BF
August 20th
Tina finished reading and checked her notebook. Brian Foxley had been found dead on 28 August, just over a week later. She was puzzled. What Foxley had discovered didn’t look at all good for Robert Sheridan who was clearly involved in some kind of occult activity with a like-minded group of people, but it hardly seemed worth committing murder for. Yet Tina was certain that was what had happened.
She turned the page on the file and saw a set of five black and white photographs mounted on black card. These were the five guests Foxley had caught on camera the following morning. Three men and two women. They were good close-ups, obviously taken with a long lens, and she examined each one closely, stopping when she got to number three.
The man was standing by a car with a hat in his hand, squinting against the sunlight, dressed almost formally in a shirt and tie. He was young, mid-twenties, with a bland, almost nondescript face. But it was the shape of the head that gave him away – an almost perfect square. And the eyes … Even though he was squinting, they still resembled small dark holes with nothing behind them.
Barbara Howard had left Tina in the study to view the file in peace but now she came back into the room.
‘You look like you’ve seen a ghost,’ she said.
Tina nodded slowly. ‘I think I have.’
But it wasn’t a ghost she’d seen. It was a cold-blooded murderer. Half a lifetime might have passed but Tina still recognized the man who’d tried to kill her and Charlotte Curtis in France three months earlier, and then, barely a few days later, had come close to killing her and Ray at the farmhouse in Wales.
She stood up. ‘Can I borrow this file? I promise I’ll return it but I want to show it to a contact of mine in the force.’
Barbara looked thoughtful. ‘Keep it,’ she said eventually. ‘But please don’t say where you got it from. I think it’s time I left this case to the professionals.’
So, with the file under her arm, Tina walked back out into the warm sunshine of a July day, knowing that she’d found another of the Bone Field killers.
Thirty-nine
Anthea Delbarto, the woman who, it seemed, took in female victims of domestic violence, and who’d taken in Tracey Burn nearly twelve years ago, lived just outside the village of Pittonslow.
Her address wasn’t easy to find and we missed the turning twice before making our way up the winding single-lane track that led to a pair of high oak gates topped with a curved row of supposedly decorative wrought-iron spikes that would keep out all but the most determined of burglars.
‘Good security,’ I said as I stopped the car in front of them.
‘You know what the rich are like,’ said Dan. ‘Paranoid.’
And Anthea Delbarto was definitely a rich woman. Her husband had had a successful career when he was alive and had left her an estate in excess of £8 million on his death, so she could easily afford to take vulnerable young women in. We’d just visited Martha Harvey, the woman who’d met Tracey Burn briefly in the village all those years ago, and she’d told us that Mrs Delbarto seemed a very nice, polite woman who, though she kept herself to herself, was popular in Pittonslow, especially after she’d provided half the funds to completely refit the village hall three years earlier. And it was still, of course, possible that Mrs Delbarto’s connection to Lola Sheridan was entirely innocent. After all, she’d called the hotline at ten o’clock that morning to say that Tracey had stayed with her many years earlier.
Which was what Dan had reiterated to me several times on the way here. ‘So Delbarto could be an unwitting dupe in all this which means we need to treat her with kid gloves,’ he told me. ‘And we can’t let on that we know about Lola’s phone call to her. The tracking device was completely illegal so it’s got to stay out of this conversation.’
‘Don’t worry, Dan,’ I told him as the gates opened and we drove inside. ‘I can do kid gloves.’
The house itself was a large art deco dwelling – visually striking, even if it was beginning to look a little bit tired, built over three floors, and with a grand wrap-around balcony, surrounded by what an estate agent would call a mature, well-stocked garden but which in reality was beginning to get overgrown. There were a couple of chicken coops in one corner with chickens running free, and several scuttled out of the way as we pulled up in front of the house. I liked the place immediately. It reminded me of the rambling old house I’d spent my first seven years in.
