by Neil White
He followed a path between the clusters of heather, made by the rivulets of water that ran down from the top of the rise, and ahead there was the flattened area where boots had gathered just hours before. In the centre of the muddy patch was a less spoiled area, where her body had been, left untouched as the forensic people did their work around it and combed for minor clues once she had been taken away. It made finding the exact spot easier than he had imagined.
If Charlotte was right, there had to be something underneath because there certainly wasn’t anything on top.
The spade felt heavy as he paused, wondering if he was doing the right thing, but he hadn’t spent the night freezing in his car to have doubts now. He thrust the spade into the ground.
It was soft and he was able to get a good spade-full with his first dig. The peace of the early morning was broken by the sound of his exertion: his grunts of effort, the squelch of the soft soil. It wasn’t long before he had made a square hole around four feet wide. It wasn’t deep, although it seemed enough to work out whether there was anything to be found. He checked his watch. Nearly six o’clock. There was more traffic noise now, just hums in the distance, and the occasional engine roared along the road by his car, but it was still pretty quiet. He would have to go home and get ready for his day at work soon so he couldn’t stay too much longer. If something was buried here it wouldn’t be in the first layer, as it would be exposed too quickly as the peat soil moved, creating new cracks in the surface. One more spade depth and he would leave. No one would know he had been there.
The sound of the sheep seemed to get louder as he raised his spade in the air, their bleats carried over the moors. A large bird of prey circled over him, its wings wide, swirling against the bright blue.
It was after the second thrust of his spade that everything changed.
The spade didn’t go in as far, as if it had met some extra resistance. He threw it down and dropped to his knees, the tension in his throat telling him that this was something different. The moisture soaked his trousers and dirt started to coat his cuffs as he moved the soil with his hands, but he wasn’t going to stop. He brushed it away and felt something under his fingers. It was cloth. His hands moved faster and as he cleared the soil, he saw a blue-checked shirt, dirty now, but there was a button. One more sweep with his hands and then Sam felt himself turn cold. His fingers had brushed against something hard, and as he moved them along and realised what it was, he sat back on his haunches and looked up at the sky, not wanting to see any more. It was the bony ridges of a ribcage.
Thirty-three
Joe raised his head from the pillow, bleary-eyed, his mouth dry, his tongue sticking to its roof. There was a noise, familiar but distant, the real world taking its time to come into view. As the mist in his head cleared, he recognised it as the buzz of his phone, dancing on the bedside table as someone waited for him to answer. He glanced across at the clock. Not even eight o’clock.
When he grabbed for it, he moved too quickly, so that his head felt like it had gone in a different direction. He wasn’t going to answer, but he saw that it was Kim Reader. He groaned when he remembered the texts he had sent when he had been drunk the night before, when he had almost gone to her place.
He pressed the answer button and drawled, ‘Hi.’
‘Come on, sleepy bones. Get up and let me in.’ Kim’s jauntiness was like a jab at his consciousness.
‘Uh huh?’
‘I’m outside, and I’ve got coffee and bacon sandwiches.’
‘I could have been out at a police station.’
‘Not if you’d been with Hugh all evening, and your blinds are still closed.’
‘Okay, okay,’ Joe said, swinging his legs out of bed. ‘Hang on.’
His steps were uncertain as he walked out of his bedroom, picking up clothes on the way, before he buzzed to unlock the external door and left his apartment door open. Kim would find her way. He went into the bathroom, so that by the time she came in, shouting his name, he had splashed and cleaned himself into some semblance of normality.
When he emerged back into the living room, he saw that Kim had moved onto his balcony, the coffees and two bags of sandwiches on the small table outside. Joe joined her. ‘Morning,’ he said. It came out slow and deep.
He looked down at himself and ran his hands across his stubble. His grab for clothes hadn’t got further than a pair of grey jogging trousers and an old blue T-shirt. Kim looked, as always, a picture of elegance. Her blouse was crisp white, open-necked, under a navy trouser suit, tight around the long stretch of her legs, but not so tight that it was inappropriate for a court appearance. Her dark hair was tied back in a silver clasp.
She handed him one of the coffees. ‘I guessed you would be in no mood for making me one, and that there’d be even less chance of breakfast.’ She pushed over one of the bags, the outside made grey by grease. The aroma assaulted him and reminded him that he hadn’t eaten the night before.
He sat down and started to eat. It tasted good, the bacon sloppy and brown sauce leaking from the bread.
Kim peeled off the plastic top from her coffee and said, ‘I like your view.’ She was squinting into the brightness outside, the balcony facing towards the slowly rising sun.
‘It’s what sold it to me.’
And that was the truth. The water shimmered as the first shards of sunlight lightened the rooftops on the other side, turning red tiles into bright pink. Even the screeches of the trams and the occasional rumble of a train were like soft murmurs to Joe, his morning soundtrack.
