Nothing loath, Burton and Doyle headed for the car park.
‘You too, Noakesy,’ Markham urged when the DS seemed inclined to linger. ‘How do you think Burton’s shaping up?’ he could not resist asking.
‘She’s not totally useless,’ came the rejoinder as Noakes shuffled on his disreputable parka. ‘Got a good head on her shoulders once you get past all that university nonsense.’
It was the flag of truce.
As he switched off lights and locked doors, Markham was at once struck by the building’s eerie silence. Previously, even in the absence of Hope’s students, there had been a background hum – the bustle of the scholastic anthill. Now that was hushed as if it had never been.
This hinterland had been Jim Snell’s world.
Until the golem came for him.
Markham strode for the foyer without looking back, fingering his bundle of papers as though it was a talisman.
This is it, he told himself. The last throw of the dice.
13
Shadows from the Past
‘SO FINALLY, IT’S PEACE in our time!’
Markham chuckled reminiscently as he described the rapprochement between Noakes and Kate Burton.
By tacit consent, he and Olivia had shelved the subject of the investigation during supper, talking in a desultory fashion about other things, though with a burning consciousness of the press cuttings in Markham’s study.
‘Well, I know you can’t do without Noakes,’ Olivia remarked indulgently, ‘and I’ve always had a soft spot for him, though he’s a strange mixture … childlike, cunning and comforting all at once.’
‘Burton likely dismissed him out of hand as an uncouth philistine. And God knows the old villain plays up to that image for all he’s worth. But he’s full of surprises.’ He laughed again. ‘D’you know he’s a leading light of the Silhouette Ballroom Club?’
‘Noakes!’
‘The very same. Heard it at the gym from another DI. Apparently, he’s a demon on the dance floor.’
‘Now that would be worth seeing.’ Olivia’s eyes sparkled with mischief. ‘Can you imagine him and Muriel doing the pasodoble?’
‘Oh, she got him into it, apparently. They’re regulars on the exhibition circuit. Take it very seriously.’
‘Well, just when you think you know someone …’
A shadow fell across Olivia’s face at the thought that there might be someone close at hand whom she had never truly known at all. A lost soul. Like a dark continent – one of those huge desolate tracts on ancient maps of the world that medievalists inscribed with the words Hic Sent Dracones. Here be dragons.
Catching sight of his girlfriend’s expression, Markham said, ‘We’re very close now, Liv, I can feel it.’ Pouring himself another cup of coffee, he added urgently, ‘I can’t shake the feeling that we’re on the edge of a breakthrough. When Burton gave me those press cuttings, I had this superstitious feeling that the key to the case lay right there, buried somewhere amongst all the headlines and gossip.’
‘Time to find out, then!’ Olivia met his eyes bravely. ‘May I go through them with you? Please, Gil. Another pair of eyes and all that.’
‘Of course. Let’s take our drinks through to the study.’
In Markham’s study, Olivia hastily closed the curtains against the darkness, as though to barricade the room against night-time demons. Switching on the anglepoise lamp on the desk, and drawing up a second chair, she solemnly divided the press cuttings between them. Side by side in silence, they perused headlines, sidebars and articles for anything that seemed just a hair off-centre.
‘Oh, I’ve found the story you said Noakes was up in arms about,’ Olivia announced after a quarter of an hour’s careful inspection.
‘Which one was that?’ Markham enquired absently.
‘That one about Cothill House. Noakes said he’d been thinking about it for Natalie but didn’t like the way the head poked fun at Muriel, remember?’
‘Oh, yes. Wasn’t there something about bullying and a suicide?’
Suddenly, Olivia snatched up the printout and studied it intently. ‘My goodness, there’s Harry Mountfield!’ She squinted doubtfully and then said, ‘No, I must have got it wrong – different name – but it looks awfully like him … could almost be his twin.’
Markham felt as though blood vessels had burst and flooded into his brain.
He kept his voice steady.
‘Show me, Liv.’
‘It’s a really grainy photo. The sixth form are at the top with the littlies at the front.’
She slid her finger along the paper.
