by Sally Rigby
‘He needs your approval. Whether he’s using his position on your team as a stepping-stone or not, he still needs to be utilised. You’re his boss and he will be depending on you to give him a good reference if he wants to progress in the force. You’re in the driving seat here.’
‘I imagine he’ll be going for inspector soon, once he’s taken his exams. Hopefully then he’ll move on to some other force. What I don’t want is for him to suddenly be promoted to a higher position than me.’
‘It’s pointless worrying about something so far in the future. Concentrate on continuing to establish a good working relationship between the two of you instead, it will be a much more profitable use of your time.’
‘Yes, oh wise one,’ Whitney said, grinning in her direction.
‘It’s easier being an outsider looking on as it makes one more objective.’
‘True,’ Whitney said, nodding her head in agreement. ‘Here we are. Park outside.’
They knocked on the door and Mrs Kennedy answered.
‘Thank you for seeing us again,’ Whitney said.
‘We want to help any way we can,’ she said as she ushered them into the sitting-room where Mr Kennedy was already seated.
‘Have you heard from the coroner yet?’ Whitney asked.
‘They’re returning Jayne to us in a few days. We’re planning to hold her funeral in the new year, so as many of the family as possible can attend. There’s a lot to do, and it isn’t easy with Christmas being just around the corner.’
‘We’re here because we’ve spoken to the officer who ran the original investigation and who believed the girls had run away. At the time, were you told why they were so insistent on recording the girls as runaways?’
‘No. We didn’t see them very much after we initially reported the girls as missing and they came to the house to speak to us. Whenever we wanted to know anything it was down to us to contact them. We were never updated on their enquiries.’ Whitney glanced at George and shook her head.
‘The officer we spoke to, who has since retired, said that the girls had run away in the past, and that’s why he assumed they’d done so again.’
Mrs Kennedy’s eyes narrowed. ‘I don’t know where they got that idea from. Certainly not from us. Jayne had never run away before. Never.’
‘Is it possible that Jayne and Anita had decided to run away before but changed their minds before you’d even realised? Someone who knew about that could have informed the police,’ Whitney said.
‘I suppose so, but that’s unlikely. They did play truant from school and we were called in to see the headmistress about it several times, but … where did he get the idea the girls had run away in the past? You should ask him.’ Her eyes filled with tears and she pulled out a tissue from her sleeve and dabbed them away.
‘We did, but unfortunately there’s no record of who informed him and he doesn’t remember. Could Anita have run away in the past and the officers assumed it was both of them?’ Whitney asked, the lines around her eyes tight as if she was trying to hold back from blurting out about the utter incompetence of the CID back then.
‘I suppose so, but you’ll have to speak to Anita’s parents.’
‘Unfortunately, Mrs Bailey is away until after Christmas. But we will ask her when she’s back.’
‘I don’t understand why they would have said that,’ Mr Kennedy said, speaking for the first time. ‘They knew we were putting up all the posters and we didn’t think they’d run away. Surely, they would have said something to us then.’
‘Did you ask for any help from the police regarding the posters and all the publicity?’ Whitney asked.
‘Yes, I phoned and spoke to an officer, I can’t remember his name, but he said the police couldn’t help because they were busy with other cases. It was like they couldn’t care less about Jayne.’
‘Do you remember whether you spoke to Inspector Payne at all during the investigation?’
‘The name does ring a bell,’ Mr Kennedy said, nodding. ‘Do you remember?’ he asked his wife.
‘I think we might have spoken to him,’ she agreed. ‘But I can’t be sure.’
‘Thank you for seeing us, we won’t take up any more of your time. We’ll let you know how we get on.’
‘Yes, please do,’ Mrs Kennedy said, tears returning to her eyes which she blinked away. ‘This might sound strange but you finding Jayne has helped us, because always at the back of our minds we wondered where she was and why she hadn’t been in touch with us. We even thought she might have had an accident and lost her memory. We wondered if she had a family of her own. All those questions go around and around in your head but are impossible to answer. But now we know the entire time she’d been buried somewhere close.’
‘I understand exactly what you mean,’ Whitney said.
‘If only you’d been in charge at the time Jayne went missing, things might have turned out differently.’ She let out a sob, and Mr Kennedy put his arm around her.
‘Come on, Nancy. We can’t change what’s happened, but at least we have answers.’
‘Yes,’ she said sniffing.
‘We’ll see ourselves out and as soon as we have any information, we’ll make sure to tell you,’ Whitney said.
Mr Kennedy nodded in their direction as they left the room and headed back outside.
‘This is puzzling,’ George said as they climbed into the car.
‘Yes, the plot thickens. It’s looking as though the girls being runaways in the past was a fabrication, unless the other parent can confirm it.’
‘Is there any way you can get in touch with Mrs Bailey?’ George asked.
‘According to Frank, she’s away until after Christmas but we might be able to trace her mobile number and call her that way. I’ll get on to that when we get back to the station, after we’ve been to the farm.’
