The Bone Field

by Simon Kernick

  ‘Why was that?’ I asked, suddenly very interested.

  ‘I didn’t like the place I took her to. The woman who answered the door at this house in the woods I took her to, she looked evil, man. Like some kind of witch. And a couple of times when he’s been drunk Junior’s talked about girls – you know, the whores the outfit brings over – getting sold on to people and going missing. I just wanted to make sure she was OK.’

  ‘You were taking a big risk,’ said Dan. ‘What if someone finds the tracker and she tells them you gave it to her? Now that would put you in real danger.’

  ‘I’m already in real danger,’ said the informant. ‘And she won’t. I told her not to.’

  ‘Who told you to take her to this house?’ I asked him.

  ‘Jonas. He gave me the address on a piece of paper and told me to burn it afterwards.’

  ‘Did you?’

  ‘Yeah, but I remember the address.’

  I took out my phone. ‘Can you give me it?’

  He gave me a house name and a postcode and I wrote it down.

  ‘Have you heard anything else about those missing girls?’

  ‘Nah, just what Junior told me.’

  ‘Listen,’ said Dan. ‘I’m going to give you another tracking device to replace the old one.’ He took another envelope out of his jacket and handed it over. ‘It’s exactly the same. There are also two more of those tape recorders. The sooner you use them to pick up people talking about stuff they shouldn’t, like Junior, the sooner you’re out of there. And don’t give any of them away either.’

  The informant took the envelope, then the other one off me, and stuffed them in the waistband of his jeans, underneath the check shirt. ‘Promise me you’ll keep an eye on Nicole – that’s the name of the girl.’ He looked at me when he said that.

  ‘I promise,’ I told him.

  ‘You mean that?’

  ‘Yeah, I mean that. And I’m interested in anything you hear about other girls. Anything at all. Just tell Dan, he’ll tell me, and I’ll follow it up.’

  He nodded at me, gave Dan a glare, and turned and left us up on the roof.

  ‘Why are you so interested in missing women?’ Dan asked me a few minutes later as we watched the contact lumbering back up the street away from us.

  ‘Because I think Cem Kalaman murdered Dana Brennan and Kitty Sinn, and this whole devil worship thing is just a front for some kind of twisted sexual thing. That DVD you found at the people smuggler’s place, I bet it was Kalaman in that. It’s possible the people smuggler was blackmailing him. That case needs reopening to see if there are any links between the two of them.’

  ‘Yeah, sorry, I meant to get those case notes for you,’ he said. ‘I’ll do it.’

  ‘The thing is,’ I said, looking out over the rooftops, ‘if it’s a sexual motive, Cem Kalaman and his friends won’t have stopped killing women. Sexual predators like him never stop offending. It’s why they’re such frightening people. But it’s also their chief weakness. Because one way or another, it means they always get caught.’

  ‘You know what?’ said Dan. ‘Part of me really hopes you’re right. But as the father of two daughters, I can’t help thinking that, if it’s true, it means there are a lot of dead women out there.’

  Forty-one

  I was driving back from my meeting with Dan and his contact when I got a call from Tina Boyd, telling me she was finished at Ealing police station and in the back of a taxi heading home.

  ‘I’ve just spent two hours answering exactly the same questions as I did last night,’ she said, ‘asked by people who were just as sceptical that I was telling the truth. That colleague of yours, DI Glenda Gardner. She’s a ball breaker, isn’t she? And she really doesn’t like you much.’

  ‘There aren’t many in that team that do,’ I said. ‘What was she saying about me?’

  ‘She seemed to think you might have had something to do with Charlotte Curtis’s killers.’

  I sighed. ‘Jesus. They’re going to be after me for JFK next.’

  ‘I don’t think last night helped. They get a suspect for the Forbes murders, and he dies in a struggle with you. It doesn’t look good, Ray.’

  This was going to be a real problem for me. Because it didn’t look good. ‘It was an accident. That’s what’ll show up on the cameras, and I don’t see what motive they think I have.’

  ‘You don’t have to tell me,’ she said. ‘I believe you.’

