Cold Justice

by Lee Weeks

  ‘Ah . . . that’s where you’re wrong.’ Carter smiled. ‘By the time I leave here I will know what happened to Samuel, and I will know who killed Martin Stokes. I’ll go home after doing my job, same as I always do. After all, it’s just a job, right? My life will go back to normal. But yours? Your life will never be the same again, because this village is a boiling cyst that’s ready to burst. It’s not a bubble you have here – it’s a bubbling, angry, pus-filled boil, and we aim to tease it with a squeeze, enough to make it pop all by itself. When it does, it’s going to erupt good and proper, and cover you and all those people who think that the outside world can’t touch them here in Penhal. You think what occurs here in Penhal stays in Penhal? Sorry, mate, but you’re so wrong.

  ‘Soon you’re going to have every camera crew in the world focused in on this village and waiting for you to explode. BOOM.’ Carter mimed an explosion in the air. ‘The truth will come out whether you want it to or not, and I hope, for your sake, as well as mine, it comes out ASAP, so I can go home to people who know what it’s like to care about one another.’

  Marky was watching Leonard and the SOCO team out of his front window.

  ‘So, tell me, surprise me with the truth, how did Mawgan get injured?’

  ‘I can’t interfere with family stuff. Ask her yourself.’

  ‘I will, and I will take her in for questioning and keep her there if I find matching injuries on her father’s body. But I’ve noticed that Mawgan is a woman of few words, and I’ve noticed that Towan is a pig, so I’m asking you first.’

  ‘You need to look on the back of the cellar door if you want to see how she got injured.’ Marky held Carter’s gaze.

  ‘What was she doing in there?’

  ‘She was locked in by Towan. His idea of a joke – mainly to stop her interfering with the horse fight, I expect.’

  ‘And the mess in the kitchen?’

  ‘When I found her, he got there first. He wasn’t going to let her out.’

  ‘Fights are common in this family, are they?’

  Marky shrugged. ‘Not unless Towan is around.’

  ‘Him and the old man were close, weren’t they?’

  ‘Yeah, it wouldn’t stop him though. He should have gone far away when he came out of the nick. He only came back to try and get money out of his dad.’

  Carter went outside and watched as Stokes’ body was bagged up. Marky followed and stood in the rain, watching them remove it. Towan stood in his cottage doorway.

  The white forensic tent stood flapping as it took the brunt of the wind. The pigs were squealing to be fed, the horses whinnying. The noise of the cattle moving inside the barn, clashing their horns against the metal stalls, added to the din.

  Mawgan appeared in the lane and she glared at her father’s body as it passed.

  Robbo rang. Carter walked back down the lane to get privacy. He was still watching Mawgan as she passed. She touched Marky’s hand as he reached out to comfort her as she went by. She shook her head and walked on.

  Willis waited while the caravans were jimmied open by Pascoe. They were empty – all except one which contained outside furniture for all of them stacked up inside. She left Pascoe to search them thoroughly inside and out, while she went back to Kensa’s. When he’d finished, he came to tell her he was going down to make sure things were fully operational for them at the old police station.

  Kensa’s van was unlocked. Outside, the fire was still smouldering from the night before and the smell of horse hit her as she opened the door. The rain began pelting on the caravan roof and the wind came out of nowhere to buffet it, as if it was made of cardboard.

  Willis took a step inside the van and took her time to look in every corner as she carefully lifted and replaced all of Kensa’s belongings. The shelves were full of things that didn’t seem to have a purpose. There were corks and bar mats and even dead flowers. Willis examined everything, hearing the officers getting on and searching the other vans. She took down a small photo album from the shelf above the seating in the lounge. It had been hidden beneath a few pictures of Misty and some horseshoes. She opened it up; it was affected by damp and some photos had begun to disintegrate and stick to the plastic. Turning the pages carefully, Willis saw it was a cross between a scrapbook and a photo album. There were stuck-in sweet wrappers and a love-heart drawn. There were photos of Kensa as a young teenager with her arms around a boy, who looked like Cam, and with Mawgan modelling hot pants, pouting at the camera. Another girl was in the shot, long blonde hair and Lolita looks. There were so many photos of the girls messing around. They were standing by a Kylie poster. Willis put the photo album aside to show Carter.

