Dead End

by Dead End (retail) (epub)

  The rain slashed in sideways, and Rob struggled to keep his hood up, speak into his radio and keep civilians contained. Their excitement and eagerness was reaching fever point, understandably, but he couldn’t let them loose on the hillside until he was happy with their grid reference, so he could tick off each square as they went.

  * * *

  Kelly waited in the prefabricated office for Garth Cooke. From the window, she could see Rob, and it reminded her of all the shit assignments in British weather that she’d notched up before she earned the privilege of staying inside with an electric heater. The manager of the campsite, Jack Sentry, had made her a mediocre coffee, and she perched on the edge of a table and eyed him up. He was the nervous type, and appeared defensive when she asked about the two girls. Perhaps he was edgy because they’d commandeered his site and were allowing hundreds of feet to ruin the grass.

  ‘Maybe they went for a walk,’ he was mumbling.

  ‘Well, we’ll hopefully find that out,’ Kelly said. She got the distinct impression that Jack Sentry didn’t like being beholden to a woman.

  Even inside the cabin, the damp air smelled of the lake; it was the same smell that woke her each morning, when she’d rather stay in bed with Johnny than face the world. She’d got into the habit of not wanting to get out of bed, wanting to stay there next to him, listening to him talk. He too was an outsider, and it was perhaps no coincidence that they’d found each other. He understood how it felt to be on the fringes.

  She took comfort from the fact that her team appreciated her; without them, her job would be a whole lot harder. As a result, she didn’t feel as though she needed to go charging out into the middle of Rob’s search and take over; she trusted him.

  Outside, Rob shouted through a loud hailer, trying to control the mob. It was time to go, and Kelly watched as they trudged metre by metre towards the fells. Uniformed officers in high-visibility vests kept the crowds in team-like formations, and spoke into their radios.

  The searchers ambled slowly forward in three directions: one group to the lake, the second to Martindale, and the third to Loadpot Hill. Kelly had ordered police dogs to be brought in and they’d gone crazy around the tent and then headed off towards the fells. It wasn’t an exact science that was admissible in court, but the whole force would rather trust their dogs than any human testimony. The three canines involved in the search were each a unique mix of Labrador and pointer, with a smattering of hound, and they’d trained with the police since they were pups. Their handlers struggled to keep them back, and Kelly watched from the cabin as they pulled ferociously towards the Loadpot Hill trail.

  She had instructed that the dogs be allowed to go ahead and the foot search bring up the rear; it wasn’t feasible to contain both. The three handlers kept in contact with Rob and were over two hundred metres ahead when they disappeared out of sight. Kelly turned back to Jack Sentry.

  ‘Did the girls pay up on time?’

  ‘Ah, no, actually. It was a bone of contention. They were tardy even by holiday standards. It seems trivial, but it’s not when they’re using water and electricity paid for by everyone else.’

  Kelly found his irritation disproportionate to the subject: a few days of showers and heat wasn’t enough to get worked up about, was it?

  ‘So they weren’t up to date?’

  ‘No. They owed the last day.’

  ‘The last day? Had they told you their plans?’

  ‘Erm, no. I assumed …’ Sentry moved to the window. ‘They must have found him by now; his tent is only in field two.’ He was talking about Garth Cooke and the PC who’d been tasked to bring him to the office. Kelly waited.

  ‘Did you find anything about the situation unusual?’ she asked.

  Sentry smiled. ‘Well, Garth wasn’t best pleased that his girlfriend preferred girls, let’s put it that way.’

  Kelly processed the nugget of information and looked outside once more. The weather had eased slightly and she hoped that the rain hadn’t dampened the dogs’ abilities.

  * * *

  Outside, Rob’s group trudged slowly forward, as was their brief. He’d instructed all volunteers to look at the ground carefully, holding up a hand if they spotted anything that didn’t belong on the mountainside. They were looking for anything at all: cigarette packets, litter of any kind, personal belongings or maps. As the weather cleared a little, he could see steam rising off the swarm of people around him. They carried plastic sticks: singularly inoffensive and beneficial when searching for evidence but not wanting to contaminate the area.