‘There’s the poor boy who killed himself, second from the left on the next to back row. His brother’s on the very back row, the lad on the end … he’s so like Harry, that for moment I thought … The kid who died was in the lower sixth … Adrian Medlock … he had a non-identical twin brother … let’s see … Howard. So, no connection. Just a weird coincidence.’
Olivia was struck by Markham’s unnatural stillness and the sudden haggardness of his face.
‘What is it, Gil?’ Then, more urgently, ‘Why are you looking like that?’
‘Oh, Liv,’ came the reply, barely above a hoarse whisper. ‘I think you know.’
The colour drained from Olivia’s face, leaving her like the ghost of herself.
‘No,’ she breathed. ‘It can’t be.’
Automatically, she reached for Markham’s hand. It was there waiting, and as the strong fingers closed on hers, she found the willpower to say one word through clenched teeth.
‘Harry.’
With gentle inexorability, Markham confirmed, ‘Yes, Harry.’
Olivia felt as though the fragile cocoon that she was weaving around herself had been brutally torn open, leaving a desperate little moth struggling for life inside. Nevertheless, she looked trustfully at her lover and tightened her clasp on his hand.
Markham spoke with quiet seriousness, reaching for another printout emblazoned with the headline Tragic mum dies of broken heart.
‘It says that after Adrian’s death, his mother got involved with groups for survivors of child sexual abuse. At the inquest, before the coroner shut her down, she talked about Cothill being a “perverts’ paradise”.’
‘Mothers just know when something’s wrong, don’t they?’
Not all mothers, Markham thought sadly as he recalled the abuse that had blighted his own childhood and the parent who looked the other way.
Aloud, he said, ‘If there was something dodgy about Cothill, Adrian’s mum might have felt it without being sure. Maybe she only put two and two together after the poor boy died and his diary came to light. It just says here that he had suffered bullying of a sexual nature and suggests staff protected and may even have encouraged the bullies.’
Anger blazed through Markham, but his voice remained even.
‘Clearly there was a cover up. This was fifteen years ago. It couldn’t be buried in the same way today.’
‘But how …’
Olivia’s bewildered, stricken face pleaded for answers.
‘What was it people said about Jimmy Savile – something about him hiding in plain sight? That poor boy’s family probably felt staff at Cothill were doing the same.’
Markham stood up, walked across to the window and threw back the curtains, looking out into the darkness as though throwing down a gauntlet to the forces of evil.
Then he turned back to Olivia.
‘It was the twin brother Howard who accused Adrian’s teachers of having blood on their hands.’
The older brother.
It will have blood. Blood will have blood.
‘I think we’ll find that JP was one of the teachers at Cothill,’ Markham said slowly, ‘probably Adrian’s form tutor.’
‘But how did Harry … I mean Howard … ever come to be at Hope?’
‘It’s been staring us in the face all along, Liv! Someone who’s waited all this time in the shadows. Som
eone who was just a young man when his brother died. Someone who reinvented himself then bided his time. And all the while he had James Palmer in his crosshairs.’
‘Why would JP give … Howard … a job at Hope if he knew who he really was?’ It was too much for Olivia to take in.
‘Guilt, Liv, guilt. Plus, Howard knew all about JP and Cothill. No way did Palmer want the governors getting wind of that.’
‘Where did Ashley fit into it?’
‘JP had fallen in love with Ashley. Howard planned to kill the man Palmer loved and lay his life waste. Then frame him for Dean’s murder.’
‘But it all went wrong … Audrey …’
‘Yes, Audrey.’ Markham’s face twisted. ‘She must’ve seen or suspected something. That first day at the Learning Resource Centre, she didn’t want to go in, seemed frightened of someone who was already inside. Harry Mountfield.’
‘So, Audrey tried to blackmail him then?’
‘Who can say? Maybe the poor woman actually sympathized with Mountfield. If she got wind of how Ashley had made her a laughing stock, she wouldn’t have been sorry to see the back of him. She was religious, so maybe she was able to square her conscience by coming up with some plan for Mountfield to make amends …’
‘What about Jim Snell?’
