Bring Them Home (Detective Karen Hart Book 1)

by D. S. Butler

  DI Morgan and Karen walked straight past the small group of journalists gathered by the school gates. It wouldn’t be long before the national press were here. Superintendent Murray was organising a statement, and it would be up to her and the other members of the gold command to decide whether to set up a child alert. It was a difficult decision.

  On the surface, it seemed like the logical thing to do. Alerting the general public through social media meant people would be vigilant and on the lookout, but every time a child alert was issued, the response from the general public was overwhelming. The manpower it took to sift through all the responses was astronomical. No call or tip could be overlooked, just in case, and right now, they wanted the phone lines free so any genuine sightings would get reported immediately.

  Karen was glad the decision wasn’t hers to make.

  ‘No comment,’ she muttered as they made their way past the photographers’ flashing cameras.

  DI Morgan stared stonily ahead as he marched towards the car.

  The image of Thomas Gibson, looking crumpled, dishevelled and bewildered as he arrived to collect his wife was fixed in Karen’s mind. Hopefully, the families would have some peace before the press worked out where they lived.

  ‘We should pay George Barrows a visit first,’ DI Morgan said as they approached the car. ‘Would you mind driving? I want to call in and see how Rick’s managing with collating all the information.’

  ‘No problem. After we’ve spoken to George Barrows, I thought it might be worth paying Nigel Palmer a visit,’ Karen said as she took the keys and slipped into the driver’s seat.

  Before Karen had a chance to explain further, DI Morgan said, ‘Nigel Palmer? He was one of the suspects in the Amy Fisher case, wasn’t he?’

  Karen tried to hide her shock. It wasn’t easy to get much past DI Morgan. He hadn’t even been in Lincolnshire at the time of Amy Fisher’s disappearance, but he’d obviously made it his business to familiarise himself with the case.

  ‘Yes, that’s right. He owns farmland bordering Moore Lane Primary School. It’s possible the girls walked through the small copse and on to his land. He’s got various outbuildings too. It can’t hurt to have a word with him.’

  DI Morgan fastened his seatbelt. ‘Maybe so. I wouldn’t rule anything out at this stage, but I think it’s more important to bring everyone up to date with a briefing at the station after we talk to George Barrows.’

  Karen tried to suppress the annoyance she felt, but she wasn’t fast enough. She saw from DI Morgan’s sober expression that he’d picked up on her irritation.

  ‘Right,’ he said as Karen indicated and pulled away from the kerb, ‘why do you think it’s important to visit Nigel Palmer before the briefing? From what I know of him, he’s an old man, and the missing girls are much younger than Amy Fisher. What makes you think paying him a visit would be a better use of police resources than attending the first case briefing?’

  ‘He’s got a lot of outbuildings,’ Karen stubbornly repeated. ‘There are ditches on his land too. Emily and Sian may have been playing and . . .’ Karen trailed off and then let out a long breath. She was losing this argument. How did she explain she wanted to talk to him because she’d always felt there was something not quite right about the Palmer family? That wouldn’t go down well with her new boss. He didn’t seem like a man to base his judgement calls on feelings.

  She shot a quick sideways glance at DI Morgan. ‘It wouldn’t take long. We could ask him and his family to keep an eye out for the girls.’

  ‘DC Cooper has already made a point of calling the landowners in the area and asking people to be alert and on the lookout for two young girls,’ DI Morgan said reasonably. ‘He requested people check barns and outbuildings and search any location where two young children could hide.’

  For some reason, his practical and logical approach aggravated Karen, but it wasn’t DI Morgan’s fault. She was really annoyed with herself and the fact she couldn’t explain her hunch.

  Even without any evidence, she knew Nigel Palmer was a nasty piece of work. Her senses were screaming out a warning. It was too much of a coincidence for two more girls to go missing not long after Amy Fisher had vanished. Karen hadn’t known DI Morgan for long, but she already understood he wouldn’t be swayed by talk of gut instinct. He was a man who liked to deal with facts.

  Karen tried a more logical direction for her next argument. ‘There’s no evidence against him, sir. But I think the man’s hiding something. When we were looking into Amy Fisher’s disappearance, several people in the village had stories to tell about how badly he treats his own kids.’

