The Missing And The Dead: A tense crime thriller with a shocking twist

by J. F. Burgess

  The cadaver dog handler followed two CSIs, the pathologist, DI Blake, and DS Murphy to the derelict Newfield’s Children's Home. Even though Blake was convinced this was the location of the elm trees in the picture the elusive Ellgore Rigs sent, he couldn't yet be certain. Vince Brady was still protesting he never killed Lorna Atwood, even after the CPS had reluctantly agreed to his arrogant terms and Blake had shown him the picture.

  Miles of barren moorland fields spread out on either side as they cautiously navigated the winding road toward the children's home.They all felt a sense of unease as they arrived. DS Murphy pressed the brake slowly, bringing the BMW SUV to a halt alongside the old Victorian building. Holding a copy of the Polaroid photograph, Blake peered through the windscreen at the elm trees edging the car park. They were larger and fuller than in the picture, but there was no mistaking the location.

  The tension among the team was palpable, given the horrendous task they were about to undertake. Slowly Blake led them toward the elms, with the dog handler and two forensics officers in tow. Sensing a presence, the cocker spaniel pulled hard on its lead. As they reached long meadow grass under the trees, Blake stopped dead. He saw the anxiety on his officers’ faces, knowing horrors that would haunt them for years to come may lie in wait.

  He pointed solemnly to the grass under the largest tree.' According to the picture, Lorna Atwood's body could be buried here. Rills would have done the foul deed with a spade under cover of darkness.’

  The team waded apprehensively through the long grass. Now the cadaver dog was off the lead, flitting erratically around in circles.

  The three CSIs moved forward and respectfully began to remove turf laden with eighteen inches of grass and wild flowers. Shovel by shovel, they removed the peaty soil.

  Felix Smithson and the two detectives stood sombrely watching the pile at the side slowly grow bigger.

  ‘Stop!’ The CSI closest to the hole shouted, leaning his spade against the trunk of the nearest elm. He dropped to his knees, retrieved a paintbrush from the pocket of his white protection suit and cautiously brushed soil from around what appeared to be a jaw bone.

  'Jesus! Inspector, take a look at this?'

  Blake and the pathologist moved closer to the unmarked grave and knelt, 'Good God! I can't imagine a young girl would have a gold tooth?'

  'Judging by the growth length of this lateral incisor, it belongs to an adult,' Smithson said.

  All eyes were on Blake.

  The two forensics officers continued to carefully remove soil with small trowels for the next twenty minutes.

  'Inspector, it's not possible for a human to have four humerus bones either,' Smithson continued.

  'Humerus bones?'

  DS Murphy interrupted, 'The upper arm bones that attach to the shoulder blades.'

  Blake looked at him as if he'd ingested a medical dictionary.

  'There's two skeletons in here: one is smaller than the other’ the CSI said.

  The hairs on Blake's neck stood on end. He looked at DS Murphy.

  Murphy said, ‘It’s possible the larger skeleton could belong to Antonio Lombardi?’

  The two detectives leaned over the now gaping grave, feeling apprehensive and nauseous.

  Smithson measured the pelvis of the smaller skeleton. ‘This one is female. The pelvic inlet is larger in females to allow for childbirth. Also, see this?’ he pointed to the ‘V’ shape at the front of the bone. ‘This pubic arch is wider than that of the other pelvis. The anthropologist will perform tests at the lab to confirm the age of the female, but I’m of the opinion the smaller bones belong to a child.’

  Kneeling, Blake asked, 'What's she clutching in her hand?'

  'You noticed. Not sure, it’s covered in dirt,' Smithson said, carefully unfolding the finger bones from the object. He held up what looked like a flat stone in the palm of his gloved hand and brushed away the soil, 'Take a look.'

  Blake stared at an enamel golden-brown butterfly with a black spot near each wing tip, containing two tiny white dots. 'Shit! This is exactly the same as the necklace we found in the top pocket of Clifford Bates’ deceased wife’s blouse.’

  The pathologist flipped over the pendant, 'Look, the number fourteen is engraved on the back.'

  Blake shot him a remorseful look, 'It’s the number of the room where the abuse took place.'

  Newfield Children's Home loomed behind them like a haunted house in a horror movie.

