by Luca Veste
‘Hi, Caroline,’ Shipley said, taking the lead here too, it seemed. ‘Won’t keep you long, we promise.’
‘I’m glad of the company, to be honest,’ Caroline replied, sitting up a little in bed, which seemed to cause her some discomfort. She winced as she pushed herself up, but then settled, a few inches more vertical. ‘Getting a little bored watching daytime telly. Same old stuff as it always was.’
Louise gave her a look that she hoped Caroline understood. Don’t mention I was here last night.
‘We just have a couple more questions for you, that’s all.’
‘Go for it,’ Caroline replied, shooting a grin towards Louise as she did so.
Shipley stood aside, allowing Louise to move past him and closer to Caroline. She hesitated, standing at the side of the bed, then looked around and pulled up the chair lying there. She sat down, pulling out her notebook. ‘Have you remembered any more since we last saw you?’
Caroline shook her head. ‘Nothing substantial anyway. I’ve been having dreams, but I can’t really trust them. For one, it always catches me in them.’
‘Was he there when you escaped?’
‘I don’t know,’ Caroline replied, screwing up her face as she tried to remember. ‘It’s all a little fuzzy, that part. I remember it in flashes, standing over me, hurting me . . . I’m sorry, it’s just hard to think about.’
Louise waited as Caroline composed herself. It took less time than she’d expected. ‘What do you remember about your time in those woods?’ she said once the tears had subsided a little. She didn’t want to push her too hard, but they had orders to find out everything they possibly could.
‘Not much, sorry. I thought a couple of days would help, but it’s all just a blur. I remember parts of it, but it’s all just a mess.’
‘We won’t know for a few days if you were given any drugs,’ Shipley said, picking up a card from the cabinet next to the bed. He placed it back down, shaking his head at Louise. ‘It’s possible that’s why your memory isn’t proving to be helpful.’
‘Do you think I was drugged?’
Louise hesitated, then opted to change the subject. ‘Have you had anyone in to visit yet?’
‘I had a card from work.’
‘And family?’
Caroline shook her head. ‘There’s no one. I . . . I don’t keep in contact with any of them.’
This was new, Louise thought. Before, she hadn’t wanted them to see her in this state. Now, it was a different reason.
‘What happened? Why isn’t there anyone you want to come in?’ Shipley said, leaning against the cabinet with his arms folded.
The tears had gone now, but it was still a surprise when Caroline turned towards Shipley and spoke in a hard tone. ‘There just isn’t, okay? Is that against the law or something?’
‘I was just wondering, that’s all.’
‘I don’t want to have any contact with those people.’
‘A falling-out?’
‘Why does it matter?’ Caroline said, her tone not softening. ‘It has nothing to do with what happened to me.’
‘You need me to be the judge of that.’
Caroline fixed Shipley with a stare, a few seconds passing by in silence. ‘We fell out a long time ago. The last thing I need is for them to come in here and start judging me. I’m fine on my own. I haven’t seen them in years. Wouldn’t even know how to get in contact with them. They’re miles away. That good enough? Because it’ll have to be.’
Subject closed, Louise thought. She could understand that feeling though. She made a mental note to ask Caroline about her family more if she visited alone again. They might have more in common than she’d first thought.
‘Sorry, I’m just . . . this has all been very hard,’ Caroline said, turning to Louise and giving her a smile, soft but devoid of warmth. ‘I don’t want to open padlocked doors if I don’t have to. They reckon I can go home soon.’
‘Why did you walk near that place, Caroline?’ Shipley said, before Louise had a chance to reply. ‘Is it somewhere you go often?’
‘Every now and again, I suppose,’ Caroline replied, turning back towards Shipley, the cold smile falling away. ‘It’s nice round there. Used to be, anyway. I can’t imagine I’ll be going back there in a hurry. Peaceful. You can hear yourself think. It’s difficult to find places like that these days. It’s all cars and people everywhere. Noise. I like the quiet.’
