There were twelve tent photographs – five of girls and seven of boys – but no clues to who the third amigo might have been. Ten girls’ names which meant absolutely nothing to Sam. The other photographs were shots of activities. One seemed to be a hike, one was raft building and the final one was a group shot around the scorched earth of a campfire simply labelled ‘Last Morning at Camp’.
Sam zoomed in on the morning picture looking for Lee and Neil to see if they had a girl with them but was surprised to see that they were on opposite sides of the circle of children. And neither was smiling.
‘Must’ve fallen out,’ she muttered to herself.
She scrolled back to the raft-building picture which was focused on four boys wielding planks of wood but none of the boys was Lee or Neil. Just as she was about to go back to the image of the hike, something in the top corner of the raft photograph caught Sam’s eye. She downloaded the image to her desktop and opened it with her own imaging software so she could enlarge it much further than Facebook allowed.
She was right. Behind the grinning foursome with their bits of wood was another group. Two boys and two girls – one of the girls was slightly apart from the other three children, sitting on an upturned plastic tub. She zoomed again and tried to enhance the portion of the image that showed the group she was interested in.
‘Shit!’ she cursed as the figures started to blur. She went back to the picture of Lee and Nick outside the tent and studied their clothing. Lee was wearing a yellow T-shirt with some sort of cartoon figure on the front and Neil had a Manchester United shirt on.
Checking again she could tell that the boys in the raft building picture were wearing yellow and red. She did the same thing with the girls, both dark haired, and decided that the most likely candidates were Angela and Vicky, with Angela being the one not taking part.
‘Gotcha!’ Sam exclaimed doing a mini fist pump and then immediately looking round to make sure that nobody had noticed.
She wrote the names Lee, Neil and Vicky on her notepad and then scrolled back to the ‘Members’ tab for the group. There was one Victoria, but she was a freckled red-head and extremely unlikely to be the adult version of dark-haired Vicky. There was also a Lee Bradley. Sam compared his profile picture with the boy next to the tent and couldn’t rule him out. She scrawled his name on her notepad. Another member was Neil Grieveson who could very easily have been the boy in the Man United shirt in 1988. Energised, Sam scrolled through the photographs from the reunion in May. Lots of small groups with drinks raised and arms around each other. Smiles, flushed faces, rude hand gestures – everything she’d expect from a rowdy night out. She was hoping that somebody would have tagged the people that she was interested in, or at least added names underneath the photographs but she was disappointed; there was no mention of Lee or Neil or Vicky.
Then, in the background of a photograph of a man in his forties trying to breakdance, she spotted them. Three figures hunched around a small table; heads close together as though sharing secrets. She couldn’t be certain, even after she’d enhanced the digital image, but one of the men looked like Lee Bradley and the woman could easily have been a grown-up version of Vicky. The photograph had been added by ‘Sheffield Road Juniors 1988 Reunion’ – obviously the group administrator. She clicked at the top of the page and found two people listed as admins – June Tuffrey and Danielle Forrester. Both had their privacy settings at the highest level.
Cautiously optimistic, Sam hit ‘Message’ on June Tuffrey’s profile page. Even if the woman didn’t know the real names of The Three Amigos, she might know somebody who did.
16
The woman who opened the door was exactly as Kate remembered her. Short – much shorter than Chris – with a cap of grey hair and shrewd blue eyes, Maureen Gilruth looked like the sort of woman anybody with any sense would wish for as their grandmother. She was smartly dressed in a dark blue skirt and white blouse and her make-up was subtle but expertly applied. Kate wondered if she’d been shopping or out with friends for the morning.
Having seen photographs of her sister it was clear that Maureen was the younger of the two by at least ten years and she seemed to be in full possession of her faculties as she gave Kate a sad smile and ushered her inside the house. Hollis introduced himself and shook hands with the woman, offering his condolences before accepting a seat on a tasteful mock-leather sofa which faced a huge picture window offering a view of the Kentmere fells.
‘Lovely view,’ he said. ‘I’d never get anything done if I had that to look at all day.’
Maureen turned and looked out of the window seeming to get lost in her thoughts, her eyes fixed on the changing shapes of the clouds in the sky. ‘It’s never the same,’ she said eventually. ‘Not even minute by minute: it’s always changing. You’d think I’d get tired of it having lived here for so long, but I haven’t. It still sometimes catches me by surprise. After Duncan died and Chris got married, I thought about moving to a bungalow in Kendal, but I’ve lived in this village for too long to leave now.’
‘It’s beautiful,’ Kate said. ‘I’ve always liked Staveley.’
Maureen smiled at her gratefully. ‘I bet you miss the fells, being down there.’
‘Every day,’ Kate conceded. She hadn’t realised just how much she missed the shapes of the mountains against the clouds until her recent holiday with Nick. Now, looking up the valley towards the high fells, she wondered why she’d ever left. Her view across Town Fields didn’t compare and the short sheep-less commute to work didn’t seem as attractive as the winding route she used to take.
‘Tea? Coffee?’
Kate dragged her eyes away from the window. ‘Coffee please. With milk.’
Maureen turned to Hollis expectantly and he asked for the same.
