by M. L Rose
Table of Contents
Title Page
CHAPTER 1
CHAPTER 2
CHAPTER 3
CHAPTER 4
CHAPTER 5
CHAPTER 6
CHAPTER 7
CHAPTER 8
CHAPTER 9
CHAPTER 10
CHAPTER 11
CHAPTER 12
CHAPTER 13
CHAPTER 14
CHAPTER 15
CHAPTER 16
CHAPTER 17
CHAPTER 18
CHAPTER 19
CHAPTER 20
CHAPTER 21
CHAPTER 22
CHAPTER 23
CHAPTER 24
CHAPTER 25
CHAPTER 26
CHAPTER 27
CHAPTER 28
CHAPTER 29
CHAPTER 30
CHAPTER 31
CHAPTER 32
CHAPTER 33
CHAPTER 34
CHAPTER 35
CHAPTER 36
CHAPTER 37
CHAPTER 38
CHAPTER 39
CHAPTER 40
CHAPTER 41
CHAPTER 42
CHAPTER 43
CHAPTER 44
CHAPTER 45
CHAPTER 46
CHAPTER 47
CHAPTER 48
CHAPTER 49
CHAPTER 50
CHAPTER 51
CHAPTER 52
CHAPTER 53
CHAPTER 54
CHAPTER 55
CHAPTER 56
CHAPTER 57
CHAPTER 58
CHAPTER 59
CHAPTER 60
CHAPTER 61
CHAPTER 62
CHAPTER 63
CHAPTER 64
CHAPTER 65
CHAPTER 66
CHAPTER 67
CHAPTER 68
CHAPTER 69
CHAPTER 70
CHAPTER 71
CHAPTER 72
CHAPTER 73
CHAPTER 74
CHAPTER 75
CHAPTER 76
THE KEEPER OF SECRETS
A DETECTIVE ARLA BAKER MYSTERY
ARLA BAKER SERIES 2
by
ML ROSE
Copyright © 2018 by ML Rose
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or
mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without
permission in writing from the author.
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are
products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual
persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
*****
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CHAPTER 1
Brixton
South London
Gary was a nice nickname for himself, and he liked it. Gary watched the two girls spill out of the brightly lit pub. They giggled and hugged each other, almost falling. The bouncer at the door steadied them with an arm, muttering something inaudible. One of the girls, the taller one, threw her head back and laughed. The light spilled off her rich, brown hair, glittering. She wore a short, pink dress, showing off her bare, long legs in high heels. The dress had a sliver of sequins in the middle, and they caught the light and winked. Gary knew her name: Madeleine. Maddy for short. Her friend was called Maya. They were both seventeen and a half, and they had fake IDs to get them into pubs. It worked, as they looked a lot older. Gary knew about this, because he had been following the girls for a long time. He knew what classes they took at their school, when they met behind the bike shed for a fag and quick snog with a boy, and who they met after school. He knew how long it took them to return home on the bus. Gary liked to know these things. He liked to plan.
The summer night was warm, the glow of the full moon suffusing the air with silver light. There was a dim hubbub of voices and cars, the eternal drone of the city’s life, incipient beneath the surface. The sound of crickets buzzed from nearby Brockwell Park. Gary watched the two girls as they lit up fags, inhaling smoke as they tottered on their heels, their backs lit up by the garish light from the pub doors. They laughed raucously, obviously drunk. Gary was lying flat behind a clump of bushes at the edge of the park opposite. He could see the girls clearly. They tossed their cigarettes away, and had a hushed conversation. Gary tensed himself.
The girls turned, and waved and blew kisses at the bouncer. The shorter girl, Maya, went back inside the pub. Maddy, the taller girl, turned and weaved her way down the street, heading for the T-junction, where a bus stand awaited her. Gary breathed faster and slowly stood up. Weeks of planning had led to this moment. He enjoyed the plotting, but the real pleasure lay in the execution. He flitted from tree to tree, brushing himself down. He had to be clean before he stepped out onto the road. The road was long and quiet, lit at regular intervals by limpid pools of light from the lamp-posts. Apart from the tall teenager making her precarious way on the tall heels, there was no one else on the road.
Gary stepped out onto the road and took a quick look around. Behind him, on the underpass, cars buzzed in the distance. The sound was muted by the trees, and the loudest sound here was the clicking of heels on the tarmacked pavement. Silent as a shadow, Gary got closer to Maddy. In the still night air, he could smell her cheap perfume. The lurid smell was intoxicating, and he breathed in deeply, his mouth opening in anticipation.
All for a good cause, he smirked to himself. Maddy was the means to an end, but he would have fun while he was doing it.
Just in time, Maddy’s heel caught on a drainpipe cover, and she stumbled. Gary was next to her in a flash. He put on his most winning smile and comforting voice.
“Hey, are you OK?” He extended an arm down to the teenager, who was kneeling on one knee.
Maddy looked up to see a young man, short, dark hair, and a good-looking face staring down at her with concern. He was dressed in a dark suit, and had a small backpack over his right shoulder.