Louise frowned at this response. Something about it niggled at her, but she couldn’t quite work out what it was.
‘And you’ve never seen anyone else there before?’ Shipley continued, drawing closer to Caroline. ‘Bumped into people, that sort of thing?’
‘Only people walking dogs, couple of joggers every now and then. Nothing out of the ordinary. It’s not the usual place to go for either really. As I said, it’s usually pretty quiet.’
‘Ever had the sense you were being watched or followed?’
Caroline shook her head. ‘Nothing like that. Do you think he’s been watching me or something?’
Shipley held out his hands, trying to placate her. ‘Just covering all the bases, best we can. That’s all. We need to build a complete picture.’
‘Is it true, what they’re saying?’
Shipley didn’t answer, his mouth left hanging open. Louise took over when the silence went on for a few seconds too long. ‘Is what true, Caroline?’
‘That they’ve found bodies. You’ve found bodies, I should say. Is this whole thing linked with what happened to me?’
‘We can’t really say at the moment,’ Louise replied, without pausing. One of those sentences you get used to having to say. Over and over, so it loses all meaning. ‘Anything you can tell us would be a great help though, Caroline. You’re the only one who has seen him.’
‘I’m sorry, I just can’t remember,’ Caroline said, screwing her eyes tightly shut and turning her head away. ‘I wish I could. I don’t want anyone else to end up in this position. Or worse. By the sounds of it, I got very, very lucky. I could have been . . . you know.’
Louise did know. Shipley too. The woman in the bed was the only one to have escaped, by the looks of things. There hadn’t been any other reports of someone calling themselves the Bone Keeper committing this sort of assault and the victim living to tell the tale.
Which meant there was something different this time around.
No one was supposed to escape.
Twenty-Four
It was almost evening by the time they arrived at the first house. There would be similar visits made right across the city, Louise imagined. A couple of faceless detectives, knocking on the door and changing the lives of those living behind them.
Three more bodies had been unearthed in the woods that afternoon.
She didn’t think they would be the last.
Two had already been tentatively identified. One was a missing man from Northumberland. Louise had wondered how they had ended up this far down the country, but then considered the usual victim in cases such as these. The types of missing people that would be found buried in forgotten woodland and left to rot. No major task force looking for them throughout the borough. Simply forgotten.
They were just outside the city centre, in Bootle, waiting for a door to open. The second body possibly identified that day had led them to it. A scruffy-looking terraced house, deep in the middle of a council estate. Next door seemed to have decided to have a car boot sale in their front garden, but had no customers. A stained leather sofa, one of the seat cushions missing, pushed up against the fence. Next to it, a washing machine lying on its back. Various children’s toys scattered about. A purple wheelie bin with no lid, graffiti scratched into its sides.
The other way, a well-maintained patch of grass, nice porch attached to the front of the house.
In the middle of that, the house they were still standing outside. Scruffy, but not overly so. White trims on the window awnings, the paint peeling away in places, stain
ing the red brick below it. There was a gas meter cupboard attached to the wall next to the door, its door swinging open every time a burst of wind hit it.
‘I hate doing this,’ Shipley said, rocking on his feet as they waited. ‘I can never get used to it. Telling someone the worst news imaginable. How do you ever get used to giving this sort of news?’
‘The way I see it,’ Louise replied, sliding a finger across her hair to get it out of her eyes, ‘you hope you never do.’
‘Shall I try again, or give up?’
Louise gave Shipley a shrug, then stepped forward herself and rapped on the door a few times. She smacked the letterbox down as well, just for good measure.
They could hear swearing from behind the door, a deadbolt being shifted and finally the door opening.
‘William Scarrow?’
‘Who’s asking?’
Shipley lifted his ID, giving the old guy standing with his hand still holding the door a chance to inspect it. ‘Detective Sergeant Paul Shipley. This is my colleague, Detective Constable Louise Henderson. Can we come inside please?’
‘Got a warrant?’