  She went into the bedroom, and looked in the place she’d found weed before, but found nothing this time. As she felt along inside the cupboard, she felt a soft carrier bag and pulled it down to have a look. Inside were babies’ clothes. They were little boy’s outfits; Willis smelled them, noticing they had a damp odour. She was sure she hadn’t missed them out on her search last time. They looked like they’d never been worn, except among them was a newborn baby’s nightdress, which was covered in blood.

  ‘It’s mine.’ Willis turned to see Kensa standing in the bedroom doorway. ‘You shouldn’t touch it. You shouldn’t be in here.’

  ‘I’m sorry, Kensa – I thought you’d be resting up at the farm. We needed to take another look in here. Are you feeling okay?’

  ‘I’ve come back to get my things.’

  ‘Whose is this?’ Willis asked, holding up the bloodied garment.

  ‘It’s my baby’s.’

  Mawgan stepped into the van as well and stood beside her friend; she put her arm around her.

  ‘What happened to your baby?’ Willis asked, as Kensa held out her hand for the infant’s nightdress. ‘Shall we sit down and talk, Kensa?’

  Kensa looked at Mawgan, who nodded. Mawgan led the way into the lounge. The sickly yellow hue of the one remaining bulb over the cooker lit up the cold lounge.

  Kensa unfolded the bloodstained nightdress.

  ‘You’ve nothing to be afraid of, Kensa,’ Mawgan said, as she closed the caravan door and turned on the gas fire. ‘I have to go back to the farm now. You text me when you’re ready to leave and I’ll walk down and meet you.’

  Willis nodded to Mawgan that she, at least, had understood, and Mawgan left.

  ‘This was my baby’s. Yes, this is my baby Caden’s. He was born in my old caravan and Raymonds took him from me – told me he was a stillborn but I could swear I heard him crying outside. Raymonds said it was just wishful thinking and the sound of the wind as it whistles round the old mine. He never took one breath.’

  ‘Why didn’t you go to hospital?’ asked Willis.

  ‘I don’t know. My da left me to it by that time. He scarpered along with the gypsy folk he used to know – gone back to where he came from. They wouldn’t take me; they were ashamed for me to be pregnant with a gadjo. But I didn’t belong with them anyway. My mum was from here. She was a local girl. She’d set her heart on a traveller and he’d done his best to stay put but after she died, his heart told him to go.’

  ‘So you were on your own in here?’

  ‘They, the authorities, the schools, didn’t know it,’ Kensa said, ‘but yes, I was.’

  ‘Raymonds knew it?’

  ‘Yes, him and Eileen looked after me, brought me food and gave me money if I needed it.’

  ‘What did Raymonds say about the pregnancy?’

  ‘He said no one was to know; I was to stay in my van. I lived further out then. It was in the woods near the old mine. Raymonds or Cam brought me what I needed.’

  ‘Cam Simmons?’

  ‘Yes, he was a friend then. Still is. He’s more than a friend. We’ve been in love since we were kids but I never realized it till he came back. We’ve shared so many times together. There’s a bond between us that no one can break.’

  Willis took out the photo album and opened it up.


  ‘I believe it. These look like happy times, Kensa? Is that boy Cam?’

  ‘Yes. We were just friends then, but great ones. We understood each other.’

  She smiled as she wiped her eyes, then took the book from Willis, touching the photos through their plastic sleeves. She sang: ‘I’m spinning around, get out of my way – you wanna move it – move it like this . . . la la la.’

  Kensa hummed to herself as she turned the pages and laughed out loud as she looked at the photos.

  ‘Mawgan was a good friend to you?’

  ‘Yes. But there was no one there when I went into labour early. Mawgan was at school. Cam said he’d come after, as soon as he could. I waited all day until Raymonds came later in the evening. He told Cam to wait outside. He kept banging on the door. I could hear Cam saying, “Sergeant, shall I go for help?” He told him no.

  ‘Raymonds looked at me and I remember thinking – he’s not afraid. This is going to be okay. He said, “Lift your legs and rest them on my shoulders and you push when you feel the need.” I pushed because I had no choice. My body just pushed even though I felt it would split me in two. Raymonds didn’t say anything. Sometimes I asked him what was happening. And he would just say, “Not much longer. Keep pushing.”

