by Penny Grubb
In the time it took to help Pat inside, Annie gabbled out a swift explanation. Pat took it in her stride, only raising her eyebrows a little when Annie touched on the punch line to Terry Martin’s film. Behind them, Annie could hear Barbara greeting a clearly puzzled Jennifer and her colleague.
‘E Division, are you? I knew Sergeant Ready for years, you know.’ Barbara’s voice oozed geniality as though she were greeting guests at a formal event.
‘Jim Ready retired a while ago,’ Jennifer’s male colleague replied.
‘Oh yes, I know. He and his wife went off to Spain. Lovely little apartment they have there. He was a good sort, didn’t you think so?’
‘Oh, I never knew him,’ said Jennifer.
‘Didn’t know Sergeant Ready. Good Lord, he’s a legend.’
‘PC Flanagan only joined the force a few weeks ago,’ her colleague pointed out.
Annie had expected a police presence to bring some order to her turbulent thoughts, but their arrival was untidy. Barbara had loaded them with supermarket carriers and kept up her social chit-chat as she told them ‘just put them down there. I’ll see to them all now. You go and sit with Patricia and her assistant. I’ll make some tea.’
Jennifer, maybe in an attempt to wrest control back from Barbara, leapt in with introductions. The man’s face remained serious as he nodded first to Annie, then to Pat. He’d have a nice smile, Annie thought, if he ever lost that grim expression. His name, she learnt, was PC Scott Kerridge.
Pat took charge. ‘Sit down. I’ll just give you a bit of background before Annie shows you what she found.’ She outlined the Martins’ case.
‘So what is it you’ve found?’ Scott Kerridge said to Annie. ‘Evidence of a crime, a serious crime you told my colleague. Did the parents warn you about it?’
‘Oh no.’ Annie reached for the remote control. ‘No, they didn’t even know how to play the disk. I hope they never have to see it. It’d destroy them.’
‘And what’s the crime?’
‘I think it’s … well, I’m sure it’s murder.’
She was aware that Jennifer’s eyes opened wide at her words. Scott Kerridge appeared unmoved and she felt his disbelief. Maybe her announcement lacked drama. Well, too bad. He’d see for himself in a moment.
‘Give us a brief summary, Annie,’ Pat said. ‘We don’t need to see it all. They can watch it when they take it away.’
Swallowing a knot of apprehension, Annie clicked the machine in her hand and the waves of Spurn crashed into the room. ‘This is just … well, nothing. Spurn Point.’ She fast forwarded, saw the concrete bunker flash past. ‘He did village shows and things.’ Giant onions jumped in and out of shot followed by jerky pictures of prize-winners.
‘What was that?’ Scott Kerridge had spotted Mrs Becke’s angry face as she ambushed Terry Martin.
Annie took the film back to the dusk sequence. ‘It’s nothing really. Seems he was always on the lookout for some scandal to expose. Must have made himself really unpopular in Milesthorpe.’
‘Are you suggesting his death wasn’t an accident?’
‘Oh no. Nothing like that. I just don’t think people liked him much. He pried into things. I haven’t met many people who actually knew him.’ She remembered Laura Tunbridge outside the church.
Oh look, it wasn’t us … Mally didn’t mean it.
She fast-forwarded again until the scene cut to the damp cellar. ‘This is the bit.’ Her voice wasn’t as steady as she wanted it to be.
Annie sensed a moment of extra attention as Terry Martin came out from behind the camera. Then the door opened on the nightmare. She heard an ‘Uh!’ from Jennifer and saw her wince. She felt her own fingernails dig into her palms. Only Pat and Scott Kerridge sat impassive to the end though she sensed his flinch at the unexpectedly explicit close-up that ended the scene.
There was a silence as Pat reached across and took the remote control from Annie’s hand.
Scott Kerridge spoke first. ‘Whew!’ He blew out a breath. ‘You say the parents haven’t seen this?’
‘I know they haven’t. I … Look, they had the funeral today. They’re quite old. They’re on their knees with him dying as it is. Will they have to see it? I doubt they knew anything about what he was really like.’