The door was opened before we had a chance to reach it by an attractive woman with thick, fashionably cut grey hair and the kind of flawless skin you see on adverts for expensive anti-ageing moisturizers. She was dressed in jeans, ballet pumps and a white cheesecloth blouse. Only the hefty diamond on her ring finger gave any hint of her wealth.
She greeted us with a good afternoon and an expansive smile, not looking at all like a woman who had something to hide.
Dan thanked her for seeing us at such short notice as she invited us in. She led us through a huge hallway with a staircase in the centre. There was a real air of faded glamour about the place, which somehow made it feel even more like a home. A large photo portrait adorned one wall showing a younger Anthea with her husband – a balding, jowly man a lot older than her. She was smiling at the camera, he wasn’t. Looking at him I’d have thought it would be the other way round since he was so clearly batting above his average.
Anthea stopped by the door to a kitchen that was the size of my apartment where a woman was chopping vegetables, and asked if we wanted something to drink.
I asked for coffee. Dan plumped for tea.
‘Katy, would you mind making the drinks for us? I’ll have mint tea, please.’
The woman stopped what she was doing and turned round. She was younger than I’d been expecting – mid-twenties, with a petite build and elfin features. I gave her a smile and she gave us all an even bigger one back. It reminded me of the smile you might get from a Disneyland employee – all dimples and no depth.
‘Sure,’ she said. ‘It’ll be a pleasure.’
‘So, you’re here about Tracey,’ said Anthea as she led us through a pair of open French windows to an outside terrace, motioning for us to sit down at a table sheltered from the early afternoon sun by a trellis covered in winding grapevine. ‘I can’t believe what happened to her,’ she continued, visibly shuddering. ‘I felt so awful when I read about those poor women at that place … the Bone Field, or whatever the media are calling it. It’s appalling to think there are people out there – human beings – who could systematically plan the murder of young women like that. And then I saw on the news that Tracey, someone I knew so well, was one of their victims. I was shocked. And that’s when I called the hotline you’d set up.’
‘Do you remember Tracey well then?’ I asked.
Anthea smiled. ‘I grew close to her. I’ve grown close to many of the girls here, but I remember Tracey as peculiarly vulnerable. She was a sweet girl – perhaps not the brightest I’ve come across, but she had a kind heart and a real deep-down strength too. I thought we’d finally got her to the point where she didn’t need her abusive boyfriend any more.’
I frowned. ‘What do you mean?’
‘Well, when Tracey left here she told me she was going home to London. She didn’t explicitly say that she was going back to him – the boyfriend – but because she had nowhere else to go, and I know she still had feelings for him, I assumed they’d ended up together.’
I shook my head. ‘Tracey’s boyfriend told us that after she left him he only ever heard from her once, and that was by phone, when she told him she was severing all contact with him. He never saw her again.’
‘I know. I was there providing moral support to her when she made that call.’
‘How long did she stay with you for, Mrs Delbarto?’ asked Dan.
She appeared to think about this. ‘I honestly can’t remember. About two or three months?’
Dan nodded slowly. ‘Let me get this right
. So she left here one day and went back to London, but didn’t tell you where she was planning on going?’
‘That’s not unusual, detective. I provide a safe space for women and girls in need of shelter and help, but when they want to leave, I don’t try to stop them.’
‘And you never heard from her again?’
‘No.’
‘Is that usual?’ I asked. ‘You look after these women for quite long periods of time. Clearly you bond with them. You’d assume they’d keep in touch after they leave.’
‘And they usually do. I’m still in touch with a number of my girls.’
‘So weren’t you worried when you heard nothing from Tracey? I mean, enough to report her missing.’
Anthea shook her head. ‘No. I assumed she’d gone back to her boyfriend, which does I’m afraid happen, and was simply too ashamed to admit it. I had no reason to think that anything untoward had happened to her.’
‘So there was nothing she said or did here, or anyone she spoke to, that might offer a clue about how she met the men who killed her?’ asked Dan.