  ‘I only knew that the baby was born because the pain stopped on the last massive contraction. “One more push to get the rest out,” he said. I remember asking, “Is it born?” Raymonds said yes; but there was no cry. “Is it a girl?” I asked. “No, it’s a boy,” Raymonds replied.

  ‘“Then, his name is Caden,” I said, and I gave him the outfit to put on. He didn’t say any more to me; I felt the cold wind as the door opened.’

  ‘Kensa, where is Samuel, do you know?’

  She shook her head. ‘Not any more.’

  ‘What do you know about him?’

  ‘I know that he sneezes a lot. He cries a lot. He shakes his head when you give him a drink, but he’s just a dream. Isn’t he?’

  Willis walked across the field away from Kensa’s van and out of earshot, then called Carter and told him what she’d found.

  ‘I think she knows enough for us to take her in. We can’t ignore her.’

  ‘Do you think we’ll get any sense out of her?’ asked Carter.

  ‘No, probably not. But we have to reach her somehow.’

  ‘You’re the one with knowledge in this field,’ Carter said. ‘You tell me. If we have her arrested and she cracks on us and ends up sectioned, that tiny window of finding Samuel alive disappears for ever, agreed?’

  ‘Yes.’

  Carter sighed. ‘Bring her back up to the farm and leave her here with them and we’ll see what breaks in the morning.’

  Willis went back to Lauren and dismissed the officer who was there looking after her. They said little as both were exhausted. Lauren cooked them some pasta. Then Willis switched on the television as Lauren opened a bottle of wine and they sat together in the snug room at the end of the hall.

  Lauren flicked through the channels as Willis went over the day in her head, trying to capture every detail and record it in her notebook in case it was lost for ever. She needed to write up her report before she went to sleep.

  Carter looked at his phone – it was a message from Sandford, the Crime Scene Manager from MIT 17. He was still packing up. He would grab a few hours’ sleep and be down by ten the next morning. He had the address and he would meet Carter at the farm. Carter signed off and stepped outside the hotel bar. In the hotel stairwell he rang Cabrina.

  ‘Sorry it’s late, babe.’ He looked at his watch; it was ten past ten.

  She sighed in her sleepy state and he could hear the rustle of bed clothes as she sat up.

  ‘You exhausted, honey?’

  ‘Absolutely,’ replied Cabrina. ‘Sorry, I’ve been hard at it with the flat and Archie. He misses you, even though you’re hardly ever here.’ She sighed as she smiled, he could hear it.

  ‘I’ll leave you to get some rest,’ Carter said, as he looked back into the bar and saw Raymonds ordering a drink.

  ‘Okay, honey, speak tomorrow. Love you.’ Cabrina signed off.

  Carter took a few seconds to reflect and decided it was no longer the time or place to have a drink with Raymonds. Things had gone too far now in the investigation. He called Willis. She was in her room.

  ‘Is Lauren all right?’

  ‘I think so. She’s watching television,’ replied Willis.

  ‘I’m calling a meeting tomorrow morning at eight. Pascoe told me that the old police station is ready for us to use now, so I’ll see you there. Have you rung Robbo this evening?’

  ‘Not yet. I’m just about to start writing up my report from today. I’ll ring Jeanie now and tell her how things stand with Kensa.’

  ‘Where is Kensa this evening?’ asked Carter.

  ‘She’s staying at the farm with Mawgan. She seems to think a lot of Cam Simmons. She even talks about them getting married.’

  ‘I wonder if he agrees.’

  ‘Did you want me to come over, guv? Are there things you need us to go through together?’

  ‘Why, what’s on your mind?’

  ‘I don’t know, but it feels a bit “us and them” with the local police. What are they going to feel like when we tell them we’re investigating Raymonds, one of the all-time heroes round here?’

  ‘We’ll keep that to ourselves until we’re ready to spring it,’ Carter said.

  ‘Okay, I’ll ring Jeanie and update her.’ Willis hung up.

  Carter phoned Robbo. Robbo was on his own in the office. Hector was out of the room looking through CCTV footage of around Greenwich. Pam had gone home for the night, and Robbo had brewed himself a new pot of strong coffee.