‘And you do?’
‘Call it instinct, intuition, what you will.’ She wouldn’t mention the three girls. Let them dig out that connection themselves if they had to. ‘I think he was a nasty piece of work, but I also think his parents thought the sun shone out of his backside. I don’t think they’d cope with this.’
Scott Kerridge gave an indeterminate gesture that Annie could only hope was a concession to the Martins, then he looked right at her. ‘Do you know where he filmed this?’
‘No, but he had his own suspect. Someone called Balham. Mr Balham. You heard him when he was in that corridor. I thought he must be in the guy’s house. In his cellar.’
‘You’re not from round here, are you? Holderness, the East Riding, is a big plain of clay. Very few houses have cellars. I doubt there are any in Milesthorpe.’
‘Should make it easier to find then.’ Jennifer made her first contribution since the film started. Annie looked across and saw Jennifer’s gaze still held to the TV just as her own had been.
‘Mmm.’ Scott Kerridge gave his colleague a glance and turned back to Annie. ‘What about when? Have you any idea how old this footage is?’
‘Not to the day, but he must have filmed it after Milesthorpe Show and before he died, so sometime between nine and eighteen days ago.’
‘And she’d been dead a while when he found her,’ Pat said.
‘I don’t know,’ said Scott. ‘In the weather we’ve been having, it wouldn’t take long for a body to get to that state.’
In a quiet that followed his remark, Annie became aware of cupboards opening and shutting in the kitchen, water running. She caught a flash of marigold gloves as Pat’s sister zipped across her peripheral vision wielding a cloth. Irrelevantly, she realized why the kitchen worktops gleamed. She’d known it couldn’t have been Pat who took such care of them.
Her attention came back from the activity in the kitchen to see Scott Kerridge move across to sit next to Pat and engage her in intense conversation. Annie turned to Jennifer. She felt an odd sort of bond had developed between them, strengthened by Jennifer’s reaction to Terry Martin’s film.
‘I hope I haven’t caused you a problem with calling you direct,’ she murmured.
‘No no, that’s OK.’ Jennifer cast a glance towards Scott and Pat.
‘Uh … It’s silly I suppose but I needed to speak to someone I knew rather than an anonymous voice in a call centre.’
‘Really, it’s no problem. I’d have known nothing about it if you’d just rung in direct and this is the biggest thing I’ve been involved in by the looks of it. Though I suppose it’ll all go to CID now. And what about your job with the Martins?’
‘I don’t know. Nothing like this has ever happened to me before either. But I’m glad the Martins didn’t get to see the film. It would have been too much after Terry getting killed. How exactly did it happen? No one ever told me.’
‘He fell off some scaffolding. It’s a private house. The owners are on holiday.’
‘They said he didn’t have his camera with him.’
Jennifer shook her head. ‘No, he didn’t have anything apart from the usual stuff in his pockets, wallet, notebook, keys … He knew they were away and Milesthorpe’s the sort of place where people don’t always lock up.’
‘Don’t lock up when they go on holiday?’
Jennifer laughed. ‘You’d be surprised. I’m sure she did lock up but the neighbour had a key, her father had a key. There were people popping in and out, looking after plants and such. He’d have had a good chance of finding it open. As it happens, it wasn’t. Still, no point speculating now. We’ll never know. And whatever he was up to, he paid a heavy price.’
An
nie nodded. ‘Do you know why he fell?’
‘It’s possible the scaffolding wasn’t as secure as it should have been, but I doubt there’ll be a prosecution.’
‘I don’t think it matters to the Martins how it happened, they just want to know. It wouldn’t be any better or any worse if it was foul play or whatever. It can’t be reversed.’
‘Oh, I’m sure it wasn’t foul play.’
‘No, I’m sure it wasn’t. There’s been a post mortem and everything, hasn’t there?’
It wasn’t us. It wasn’t anything to do with us. Mally didn’t mean it.
Pat’s voice reached her. Pat was still talking to Scott Kerridge but Annie felt she’d raised the volume because she wanted to be heard. ‘We know the score,’ Pat said. ‘And you’ve known the agency for years. Anyway, this one’ll stay between me and Annie. There are no records in town.’