  When they reached the stile that led directly to Loadpot, with the dogs long gone, Rob halted the group and instructed them to carefully clamber over the dry-stone wall to either side. He himself went first and waited until everybody had been helped over. Straight away, someone shouted and held up their hand. It was a young man who’d drawn attention to himself, and now he was embarrassed as all eyes turned to him. Rob walked across to him and they exchanged words. The young man pointed at a cigarette packet on the ground. Rob was already wearing two layers of plastic gloves, and he removed an evidence bag from his case, bent down and retrieved the item, dropping it into the bag and sealing it.

  They carried on.

  As they began to ascend, they slowed even further and came upon a wide clump of ferns. They’d been instructed to move the plants with their feet – mindful of adders – and look under the wide leaves. The foliage was rough, and they were stuck there for a good half an hour. Another voice carried on the wind. Again Rob went to them and bagged an item. The third person to raise the alarm was less embarrassed, and by the time they reached the foot of Swarth Fell, seven more items had been bagged.

  Everything would head off to the lab to be checked and swabbed. The Lakes National Park was relatively free of litter, but the search was proving fairly productive, and Rob was eager to begin properly logging and photographing the items. He’d carefully noted each location, and back at Eden House, he’d add them to the map.

  Another voice punctuated the wind, and he went across with a bag. This time he bagged a discarded cider bottle, drained and thrown away; a brazen flouting of National Park authority.

  After a good forty-five minutes, Rob was starting to feel the cold. He rubbed his hands together. He could see that the searchers were beginning to chat, as they were prone to do when their attention lapsed after a while. He decided that another twenty minutes and they’d be done. He had a wealth of booty, and it all needed to be sorted and labelled: that would tie up the rest of his day.

  A crackle caught his attention on his radio and he halted the group. It was one of the canine handlers. Rob had chatted to all three of them before they’d set off, and he remembered the dark brown mutt called Trooper and her handler, an officer called Doug. Now he learned that Trooper had led her master off the beaten path towards the drop-off that led to the Fusedale Pike route. She’d gone insane over something and refused to budge.

  ‘We’ve got a bag, sir.’

  Rob knew that Doug wore gloves and could be trusted to have a cursory rummage inside.

  ‘And?’

  ‘There’s an ID card belonging to Hannah Lawson, as well as a mobile phone. That’s not all. It’s difficult to tell without chemicals, but there’s a dark brown substance on the outside in a definite linear pattern.’

  Rob knew what Doug was thinking. It could be the remnants of Hannah’s last meal at McDonald’s, it could be make-up, it could be rust. Or it could be blood spatter.

  ‘Sorry, mate, you’re gonna have to stay up there.’

  ‘I know, sir. I’m sealing the area now. I’ve called the other two over; they turned up nothing.’

  ‘Give Trooper a pat from me.’

  ‘Will do, sir.’

  ‘I’m on my way.’

  Rob radioed Kelly. Times like these were the best and worst moments of a case. Their first clue was in, and that was a fact to rejoice at. However, it was a sign that all was far from well
with the girls, and the case had just elevated itself to something much more alarming.

  Chapter 7

  The news made it imperative for Kelly to speak to the person who seemed to know most about the two girls on the whole of the site: Garth Cooke.

  ‘Did anyone go inside the girls’ tent before the police arrived?’ she asked Jack Sentry.

  He didn’t answer straight away.

  ‘Well I can’t guarantee that, can I?’ he said at last. ‘I mean, it’s a tent.’

  Kelly didn’t appreciate his attempt at cleverness; it struck her more as derision, and it was tasteless. He didn’t seem to be responding in the way one might expect when two lives were at stake. She hadn’t informed him about the bag, and he hadn’t perceived her change in mood.

  A knock on the flimsy door caught her attention and Garth Cooke was escorted in by a uniform. He was scruffy, evasive and uncomfortable. But he’d stuck around.

  Kelly saw a fleeting glance from Sentry to the young man, and noted that neither had expressed, as far as she was aware, much concern for the girls; only disparagement.