  ‘Do you still want to work for me?’

  ‘As long as you pay, I’ll do what I can. What do you need?’

  I’d been thinking about this in the car. ‘A photograph of Lola Sheridan circa 1990. I want to see if she could pass as Kitty Sinn. Do you think you can find something like that?’

  ‘I’m a private detective, Ray. It’s my job. I’ll find something. But how are you going to go forward with this? You’re off the case and, from what DI Gardner had to say, there’s zero chance of you getting back on it.’

  ‘Let me worry about that. There’s something else too.’ I gave her the address Dan’s contact had given me, the house where he’d taken the trafficked girl the previous night, and asked her to find out who the place belonged to.

  ‘Sure,’ she said. ‘But you need to fill me in on what you already know.’

  ‘I could come over to yours and go through everything this evening,’ I said. To be honest I could have gone straight over. It wasn’t like I had anything better to do, but I preferred the idea of making an evening of it. ‘Maybe we can grab a bite somewhere.’

  She didn’t say anything for a couple of seconds and I wondered if I’d overstepped the mark. But it seemed I hadn’t because she then said that it sounded like a good idea, and I wondered if she was as lonely as I was.

  ‘Come round about eight,’ she said. ‘I’ll text you my address.’

  The call from Tina put me in a good mood. I might have been suspended, I might have been public enemy number one with some people, but at least I was going to have some good female company this evening; and, who knew, we might even make some progress on the case.

  The good mood lasted all of about four minutes. Then my phone rang again while I was stuck on the Embankment in the inevitable traffic you get on a sunny spring day in London.

  It was Olaf, and that was never going to be good news.

  ‘What the hell do you think you’re doing?’ he demanded, his voice calm but simmering nicely.

  ‘I’m driving my car,’ I told him.

  ‘So I’m assuming you haven’t been watching the TV then? Because if you had been you’d have seen an interview Sky News have just done with a fat man in dire need of a haircut in which he says that the police have come to see him because they think there’s an occult link to the Kitty Sinn case. Now I know for a fact that none of my team went to see this bloke, and only one person even thinks there’s an occult link, and that’s you. So what the fuck do you think you’re doing, Ray? You’re off this case, remember? You’re suspended. You’re on police bail. You have literally no fucking jurisdiction.’

  ‘I went to see him yesterday,’ I lied, cursing that arsehole Stamoran for going public like this.

  ‘Really?’ continued Olaf incredulously. ‘Because on the interview he said detectives had been to see him this morning.’

  ‘Then he’s lying.’

  ‘I’m going to tell you this for free right now, Ray. If I hear one more fucking whisper that you’re still sniffing round this case, just one, then I’ll have you put behind bars. Do you understand?’

  ‘Loud and clear, boss.’

  ‘Why don’t you just take a holiday or something? It’s not like you’re short of money. Leave the country for a few weeks and leave the rest of us in peace.’

  ‘That’s a nice idea. Maybe I’ll do that. Any suggestions?’

  ‘Yeah,’ he said. ‘As far away from here as possible. Now get out of my fucking hair.’

  The line went dead.

  I took a dee
p breath and shook the noise of Olaf’s tirade out of my ears. It didn’t change anything. It just meant I had to be extra careful going forward.

  Forty-two

  It was a quarter past two when I pulled into my building’s underground car park and parked in my spot a twenty-yard walk from the main doors.

  I was halfway there when two men emerged from behind a concrete pillar to my right. They were big guys in dark suits, with the blank, merciless faces of thugs. As they approached me, their pace steady, they slipped lengths of lead piping out from beneath their jacket sleeves, keeping them tucked away but ready for use.

  I turned round fast, looking for a potential escape route, but two more men in suits were suddenly there, between me and the car. I looked at the door to the apartments. There was no way I could be through there before the first two caught me. Even so, it was my only option. I reached down to my belt where I kept a can of pepper spray and turned to run.

  ‘Don’t bother,’ came a voice off to one side. ‘No one’s going to hurt you.’

