Dead End

by Dead End (retail) (epub)

  ‘Do you own a car?’ she asked. He shook his head.

  ‘How did you get here?’

  ‘Train and bus.’

  As Kelly dismissed him, she’d already made up her mind that Garth Cooke wasn’t someone they needed to be spending time on. Their answer was elsewhere.

  She watched him go back to his field, hood up, shoulders hunched over, protecting himself against the rain with his hands deep in his pockets.

  Rob came into the cabin.

  ‘Tell me about the bag,’ she said.

  ‘We did a fingertip search of a seven-square metre area; there was nothing else. The bag is in the back of my car ready for the lab, and we should have some results in a few days. Will is going to take charge of the two phones.’

  ‘Good job, Rob. The ex-boyfriend just told me that he saw them leave towards Loadpot on Sunday night. He was pissed and emotional. He also told me that the site manager went into the girls’ tent.’

  ‘Christ.’

  ‘I know. Let’s get him back in.’

  ‘Is there something wrong with your face, guv?’

  She touched the swollen area where her sister had hit her and kicked herself for not applying more make-up. ‘No, I don’t think so. Do you want to call Sentry in?’

  By the time Rob came back with the site manager, Kelly had had just enough time to grab a concealer out of her bag and touch up her foundation in a cracked mirror that hung on the wall.

  ‘Mr Sentry, we won’t keep you much longer. A witness statement has come to my attention. It mentions a sighting of you going into the girls’ tent after their disappearance.’

  Sentry looked between Kelly and Rob.

  ‘He must be mistaken. That kid’s always drunk or high.’

  ‘What kid? I never mentioned a name. Did you or did you not enter the girls’ tent?’

  ‘No.’ He stood firm and his gaze never wavered. Kelly could smell his deceit, but her concern wasn’t the lie, it was the reason behind it.

  ‘So to be absolutely clear: you never entered the tent of Sophie Daker and Hannah Lawson?’

  ‘No.’ There was no hesitation.

  Kelly didn’t care. She knew that, as surely as the sun rose and set every day, if they found any link between Jack Sentry and the girls’ tent, then he was fucked in the eyes of the law. It was all she could get for now.

  Chapter 8

  Johnny parked his Jeep Grand Cherokee and went to the boot to grab a waterproof and some water; they might be out for a good few hours. He was to meet Kelly at the hospital helipad in Penrith; as he made his way around the building, the yellow chopper stood ready with its blades turning. An air search with the Cumbria Constabulary was a rarity, and it was a privilege to be asked along. He hoped it hadn’t been a decision that Kelly had deliberated on for long. He was accomplished as a mountaineer, he was an excellent map-reader, his instincts were sound, and there was a fringe benefit that he knew she couldn’t deny: it was an opportunity to see him.

  Kelly was ready and waiting in the helicopter. Her face was straight, serious and a little irritated. Johnny was fifteen minutes late, and he knew tardiness was one of her pet hates. She was dressed in casual gear, appropriate for their outing, but it didn’t hide her body language: language that he hadn’t seen for a long time. It was her game face, and he was unused to it. Perhaps something had happened at work. He decided to cut her some slack; after all, when he’d returned from a long deployment in some godforsaken country of sand and parasites, he’d been a miserable bastard to be around. Maybe he could cheer her up.

  They shook hands because professionally that was their only choice. There were rumours about the two of them, of course, but in front of colleagues they behaved appropriately. If he could steal a moment and touch her hand, he would, but for now he sat in his place and nodded to the others in their company. He had heard the news: the case had been elevated to more than a missing persons and the spokesperson allocated by HQ was now using language that Johnny knew meant they believed the girls had met with foul play. They’d managed to talk over the phone briefly, and Kelly had filled in the details.

  He saw an opportunity and brushed her hand, and her eyes met his. She tensed, as he knew she would, and he smiled at her. She couldn’t say anything, or allude to the affection in any way, but the passion in her eyes was all he was after. He wanted her to know that he was there for her regardless of what it was that was irking her.