  One month later

  Craig and Margot Matheson sat in the reception of Grove Children’s Home, anxiously waiting to be reunited with eight-year-old Kyle. Craig had been off the Monkey Dust and living with his mum for almost a month, and DI Blake had kept his word. Although he hated to admit it, the man was a kind compassionate copper with integrity. He’d saved his life and set him on the first steps to turning it around, and for that he was eternally grateful. It was going to be a long and arduous road to recovery. But with stable accommodation, and the promise of work, social services had granted him regular visiting rights. After years of scorn, they finally took his intention to formally adopt the boy seriously.

  Tears welled in their eyes as the key-coded door to the play room opened. The boy ran to them, bursting with life, love and the innocence of a young soul yet to be tainted by a cynical, harsh world. Rising from his seat, Craig Matheson knelt and flung his arms around the boy.

  After waiting several years to be reunited with her son and grandson, Margot Matheson wept with joy.

  ****

  Valletta Lombardi stood on the immaculately manicured grass of Burslem cemetery, gazing mournfully at the white lilies she'd lovingly slotted into aluminium urns either side of her brother’s headstone. The silver speckles in the recently engraved black granite sparkled in the sunlight. She recalled the last time she saw Antonio on the fateful night he disappeared back in 1978. His huge grin didn't reveal the grave danger that awaited his innocent soul. All those years of torment and worry were over. Antonio's final resting place lay before her amid hundreds of interred souls. His plot being so close to that of the legendary Edwardian author, Arnold Bennett, would ensure visitors would never forget him: the young Italian man who never grew old. She knelt, picked up a pebble and placed it on top of the headstone, before sombrely walking away.

  ****

  Clifford Bates sat in the corner of the bar in the Albion pub, Hanley, supping a pint of Guinness and reading the front page of the Evening Sentinel laid out on the table in front of him. Ever since this horrible excavation of the past began, his two pints a week consumption had escalated to four a day. Police custody had been traumatic and, to make things worse, his daughter hadn't forgiven him for a lifetime of lies. The prospect of facing a prison sentence for accessory to child abduction mortified him. He glanced around the pub at some of the elderly regulars and felt ashamed he'd harshly judged them as heavy drinkers before. You never knew what circumstances led a man to ease his mental torment with alcohol. He looked back down at the newspaper.

  Discovery of human remains uncovers systematic child abuse and murder

  Following the discovery of human remains identified as Lenny Wilder, a notorious local gangster in the 1970s, police have questioned four suspects of retirement age in relation to his murder. However, the CPS has been unable to prosecute them due to lack of reliable forensic evidence. Water, in the drain the body was discovered in, washed vital evidence away over a forty-two year period. Furthermore, each of the suspects is reported to have been a victim of Lenny Wilder's reign of terror during 1978. There have been allegations of rape and GBH, including an attack which left one victim in his early twenties disabled for life.

  This case has opened up allegations of historical child abuse and corruption. Hanley police do have enough evidence to charge former CID officer, DI Vincent Brady, with the murder of fourteen-year-old Lorna Atwood, who went missing in 1978. Brady has also been charged with child exploitation and child abduction, along with another man who can't be named f
or legal reasons at this time. Brady's crimes were connected to Lenny Wilder and his brother Johnny who has also been charged with facilitating child abuse and conspiracy to murder.

  In a connected case, one of Johnny Wilder's henchmen, Albert Carmelo, has been charged with the murder of Italian national, Antonio Lombardi, twenty-two, who went missing in September 1978 after failing to pay back money he borrowed from Lenny Wilder.

  The investigation into an alleged paedophile network centred around Newfield Children's Home in the Staffordshire Moorlands is ongoing; as are claims that young girls were abused by a group of powerful men from local politics, law enforcement and the child-care sector, at locations across the city during the 1970s. Police are appealing for information regarding this on 01782 5711020.

  Thank God he'd not been named. Yet. He took a large gulp of his pint.

  ****

  The devastating thought of spending the rest of his life in prison for aiding and abetting Antonio Lombardi's murder and being an accessory to Lorna Atwood's murder hit Johnny Wilder like a sledgehammer blow to the head. He was paying the ultimate price for a former life of crime.

  As an old man way out of touch with prison life, his short month of incarceration had been horrendous. The druggies and violent criminals the modern prison system now housed were a far cry from the past. They had no respect and the old cliché of honour among thieves didn't exist in this unruly, dangerous, every-man-for-himself environment.