‘Audrey could’ve let something slip. Or maybe Mountfield got careless. The strain must have been immense. His exquisite revenge, that he had been incubating for so many years, suddenly derailing before his eyes.’
Markham joined Olivia back at the desk, slipping an arm around her shoulders.
‘There was a part of Harry Mountfield that people didn’t know. But the Harry you knew as your good friend, he also existed, Liv. No-one can take that away from you.’
‘I still can’t take it in, Gil. Are you sure?’ Olivia stammered. ‘I mean, our Harry … the joker, the gentle giant … did that?’
‘Yes, dearest, I’m sure.’ Markham’s voice rang with conviction. ‘I think we’ll find that as a young man he had unresolved homosexual leanings. What happened to Adrian turned all his impulses inwards so that they festered and became deformed. When he mutilated Ashley Dean, I think at some level he was trying to obliterate himself.’
Olivia’s eyes shimmered with tears.
‘How horrible.’ She was clearly grieving for the man she had never really known. ‘What’re you going to do, Gil?’
‘Nothing tonight. I’m briefing the team first thing tomorrow. We’ll draw up a plan to bring him in … He thinks we’re looking at JP and Sullivan—’
‘Oh God, yes.’ Olivia’s gentle nature was roused. ‘How could he let Matt fall under suspicion?’
‘Well, he planted that letter designed to steer us in the direction of JP – the unsigned one we found in Ashley’s locker divulging Palmer’s feelings for him. It wasn’t part of his plan to implicate Sullivan.’
Olivia began to shake, her skin a sudden rash of goosebumps.
‘I’m going to fetch you a brandy,’ Markham declared. ‘For the shock. And then we’re going to turn in. You’ve had enough for one night.’
Outside in the darkness, the wind had picked up, its relentless susurration an ominous murmur.
To Olivia’s ears, it seemed the agonized moan of a soul in torment.
‘Harry Mountfield! You’ve got to be joking, Guv!’
Noakes stared at the DI in lumpen perplexity. Burton and Doyle, meanwhile, stood as though turned to stone.
‘Lemme get this clear, Guv. You’re figuring Mountfield for the murderer. But he’s a straight up bloke, for God’s sake. Just about the only genuine character in the whole place … ’cept your Olivia and that funny old geezer in the batman getup.’
Noakes found support in an unexpected quarter.
‘Are you quite sure, sir?’
Kate Burton’s tone was respectful but troubled.
‘You said Mountfield and Sullivan were the good guys, sir.
“On the side of the angels” was how you put it.’ Noakes was swaying like a mortally wounded rhino.
‘She’s right, boss. Mountfield’s a total softie. You saw how he was with spacey Jakey an’ those other kids. How could he fake that? An’ he’s practically one of us. Scored the winning goal for our lads against the Pendleby Pistols.’
The DI looked at Noakes compassionately.
‘Sit down, Noakesy.’
He turned to Burton.
‘Check with the uniforms on reception that the building is completely clear. And tell them no-one in or out except on my express say-so.’
Burton was out of the door almost before he had finished speaking.
‘Doyle, you get the teas in. Well sugared.’
The young PC hastened to obey, casting a wary glance at the DS. But, for once, there was no running commentary on ‘people with two left feet’. Noakes sat as though stunned.
On Burton’s return, Markham explained his discoveries of the previous night.
Doyle scratched his five o’clock shadow in bemusement.
‘Is Mountfield – or Medlock, or whoever he is – a phoney, then? Not a real teacher?’
‘I’ve no doubt his qualifications are the real deal.’ Markham was crisply authoritative. ‘A bright articulate bloke like that. It was the perfect career. The perfect cover story. Hiding in plain sight.’
‘How could Mountfield bottle everything up for so long?’ Burton wondered.
‘He kept it all inside, stoking his hate.’
Markham was soberly matter of fact.
‘He must have gloated over the punishment he planned to inflict on Ashley and JP. It was the only way to cauterize the appalling guilt he felt for having failed his vulnerable brother—’
‘Adrian’s death wasn’t his fault,’ Burton interjected.
