Dead Man's Lane

by Kate Ellis

  ‘She’s not my—’ Wesley began before he thought better of it. There was no time to argue the niceties. He just wanted to know Grace was safe. Joe Hamer had sworn he had no idea where she was and Wesley had been inclined to believe him., Or perhaps he just didn’t want to think of her falling prey to the man who might have been responsible, either on his own or jointly, for the Temples murders. As her phone was switched off he’d asked the tech people to trace her last position.

  ‘Hamer’s been waiting downstairs long enough. Want to sit in on the interview?’

  ‘I’d love to,’ said Gerry, rubbing his hands in anticipation. Wesley found himself wishing he hadn’t suggested it, but it was too late now.

  As Hamer sat opposite them, he seemed to have regained his confidence. Back at Strangefields Farm Wesley had sensed a vulnerability but now the air of co-operation had vanished. It would be up to Wesley to bring it back.

  ‘What would you like to be called?’ Wesley asked. ‘Jonathan, Jonny or Joe?’

  ‘Joe will do. That’s what I’ve been calling myself for years and I’ve kind of got used to it.’

  ‘We still can’t contact Grace Compton. Have you any idea where she is?’

  ‘I’ve told you, no. I wish I had.’

  ‘When I showed you those photographs you seemed to recognise one of them.’

  The suspect had been fidgeting with an empty plastic cup that had once contained tea, but he suddenly stopped and looked up at Wesley. ‘I was mistaken.’

  Wesley produced the photograph again and waited while the man studied it carefully.

  ‘There’s something familiar about her,’ Hamer said after what seemed like an age. ‘But she’s different. I can’t put my finger on it.’

  ‘Who does she remind you of?’

  Hamer sighed and said a name. ‘But it can’t be her, can it? Anyway, this woman’s a lot better-looking.’

  ‘Tell me what you remember about her.’

  ‘Temples never painted her in the nude, although she was more than up for it. Like I said before, he was particular. Only the prettiest got the nude treatment and only the most stunning became his “special girls”.’ He sat back in his seat and folded his arms. ‘She used to follow Jack around like a little dog. Then when he told her to get lost she started disturbing me while I was painting and I had to be quite brutal.’ He was smirking, as though he was beginning to enjoy the situation and Wesley caught a glimpse of the student who’d tormented Bert Cummings.

  ‘How brutal?’ It was the first time Gerry had spoken and Joe looked at him as though he was an interesting, albeit unpleasant, specimen he’d just viewed under a microscope.

  ‘Not in the way you’re thinking of. She came to my studio and I threw her out. Told her to stop bothering me.’

  ‘And Temples?’

  ‘He told her bluntly that she wasn’t good-looking enough to model for him in the nude even though she’d offered to do anything he wanted, if you get my meaning. But she still hung round – wouldn’t take no for an answer.’

  ‘So you killed her to get rid of her.’

  ‘Why would I do that? She was just a sad, pathetic teenager with a crush. I presumed Jack had snapped and killed her like the others.’ There was a moment of hesitation. ‘This is going to sound ridiculous but I thought I saw her in Tradmouth a couple of weeks ago. Gave me a jolt.’

  ‘The woman in the picture we showed you?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘You said she looked different. Why did you think it was her?’

  ‘Something about her was familiar and then I noticed she had this mark on her hand – a birthmark the shape of a heart. It was quite distinctive. Still, it couldn’t have been her, could it?’

  Wesley and Gerry leaned forward.

  ‘I thought I saw the same woman yesterday as well.’

  ‘Where?’

  ‘On Dead Man’s Lane – near that derelict cottage. I’m interested in acquiring the place but I haven’t been able to find out who owns it. I was in the car and I only caught a glimpse of her.’

  ‘You didn’t stop?’

  Hamer shook his head. ‘Even if it had been her that was a time of my life I’d rather forget. Besides, I was sure I was mistaken. I must have been. If I’d said anything I’d only have made a fool of myself.’

  Wesley wondered whether Hamer was trying to muddy the waters to deflect attention from his own possible guilt.

