How the Dead Speak (Tony Hill and Carol Jordan Book 11)

by Val McDermid

  ‘Nosebleed? Where are you getting that from? I didn’t see anything about a nosebleed in the post mortem report.’

  Paula took a deep breath. ‘That’s because it’s not in the post mortem report. It formed part of the defence in the trial of the man who is serving time for the killing of Lyle Tate. A man who is almost certainly innocent if this is the work of a serial killer.’

  ‘And you knew this how?’

  Paula glared at him. ‘Because I remember the case. Sir.’

  He turned his back on her and paced the hallway. ‘I came here with the intention of calling off this stakeout. I still think you’re a long way from a case we can take to court. But we’re all here now. You’ve got until ten this morning. Then we’ll review the situation.’ He grabbed the front door handle and made to leave.

  ‘Your car’s round the back, sir. It’d be easier and more secure if you left that way.’ She watched him blunder down the hall in the dark. Then the murmured exchange with one of the other officers. Then the back door opening and closing. She waited till she could see the BMW headlights disappearing down the road before she went back upstairs to her vigil. She radioed, ‘Base to all units. As you were.’

  The gradual lightening of the sky brought no change. The occasional car passed the end of the drive but none of them was a Porsche four-by-four. Paula’s mouth was dry and bitter from too much coffee, her eyes sore and gritty from too much staring into the dark. The uniformed officers had been relieved at six, the AFOs two hours earlier. By eight, the daylight was so bright she had no compunction about using her phone.

  ‘Morning, gorgeous,’ she said when Elinor answered. ‘Sleep well?’

  ‘I missed you. Are you still on stakeout?’

  ‘We are. It’s been a long n— Oh fuck, I have to go.’ Paula ended the call just as the Porsche came into sight on the road. She hit the radio button. ‘Base to all units. Eye contact with suspect vehicle. Turning into driveway now.’

  The big SUV slowed to a halt as it approached the front door. The engine stilled and Mark Conway climbed out of the driver’s seat. He shook his legs and rolled his shoulders as if he’d been sitting too long.

  ‘Base to Mobile One. Move into position across the drive. Repeat. Move into position across the drive.’ Paula spoke softly, as if Mark Conway might hear her through his double-glazed windows. His retreat would be cut off inside a minute.

  As she had this thought, something caught Conway’s attention. He was staring at the ground, turning his head this way and that, angling his line of sight to give him different perspectives. Abruptly, he straightened up and stared intently at the house.

  ‘The fucking gravel,’ Paula said. Churned up by half a dozen vehicles, and none of them had thought to rake it over.

  Conway was already back behind the wheel, the engine roaring into life.

  ‘Base to all units. Mobilise. Mobilise now,’ Paula yelled, running down the stairs and heading for the front door. She pulled it open just in time to see the police car hadn’t quite completed its manoeuvre to close off the drive. Conway must have stamped on the accelerator for the Porsche surged towards the gap. He almost made it. But the Porsche smashed into the wing of the police car so hard it rocked on its suspension then, almost in slow motion, turned on its side.

  ‘Fuck, fuck, fuck,’ Paula shouted as the four-by-four rocketed down the road. A marked police car slid to a halt beside her and she jumped into the passenger seat. ‘Go,’ she cried, dragging the seat belt across her body as the car raced down the drive in a scatter of gravel. ‘Blue lights,’ she commanded. ‘And two tones.’

  The AFOs were right behind them in their Range Rover, washing them in blue light and deafening sound. The Porsche was already out of sight but Paula knew there was nowhere to go for the best part of a mile. Then they’d hit morning traffic and the bottleneck of the bridge over the River Brade.

  As they approached the junction, Conway came into view, snarled up in traffic waiting to turn right. ‘Got him,’ Paula breathed.

  Too soon. With barely a pause, the Porsche mounted the footpath and careered onwards. Because it was a country lane, there were no lampposts to impede him. His wing mirror clipped a Give Way sign, but it didn’t stop him.

  Paula’s driver looked terrified, but he followed in the wake of the four-by-four. As they hurtled on, Paula saw the white face of a terrified teenager in school uniform who’d thrown himself into the hedgerow. They lurched round the corner. ‘I think we’re catching him,’ the PC in the back seat said, excited as if he was playing Grand Theft Auto.