‘The tragedy happened when he was an adolescent,’ the DI pointed out. ‘A difficult age. At some level, he blamed himself for the way his little family went smash. And if he was conflicted about his sexuality, that would have compounded the guilt. Nowadays he’d be whisked in for counselling and what have you, but fifteen years ago …’ Markham raised both palms in a gesture of despairing futility.
Noakes was still shaking his head.
‘But Mountfield’s nothing like a gay bloke, Guv.’
‘I think you’ll find there’s no e-fit in such cases, Noakes.’
‘But look at him an’ your Olivia. They’re like that. Best mates an’ all!’
The DS crossed his chipolata fingers and waved them in front of Markham for emphasis. ‘Been friends for donkey’s years, haven’t they?’
The sadness in Markham’s face was more eloquent than any words.
Noakes subsided into wretched silence, looking at the DI like a forlorn child.
‘The man passing himself off as Harry Mountfield is a chameleon, Noakes. That’s what makes him exceptionally dangerous. Olivia never suspected any of this for a moment.’
‘Did you never have an inkling, sir?’
There was no impertinence in Burton’s enquiry, just a grave curiosity.
‘Hindsight’s a marvellous thing, Kate.’ Markham addressed her as an equal. ‘I did very briefly wonder … it was when I was talking to Helen Kavanagh about the letter we found in Ashley’s locker – the one which purported to come from Palmer.’
‘What happened?’ Noakes’s lethargy was forgotten, his expression eager.
‘Nothing specific. But our man was there in the room with Helen Kavanagh when we were talking about it. I said the letter could have been planted to frame Palmer and he said it would take powerful hatred to do something like that.’
‘Is that all?’ The DS sounded disappointed.
‘Not quite. When I replied that it could be hatred or love, because they were two sides of the same coin, he gave me a peculiar look. I didn’t interpret it correctly at the time. But now I realize he was applying those words to himself. He hated JP and Ashley, but maybe at another level he was obsessed with them too … maybe h
alf in love with one or the other, or both.’
‘Creepy,’ said Doyle with feeling. Markham could tell he was winning them over.
‘Then there was the first day of the investigation,’ continued Markham. ‘When I was standing outside with him looking at the tributes to Ashley, there was something disturbing – almost avid – about the way he stared at them and watched JP.’ He looked round at the team. ‘I hold my hands up,’ he said quietly. ‘There were signals I should have picked up on but didn’t.’
Had over-reliance on Olivia’s judgement prevented him from seeing Lucifer lurking beneath Harry Mountfield’s bonhomie? Had his relish for her wit and candour prevented him from seeing the bigger picture? Had Audrey Burke and Jim Snell died because he had been a blind fool?
‘Don’t, sir.’ Burton broke in upon the tumult of his thoughts.
‘Don’t what?’ Markham could barely trust himself to speak.
‘Don’t beat yourself up, sir. If Audrey had come to us, she’d be alive. But she was obsessed with Palmer, remember. Probably thought she could protect JP by doing a deal with Mountfield.’
‘She’s right, Guv. Audrey wasn’t going to open up for any of us. Even Tracey Roach said she hadn’t twigged that something was bothering her.’
Burton shot Noakes a grateful look.
Doyle chipped in. ‘Jim Snell was hell bent on going it alone too, sir.’
‘Probably getting off on it,’ commented Noakes sagely. ‘Imagined he was pulling the strings. One in the eye to everyone who’d written him off as Hope’s resident saddo.’
‘I dismissed Snell as a pathetic crawler. Audrey too. When all the time …’
Markham recalled Harry Mountfield’s hulking leonine radiance and maverick charm.
‘He was a split personality, sir.’ Once again Burton demonstrated her uncanny ability to read his thoughts. ‘It was the only way he could survive. Part of him must’ve somehow closed off after what happened to Adrian – functioning normally as far as anyone could tell, but all the anger buried deep inside.’
Like a man being pursued by the Furies, Markham silently added. In a sudden flash of insight, he saw how Mountfield’s malice could become omnivorous, insatiable; how he must secretly have craved revenge upon those who were gloriously whole, not maimed as he was.
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