  ‘Hello, Garth, please will you sit down. Mr Sentry, would you leave us alone?’

  Sentry nodded, got his coat and left.

  ‘You reported Hannah and Sophie missing?’ she asked. Garth nodded.

  ‘I’ve already told loads of coppers what I know,’ he said. His eyes settled on anything around Kelly rather than her face and she didn’t trust him, but they had a long way to go yet.

  ‘What made you suspicious?’

  He sighed loudly. Kelly jotted notes.

  ‘I couldn’t find them on Monday morning and I thought they’d gone off somewhere – you know, for a walk. But I couldn’t find them on Tuesday either, and I asked around and nobody had seen them. I tried Sophie’s phone but it went to voicemail. I thought I’d better tell someone then.’

  ‘Were you here together on holiday?’

  ‘Kind of.’

  ‘What does that mean?’ Kelly asked. She noted his attire; his jeans were hardly suited to a walking holiday in the Lakes. She watched as he looked around the room. His hands were firmly in his pockets and his shoulders hunched over. He wasn’t relaxed.

  ‘Dunno.’ He shrugged.

  ‘Did you come here together or not?’

  ‘No. I wanted to speak to Sophie, but she got pissed off when I showed up. I only wanted to talk to her.’ His eyes widened and Kelly felt a little sorry for him.

  ‘So you did talk, then?’

  ‘Huh?’

  He wasn’t concentrating, instead peering around the room, distracted. But she had noticed one thing. If she’d blinked, she’d have missed it, but it was there, as clear as day: a distaste when he mentioned his ex-girlfriend’s name.

  ‘You said you’re Sophie’s boyfriend?’ she asked.

  He winced. ‘Not any more.’

  Kelly nodded and wrote a note. ‘When was the last time you saw her?’ she asked.

  ‘I’ve already been through all of this.’ He was getting frustrated, and Kelly watched him carefully.

  ‘You said in your statement that it was Sunday lunchtime,’ she pressed on. Garth nodded.

  ‘So what were the three of you doing that day?’

  Garth was caught off guard. His mouth opened but nothing came out.

  ‘What made you come here? Wasn’t the relationship already over? Wasn’t it a little … crowded?’

  Anger flashed across his face. She’d hit a very raw nerve.

  ‘Did they spend too much time together for your liking, Garth?’

  Again she saw indignation and rage bubbling just beneath the surface.

  ‘They were always together, joined at the fucking hip. Sophie followed Hannah round like a little puppy. It pissed me off.’ The anger spilled out of him, the emotion palpable. He had just given Kelly evidence of a motive: jealousy.

  ‘Were they lovers?’ Kelly pretended nonchalance.

  Garth’s mouth fell open. Kelly looked him dead in the eye, but he glanced away, not used to the scrutiny. ‘Garth?’

  ‘They were fucking bean-flicking sluts,’ he spat.

  Kelly winced: it was a sentence that was so barbed, it almost jumped out into the space between them. She watched as the young man’s demeanour changed and he grew more confident and cocksure, as if the whole world would sympathise with his predicament: the fact that his girlfriend had left him for another woman.

  ‘That’s harsh. So you were ashamed?’

  He looked down at his hands and she could see his cheeks burning.

  ‘Tell me, Garth.’ She paused. ‘Did you harm the girls?’

  He shook his head vehemently.

  ‘No.’

  ‘Come on, you’re hurt, degraded, ashamed – and it’s all Hannah’s fault. I bet you hate her.’

  ‘They wandered off. Good riddance, I say. I’m done.’ His chin jutted out, but then he realised his mistake. Kelly pounced on it.

  ‘They wandered off? You mean you saw them?’

  He put his head in his hands and rubbed his eyes, then slowly nodded.

  ‘They were giggling and stuff, and they went off for a walk with a backpack and everything. I wanted to follow them, but you know what? I’m not doing that any more. She can do what she wants.’

  ‘Where did they go?’

  ‘Up towards Loadpot Hill. It was late. It was dark.’

  She was transfixed by his cool; he’d just turned the investigation potentially on its head.

  ‘Do you realise that you’ve probably wasted four days of police time?’

