“She’d fuck anyone so it was hardly surprising. I’m sure it wasn’t Peter’s although he’d love to think so.”
“Did you meet Peter in Sierra Leone? It seems a strange coincidence that you both lived in the same African state.”
“A couple of times but it was no picnic, believe me, and it developed quickly into a full scale nightmare at the time. It certainly was no place for people of, how shall I say? Our persuasion! There’s a degree of political stability in the country and it’s better now. I still recruit gifted students to European Universities through charitable foundations, but I don’t get there as often as I’d like.”
“When did you last see Peter?”
“Last week. We met at his house in France. Since the bodies have been found he’s not been himself. Guilt is a cancerous disease, it eats at you and it has certainly been eating away at him, particularly since the police have been investigating the case. He’s basically, like me in a way, an honest man who made a few, youthful errors of judgement. Had the bodies remained buried, he would have taken his feelings to the grave. Now, who knows what he might do. He was talking of ending it all, he said he’d had enough but I’m sure that was the wine enhancing his depressed state. Thank goodness he has a good housekeeper to keep an eye on him.”
Jo said nothing, she just let her eyes sit on his as if she were boring through them into his brain, searching for the truth. The silence was unnerving. Phillip could feel his face reddening.
“You don’t believe me do you?” He now kept his eyes on hers as his confidence returned.
“If I’ve to fight your corner with the information you’ve presented to me, I have to have evidence in the corner with me. We have to persuade a jury that what you’re saying is the truth and the whole truth. Can we talk with Peter? What about Mary? Have you kept any of the films, names, contacts of any of the girls? If you have, I doubt whether you would hand them over, and if you did, the results might prove to be more damning than helpful. Phillip, I need, witnesses, evidence to corroborate this possible work of fiction. I may have to believe you, but the jury, that’s a different kettle of fish. We have to weave the story with evidence to make the cloth of truth hang clearly.”
“And if I plead guilty to aiding the interment of the children, and guilty to running a brothel and blackmail, what would be the result?”
“10 to 15 years, maybe a little less. Out in 7.” Jo drew an imaginary 7 on the table and then drew it even larger. “What happened to the car?”
“As far as I know it’s in Peter’s barn or was a couple of years back.”
“Forensics could ascertain whether it was the vehicle, they’d find DNA to say you were there. No doubt too it was full of carbon monoxide. What they might not be able to tell is whether the girls committed the crime themselves, or whether they were forced, but maybe they could. If the girls weren’t drugged and put in the car, they’d have fought to get out.”
“I still have some tapes, three I think. They are in Peter’s safe...He likes to view the old movies or he did once.”
Jo scribbled a few more notes on the pad and switched off the tape. The silence in the room grew uncomfortable.
“Evidence is what it will take and, believe me, the police have it by the bucket load. We, on the other hand, have very little unless we can find Mary or Peter. From where I’m sitting the future is gloomy. I need to find the car, the tapes and anything else Peter might have if I can’t find the man himself.”
On leaving the interview, Jo called on Cyril. “I’m sure you’re aware that I need some time with this one, bigger boots and longer ropes!” Cyril laughed. “The car taken by the girls is still at Flint’s house, or it was a couple of years back. There are also tapes in the safe that might prove important to the case. Anything on Flint?”
“Europol have contacted us to say he’s been reported missing by his housekeeper, yet so far, no sightings. The police are looking but nothing. As soon as they find him, we’ll be getting him back here. Mary too seems to have vanished. Anything from the car or the safe will be disclosed.” He smiled and held out his hand. “Good luck, you’re certainly going to need it! Murder I should think.”
Within twelve hours, Cyril was assured that he would have a warrant and a team of forensics outside Dr. Flint’s house. He could hardly wait.