Annie understood that they were being asked to keep quiet. She wasn’t sure if it was about the whole thing, or certain aspects of it. That wasn’t a problem. Who would she tell? And anyway, like Pat said, she knew the score.
‘Would you mind,’ Scott asked apologetically, ‘if we saw the final stretch through once again, only I thought …’ Whatever he’d planned to say, he changed his mind and stopped.
Annie picked up the remote and set it to track through the disk. ‘Which bit do you want?’
‘The very end. The close up on the face and neck.’
They all watched as Terry Martin played his final panicked shots. Jennifer’s face drained of colour and from the prickle on her own skin Annie thought hers did the same.
Pat sat opposite, face emotionless. Scott beside her watched intently as though he’d seen something the rest of them had missed.
Please God the Martins never had to see this. Then a thought struck her. Maybe they knew where it was. If they were shown edited stills they might identify the cellar. Was there a cellar in that little house in Withernsea? No, it couldn’t be there. The smell would have permeated the whole building.
Into the silent aftermath of their watching a fat white maggot wriggle in the decomposing flesh of a murdered woman, Barbara walked in with a laden plate.
‘Jam sponge, anyone?’ she asked, proffering a cake oozing white and red goo.
Chapter 5
Barbara didn’t outstay the two police officers by more than a few minutes and, after she’d left in a flurry of domestic instructions that seemed aimed as much at Annie as Pat, the two of them sat in silence for a moment. The blank TV screen seemed a huge presence. Pat picked up the remote control, but it was an automatic gesture that died as she looked across at the television.
‘Had he filmed her earlier in the footage?’ she asked. ‘Alive, I mean.’
‘I wondered about that. Not that I saw, but I wasn’t paying that sort of attention.’ Annie remembered the tedious stretch of vegetable show winners, where she’d momentarily nodded off. ‘He might have but I didn’t play it through again.’
‘No, I don’t think I would’ve wanted to straight off. And it’s not our problem now. Let the lads in blue deal with it.’
‘With her face all distorted like that, it might be impossible to say.’
‘It wouldn’t be easy,’ Pat agreed. ‘Hard to say how old she was either. Did you notice her legs? They weren’t a young woman’s legs. And the clothes, micro skirt and lacy underwear.’
Annie’s mind rested again on the memory of the bloated features and she felt just a glimmer of an urge to watch the film again, to analyse what she’d seen. Pat was right. It hadn’t been a young woman. Nor had she been slim enough to carry off that outfit. Her size wasn’t all post-death bloating. Now she thought beyond the horror of it, she was certain she could find her if she was there in those earlier scenes, or find out a lot about her if she could watch it through again.
‘Pat, do you think that guy, PC Kerridge, saw something before he asked to rerun it?’
‘Not sure. He certainly thought there was something there to see, and important enough to have us rerun it here rather than wait to get back to the station.’
‘What sort of thing would that be?’
‘Something he wants to say when he hands it on to CID. Maybe he recognized her from a missing person report. Here’s what happened to so-and-so. Or maybe the MO of the killing alerted him to something. It looks like the cellar strangler’s struck again … that sort of thing.’
‘Cellar strangler!’
Pat laughed. ‘I made that up, but for all we know there’s a matching killing still live on the books. Anyway, what are you going to tell the Martins?’
‘I don’t know, but I want to go out and see them. Now, I mean, before the police go back.’ She tried to explain thoughts that hadn’t properly crystallized in her own mind; why it was so important she get to talk to the Martins face to face before the police got there. ‘It’s as though I’ve broken their confidence already, but I want them to hear it from me, not the police.’
‘It’s good to have a real connection with the client, to care about them even, it keeps you sharp, but you’ll not stay in business if you don’t make it pay at the same time.’
‘Are you saying I can’t go?’
‘Oh yes, you can go. I’m going to bill Vince for this job and he’s going to cough up every last cent. He’ll learn just how costeffective cheap labour is and he’ll not interfere in my affairs again.’