  That was why she was different and it was why he had taken to staying over at hers so often. She didn’t suffocate him and she was as passionate about her job as he was about his. He just wished he’d met her ten years ago.

  ‘Ready?’ she shouted over the noise of the chopper. He was still smiling.

  The pilot nodded to Johnny; they knew each other. Many police pilots were also mountain rescue volunteers. The fourth member of their team was a photographer who’d been requested by Kelly, and she introduced her to Johnny.

  Once the doors were closed, the noise lessened and the wind was shut out, making the space feel claustrophobic and expectant. Kelly looked out of the window and put on her headset so she could hear the pilot. Johnny did the same. They fastened seat belts and listened as the pilot radioed the control room. Satisfied with flight checks and weather reports, he now addressed them directly.

  ‘Right, folks, we’re about one minute from take-off; please make sure you’re fastened in and the refreshment trolley will be round shortly.’

  Johnny smirked; these guys all cracked the same terrible jokes. Even Kelly smiled. She hated flying, especially in helicopters, and the pilot clearly knew it.

  * * *

  Kelly’s stomach churned and she willed herself to concentrate on the job. She’d flown in choppers three times in her life before: once from Scotland Yard to Luton Airport in pursuit of an armed drug dealer; once across to the Isles of Scilly; and the third time in a mountain rescue chopper, at night, flown by the same pilot who was flying them today. She’d hated every flight. There was something about the way a helicopter lunged and dived that made her stomach produce uncontrolled waves of nausea, and she hoped that today’s ride would be smoother. There was no rush; they were just charting territory and noting anything that looked out of place. It was another dimension to the search for the girls. Rob and the team were working with every single statement, trying to produce leads, but as the hours ticked by, optimism was waning.

  One of their last hopes was that Sophie and Hannah could have pitched another tent deep in the National Park, looking for privacy. The Lakes were full of hidden coves and crags, and without access to media or phones, the girls could be blissfully unaware that they’d caused a fuss. It was still possible that one of them had simply misplaced their backpack. Unlikely, but possible.

  ‘Any news?’ Johnny asked.

  ‘Apparently Sophie Daker’s father threatened to kick her out if she carried on her relationship with Hannah.’

  Kate Umshaw had been given the unenviable task of interviewing Sophie’s parents, and Geoff Daker had emerged as a bully who saw Hannah Lawson as a troublemaker. It hadn’t taken Kate long to work out that the parents had realised that their daughter was in a lesbian relationship and it wasn’t welcome.

  Johnny raised his brows. ‘Jesus, wasn’t he bothered that she’s missing?’

  ‘I think the fact that she’s in a same-sex relationship is more upsetting to him.’

  ‘What an idiot.’ Kelly knew that as a father himself, Johnny couldn’t comprehend such an attitude. To him it only meant one thing: that Sophie’s father obviously didn’t love his daughter. ‘Why would he do that?’

  ‘Not everyone is OK with same-sex partners, I suppose.’

  ‘But she’s his kid.’

  ‘I know. Apparently he’s the total opposite of Hannah’s father.’

  Kate had met both sets of parents and reported back that Hannah’s parents were gentle and slightly bohemian, and, more importantly, sick with worry. They were staying at t
he Crown in Pooley Bridge and Kelly was hoping not to bump into them.

  ‘Do Hannah’s family know that the girls are lovers?’

  ‘Apparently yes, and they treated Sophie like their own. They also said that Hannah would never run away willingly; she had too much going on in her life and had a completely open relationship with her parents.’

  ‘That’s what they say. You never know.’

  Kelly nodded in agreement. It was at times like this that she was thankful she didn’t have kids of her own; she imagined it was times like this that made Johnny wish he spent more time with Josie, his daughter.

  The blades spun faster and louder, and the chopper fought between tarmac and sky. Gradually it lifted, and Kelly’s belly inverted. They were up. They hovered for a few seconds, and then lurched sharply to the left and gained height at a rapid rate. Kelly’s hand involuntarily grabbed the seat, and she held onto her notepad and pen with a vice-like grip.

