by Val McDermid
‘According to Torin, he hardly knows his aunt either. Be honest with me, Paula. Do you think Bev’s coming home alive?’
Paula sat up and punched her pillow into shape. ‘I honestly don’t know. I think someone took her, but I have no way of knowing if she’s being kept prisoner or… We’re in the dark here. I can’t help thinking that Auntie Rachel arriving like the cavalry is going to feel like a worst-case scenario to Torin. In his shoes, I’d start giving up hope.’
‘Maybe that’s the best thing for him.’ Elinor snuggled into Paula’s side. ‘Facing up to what’s most likely to be the reality. And having his aunt here might help him with that.’
Paula yawned and patted Elinor’s hand. ‘It won’t hurt for them to get to know each other better, that’s for sure. If Bev doesn’t come home, he’s going to end up living with her. Or his gran. At least until his dad gets a home posting.’
Elinor gave a noncommittal grunt and kissed Paula’s shoulder. ‘Let’s see what tomorrow brings.’
That was the last thing Paula was aware of until her phone began ringing. She looked at the time as she answered. Twenty-seven minutes past six. ‘DS McIntyre,’ she moaned.
‘DCI Fielding here. West Yorkshire have got a body. The ID says it’s Beverley McAndrew, your misper. I’ve got a squad car coming, I’ll pick you up in twenty minutes. Be ready.’
‘OK,’ Paula said. But she was talking to no one. Still half asleep, she sat up and ran a hand through her dark blonde hair. She wanted to believe the phone call was a bad dream, but she knew it wasn’t. Bev was dead.
Elinor turned over and murmured sleepily, ‘Did your phone just ring?’
‘It was Fielding. She’s picking me up in twenty.’ This wasn’t the time to tell Elinor. It wasn’t fair to expect her to go through breakfast with Torin hugging that terrible knowledge to herself. And it wasn’t right to tell Torin anything until his mother’s ID was confirmed.
‘What’s happened?’ Elinor was alert now. She knew the ways of her lover’s job too well.
‘I think it’s a break in the Nadia Wilkowa case.’ Which was sort of true. Paula stood up, then bent to kiss Elinor. ‘See you later.’
She barely made it out the front door in time, but she’d managed to be waiting for Fielding. To her surprise, her boss had handed her a cardboard cup of coffee when she climbed into the car. ‘The body’s up on the moors. I don’t suppose there will be catering,’ Fielding said drily.
‘What have we got?’ It was easier to listen than to talk ahead of her first coffee. And Fielding definitely seemed to be a morning person.
She leaned through the gap between the front seats so she could more easily talk to Paula in the rear. ‘If I had a fiver for every dog walker who finds a body, I’d be sunning myself on a yacht in the Caribbean. Local farm manager out with his lurchers didn’t make it past the car park. The body was stashed behind a stone rubbish container. West Yorkshire didn’t specify whether it’s a primary scene or a body dump. She’s a match for Nadia Wilkowa. Battered unrecognisable, badly beaten, genitals glued shut.’ She paused to take a swig from a water bottle. ‘But that’s not why they called us.’
‘Why did they call us?’
’Her clothes and bag were dumped at the site, same as Nadia. In this case, they were stuffed in the rubbish bin. When they ran her ID through the computer, the misper alert came up. They rang John Okeke – he’s down as the point of contact. Soon as he heard the details, he told their SIO to call me. So here we are.’
‘But Nadia was kept for three weeks before he killed her. Bev’s not even been gone three days. That’s a hell of a difference.’
‘The key elements of the MO are the same, McIntyre. There’s more that links them than distinguishes them.’
‘Her son’s only fourteen,’ Paula said.
‘It’s going to be rough on him,’ Fielding acknowledged, then moved right along. Her face gave no clue whether she couldn’t bear the thought or simply didn’t much care. ‘What was she like, Beverley McAndrew?’
‘Bev,’ Paula corrected her automatically. ‘I didn’t know her that well – my partner, Elinor, knew her better than me. They both work at Bradfield Cross.’
‘Yes, Bev was the chief pharmacist. Okeke sent me the file, I’ve skimmed the details. What I want is the human stuff. What was she like?’