  They weren’t. A voice yelled from the radio. ‘Lay-by ahead, pull in and let us past, we’re faster than you.’

  Paula swivelled in her seat to see the passenger in the Range Rover gesticulating wildly. ‘Pull over, like he said.’

  They tore into the lay-by, tyres screaming and let the Range Rover thunder past. Paula’s driver set off after it, gears crunching as he tried to keep up. ‘The bridge,’ Paula moaned. ‘It’ll be solid.’

  She’d barely uttered the words when they heard a deafening bang, a scream of metal, the sound of collapsing masonry and a series of whooshing splashes.

  Whatever had just happened, it sounded like Mark Conway’s bid for freedom had ended spectacularly badly.

  63

  The German philosopher Friedrich Nietzsche gave a stern warning to those of us who confront the worst that we do to each other. ‘Whoever fights monsters should see to it that in the process he does not become a monster. And if you gaze long enough into an abyss, the abyss will gaze back into you.’ It’s a warning we would do well to heed. Empathy is a necessary tool but we have to guard against the horrors we see becoming our new normal.

  From Reading Crimes by DR TONY HILL

  There was no mood of triumph in the ReMIT squad room. A job well done was a righteous arrest that ended with a successful conviction. Now the murder of Lyle Tate and seven other young men would never be a job well done. In his feverish rush to escape, Mark Conway hadn’t secured his seat belt. When he misjudged the gap and careered into the bridge abutment, his Porsche had stopped but he hadn’t.

  Arriving at the scene moments later, Paula had been gripped with shock and revulsion. She’d seen plenty of blood over the years, but that didn’t mean she’d lost sight of its significance. One life lost, other lives changed utterly. And now answers would forever be denied to those whose lives had been altered forever by Mark Conway’s crimes.

  ‘At least now we know he did it,’ Steve said when Paula walked through the door. ‘Innocent people don’t run.’

  ‘Well, that’s bollocks,’ Alvin said. ‘All sorts of reasons why innocent people run. I’m not saying Mark Conway was innocent, but we’re no closer to proving him guilty than we were last night.’

  Paula crossed to her desk and sat down. Karim gave her a sympathetic look. ‘Should you even be here, boss? I mean, you’ve had a shock. You probably need a bit of space.’

  ‘I’m fine,’ Paula said. ‘I need to write my report while it’s fresh in my mind.’

  Before she could start, Rutherford and Sophie walked in together. The DCI took a few steps into the room then stopped. ‘Well, that wasn’t the result we were looking for. We’ve got a dead body and a worryingly thin file of evidence.’

  ‘There’ll be forensic evidence in due course,’ Alvin said.

  ‘You hope.’ He shook his head in disgust. ‘Looks like DCI Fielding will be the one to get a clean result, even though it’ll only be assault, preventing the lawful and decent disposal of all those bodies, failure to register death. Small beer compared with serial murder.’

  Paula and Stacey exchanged a look. They both knew policing wasn’t a competitive sport. Even the best results were always tainted with the crime that had preceded them.

  Sophie, ever eager, chipped in. ‘Theoretically, you can get a life sentence for preventing the legal disposal of bodies.’

  ‘If it ever gets to court,’ Rutherford s
aid cheerily. ‘From what we know, those nuns aren’t the kind of witnesses the CPS rejoices in.’ He frowned as the sound of Alvin’s phone ringing cut across his words.

  ‘It’s the lab,’ Alvin said, taking the call. Instantly he had everyone’s attention. ‘Hello, Doc.’ Then he frowned as he listened. ‘Just hold on, would you? I want to put you on speaker, we’re in the middle of a ReMIT briefing and the whole team needs to hear this.’ He fumbled with his phone then held it up. ‘Could you just say again what you told me?’

  They all leaned in and strained to hear Chrissie O’Farrelly. The tinny voice said, ‘What I told you is that your idea of looking for invisible DNA that’s been stripped of its chromophores is looking very promising. One of our researchers is very keen to make it work and he thinks he’s worked out how to do it.’

