One was a series of images which were familiar to Kate. They were the same photographs she’d seen on Facebook – the camping trip from 1988, pairs of children outside identical orange tents. The second e-mail contained five words: I know what you did. The final one explained how the sender had been left a ‘broken man’ after the abuse that he’d suffered at the hands of Charlton and ‘another’ and a demand that they meet up to allow the sender ‘closure’. The final e-mail also hinted at consequences if Charlton didn’t turn up at the stated time and place.
‘That’s where he was kidnapped,’ Kate said, noting the location of the car park where the CCTV footage had shown Charlton being bundled into the car that Kate had seen earlier. ‘He was lured there. And whoever did it knew all about his past.’
‘That’s what it looks like,’ Cooper agreed. ‘It must be somebody who was there in 1988 or somebody who knows what happened.’
Which narrowed down their search considerably. There were around two dozen students, two teachers and some staff from the outdoor centre involved in the trip. Kate started making notes and organising her priorities. She needed to put names to all the children in the photographs and she needed to find out about the staff from the outdoor centre as a matter of urgency. She knew that David Whitaker and Liz Dalston had been the teachers in attendance and, while she knew exactly where to find Whitaker, she might need some help in tracking down Mrs Dalston.
‘Where are Barratt and O’Connor?’ Kate asked Sam.
‘Matt’s finishing up the search of Charlton’s house and I think Steve’s here somewhere. I saw him at his desk a little while ago.’
‘Right. I’m going to get everybody together. We need to start getting organised. These e-mails change everything. Our killer has to be somebody who was on that trip – nothing else makes sense. My money’s still on one of our three amigos but they’re bloody clever.’
‘Strangers on a Train?’
‘What?’
‘That film,’ Sam explained. ‘Two people meet up and agree to kill each other’s partners so they’ll each have an alibi for the time of the crime.’
‘You think we’ve got three different killers? I’m not convinced. And wasn’t the premise of the film that the two murderers had no connection with each other? That was the beauty of their plan.’
‘Well, it was just a thought,’ Cooper said. ‘I’ve not seen anything to convince me that this is the work of a single killer despite the connection between the victims.’
Nor had Kate. That was part of the problem.
29
Kate was impressed by the speed with which her team responded to her summons. Within an hour they were assembled in the briefing room – a sense of urgency starting to build. She’d found O’Connor in the staff canteen when she’d gone up for coffee and had been prepared to jokingly admonish him for slacking – she knew he’d have been working on something – when he’d turned so that she could see that he was on the phone and raised a finger to ask her to wait. He hadn’t looked especially animated, so she’d got her drink and left him to it.
‘Dan, anything from the burnt-out car?’
Hollis shook his head. ‘Not so far. There was a lot of damage, but the boot space was mostly intact. It was probably closed when they set the car alight. One of the SOCOs was fairly hopeful about recovering some trace from the carpet.’
Kate nodded. It was a bit of a long shot. Any trace evidence from the boot would probably link to Simon Charlton but the killer might have been careless. They had to hope.
‘Matt? Charlton’s house? Any link to Whitaker or to our three main suspects?’
‘Nothing,’ Barratt said. ‘It looks like he was careful after he’d been caught out once before. The laptop and USB stick are our best hope but, from what I can gather, it was all pretty standard stuff.’
‘Right,’ Kate said, raising the remote control to turn on the projector. ‘That leads us nicely into this morning’s latest discovery. Sam’s managed to get into Charlton’s e-mail, and she found these.’
Kate scrolled through the three messages, showing the order that they’d been received. ‘We can see from the address that we have a link to our three main suspects and the images in the second e-mail are the same ones that Sam found on Facebook. Everything seems to take us back to that camping trip in 1988.’
‘So, we’re still looking at Grieveson, Bradley and Rhodes?’ Barratt asked.