  I looked round and saw a fifth man in a suit, smaller than the others but still with a powerful physique, come out from behind my neighbour’s car and walk towards me. He had thick black hair, a narrow, predatory face that spelled danger, and small, cunning and very black eyes like a crow’s. He might have looked a lot different from the old mugshot I’d seen of him, but I recognized Cem Kalaman straight away.

  I took his advice and didn’t bother bolting for the door. Instead I watched him as he approached me, his four men forming a wide outer circle around the two of us as he stopped in front of me.

  He was shorter than I’d been expecting, probably no more than five eight, and he looked younger than his age, but there was the kind of presence about him that made a man want to take a step back and give him a good berth.

  I didn’t step back. I stood in silence, waiting for him to speak.

  He smiled, showing a glint of white teeth. ‘Mr Mason. I’ve heard a lot about you.’

  I didn’t say anything, and he looked around.

  ‘You have good security in this building. Very good. Technology. It’s going to make all but the most determined, the most ruthless criminals redundant.’

  His voice was cultured and quite soft, with only a hint of north London coming through. Again, not what I would have expected.

  ‘You know you’re being filmed, don’t you?’ I said. ‘By an off-site company who are probably watching this right now.’

  ‘That’s right. Active S Ltd. We own them. But as I’ve just pointed out, we’re not interested in harming you. If we were, you’d be dead by now. These men are simply here for my security, since I know you seem to have a habit of killing people in controversial circumstances.’

  ‘I’m not interested in talking to you.’

  ‘Well, these men are here to make sure you hear me out, so why don’t you let us into the building and we can talk more freely in your apartment?’

  ‘That’s a very kind offer, but no thank you.’

  Kalaman’s features darkened and he ran a tongue across his lips. ‘It’s not a request. Either we go to your apartment and talk, or we break your kneecaps here on the concrete, and then come back to chat another time. Your choice. You’ve got three seconds to make it.’

  For one of those three seconds I considered pulling the pepper spray, but dismissed the thought immediately. The last thing I wanted was Cem Kalaman and his goons in my apartment, but for the moment at least it was better than the alternative.

  ‘OK, well, if you put it like that.’

  I used my fingerprints to open the security door and the six of us squeezed into the lift. On the way up to the fifth floor one of Kalaman’s goons patted me down and took the spray. For a worrying second I thought he might grab my phone as well. It was bad enough that I was compromised but I didn’t want to put Dan or Tina in any danger.

  But right now I was the one in trouble, and as I opened the door to my apartment I knew I was making a very big mistake letting these guys inside, because there was no way they were going to want to leave without finding out how much I’d learned, and there was no way I could risk giving them that information.

  I was going to have to think of something fast.

  ‘It’s a nice place you have here,’ said Kalaman as they followed me inside.

  I walked over to the lounge area and turned to face them as they fanned out in a rough semi-circle, with Kalaman at the centre. He licked his lips again. It was a strangely repulsive gesture.

  ‘You know who I am, don’t you?’

  ‘I can guess.’

  ‘Then you’ll also have a good idea why I’m here. You seem to be conducting some sort of witch hunt against me even though you’re suspended.’

  ‘Well, that’s the thing, I’m not. As you say, I’m suspended. It’s over.’

  ‘Don’t bullshit me. I know you’re still sniffing around looking for scraps. Which surprises me. You’re in a very precarious position. You survived a double shooting three days ago in circumstances that raise a lot of questions. And then last night a man either fell or was pushed to his death by you in full view of well over a hundred members of the public. You’re not a popular man, Mr Mason. Did you know that people of influence have been on the airwaves demanding you be charged with murder?’

  ‘Get to the point of what you want.’

  Kalaman nodded slowly. He looked like a man who held all the cards, and that was worrying me.

  ‘I’ve got something with me,’ he said. ‘Something I think you’ll be very interested in seeing.’ He reached into his pocket and pulled out an iPhone, then pressed a few buttons before handing it to me. ‘Go on, take a look.’

  I took the phone. On the screen was the image of a man in a black ski mask entering a room. It took me a couple of seconds to realize that the man in the shot was me, and that the room I was entering was Bill Morris the caretaker’s bedroom.