  ‘That’s good news, Doc,’ Alvin said.

  ‘It’s interesting news, Sergeant. But it might prove to be unnecessary. We found a fingerprint on the end of one of the pieces of tape used to bind the body wrappings. Whoever did the taping clearly wore gloves. All we’ve got apart from this are smudges. But I think he had already used the roll of tape for innocent purposes. He wouldn’t have thought to cut off the first couple of inches before he put it to more nefarious use. So we do have a single clear print.’

  ‘Is it on the database?’ Rutherford butted in. ‘DCI Rutherford here, sorry we’ve not met yet, doctor.’

  ‘It’s not on the database.’

  There was a collective sigh. Karim actually groaned.

  ‘But don’t worry,’ she continued. ‘I spoke to the path lab this morning and even though they’re up to their back teeth in human remains from the convent, a very helpful technician printed Mark Conway’s body when they brought it in.’

  Paula realised she was holding her breath.

  ‘And?’ Rutherford obligingly asked.

  ‘It’s a match. We can definitely say that Mark Conway had handled the adhesive tape that bound one of the murder victims. I hope that helps.’

  ‘It takes us a long way down the road,’ Rutherford said. ‘You’ll keep on with the DNA though?’

  ‘It’s running as we speak. You know the chromophore theory is untried in the courtroom, yes?’

  ‘It’s not going to a courtroom, though, is it?’ Rutherford said. ‘But it’s going to cover our backs.’

  ‘Not for me to say. I’ll be in touch as soon as I hear anything.’ And the line went dead.

  Before anyone could react, the door to the squad room opened and a uniformed PC hurried in, pink and flustered. ‘DCI Rutherford?’ He looked around, uncertain.

  ‘What is it, Constable?’ Rutherford asked impatiently. ‘I’m in the middle of something here.’

  ‘The custody sergeant sent me up. Martinu’s been with his solicitor. Now his cousin is dead, he’s insisting he needs to make a statement.’

  Amid the exclamations, Rutherford said, ‘Sophie, take Karim and see what Martinu has to say for himself. Before the day’s out, I want him charged with illegal disposal on all the bodies, the girls and the young men. And accessory to murder. And no deals on the table.’ Everyone, including Sophie, looked surprised. Alvin muttered something under his breath as they made for the door.

  ‘DI McIntyre?’ Rutherford continued.

  ‘Sir?’

  ‘There will be an inquiry into this morning’s fiasco. Best thing all round is if you go on gardening leave till that’s done and dusted.’

  Paula was taken aback. ‘That could be weeks. Months. And I’ve got my report to write.’

  ‘You can do that from home and email it in to me. You have to look at it from my point of view. It’s easy to interpret what happened out there as recklessness on our part. It’ll be all over the media, and social media. I can’t have you doing frontline police work until that’s laid to rest.’ He folded his arms across his chest and set his mouth in a firm line.

  ‘Doesn’t that make it look like you think Paula was out of order? Surely we should have her back?’ Alvin protested.

  ‘It’s OK, Alvin,’ Paula sighed, getting to her feet. ‘The DCI is right. ReMIT’s too new to have a proper track record. You need to look squeaky clean.’ She picked up her bag. ‘I’m not worried about an inquiry. I’ll be back.’

  ‘Though possibly not in this unit,’ Rutherford said.

  That was an insult Paula couldn’t stomach. ‘You’re the boss. Much better to stick with the DI who thought the suspect was the good guy.’ And she walked right past him, head high, refusing to allow him the satisfaction of seeing how upset she was. She’d save that for Elinor.

  They met in the Starbucks opposite the hospital where they’d had their first coffee together years before. Paula’s flat white lasted longer than her flat recitation of the morning’s events.

  ‘He sounds like a fuckwit, Rutherford,’ Elinor said.

  ‘Not so much a fuckwit as a careerist. He’s all about how it makes him look.’

  ‘Couldn’t be more different from Carol.’ She sighed.

  ‘Speaking of Carol . . . after you rang, I called down to neurosurgery. Tony’s conscious. And apparently coherent.’