‘She was smart. Opinionated, but not pushy. Good company. Her and Elinor, they were very funny when they got talking about their colleagues. You’d be amazed how much pomposity goes on inside a hospital.’
‘I doubt it. I’ve been a cop for twenty years. We’ve got plenty of pompous arseholes of our own. So, was she on your team?’
‘You mean, was she a lesbian?’
Fielding pursed her lips and gave Paula a pissed-off look. ‘Unless there’s another team you’re not telling me about.’
‘As far as I’m aware, she was straight. Her marriage to Torin’s dad didn’t break up because she ran off with another woman.’
‘Why did it break up?’
‘She said Iraq changed him. He began drinking heavily and she felt scared all the time when he was around. He was never actually physically violent towards her or Torin, but he shouted a lot, he was always angry. She felt they were living on a knife edge. Ironically, once they got divorced, they got on better. He had a good relationship with Torin. Bev reckoned having to take responsibility for being a family man was one stress too many, given what he was dealing with on the front line.’
Fielding nodded. ‘That’s squaddies for you. The Army acts like their parents and that’s an easier family to belong to than real live ones, with all their demands and issues. So have we checked that the husband is where we think he is?’
‘I haven’t. I expect PC Okeke made inquiries.’
‘Check it with him. So what kind of social life did Bev have post-divorce? Was she a party animal? Did she have boyfriends?’
‘She’d been out with a couple of guys since the divorce, but nothing recent, according to her colleagues. From my observations, I’d have said she was someone who took her job and her role as a mother seriously, which didn’t leave a lot of room for much else.’
‘But you admitted you didn’t know her that well. What about internet dating? Do you think she might have been into that?’
Paula shrugged. ‘I wouldn’t have thought she was the type. But what do I know? What is the type? Presumably forensics will be able to tell when they have a crack at her computer.’
‘Though God knows when that will be.’ Fielding looked gloomy. ‘Remember when they told us computers would make everything quick and easy? So how come it takes for ever for the geeks to get them to spill their guts?’
‘We never had that problem in the MIT,’ Paula said. ‘We had Stacey Chen.’
‘Yeah, well, lucky you. The rest of us have to live in the real world. So who gets the kid? With the dad in Afghanistan and mum dead? Where is he now? With relatives? Or social services. You sorted that out, right?’
Fuck, fuck, fuck. Truth or lies? ‘He’s with friends,’ Paula said, setting for the half-truth and moving swiftly on. ‘He’s got a maternal grandmother and an aunt in Bristol. I believe the aunt is coming up to Bradfield today.’
‘Good timing. We need to go through Nadia Wilkowa’s life again, see if there are any intersects with Bev McAndrew. That might bring us closer to finding how he acquired her. Pharmaceutical rep, pharmacist – not such an outrageous thought.’ Fielding turned away and stared out at the moorland landscape. ‘Christ, it’s bloody bleak. Why the hell would you want to live out here at the arse end of nowhere? What do people do all day? There’s nothing as far as the eye can see. Even the bloody sheep have given up.’
Paula had never had much faith in her sense of direction, but she was beginning to wonder about where they were heading. She took out her phone and opened the map app. A flashing icon marked their movement along the road. In the ‘search’ box, she typed in an address she recalled from t
he Jacko Vance investigation. The app took a moment to load, then it informed her that the barn where Vance had killed Michael Jordan was a mere seven miles away by road. Looking at the map, it was a lot less than that as the crow might fly if it had any interest in making the trip.
She had no idea whether Carol Jordan had visited her late brother’s home since his death, but if she was going to be out this way again, it might be worth taking a swing by to see if there were any locals who could help to pinpoint Carol’s location. Because she really didn’t want to lose contact with the boss she had come to count as a friend.
Moments later, they were slowing down, driving alongside other parked police vehicles. They emerged into the bright morning, eyes narrowing against the sunlight, and identified themselves to the PC who was controlling and noting access to the crime scene. ‘Where’s the SIO?’ Fielding asked.
The PC pointed. ‘DCI Franklin’s over by the body.’
‘Which one is he?’