  She could tell that Johnny wanted to hold her hand but knew he couldn’t. He was staring at her, but she avoided his gaze, though her cheeks were pink. She’d told him about Nikki’s blow and knew he could see evidence of it under her make-up. Her patience was wearing thin. There was no point in talking to her mother about it; she was like a referee at a heavyweight showdown, too scared to call the shots and eager to let the punters decide. It was hard to believe that Kelly and Nikki had the same parentage.

  ‘Look at the lake, Kelly.’ Johnny pointed out to the front of the chopper as they flew west. She followed his hand and it distracted her. She’d never seen Ullswater from the air during the day, and she’d never seen it not pulsing with activity. It was deserted. The jetties had been closed and were manned by uniforms. Kelly had ordered a dive team in, and the mammoth task would take a few days. The tourist board was pissed off, but at least it wasn’t peak season. She didn’t much care for their objections; the lake needed to be searched, and sooner rather than later. Local boat owners and divers had already generously offered their help.

  As they reached their flying altitude, Kelly tried to settle and focus on the job. The fells were still busy and she could make out the dots of fluorescent jackets crawling over them. She had to raise her voice to brief the photographer on what she wanted. They were aiming to produce a grid that they could overlay onto a map back at Eden House. Between herself and Johnny they might have done it from memory, but the third dimension, from the air, was an opportunity for a new perspective.

  Kelly’s brief was simple. Most of the buildings down there they’d recognise from their time on the fells – and this was why she’d brought Johnny along – but some they wouldn’t, and these were the ones she was interested in. If neither she nor Johnny recognised a dwelling, then it would be photographed, mapped and checked out as a point of interest. Sophie and Hannah could have taken shelter somewhere and might be injured.

  They were also looking for telltale distress signals, like items forming symbols, as well as evidence of a tent in a secluded spot.

  ‘There’s my house.’ Johnny pointed it out. Pooley Bridge looked asleep, like the lake. They talked about various ramshackle structures they’d used for shelter over the years, and found that they’d both retreated to many of the same ones. Occasionally Kelly indicated a point of interest to the photographer and instructed her to take several images as the pilot circled, then she logged it on her map and Johnny noted coordinates. They flew over Wasdale Hall, which looked splendid from the air. Kelly had always wondered what it was like inside; the family was terribly private, but rumours abounded about the goings-on there, and only recently, the earl had committed suicide. The death appeared as sad as the family legacy.

  She instructed the pilot to fly low over Gowbarrow and only now appreciated the vastness of the fell. It was easy to forget the immensity of the National Park, and they couldn’t cover all of it. The area around Ullswater probably made up a tenth of it, but that was where Kelly was focusing her search today. Time in a chopper was money, and they didn’t have much. They headed south over Place Fell, concentrating on the area around Loadpot Hill, and followed the ridge all the way back to Pooley Bridge.

  So far they’d catalogued twenty-seven dwellings, some large and some that looked like wrecks. Only the ones they agreed they knew nothing about made the list. If Hannah and Sophie had decided to run away, they might be hanging out in a disused barn or something similar. It would take masses of man hours to log the coordinates, and then perhaps weeks to check them all out.

  ‘Where would you go, Johnny?’ Kelly asked. The photographer looked at him, and Johnny looked out of the window in thought.

  ‘Further west,’ he said. ‘It’s quieter and more impenetrable.’ He was right; the western fells were still relative wildernesses. Both girls were confident hikers and campers, and they could be anywhere. But Kelly had to establish the likelihood of the scenario before they called off the current search, and so far she was undecided. Had they left of their own accord, or was there foul play? They flew south-west, leaving Ullswater, towards Helvellyn, circling over St Sunday Crag and back over Great Dodd.

  Their time was up. They’d seen nothing out of the ordinary, but they’d collated vast amounts of information that might prove useful later. Once Kelly cross-referenced the information with a two-dimensional map, it would be clearer in her head what the possibilities were for the girls.

  * * *

  As they approached the helipad in Penrith, a call came through to Kelly’s personal mobile.