  For the benefit of the tape, he announced he was leaving the room. He needed time to think. And he needed to find out whether the tech people had managed to trace Grace’s phone.

  57

  It was almost six o’clock when Roberta asked to see Wesley, which was all he needed. They only had a limited time left to charge or release Joe Hamer but Gerry had agreed to let him stew for the time being while they contemplated their next move.

  Wesley wandered into Gerry’s office, hands in pockets, looking as despondent as he felt. Maritia had just called to see whether there was news of Grace and having to give her a negative answer had made him feel worse.

  ‘The tech people say Grace’s phone was in the Dead Man’s Lane area when it was turned off earlier.’

  Gerry looked at him enquiringly. ‘Think Joe Hamer’s keeping her somewhere?’ He didn’t say what he was really thinking – that she could be dead; murdered like Dale Keyes. She’d been with Keyes for the past few days so he’d presumably shared his secrets with her, if he had any. Up till now no connection had been found between Hamer and Keyes apart from their respective work in London, but he’d called the Met and they’d promised to dig deeper. If there was a link they’d find it.

  ‘I don’t know. We’ll have another go at him later.’ He slumped down in a chair and put his head in his hands.

  ‘Once you’ve had a chance to calm down. It’s not like you to let your emotions get in the way, Wes.’

  ‘I’ve known Grace for years so of course I’m worried about her,’ he said quickly. ‘Roberta wants to see me. She says she’s got some important information.’

  ‘Off you go then. It’ll take your mind off Grace. I’ve got to go and bring the press office up to date with the latest developments. They’re saying it’s like a siege in there with all the calls coming in.’

  Ten minutes later Wesley and Rachel were sitting opposite Roberta in one of the interview rooms. Roberta didn’t look like a woman who’d just been charged with theft and was under suspicion of murder. Instead she appeared completely relaxed and pleased with herself, almost smug.

  ‘I have information but I want something in return.’

  ‘What’s that?’

  ‘I want you to put in a word for me – say I’ve been very co-operative.’

  ‘What about Stag?’

  She shrugged. ‘He’s got nothing to bargain with. He didn’t go to my old school.’

  ‘Fulton Grange?’

  ‘How did you know?’

  ‘A photographer recognised you from when you played a leading role in The Tempest.’

  ‘Hell, that was a lifetime ago. The place is now defunct, thank God. Abandon all hope ye who enter here.’

  There was an intensity in Roberta’s words that surprised Wesley. Fulton Grange had kept cropping up in this investigation from the beginning. The school where Bert Cummings had once taught maths had also been the alma mater of Jonathan Kilin, alias Joe Hamer, Jackson Temples and Gemma Pollinger, and now he had another former pupil sitting there in front of him.

  ‘I can’t promise anything until I hear what you have to say.’ He tried to sound casual even though he was longing to lean across the table and shake the information out of her.

  ‘Very well. I saw a girl I recognised from school. Why would that be of interest, I hear you ask. Well normally it wouldn’t, of course, only this girl happens to be dead.’

  ‘What’s her name?’

  ‘Gemma Pollinger. It was the talk of the dorm at school – I was a boarder at Fulton Grange.’ She gave a mirthless grin
. ‘Made me the woman I am today.’

  Wesley drew in his breath. He hadn’t been sure whether to believe Hamer’s claim that he’d seen a woman who reminded him of Gemma Pollinger but now there was a possibility he hadn’t been lying.

  ‘You’re sure it was her?’

  ‘I wasn’t at first. She’s improved a hell of a lot since I last saw her.’

  ‘Why are you certain it was her that you saw?’

  ‘When I first noticed her I couldn’t place her. There was just something vaguely familiar about her walk … and her eyes. Then I spotted the birthmark on her hand and I knew exactly who it was. It was in the shape of a heart – just like Gemma’s. Boy, had she changed. It’s amazing what cosmetic surgery can do. But there are some things you can’t change, aren’t there?’

  ‘You knew her well at school?’