***
The journey between Wigan and Manchester was somewhat depressing; everything seemed grey, but that might have been the dirt-layered windows. Lawrence felt exhausted and his eyelids grew heavy. Some youths, noisily moving through the carriage, brought him to his senses. They lounged, feet on the opposite seats, swearing and laughing, loud music screeching from a mobile. He could never understand this Rap, all grunting and foul language. He stood and turned away, moving away from the din to the next carriage. If trouble came, he didn’t want to be near. The train slowed before juddering to a halt and Lawrence saw the group walk down the platform. He couldn’t help but smile at one youth whose trousers were around his backside exposing his underwear. He shook his head. One of the group noticed Lawrence’s gesture. He ran, slamming his hand on the glass, causing Lawrence to instinctively flinch as the hand left a scar on the dirt. The youth casually dropped his pants fully exposing his backside before shouting, Fuck off, wanker. The train began gaining speed. Lawrence breathed a deep sigh of relief.
He negotiated Manchester and was soon on his way to Leeds. His patience and his energy were dissipating quickly. The sooner he was home, the better.
***
Cyril collected his paper from the usual Newsagent and chatted briefly. A glance at the headlines did nothing to enhance his mood, it never did. Why he bothered buying a paper he didn’t quite understand. It was like shaving, eating breakfast or taking in nicotine...just habit.
Owen was the first to greet him.
“French police have sent a copy of a diary found in the glove box of the Audi. Makes interesting reading. It supports Phillip’s story, the films, the girls, the brothel, everything. Mentions too the blackmailing after being caught shagging Phillip. The burial of the bodies, dates and times...everything, Sir.” He handed Cyril the papers. “Warrant is ready and the team. Go at 09:00?”
Cyril was skimming through the copied sheets of the diary. It was comprehensive and precise. No names, just letters for the girls, A to K. Girls C and E were the runaways. There were even notes on the retrieval of the car.
“Owen, get a copy of this to Jo Pimblett as soon as. Maybe she’ll not need the large boots after all. Ready?”
***
The house was empty but for one of the gardeners who approached them as they climbed from the car. Officers in the two other vehicles began to collect their equipment and pull on white coveralls.
“Thas bin ‘ere afore, thee as. There’s no one about but me.” The gardener leaned on his rake, trying to comprehend what was going on.
“Yes, we met the day Janet showed me the gardens, beautiful they are too. You do a grand job!” Cyril’s relaxed compliments disarmed the man completely and he suddenly smiled. “Detective Chief Inspector Bennett. I have a warrant to search the house and buildings. I’m aware that Janet is in France. Do you have a key and an alarm code? It’ll save having to make a mess of that fine door.”
“Can’t thee not wait a day or two? Janet’s due back as Dr. Flint has buggered off on one of his travels, he’s alas doin’ it. Between thee and me, he can be a right pain in the arse at times and that Janet, poor lass, has to put up with a lot. Aye, there’s a key in that jacket and alarm’s off. Mind that thee leaves it tidy. Garages are open too.”
“When is Janet returning?”
He just shrugged his shoulders. “Today I think.”
“Where does Dr. Flint go to when he just buggers off?”
“Say nowt.” The gardener looked about to make sure he was out of earshot. “ He ’as a boyfriend down there, maybe two...goes off for days, sometimes a week or more. Janet’s used to it, she just comes back here
when she’s had enough.”
“Thank you.”
Cyril walked into the barn and watched as three officers from Forensics uncovered a Jaguar. Both its side windows were smashed. A covered low-loader backed up to the double doors. The car would be securely wrapped and taken away for testing.
Inside the house, the safe was opened with little difficulty and its contents photographed and bagged. The evidence would be taken to the lab, where Cyril would then be able to digest the information. It would take the rest of the day to check every room for evidence. They would move slowly but surely. Janet’s return filled Cyril’s mind and not with romantic notions.
An official call to the airline determined that she would be landing at Leeds-Bradford airport at 17:45. He checked his watch, before shaking his wrist and checking it again. He could get to Yeadon well before with a bit of spirited driving. He was curious as to how she might react to seeing him again and he knew that witnessing her reaction at first hand would determine the manner in which he would proceed.