Kate left Dan staring out of the window and followed the older woman into her kitchen. She watched as mugs and spoons were assembled on a worktop while the kettle hissed slowly to boiling point.
‘How’ve you been?’ Kate asked, quietly. ‘This must have been a terrible shock. Chris and your sister.’
Maureen unscrewed the top of a jar of instant coffee and spooned it into the mugs with a trembling hand. ‘I don’t think it’s really sunk in yet,’ she admitted. ‘Holly and the girls don’t seem to know what to do without him and I’m not much help.’
Kate felt her cheeks start to warm at the mention of Chris’s wife and children. ‘If there’s anything I can do…’ she said, but Maureen waved away her offer.
‘It’ll just take time,’ she said. ‘I was the same when Duncan died, although Chris was grown up by then. It’ll be hard on Lily and Sophie.’ No mention of Margaret. She handed Kate a steaming mug of coffee and led the way back to the sitting room where Hollis was waiting with his notebook on his lap.
Maureen placed the other mug on a coaster on the table next to him and sat down opposite the two detectives.
‘I’m sorry if it’s caused you any problems, me asking to speak to you, but I know you and Chris were friends and I want somebody to listen without judgement. I thought you might be able to do that.’
‘Of course,’ Kate said. ‘And anything you tell us today will only be used to help to catch whoever did this to Chris and Margaret.’
To her surprise, Maureen snorted disgustedly. ‘Margaret. Haven’t seen her for years. I bet most people who know me have no idea that I had a sister.’
‘You weren’t in touch?’
Maureen leaned back in her seat and crossed her arms defensively. ‘I’ve not spoken to that woman since I took Chris off her when he was two weeks old. As far as I’m concerned, my sister’s been dead for decades.’
‘Why did she let you bring up Chris?’ Kate asked, a suspicion starting to form in her mind.
Maureen’s face reddened and she looked down at her lap. ‘There’s no easy way to explain that doesn’t make me look bad. I blackmailed her. I couldn’t have children and she didn’t deserve them – not with that… that thing
she married. How could she even think about bringing up a child in that house?’
‘You mean David Whitaker?’
‘I’d rather you didn’t use his name in this house,’ Maureen hissed.
‘You didn’t approve of the marriage?’
A shake of the head.
‘But you kept in touch with your sister?’
‘At first. I always got a funny feeling about him, but I thought if he’s good enough for Margaret then who am I to judge? He was kind to her. At first. Gave her expensive gifts, took her on holidays – nothing was too much for her. They’d been together about ten years when I got the sense that something was a bit off between them. I wondered if he was beating her or if it was that, what do they call it these days, coercive control? Then she told me what he was, and I turned on her – I couldn’t help myself. I told her to go to the police, but she wouldn’t. She said he’d told her that it was a one-off and that he was going to change, that he needed help.’
Kate noticed that Hollis had flipped open his notebook and was writing down Maureen’s side of the conversation.
‘What do you mean “what he was”? What was wrong with Dav… Margaret’s husband?’
Maureen stared at her, a frown of anger creasing her forehead. ‘You already know. You must do. He liked little kids. He was a pervert,’ the word exploded out of her and she leaned forward, pointing a finger to emphasise her disgust.
‘Margaret found out and she wanted to help him. Can you imagine – having sympathy with a man like that? He needed castrating not counselling. And then she fell pregnant – what sort of torture would he have put the child through? So, I told her – if she didn’t let me have the baby, I’d go to the police myself. I was bluffing, of course, I had no evidence, but I’d seen what he was like with her, controlling everything. He’d have been the same with Chris – or worse. I’ll never understand how she could even have thought about bringing a child into that relationship.’
Kate could see that beneath the woman’s outrage was deep distress. She’d found out about the deaths of her son and her sister within a few days of each other and was obviously struggling.
‘Maureen, I know this is difficult but…’
‘It’s not difficult, love, it’s bloody agony. I can’t believe that Chris is gone. Holly said that the police told her that he was stabbed, is that right? I don’t know who’d do something like that.’
Kate hadn’t been given authorisation to discuss the details of either case but there was nothing to be gained by holding back. Maureen had specifically asked for her and Kate felt an obligation to be honest with the woman. ‘It looks like it, yes,’ she said. ‘At the moment Cumbria Constabulary are treating the case as a murder investigation.’
‘And Margaret? I heard she’d been in a nursing home.’
‘She had been, for some time. Her husband had her admitted when she developed dementia. Somebody claiming to be her niece had Margaret released into her care a couple of months ago. Her body was found last week in a storage facility in Doncaster. I’ll give you more detail if you want to hear it but it’s not pleasant.’
‘And she was murdered as well? By this woman?’
‘It looks that way,’ Kate said. ‘I’m sorry.’
‘But it’s not him? Not her husband?’
Kate shook her head. ‘No. He’s been in prison in Wakefield for the past five months. It can’t have been him.’
‘Prison? What for?’
Kate glanced at Hollis. She knew that she’d already told Maureen more than she should have but Whitaker’s crimes would be a matter of public record. Hollis simply raised his eyebrows at her as if to say You’ve come this far. What’s a bit more information?
