by Neil White
Gina stepped forward and examined the picture. ‘There’s not much to see. Do you have any other pictures from this session?’
‘No, I didn’t take them.’
‘So what do you know about him?’
Heather curled her lip. ‘A supreme flatterer, in his mind, as if he makes an effort to get to know about everyone. Like there was one guy, he was into wine, and then Declan came in one week and started talking about wine as if he was really knowledgeable, and it seemed sort of creepy, as if he’d been researching it just to impress. One week he produced an article from a wine magazine and started to talk about wine, but the wine guy, well, he said that it was clear that he didn’t know much beyond what he had read. He was the same with the women, as if he was always trying to find some angle to reach them, so that they’d be impressed by him. Some didn’t like it and let him know, and he avoided those. Others thought he was nice. Entertaining, witty, knowledgeable.’
‘And what did you think?’
‘Honestly?’
‘That’s what we want.’
Heather pursed her lips. ‘It was too false, as if he had no depth, no interests of his own other than getting people to like him.’
Gina stepped away, shaking her head. ‘A narcissist,’ she said quietly, almost to herself. ‘Textbook.’
Joe looked at her. ‘What do you mean?’
Gina shook her head. ‘Nothing.’
Joe looked back to Heather. ‘Do you have an address for Declan?’
‘I can’t give that out,’ Heather said. ‘I need this job. It’s confidential customer information.’
‘Can I ask you one thing then?’ Joe said.
‘Yes, go on,’ Heather said, caution in her voice.
‘Just go online and see if the address he gave was real.’
Heather’s mouth twitched as she hesitated, before she relented and turned the screen back so that Joe couldn’t see what was going on. A few clicks later and Heather paused, confusion in her eyes. She looked up. ‘No, the street doesn’t exist. It says 45 Whiteside Drive, but there is no Whiteside Drive in Manchester. There’s a Whiteside Close in Salford, and a Whiteside Fold in Rochdale, but that’s it.’
‘A false detail,’ Joe said.
‘And a dead end,’ Gina said. ‘We don’t know his address, or even if Declan is his real name.’
Joe turned to Heather. ‘Will you contact the woman who complained about him – Rachel you said – ask her if she will meet me?’
Heather reached for her phone, and after a brief conversation, she said to Joe, ‘High End Park in fifteen minutes.’
Joe thanked her and headed for the door. Before he got there, Heather shouted, ‘So you think Declan might have had something to do with Melissa going missing?’
Joe exchanged glances with Gina before he said, ‘As bizarre as it sounds, I hope so.’
Fifty-three
The Incident Room was busy. No one was going home, not with a dead copper pulled out of the ground. Some were ringing round the friends of David Jex, trying to get one piece of information they didn’t collect when he went missing, whereas others were hunting down informants, trying to find out whether anyone had heard any rumours about some criminal kingpin offing a detective. It’s something that would be a boast, so the whispers would soon start.
From the looks of exasperation, Sam knew that there was nothing positive coming through.
Hunter was in the corner, as always, but he didn’t seem to be doing anything. He wasn’t on the phones or directing any inquiries.
As Sam went over to Charlotte, Hunter looked up. Sam thought he looked wild-eyed. Sam held his gaze until Hunter got to his feet. For a moment, Sam thought he was going to march over to him, but instead Hunter stormed out of the Incident Room. There was a slam of an office door further along the corridor, followed by some shouting and the sound of chairs being knocked over.
Everyone exchanged glances and frowns.
‘I’m keeping out of his way,’ Charlotte said, as Sam reached her desk.
‘How long has he been like that?’ Sam said.
‘Hours now,’ she said. ‘He just stares at the floor or paces around. He’s not talking to anyone, not directing anyone.’ She frowned. ‘Why are you still here?’
‘What, you mean still on duty, or still in a job?’ he said.
‘Ha ha.’
‘I’ve had my wings clipped,’ he said quietly. ‘I’ve been told not to look at Aidan Molloy’s case.’
Charlotte grimaced. ‘And?’
‘I’ll think about it.’ He pointed at Charlotte’s computer monitor. ‘So what are you doing?’
‘Just cataloguing David’s cases,’ Charlotte said. ‘His live ones and any closed within the previous three years, just in case it’s revenge for something he’d done. I’m going through each one to assess the level of risk, whether he’d made any notes of anyone threatening him.’
‘Found anything yet?’
Charlotte shook her head. ‘Nothing. They’re just cases, like we deal with every day. You know what it’s like, people shouting threats when we arrest someone, their nearest and dearest losing it, but they always calm down, and some even become friendly, knowing we can update them. This is going to swamp us. We need something forensic.’