Paula’s heart sank as she followed the PC’s finger. ‘The tall one who looks like a Neanderthal undertaker,’ she said under her breath, barely loud enough for Fielding to hear. Her boss gave her a quick, raised-eyebrow look. ‘I know DCI Franklin,’ she said more loudly for the PC’s benefit.
They set off on the short demarcated route leading to the cluster of men round the stone box, stepping with care on the metal trays laid down to protect the ground and any clues it might ultimately yield. ‘Good description,’ Fielding said, nodding towards the craggy man with the pronounced eyebrow ridge and distinctive beak of a nose. ‘I take it there’s some history there?’
Paula nodded. ‘Mutual antipathy, it would be fair to say. We thought he was a patronising obtuse bastard. He probably thought we were a bunch of smartarses.’
‘Some validity on both sides, I suspect.’ Fielding forged ahead and called out, ‘DCI Franklin? I’m DCI Fielding from Bradfield.’
He swung round, his scowl lifting as he took in Fielding’s trim figure and groomed appearance. Then he saw Paula and his face clouded again. ‘DC McIntyre,’ he said, ignoring Fielding. ‘They split you up, then, you and DCI Jordan?’ He delivered each word in a Yorkshire accent heavy as a paving slab. The other officers around him stopped what they were doing to catch the cabaret.
‘It’s DS McIntyre,’ Fielding said, to Paula’s surprise. ‘And you don’t have to bother your pretty little head about the threat from DCI Jordan any more. I’m the person you have to deal with now.’
Franklin smirked. ‘Is that right?’ He stepped back and made a sweeping bow. ‘Well, be my guest.’
As he moved aside, they were confronted with what remained of Bev McAndrew. It was as if Nadia Wilkowa had been transplanted from Gartonside to the high moorland of West Yorkshire. Only when she got past first impressions could Paula discern the differences. Bev’s body type was different – she was an apple to Nadia’s pear – and her shoulders were broader, the muscles more defined. But as far as identifying her from her features was concerned, it was a non-starter. Again, the victim’s face was a mash of bloody tissue, the white of bone showing through on cheeks and jaw. Determined though she was to reveal no weakness in front of Franklin, Paula couldn’t help biting her lip.
‘She’s the twin of the one we caught on Monday,’ Fielding said, her voice blank of any emotion. ‘I think that makes her ours.’
‘Not to mention that this looks more like a body dump than a crime scene,’ Paula added. If this was going to turn into a turf war, better to get all the cards on the table as soon as possible.
But the response from Franklin was not what she expected. He dug his hands into the pockets of his trench coat. ‘And according to her ID, she’s come from your patch. Be my guest, ladies. You want us to process the scene or do you not trust us?’
‘It’s not a question of trust. It’s a question of chain of responsibility.’ Fielding looked around the car park. ‘I’d appreciate the loan of some uniforms to secure the scene till my team gets here.’
‘Where’s her possessions?’ Paula asked. ‘The stuff you ID’d her from?’
‘Bagged up,’ Franklin said. ‘We’re not fucking turnips. We do know how to handle evidence.’ He looked over his shoulder. ‘Grimshaw?’
A chubby detective in a white suit that clung to the contours of his body approached. ‘Sir?’
‘The victim’s clothes and bag. You need to hand them over to the nice ladies from Bradfield.’ Grimshaw grinned and rolled off towards the line of vehicles. ‘Anything else I can help you with?’
‘Cameras,’ Fielding said. ‘Where’s the nearest coverage?’
Franklin slowly made a 360-degree scan of the surrounding area. ‘There’s nothing on this road. It’s four miles north to a junction with a main road, five miles south-west, where you came from. There’s a couple of speed cameras on each of those, but I doubt there’s anything much in terms of number recognition till you get to the outskirts of Todmorden, Hebden or Colne. Sorry.’ He turned and walked away, a jerk of his head telling his team to follow.
Paula watched them cross the car park and reconvene round the nearest car. ‘Nice to see DCI Franklin staying true to himself.’
‘Whatever you lot did to piss him off, it worked.’ Fielding sounded less than thrilled.
‘His bark is worse than his bite. He won’t obstruct us.’