She accepted the hand. It was warm and steady. Gary stepped back after he helped Maddy up.
“I was going home,” he explained. “Came off the train, and was going to the bus station. Saw you fall so wondered if you’re alright.”
“Th...thanks.” The words slurred on Maddy’s tongue. Gary could smell her properly now, a faint, musky, sweet body odour mingled with her perfume. With an effort he controlled himself. All his planning was coming to fruition.
Take it easy, he told himself.
“I’m Gary,” he said as a means of introduction.
Maddy’s eyes were hooded. She licked her lips and turned, mumbling her own name. Even in her drunk and drug-addled state, she knew it was not wise to talk to strangers on a dark street.
Gary hurried after her. “Are you going to the bus stop, too?”
Maddy nodded without replying. Gary looked up. The girl had speeded up, and the T-junction was a couple of hundred metres away. He could see cars zipping on the road ahead. On either side loomed the dark clumps of trees that formed the fringe of Brockwell Park. He stole a look b
ehind. The street was empty, the lights of the pub at the end of the cul-de-sac now far behind them.
It was now or never.
He reached out and brushed an imaginary fleck of dust from Maddy’s shoulder. The girl looked up, alarm on her face. Gary smiled. “Sorry. Just saw an insect land on your shoulder.”
Maddy mumbled something incoherent and stumbled forward. Gary got closer, and put his hand over hers. At first the girl didn’t react, but when she understood what was happening, she tried to withdraw her hand. Gary’s vice-like grip closed over her hand, and he held on tight.
Maddy gasped, alarm suddenly cascading across her features like ripples in a pond. Gary grinned, and pulled her close to him, abruptly. She opened her mouth to shout, but his right hand came across the back of her head, and clamped over her mouth. Gary had large hands, and he put them to good use.
He pressed down hard on her mouth, staring at her eyes, bulging with fear. She tried to scream, but only a choked mumble was audible. Gary felt an icy calm descend upon him, a stark comparison to the terror in the teenager’s face. In truth, he didn’t like this part. He wished they wouldn’t fight. He wished they would give in to his urges, and then to his final wish.
Why did they have to fight?
He held her from behind, and lifted her up at the waist with his left arm. Maddy was a good swimmer, and she was strong. She fought but Gary was stronger.
As he stepped onto the grass, Gary’s trainer-clad ankle twisted, and he fell, cursing. Maddy wriggled out of his grasp and cried hoarsely. She got to her hands and knees, but before she could stand Gary lunged forward. Maddy was on her feet, and about to run when she felt him grip her ankle. She fell flat on her face, the breath knocked out of her.
She felt a heavy weight as he straddled her back, and then cried with pain as her hair was pulled back. The same rough, calloused hand closed over her mouth, and a sudden, vicious blow landed on her head. Pain exploded in a yellow-orange fireball in her skull, dimming her vision. Her eyes almost closed, and she felt limp, numb. Vaguely she was aware of his strong hands lifting her up.
His fetid breath was on her nostrils, making her gag. “Try another stunt like that and it will be your last one,” he growled. “Do you understand?”
Another stinging blow landed on her face, rocking her brain, and her face would have collapsed on the hard ground if he hadn’t been holding her mouth.
“Do you understand?”
Maddy was barely able to nod through the fog of terror and nerve-racking pain that convulsed every fibre of her being.
Gary picked her up, right hand clamped around her mouth, dragging her on the grass like a rag doll. The trees and bushes around them grew more dense, and the amniotic darkness claimed their forms as they receded into darkness. Crickets buzzed, and a gentle breeze fluttered with the leaves high above ground. Moonlight silence reigned over the park, but was suddenly pierced by a sharp, breathtaking scream of pain.
CHAPTER 2
Centre for Anatomy and Human Identification
University of Dundee
Scotland
Detective Chief Inspector Arla Baker rubbed her left forearm as she walked down the hallway, following the elderly woman ahead of her. She hadn’t taken her jacket off, and the three layers of clothing she wore did nothing to dispel the growing sense of disquiet that was starting to spill around her insides, sloshing around like a storm-tossed boat taking in water. The secretary stopped in front of a light brown oak door, and rapped on it gently, then louder when she didn’t get a response.
There was a muffled voice from inside, then the door opened. Arla was ushered inside, and the door closed gently behind her. Arla was in a bright, spacious office, a row of windows on the back wall letting in rays of sunlight. Through the windows, across the campus buildings, she could see Dundee’s far undulating, green hills rolling down to the North Sea.
The figure who rose up from the table, blocking her view, was a middle-aged woman wearing a black blouse and matching black skirt with tights on. She was much shorter than Arla’s five-eleven, coming up to her chest height. She bustled around the table, sticking out a podgy hand in greeting.
“Professor Hodgson,” she said in a clear, no-nonsense voice. They shook hands. “You must be DCI Arla Baker from the London Met.”
Arla nodded and took the seat she was indicated. Professor Sandra Hodgson took a seat opposite and took a minute to appraise Arla. Arla met the older woman’s gaze candidly, glad she had brushed her jet-black hair back and dressed smartly.