Sam sat down at the desk. ‘Have they done the post mortem?’
‘Yes,’ Charlotte said, ‘and it gets worse.’
‘What, worse than being dead?’
She nodded. ‘His body was pretty well-preserved. The peat does that. There was soil in his lungs, Sam.’
‘Meaning?’
‘That he wasn’t dead when he was buried. He might not have been alive for long, but he took a few deep breaths of soil before he went.’
Sam closed his eyes. ‘Jesus,’ he muttered. Then his phone rang. He checked the screen. It was Joe.
He thought about answering, but the words of the assistant chief were still too clear. He would call back when he had time. It was time to play the dutiful soldier for a while.
Sam logged onto the computer and held out his hand. ‘Pass me some case names. I’ll help you out.’
‘Shouldn’t you go home? You look worn out.’
He shook his head. ‘Not until I can’t do any more.’
Then his phone buzzed. It was a text.
He pulled out his phone. It was from Joe. Look at Melissa Clarke was all it said.
Melissa Clarke. Sam smiled to himself. It was a good place to start.
He tapped her name into the search bar. There were three in the system, but when he clicked on them, he saw that only one related to a missing person.
As he searched through the notes on the computer, the file information reports, the incident log, the statements taken not long after her disappearance, tremors of excitement started. There was a picture of her, one that was used in an appeal for information. Pretty, blonde, smiling. Joe was right. He had found something.
A married woman who went out one night and never returned. No explanation. Just like Rebecca Scarfield.
Charlotte looked up. ‘What have you got?’
‘Nothing,’ he said, smiling, knowing the gleam in his eyes gave him away. ‘I’m not supposed to be looking, remember.’
She grinned, but then it faded as she looked over Sam’s shoulder. He turned round. Hunter was there, staring, not at Sam, but at the photograph showing on Sam’s monitor of Melissa Clarke.
Hunter didn’t move for a few seconds, just clenched and unclenched his fist, before he pointed at Weaver and then gestured towards the door.
As they left the room, Sam muttered, ‘Shit.’
‘You in trouble?’ Charlotte said.
‘Looks that way.’
‘Then you might as well keep on going.’
He thought about that and smiled. ‘Yes, I think you’re right.’
Joe and Gina waited in a park by what would have been a country lane many decades earlier. The bright stream of the motorway had changed
all that. A chain hotel and a faked country pub had been built opposite, and the lane was now a busy route to the small industrial estates that had sprung up, to take advantage of the quick access to the rest of the country.
The park still offered some respite though. Surrounded by trees, the grass in front of them was a taste of the countryside but with the cold northern breezes blocked out. Gina was sitting on a swing, rocking back and forth. Joe was leaning against one of the metal struts.
‘What are you thinking?’ Joe said.
Gina looked up. ‘Is it that obvious?’
‘You go quiet when you’ve something on your mind. Is it about the firm?’
Gina stayed quiet for a few moments, before she said, ‘Hunter. If Aidan is innocent, why didn’t he spot it? Whatever you think about him, Hunter is a murder detective, and he’s old school, still about catching killers. Call it ego, or even call it little boys playing sheriff, but that’s how Hunter is.’
‘Would he let Aidan stay in prison if he knew he was innocent?’
‘It isn’t Aidan that would bother him but the killer being free. Aidan would be a casualty, nothing else. But letting a killer stay free? That’s different.’
‘Perhaps he doesn’t know,’ Joe said. ‘Perhaps he’s as convinced about Aidan’s guilt as everyone else.’
‘I’m not so sure about that. Why is he so interested in the case still?’ Gina paused when there was a metallic squeak. When they looked to the gate into the park there was a woman there, in jeans and a long jumper, her arms folded, looking around. When Gina got to her feet, making the swing creak, she jumped, startled. Gina stepped forward, realising that she was in darkness. ‘Rachel?’
A pause, and then, ‘Yes, it’s me.’ Her voice was timid, reluctant.
Gina walked towards her, Joe just behind, but Rachel stayed where she was. When they got close, Gina handed over her business card. She looked at it and tapped it against her palm before saying, ‘So what can I do for you?’
‘Like Heather told you on the phone, it’s about Declan from the reading group.’
‘What about him?’
‘Can’t we sit over there, on a bench?’
Rachel looked and then nodded, walking over, her arms still folded.
She was pretty, her hair Scandinavian blonde, her skin pale and delicate, her figure slim underneath the baggy jumper.
As they all settled down, Rachel was quiet for a few seconds, before she said, ‘Why do you want to know about Declan?’
‘It’s to do with a case we’re working on and it could be important. We spoke with Heather at the library and she said that you and Declan got close.’
The clench of her folded arms got tighter when Gina said that.
