by Paul Finch
‘So I’m finally able to get through to you,’ Gemma said.
Heck was caught on the hop. ‘Erm … the signal’s unreliable up here, ma’am. At best.’
‘Good job I’m coming up in person then.’
‘I’m sorry?’
‘I’m coming up today. I’m on the two-thirty from Euston to Oxenholme.’
‘Oh … okay.’
‘I considered driving, but if the fog up there’s as bad as you say, it’ll be probably be traffic jams to infinity.’
He could hardly deny that. The Lake District boasted relatively few main roads, and they were bad at the best of times.
‘Can you pick me up at Oxenholme?’ she asked. ‘I’m due to get in just over two hours from now … around five-fifteen.’
‘Ma’am, are you really sure you want to …’
‘Heck, you’ve pricked my interest. Is that not what you wanted to hear?’
In truth, Heck wasn’t actually sure what it was he’d wanted. Or why he’d even called her. He and Gemma had once been lovers, long ago now, when they were junior detectives together in East London. At the time, their partnership had been firm, their relationship intense. But over the years things had got in the way, not least the Stranger enquiry. They’d remained reasonably close after the break-up – as work colleagues if nothing else – but on the whole tried to avoid each other, each coming to the Serial Crimes Unit at Scotland Yard by different routes, though by then Gemma was of much higher rank. Mutual respect had made a working relationship between them possible, but the near-decade they’d then spent in SCU together hadn’t all been hunkydory. By necessity, the higher Gemma rose in the job, the ever straighter bat she’d become, whereas Heck, whilst never consciously bucking the system, had always preferred a trickier approach. The last case they’d worked on together had seen them hunting a gang of professional rapists and kidnappers called the Nice Guys Club, whose sadistic rampage through the heart of Britain had been assisted by corruption and conspiracy at high levels. That incident was now two and a half months in the past, yet it was still raw to Heck. One of the most painful episodes in his police career – if not the most painful, mainly because at the end of it he and Gemma had rowed spectacularly. Things had been said that could never be unsaid. Afterwards they’d both decided it would never be possible for them to work together again. Hence, Heck’s new career in the low-crime paradise of the Lake District.
‘Heck? … Heck, I’m talking to you.’
‘Oh … sorry, ma’am.’
‘Can you pick me up at Oxenholme, or not?’
‘Ma’am … where are you going to stay when you get up here? It’s not going to be a one-night stopover.’
‘It’s a holiday area, isn’t it? I’m sure there’ll be rooms.’
‘I wasn’t exactly planning for this. I’ll have to okay it with the SIO … when someone’s appointed.’
‘Leave that to me.’ Gemma spoke with her usual airy confidence. ‘This isn’t just personal, Heck … from what you’ve told me, it actually does fall within SCU’s remit. Five-fifteen at Oxenholme. I’ve not had a “yes” or “no” out of you yet.’
Even then, it wasn’t as straightforward a question as it sounded. Heck had voluntarily left SCU so that he could be as far from Gemma as possible. His sense of betrayal after the Nice Guys enquiry hadn’t just hurt him, it had put him into a state of shock. Of course, these things always seemed a hundred times worse coming from someone you’d trusted and respected.
There was a keen silence on the line as she awaited his decision.
Heck couldn’t deny that he was going crazy up here. Mostly, it was less-than-divisional CID work he was engaged in. ACPO could chunner all they wanted about needing to install experienced detectives in isolated rural areas, but there were more sheep in the Langdales than humans. The last couple of days had been unusually busy, but they had been the exception, not the rule.
‘Yeah, I’ll be there,’ he said sourly.
She hung up.
From Bowness, which was busy – everything moving at a crawl – he ploughed straight on into the hills again via the B5284. This was yet another perilous road in thick fog, but at least it was free of other cars, not that the occasional sheep straying directly into his path made life any easier.
As a result, Heck reached Kendal just short of two hours after he’d set off.