  ‘Kelly Porter,’ she said. Johnny looked at her and knew that he might not see her again tonight; she was throwing herself into work just like he would if it were him. He could wait. He was going nowhere, and she was worth it.

  Once they were back on the ground, Kelly unstrapped herself, still with her phone under her chin, and went to open the door, ignoring the pilot. Johnny stared at her and the photographer looked away. Kelly jumped from the chopper and bent over to avoid the spinning blades.

  ‘She did this last time,’ said the pilot.

  ‘I’m not surprised,’ said Johnny, getting out after her.

  By the time he reached Kelly’s car, she already had the engine running and was ready to leave.

  ‘I can drop you home if you like, I’ve got to check on Mum, and then something’s come up at work.’

  He smiled and nodded. ‘I’ll cook something and leave it for you.’

  ‘You really don’t need to.’

  ‘I know.’ He fastened his seat belt. ‘What’s up?’ he asked.

  ‘That was the coroner’s office. He’s not happy to put suicide on the Earl of Lowesdale’s autopsy report, and there’s been a burglary at Wasdale Hall. The late earl’s safe is missing.’

  Johnny whistled. He was used to her sharing her cases with him; the information never went any further, and he often saw a different angle to Kelly, who found herself fully immersed and unable at times to step back.

  ‘Gold-diggers, no doubt. He was worth a bit, wasn’t he?’

  ‘I have no idea.’

  Chapter 9

  Linda Cairns was scrubbing the carpet for the third time.

  It would have to be replaced. Not because of the stain – she would get that out – but because of Zachary. He hadn’t come into the study since finding his grandfather. No matter how much scrubbing Linda did, Zachary would forever see his grandfather’s faeces dripping onto the Axminster below.

  She’d come as soon as he’d called – it was only five minutes from her cottage in Watermillock – but the ambulance had taken forty-five minutes as a lorry had broken down on the A592 and blocked its path. By the time she eventually found Brian in the garden and asked him to help cut the earl down, he’d been hanging for a good hour. His body had hit the floor with a thump, and Linda had instantly regretted asking Brian to do it. His head had banged on a chair and Zachary had reached out to comfort him, only to recoil again.

  She’d finally managed to get the boy out of the room, and Bri
an had sat with him in the kitchen. Linda herself had waited with Xavier. She couldn’t leave him. Too many had left him already. The stench was toxic, but her nose became quickly accustomed. She sat slightly to his left so she didn’t have to look at him. She’d seen his tongue, and the bulge in his pants. He’d been still when she got there with Brian, but Zachary had, between his sobs, told her about the convulsions and how he’d tried to hold his grandfather’s legs.

  Linda had finally left the earl when the police arrived. She had to. The room had to be treated like a crime scene, they said.

  ‘Crime?’ she asked.

  ‘Routine, Linda,’ said the policeman. Linda had known Paul Gaskill since he was a lad in short trousers, getting caught stealing boats from Glenridding to go fishing on the lake. She still saw his mother. Paul gently explained that an inquest would be held to determine cause of death.

  ‘Well it’s obviously suicide. Are they idiots?’ Linda said.

  Paul was patient with her.

  ‘It doesn’t work like that, Linda,’ he said gently.

  The medic left the room after confirming life extinct, and made his way to the kitchen to inform the family. It was ludicrous, but procedure. Zachary walked out of the house, followed by the dogs.

  ‘Cup of tea?’ Linda had asked Paul weakly.

  ‘Yes, thank you. A forensic team will have to work their way through the house, Linda, and take away anything they need. It might be prudent to get Zac to move in with you for a while.’

  ‘He’ll never do that,’ Brian said.

  ‘He’s right,’ Linda agreed.

  Paul’s radio had fizzled into life and he spoke into it.

  ‘Affirmative. Subject has been confirmed life extinct, Sarge. I’m not going anywhere, I’m with the family now.’ The radio went dead again.

  ‘The undertaker is on his way. I’ve got to seal off the room and a forensics team will come first thing in the morning. I know it’s hard, but we need to preserve the room as it is, so I’m afraid no one can go in there for now.’