***
Lawrence left the train at Pannal and checked the platform as he shut the carriage door. All seemed clear. He had realised the folly of travelling into Harrogate directly, as the police had now determined that the perpetrator was local. He had three options, a taxi or bus to Harrogate or to walk, which would take forty-five minutes, keeping away from the main Leeds Road. The evening was fine, and even though he felt that a walk was the last thing he needed, it was the safest way to return. He longed for the sanctuary of the workshop, to remove his shoes and relax. He felt as though he were competing in a marathon and he had hit a psychological wall.
As he climbed the steps that led from the station, his heart raced as he saw a cab drop some people at the public house that had previously been a station building. Instinctively, he waved a hand. The taxi moved slowly down towards him, stopped and his weakened flesh climbed in. Only then did he realise just how exhausted he was. He gave his address and then quickly changed it, saying that that, in fact, was his mother’s house!
“I’m sorry, forgive me. It’s been a long day! Please drop me at the hospital, I need some things from work.”
It would prove to be a fatal error.
***
As he had done for the last few days, Peter parked his car, an old Fiat, in the small wooded clearing high above Menton. He carried a bag of apples and some meat about half a mile into the forest. He didn’t want the site discovering immediately, so the distance from the clearing was essential. He stood briefly, looking at the view. The smell of pine and thyme filled his nostrils. He breathed deeply, tucking his bandaged left hand under his right arm. The amputated finger would be concealed in the same spot. None of yesterday’s food was visible, and the ground had been turned over where the wild boar had continued to rummage and fight for the last morsels. They had consumed it all, even the tooth that he’d pushed into an apple. It was hoped that this might be found in one of the many piles of shit the boar happily deposited as they were eating.
He’d only just arrived when he heard them moving, unseen in the thick, bushy undergrowth. He quickly emptied the bag of apples and then the meat and retraced his steps. Each day he would take a different route to the spot. He had only just started his walk back when two large boar started to fight over a chicken carcass, their tusks clashing. The squeals, piercing and menacing, brought a degree of fear. Peter remembered reading that if they knocked you to the ground, they would attack the groin; the soft underbelly was the easiest entry point. People underestimated wild pigs, they failed to understand their intelligence and their strength. It was often said that they could quickly turn a hunter into the hunted. With these thoughts, he stumbled away more quickly, aware of how they could eat a whole corpse, leaving only fragments; they would even eat the bones, boots and all.
He was determined to make the following day the final feeding visit. He neither wanted to be compromised by these creatures in their habitat, nor be seen travelling the road too often. He only wanted them to cover his tracks.
***
Cyril waited in Arrivals, a paper cup of coffee in one hand. The announcements occasionally broke the silence; it seemed an age since the plane had landed and most of the passengers had come through by now. He could see only two others awaiting the remaining passengers. He could have flashed his ID and gone through to the carousel, but he wanted to keep the surprise element, to see her face, to watch her eyes. He glanced at the clock on the wall and then at his wristwatch. One was incorrect. He didn’t shake his arm as usual, he was too intent on watching Janet emerge, dragging a large suitcase. She was obviously angry at being the last one out. He dropped his cup into a bin and moved behind her.
“May I help you with that, Janet?”
A small shriek involuntarily broke from her lips as she looked round, at the same time letting go of the handle of the suitcase. It clattered to the ground. She moved her hands to her mouth.
“Sorry, let me.” Cyril bent and retrieved it. “You OK?”
She nodded, then burst into tears, wrapping her arms around his neck. Cyril had no idea what this meant; it was the last thing he had expected.
During the drive to Richmond, they discussed recent events. Janet told Cyril that Peter and Phillip were probably together, either crying into their Chardonnay or having a wild time. She looked genuinely shocked when she heard that Phillip was in one of the holding cells at Harrogate Police HQ and that he had admitted to a crime committed in the early 1970’s. She also seemed genuinely dismayed that they didn’t know the whereabouts of her mother.