When he entered the Westmorland General Hospital, he learned the ambulance had only arrived twenty minutes earlier, but this had been sufficient time for Tara Cook to be taken straight through to theatre. There was no chance Heck could interview her again until at least this time tomorrow. All he could do now was ensure the girl’s clothing and belongings were all bagged for forensic examination, and then wander frustratedly through to the empty ICU waiting area, where he got himself a watery coffee from the vending machine. As he did, two other figures ambled in; DI Don Mabelthorpe and DS Kealan Walker from Windermere CID. The former was a squat, tubby guy in his late forties, rather porcine in appearance; balding on top, which was why he normally wore a tweed hat, and yet blessed with thick red sideburns. The latter was much younger, somewhere in his late twenties, but studious-looking, with short black hair and steel-rimmed glasses.
‘Looks like we can’t speak to her ’til tomorrow,’ Heck said, handing over the evidence bags.
‘Yeah, I heard,’ Mabelthorpe replied, distracted as he examined them.
‘Tomorrow at the earliest,’ Walker corrected them both. ‘Which is probably a good thing. Both the girls’ parents are on the way up, but they’re driving, so they probably won’t arrive until much later this evening, if not the early hours tomorrow … the last thing they’ll want is to get here and find a bunch of hairy-arsed bobbies crawling all over their semi-comatose daughter.’
Heck nodded, unable to deny this logic.
‘Still no chance of getting the chopper up there, I’m afraid,’ Mabelthorpe said. ‘We’ll have a whole search party standing by late tomorrow morning. I’m putting a small taskforce together as well, to investigate the assault. You want in, Heck?’
‘Absolutely,’ he said.
‘I’m having some space cleared at Windermere to set up the Incident Room.’
‘You get the initial assessment report I emailed you, sir?’
‘Yeah.’ Mabelthorpe scratched behind his ear. ‘To be frank, I don’t know what to make of it. Especially those notations you added about the Stranger.’
‘It’s a long shot, I admit,’ Heck replied, ‘but if I hadn’t mentioned that, I wouldn’t be doing my job properly.’
‘Well, we’ve pulled the files on the Stranger.’ Mabelthorpe shrugged. ‘But it’s the same rule as ever … they’ll flip out on the top floor if we start talking serial killers.’
‘To be honest, there isn’t much evidence to suggest it’s him,’ Heck acknowledged. ‘But I think it’s something we ought to bear in mind.’
‘Much evidence?’ Walker said. ‘There’s no evidence at all. We don’t even know for sure there’s been a murder, so it’s a real feat of mental acrobatics to link this to an unresolved series from Devon ten years ago.’
‘DSU Gemma Piper didn’t think that,’ Heck responded. ‘I told her exactly what I told you, and she’s on her way up here as we speak.’
The two divisional detectives glanced at each other.
‘SCU are on their way already?’ Mabelthorpe visibly reddened in the cheek. ‘Before we’ve found the other AP? Before we’ve even ascertained there’s been a homicide?’
‘Not SCU, sir … Detective Superintendent Piper. She knows the Stranger case better than anyone.’
‘Heck,’ Walker said. ‘This is pretty damn spurious …’
‘I know, I know,’ Heck made a helpless gesture. ‘The links are tenuous. But the MO matches one of the Stranger’s earlier attacks, the victimology’s right, plus I keep thinking, Strangers in the Night.’
‘Yeah, well …’ Mabelthorpe pondered. ‘That does bea
r further consideration. When’s Piper due to arrive?’
Heck glanced at his watch. ‘Soon. I’m picking her up at Oxenholme.’
‘She’s not bringing a team with her?’
‘Don’t think so.’
‘She’s coming on the train … on her own?’ Walker sounded surprised. ‘So is this in an official capacity, or not?’
‘That’s up to her,’ Heck replied.
‘Well it’s not going to hurt,’ Mabelthorpe said, ‘having an experienced homicider on the plot.’
‘One thing I’m a bit concerned about, sir,’ Heck said, ‘is the villagers in the Cradle. Both Cragwood Keld and Cragwood Ho are dangerously close to the crime scene, and at present, apart from a single unarmed policewoman, there’s no one there to protect them if this nutter comes back.’
