Dead End

by Dead End (retail) (epub)

  He dropped below the crag line and made his way along a stony path, long disused and grown over.

  There it was.

  He was hanging onto the slimmest of chances that the door wouldn’t be bolted and barred like the last time he’d come. But he was out of luck. The door was indeed closed, as were the curtains, and Jack swore under his breath. Someone had beaten him to it. Again.

  He walked around the property and found that there was no other way in. He daren’t knock, just in case he disturbed whoever was inside. Maybe he’d have to move on to somewhere else: someone obviously knew about this secret haven in the middle of nowhere, and had decided to stay. He’d have to find another place to pass the time.

  Irked, he made his way back to Place Fell and sat at the trig point. A group of walkers came towards him, and he quickly assessed them. They were harmless, chatting amongst themselves, saying hello to him. They were southerners.

  After a while, he decided to carry on along the spine of the fells, towards Howtown. From Hallin Fell, he’d be able to watch the police activity. He had nothing else to do, and it was a beautiful day to be outside.

  Chapter 51

  Kelly left her mother’s and headed to the office. Their search had been concentrated around Martindale, where Freya had been found. Their profile was coming together, and Kelly had tasked Emma to focus on the lone-wolf angle, acting out fantasies on vulnerable girls deep in the Lakes. The young DC had an eye for such details and had come up with a few theories.

  Firstly, the suspect had transport. The Land Rover lead was their best hope so far. Of the 135 registered in the Lake District, 98 were built before 2000 and they’d ruled out 72 of those. He also needed a base from which to work, and to keep young women away from prying eyes. Kelly referred back to the aerial journey she’d taken with Johnny, and looked at the map. Most of the addresses had been checked out, including the ruin on Place Fell, thanks to Johnny, but there were a couple that had yet to be ticked off their list. The other option was a private residence, and that could be anywhere. But with no physical evidence, she felt as though they were going around in circles.

  They’d had a development: Sentry’s DNA had been confirmed all over the inside of Sophie and Hannah’s tent. So he’d either been in there to collect the arrears the records confirmed they owed, or he was up to no good. He certainly hadn’t mentioned being invited for tea. However, as the owner of the site, the fact that he’d been inside the tent wasn’t enough to prove he had caused them harm. But it did prove he’d lied to police.

  And now Jack Sentry was nowhere to be found. No one had seen him leave the campsite. There was no CCTV or ANPR in the dark lanes surrounding it, but his car had been found at Manchester airport. So far, he hadn’t been confirmed on any flights leaving Manchester in the last few days. Kelly had officers combing CCTV of the M6 between Junctions 40 and 20, and his registration had pinged up on the ANPR three times. Photos confirmed he’d been driving.

  The details were drip-fed to the media. Each time, more journalists gathered, and they were cooking up a storm. Jack Sentry drove a 2001 Land Rover, close to their window but not in it; the tyres were being checked as she drove towards Eden House. She had enough to arrest, but little hard evidence to charge him. First she needed to speak to him, and for that, they needed to find him. The public’s interest had been roused, and they were getting a hundred calls a day. But Sentry was still only a person of interest. If she could go public and say that he was wanted for murder, and that he was highly dangerous, she knew more calls would come in, but that was out of the question. It was inaccurate, illegal and could well result in an inquiry into codes of practice.

  Back in her office, she looked at the photos of the interior of the girls’ tent. He’d been in there, but when? Her hypothesis was that it was after he’d abducted them, to rearrange vital evidence. She toyed with the idea of passing a few tasty morsels to a national newspaper, to pique public interest, but it would always be traced to her eventually.

  The case was frustrating the hell out of her.

  She turned her attention to the contents of the safe and the inquiry into the earl’s death. There had been no suicide note in the safe, but then if he’d left one, he’d have meant for someone to find it and not ordered it sunk to the bottom of a lake.

