Grave Affairs

by Maureen Carter

  Bev clocked the photograph on top of a dresser. It showed the baby gazing up at an adoring Rachel. The pink babygro had big lettering across the chest: I ♥ Mummy.

  The words sent a shiver down Bev’s spine. Had they snatched Daisy not just to punish Rayne, but as some sort of replacement for Chloe? So why had their last message said they were letting her go because she wanted to be with her mum? None of it made sense, and it seemed to Bev that until the Howards showed their hand, the cops were pissing in a gale force ten.

  Blowing her cheeks out on a sigh, she replaced the photograph. The movement of air set the mobile swaying; silver stars twirled and glistened in the shaft of light. With a wry smile she watched for a few seconds before turning to leave. It was then that a brighter cluster of sparkles caught her eye. She turned back, took a closer look, didn’t even hear Mac come in the room.

  ‘The gaffer’s not convinced, boss.’

  ‘He is now.’ She tilted her head at the mobile. ‘Tempest didn’t kill Lucy, Mac.’

  And he certainly didn’t steal her rings.

  54

  Powell sanctioned a full forensic sweep of the Howards’ property. He also had half a dozen officers staking out the house on the off-chance the wanderers returned. Bev seriously doubted it, couldn’t get the words of that last message out of her head.

  It’ll end soon. I’m letting her go.

  She slung an empty Red Bull can into a waste bin. She could be wrong, but she saw burned bridges, no turning back. Singly or together, the Howards had killed Lucy, kidnapped Daisy, and for weeks now toyed mercilessly with Nathan Rayne. Bev hoped to God the game would soon be over. Problem was, the main players – including Rayne – weren’t around – and no one knew for sure what their next moves would be.

  Bev glanced at her watch. Eight fifteen. Mind, the late brief hadn’t kicked off until half seven. Even now, Powell seemed reluctant to wrap it up. Perched on his customary desk at the front, he looked dead beat, if not beaten – and that didn’t include the fading facial bruises. She almost felt sorry for him. The case had nothing normal going for it. No precedent, no blueprint. The squad’s hopes were pinned on the operation at Green Lodge.

  Ten detectives were already out there; others, including Bev and Mac, would head out in an hour or so. She glanced round, tried catching Mac’s eye but he’d just picked up a call.

  She prayed tonight’s exercise would work. But Rayne wasn’t the only person the Howards had suckered. The evidence planted at Brian Tempest’s pad had fooled Powell. It was finding Lucy’s rings that finally convinced him. He’d recalled Lucy’s death pose staring sightlessly up at the night sky; reckoned the Howards’ twisted thinking might have led them to position the rings where Daisy could see them. Either way it was proof positive that after attempts to frame Rayne had failed they turned their evil eye on Tempest. Poor bloody sod. His last act sure put a whole new spin on fall guy.

  And if Bev was laying bets, her cash would go on Rachel masterminding the stitch-up. It was odds-on favourite she’d run into Tempest on her daily jogs. She’d certainly been there when he attacked Cathy Gates. Bev had asked Dazza to track down the TV crew that had been sniffing round that day. The unused footage caught Rachel out in a lie. She claimed that since Tempest attacked her, she’d never set foot in the park. Yeah, right. She was in there bold as brass with the rest of the gawpers.

  Bev wondered if the recognition between Rachel and Tempest had been instant? His dying words suggested it had, and made more sense now. Ask Rayne about the kid.

  She balled a fist. Too bloody right she would. When the egotistical idiot showed up again. Tempest had probably seen Rachel and Rayne knocking about together years back – when Rayne had knocked her up. No wonder Rachel had been desperate not to come face to face with Tempest that day at the nick.

  Bev curled a lip, murmured. ‘Cunning bitch.’

  ‘What’s that, Morriss?’

  ‘Nothing, gaffer. Sorry.’ She reckoned the main reason Rachel was so keen to see Tempest banged up was that a collar would take the heat off her precious son. Or her old man. Because whichever way Bev looked at it, she couldn’t picture Rachel wielding the blade.

  Powell sighed, wandered over to the whiteboard. ‘’Course, it might help if we knew which one of the bastards is the killer.’ He ran his gaze over recently-displayed photographs of the three Howards. Along with an APB, the pics had been circulated to every cop shop in the country; railway stations, ports, airports were on alert.

  Priority was to get Daisy out of their clutches while she was still alive.