‘No. I’m sorry I can’t help more.’
There was a pause in the conversation as Katy brought the drinks in, still smiling widely as she put them down on the table.
I thanked her and asked how long she’d been staying here, noticing immediately that she shot a look at Anthea before answering.
‘Quite a while now,’ Katy said. ‘Months.’
‘About six, I think it is,’ said Anthea.
‘God, is it that long?’
‘And sadly Katy’s leaving us soon,’ Anthea continued. ‘Off to start a new life in France.’
‘That’ll be nice,’ I said. ‘Adventure’s good for the soul.’
Katy smiled. ‘I’m looking forward to it. But I’m a bit nervous too.’
‘Thank you, Katy,’ said Anthea, cutting short the conversation.
Katy nodded and left the room without another word.
‘Six months is a long time to be staying, isn’t it?’ I said when she’d left the room.
Anthea leaned forward in her seat, and her voice dropped to a whisper. ‘Katy’s had a very traumatic time. Five years ago her parents were killed in a car accident, and she ended up in a very abusive relationship with a violent boyfriend who got her involved in drugs and shoplifting, and who ended up putting her in hospital. It’s taken a long time to build her back up into the woman she should be.’
‘I understand that,’ I said, because I did, and I immediately felt a pang of sorrow for what had happened to her.
‘How many women have you had staying here over the years?’ asked Dan.
Anthea furrowed her brow in thought. ‘Do you know, I’m not sure. I don’t keep records as such. I started taking in young women and the occasional older foster child after my husband died in 1998. I found spending time with them helped to soften my bereavement. I don’t usually have more than one girl at a time, and there have been gaps. Perhaps a dozen or so altogether?’
‘And how do they all find you? Do you advertise?’
She sipped her tea before replacing it on the table. ‘Not as such. It’s more word of mouth. People in the area have heard of me and know what I do, and I have some contacts among social workers and therapists.’
‘Were there any other women staying here at the same time as Tracey?’ I asked.
‘I don’t believe so, no.’
So far the questioning had all been very civilized, and there was nothing in Anthea Delbarto’s demeanour to suggest she had anything to hide, but her answers had all been conveniently vague, and there was something else too. I’m a very good judge of character. I get strong, almost physical first impressions of people, and my first impression of Anthea Delbarto was that there was a coldness in her that didn’t sit comfortably with the words coming out of her mouth.
‘Can you remember who put Tracey in touch with you?’ I asked, watching closely for her reaction.
She turned slightly from my gaze, appearing to think about it. ‘Not off the top of my head. It was a—’
‘Long time ago,’ I finished. ‘Yes, I know. It wouldn’t be Lola Sheridan, would it?’
This was the moment of truth. Would Anthea deny knowing Lola?
But she didn’t. Instead, she looked thoughtful. ‘Lola?’ She shook her head. ‘No, I don’t think so.’
That caught me out. ‘Do you know Lola then?’ I asked.
‘Not really any more, but I certainly did.’ She smiled. ‘I was her and her brother’s nanny while they were growing up. Why would you think it might have been Lola who’d put Tracey in touch with me?’
‘Tracey used to clean for Lola at about the time she left her boyfriend,’ said Dan.
Anthea looked surprised. ‘Oh, well, I suppose it might have been. I can’t honestly recall. My memory’s not as good as it used to be. I’m sorry I can’t be of more help.’
She was playing us. I knew it. By being vague about Lola’s involvement rather than denying it, and using the length of time that had passed as an excuse, Anthea was making sure she didn’t say anything incriminating – and the problem was, like Lola, she was confident and wouldn’t fluster easily.
We were hitting a brick wall, and the worst of it was I felt sure she was involved in the Bone Field killings. It was something in her eyes. A glint of triumph, as if she knew we suspected something but could do nothing about it. That and a complete lack of shock about what had happened to Tracey. She talked like she cared but I could see she didn’t. It was a show.