Sandra coughed and said, “I know this is not an easy thing for you. I cannot imagine how you feel.”
Arla had sent up the photos of the skeleton to Sandra on VACS – Virtual Anthropology Consultancy Service – so she could examine them and confirm its human origin, and roughly gauge the age and sex. Human, female and aged sixteen. Arla swallowed the knot that had formed at the back of her throat. She had spoken to Sandra on the phone after that, and the London Met’s Forensic Office had agreed to release the human remains to be escorted up to CAHID at the University of Dundee. CAHID was one of the world’s foremost pioneering centres on the subject of human forensic anthropology, and Sandra, one of its founders, was recognised as a global expert in extracting clues out of human bones.
Arla didn’t know what to say. Perhaps there was nothing but silence to offer, words lost, seeping into the earth of shallow graves and memories. She had steeled herself against emotion, because she had a job to do.
She gave a small shrug. “Shall we begin?”
Sandra peered at her closely. “Only if you are ready. Would you like a cup of tea or coffee?”
Arla shook her head. “A glass of water is fine.”
Sandra walked to the water cooler behind her, and poured a plastic cup of water. Must be nice to have a water machine in your own room, Arla thought to herself. She clutched the cup when offered, and followed Sandra out of the room. The deep carpet on the hallway absorbed the sound from their shoes. Arla could see white-coated figures moving around in labs through the glass-panelled doors. She passed a door that said ‘Crime Writing and Forensic Investigation’.
“You have an office for crime writing?” Arla asked, hooking a thumb towards the door.
Sandra smiled. “This is the era of CSI, beamed to every corner of the world. Most crime writers want to sound authentic, and you wouldn’t believe the demand for the course.”
“I’ve seen plenty of crime scenes, but couldn’t write a word about them,” Arla observed drily. “Can you really teach someone how to write stories? I mean it’s not like I did a course in policing. I learned on the job.”
Sandra didn’t break stride. “There is no alternative to learning on the job. But there is a right and wrong way to do things. That applies to writing, as it does to anything else in life. That’s what we teach here.”
They stopped outside a lab, and Sandra entered a code on the digital keypad. They walked into a sterilising antechamber, with white coats hanging on hooks, and metallic sinks on either side. Arla followed Sandra’s example, and picked up a plastic case of sterile blue uniform from the female section on the wall. They walked into a changing room and got undressed. The starched blue uniform, short-sleeved, felt light and crisp on Arla’s body. She washed her hands the way Sandra showed her, scrubbing at the elbows, leaving the hands till the very last. Once the hands were washed, they were held up, bent at the elbow. This allowed water to drain down, and the fingers not to get contaminated. They donned gloves, and left face masks dangling from their necks.
Arla walked into a lab with rows of examination desks, a few forensic investigators hunched over skeleton remains or microscopes. Sandra walked to a table where a long box was waiting for them, lid covered.
Arla’s throat was dry, and she suddenly remembered she had left the glass of water outside without drinking it.
Sandra sat down in front of the box, and pushed the long-legged, black stool towards her. She looked at Arla
. “Ready?”
Arla glanced at Sandra and found something akin to compassion. She swallowed and nodded. Sandra lifted the lid. The bones of a skeleton, almost fully intact, were arranged inside.
A sign on the inside read: Name of Deceased – Nicole Baker.
CHAPTER 3
Very gently, like she was picking up a rare piece of china, Sandra lifted up a bone in a gloved hand after staring at the box for a while. She took out a magnifying glass from her pocket, and held it over the long bone, moving down its length.
“These days we have scanning CT machines to do the work of magnifying glasses,” Sandra said without lifting her head up. “But for the really important things, I don’t think one can replace the human eye.”
“Thank you,” Arla said quietly. As she stared at her sister’s bone, she felt an odd and personal connection with Sandra. The blonde-haired woman was closely examining the bone, as if it held secrets that she could coax out just by looking. Presently, Sandra lifted her head.
“This is the long bone from the hips to the knee, also known as the femur. The epiphyses at the ends, or growth plates, haven’t fused as yet, which means they were still growing. I would put the age at mid- to late-teens, so sixteen-seventeen years of age. The mass and width of the bone are much lighter than a teenage boy’s, which leaves the sex in no doubt. These grooves,” Sandra touched then traced her finger gently down an incline on the inside of the bone, “are to hold the attachments of the quadriceps muscles. They are the heaviest muscles of the legs, and the depth of the grooves indicates the muscles were smaller than a man’s, which also provides clues to the sex.”
Arla said, “And you have been through the dental records already, and compared them to her wisdom teeth.”
Sandra looked up and nodded. “Yes,” she said in a quiet voice. “The identity is in no doubt. Neither is the sex or age.”
There was a finality in that statement, the words hanging in front of Arla’s eyes for a while, before fading like mist in the morning sun. What was left of Nicole was in front of her. A search that had begun twenty years ago had finally gained closure.