  ‘Gaffer.’ Mac held the phone aloft. ‘One of the forensic guys at the house wants a word. They’ve found a body.’

  55

  As Powell took the call, Bev tried reading his face. The one-sided conversation wasn’t much help.

  ‘How?’

  ‘Where exactly?’

  ‘Any idea how long?’

  ‘Path man on his way?’

  Bev’s palms were wet enough to wring. Tell me it’s not Daisy. Tell me it’s not Daisy. Tell me it’s not Dais—

  Mouth tight, Powell dropped the phone in its cradle, wandered back to the front. ‘Well, at least we know who’s not the murdering bastard.’ Forensics had found Greg Howard’s body stuffed in a bin liner concealed in the roof space.

  Bev let out a breath she knew she’d been holding. ‘Thank God for that.’

  ‘I’m sure Greg’ll be equally chuffed, Morriss.’ Powell rolled his eyes, but knew what she meant. ‘They reckon he’d only been dead a couple hours.’

  That figured. In this heat, decomposition wouldn’t take long. There’d been no stink in the house and with a nose fine-tuned for rotting flesh Bev would certainly have sniffed it out. It meant they’d probably missed the perps by a whisker. Close, but no cigar.

  ‘Any idea how he died?’ she asked.

  ‘He was curled in the foetal position so they couldn’t see much. No blood or obvious wounds anyway. S’pose he could’ve been drugged, then smothered. Easy enough to do, isn’t it?’

  Bev turned her mouth down. Glad he’d not aimed the question at her. Greg’s body turning up so unceremoniously had answered one, though.

  The murder and kidnap were mother and stepson’s baby. Whether the partnership went beyond the criminal, and how far it extended, was anyone’s guess. But Greg Howard had clearly been surplus to requirements. The house was now a dead end and Bev couldn’t see the perps going back; the image in her mind’s eye was another bridge going up in flames.

  Bev was heading out of the nick, about to hook up with Mac, when her ringtone sounded. After glancing at caller display, she almost didn’t answer. ‘What do you want? I’m really up against it here.’

  ‘Bev, I think you should know … I can’t reach Nathan, and a man … a man.’

  ‘Calm down, Frankie. Count to five.’ Bev took the back stairs two at a time. ‘OK, a man what?’

  ‘Rang Stella about fifteen minutes ago. Said Daisy was crying; wanted to see her to say goodbye.’

  ‘When?’

  ‘About fifteen—’

  ‘Not that.’ Fuck’s sake, woman. ‘Did he say when Daisy wants to say goodbye?’

  ‘He told Stella she’d be going to sleep any time now.’

  Bev shouldered the door open, glanced up at the darkening sky. ‘Put Stella on the line now.’

  ‘I can’t, Bev. I had to call an ambulance. I think she’s had a stroke.’

  She clocked Mac in the driving seat, pointedly tapping his watch. ‘Frankie, think carefully. Can you remember exactly what Stella said when she came off the phone? Word for word.’

  ‘I’ve told you. Daisy was crying and wanted to—’

  ‘Definitely Daisy – he didn’t just say granddaughter?’

  ‘Well, yes actually, he did. I thought it was strange, but—’

  Bev ran to the car, spitting it out before she’d slammed the door. ‘Hit the gas, Mac. He’s called Stella. Nothing’ll kick off a
t Green Lodge. We’re in the wrong sodding place.’

  ‘Who has?’ Turning the ignition. ‘Come on, boss, I’m not with you.’

  ‘Make for Saint Anne’s. Now.’ He put his foot down as she called Powell’s mobile. ‘Shit, shit, shit. He’s not picking up, Mac.’

  ‘Like to tell me what’s going on?’ Amber street lights cast on-off shadows over his face as she filled him in. Mac’s clenched jaw as much as their speed told her he was on the same hymn sheet now.

  Stella Rayne had two granddaughters – and Daisy wasn’t old enough to tell her granny anything.

  Mac tightened his grip on the wheel. ‘They want to see her grovel at Chloe’s grave, don’t they?’

  ‘And the rest.’ She narrowed her eyes. ‘But why?’ Why Stella? Why not absent feckless father, Rayne?

  ‘’Cause she refused to acknowledge the girl?’ Mac mooted. ‘She must’ve known Rayne had another kid. Strikes me Stella’s always done everything to make life easier for her precious son.’

