Shadows and Sins (The Falconer Files Book 13)

by Andrea Frazer

  Chapter Fifteen

  The inspector arrived at the station on time the next morning, but with bags under his eyes from lack of sleep, and had to fight his way through a jostling crowd of press at the entrance. It had been a pleasurable night, but on top of all the clearing out he had to help with at Honey’s apartment, the two of them had not got a lot of sleep, once they had satisfied their appetites in more than one way, a Chinese take-away being the first of these.

  During the morning, he received the information that his extra DCs had dealt with the X-rays and now had a name for the dismembered body and had also sent DNA samples from all the victims to the lab and instructed them not only to look for the identity of the body found by the search party, but to see if they could cross-reference them with the handbags found by the metal detectorist. There may have been no fingerprints found on them, but there could easily be identifiable DNA in the creases and folds of the bags.

  The report on the dismembered body showed that it was Bonnie Fletcher, Wanda Warwick’s dear friend from Shepford St Bernard, and the decomposing body had been that of the long-searched-for Suzie Doidge. At last she’d come to light. Falconer had only two thoughts in his head: to break the news of Bonnie Fletcher’s definite demise to those who needed to know – Wanda Warwick and the poor girl’s parents – and to work out where a body could possibly have been dismembered. Of course, there was a helluva lot that he didn’t know yet, like who was responsible for all these deaths, but he was a patient man.

  When he’d broken the news of the most recent victim’s death, he could see about finding Natalie Jones and making a new list of suspects, but his brain could only cope with so many tasks at once, and he would have to work within the confines of it.

  Falconer decided to go on his own to Shepford St Bernard, as he owed it to Wanda Warwick to tell her of her friend’s demise as she had been so tireless in following up whether there had been any sightings or breakthroughs in finding her. He would ask her to keep quiet about his news until he had time to inform her parents, then she could cease her disquieting thoughts about her friend. The worst had happened, and there was nothing they could do to change that.

  She opened the front door of her home, Ace of Cups, and immediately discerned from his sombre face that the news he brought was not good. ‘You’ve found her, haven’t you?’ she almost whispered. ‘And she’s dead, isn’t she?’

  ‘I’m so sorry not to have brought better news, but yes, we have recovered Ms Fletcher’s body in the course of our enquiries,’ he replied.

  ‘Can I ask where she was found, and whether she suffered?’

  It was a quite natural question, although the second part of it would probably never be answered. The inspector did his best to answer the first half, hoping that she wouldn’t notice he hadn’t supplied any information about the second. ‘It will be in the newspapers and on the television news soon enough, so I might as well tell you. You must promise, however, not to say anything to another living soul until I’ve had time to talk to her parents.’ That was the stuff to give the troops.

  ‘I give you my word. Just tell me how long to wait. I think I might be in need of a shoulder to cry on before long.’ Long held-back tears were already tracking down her cheeks as she awaited news that she knew would distress her. How could it not? Her friend was dead.

  ‘I think we ought to sit down first,’ Falconer advised her. ‘It’s not very pleasant.’

  Wanda Warwick almost fell into an armchair and sat there looking at him plaintively as he took a seat opposite her. As he began to speak, she reached a hand out blindly for tissues from a box on the table beside her.

  ‘I’m afraid your friend’s body was found in a septic tank in Stoney Cross. There’s no easy way to tell you this, Ms Warwick, but it appears she was dismembered before her body was disposed of. Her remains only came to light when part of her anatomy appeared most unexpectedly, but I can assure you that her remains have been gathered together and she will be able to have a proper burial.’ That was more than enough detail to keep her distracted from any suffering that might have been caused, he hoped.

  Wanda Warwick’s shoulders shook with emotion, as did her hands, from shock. ‘And she was actually cut up?’

  ‘I’m very much afraid so.’

  ‘They didn’t start before she was dead, did they?’ she squeaked in horror, picking up on the only point that he had hoped she would miss.

  ‘There is absolutely no evidence to demonstrate that she wasn’t completely dead before she was … cut up,’ he reassured her – and this was indeed true, although he’d have to speak to Doc Christmas to see if there were any marks on the bones to indicate how she had died.

  The poor woman collapsed into sobs, and rolled her body into a ball. ‘Oh my God! Oh my God! Who would do that to another person? And why Bonnie?’

  ‘That’s what my colleagues and I are attempting to find out. She was evidently part of the killing spree that has been making headlines in the papers, and we intend to find whoever is responsible and prosecute them to the full extent of the law.’

  ‘Why don’t they bring back hanging?’ came as a strangled cry from the balled-up woman in the chair.

  Falconer, with his new, reformed character as one who did not recoil from physical contact, got to his feet, and put an arm around the woman’s shaking shoulders. ‘Just give me half an hour or so after I leave here, and then you can call on a friend or relative who might help to calm you, or at least give you a shoulder to cry on. In fact, Wanda, I’ll phone you after I’ve visited her parents to let you know they’ve been informed. Then you can talk to whomsoever you please.’

  He left her crying openly and was glad that he wasn’t headed back to the police station, because it had been awash with press ever since news had leaked about the body discovered by the search party. It was practically under siege by the press and by TV vans and reporters.