‘He bloody better not.’ Fielding took out her phone and made a call. ‘I need a full homicide forensic team up here… PC Okeke has the directions… There’s no doors, so I won’t need a door-to-door team, just some uniforms to secure the scene. What I need is for you to plot this locus on a map then figure out which are the nearest roads with ANPR. Get the data and work out which vehicles disappear between cameras where there’s a turn-off on to this road… Soon as.’
Grimshaw returned with a couple of sealed blue polythene evidence sacks and a sheet of paper at risk of being snatched by the bitter wind. ‘You’ll need to sign for this,’ he said, sounding as if he was already arguing with a refusal.
Paula dug in her bag for a pen and scribbled a signature on the damp paper. ‘Thank you,’ she said politely, holding out her hand for the sacks. Grimshaw dropped them at her feet and headed back to his boss. She liked to think she’d never been that petty to anyone her boss despised. She couldn’t be certain, however.
She picked up the sack containing Bev’s handbag and its contents. Staring at her, tinted blue by the plastic, Bev smiled out from her hospital ID. Her throat tightened, and she blinked away tears. How was she going to tell Elinor her friend was dead? Worse, how was she going to face that moment when she had to tell Torin his mother was never coming home? The death of hope was always the hardest part of any investigation. Knowing the victim, feeling so personal a loss intensified Paula’s sense of failure. But it was also a potent spur to action.
Paula examined the contents of the bag as well as she could through the plastic. A moorland car park wasn’t the place to take them out of their protective covering. There was nothing that she didn’t expect. But the mobile phone did give her a moment’s pause. She pointed it out to Fielding, who was studying the body intently.
‘What about it?’
‘Nadia’s phone was among her things too,’ Paula said. ‘That suggests her killer knew there was no threat to him from the phone. He knew we weren’t going to find his name or his number on their phones. Doesn’t that suggest a stranger or a stalker rather than somebody they knew?’
‘Either that or he used a false name and a pay-as-you-go phone so it wouldn’t matter.’
She had a point, Paula thought. ‘But it would still be taking a risk. If we found messages from untraceable numbers on both victim’s phones, we’d know we might be looking for someone in their lives. Surely to be on the safe side, he’d take the phones?’
Fielding shrugged. ‘On balance, you’re probably right. Unfortunately it doesn’t take us any further forward.’
A little encouragement would go a l
ong way, Paula thought. It almost made her not bother offering her other idea. But she couldn’t let pettiness interfere with the hunt for Bev’s killer. ‘Another thing struck me,’ she said.
Fielding looked up. ‘What?’
‘The lack of cameras. Here and around the crime scene in Gartonside. When you think how much of our road system is covered by ANPR or speed cameras, it’s a bit of a coincidence that he dumped both his victims in places he could approach without any concerns about being recorded.’
‘You don’t think that’s a stretch?’
‘I think it’s worth bearing in mind. We should ask Traffic how you could find out where the camera blind spots are and how somebody could find that out.’
Fielding nodded. ‘Not a bad idea. But it feels a bit like clutching at straws. Let’s see what the forensics give us on both victims and, if we’re no further forward, you can talk to Traffic. I tell you what I’m more concerned about right now…’
‘What’s that?’
‘Franklin was a pushover about handing the case over to us. I’m wondering whether he knows something we don’t.’
34
By the time their forensics team arrived with the uniformed officers who would see to it no unauthorised feet trampled the car park, Paula was chilled and bad-tempered. There was nothing useful for her to do at the crime scene, but she and Fielding had to stay put to make sure there were no gaps in the preservation of the scene that a defence counsel could later exploit. Fielding had retreated to the car and her mobile, but Paula had chosen to remain with the body. She knew it was pointless, but she felt the need for some sort of gesture. Keeping vigil was the least she could do.
The first of the support vehicles had no sooner appeared in the distance than her phone rang. ‘DS McIntyre.’
‘Hello, Sarge. It’s PC Okeke here.’
‘Hi, John. What can I do for you?’
‘Well, I know the misper’s turned into a murder investigation and your team will be handling things from now on. Just a couple of things. The dad is definitely with his unit in Afghanistan. And after our talk yesterday evening, I got the bus company to release their CCTV footage. I hadn’t finished going through it when I spoke to DCI Fielding this morning, so I thought I might as well complete the job.’