  Went without saying, but it wasn’t what Bev had in mind. It took another few seconds for the thought to dawn. ‘Christ, Mac, I bet he called them both.’ ’Course he had. There was no way the Howards would let Rayne miss the party. Had they invited him first, given him more warning than his mother?

  Tight-lipped, he nodded. ‘Try the gaffer again, boss.’

  ‘Damn right.’ Powell, sixteen officers, a trained negotiator plus paramedics were currently concealed in strategic positions round Lucy’s grave at Green Lodge. And they were all at the wrong farewell do.

  ‘Nothing.’ She slung the phone on the dash. ‘He must have it switched off, Mac.’

  ‘We’ll be there in five minutes, boss. How do you want to play it?’

  Think, woman, think. Thank God the graveyard at Saint Anne’s was on a smaller scale than the cemetery, built to service a rural village, not the urban sprawl Moseley had become. She pictured the layout in her head: the slight rise the church lay on, the gravestones bordering it on three sides; the odd angel and stone cross dotted round, seven or eight ancient yews and the high boundary hedge. Not much cover – but that worked both ways. Plus the grounds weren’t lit and scudding clouds obscured the moonlight.

  ‘We need to get close to the new plots, Mac. That’s where they’ll be.’ Pray they had a head start and the element of surprise.

  She glanced at her watch: eight minutes since Frankie’s call, twenty-three since Tom Howard spoke to Stella. She had a damn good idea what ‘the baby’s going to sleep’ meant, but: ‘What the hell does “any time soon” mean, Mac?’

  ‘Your guess is as good as mine, sarge.’ No time for guesswork. The next left led into Saint Anne’s Road. ‘Give Powell another bell.’

  She’d already pressed redial. No longer surprised when it went to voicemail. Last thing the gaffer needed during a covert operation was a phone blaring out. ‘Reckon I should leave a message?’

  ‘I shouldn’t bother. Look. It’s in the lap of the gods now.’

  As they passed the church she swivelled in her seat, caught glimpses of the welcome party in full swing.

  Mac pulled the motor over fifty or so metres down the road. Bev had her hand on the door. ‘Happy?’

  Their on-the-hoof tactics centred on divide and – hopefully – stand.

  ‘As I’ll ever be.’

  He’d suggested ringing for backup. But it was a tough call. Detailed explanation would eat up precious seconds. Better to try and take a closer look. Play it by ear. Softly, softly …

  ‘Phone off, Mac?’

  Once inside the grounds they split, approached from different sides of the church. Noises from Moseley’s main drag drifted in the still air: conversation, laughter, snatches of music. Bev hoped it’d provide auditory cover – Mac wasn’t the quietest cop on his feet.

  Keeping in the shadows, she inched her way along the church wall, snatched a quick peek. The perps were still on the far side of the churchyard. Rayne had dropped to his knees, hands held as if in prayer. In the growing gloom, she mistook a fourth shadowy outline for an unknown accomplice. Blew a mental sigh of relief when she realized it was only a statue. Even at this distance, she still hadn’t spotted the baby. If by some miracle the Howards hadn’t brought her, Bev would feel a lot happier about wading in if and when push came to shove.

  She peeped round the brickwork again. Playing out in shades of grey, the dumb show now had a sound track of murmured voices, menacing sneers. Straining her ears, she could just about hear Tom Howard’s voice.

  ‘We’ve waited long enough for Granny. What do you think?’

  ‘Please, tell me where Daisy is.’ Rayne’s plea drowned out Rachel’s reply. ‘You can have whatever you want.’

  ‘What I want is for you to shut the fuck up. Savvy?’ He lashed out with a kick that almost toppled Rayne. Bev drew back out of sight but not before registering that Rayne’s wrists were tied.

  Tell me where Daisy is. Bev frowned. Where’d they left the baby, then? Surely someone was looking after her?

  ‘You promised Daisy would be here.’

  ‘Wrong. I promised your daughter would be here. And Rachel and I reckon it’s about time you and Chloe got to know each other. Not live-on-top-of-each-other close or anything, but alongside would be kind of nice.’

  Alongside? Bev’s thoughts raced, her blood ran cold. She risked another peek. Saw it now: two spades and an open grave. They were going to bury him, possibly alive. Surely to God, it had to be a bluff?

  ‘Whatever you do, can I see Daisy? At least know she’s safe?’

  ‘No worries, Nathan.’ Rachel’s voice was softer but Bev got the message. ‘She’s not far away.’