‘Heather shouldn’t have said that.’
‘She thought she was helping.’
Rachel stayed silent.
‘Did you get close?’ Gina said.
‘Nothing happened,’ Rachel said, glaring. ‘I want you to know that. It’s important.’
‘So tell us what nearly happened.’
Rachel looked down, and Joe could tell she was working out what to say. Eventually, she said, ‘I’m only talking to you because someone has to.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘Declan, he was, well, it’s hard to explain. Dangerous, I suppose.’
‘How so?’
‘He was persistent. He got under my skin, made me doubt everything.’
‘How do you mean?’
‘Are either of you two married?’ Rachel said.
‘No,’ Gina said, glancing at Joe, who was sitting back so that it was harder for Rachel to see him. ‘I’m not interested in judging you. Neither of us are. We just need to know about Declan.’
‘It might be hard for you to understand then, but things become routine,’ Rachel said. ‘It’s not bad, that’s life, everyday things, and sharing those things is part of everything, but it is hard to maintain the levels of excitement there once were. I understand that, at least I thought I did.’
‘So what changed?’
‘Declan.’
‘Explain.’
Rachel shook her head as if angry at some forgotten memory. ‘Declan is a handsome guy. Interesting, funny, engaging. It seemed like he knew me. I told him I liked flowers, doing arrangements and stuff, and he used to talk to me about them, as if he liked them too. He would come up to me before the meetings and tell me about some he had just bought, and it was flattering, as if he cared about the things I cared about. Then he got hold of my mobile number, and it changed.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘Before then, it had been a flirt at the book group, nothing more. I’d go home with the buzz of feeling that someone fancied me, but I didn’t think anything beyond that, but then the texts started coming in. And they really started coming in. It was like scatter-bombing, constant, but it was personal stuff, saying that he was concerned about me, that I seemed unhappy. And I wasn’t, or at least I thought I wasn’t, but the things he was saying made me question everything. He didn’t insult my husband, but talked about how nothing was exciting any more and how I had talked myself into a rut. I started to look at my husband and think maybe Declan was right. Did I still love him? Was it just a habit? Did I need some excitement?’ She sighed. ‘I asked him to stop texting me, because I knew he was sucking me in, but he just told me he wouldn’t accept that answer. He would text me late at night and early in the morning, and Gary would ask who I was texting but what could I say? So Declan became my secret, and in between all the stuff that questioned everything was the fun stuff. The flattery, the jokes, the feeling that he was confiding in me about his own life and that I could confide in him.’
‘It sounds like the start of an affair,’ Gina said.
‘It nearly was,’ Rachel said, regret filling her voice. ‘He invited me out. He said he would treat me, take me somewhere nice that my husband could never afford, but I was getting cold feet. I would have to get dressed up and I couldn’t face lying to my husband.’
‘So what happened?’
‘He kept on and on, but I started getting suspicious about him, because it almost seemed too perfect. I’m just someone who works for the tax office to keep the bills paid and was doing a flower-arranging course at college. I’ve got this handsome guy who is interesting, and finds me interesting, and it was too good to be true. So I started to take notice of the things he was saying and it started to seem unreal. He said he was a writer, but it turned out he had never written anything. Or at least never had it published. And he would send me messages and make me feel like the most important person in his life, but then it would just stop. He would be quiet for weeks and I’d wonder if I’d done something wrong, just go crazy thinking about him and why he had stopped, and then the texts would start up again.’
‘Why does that make him dangerous though?’ Gina said. ‘It just makes him sound like a player, nothing more.’
Rachel looked down and her chin started to quiver. ‘I told him to leave me alone, and he got nasty, and I don’t just mean angry. I’d followed him one night because I wanted to know who he was with, and I saw him with some woman, showing her into his house. I wasn’t supposed to know where he lived, and when I followed him it wasn’t where he said it was. I confronted him the next time I saw him, and there was something in his eyes I’ve never seen in a man before. A darkness, menace, like it transformed him, except his words didn’t match. He was asking me to go to his house just once, to see how good it could be.’
‘And did you?’
Rachel shook her head. ‘He scared me. I refused, and when I wouldn’t give in, he threatened to tell Gary all about us, how we had been exchanging late-night messages, the things I had said, the secrets I’d shared, about things I had done that Gary doesn’t know about, can’t know about, because it would hurt him. Just meaningless stuff, things that had happened on nights out but I’d felt bad about and ended up sharing with him.’
�
��How did it all end?’
‘I changed my number. I stopped going to the reading group and that was it. Then I heard about Melissa going missing and I knew she had been getting close to Declan, so I wondered, well, whether he’d had anything to do with it.’
‘Did you tell the police?’