  ‘Not that well. She was a few years older than me and she left school at sixteen to take some boring job but I knew her because she was in the hockey team; changing rooms are intimate places.’ She grinned. ‘Everyone gossiped about her going to that artist’s place – the one who murdered those girls – which was surprising because she was such a plain little mouse; not so little actually; she was quite tall. She was the last girl you’d imagine would get involved with something like that: bondage and weird sex so I heard.’ She chuckled at the thought and shook her head. ‘She must have been desperate for attention, poor cow.’

  ‘What else do you remember about her?’

  ‘She always tried to hang around with the best-looking girls, which was her big mistake because they just used her to show up how good they looked: plain friend syndrome. I don’t think she knew how they used to laugh at her behind her back.’

  ‘Kids can be very nasty.’

  ‘There was a lot of bullying at Fulton Grange. You had to be queen bee or you went under.’

  There was bitterness in her voice and Wesley wondered whether she’d been a victim of bullying herself – until she’d learned to cover her insecurities with an impenetrable shell. At that moment she placed her elbows on the table and her sleeve slipped back to reveal a fine tracery of scars around her wrists, like snail trails on the pale flesh.

  ‘If you were at Fulton Grange you must have known Bert Cummings. Did he recognise you when you called on him?’

  She sat back in her chair, looking pleased with herself. ‘He did but I bluffed it out. I told him I was working for Social Services and he said he was pleased I’d become a useful member of society.’ She grinned. ‘I thought it was quite funny. Of course after that I had to give up the idea of robbing him. Far too risky.’

  ‘Did you kill him?’

  Her smirk turned into a laugh. ‘Do me a favour. I’m not a murderer and neither is Stag. Why would I? He honestly thought I’d turned into Mary Poppins.’

  ‘You must have been very surprised to see Gemma.’

  ‘That’s an understatement.’

  Wesley leaned forward. ‘Where did you see her? What was she doing?’

  When Roberta told him, he looked at Rachel and saw her mouth had fallen open in shock.

  ‘We need to have another word with Joe Hamer,’ he said to her once they were outside in the corridor.

  From the second diary of

  Lemuel Strange, gentleman

  17th April 1685

  Frances raised no hand to save her husband and she has said nothing of the matter since that day.

  It is a sennight now since it was done. I confess I acted in anger when I permitted the desecration of my cousin’s corpse, just as the mortal remains of those two innocents had suffered that same terrible mutilation.

  The townsfolk, led by Bess’s brothers, performed the dreadful rites for they reasoned that Reuben was an evil soul who would return from hell to do harm to those who had meted out justice to him. I prayed nobody would inform the constable but I had no need to fear since it seemed all were agreed to keep silent upon the matter. For who can kill a dead man?

  Reuben Strange is now truly gone from this earth. And he can never return.

  58

  By the time they set out for Strangefields Farm again it was threatening rain. Because Gerry couldn’t be found Wesley asked Rachel to go with him, unsure whether he should take back-up as well. If his suspicions were correct the person he was looking for was dangerous.

  Hamer said that he’d spotted her on Dead Man’s Lane the previous day but he was sure she hadn’t seen him. When Wesley told him he might not have been mistaken he seemed shaken, and puzzled as to how she’d accomplished her convincing vanishing act.

  The rain clouds had dispersed and the evening sun was emerging from behind the clouds as Rachel brought the car to a halt on Dead Man’s Lane beside the signpost. The hanging man shadow was there again and it seemed almost like an omen. As he got out of the passenger seat, he pointed it out to Rachel who muttered the word ‘spooky’ before taking a photograph of the phenomenon with her phone.

  ‘How long’s the cottage been empty?’ he asked Rachel, hoping her encyclopaedic knowledge of local matters would provide the answer.

  ‘For as long as I can remember. Word has it that it used to belong to an elderly couple who died and there was some legal wrangle about ownership. But I don’t know how true that is.’ She paused. ‘Can you hear something?’