‘We’ve thought about that,’ Mabelthorpe said. ‘Lads … in here if you please.’ A couple of uniformed officers, both wearing fluorescent anoraks, who’d been loitering out in the corridor, now sauntered in. ‘DS Heckenburg, you know PCs Mick McGurk and Dan Heggarty.’
Heck knew them vaguely. McGurk was a doughty, hard-bitten Scot from the Borders. A former Royal Marine, he was now in his mid-forties and prematurely grey, but still in good shape, with a strong build and stony, pockmarked features. When stripped to his shirt-sleeves, both his brawny arms displayed tattoos commemorating his role in Desert Storm. Even now he wore a rubber Help For Heroes band on his thick, powerful wrist. He’d formerly been a DS up in Carlisle, but some unspecified incident – which might or might not have had something to do with the brutalisation of prisoners – had seen him kicked down a rank and back into uniform. Heggarty was younger than McGurk, mid-twenties, and taller – about six foot three, with a lean, rangy physique, short black hair and a trim black moustache. Heck didn’t know Heggarty personally, but was aware he had a reputation for sticking religiously to procedure, which didn’t make him the most popular guy to have around.
At present, both men sported black body-armour under their hi-viz anoraks.
‘We can’t get anyone up onto the fells at present,’ Mabelthorpe said. ‘Even if we had a load of spare bodies available – which we don’t at this short notice – the conditions won’t allow it. Way too dangerous. Mountain Rescue were prepared to chance it on foot, but I’ve pulled them back too – with guns on the plot, we can’t authorise civvie involvement until we know exactly what we’re dealing with. However, I know you could use some help at Cragwood Keld, Heck, so for the time being you’ve got these two. They’re on an extended shift until midday tomorrow. Use ’em any way you see fit.’
‘Okay, good,’ Heck replied. ‘You lads got your own wheels, only I can’t take you back up to the Cradle straight away?’
‘No worries, sergeant,’ Heggarty replied. ‘We’ll take the patrol car.’
‘An officer from Kendal nick will be babysitting the casualty while she’s in Recovery,’ Mabelthorpe added. ‘Whoever it is, they’ll be briefed to keep their ear open for a dying declaration, though from what I hear, that’s not going to happen. And I’ve passed your request for firearms support up the chain of command too. You should have a unit with you by the end of today. They’ll want to check out the crime scene on the lakeside too, just to make sure there’s no unexploded ordnance lying around.’
‘All the better,’ Heck said. It had been worth the difficult journey down from the Cradle just to hear that. Suddenly it felt as if the odds had tipped a little way back in their favour.
Chapter 9
Though Oxenholme railway station was only a few minutes’ drive from Westmorland General, it was rush-hour, so the fog-clogged streets were additionally gridlocked with grumbling, slow-moving cars.
It took Heck fifteen minutes longer to get to the station than he’d anticipated, and when he arrived, Gemma was already waiting on the forecourt. It looked as if she’d headed straight to Euston from the Yard, as she was wearing her normal office attire of skirt, blouse, heels and beige overcoat, while the only piece of luggage she had with her was a blue zip-up holdall. Like most good SIOs, she kept a grab-bag permanently at hand, containing a change of clothes, toiletries, waterproofs, forensics gear, clean notebooks and so forth, so she could be ready to respond in an instant. Like now.
‘See what you mean about the fog,’ she said, throwing her bag into the back and sliding into the front passenger seat, not wasting time on a ‘hello’ or ‘how are you?’
‘Wait ’til you get into the hills,’ Heck said, pulling away from the kerb. ‘On top of that, they reckon it’s going to freeze again tonight …’
He drove them back across the west side of the town, having to negotiate yet more log-jammed traffic, though the only vehicles actually visible were those in the Citroën’s immediate vicinity. The lights of shops were little more than smudges in the murk; pedestrians were filmy shadows flitting past. Overhead, the streetlamps infused the grey canopy with a sodium-yellow tinge, but themselves were invisible.