Chapter 26
George declined to take Whitney’s shortcut to the farm when she’d suggested it, saying it would be too muddy. Whitney didn’t insist as she had initially done with Brian as she didn’t want to be the cause of the new car getting wrecked, especially if they ended up going over lots of potholes.
When they arrived, George parked outside the farmhouse behind an old Land Rover and they went to the front door and knocked. There was no reply and Whitney knocked again just as an old man answered.
‘Hello, I’m Detective Chief Inspector Walker and this is Dr Cavendish, is Mr Gibson in?’
‘That’s me.’
Whitney frowned. ‘It’s your son we’d like to speak to,’ she said, remembering that he’d mentioned his father living with them.
‘He’s on the farm somewhere. Come inside and I’ll see if I can contact him on the radio,’ the old man offered.
‘Thanks. We’re happy to wait.’
He opened the door fully and led them through into the large kitchen where they sat down at the table. He picked up a walkie-talkie and radioed to his son.
‘Hello, Tony. The police are here to speak to you.’
‘I’ll be at least twenty minutes. I’ve got a problem with a fence which needs urgent attention.’ His son’s crackling voice came through. The old man looked at Whitney.
‘Yes, that’s fine,’ she said, nodding. If they didn’t speak to him today it would mean another visit out here and they didn’t have the time.
‘They’ll wait for you,’ old Mr Gibson said, signing off. ‘Can I get you something to drink while you wait?’
‘Coffee would be lovely,’ Whitney said, and George agreed.
The old man shuffled over to the machine in the corner, took three mugs from the Welsh dresser which stood at the end of the kitchen, and poured one for them all.
‘I understand you were running the farm in 1980,’ Whitney said, when he came back with a tray, which he set down on the table.
‘That’s right. My parents moved into one of the farm cottages in 1975 and I lived here in the main house with my family. My father had take
n a back seat and left me with the day-to-day operations, in much the same way as I have with Tony.’
‘We’re trying to ascertain why the farm was used to bury the girls all those years ago and hoping that you might be able to help. Can you remember, was there a regular flow of people visiting the farm in those days?’
The old man nodded. ‘There were the farm workers, our friends and relatives but also part of the farm included a public right of way, still does, which meant there were always strangers walking through. Especially in good weather.’
‘Yes. We were aware of that.’
‘And, of course, there was the clay pigeon club who used the land on a weekend.’
Whitney went on alert, regular visitors to the farm would be more likely to work out a place to bury bodies as they had opportunity to scrutinise the place without being suspected of doing anything untoward.
‘Can you tell me more about this club?’ she asked.
‘They met every Sunday morning for three hours and paid me monthly for using the land.’
‘Do you still happen to have details of the club?’ she asked on the off-chance, although how likely would that be after all these years?
‘Yes, I’ve kept all of my records, but they might be hard to access.’
As much as she wanted to, she refrained from punching the air … it was hardly the behaviour of a DCI. She did glance across at George and give a small smile, though.
‘Please could you look?’
‘They’re probably in the office with all my old paperwork.’
‘Let’s go,’ she said, anxious to see what he’d got.
They followed him out of the kitchen and into the office. On one side, covering the entire wall, there were box files stacked high on shelves.
‘Oh, goodness. How on earth can you find anything in here?’ George asked.
‘In the old days we kept everything in boxes. Now Tony uses the computer, but we’ve still kept all of the old records.’
‘We’re looking for 1980,’ Whitney said.
‘Everything relating to that time will be over here,’ he said as he headed over to the shelves on the left. He stared at the boxes for a few seconds and then pointed to one at the top. ‘Up there,’ he said.
‘I’ll get it.’ George reached for the small ladder resting against the wall and leant it against the shelf. She climbed up several rungs, until she could reach the top, and lifted up the box labelled 1980, and handed it to the old man. Thank goodness for George because if it was left to Whitney, she might not have been able to reach.
Mr Gibson rested the box on the desk and rummaged through. ‘Here’s my little receipt book.’ He handed it to Whitney. ‘Come to think of it, I think the group were your lot.’
Whitney frowned. ‘My lot?’
‘Police.’
Whitney’s skin prickled as it usually did when new evidence came to light. ‘Talk me through how this arrangement worked.’
‘It wasn’t complicated. The man who ran the club paid me cash monthly and I gave him a receipt.’
‘Can you remember his name?’
The old man paused for a while. ‘He had a nickname. I think it was Digger. No, it was Dodger.’
The name meant nothing to her, but they could soon check once they were back at the station.
‘Was Malcolm Payne one of the club members?’ she asked, wondering if the inspector had been part of the group.
‘The name doesn’t ring a bell, but I didn’t have much to do with the rest of them.’
‘How many members belonged to the club?’
‘There were usually ten regulars and occasionally others would join them.’
‘Did you check on them every week?’ Whitney asked, wondering how he knew exactly.
‘I would watch, if I wasn’t busy, and sometimes shot a few clays with them. Not very often, though.’
‘Is there anything else you have relating to the club?’
‘No, just this little receipt book as they paid me cash.’ He glanced away.