  DI Morgan nodded as they headed along Station Road. ‘I’m not saying that Nigel Palmer is a good man, but we need to prioritise, DS Hart. If it would make you feel better, we can have uniform pay him a visit sooner rather than later.’

  ‘It’s not a question of making me feel better, sir.’ Karen’s hands gripped the steering wheel tightly as she fought the urge to snap at her boss.

  The worst thing was, DI Morgan wasn’t wrong. He made a good, valid point, and Karen was letting the emotion of the case get the better of her.

  She sensed him watching her, but she kept her head still, her eyes fixed on the road.

  ‘This is where Dennis Dean lives,’ Karen said, slowing the car.

  She parked at the end of the cracked driveway and looked up at the narrow, semi-detached house. ‘His father owns the property, but he’s moved in with Jolene Parkinson, who lives a few doors down.’

  They walked towards the house, stepping over the weeds growing through the cracks in the concrete.

  DI Morgan pointed to the path that led along the side of the house. ‘Does that lead out on to open fields?’

  ‘No, there’s just a bit of scrubland and the new housing estate further back. Beyond that, it’s farmland.’

  ‘Who does the farmland belong to? Not Nigel Palmer?’

  Karen shook her head. ‘No, the fields are part of Morrisons’ farm. But George has his caravan on the small bit of scrubland at the back of the house. The Council have had a few complaints, but most people around here feel sorry for him.’

  They knocked on the front door and waited for a while, but there was no answer. As the side gate was unlocked, they made their way to the back of the house, walking along the crumbling path.

  ‘I wonder when they last cut the grass,’ DI Morgan said as the back garden came into view.

  It wasn’t just the grass that was too long. The whole garden was overgrown. An old washing machine covered in patches of rust was dumped next to the neighbours’ green wire fence. Although it was now almost dark, grey-tinged vests and underpants hung limply on the washing line.

  They ducked under the line, and once they had rounded the ramshackle garden shed, they could see that the fence at the back of the garden had been taken down to allow access to the caravan.

  George Barrows’s home was small and not exactly top of the range. Karen doubted it could be towed away in one piece. The white paint was cracked and peeling, and the entire caravan leaned to one side. A dirty net curtain which sagged in the middle was pulled across a steamed-up window.

  DI Morgan turned to Karen. ‘Ready?’ he asked, raising his fist to bang on the door.

  Karen nodded and held her breath. Her previous encounters with George Barrows had not been pleasant, and she wasn’t looking forward to this one.

  CHAPTER SIX

  The caravan lurched and squealed in protest as they heard movement from inside. The door squeaked on its hinges as it opened, and George Barrows, known locally as Odd George, peered out, looking suspiciously at DI Morgan.

  When his gaze fell on Karen, he relaxed a little bit and rolled his eyes. ‘Oh, it’s you. What am I supposed to have done this time?’

  His nicotine-stained fingers scratched his grey stubble.

  ‘Put a shirt on, George,’ Karen said, nodding at his baggy vest. ‘We want to talk to you, and we’re not g
oing to do it in there.’ She pointed at the cramped, dark interior of the caravan.

  George hesitated as though he were considering refusing just to make their life difficult, but in the end he shrugged and went back inside to grab his top.

  ‘There’s no sign of Dennis,’ Karen said softly so George wouldn’t overhear.

  DI Morgan understood her meaning straightaway. ‘If he really thought George was involved, I’d expect Dennis Dean to be here trying to shake the truth out of the man.’

  ‘Exactly.’

  They stood back as George climbed down the steps of his caravan and shut the door behind him. He pulled a packet of cigarettes out of his grubby trousers and lit one.

  ‘Go on then, what’s all this about?’ he asked.

  ‘We want to talk to you about two little girls, George. Sian Gibson and Emily Dean went missing from school a few hours ago.’

  The look of shock on George’s face was either genuine, or he was a brilliant actor. Knowing George as she did, Karen guessed the former.