It took another half-hour to break free of the Kendal conurbation. Even on the B5284 heading towards Windermere, no noticeable acceleration was possible. The road rose and dipped as it ascended the Crosthwaite fells, and every so often the traffic would slow and the glaring red eyes of tail-lights abruptly emerge in front. Heck stole a covert glance at his passenger. Gemma didn’t look much different from the last time they’d met, and why should she? He had to keep reminding himself it had only been two and a half months. That said, there were some slight alterations. Her fair hair was longer now, cut to shoulder length and styled in a neat bob, which he was forced to admit was rather fetching.
If she was aware he was appraising her, she didn’t respond, merely gazed into the turgid gloom.
‘How’s life at the Yard?’ he asked, before the silence became awkward.
‘We’ve got a couple of interesting cases,’ she said. ‘But nothing that requires my attention hands-on.’
‘Well, this one doesn’t either, if I’m honest … ma’am.’
She was a little slow to respond. ‘Not the impression you gave on the phone.’
‘I could have been a bit previous with that call.’
‘Now you tell me.’
‘Don’t get me wrong. Nothing new has come up. We still haven’t found the missing girl. The one we did find is in critical care, incommunicado ’til tomorrow at the earliest. But the local factory are a bit surprised you’re here.’
‘Wasn’t it ever thus. Who’s SIO?’
‘At present, Don Mabelthorpe, DI at Windermere nick. He’s alright, to be honest. I tried to explain the situation, but … like I say, he was a bit surprised.’
Gemma produced her mobile. ‘Give me his number and I’ll put him in the picture.’
‘You’ll be lucky to get a signal up here.’ But Heck gave her the number anyway, and drove on while she fiddled with her phone for several seconds before silently acknowledging he was right by putting it away again.
‘Well, whether there was any point to it or not, I’m here now,’ Gemma said. ‘So you might as well tell me what you know. And don’t leave anything out.’
Point by point, Heck reiterated everything that had happened, embellishing it here and there with his own thoughts and theories.
‘The gunshot Tara Cook suffered,’ Gemma interrupted. ‘Have you retrieved the slug?’
‘No, it passed clean through.’
‘No bullet fragments left in the clothing or wound?’
‘No results on that yet.’
‘So thus far we’ve no clue about the make or model of the firearm?’
‘None whatsoever. If it was the same gunshot I thought I heard, I’m guessing a high calibre.’
‘Loud?’
‘Very loud, but there’s no guarantee even about that. The sound effects up here, especially in the mountains, can get seriously distorted.’
‘What about publicity?’
‘Thus far the case has only been publicised in the immediate envir
onment.’
‘Nothing to the press?’
‘South Cumbria Crime Command are taking charge of that. They’ll be getting some search parties out tomorrow too. Mountain Rescue can deal with the peaks, but there’s a lot of lower ground to cover as well.’
‘Any reason why there’s no one up there now?’ Gemma wondered.
‘Apart from the conditions, which would make even a ground-level search next to impossible, and would also mean we’d have no air-cover, there is the potential presence of firearms. It’ll be a risk sending out civvie search parties in daylight, even though it’s one we’ll have to take … but deploying them in darkness and fog is too horrific a prospect, I suppose.’
She considered this. ‘At the risk of asking a painfully obvious question … this is the countryside. This girl couldn’t have been shot by accident?’
‘I’m hoping Mary-Ellen’s been making some calls about that.’
‘Mary-Ellen?’
‘Mary-Ellen O’Rourke. My PC up at Cragwood Keld. But the girl herself was quite adamant she and her mate were attacked.’
‘And is that statement reliable? I mean, was she semi-conscious, delirious maybe?’
‘What she told me wouldn’t stand up on its own. That’s why I want to speak to her tomorrow, get a proper statement before local plod gets too involved.’
‘You’re local plod now, Heck.’ Gemma said this flatly, without emotion, without so much as glancing at him.
‘Yeah,’ he grunted. ‘Thanks for reminding me.’
They descended into Bowness, where, alongside Windermere’s frigid waters, the fog was even thicker and the evening traffic snarling itself up again, the flow of which was further hampered by various shunts and collisions. The hold-ups this caused were endless, so Heck opted to head towards Ambleside and the road around the north end of the lake, rather than chance the ferry again.
‘I’ve got a question, ma’am, if you don’t mind,’ he said.