‘We don’t care about whether you paid tax on it,’ she said, assuming that was the reason for the guilty look. ‘But I would like to take the receipt book away with me as it might help with our enquiries.’
‘Okay,’ he said.
‘How long did the club use the farm?’ she asked.
‘1980 was their last year.’
‘Why did they stop?’ Whitney asked.
‘I don’t know.’
‘That’s no problem, you’ve been extremely helpful. We’ll get going now.’
‘Don’t you want to wait and speak to my son?’
‘We’ll call back another time, thank you.’
‘Do you think it might be something to do with the clay pigeon club?’
Whitney didn’t want him to think the police were involved in the murders. ‘No, but they might be able to help, if they saw anyone hanging around or acting suspiciously while using the public footpath. They were trained in observation.’
‘Yes, that makes sense,’ he said, nodding.
‘Thank you again.’
They followed him out of the office and back into the kitchen where she finished the remainder of her coffee and placed her mug on the table. They then left the farmhouse and went to the car.
‘I want to know more about this clay pigeon club. I hate to say it, but from what we’ve now learnt, combined with everything else, it’s pointing to police involvement in these deaths.’
Chapter 27
I can’t bear this for much longer it’s making me ill. Every time the phone rings or there’s someone at the door my heart is in my mouth as I expect it to be the police coming here accusing me of killing those girls. I would deny it, of course, but if they traced it back to me they’d have to have found strong evidence. But there wasn’t any. I’m being silly.
It crossed my mind it would be best if I gave myself up and told them everything that happened on that dreadful day, but what would be the point? It wouldn’t change anything. It wouldn’t bring the girls back. It was an accident which happened decades ago.
I haven’t slept for days since seeing that news report. I’ll be resorting to sleeping pills soon as I’m exhausted and can hardly function.
I just wish it would all go away, I’m too old to be upset like this. Friends and family are noticing that there’s something wrong and I’ve fobbed them off with excuses.
How much longer will this go on for? Surely, the police have better things to be investigating than something which happened a lifetime ago. The police are always complaining about a lack of resources, so they shouldn’t be wasting any on something that happened so long ago.
Every day I’m glued to the news on the television and radio, just to see if there’s anything pointing to me. But so far there isn’t. I keep telling myself that soon it will be over, and that they’ll give up their search. That I should just get on with my life and pretend it didn’t happen.
At my age, prison isn’t an option. It would kill me.
Chapter 28
Whitney and George walked into the incident room and she closed the door behind them. She was going to be bending the rules slightly, as she knew she should be speaking to Clyde first, but as the team had already been working on the case, and all of their suspicions had been aroused, she decided against it. This was something they needed to get totally straight before anyone was accused, because once they’d got that far there, was no turning back.
Whitney had no idea how Clyde was going to react. She might want a cover-up, or she might want to get it all out in the open. Either way, she’d want absolute proof and that’s what Whitney planned to have for her.
‘Attention, everyone.’ She paused for a moment until they were all focused on her. ‘We potentially have something big. Something that stays within these four walls until such time as I say otherwise.’
You could hear a pin drop as everyone stared in her direction.
‘What is it, guv?’ Fran
k asked.
‘We don’t now believe that the girls had run away in the past and, Frank, I want you to find the mobile number for Mrs Bailey and seek confirmation from her.’
‘I’m on to it, guv’ Frank said. ‘What else is there? That isn’t enough for all this cloak and dagger stuff.’ He did quote marks with his fingers.
‘If you give the guv a chance, she’ll tell us,’ Doug quipped.
Frank scowled at him. ‘You give her a chance, and then—’
‘Boys … give it a rest.’ She glared at them. ‘Frank, you were right. In itself that isn’t enough, although it did put us on alert. At the farm we met old Mr Gibson, Anthony’s father. He told us that they allowed a clay pigeon shooting club to use a field close to where the bodies were buried. They met there every Sunday morning and paid monthly, until the end of 1980.’
‘And?’ Frank said. ‘Come on, guv, stop spinning this out for effect.’
She gave a hollow laugh. ‘Not intentional I can assure you. The clay pigeon club was run by none other than … the Lenchester police.’
‘Fuck,’ Frank said.
‘My sentiments exactly,’ Whitney said.
‘Do you think whoever dumped the bodies was a copper?’ Doug asked.
The question on everyone’s lips.
‘We don’t know, and I don’t want to make any assumptions as we need clear-cut evidence. This is what we’re going to do. First, Ellie, I want you to look into the clay pigeon club. The person in charge, who made the arrangements and paid Mr Gibson, was known as Dodger. The club might have entered contests or there could be something in the force newsletters from back then. There were about ten regulars who shot each week, and they were occasionally joined by others. Anything you can find, however small, let me know. Doug and Meena can help you, instruct them on what you’d like them to do.’
With Matt gone she wanted Ellie to be more assertive as she didn’t have him to lean on all of the time. It would do her good.
‘Yes, guv,’ Ellie said, hesitating slightly.