  ‘Jesus, Dennis’s little girl? Has his father heard about this?’ George rubbed his stubbly chin and looked towards the house.

  ‘Do you know anything about it, George? Because if you do, you’d better tell us now before you get into any more trouble.’

  The shock vanished from George’s face and was replaced by an expression of absolute fury. He gestured wildly, waving his hand holding the lit cigarette close to Karen’s face. ‘What are you suggesting?’

  ‘Stop waving that cigarette around,’ DI Morgan snapped.

  George froze. The calm, gently spoken detective inspector sounded furious, and even a little frightening.

  George took a step back. ‘Well, you can’t just come here and suggest I’d know something about that. I’d never hurt a little girl.’

  ‘Maybe you didn’t intend to hurt them, maybe you just wanted to hide them away somewhere to teach Emily’s dad a lesson,’ Karen suggested.

  George frowned, his forehead puckering. ‘But why would I do that? I get on well with Dennis. His dad’s been ever so good to me and—’ George broke off and then a grin spread over his face. ‘Very cunning.’ He chuckled to himself. ‘Oh yes, very cunning.’

  ‘If you continue to muck around when two little girls are missing, I’m going to be very tempted to forget about police protocol.’ DI Morgan almost growled the words.

  George’s face fell, and he quickly said, ‘You don’t understand. I don’t mean to laugh, but well – can’t you see?’ He turned to Karen. ‘He’s playing you. Look, I’m no grass and I don’t wanna get Dennis in no trouble. But if what you say is true and his little girl is missing, then this could be important.’

  ‘Spit it out, George,’ Karen said.

  ‘You know as well as I do that Dennis has no time for the police. If he thinks his little girl’s in danger, then he’s gonna go after whoever he thinks has taken her. He’s not gonna be honest with you, is he?’

  George was only saying exactly what they already suspected, but short of assigning a unit to track Dennis, there wasn’t much they could do. Persuading a career criminal to trust them was no easy task.

  ‘All right, so where is Dennis?’ DI Morgan asked. ‘Why did he mention your name?’

  ‘Probably to keep you busy and out of his way,’ George replied with a smug smile.

  ‘He wants us occupied so he can go after the person he really thinks has taken Emily,’ Karen said.

  George nodded confidently. ‘Got it in one, PC Hart.’

  Karen didn’t bother to correct him. He’d known her as a uniformed PC for a long time and old habits died hard.

  ‘I’m sure Dennis believes he’s doing the right thing, George. But he isn’t. If you waste any more time, there’s a real chance we won’t get these girls back. If you’re really concerned about Emily and Sian, tell us what you know.’

  George rubbed his hand over his chin again. ‘I don’t tell tales on my friends, love. You’d better try someone else.’

  ‘You wouldn’t be telling tales, George. You’d be helping to find two little girls. Dennis is out of his mind with worry. He’s not thinking straight. Tell me this: if something happens to those girls in the next couple of hours, and you could have told us something to help find them, but you didn’t – how are you going to feel?’

  George’s expression clouded over. He took a deep drag on his cigarette and blew the smoke up into the sky, which was now dark.

  Karen felt like snatching the cigarette out of his hand, throwing it on to the floor and stamping on it. But instead, she waited, hoping that her words got through to him. He was a troublemaker, a drinker and a petty criminal, but she had to believe there was some decency in him somewhere.

  Eventually, George sighed. ‘All right. I don’t know for sure, but my guess is he’s gone to speak to Lewis Marks.’

  ‘Lewis Marks?’ DI Morgan repeated the name and shot a look at Karen. She nodded, indicating she knew who Lewis Marks was. ‘Why would he want to speak to him?’

  ‘Well, Lewis was in the pub the other night mouthing off about how Dennis and his father had ripped him off and how he was gonna make sure they paid.’

  ‘So you think Lewis may have taken the girls to teach Dennis a lesson?’ Karen asked.

  George shrugged. ‘I didn’t say that. But I think that’s probably the way Dennis’s mind is working.’

  ‘You’d better be telling us the truth, George,’ Karen said, pointing at him, and then she turned up the collar of her coat and began to walk back along the garden path.