‘A bachelor pad with a view,’ he said between mouthfuls. ‘All television and gadgets. It needs some warmth.’
‘A woman’s touch?’ Kim said, her eyes dancing with mischief.
‘I wouldn’t insult you by saying that.’
‘So that’s a yes?’
Joe grinned and raised his coffee in salute.
He took a drink and his brain slowly came into focus. ‘How come you’re so early?’
Kim eyed him for a few seconds over her drink, taking her own sandwich out of the bag and placing it on top. ‘I’ve got some files to look at before I go into court, and I was wondering why you texted me last night.’
Joe took another bite as he tried to recall whether he had said anything inappropriate, but it was a fog. ‘I was just being friendly.’
‘No you weren’t.’
‘What do you mean?’ He winced. ‘Did I say something wrong?’
‘You wanted to come round. Why else would you text?’ Kim blushed. ‘And you should have done. I was glad you called.’
‘Simon would have minded.’
‘Simon wasn’t there.’
‘Okay, I would have minded.’
Kim reached across and placed her hand on Joe’s. ‘I was hoping you would come, and when you wouldn’t I was angry with you, because you made me think that you could have done.’
‘I’m sorry,’ he said. ‘I thought of you and it seemed right to contact you, but then, well, you know how it is.’
‘No, I don’t know. You tell me.’
‘You’ve got Simon,’ he said. ‘Haven’t you?’
‘Like I said, it’s complicated. I broke off the engagement, but we still see each other.’
‘That changes things,’ Joe said. ‘It changes us.’
Kim scowled and took her hand away. ‘There isn’t an us. Do you want there to be?’
Joe took a deep breath. ‘I don’t make plans like that. I can’t expect you to leave Simon just so you can have something with me. What if we don’t work out? You’ll have given up everything, and for what? Some fling with an old flame?’
Kim leaned in and looked deeply into his eyes. She had gone beyond the boundary of friendliness and was in his space, her eyes boring into his. His fog lifted enough for him to see the fire in there. And he felt it too. A yearning. A need to have her arms around him. Her perfume filled his nostrils, delicate and flowery, and he breathed it in, wanting t
o drag her closer, to feel the soft kiss of her lips.
He sat back and shook his head. ‘I can’t do this,’ he said, frustration in his voice, pushing the sandwich to one side. ‘It’s not fair on Simon.’
‘And not fair on me for you not to,’ Kim said, hurt in her voice. ‘I want you, Joe Parker. I’ve always wanted you.’ She looked down and concentrated hard on her coffee. ‘You’ve made me feel cheap.’
Joe took her hand this time. When she looked up, he thought there were tears in her eyes. ‘I don’t think you’re cheap,’ he said, squeezing her hand. ‘I wish I could think differently, but I can’t. I’m sorry.’
Kim wiped her eyes with the back of her hand. She gave a small embarrassed laugh. ‘Okay.’ She exhaled. ‘I’m sorry. I’m being stupid. Eat your sandwich. Let’s talk about something different. Work. Why were you with Hugh? Old times?’
‘It’s a case I’m working on. Hugh used to be involved with it.’
That made her frown. ‘Which one?’
‘Aidan Molloy.’
‘Still thinking about that?’ Kim exhaled loudly. ‘You don’t mind making yourself unpopular.’
‘It goes with the job, unpopularity.’
‘But why are you involved with that case? It’s long dead.’
‘Not to Aidan’s mother. And it just piqued my interest.’
Kim’s eyes narrowed. ‘Is there some development?’
‘Come on, I can’t spill stuff like that.’
‘So there is.’
‘I didn’t say that,’ Joe said, and sighed. ‘Okay, maybe I am thinking there is something. Do you know David Jex? A detective?’
Kim frowned as she thought about that. ‘Is he the one who’s gone missing?’
‘That’s the one.’
‘I remember people talking about it. He’d been acting a bit strange so people think he’s just gone wandering, maybe even dead somewhere.’
‘His son was arrested the other night, creeping around someone’s house, and he wanted someone from Honeywells. I turned out but he wouldn’t tell me anything about it. Now he’s gone missing too, so his mother came to see me. She said they were both obsessed with the Aidan Molloy case, that it started with David and then Carl started looking when David went missing. When I saw Mary Molloy campaigning I spoke to her. I’m not getting paid for this but I’m trying to do the right thing, except I don’t even know what the right thing is.’
‘You’re drifting, Joe,’ Kim said, her tone softening.
‘What do you mean?’
‘I can see it in your eyes when I see you in court. Your heart isn’t in your job any more. Don’t use Aidan Molloy’s case to rescue yourself.’
Joe frowned. He wanted to tell her that she had read it wrong, that it was justice for Mary, because something wasn’t right about the case. But he knew Kim was right.
