at the old monument just off the main path?’
‘No. Why?’
‘Well I been thinking, in all the years I’ve worked here no one has ever had reason to visit that particular grave. It’s a memorial to a Catholic priest from back in 1888. It’s odd, I think, and then the day we found the girl’s body, when we were waiting around for you coppers to come, I saw him then, too. He was standing at a grave not too far from where we were working, a bunch of red roses like the ones left at the priest’s monument in his hands.’
‘Whose grave was that? Did you notice? Have you looked?’
‘Yes, I did, it belongs to Vincent Naylor. He died in 1945; now I can’t be a hundred per cent positive but I’m pretty sure there has never been flowers laid there either.’
Josh was trying to figure out what it meant: was there some connection between the graves and the killer?
‘Barry, I’m on my way. Can you try and keep an eye on both graves until I get there? I need them to be searched by CSI.’
‘Well I’ll try, but they’re a bit of a distance away from each other and there’s only one of me.’
‘Go back to the monument: that was only two days ago. If you see him then walk away, don’t approach him and try not to look at him. Whoever it is they’re extremely dangerous.’
‘You don’t need to tell me that. Any funny business and I’ll smack him across the back of the head with my spade.’
Josh smiled and ended the call feeling hopeful. There was some connection to the cemetery; perhaps everything led back to there. He wanted a full search of the area conducted and the dogs brought back. He shouted to Sam.
‘I have to go to the cemetery. Can you stay here and coordinate the search, please?’
‘What are you going there for?’
‘Barry has come up with some vital information, and I need to go speak to him now.’
‘Yes, Josh, be careful. What if it’s him?’
As he climbed inside the van he wondered if Sam had a point: Barry could well be the man they were looking for. Life would be easier if it was Barry, he thought. He had access to the graves, the experience. He also had a wife and an alibi, not that they were concrete evidence. He didn’t care, though, he was pretty confident he could handle Barry if he turned all psychopathic on him.
Josh knew without a shadow of a doubt he’d risk his own life to save Beth’s.
Seventy-Four
The sun had disappeared behind a huge, dark cloud as Josh arrived at the cemetery gates. Never had the place looked so foreboding, which kind of matched his mood. He knew something big was going to happen and he was praying that it was good and that he wasn’t too late to help both Annie and Beth. He drove slowly up the hill. The cemetery was deserted but for Barry hovering around by the huge stone monument in the distance. Parking, Josh jumped out of the van and walked towards him. He studied his face: could it be him, could Barry be responsible for the devastation that had been wreaked on this normally tranquil village?
‘Thank the Lord you’re here, I’m not a wuss or anything but I’ve been scaring myself shitless waiting for you to arrive. The place is dead, there’s no one around but I keep hearing noises and looking over my shoulder in case he’s creeping up on me.’
Barry’s face was ashen, and he was acting all jittery: not the behaviour of a cold calculated killer.
‘Thank you, I’ve asked for patrols to come. But there’s another job on at the moment the local officers are tied up with; backup is on its way from Barrow.’
Barry looked at him. ‘Barrow, Jesus Christ, let’s hope we don’t need them in the next ten minutes then or we’ve had it. I’ve spoken to Jason, I told you it wasn’t him. He ran because he was scared, but has promised he’ll come to the station with me tomorrow.’
Josh nodded, then walked towards the monument and bent down to look at the flowers. They were wrapped in pale pink paper with a layer of plastic wrapping and didn’t look like the kind of flowers you picked up in the supermarket. At least that narrowed it down a little: they could check the local florists, but it would all take time. If they could identify where the flowers came from then maybe they would be able to find some better CCTV evidence of the guy who had bought them.
‘Have you ever noticed him hanging around other places in here? Is there anywhere else he could go, are there any old buildings that you might have forgotten about when we were looking the other day? I’ve finally been sent a plan of the cemetery that I requested days ago and had a brief look. What about the crypts, could he access them?’
Barry’s mouth dropped open and his face turned even paler than it already was as he let out a groan.
‘The crypts and mausoleums in the old part of the cemetery, well yes, but there’s no way anyone could get inside them. I’m so sorry. I never go down there. It didn’t enter my head.’
Josh felt a spark of hope fire inside his chest.
Barry continued. ‘They’ve been sealed off for years, they’re not safe. We don’t go down there to be honest because it’s so overgrown and dangerous.’
‘I need you to take me there n
ow.’
Barry nodded. He followed Josh to the van, and they got inside. He directed him along the paths which got narrower and more overgrown as they drove towards the old part that was out of bounds.
‘They’re just along there, but you’ll have to walk from here.’
Barry led the way, but Josh paused. The grass was flattened on one side by something heavy like a car or van. ‘Do you ever drive down here?’
‘No, got no reason to. It’s off limits until the friends of the cemetery and the council stop arguing over who can repair and maintain it.’
‘Well someone has been down here and recently.’ Josh could see the crumbling, leaning row of crypts a short distance in front of him and began to run towards them, shouting, ‘Beth, Beth, are you there?’ As he got closer the stench of decomposition filled the air, and he heard Barry gag behind him.
‘What is that smell?’
‘Barry, I need you to stay there. Don’t come any closer.’
He let out a groan so loud it echoed around them. ‘This is my fault; I didn’t even think about the mausoleums. I’m so sorry.’
Josh turned to look at the man, who was visibly trembling and on the verge of tears.
‘No, this isn’t your fault. If it wasn’t for you we wouldn’t be here right now, this is the fault of whoever decided to do this.’
He knew that Barry would forever lay the blame on himself. Just as Josh would lay the blame at his own door. They had been so close; he didn’t understand why he didn’t know about this place. He was going to find Annie Potts, and not the way he’d wanted to. He’d hoped she’d be alive but, judging by the strong smell and the buzzing of flies, it wasn’t going to be the case. His knees threatened to sag under his weight he felt so deflated; for once he’d have liked to have made the difference, to have beaten this sick bastard at his own game and saved Annie before it came to this. Unless there was someone else? It couldn’t be Beth, could it? No, of course not. It had been less than an hour since he’d rushed to her house. Even if she’d been killed straight away it wouldn’t smell like this. He looked at the row of oak doors, watching to see which one the bluebottles were flying in and out of. It didn’t take long before a fat fly buzzed its way through the narrow slit in the door at the far end. He radioed the control room.