  Mr and Mrs Fletcher were devastated to know about their daughter’s death. They had grown used to Bonnie not living at home, and Mrs Fletcher said that, as far as she was concerned, she would just think of her daughter as living abroad. That would be enough comfort for her until she had got used to the idea that the child they had borne and brought up was no longer on this earth.

  Five murders, thought Falconer as he headed back to his desk and his team. How had they ended up with five murders uncovered in such a short time? He’d have to look at the disappearance dates and see if there was any specific timing between the murders. And what was the link between the victims? Why had they been selected, or was it just random? And who the hell was responsible? He’d have to consider his suspect list again and go through theories with his team.

  The search had not revealed any trace of Natalie Jones. He would have to see about following up that tip-off from the landlord of the Royal Oak, but just as he sat down in his office chair, he had a telephone call from Ida Jones, telling him, a little shamefacedly, that she had just received a postcard from her daughter, postmarked Spain.

  It explained in as few words as possible that she had jetted off, on a whim, with a few old schoolfriends that were going on holiday together. She had had her passport in her bag, and they had managed to get her a seat on the plane. Unfortunately, she had left her mobile in her friend’s house in Market Darley, had still been rather inebriated the morning of their departure, and had acted completely without thought. She hoped her mother had not been worrying too much, and she was sorry she couldn’t ring her, as her friends didn’t have ‘roaming’ on their phones, which were all pay as you go. It ended with ‘see you next weekend. Sorry if you’ve been upset. Just needed a little holiday.’

  ‘I’m ever so embarrassed.’ she explained. ‘And you’ve gone to all that trouble and expense, not to mention police time, mounting that search party. I don’t know how to apologise enough for the trouble I’ve caused.’

  ‘That’s what we’re here for,’ Falconer comforted the distraught woman through gritted
teeth, thinking that if they hadn’t had the search party they’d never have found what remained of Suzie Doidge, and her disappearance would have gone on haunting him. And he could really blame the superintendent for the attention they had eventually given the supposed disappearance. His first hunch that she had gone off with a man may have been wrong, but he hadn’t been far off track.

  That group of old schoolfriends must have been the girls she had been seen with in the Royal Oak, and the fact that they were downing tequila slammers at no slow rate must have been the reason she acted so impulsively. She must be having a good time, otherwise she would have contacted home sooner. Little minx. Still, it was one less young woman to worry about – and he wouldn’t get a huge bollocking, not if old Jelly had any sense of decency, because it was really the super’s wife who had set this particular ball rolling downhill.

  Not that he shouldn’t have been worried about the girl’s apparent disappearance. Call it a gut instinct – call it distraction by Honey, if he was really honest – he simply wasn’t doing his job as meticulously as he should have been. He’d have to stay late tonight and try to establish a thread that connected the victims.

  ‘OK, everyone,’ he said, calling the team to attention, for they were now situated in one of the meeting rooms, with the expanded team. ‘Natalie Jones has been discovered alive and well, and holidaying in Spain without her mobile, but why she had her passport with her, I simply can’t fathom – unless she had already booked the holiday, of course. Apparently she just went off on a whim, but I’ve the feeling that was just a white lie for her mother. Whatever the truth is, she’s not on our books anymore as a missing person.’

  ‘What we have to look at is those who were murdered and whose deaths are still unsolved. Three of our victims were without family or close friends, and didn’t work full-time: Annie Symons, Suzie Doidge, and Marilyn Slade. Melanie Saunders occasionally took live-in jobs, and Bonnie Fletcher didn’t have a wide circle of friends.

  ‘What I need you to do is scour the internet and any other records available to you – use the brains that the good God gave you – and try to find any connection between these young women. Dig up whether they ever belonged to any society or club. Were they regulars anywhere to eat, to drink, or even to change their library books? With whom have they had relationships that broke up? Something must have driven some of them into their shells, for none of them seems to have had a regular boyfriend. This is going to be a massive digging operation, and I want you to get out your spades. Discount nothing.’

  Dragging a blank piece of paper over, the inspector began to make a list. They had a last-worked date for Suzie Doidge for Easter 2009. They had a date of 17th May 2009 as the last shift worked by Annie Symons. Marilyn Slade had not been into the craft shop since January 2010 – Amy Littlemore had finally uncovered this from her scrappy staff records. Jefferson Grammaticus had had a missed meeting with a prospective member of staff, Melanie Saunders, in May 2010 – and where was that dratted list of workmen that the man had promised faithfully to supply? Bonnie Fletcher had gone missing in February 2011, a year ago now. Was there any connection between these dates?

  There had been two in the very early stages of the spree, only a month apart. Then there had been a gap of eight months, then a gap of only five months. The final gap was seven months, and then nothing for a year. Was this a true timetable, or were there still more horrors to come to light? Why was there that apparent respite at the end? Why had the murders seemed to have stopped?

  What were the methods of killing the first two? The first body found, Annie Symons, had been stabbed in the chest. There had been evidence of a chipped rib. The second, Melanie Saunders, had had her throat cut; what about the other three victims? He’d better phone Philip Christmas and try to get his head straight.