‘We’re not here for anything like that, Mr Scarrow,’ Louise said, allowing him to look her up and down. She could almost feel his eyes crawling over her. ‘We need to speak to you about your daughter.’
William Scarrow must have liked what he saw; he stepped to one side and allowed them to enter the house. The smell of mould and damp hit Louise as soon as they crossed the threshold, almost making her gag. Alongside that, a wave of something she couldn’t quite place at first, but then it hit her. The sickly sweet smell of a class B drug. Shipley failed to stifle a cough, which told her she wasn’t the only one suffering.
‘Excuse the mess,’ Scarrow said, picking up some newspapers off a threadbare sofa and gesturing for them to sit down. He plonked the papers on the floor next to it, exploding a cloud of what could have been either dust or someone’s ashes as he did so.
Shipley gave Louise a look, knowing they should sit down to deliver this kind of news. Neither of them wanted to, but they did so anyway, carefully, lowering themselves down slowly and almost in sync.
‘So, which daughter of mine has got herself into trouble then? I’m guessing Angela. Or is it our Julie? Has to be one of them.’
‘I’m afraid we’ve got some bad news, Mr Scarrow . . .’
‘Please, call me Bill,’ he said with a dismissive hand wave. ‘Now, what’s happened? One of my girls got themselves into something bad, no doubt.’
‘It’s about Eleanor.’
Bill Scarrow hadn’t been expecting that name, it was clear. He rocked a little, then allowed himself to fall backwards in his chair. ‘Have you found her?’
‘Yes,’ Louise said, giving Shipley a nudge to move over an inch so she could lean towards Bill. ‘I’m afraid we believe we’ve found her body. We’ve matched the fingerprints from a body to one in our database. To Eleanor. I’m really very sorry.’
Bill didn’t react, simply staring at Louise. He lifted his hands, interlocking his fingers and resting them on his head. Blew out a long breath. ‘Are you sure?’
‘We’ll need you to identify her,’ Shipley replied, opening the folder on his lap and removing a single sheet. ‘We have a photograph with us, but a more formal identification will need to be made.’
Bill took the proffered image, printed out in high resolution. It was of her face only, decay thankfully minimal due to the fact the body had been wrapped like a mummy in bin bags.
That wouldn’t help all of them, Louise thought. If the dates carved into the tree were correct. Some of the bodies would have been buried for a number of years. She dreaded to think of the forensic investigations which would need to take place over the coming days. ‘That’s her,’ Bill said, keeping hold of the photograph. He looked at it for some time before handing it back over. ‘What happened?’
‘We’re still investigating the exact circumstances behind her death, Bill.’
‘Is this to do with the bodies found in Speke?’
Louise glanced at Shipley, who gave her a nod. ‘It’s still an ongoing investigation, but she is one of those we have recently found.’
‘I don’t even know why she’d be that far south of the city,’ Bill said, tutting and shaking his head. ‘Then again, what the hell would I know about her life. Never did. Never will now, I suppose.’
‘Forgive me, Mr Scarrow,’ Shipley began, seemingly hesitating over his words. ‘But you don’t seem too shocked.’
Bill shook his head, gave a small shrug of his shoulders. ‘To be honest, I’ve been waiting for this day to come for a while. I . . . I can’t say I’m surprised she’s ended up dead, because that’s what I always thought would happen eventually, you know? The other girls, they got into trouble, sure. Eleanor was different. It was like she went looking for it.’
‘When did you last see her?’
‘Must be five years now. Maybe even six. Long time, either way. I don’t really remember the exact date. She was always flitting in and out. One day, she just never came back.’
‘What happened when she disappeared?’
‘She was a bit of a tearaway,’ Bill said, a rueful smile appearing on and quickly disappearing from his face. ‘Back when she was a young ’un. All our girls were. Once their mum died, they all went off the rails a fair bit. I had kids late, but their mum was young when she died. Understandable, I guess. Eleanor was just . . . not there anymore. She was the oldest, so I suppose I leaned on her to help out a little more, you know, with the younger ones. I don’t think she ever liked that.’
