by Dylan Young
‘I’m sorry about Dave,’ Rainsford said.
‘You weren’t to know, sir.’
‘No, but I still should have.’
Anna nodded. ‘The CSC at Pux Cottage went apeshit when she saw what he’d done.’ She’d heard that had the crime scene coordinator been armed, Woakes would not have made it back to HQ. ‘But I’ve heard he’s avoided disciplinary procedures.’
Rainsford’s mouth twisted into a grimace. ‘He has. It’s all HR bullshit. But the good news is he’s dropped the bullying accusation.’
‘Sir, please don’t tell me it’s a trade-off. Dave is a liability. The bullying stuff was complete crap—’
Rainsford’s expression told Anna she didn’t need to convince him, and she shut up. No need to vent here. She’d done that enough already.
‘I know that’s what you think has happened, but I don’t buy it. I think he’s had time to think things through. I suspect his ego won’t let him admit how much grief you gave him.’
‘Because I’m a woman?’
‘Probably. Dave Woakes thinks he can do most things better than everyone else. He has delegation issues. We decided, by mutual consent, that his probationary period would end here.’
‘Did you suggest a change of career?’ Anna asked. ‘Any vacancies in the reptile house at the zoo?’
Rainsford smiled. ‘As you know, Inspector, we are committed to working with our officers and giving them every opportunity to improve.’ The mock officiousness in Rainsford’s voice almost made her smile.
‘That makes me feel so much better,’ Anna lied.
‘He’s gone back to East Mids. I’ve suggested a psychological assessment and retraining. Do I think it’s likely? No. Dave is one of those people who will never quite fit in. He’s a behavioural analyst’s dream.’
‘So long as they dream somewhere else.’
‘Amen to that, Anna.’
‘What about Starkey, sir?’
Rainsford shook his head.
‘Is he talking?’
‘Not much. His lawyers have him gagged while the psychiatrists do their assessments.’
Anna didn’t envy them that task.
‘The ACC wants to shake your hand again, Anna.’
‘Do I have to?’
‘You know you do.’
‘But it’s cold and clammy.’
‘You make him sound like one of the undead.’
Anna shrugged and raised one eyebrow. ‘You know I’d much rather get back to work.’
‘We still need to find someone instead of Woakes. The squad needs a bit of beef.’
‘We’ll manage—’
‘Yes, I’ve seen how you manage. You’ll manage better with help. Don’t worry, I’ll let you vet him or her next time. I promise.’
Fifty-Two
The team held a semi-official celebration at the Lantern the day Blair was released from hospital, and afterwards, Khosa dropped Anna off at her Horfield flat. By the time she got there, the day had all but gone, and over in the park nearby, dogs were being walked and kids were still skateboarding against the backdrop of a red-and-orange flamed sunset. She poured herself a glass of cold water, turned up London Grammar on her iPhone and went out into the garden. Warmth and light had nudged her pots into life, and purple lavender and dark and velvety silver-veined heuchera mingled with ferns and hostas around the tiny corner of the outdoors she’d tamed for herself.
On the little table, next to the iced water, she placed both phones. The one that rang and interrupted the music was her personal iPhone. She scanned the number. A mobile, not one she recognised. She toyed with declining it but something made her press accept.
‘Hi, it’s me, Ben. Am I disturbing you?’
She’d seen Hawley a couple of times since they’d confronted Starkey at St Wystone’s. Both times in the hospital when she’d visited Blair. He’d been interviewed, of course, but Rainsford insisted someone else did that since both Hawley and Anna were material witnesses in the case.
‘No, not at all. I’m in my garden. Relaxing.’
‘Ah, right.’
The slight delay and the background hiss and hum of traffic told her he was in a car, his voice hesitant and nervous.
‘It’s hot,’ he said.
She played the game. Waiting for him to get to the point. ‘It is.’
‘I’ve done a shift at Gloucester Royal. I’m on the way home. Rang on the off chance that you might fancy a drink?’