  Wesley stood still and listened. He could hear birdsong and the distant buzz of a power tool, possibly the builders working overtime at the house. Everything seemed normal, until he heard the sound of glass smashing followed by a faint tinkling as it fell to the ground. Then he heard a muffled shout; a woman’s voice calling for help. Rachel had heard it too. She grabbed his arm and pointed to the cottage.

  Wesley began to run towards the sound, his heart beating fast. After what Hamer and Roberta had just told him all their assumptions about the case had been turned upside down.

  They could hear the voice more clearly once they reached the front door – a frantic, muffled shout from somewhere upstairs. And Wesley spotted a car parked behind the house, half hidden by thick greenery: Grace’s car. He tried to shoulder-barge the door but it held fast.

  He turned to Rachel. ‘Neil’s team’s been working near the gates. They might have packed up by now but go and see if they’ve left a mattock lying around.’

  Rachel shot off in the direction of the lane while Wesley circled the cottage, calling out to reassure Grace that help was at hand.

  He found the broken window at the rear of the cottage, facing away from the road and overlooking lonely fields. There were battens fixed to the inside of the window so he couldn’t see Grace but he could hear her through the small section of glass she’d managed to break. When he shouted up to her she called his name and he heard relief in her voice – mingled with terror.

  After what seemed like an age he was surprised to see Neil appear, running ahead of Rachel with a mattock in his hands. A few of the team were working late while the rain held off, he explained breathlessly, trying to lift the latest skeleton they’d found before nightfall. At Wesley’s signal he swung the mattock at the rickety back door and after a few blows the door panel gave way. Wesley reached inside to draw back the bolt which felt frustratingly stiff, as though it hadn’t been used for a long time. He struggled with it for a while until Neil took over.

  When the door finally burst open the three of them stumbled into the kitchen. The windows were boarded up so the house was dark but in the meagre light trickling between the slats Wesley could make out long-abandoned furniture, coated in a fur of dust and grime. He climbed the stairs, hardly aware of Rachel and Neil behind him, and when he reached the door of the room where Grace was imprisoned, he found it locked with no key in sight.

  Neil still had his mattock and before Wesley could say anything he’d put a hole in the door, striking it again and again until there was enough room for Wesley to squeeze through.

  The first thing he saw was Grace standing unsteadily near the window with tears streaming
down her face and he instinctively rushed over and took her in his arms. The self-confident Grace had vanished and she was once again the shy fifteen-year-old girl he’d felt so much for. He held her close while she sobbed out her relief.

  ‘He’s going to kill me,’ she whispered.

  ‘Who?’

  ‘I don’t know. I haven’t seen him. He lured me here with a text from Dale’s phone and left a bottle of wine, which must have been drugged. When I came round I was tied up and I don’t know what he’s planning to do.’

  Wesley reached for his phone. They definitely needed back-up.

  But as soon as Wesley had made the call he heard the sound of a car coming to a halt on the drive outside. A few seconds after the engine died there was a noise downstairs: the click of a key in a lock. Since the front door was still intact Wesley hoped Grace’s captor wouldn’t realise she wasn’t alone. The element of surprise would give them the advantage. He put his finger to his lips and the others got the message. All eyes were focused on the broken door and it seemed an age before a shadow appeared at the top of the stairs and they heard someone swearing under their breath.

  ‘What have you done, bitch?’ the newcomer shouted as she pushed the door open.

  ‘Jen.’ Rachel had gasped the name before she could stop herself.

  ‘Gemma,’ Wesley corrected. ‘Gemma Pollinger, you’re under arrest – the false imprisonment of Grace Compton will do for starters.’

  Ignoring Wesley, the woman stepped further into the room, tense like a cat preparing to spring. Her face was twisted with hatred as Grace edged closer to Wesley for protection. He felt in his pocket for his handcuffs, knowing the back-up would take time to arrive. He could see something dangling from Gemma’s hand – a rope. If they hadn’t arrived in time Grace would have met the same fate as Linda Payne.

  Suddenly Gemma dropped the rope and pulled something from her coat pocket. The light was dim so it took Wesley a second or so to realise it was a pointed knife with a serrated edge down one side: the very weapon Colin Bowman had described.