‘How many daughters do you have, Bill?’
‘Four. No boys. And not one of them liked football, can you believe that? Just my luck.’ Bill chuckled, but there was no feeling behind it. Louise could see him holding back the emotion now, his broad chest rising and falling faster by the second.
‘And how old was Eleanor when her mum died?’
Bill made a show of thinking about it, but Louise guessed he actually knew all the details without having to consider. ‘Must have been about thirteen or fourteen. She was gone three years later. Sixteen or seventeen and thought she could look after herself.’
It was always different, that was what you learned quickly doing these death knocks. There wasn’t a normal way of reacting to being told someone you loved was never coming home. Still, Bill had been more prepared than most of the people she had done this with.
It didn’t make her feel any better. Any less angry.
‘Do you know anything about where she was before she went missing?’
‘Not really,’ Bill replied, sitting forward, his hands clasped together almost as if in prayer. ‘We heard she was possibly in a hostel, or homeless. We weren’t really sure. Someone once said they had seen her begging in town, but when I went there, she wasn’t around. I did try looking for her, but it seemed she didn’t want to be found.’
‘More likely, Bill, she couldn’t be found.’
Bill looked at Shipley, seemingly searching him with his eyes. ‘You’re probably right, mate. Maybe I didn’t have a chance.’
The room filled with a choking silence, the smells becoming more noticeable again. Desperation and despair pouring out of every surface. Louise looked around the room – the clutter, the mess. The giant television in the corner, a brand she didn’t recognise. Untidy wires, protruding from behind it, snaking around to its front.
There was an old photograph on a cluttered mantelpiece, but that was the only one she could see. It was a younger Bill, fresh-faced and thin, but still ten or fifteen years older than the young woman he had his arm around. He was smiling from ear to ear.
Time hadn’t been kind to him.
‘What happens now?’
Louise turned in Bill’s direction, wondering what the answer to that question should be. Shipley seemed similarly silent on the issue, even though they had both faced it before.
‘We’ll be joine
d soon by someone who will be able to talk you through the specifics,’ Louise said, thinking of the liaison officers who would soon become the support for the family. ‘Is there anyone you can call to come round now? Your other daughters?’
‘Yeah, that’s probably a good idea,’ Bill replied, as if he had only just considered the possibility. ‘I’m sure they’ll want to know. Phone’s been cut off though.’
‘You can use mine,’ Shipley said, digging into his pocket and removing his mobile. ‘We’ll stay with you until someone gets here.’
‘Thanks,’ Bill said as Shipley handed over the phone. He stared at the screen for a few seconds before handing it back. ‘Can’t work the new ones. Can you dial for me?’
Louise drifted away again, looking around the room. The normality of it killing her slowly. This was the reality of things. Those left behind. All those bodies, those people. The lost ones. She knew what kind of victim this . . . Bone Keeper would be looking for. The ones who lived on the edges of society, scraping by and barely living.
Ones who wouldn’t be missed.
These people wouldn’t be found staring out at you from the front page of some tabloid. The tearaways, the drug addicts, the drunks. The forgotten missing, who were allowed to slip silently onto the streets, to be ignored by those passing them by, as they held out a styrofoam cup begging for change.
Those were the people the Bone Keeper preyed upon.
Who he enjoyed taking control of, whose lives he enjoyed ending.
The teenagers with troubled home lives. Abused or neglected. Or just misunderstood. No one was surprised when they disappeared. No one cared.
It was simple in her mind now. Someone had become the mythological figure of their childhood and was picking his victims off one by one. Whether it was Rhys Durham, as it looked likely to be, or someone else. Louise understood it all now. Not that it made it any easier to listen in as Bill made his phone call to one of his daughters. She could hear the reaction, the scream of anguish, as he told her what had happened.
Within minutes, there was a rap at the door. She watched, Bill as he remained unmoved, seemingly preparing himself for the emotion about to enter through the front door. Louise was about to get up, to let him sit for a while longer, but he held up a hand to stop her.