  George laughed. ‘Why would I lie to you? When have I ever lied to the police?’

  ‘More times than I can count,’ Karen said, shivering as she trudged behind DI Morgan, trying not to trip in the darkness.

  ‘I take it you know where this Lewis Marks lives?’ DI Morgan asked when they got back to the car.

  Karen nodded. ‘I do, sir, and it’s not far.’

  In less than two minutes, they had travelled around the back of the housing estate and pulled up outside Lewis Marks’s house. It was a pleasant new-build detached home in a small cul-de-sac.

  Karen groaned as she turned off the engine. ‘It looks like Odd George was right, sir. That’s Dennis Dean’s van.’

  DI Morgan looked stonily at the old Ford Transit. ‘We’d better get inside.’

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  Before they reached the uPVC front door, it was yanked open by a pale-faced woman with shoulder-length red hair, carrying a baby on her hip. She snapped at them, ‘You took your time!’

  Karen frowned. Although she’d had dealings with Lewis Marks on multiple occasions, she’d never seen this woman before.

  ‘Is Lewis Marks at home?’ DI Morgan asked.

  The woman slapped a hand against her forehead. ‘Of course he is. Why do you think I called you? He’s about to get seven shades of you know what kicked out of him by Dennis Dean.’

  As if on cue, they heard shouting.

  The woman flapped her free hand, signalling for them to hurry up. ‘They’re in the garden. Lewis was out there having a smoke, and Dennis turned up all sweetness and light and told me he wanted a quick word. I’d have never let him in if I’d known.’

  DI Morgan led the way inside, and Karen followed. French doors led from the kitchen on to the garden patio. The security light was on, and Karen’s stomach twisted when she spotted Dennis Dean brandishing a large hammer.

  A few feet away, Lewis stood with his hands in the air. They couldn’t hear what he was saying, but his mouth was constantly moving, talking nineteen to the dozen, trying to extricate himself from his current predicament, as he backed away from Dennis.

  ‘What’s your name?’ Karen asked the woman as the baby started to cry.

  ‘Laura.’ She didn’t turn to look at Karen but kept her gaze locked on the drama unfolding in the garden.

  ‘You should take the baby upstairs, Laura.’

  She hesitated, then did as Karen advis
ed.

  Lewis was a kid. All mouth and no trousers was how Karen’s mother would have described him. He liked to play the hard man, but all he did was sell a few knock-off goods here and there. What on earth was he thinking? Getting on the wrong side of the Deans was a serious mistake.

  DI Morgan marched towards the doors and yanked them open. ‘What are you doing here, Dennis? I thought you were taking part in the search for Emily.’

  Dennis Dean swung around towards them, holding the heavy hammer above his head. The security light gave his face an eerie glow.

  ‘I’m getting the truth from this lowlife,’ Dennis said, jerking his head towards Lewis.

  ‘Oh, thank God you’re here,’ Lewis said, inching closer to DI Morgan. ‘He’s gone and lost his mind. I have no idea what he’s talking about. He’s an absolute nutter.’

  That was clearly the wrong thing to say. Dennis growled and raised the hammer higher, causing Lewis to flinch and whimper with fear.

  ‘Put the hammer down, Dennis,’ DI Morgan said.

  ‘I can’t. It’s the only language someone like him understands,’ Dennis said as he took a step closer to Lewis.

  ‘Just put the hammer down, Dennis. Or we’ll have to arrest you,’ Karen said. ‘How can you help look for Emily if you’re locked up?’

  Dennis’s body tensed, and for a horrifying moment Karen thought he might be preparing to fling the hammer towards her instead. But he didn’t. His shoulders slumped and he dropped the hammer on the floor. It landed on the grass with a dull thud.

  Lewis scrambled around them, desperate to get back inside the house safely.

  ‘Not so fast,’ DI Morgan said. ‘We’ve got some questions for you.’

  Lewis turned to them. His round baby face crumpled, and his lower lip quivered. His fine fair hair was smothered in hair gel, making it stick up at odd angles. Karen wasn’t exactly up on the latest hairstyles, but she was pretty sure Lewis’s look went out in the early nineties.