  For the first time in days, Paula felt a lightening of spirit. She grinned like a happy drunk. ‘That’ll be a first.’ She leaned across the table and gave Elinor a smacking kiss on the lips. ‘That’s wonderful news. Have you called Carol?’

  ‘I thought you’d like to tell her yourself.’

  Sober now, Paula said, ‘I think it’s time for her and Tony to talk to each other again. You got Carol in to see him when he was unconscious. How hard could it be to get her in now he’s awake?’

  ‘It’s a completely different situation. He was unconscious, that’s the point. She couldn’t upset him by being there. But now? What if he’s still determined not to see her?’

  ‘There won’t be a better time for ages, Elinor. Once he’s discharged back to prison, the only way they’ll see each other is at visiting time. And that’s no place to start a reconciliation. They’re our friends. Surely we owe it to them to help them rebuild their relationship?’

  Carol had kept the scrubs she’d worn on her previous visit to Tony’s hospital room. As Elinor had instructed her, she was wearing them when they met in the hospital café. Elinor handed over her stethoscope again and also a clipboard with a printed form that said COGNITIVE EXAMINATION at the top. ‘That’ll buy you some time,’ she said.

  Carol looked uncertain. ‘What if he doesn’t want to see me?’

  ‘He can say so. I’ll go in with you. If he wants to you leave . . . well, you’re no worse off than you are now.’

  Carol gave a twisted smile. ‘At least that way we’ll know he’s making a good recovery. That he’s not lost his memory.’

  Paula put a hand on her shoulder. ‘It’s time, Carol. He needs to see how courageous you’ve been.’

  ‘If you’d seen me the other night, that’s not how you’d describe me.’ Carol visibly pulled herself together and stood up. ‘Let’s do it,’ she said.

  ‘See you later,’ Elinor said to Paula, stooping to kiss the top of her head. ‘Don’t fret.’

  The two women walked in silence to the lifts and down the corridor to where a different prison officer sat reading a cycling magazine. He didn’t look up till they were right beside him, Elinor’s hand on the door handle. ‘We need to do some tests,’ she said.

  ‘Be my guest,’ the guard said, already engrossed in his magazine again.

  Carol’s heart was thudding in her chest as she followed Elinor into the room. She felt nauseous, on the edge of tears. She looked past Elinor to where Tony lay, eyes closed, face pale apart from the bruising around his eyes and the still-swollen nose, one wrist handcuffed to the bed.

  ‘Hello, Tony,’ Elinor said softly.

  He grunted and opened his eyes, focusing on the white coat then looking up at her face. He smiled. ‘Elinor.’

  ‘I’ve brought someone to see you.’ She stepped to o
ne side.

  Carol opened her mouth to speak but no sound emerged.

  ‘Carol?’ A moment’s confusion. ‘Why are you wearing a hat?’

  ‘Because she’s pretending to be a nurse,’ Elinor said.

  He struggled momentarily and Carol was gripped by the conviction that he’d tell her to go. ‘I can’t see you properly,’ he complained.

  ‘I’ll go if you want.’

  ‘No. Come closer.’

  She took a couple of steps forward and he visibly relaxed into the pillow. They gazed hungrily at each other, taking in every detail of the other’s changes.

  ‘I’ll leave you to it,’ Elinor said.

  Neither of them paid any attention as she left. ‘You look . . . terrible, actually,’ Carol said.

  ‘I feel surprisingly good. Must be the drugs. But I was always rubbish in a fight. You look good. Strong.’ He managed a faint smile. ‘A bit short on sleep, maybe.’

  ‘I’ve had a busy week.’

  He groaned. ‘Oh God. Vanessa. I am so sorry.’

  ‘She’s the exception that proves your rule about there being no such things as monsters. It’s amazing you turned out as well as you did.’

  ‘What? Serving time for manslaughter, stripped of my professional credentials?’

  ‘When you put it like that . . . ’ She smiled without tension for the first time in as long as she could remember. How could it be that after so long an estrangement they could simply slip back into this easy an exchange?

  ‘Paula tells me you’ve been seeing someone for the PTSD?’

  ‘Several successive somebodies. None of the conventional therapies worked for me.’

  ‘Of course they didn’t. You’re too private and you’re too good at figuring out what they want to hear. So what did work?’