  The safe had been opened in a sterile environment, under Will Phillips’ supervision, and the contents photographed, packaged in protective sleeves and sent off to a lab specialising in lifting prints from paper. That was all that was in there: documents, and aged photographs. That and three medals from World War II. Xavier Paulus Fitzgerald had been decorated for his campaigns mostly in the Middle East, and Kelly was impressed.

  She laid all the copies across her desk. There were three death certificates: Delilah’s, Oliver’s and Trinity’s. Delilah and Trinity had died together in a fatal road traffic accident in 2004. Trinity had been driving and she was four times the legal alcohol limit, as well as having significant quantities of benzodiazepine; a prescription downer. Neither had been wearing their seat belt. Oliver’s was marked as the boating accident that Kelly had discussed at length with Ted.

  She turned to the photographs and made a note to ensure that Zac received the originals when the print service was done. The one that caught her eye was that of the earl with his two children sitting either side of him. They were happy times. The earl looked dashingly handsome, and with what Kelly knew about his sexual exploits, she could see how the ladies might fall for him easily. She studied the faces: Oliver and Trinity beamed on either side of their father, looking relaxed. Most of the other photos were black and white or sepia, and showed the earl in his tuxedo, Delilah in ball gowns, or the twins in an old-fashioned pram, before the era of foldaway buggies. Trinity had the wider features of her mother, and Oliver the narrower, hawk-like ones of his father. Just like Zac.

  Zachary.

  She picked up a photo of him as a baby. His mother and uncle cradled him closely, laughing into the camera; Trinity sat in bed with Oliver on the edge. Something drew Kelly’s eyes to the way brother and sister leaned against one another. She studied the pose and their limbs, a sense telling her something was off. She wasn’t mistaken. When she looked closely, she could see Oliver’s finger nestled against Trinity’s neck. The body language, the protective way that Oliver guarded his sister hinted at a secret between them.

  She put the photos down, and turned to the letters. She scanned them and put them in date order. It was laborious, but from experience, she’d be glad of it later. The first was dated 25 September 2001. It was from Oliver Fitzgerald to his father, written six months before his death.

  Dear Father,

  I know I’ve let you and Mother down. I accept that I’m no longer your son. This isn’t about me, this is about Trin. It wasn’t her fault. I take all the blame.

  If you would allow me to explain? But how can I if you won’t even discuss it?

  I’m sorry that you found out in the manner that you did. It’s unforgivable, but I beg you not to punish Trin. Let her and Mother return home.

  I will leave Wasdale, as agreed, and you will never have to see me again. With me gone, perhaps you can at least have some kind of normality. Please don’t let Trin lose her father as well.

  I will forever pay for what I’ve done to you and mother.

  Thank you for offering to look after Zachary as your own. That gives me some relief. May he never have to pay for my mistakes.

  Always,

  Oli

  The next one was from Delilah to Xavier.

  4 June 2003

  My dear Xavier,

  How is little Zac? I think about him every day, and you, my love, having to carry the burden. Trinity is still quite poorly, but we take each day one step at a time.

  London doesn’t offer the same allure as it did when I was here with you.

  Perhaps we could meet? No one need ever know. Or perhaps your love for me has diminished?

  P
lease let me know soon. I could easily hire a nurse to take care of Trin for a little while. I love your idea. I too think we need a break.

  I think you are the strongest and most loving man to forgive your son, my love. May God forgive his soul and may he rest in peace.

  And of course I forgive you. I have questioned myself a thousand times, and I should have been there for you when you turned to another.

  None of it matters any more.

  I am so proud of you.

  Much excitement!

  Boo X

  Kelly was touched that in the twenty-first century, people were still writing letters. It was a dying art form, and one that she mourned. She felt voyeuristic, peering into a private world of love, lust and secrecy, but gradually she was piecing together the reasons for the demise of this once great family. There was no doubt in her mind that Oliver and Trinity had committed incest. The question was whether to tell Zachary.