‘Among others,’ Kate said. ‘There were over twenty kids on that trip and one other teacher. There were also at least two members of the outdoor centre staff. I think Charlton was there and there was the large man in the group picture.’ Kate displayed the image on the screen. ‘We know from June Tuffrey that the other teacher, Liz Dalston, wasn’t there for the last night of the trip as she’d injured her ankle earlier in the day. We also know that Grieveson, Bradley and Rhodes were abused, probably that day. But, were they the only ones? Did anybody else know what was going on or did anybody else suffer at the hands of Whitaker and Charlton?’
Silence as the others assessed the implications of what Kate was saying.
‘We need to track down and interview everybody who was on that trip.’
‘Including Whitaker?’ Hollis asked.
‘Including Whitaker. But we leave him for now. I want as much information as possible before we confront him with what we know. I got the impression from his sister-in-law that he’s clever and manipulative.’
The others nodded their agreement. There was no use allowing Whitaker to wriggle out of his responsibility for recent events.
‘Right. I’ve been having a think about priorities and I think we need to start chasing up people who were on that trip and at the reunion. June Tuffrey seems to be our best contact so, Matt, can you get on to that? And Sam, work on it from Facebook.’
The two DCs nodded.
‘We also need to find Liz Dalston – I think she might still be alive despite having taught me back in the Stone Age.’ Polite sniggers all round.
‘I’ve found her,’ Sam said. ‘Had a look while you were getting coffee. She lives in Warmsworth.’
Kate laughed. ‘I don’t believe it. She’s still on the main road next to the traffic lights?’
Sam started to say something, but Kate cut her off. ‘She used to tell us that she could see the lights changing behind her bedroom curtains. When I was little, I thought it must be a really exotic place to live. I always used to look for her when we went past on the bus on the way to Doncaster.’
Kate looked up to see each member of her team staring at her. As one, they looked away as though embarrassed. It wasn’t like Kate to talk about herself or her past even, though they all knew that she’d grown up in Thorpe and knew the area better than any of them.
‘Anyway,’ she continued after a deep breath. ‘Good work, Sam. Hollis – with me to interview Mrs Dalston. We also need to find Angela Fox. At the moment I’m working on the premise that she’s a potential victim. I don’t know what happened between her and Vicky Rhodes, but something went badly wrong there and I’m not at all convinced by Rhodes’s explanation that it was just a childish expression. We need to track her down and make sure she’s not in danger.’
‘Already on it,’ O’Connor said. ‘I’ve spent a good part of the morning ringing holiday companies that let cottages on Mull. So far, I’ve drawn a blank, but I’ll keep on it. Trouble is, if she’s rented from a friend or from somebody who lets out their cottage on an informal basis then I might not find her.’
‘If she’s there,’ Hollis added ominously.
He was right to be concerned. Kate was deeply troubled by their inability to track down Angela Fox. If the woman had set off for Mull, it would have been easy for the killer to intercept her or to meet her on the island and attack her. She might not have even left the area – the killer could have met her at home.
‘Okay. Steve – keep ringing round. Sam’s got details of Fox’s car – I doubt there’s much in t
he way of ANPR coverage up there, but it might help to identify her. And check her house in Tickhill. If she doesn’t turn up, we might have to get a warrant to search the premises. I’ll give you the contact details for the colleague we spoke to at the DRI, he might have heard from her or he might be able to give a specific date for when she left or when she’s due back. He was a bit vague when we spoke to him, but you might be able to jog his memory.’
Kate smiled to herself at the thought of O’Connor grilling Dylan. The DS was an intimidating figure at the best of times with his stocky build that never seemed to be fully contained within his clothes and his dark red, biker-style facial hair. Couple that with his warrant card and she was willing to bet that Angela’s colleague would quickly buckle if he knew anything.
30
Liz Dalston’s bungalow was exactly where Kate remembered. A 1950s prefabricated building, it sat at the crossroads of the main Thorpe to Doncaster Road and two more minor routes to outlying villages. The traffic lights were still there, although the bungalow’s garden was screened by tall hedges of dark green leylandii – possibly as a defence against traffic noise and the ever-changing red, amber and green.