  ‘Keep scrolling,’ said Kalaman, his voice cold.

  I flicked my finger across the screen and a second picture appeared. This one was of me sitting on the floor, my mask missing and eyes shut, rubbing my face after I’d been hit by the shot of pepper spray. It was unmistakably me. I swiped again. This time it wasn’t a photo but video footage – a nine-second clip, starting with me on the floor still rubbing my face, then panning to Bill Morris’s hanging body as it twitched a last time. Urine dripped down his trouser leg on to the floor. After that there were two more photos, both of me leaning out of Morris’s bedroom window trying to get air, with part of his body in the background.

  I finished swiping, took a breath, and handed the phone back to Kalaman. ‘This doesn’t prove anything.’

  ‘It shows you at Bill Morris’s house at exactly the time he was dying. It makes a suicide look like a murder.’

  ‘But it’s obvious I’m not the killer. That would have been the person photographing and filming me.’

  Kalaman shrugged. ‘Perhaps. Or it could have been your accomplice filming proceedings. Either way you’re going to have to explain what you were doing at the house of a dying man wearing a ski mask. And don’t even think about claiming that any of this is doctored, because all the police have to do is check the ANPR cameras that night and they’ll see your car was in the vicinity. If any of this is made public, the whole world will be clamouring from the rooftops to prosecute you. The DPP will have no choice. Even if you get out of the Anton Walters killing, you’ll go down for this, and then this beautiful apartment of yours, in fact your whole life, will become just a distant memory.’

  ‘Unless?’

  ‘Unless you do the right thing, Mr Mason. You tell us what you’ve turned up in your investigation so far, who you’ve been talking to, what they know. Everything. After that, you’re ours. When your suspension’s lifted, you go back to work, carry on as normal, but you keep us informed of any action against us. If you get transferred elsewhere, fine. Doesn’t matter. We might call in favours now a
nd again, or we might just leave you alone. But’ – he lifted a finger and pointed it at a place between my eyes – ‘carry on doing what you’re doing and we’ll release this material in a way that causes you maximum damage. We’ll destroy you.’ He smiled again. ‘When you look at it like that, there’s not really that much of a choice, is there?’

  He was right. There wasn’t. Except there was no way I could do what he was demanding. I’d never give him Tina Boyd or Dan Watts’ informant. Nor would I ever work for him. I’d rather die than that. And, in the end, I wasn’t going to stop digging into this case either. I’d made a promise to Dana Brennan’s parents, and it was a promise I was going to keep.

  But I didn’t say any of this. Instead I nodded slowly, letting my shoulders slump. ‘All right, you win. I don’t want any part of it now anyway. I don’t think I even want to be a copper any more. If you leave me alone, I’ll leave you alone. I promise.’

  ‘That’s a very good start, Mr Mason,’ said Kalaman, putting out a hand. ‘Give me the phone.’

  I handed it over, and as he took it he drove a fist into my gut. I didn’t see it coming and it took the wind right out of me. As I doubled over, two of the goons grabbed an arm each, forcing me upright.

  Kalaman’s small dark eyes narrowed, and his expression was one of pure venom. ‘Now, we’re going to have a little talk, and if you don’t answer my questions, we’re going to start breaking things from the ankle up until you do.’

  He gave a barely perceptible nod to one of the goons and the next second my legs were kicked from under me and I went crashing backwards to the floor, my head hitting the sofa, which thankfully broke the worst of my fall. The two goons then grabbed a leg each and began dragging me back from the sofa towards the centre of the floor, and I saw a third goon hand over his piece of lead piping to Kalaman, who took it in his gloved hand.

  I’m a paranoid man. When people have tried to kill you, especially when it’s more than once, you get like that. So, to protect myself, I keep various implements in strategic places around my apartment for use in an emergency. One of those places was on the bottom of the teak coffee table, where a hunting knife with a six-inch blade was taped, along with a can of pepper spray. I was still within arm’s reach of the table as they dragged me across the floor, and my arms were still free, so in one rapid movement I twisted round on my side and reached under the table, knowing that the knife was the nearest weapon.