  ‘Silly girl decided she wanted to be with Daddy after all.’ Tom Howard casually toed a clod of earth into the gaping black hole.

  A chill ran down Bev’s spine. No matter how long she lived, she knew she’d never forget Rayne’s anguished wail. Or the muffled cry from the grave.

  56

  Softly, softly? Sod that for a game of soldiers. She’d played it by ear. Instinct? Training? Humanity kicked in. Just as Tom Howard must’ve lashed out again. This time the kick connected with bone. Bev heard a sickening crunch. And another cry from Daisy.

  She poked her head round, and in her peripheral vision caught Mac doing the same at the other side of the church. She gestured him to stay out of sight, then showed herself.

  ‘Hold it right there.’

  A spade now suspended in a two-handed grip over her head, Rachel froze. Tom Howard spun on his heels, an ugly scowl creasing his face. Rayne had fallen awkwardly to the side, head and shoulders poised over the gaping hole. Given the zero reaction, she presumed he’d passed out. Christ, it’d only take one shove and he’d be in there with Daisy. Forcing the air from her tiny lungs?

  Howard’s scowl morphed into a fake fulsome smile. ‘Welcome to the party, sergeant. Or should we say ‘bash’? What do you think, Rach?’

  ‘I rather like bash, Tommy.’ She brought the spade down on Rayne’s ribs. Bev hoped to God the guy had only lost consciousness.

  Struggling to keep her voice steady, she prayed they wouldn’t notice her knees. ‘I thought you lot preferred blades? Specially you, Rachel. Enjoy sticking the knife in Lucy, did you?’

  ‘Leave her out of this,’ Howard snarled.

  ‘Out of it? She’s in it up to her neck.’ Bev’s heart missed a beat when she caught a Mac-shaped shadow creep along the hedge. She’d told him to stay back. What the hell was he doing? Raising her voice, she took a step forward. ‘Oh, no, wait a minute, Tommy. I suppose Mummy got you to do her dirty work? Bet she told you to snatch the baby as well. So you could play Happy Families for a change?’

  ‘Always talk through your arse, sergeant?’

  ‘Always do what Mummy tells you?’

  ‘She’s not my mummy, dickhead. And she didn’t have to ask.’

  ‘All down to you then, mastermind?’

  ‘I see your little game
, sergeant,’ Howard snorted. ‘You’re angling for a deathbed confession.’

  As long as he couldn’t see what Mac was doing … ‘All the same to me, love. You and her will be going down so far, you’re gonna need diving gear.’ Mind, Bev could only just make Mac out now. Unless she was seeing things, he was on his haunches behind the angel.

  ‘Only one loser’s going down around here.’ He took a step closer to Rayne. ‘He wants to see his screaming brat, doesn’t he?’

  Bev’s glance darted between the perps. Which of them should she go for? She could definitely take on Howard but Rachel still had the spade in her hands. More jaw-jaw.

  ‘For Christ’s sake, what’s the point? The place is surrounded.’

  ‘Yeah, ’course it is. Just not this place.’ Squatting at Rayne’s side, he held Bev’s gaze. ‘Not that it’ll do you any good – but you’re right on both counts. I killed his wife—’

  ‘Tommy, don’t, darling.’

  ‘Still protecting him, are we?’

  ‘And snatched his snivelling kid. So there’s your confession.’ Howard grabbed hold of Rayne’s legs. ‘Only it’s not my deathbed.’

  Bev had to get there first, had to stop him. If Rayne landed on Daisy …

  Heart pounding chest, she took off, then froze, couldn’t believe her eyes. As if in slow motion, the angel began to move. The momentum built when Mac gave it a final almighty shove.

  Rachel screamed, ‘Tommy, look out.’

  Howard didn’t know what hit him. With a sickening thud, the angel crashed face down across his nape. Lucky he fell forward, or it could’ve been the kiss of death.

  57

  Smiling, Bev dropped a peck on Daisy’s head, passed her back to Frankie. ‘You’re doing a grand job, mate.’

  ‘Yeah, but I’d best not get too enamoured, her dad’ll be home soon.’

  Nathan Rayne was in hospital nursing a fractured skull and broken ribs. Stella was in for the long haul. It was doubtful she’d ever recover completely from the stroke. Nearly a week now and she still hadn’t uttered a meaningful word. Nothing new there then, Bev thought. The Fosters hadn’t felt able to take Daisy in, so it was a good job Frankie took her godmother duties to heart. Must be all that Italian blood.