  Progeny. The earl was a virile old bastard. She fingered the birth certificate of Dominic Cairns – found amongst the letters and photographs in the safe – who still kept his mother’s name, and stared at the box containing the name of the father: Xavier-Paulus Fitzgerald, 7th Earl of Lowesdale. What a mess. It explained a lot: Dominic’s school fees, Linda’s secrecy, and yet another letter, which she turned to again.

  It was from Linda Cairns to the earl, dated seven years ago, and was badly written. Kelly guessed that propriety had prevented her from tackling the issue head on, in person. Two things stood out, apart from the terrible grammar: Linda’s desperate plea for the earl to have more than a financial role in his son’s life, and the reference to Dominic’s worsening behaviour at school. In it, she apologised for her inadequate mothering and her son’s manipulative nature, putting it all down to the absence of a father figure. It was pathos in its purest form, and Kelly felt sorry for the housekeeper. These nobles simply couldn’t keep their trousers up, but then plenty of ordinary people couldn’t either.

  Chapter 52

  ‘Where have you been?’ Linda asked.

  Dominic looked as though he hadn’t slept. He went straight to the pantry and took a sausage roll, stuffing it into his mouth. ‘Why are the pigs up at Wasdale?’ he asked.

  ‘Please don’t call them that. The police have warrants for all the earl’s cars. They’re searching them and God knows what else.’

  She busied herself with ironing a shirt for Zachary, and the steam puffed out in clouds, hissing as it escaped. She hadn’t seen Zac since their falling-out and she fretted constantly over what to do. She prayed that he would come round and forgive them their indiscretions. They hadn’t meant to be disrespectful, and they hadn’t known he’d been listening. She longed to cycle up to Wasdale and see him, but when she’d gone there this morning, she’d been faced with the police and hadn’t stayed.

  ‘What have you been up to? That’s a nasty bruise,’ she said.

  Dominic touched his hand to his head, spilling pastry flakes all over the floor. Linda tutted.

  ‘I dropped a kayak on my head, putting it on the roof.’

  ‘Where’s your car?’ she asked, peering out of the window.

  ‘I walked.’

  ‘You look awful.’

  ‘Thanks, Ma.’

  Linda pursed her lips.

  ‘I need some money.’

  ‘You always need money. I’ve got none. What about your allowance?’

  ‘It’s pathetic, a scrubber in the back streets of Cockermouth couldn’t survive on that.’

  His words stung. He loved referring to those less privileged as if he was somehow above them; it was a trait that had got worse since he found out who his father was. She’d always meant to keep it from him, but in a way she was glad that he knew.

  There had been a blazing row; she’d never seen Xavier so cross. It had scared her. His eyes had burned into her with fury and … hate. One thing was for sure: he had enough money to go around, and it was high time he started sharing it. But she couldn’t blame Zachary, it wasn’t his fault.

  ‘It’s a thousand pounds every month! More than I ever earned!’ She turned on her son.

  ‘You’re a glorified cleaner. I’m the son of an earl. When do I get my money?’

  ‘There is none. If you’d done as I said, it might have been different.’

  Dominic walked towards her; Linda raised the iron in front of her and held her breath.

  ‘I’ll have what’s mine,’ he said. She could see the remnants of his snack inside his mouth and it made her dislike him even more. Such a small, irrelevant detail, but in Dominic’s mouth, mixed with bare aggression, it was a warning.

  He smiled and left the room, and she heard him turn on the shower. She rested the iron on the board and clenched her fists. Brian was out. She seemed to be surrounded by men who came and went as they pleased, not giving a hoot about what they left behind, and she felt powerless to change what had already passed.

  She switched off the iron and looked at her handbag. She had several twenty-pound notes in her purse, and if she stayed around long enough, her son would likely lift them. She grabbed her coat and left the house. Brian had taken the Land Rover that she used back to Wasdale for the police, so she got her bicycle from the shed and headed up there again.