She’d only had a spritzer at the Lantern, not wanting to sacrifice the evening with too much early alcohol. No one tried to cajole her into acting otherwise. They knew her too well. It was simply Anna staying in control. But now, with Hawley on the other end of the phone, she wondered if something else had made her hold back. An intangible premonition.
Did she? Did she want a drink? The garden was quiet. Idyllic. It would mean changing and a shower because she still had her work stink on her.
Kate, imagined as a little devil on her shoulder, was screaming in her ear. Of course you bloody do!
But could she be bothered? Did she want to be bothered?
The answer, when it emerged from her mouth, came as a surprise. ‘Yes, I’d love a drink. You know the Welly?’
‘In Horfield? Yes. I’m in Patchway. Say fifteen minutes?’
She finished her water, showered, found some jeans and a clean top. The Wellington was a Victorian pub with a bright interior and leaded lights. It retained a community feel and pulled in a rugby crowd in the winter. But this evening, people were eating and drinking outside, enjoying the weather.
The patio was busy, so Hawley’d found a table in an alcove with a nice breeze blowing through from the wide-open window. He looked much better than the last time she’d seen him with a drip in his arm and bandages on his shoulder, pale from loss of blood and sporting three days of stubble. Now he was tanned and lean, his hair cut and his jaw shaven. He stood as she entered, grinned, walked out from the leather-backed bench he’d been sitting on. Anna returned the smile.
‘You look well,’ she said.
‘So do you. What can I get you?’
She glanced at the half-pint on the table in front of him. ‘They do a reasonable Sauvignon. The New Zealand.’
She watched him go to the bar and order. He wore a white shirt and chinos. Filled them both well. Kate would approve.
When he’d come back and sat, he held up his glass. ‘So, cheers,’ he said.
They clinked glasses. ‘Are you celebrating?’ Anna asked.
‘In a way. The fact you agreed to meet me. That’s worth a shout.’
Anna laughed.
‘Wow,’ said Hawley. ‘You should definitely do that more often.’
‘I haven’t had many good reasons to laugh lately.’
Hawley nodded. ‘Yeah. I wasn’t sure how to play this.’
‘What?’
‘Well, I’ve been wanting to talk to you about… him. But I wasn’t sure we were allowed to.’
Anna shrugged. ‘Of course we can talk. You’ve given your statement, I’ve given mine.’
‘Plus, you’re a little bit scary.’
Anna said nothing and let her eyebrows do the talking.
‘You know what I mean,’ Hawley said quickly.
‘Not entirely.’
‘You’re a detective inspector to begin with. So, there’s always the worry that you’re… detecting, watching, deducting.’
‘Why should that worry you?’
‘You know why.’
Anna conceded with an exhalation. ‘Fair enough. In your case. But no one needs to be worried about me… detecting, unless they’ve got good reason to.’
‘And then there’s the way you look.’
This time Anna did frown. ‘How do I look?’
‘Up there. In a definitely-out-of-my-league kind of way.’
‘Seems like you scare easily, Ben.’
‘Maybe.’ Hawley’s gaze dropped before it fixed her again, this
time earnestly. ‘So, was it him? Did he kill all those girls?’
Anna took a sip of wine. ‘Yes, he did. Saw them in the hospitals he was servicing. Targeted them. Followed them, sometimes for months I would guess. He had an ideal opportunity. On the road. His job often making him stay away from his home. With Rosie, he chose her because she was local to where he lived. It offered more opportunity for planning. He misled us into believing we were looking for someone with a red van. But it was a white van he’d used. His van.’
‘Jesus.’
‘Worse is that he was one of us. A special constable. So that lent an added degree of credence to his evidence.’
Hawley sent her a pained look of disbelief. ‘Does anyone know why?’