It struck me then that she groomed the vulnerable young women who stayed with her – women like Tracey who ended up at the Bone Field – and I wondered if she was doing the same with Katy, a girl with no family who’d been staying with her six months.
‘Is there anything else I can help you with?’ asked Anthea.
‘I think that’s probably everything,’ said Dan, who’d clearly decided we weren’t going to get any further with Anthea. ‘Unless you’ve got another question, Officer Mason?’
I considered asking her about Lola’s phone call to her home number yesterday evening, but I felt sure she’d have a smooth enough answer to that and, since it involved an illegal tracking device, it was best to heed Dan’s advice and keep it back for now.
‘I have got one question,’ I said. ‘You mentioned that Katy’s parents are dead. Does she have any brothers or sisters?’
Out of the corner of my eye I saw Dan give me a puzzled look.
‘Why on earth are you asking me about Katy?’ Anthea countered. ‘You’re here about Tracey Burn.’
‘It’s a simple question.’
She gave me a cold look. ‘No, she hasn’t.’
‘Do you remember who put Katy in touch with you?’
‘Yes. A counsellor from Salisbury.’
I took out my notebook, and I saw her flash a look at it. ‘Can you give me his or her name?’
‘I really don’t see where this is going.’
I held her gaze. ‘Again, it’s a perfectly innocent question. You don’t have to answer it if you don’t want to.’
‘I don’t want to. In fact I don’t want to say anything else to either of you. I’m not going to be talked to like a criminal in my home when all I’ve done is try to help people.’
‘I’m sorry, Mrs Delbarto,’ said Dan, looking across at me. ‘I’m sure Officer Mason didn’t mean to sound accusing.’
‘It’s too late for that,’ she said, standing up. ‘Now, I’d like both of you to please leave.’
‘I think you’re being a little unreasonable, Mrs Delbarto,’ I said, getting to my feet. ‘I’m just trying to get to the bottom of a murder case.’
‘Well I don’t care what you think,’ Anthea said. ‘And you’re not going to get to the bottom of it by accusing me of lying.’
She walked round the table as if preparing to shoo us out, so we walked ahead of her back through the house. I didn’t look at Dan. I could see he wasn’t
happy.
But I wasn’t finished yet.
As we passed the kitchen, I paused. Katy was still there, chopping vegetables.
‘Excuse me, Katy, can you tell me who first put you in touch with Mrs Delbarto?’ I asked with a smile.
Katy turned round, momentarily confused, her eyes immediately seeking out Anthea’s.
‘Don’t answer him, Katy. You’re under no obligation. I’ve told these men to leave.’ Anthea stood between Katy and me, her eyes blazing. I thought she might even strike me. ‘Now please go,’ she said quietly, her voice bristling with anger. ‘Now.’
I looked back at Katy, but she’d already turned away, and I knew that she wasn’t going to say anything.
Dan grabbed my arm. ‘All right, Ray, let’s go.’
For a moment, Anthea and I stared at each other, and I felt the darkness in her like it was a physical presence. Then I turned and walked away.
It was only when we were back in the car and driving out of the gates that Dan finally spoke.
‘What the hell were you doing in there, Ray?’
‘Rattling Anthea Delbarto’s cage. She’s involved, Dan.’
‘Even if she is – and let’s face it, with the paltry evidence we’ve got, it’s still a very big if – that’s not the way to get her to talk. This is your problem, Ray. You want to solve everything in one day. I’d have thought you’d been a cop long enough to realize that it just doesn’t work like that, but obviously I’m wrong. I’ve been chasing the Kalamans for years and I still haven’t managed to nail them. But I keep chipping away and I know eventually I’ll get there.’
I didn’t think it was wise to tell him he was taking his time about it. He was too pissed off for that.
‘This woman was Lola and Alastair Sheridan’s nanny, she was the last person to see Tracey Burn alive, and we know she’s still talking to at least one of the Bone Field killers. So what do you think the plan of action should be?’
The Hanged Man Page 20