  ‘Hello, Harry. I was just compiling a round-up report for you,’ the cheerful voice of the doctor sounded in the inspector’s ear.

  ‘What have you got for me?’

  ‘Did you get my report on Marilyn Slade? Probably knifed in the left side, in the back.’

  ‘Not so sure I did’ – there would be questions asked about this. ‘What about the latest two?’

  ‘Suzie Doidge was probably garrotted, judging from the remains of the tissues round the neck. And Bonnie Fletcher, I really have no firm idea about. Although there is evidence of some blunt force trauma to the back of the skull, I can’t say for certain that this was what killed her or whether it happened post-mortem. The dismemberment wasn’t exactly carried out by an expert, and there are so many nicks on so many bones, that I hardly know where to start.’

  ‘But she was dead when the bastard started?’

  ‘We can only presume so, there being very little left of her for me to examine.’

  ‘This is most unusual, the different modus operandi each time. It’s rare that a multiple killer employs different means. Repeated crimes usually show some correlation of method.’

  ‘Maybe whoever this is is just creative, or they used what was to hand on each occasion.’

  ‘I suppose so, but it’s still rare to have different MOs’.

  ‘Then you either have someone with a very unusual mind, Harry, my boy, or you’ve got more than one killer.’

  ‘Don’t say that! I’m having enough trouble as it is. I think I’m going to have to consult the psychiatric skills of Dr Dubois on this,’ Falconer concluded, a smile curving his lips. That would certainly be a pleasure.

  When he’d ended the call he asked Carmichael to follow up on the addresses discovered with the children’s book manuscript found in Annie Symons’ belongings, and to make sure that the team pressed forward in finding the facts about the barmaid who was said to have gone missing from the Covingtons’ last pub in London. ‘And don’t take no for an answer,’ he stated emphatically, knowing that was exactly what he’d done when he had tried to follow this up.

  He then got in touch with the Forensic Department to see if they’d managed to uncover any DNA from the five handbags that had been dug up, and whether they had been matched to the victims.

  ‘God, you’re impatient, aren’t you?’ answered a technician when he phoned, and Falconer felt a little tempted to pull rank. ‘But we should have some results for you in the morning. If you can wait that long.’ The inspector canned his negative thoughts, kept his mouth shut, and thanked the man. He didn’t want to rile anyone in that department. It could cause a whole bundle of inefficiency and delay in the future. Always best to stay on the good side of anyone on the technical staff. They could either rush your stuff through or accidentally misplace it for days.

  ‘That would be very much appreciated,’ he finally managed to choke out before pressing the button that finished the call.

  Carmichael finished his calls to publishers before the end of his working day, and reported that none of those listed had received an unsolicited manuscript from anyone by the name of Annie Symons. All of them had stated that they did not accept unsolicited works in any case, and merely sent them back when they arrived.

  By the time he was ready to go home, Falconer had also compiled a list of all the possible suspects that they had, and planned to discuss the possibilities of how they could be murderers with Honey this evening. He’d just given her a ring and explained his difficult situation to her, and she’d agreed that she might be able to help him towards a more creative killer if he told her something about each one.

  She also said that she’d been able to engage a regular cleaner – at great expense – and asked if they could meet at his place; a suggestion that he readily agreed to, already fighting to keep his mind on his suspects. This wouldn’t do at all. Just as his private life had moved from limbo to heaven, his working life had gone to hell in a handcart. He really needed to find a happy medium.

  Seven o’clock came and went, as did half past, and when the clock crept round to eight o’clock, he began to get worried. Where had Honey got to? Had she had an accident on
the way over? Where was she?

  As he got his mobile out of his jacket pocket, he remembered that he’d turned it to silent before he left the office as he hadn’t wanted to be disturbed. There was a message on it. His beloved had been summoned to an emergency to deal with a patient who had become psychotic, and she wouldn’t be able to make it at all. Perhaps they could rearrange for the following evening. Damn, blast, bugger, and bum, he thought.

  Well, in that case, he’d spent his lonely evening polishing up his list of suspects, and seeing how there could be any connection between them and all of his victims. He didn’t really want to face the idea that there was more than one undetected killer on the loose.

  Chapter Sixteen

  The forensic results from the excavated handbags were indeed ready the next day, but they weren’t at all what Falconer had been expecting. After skimming through them he called out for the rest of the team to stop and pay attention. ‘Listen up!’ he called, clapping his hands to silence the buzz of conversation that filled the meeting room which served as their temporary office.

  ‘I’ve got the results from Forensics about those handbags, and they read as follows: Annie Symons’ DNA sample was matched to the denim bag, Marilyn Slade’s was matched to the red fake-crocodile affair, the rather better-quality brown leather bag belonged to Melanie Saunders, and the pink plastic one was Suzie Doidge’s. The really surprising thing was that there was no DNA match with any of them for Bonnie Fletcher.’

  ‘So, what about the fifth bag, then?’ Tomlinson asked, having a personal interest, as he had been there when they were first unearthed.

  ‘Would you believe that the DNA from that was from someone completely unknown to us?’

  ‘What does that mean, then, sir?’ one of the DCs asked, a note of dread in his voice.