Kate opened the small gate in the hedge and led the way to the front door, trying to control the flood of memories that bombarded her as she thought about seeing her former teacher for the first time in over thirty years. Mrs Dalston had been Kate’s teacher the year her mother died, and she’d been kind and thoughtful, especially when Kate’s friends were less than considerate. Kate knew that the woman would be in her seventies now – when they’d spoken on the phone, she’d heard the tremor in the older woman’s voice but it was still familiar and strangely reassuring. She’d given her rank and name but hadn’t disclosed her former identity, unwilling to prejudice the interview or distract either of them from the details of the school trip. As soon as the door opened though, Kate saw that her subterfuge had been pointless.
‘Cathy Siddons! What a surprise after all these years.’
The woman holding the door open bore little resemblance to the teacher that Kate remembered, apart from the intelligent blue eyes which now nestled within a web of wrinkles. The auburn hair that Mrs Dalston had worn in a long ponytail was now short and wispy, turning the woman’s head into a dandelion clock of grey and white.
‘You can’t possibly recognise me,’ Kate said.
‘I’d like to pretend that my memory’s that good,’ Mrs Dalston said with a broad grin. ‘The truth is I’ve seen you in the papers. That child killer case a couple of years ago? They mentioned that you’d grown up in the area and what your maiden name was. And then that supposed mercy killing in Thorpe. You’re making quite a name for yourself.’
As Kate was struggling for an appropriate response, Mrs Dalston ushered them into a small living room at the front of the house, leaning heavily on a walking stick as she hobbled down the hallway. It was gloomy despite the hour – obviously the shade from the large hedge – but at least the traffic lights were out of sight. Sparsely furnished with a fifties-style three-piece suite which could have been original or might have been an IKEA copy and a dark wood coffee table, there was little in the room that reflected the personality of the woman who lived in the house. There were no photographs, very few ornaments apart from a wooden Buddha on the windowsill, and no television. The wall opposite the window was shelved and each shelf was stuffed with books which had obviously been crammed into any and every available space. The only concession to life in the twenty-first century was a digital radio placed on a small side table within easy reach of one of the armchairs.
After refusing hot drinks, Kate and Hollis settled themselves on the sofa while Mrs Dalston eased herself into one of the armchairs. She studied Kate with a faint smile which deepened her wrinkles. ‘I do remember you, you know. I’d only been teaching for a couple of years when you were in my class. I’m not surprised you’ve made something of yourself. Really bright, this one.’ The last comment was directed at Hollis who smiled, clearly uncomfortable with this insight into his boss’s past.
‘But I’m sure you’re not here to talk about all that. What can I do for you both?’
Kate allowed Hollis to outline the reason for the visit and their interest in the camping trip while she studied her former teacher – lost in memories. She remembered returning to school after her mother’s funeral and all her friends having difficulty talking to her. It was Mrs Dalston who had explained that it didn’t mean that they weren’t bothered – they just didn’t know what to say or how to help. Now, as an adult, Kate dealt with grief on a regular basis and she suddenly realised that her teacher had probably been basing her insight on her own experience. She looked around the room again and wondered what had happened to Mr Dalston. Was the loss of a husband the event that allowed the woman in front of her to make such a difference to Kate’s life?
‘So, you remember the trip well?’ Hollis was asking.
‘Hard to forget,’ Mrs Dalston said, patting the walking stick that she’d propped against the arm of her chair. ‘Haven’t been able to walk properly since. Though, to be honest, it wasn’t so bad until I hit my sixties. It’s all downhill after that.’
‘What happened?’ Kate asked.
Mrs Dalston smiled and glanced down at her foot. ‘I broke my ankle. Stupid really but we all do daft things when we’re young. On the last day of the trip we all went abseiling off Millers Dale Bridge. I was a bit nervous. I’ve never been especially fond of heights. I was one of the last to go. One of the instructors was showing my colleague how to guide the rope so that it didn’t allow the person on the end to drop too quickly but he hadn’t quite got the hang of it and he lost me about eight feet from the ground. I was lucky it was just my ankle really – could have been a lot worse.’