  ‘Carter, how is it going down there? Sandford is setting off in a few hours.’

  ‘Yeah, I spoke to him. It will be good to have him here. I want to keep the focus on Samuel.’

  ‘Is it getting too much for you to manage?’ Robbo asked.

  ‘No, we can do it,’ Carter said. ‘I’m leaving the murder of Stokes to the local police. I’m just pulling rank when it comes to prioritizing resources. Samuel still has it and I want nothing to get in the way.’

  ‘Do you know how Stokes was killed?’

  ‘Oh yes,’ Carter replied. ‘He was hit with a spade till his skull was smashed then he was impaled on a spike which pierced his liver. The post-mortem is due in two days, but we found the murder weapon beside him. They are waiting for Sandford to take a look at the body when he gets down here, then I’ve told them they can go ahead and do the autopsy.’

  ‘We have increased the number of people looking at video footage of Greenwich and of the services,’ Robbo let him know.

  ‘I was thinking, it would be worth sending an officer over with photos of all the Cornish folk who were in London that day and showing them around Greenwich. The lad who works on the front desk in the Cutty Sark museum had a keen ear for an accent.’

  ‘I’ll organize that for the morning,’ replied Robbo. ‘I’m about to call one of the escorts who used to visit Jeremy Forbes-Wright, if you’d like to listen in?’

  ‘Go ahead. I need you to ask whether she met any of the locals. What has Bowie found out about Jeremy – anything?’

  ‘He’s being hampered with red tape, but we’re making some progress. The phone records have helped. We have full access to his bank statements now.’

  ‘Any hint of paying blackmail?’

  ‘None. But he was on the brink of bankruptcy. That might have led him to slit his wrists. Once people started to find out he had defaulted on credit cards and loan repayments, he would have had no chance of making people vote for him. You can get away with having a love child, but not a bad debt. Okay it’s time – I’ll call.’

  ‘Is that Josie?’

  ‘Yes, it is.’

  ‘My name’s Derek Robinson,’ Robbo said. ‘I’m part of the Met’s Major Investigation Team. I was told that I could contact yo
u about Jeremy Forbes-Wright?

  ‘Josie, I want to thank you for agreeing to talk to me.’

  ‘It’s completely private, right? Anonymous?’

  ‘Yes, absolutely. Nothing will involve you speaking in court. You knew Jeremy Forbes-Wright?’

  ‘Yes, I did. I knew him for two years. Stopped seeing him about eighteen months ago.’

  ‘And you used to see him regularly?’ Robbo asked.

  ‘Yes, he used to call me over about once a fortnight to his place in Canary Wharf. We had hot-tub parties, that kind of thing.’

  ‘Just you and Jeremy?’

  ‘No, not always.’

  ‘I’m interested in the times he took you to stay in Cornwall.’

  ‘Oh yes, I went there about ten times?’

  ‘When was that?’

  ‘All in the space of the two years. I think the last time I saw him was in late summer of 2013. I went to Cornwall a few times that summer.’

  ‘Where did you usually stay?’

  ‘We always stayed in Kellis House, his place there in Penhal. A great place. Just a walk down to the beach.’

  ‘Was it usually just the two of you?’

  ‘It was once or twice. Sometimes he invited other guests, men like himself. Sometimes I went down there to meet with them without Jeremy being there at all – he would set it up. Privacy, that was his thing, sworn to secrecy. Once he knew he could trust you it was okay. But he was so old school, even in that; I don’t think he had any idea how easy it would be to find out what he was doing.’

  ‘These were friends of his?’ Robbo clarified.

  ‘That’s right. It was a regular-type arrangement he had with some people. Often they brought their own company with them, if not then he would ask me if I wanted to go. Sometimes I took a friend with me, depends on what Jeremy was after.’

  ‘But you were always happy to go down there?’

  ‘I was, well, until I’d had enough. He got bored very easily. He was hard work. It was like running the marathon going down to Penhal with him. I mean, I don’t mind sharing the odd line of coke with a client but it was one thing after the other with him. When he wanted it, nothing would stop him. I’ve seen him do more stuff in a night than I could manage in a year. I used to see him on the telly and laugh to myself – if only they knew the real Jeremy like I do.’