  The discovery of his brother’s bones had unearthed dark secrets that could never be reburied. People’s lives had been irreversibly damaged and someone had to pay. He sincerely regretted giving Albert Carmelo the order to dispose of Antonio Lombardi. The lad was a casualty of their unrepentant lust for power and control over people. As young men, they never imagined their evil and greed would ruin so many lives. That poor sod never got a chance to experience life in all its glory. His last breath was snuffed out like the flame of a freshly-lit candle just beginning to shine. Murdered for a measly £50. He shuddered with guilt and remorse.

  Perched on the bed, he opened the bible the prison chaplain had given him upon arrival. It had sat on the stainless steel shelf on the opposite wall, staring at him like a higher conscience passing silent judgement. He opened the page highlighted with a luminous yellow sticky note, and slid his finger down to Joel 2:13

  "Rend your heart, and not your garments, and turn unto the Lord your God: for he is gracious and full of compassion, slow to anger and plenteous in mercy, and repenteth him of the evil."

  The chaplain said repentance would bring pardon and forgiveness of sin. Apart from repentance, no other sacrifices or religious ceremonies could secure these.

  As a man with more years behind him than in front of him, Wilder knew following the word of the scriptures was the only way to survive this inevitable torment.

  Lefkoşa, Nicosia, Northern Cyprus

  Sweat ran down the crease on the man’s scarred back, welding his Hawaiian shirt to his skin. It was thirty-seven degrees as he stood in shorts and sandals looking across the bone-dry waste ground covered in oil stains. Judging by the rust-spattered carcasses of five 1980s Ford Escorts chocked up on faded tyres, this looked like a place where cars came to die. But plastic goalposts and wooden cricket stumps marked it out as a playground for kids from the neglected ten-storey apartment blocks surrounding this rough area of the northern half of Nicosia.

  Today, there were just two girls, no older than about twelve, sitting in the shadows the sun cast off the abandoned vehicles. Their long dark hair trailed down the backs of their short, gingham-checked summer dresses. Their bare feet were dirty from scurrying around on the dry sandy earth.

  Since British colonial rule, Cypriots and Turks alike had driven on the left, so the driving had been a breeze. Today would be no different except he'd have two passengers. He looked down at the white paper bag he was carrying. He'd just picked it up from the baker’s around the corner. It contained two large slices of freshly baked trilece, a milk sponge cake topped with caramel syrup. He’d added his own special ingredient: gamma-hydroxybutyric acid, more commonly known as the date-rape drug, GHB.

  He glanced back at his rental car parked by the kerb a few metres away.

  Albert Carmelo would be pleased he was treating his nieces to a sweet delicacy the local kids loved, George Rills thought as he approached the two girls.

  A deadly secret. A dark obsession. A terrifying killer.

  The second gripping DI Tom Blake novel, out now on Amazon

  A LETTER FROM J.F.BURGESS

  First of all, huge thanks for reading THE MISSING AND THE DEAD. I really enjoyed writing about Tom Blake and his team and hope you enjoyed spending time with them.

  If you did enjoy THE MISSING AND THE DEAD, I would be extremely grateful if you would leave a review on Amazon, because it can help other readers discover one of my books for the first time. And I’d love to hear what you think, of course.

  Thank you to all those readers who have contacted me through email or chatted on Facebook and Twitter: your words of encouragement and support have been amazing, and I’m eternally grateful.

  I’m passionate about building a relationship with my readers. With this in mind, you can join my readers’ newsletter from my website: www.jfburgess.co.uk , or join me and other readers for a chat on Facebook @CrimeWriterBurgess and Twitter @burgess1012.

  Best wishes, Jon

  ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

  First of all, I’d like to thank my wife, Rachel, and my mum for their love and support. I’d also like to thank my editor, CJ Harter, for all her hard work, brilliant insights, and advice on making my writing compelling. www.cjharterbooks.co.uk.

  Special thanks to my beta readers, Alyson Read, Audrey Gibson and Mark Fern. You unselfishly gave your time to read my first draft of this book and you provided excellent feedback to make it much stronger.

  Lastly, huge thanks to all my readers for buying my books. I really couldn’t do this without you.