‘I expect the forensic psychiatrists will have a go. Your guess is as good as mine.’ She wasn’t going to tell him about the PPV images and the sordid, dreadful business Starkey was advertising. Red rooms didn’t need to be for public consumption, though Hawley was hardly ‘the public’. She made the judgement call. What she did tell him about was Starkey’s parents’ cottage and what they’d found there. He deserved that. In return, Hawley explained how he’d been asked to go to Edinburgh to see Blair and her family and how he’d turned down at least four offers from the press to tell his ‘story’.
‘You’re not tempted? Clear your name?’
Hawley shrugged. ‘I might go to Edinburgh. I’ve never been to the Fringe. I thought I might call in on Blair while I’m there, combine the trip. They want to make me a meal, Blair’s mum and her sister. I think it’s important for them. It’s the least I could do. But as for the press, I don’t want to go anywhere near them. I know the truth and your lot do now. That’s what’s important.’ His mouth trembled slightly when he said this and she sensed the emotion behind it. ‘How is Sergeant Woakes, by the way?’
‘A long way from here.’
‘Good.’
They talked. About the case, about work. And talking to Hawley was, to her amazement, easy. He listened and had something intelligent to say about almost everything. More than once his easy humour made her laugh, something he seemed to enjoy doing. And she enjoyed letting him. By the time they’d finished their drinks it was dark outside. Not fully, but the odd twilight that lingers so deliciously in summer.
‘Do you want me to walk you back?’ Hawley asked as they exited. ‘I don’t mean to be patronising. I mean, I know I don’t need to walk you anywhere. I’ve seen you in action.’
Anna laughed. It was getting to be a habit. ‘There’s no need. There are lots of people about and I’m just around the corner near the common.’
They stood next to Hawley’s Audi. There were revellers around, happy, relaxed from a good meal and a few drinks. Anna sensed this was something both she and Hawley had a shared enjoyment of. Pub dinners and hot lazy evenings were a universe away from their working lives – his with the travails of the sick and injured, hers with the monsters and the scum.
Hawley reached for his keys but hesitated. ‘Anna, I don’t know what the rules are on this, but I had a good time this evening so would it be OK if we did this again? If you wanted to, that is.’
‘I’m not investigating you anymore, Ben. There are no rules.’
‘So, could I give you a ring maybe? I promise I won’t grill you next time.’
Anna tilted her head. ‘I thought you were scared of me, Dr Hawley.’
‘Not anymore. Besides, I’m all for confronting one’s fears.’
Hawley opened the passenger car door and from the seat took out a black plastic case with a yellow lid and silvered snap-locks. He handed it to Anna. She stared at it until the penny dropped.
‘Your tool box?’ was what Anna said. Your suicide kit, was what she thought.
Hawley nodded. ‘I thought maybe you should take it. Not to use, to get rid of, I mean.’
Anna took the case. ‘I’ll put it in lost and found. No one will ever find it there. No one ever finds anything there.’
‘Thanks.’
‘And, yes, why don’t you give me a ring. I’d like that,’ she said, and it came out easy and honest. ‘And if you do decide to go to Edinburgh, let me know. There are some other people up there besides Blair who’d like to say thank you.’
‘You should come with me,’ said Hawley. He leaned forwards and kissed her on the cheek; his smile, when he pulled back, mischievous, the invitation open and playful.
Nothing more was said and he got into his car and drove off. She watched him leave and turned back towards her flat. Halfway there she touched the spot where his lips had been and felt a warm and pleasant echo. Maybe she would text Kate and tell her she’d been out for a drink with someone. No, she’d keep it for Sunday lunchtime in case her sister’s screams woke up the kids.
There were people on the summer city streets, lights on in people’s houses. But in a Scottish city many miles away, Blair Smeaton would sleep soundly that night clutching her stuffed dog, with her sister’s arm loosely about her and her mother awake from the fourth week of cigarette and alcohol cold-turkey.
When Rainsford had told Anna she was up for a commendation for apprehending Starkey, she’d replied it was Hawley who should have got a medal.