  He bit his dirty nails, then took a packet of cigarettes out of his coat and lit one. Kelly didn’t bother stopping him.

  ‘What you’ve just told me makes you the last person to see them, do you understand? I’ll need corroboration of your statement, else you’re in some deep shit. You’ve just made yourself my prime suspect. Why the hell didn’t you share this information before now?’ She hadn’t even stopped to challenge his story; she’d heard only ten minutes earlier about the bag, and its location fitted with what he’d just told her.

  Garth tutted and rolled his eyes. Kelly got the impression that he had no idea of the seriousness of what he’d admitted. He was too immersed in his shame at being dumped.

  ‘What have you been doing since Tuesday?’

  ‘I’ve been in my tent.’

  ‘Did you go in Sophie’s tent?’

  ‘No, but I know who did.’

  ‘And who might that be?’ she asked.

  He thumbed over his shoulder to the door. ‘That fucking pervert out there.’

  ‘Mr Sentry?’

  Garth nodded.

  Kelly got up and walked to the window. She could see the crowds of people getting back into their cars after coming down from the search. She also saw Rob, who was speaking animatedly with a dog handler; no doubt the one who had found the bag. She turned to Garth, who puffed hard on his cigarette; he’d almost finished it, such was his need for the calming effects of the drug.

  ‘Garth, have you heard of a girl called Freya Hamilton?’ It was a long shot. Garth looked at her and shook his head.

  ‘No, I haven’t. Why?’

  ‘No reason.’

  He sniggered and rolled his eyes. They both knew that police officers never asked irrelevant questions.

  In Kelly’s experience, the young man before her was telling the truth, despite how distasteful he might appear. There were certain facial signals that couldn’t be controlled by will alone; they went back to when apes communicated with signs and minuscule movements of tiny facial muscles; they were still there if you knew where to look. Kelly had seen plenty of people try to override their instincts and fail miserably. Garth was transparent, and it showed. He didn’t have the intelligence to be anything else. Sure, he had motive, but she was more interested in what he’d just told her.

  ‘Let’s go back to when you watched them leave their tent,’ she said.

  ‘Yep.’
He licked his fingers, pinched out his cigarette and placed the stub in his pocket. Kelly was reminded of Johnny telling her that that was what they did on patrol so the enemy couldn’t track them. Garth looked anything but the savvy soldier.

  ‘Did you follow them?’ she asked. Silence. ‘Garth, did you follow them?’

  He began to nod. ‘Yes, I did.’

  ‘Your story has changed three times: first you say you last saw them at lunch time, then you say you saw them leave for Loadpot Hill, now you’re telling me that you followed them. You see my problem here?’ She stared at him and he blinked. He gave the impression that he was unaware of his predicament, and Kelly seethed with frustration.

  ‘Where did they go?’ she asked.

  ‘They headed up Loadpot, like I said. I can’t remember much because I was … I was drunk. I’d drunk a whole bottle of cider.’

  ‘OK, let’s get back to where they went. How far did you follow them? Did they see you?’

  He shook his head. ‘No, they didn’t see me.’

  ‘How do you know?’

  ‘It was obvious, they only had eyes for each other.’

  ‘I see.’ Kelly did a quick replay in her head of possible scenarios. Garth would have had a difficult time overpowering both girls, if he was telling the truth and he’d been drunk. She looked at his hands: no injuries. She’d read that Hannah Lawson was a black belt in judo; she’d take some pacifying.

  ‘Can you take your coat off, please?’

  ‘Why?’

  Kelly sighed. ‘Just do it.’

  He stood up and removed his stained jacket; it would need bagging. ‘I have to eliminate you from my inquiry. Is there any reason why you might have Sophie or Hannah’s DNA on you? Let’s say, in any of those brown-looking stains?’

  Garth looked down. ‘No! That’s cider. And gravy. I had chips!’

  ‘All right, calm down.’ Thankfully he was wearing a short-sleeved T-shirt and Kelly noted that he had no marks on his forearms. Anyone who had restrained two grown women would have a few telltale marks on them. Garth had none.