  She’d cycled these lanes all her life, and as she passed the church, she looked behind her to see if she was alone. Her fears were not unfounded; it wasn’t the first time she’d been scared of her little boy. He’d been there that night in the garden, and she hadn’t seen him in the dying light. He was angry, as well he might be. Xavier wouldn’t budge, and she found herself caught between two stubborn men, each bent on delivering the last stinging blow. But her son had youth on his side. What she hadn’t predicted was how full of vengeance he was, and how much he knew. Her priority was to protect Zachary, and stupidly, she’d allowed Dominic inside. The pair had missed each other by seconds.

  She pedalled harder as she searched her mind trying to pinpoint when it had started, when the two boys had begun to hate one another. They’d played together as youngsters, eaten at the same table and slept in the same bed. Tears ran down Linda’s cheeks as she turned down the lane that led to Wasdale. She didn’t know why she’d come, just that she wanted to be away from the house with her son in it. She no longer trusted him. She no longer knew him.

  As she reached the driveway, she was stopped by a policewoman in uniform and she got off her bicycle, identifying herself. The officer went across to speak to another, who nodded in her direction, allowing her into the grounds. She parked her bike and tried the back door. Zachary hadn’t carried out his threat, and it was open, as she’d expected. She went into the kitchen and sat down heavily on a chair. Here she was safe at least. She realised that with no role at Wasdale, her life was empty, and she put her head in her hands and tried not to think of how it had come to this.

  ‘You’ve raised a deviant, Linda.’ The earl’s words came back to her. He was cruel and it was inaccurate. If Dominic had had his father in his life, it wouldn’t have been such a struggle. What did she know of raising a child by herself? Of course, there was the money, the allowance, the school, the cottage in Watermillock, but that was all just things. Things didn’t make a story, only people. Deviant. She’d had to look it up.

  But it was too late. By the time she’d sorted in her head what to say to him, he was dead. Being cut down from his noose by Brian. They both knew that a man like Xavier would never take his own life. He was far too arrogant.

  But they knew who could do it.

  Linda thought about calling the detective to try to find out what was in the safe. It was her only hope. DI Porter was an intelligent woman, and if Xavier had left anything damning, she’d have worked it out.

  Zachary startled her.

  ‘Linda?’

  ‘Zachary! I …’

  ‘Don’t worry. It’s your house too. I didn’t mean what I said.’

  ‘You had every right to be angry,�
� she said.

  He shook his head.

  ‘Why does everyone think I’m just a stupid little boy?’ His face was tormented.

  Linda didn’t answer.

  ‘Why did they leave? Tell me the truth, Linda,’ he said. He was shaking. She’d only come back to check on him, she told herself. She’d come back to escape what was in her head.

  ‘I can’t,’ she said.

  ‘You mean you won’t.’ He stared at her. ‘Was she mentally ill or something? Is that why?’

  ‘Zachary, I promised a long time ago that I wouldn’t be the one who told you why they left. I’ve kept that promise.’

  ‘So break it. It doesn’t matter any more, does it? They’re all dead. Who made you promise?’

  ‘Your grandfather.’

  ‘So now you’re free from that burden.’

  ‘It’s not that easy.’

  ‘Bullshit! You’re a coward. Why are you protecting them?’

  ‘I’m not protecting them, Zachary, I’m protecting you. If she’d stayed, she would’ve hurt you. You were an … accident. She didn’t want a baby. I’m sorry.’ Linda’s voice cracked and her heart thudded in her chest.

  ‘You’re lying!’ he screamed at her. ‘In the photos she’s holding me, and laughing, and playing with me and …’ He sobbed. Linda’s heart ached; she’d give anything to make this boy’s pain go away. Apart from the truth.

  Zac’s shoulders sagged, and tears ran down his face. He stood against the Aga and the dogs looked up at him from their baskets with doleful eyes, disquieted by their master’s behaviour. They followed the exchange from Zac to Linda and back again.