‘So, it was an accident?’
‘Of course. It’s not like he let me go on purpose.’
‘Who was holding the rope?’ Kate asked, even though she thought she knew the answer.
‘David Whitaker. It was his trip really. He organised it every year and it was the first time I’d been.’ Kate noticed a subtle shift in her tone and a slight hardening around her mouth. She might not believe Whitaker had intentionally harmed her, but Mrs Dalston didn’t like the man.
‘And it was a popular trip? With the children.’
Mrs Dalston nodded. ‘Oh, they loved it. It was the highlight of their last year at Sheffield Road. Some of them started planning what they’d do when they were still in the year below. A lot of children went on to Thorpe Comp but there were quite a few who went to other schools, so it was good for them to be able to say a last goodbye to their friends.’
Kate watched as Hollis made notes. The next few questions were crucial, and she needed to ask them in the correct order to avoid leading Mrs Dalston in any way.
‘Do you remember a group of kids who called themselves The Three Amigos?’
Another smile – much broader this time. ‘Of course. They were all in my class when they were in third year, or year five as it became. Named themselves after some daft film. I suggested The Three Musketeers might be more appropriate, but they didn’t know what I was talking about.’
‘Do you remember their names?’
‘I might if you gave me a couple of hours. They named themselves after the main characters and I think each name might have connected to their real names in some way. Their initials possibly.’
‘Lee Bradley, Vicky Rhodes and Neil Grieveson,’ Hollis said.
‘That sounds about right. Vicky Rhodes. Another exceptionally bright girl.’ Mrs Dalston smiled at Kate and she heard Hollis, next to her, snigger softly.
‘They were on the camping trip when you got injured,’ Hollis continued.
‘Were they? I must admit, after a while the years blur together. I’ll have to take your word for that.’
So far, the interview had added very little to what they already knew apart from Kate’s sense that her former teacher
hadn’t liked David Whitaker. They needed to try to pin down details. Kate slipped her mobile phone out of her pocket and flicked to the photographs of the camping trip.
‘We’re trying to put names to the people in these photographs and to establish who else was on the trip – especially adults. We’ve got a few student names; the three we’ve given plus Angela Fox and June Tuffrey. We’d really like to know about the outdoor centre staff. This man in particular.’
Kate scrolled to the photograph of the final day and pointed to the burly man on the back row.
‘The sergeant major,’ Mrs Dalston said softly. ‘That’s what the kids called him. He was a bit brusque.’
‘Real name?’
The former teacher closed her eyes in concentration. ‘Paul something? Or maybe that was his surname, Paulson, Pawson? I’m sorry, I can’t remember.’
‘What about this man? Was he there?’ She showed Mrs Dalston a scan of a photograph that had been found in Charlton’s house. A much younger Charlton in army fatigues, smiling for the camera. Sam thought it would have been taken when he was around twenty – in 1988.
‘That’s Simon,’ Mrs Dalston said without hesitation. ‘He took me to the hospital when I hurt my ankle. A lovely young man. He was very kind. Didn’t want to leave me there overnight but there was nothing he could do for me other than wait and that seemed a bit pointless. He reminded me a lot of my husband, Barry, when he was younger.’
A shadow crossed the woman’s face and Kate suddenly understood the full reason for her teacher’s empathy all those years ago. Her husband had died, leaving her a young widow.
‘I don’t suppose you remember his last name?’
‘I think I’m doing quite well remembering any of this, but no, sorry.’
It didn’t matter. They’d got a positive identification for Simon Charlton. He had been on that trip. One more piece fell into place. Kate took a breath. The questions were about to get a bit more difficult and she was worried that she might cause offence if she suggested that Mrs Dalston knew anything about Whitaker’s character.
Reunion: a gripping crime thriller (DI Kate Fletcher Book Book 4) Page 19