The fierce red of the setting sun followed Annie as she drove east. Shadows lengthened as fire blazed across her rear view mirror. A repeat of yesterday’s journey but darker. In the nine days between filming Milesthorpe Show and falling to his death, Terry Martin could have travelled the length of the country or crossed continents. But he hadn’t. He worked close to home. The rotting body he’d found lay somewhere nearby. She might drive right past the house that concealed it and never know.
She thought of the blackened tongue, the bulging eyes, the beginnings of decay. Her mouth went dry; her throat constricted making it hard to swallow. Someone had deliberately twisted a cord round that woman’s neck as she fought and gasped for air.
Speed camera sign. Concentrate.
The house was in darkness when she arrived, but in answer to her tentative knock a light snapped on and a moment later Martha swung the door open.
‘Oh.’ Martha seemed taken aback as though half expecting someone else. The awful thought came to Annie that Martha was used to waiting up for Terry. This was the evening of his funeral. Martha wouldn’t think of sleeping, going to bed, yet maybe she’d dozed in that small front room as the light faded, and been woken by a knock at the door. Half asleep, half hoping, she’d come to see who was there.
‘I’m sorry to call today,’ Annie said. ‘But there’s something I need to tell you. Can I come in?’
Again, she sat uncomfortably in Terry’s chair between Martha, now wide awake, and Bill who nodded in acknowledgement of her but whose eyes never focused on her face.
In contrast to her husband, Martha Martin’s whole attention directed itself to Annie and homed in on the purpose of Annie’s visit before she could speak.
‘It’s about our Terry’s disk, isn’t it?’
‘Uh … yes. Yes, it is. The thing is I’ve had to give it to the police.’
‘The police? What would they want with it?’
‘It seems that Terry was on the trail of something quite big. He’s used the disk to record evidence. We had to hand it over.’
Annie expected indignation, even if muted, but the Martins nodded in silent acquiescence. They lived in a world where authority ruled. If Annie said it was a police matter, it wouldn’t occur to them to argue. She didn’t even have to field questions on what exactly Terry had filmed. They took it for granted they’d be told when the powers-that-be decreed the time to be right.
Before she left, she warned them that the police would visit again.
As she walked to where she’d parked, Annie saw a police patrol car turn in at
the far end of the street. Instinctively, she ducked out of sight and watched from the shadows as it drove past. Two men in uniform. One of them was Scott Kerridge. The bastards! They couldn’t leave the Martins alone even for today. Thank heavens she’d made the trip out here to warn them. She watched the car pull up; saw the two uniformed men at the door of the Martins which swung open. A short mime show and they disappeared inside, their bulk too large for the tiny house.
Annie carried on to Pat’s car where she climbed in and waited.
Scott Kerridge and his colleague stayed inside just over twenty minutes. When they emerged, Scott held an armful of DVDs and his colleague carried Terry’s PC.
Annie hesitated. Should she go back and see that the Martins were OK or should she leave them in peace? As she weighed the options, her phone rang.
‘Hello, Annie Raymond.’
‘You on your way then?’
‘Who is this?’
‘You left yer number. Said you was working on it now.’
‘Oh … yes. Mrs Earle.’ Annie heard the slur of one too many drinks in the woman’s voice and closed her mouth on a sharp retort. Am I psychic! ‘I’m on another job at the moment, not sure when I’ll be finished.’
‘Well, it’s Tuesday night, so this is your chance.’
Annie glanced at her watch and did a quick calculation. Back to Pat’s for a break then on to what might be a long and uncomfortable night. ‘It might be Wednesday morning by the time I get there.’
‘Whatever … Nowt’ll kick off till two or three o’clock. Plenty of time.’
As she snapped her phone shut, Annie became aware that a background noise had cut off with the call, a busy rumble of voices as though Mrs Earle shared a space with hundreds of people.
Chapter 6
As the bright lights of the chemical works at Salt End lit her return to the city, Annie thought of the dank, smelly cavern that was the way in to the tower block. It resonated in her mind with the image of a damp cellar and a rotting corpse. She reflected on the twists and turns of the day – Terry Martin’s funeral and the odds and ends of people she’d met.