Anna slid the key into her front door and opened it. From the way Ben had looked at her that evening after the kiss, maybe he thought he already had.
Fifty-Three
Two months later
The site known as Chailey Common was but a stone’s throw from the grandeur of Sheffield Park in Sussex. Yet this heathland was always meant for common use as opposed to private ownership. The police used the cricket club car park for the ground-probing radar equipment to be brought in. They’d also commandeered the car park on Warr’s Hill; that was where the cadaver dog team had encamped.
It was mid-afternoon and a dull day in mid-August, but still humid and warm. Anna suspected rain was on the way and with it a change of air. She, for one, was looking forward to it. Sussex Police were providing support on the ground, but Avon and Somerset, at the behest of Superintendent Rainsford, had provided transport for Shaw. The private companies contracted for prison escort and custody services to and from courts were not geared up for a category A prisoner like him. He was way above their pay grade.
Unlike the last time Anna had accompanied him to an abandoned asylum in North Wales, Shaw admitted he was less sure of exactly where his ‘treasure’ was buried though he’d guided them to Red House Common unerringly.
‘I’ll know it when I see it,’ he’d said.
Anna knew Shaw was motivated as much by an opportunity to be out of his prison environment as his ‘desire’ to help the police. Or more specifically, help Anna. There’d been no discussion. That was the deal. He insisted on leading them to the site, flatly refusing to give directions. He either came with them on what he euphemistically called a ‘day out’ or they could all stay home and watch Countdown.
This time Anna had brought Khosa with her, justifying it as good experience, but also wanting to keep Holder away from the worst of Shaw’s barbs. The curious thing about the multiple murderer was his politeness when it came to young women. Women, Anna suspected, who reminded him of his own daughter.
Shaw, handcuffed and flanked on either side by two armed officers, led them towards a windmill, but when they arrived he ignored it and scanned his surroundings until he spied a memorial stone placed to commemorate two people whose work paved the way for the reconstitution of the nature reserve. When Shaw saw it, he stopped, turned and smiled at Anna.
‘Tell them to grid the field west of here.’
‘Who is here, Hector?’ Anna asked.
‘Let’s find him first, shall we?’
‘Do you have a name?’
‘No. Krastev wasn’t capable of proper speech by the time he gave this place up. But this is it. By the windmill, near the stone.’
Anna gave the search teams their instructions. Shaw watched in his prison kit, a thin sheen of sweat
on his shaven head. Khosa stood some way off. Anna hadn’t asked her to, but she suspected the DC had no intention of getting any closer to Shaw than she absolutely had to. And he, so far, had ignored her. She was extraneous, not part of his script.
‘Right,’ she said when the dogs began, ‘we’ll see what shows up. But is there anything else you can tell me?’
Shaw turned his gaze upon her. The evening was full of normal, earthy smells and sounds. The whine of machines from the farms, the smell of cut grass, the buzz of insects. But Anna knew the flaring of Shaw’s nostrils was for her. She’d tried to remember not to put any perfume on that morning, but she’d forgotten in the ritual of preparation – though she only ever used something very light for work. Hours had passed but clearly it still lingered. She was annoyed with herself for giving Shaw this satisfaction of being able to smell her. But it was too late now.
‘Hector. What did Krastev say exactly?’
‘The Black Squid used Krastev as a verifier sometimes. Where the victims could not verify themselves. Like this one who was ordered to take a bottle of sleeping pills and then be buried alive. Krastev said he’d done as instructed. Buried the boy, photographed it as it was done, sent the images to the administrator.’
‘Is this what he did with Tanya Cromer?’
‘No. Tanya had nothing to do with the Black Squid. She was for Krastev’s own… enjoyment. Off plan. But we both know she ended up being his downfall.’
The noise of the cadaver dog reached them across the common. A black Lab named Sinbad. Anna saw his handler put a heavy collar on him, indicating to the dog a search was imminent.