‘What do the people in your office think about the Aidan Molloy case?’ he said, drinking his coffee. ‘Am I wasting my time?’
‘If we weren’t sure about the conviction, we would say so. I don’t know that much about the case, I wasn’t involved in it, but I have heard people talk about it, and no one seems concerned about it. Just that Mary Molloy is like the annoying wasp that won’t go away.’
‘She’s fighting for her son.’
‘She’s wasting her own life.’
‘What about DCI Hunter?’
‘I don’t understand.’
‘There are many officers I trust,’ Joe said. ‘They brief me truthfully about the evidence before the interview, even though they know it means showing their hand. But there are those I’m never sure about, where it’s like a slow game of reveal. They only tell me what they think I should know, keeping back the surprises, so you never know if what you’re being told is the whole truth.’
Kim smiled. ‘I know that feeling.’
‘What, they play games with you too?’
‘Not in the same way. Sometimes it’s a battle about whether to charge someone, and the stuff that will make a charge less likely has to be teased out rather than volunteered. But like you say, that’s the game.’
‘And DCI Hunter?’
Kim took another drink of coffee. ‘He’s a powerful figure. Involved in a lot of big cases.’
‘That doesn’t tell me much.’
Kim put her cup down, empty now, and stared at it for a few seconds. ‘Is this just between us?’ she said, when she looked up again.
‘Yes.’
‘I don’t like him. He’s from a different era. He was popular a few years ago but most of the old guard have gone, retired or taken redundancy. Most of the lawyers are a lot younger than Hunter and trained in a different time. Hunter acts like a sheriff, you know, riding in to clean up the town, his little team of deputies with him. He creeps me out a bit. Stares that linger a second longer than they need to, and treats prosecutors like an inconvenience. It’s like he wishes he could run the cases through the courts himself.’
‘He was there the other night, when Carl Jex was arrested. It wasn’t his case, but he seemed interested, was loitering.’ Joe grimaced. ‘I should have paid more attention to him. I didn’t make a note of the address where Carl was arrested. It was late, and it was a routine case.’
‘I can’t help you there,’ Kim said. ‘If Carl is charged, you’ll find out, but I’m not ringing round for you.’
‘I wouldn’t expect you to.’ A pause. ‘Do you trust Hunter?’
Kim raised an eyebrow at that. ‘I don’t trust anyone with that much power.’
Joe smiled. ‘Thank you. That’s what I wanted to know.’
Thirty-four
Carl put his head back against the wall. He was finding it hard to focus. His eyes were heavy, his body aching. Sounds seemed to come to him on a slow loop, as if everything was dragged out, his head moving too slowly. His knees trembled, his shoes wet from his piss. His legs were cramped up but there was no safe way to ease the pain. His cut leg made him shriek through his gag, but he had to use it to support himself.
He was going to fight it, though. His mother would be out there looking for him. She had the files; she’d speak to the right people.
His mind was twisting things. The sounds from upstairs came as loud echoes and his memories of the rest of the house seemed like something from another lifetime.
He knew it was daylight because the cellar had got warmer. Was this to be the last morning he saw?
The cellar door opened and the man came down the stairs. His shirt collar was up, and a tie hung loosely around his neck. He was carrying a glass. He didn’t seem as concerned about being seen.
‘You still here?’ the man said, and laughed to himself.
Carl nodded. ‘Let me go,’ he said, the words muffled through the gag. ‘Please.’
The man stepped over Emma’s body. He didn’t even look down. ‘I’m going to work. I’ll be gone for hours. That’s how long it will continue at least. Do you think you’ll last?’
Carl didn’t answer.
The man raised the glass to Carl’s lips and let a small amount of water dribble over the gag. Carl sucked at the cloth in desperation, but just as quickly the glass was pulled away.
The man grinned and placed the glass on the floor close to his feet. ‘There it is,’ he said. ‘Precious water. You just need to bend down for it,’ and he laughed again.
He started to knot his tie. ‘Goodbye, Carl. If you don’t make it through the day, it’s been a pleasure. No, it really has.’
And with that, he turned and left the cellar.
Carl closed his eyes as tears came once more. It was hopeless. He wouldn’t last the day. All the fight he had started to store up inside just leaked out of him.
He kicked out in frustration, sending the glass across the floor. It shattered against the wall and the cellar fell back into silence.
Sam was sitting in his car with the door open. He had been there for a few hours now, watching the pitch of the forensic tent and the arr
ival of the crime scene investigators, and fatigue was setting in. His legs were restless and it took just a few moments of quiet for a blink to turn into a rest and then into a short doze, jerking awake each time.
He was drinking the last of his coffee when his phone rang. It was Joe.
‘Hi, Joe,’ he said, his weariness showing in his voice.
‘I need to ask you a favour,’ Joe said.
Sam sighed. He didn’t need this.