‘He was convicted on a number of counts involving grooming children,’ Kate said. ‘From what you’ve told us I doubt that’ll come as much of a surprise.’
Maureen sighed and shook her head. ‘Were there children hurt?’
‘It was all internet-based,’ Kate said. ‘As far as I know, Whitaker was grooming and viewing but he didn’t actually harm any children himself.’
‘This time,’ Maureen spat. ‘He was a bloody teacher. How could they let somebody like that near kiddies? It doesn’t make sense.’
Kate kept quiet. It didn’t make sense, but she’d seen many cases where adults who had passed all the checks had been able to gain access to vulnerable children – the system wasn’t perfect, but it was all that was available. And when Whitaker had started teaching the vetting system wouldn’t have been anywhere near as rigorous as the current one. If he had no record of a conviction for child abuse on List 99 he’d have been able to undergo his teacher training – any other offences wouldn’t have surfaced.
‘I do appreciate you being straight with me, Kate. That’s why I asked to see you. I know you and Chris were friends and I thought I could trust you to tell me the truth. And I wanted to tell somebody about how Chris ended up with me. He never knew that I wasn’t his mum, you know. I thought about telling him, but I don’t know what it would have achieved. If I’d told him about Margaret then I’d have had to tell him who his dad was as well, and I think he was better off not knowing.’
‘Will you tell Holly?’ Chris’s wife’s name felt odd in Kate’s mouth, like the word was too big and didn’t belong there.
‘I don’t know. It’s the girls I worry about. What good will it do them to know about their grandfather? I really can’t see any point in telling her now that Chris is gone.’
Kate could see her point. Why taint Holly’s memories of Chris with the truth about his father?
‘It’s not my place to offer you advice,’ Kate said. ‘But the truth might come out because of Margaret’s death. The connection’s been made – DNA doesn’t lie. If… when… we catch whoever did this then there’ll be a trial and you won’t be able to protect your daughter-in-law.’
Maureen nodded miserably. ‘I hadn’t really thought about that. You think the same person killed them both?’
‘Honestly? I don’t know at this stage.’
‘But you will find him, or her?’
‘We’re doing everything we can,’ Kate said, aware of how inadequate her assurances sounded. She glanced down at her untouched coffee. It would seem ungrateful not to drink it but she felt like the interview was over. They’d got what they came for and the decent thing to do now was to leave this woman alone with her grief.
‘I can make you another,’ Maureen said, obviously realising that Kate’s drink had probably gone cold.
‘It’s fine,’ Kate said, standing up. ‘I really appreciate your time and I’ll do my best to keep you updated on the investigation in Doncaster. I can’t speak for the Cumbrian force but there are a lot of decent people there and they’ll all go the extra mile for one of their own.’
The clichés were almost embarrassing, but she didn’t have the words to reassure Chris’s mother. She had no idea who had killed her son and her sister, or why. And she was worried that Das might deny her the opportunity to find out.
As they said their goodbyes, Kate took the car keys from Hollis. She couldn’t face three more hours trapped inside her own head and driving would give her something else to think about.
17
Simon Charlton stared miserably through the side window of his car. He’d been waiting for nearly half an hour but there was still no sign of the person who’d e-mailed him three days ago.
He’d almost ignored the communication – it had been sitting in his junk mailbox with lots of other spam and a few important documents disguised to look like offers from drug companies or foreign banks. He knew the ones that were ‘live’. The codes and references were obvious to anybody who was looking but, to a casual observer, they just looked like the usual scams and rubbish that everybody got. He saw that two had photographs attached and one had a video and he was trying to decide which to look at first. He knew that he’d enjoy the video most but sometimes the photographs could be very… st
imulating.
As he hovered the mouse over the most promising subject line, he noticed a familiar place name towards the bottom of the list. He’d scrolled down and his breath caught in his throat. The sender was unknown to him, but the subject line was a taunt. Camping: Derbyshire 1988. Impossible. How could anybody possibly know the significance of that location in that year? The year it all began for him. The year he started to allow himself to be who he really was instead of a pale imitation of himself.
With a trembling hand he’d opened the e-mail and saw that it was blank; there was no message. His eyes were drawn to a series of attachments – all jpegs – and he clicked on the first one. It showed two girls standing next to a bright orange tent with woodland behind them. The next was similar but the girls were different. He continued to open the images – nine in all – and each one showed a pair or group of children, obviously on a camping holiday. He could tell from the clothes and the hairstyles that the year referenced in the subject line was probably correct – these photographs were from the late eighties so almost definitely from that camp.
He wondered if the other two had been targeted – Whitaker and Paulson – the one they called the sergeant major, with his dark moustache and full beard. Simon had encountered Whitaker many times over the years in chat rooms and on forums. He’d remembered him because he’d nicknamed himself Sir W, probably a reference to him being a teacher. He’d heard on the grapevine that Sir W was serving a few months in Wakefield – no sympathy there though if he’d been stupid enough to get caught. Charlton knew exactly what that was like.
Reunion: a gripping crime thriller (DI Kate Fletcher Book Book 4) Page 11