“I’m getting too old for this. He just disappears, which isn’t unusual, leaving me like cheese at fourpence, having to return to Richmond. He’s like a dog on heat sometimes. He has so many admirers! Funny thing is that this time there were no parties, he was as miserable as sin. Talked of taking his own life, but to be honest, he’s said that before...too soft, he couldn’t do it, but this time he was about as low as I’ve ever seen him. Mind you, if he doesn’t top himself he’ll come home, tail between his legs when he’s good and ready and we’ll go through the whole rigmarole again. He’s like a record on repeat, same over and over again. If I didn’t like the man I’d have gone sooner, but I owe him and you know what Mary would say? Anyway, enough about me, I need to come up for air. I bet you are thinking that this woman can talk underwater!” She smiled and put her hand on his thigh but quickly removed it. “You’re looking as handsome as ever.”
Cyril turned to look, searching her face for clues, but he found none. Everything she said seemed sincere, even the last bit. It would be midnight before he was back at Robert Street.
His phone rang just after five in the morning. At first the ring tone was part of the dream he was having, but then he opened his eyes and discovered it not to be the case.
“Bennett,” his voice croaked.
“Sir, Liz. We have a report from a taxi driver, who dropped a man meeting our description at the hospital at about 8:30 to 9 last night. He says that he collected him as he left the station at Pannal. Interestingly, he asked to be dropped off at Park Road, Lawrence Young’s address, but then changed his mind saying that that was his mother’s home.” She anticipated Cyril’s next question. “Taxi driver has only just called it in and I came straight away. Young is not at the hospital, Sir, and he’s not at home.”
“I’m on my way in. Tea, clean cup and saucer in fifteen minutes, Sergeant, please.”
Cyril appeared on the dot, immaculate, shoes shiny, shaved and tie straight.
“What do we know?”
“We’ve been looking for this workshop but without any success. We’ve checked lock-up garages in the area, empty shops, houses, even the school building, but nothing.”
“I want as many officers as possible out now, looking at every garage, shed, outhouse, summerhouse within fifteen minutes walk from Park Road. If you can’t get inside, I want details. Get the dogs over to the house. We’re going in. Let’s see
what they can find.”
“We can’t risk the dogs with the sulphur mustard, Sir.”
“But we can risk another attack? Not likely, my girl. Bomb disposal, everyone prepared for a potential chemical attack. I want all services, gas, electricity and water present, in case we have a major incident. Put the helicopter up now too. And evacuate houses in the vicinity, yes, even at this time of the morning!”
Lawrence lay on the floor of the workshop, trying to sleep, but he was still anxious after the taxi ride. He’d been so careful. He should have walked. The light buzzed incessantly and from being a comfort it was growing to be an aggravation. It took only one swing of the brush and the tube exploded, showering opaque glass over the surfaces and making one section of the space dim. He looked at the canary, happily bobbing from one perch to the next, unsure as to when darkness would return to its world.
He moved, lifted the cage from the shelf and unbolted the door.
“Today, my trusty companion you can taste the fresh air of Harrogate. Maybe you can help save others, who knows?” Walking through the foliage and across the small passageway, he put the cage on a high wall after checking the direction of the breeze. “You’ll be safe here.”
A thin, blue horizon marked the coming of another day. Lawrence breathed in the air gulping it down as if it were his last. He glanced at the bird again and waved innocently and child-like.
“Thank you!” he called, as he headed back to the workshop for what he knew to be the last time.
Bolting the door, he collected the phials that remained and put them into a sieve. He taped the sieve over a pan, so that they wouldn’t rest on the pan base but would remain suspended in the water. This trick he had learned as a child, when boiling quail’s eggs. From the cupboard below he lifted a flat camping stove and checked it. With a turn of the starter, blue jets of flames danced in a circle before being extinguished with a turn of the knob.
He took down the Hammerton and turned to page 1458, the page marked by the 4d bus ticket. The face stared back. The Lawrence Young he thought that he had identified in the photograph, seemed to be smiling more broadly.
Only The Dead: an explosive new detective series Page 22
