Dying Wish

by James Raven

  Beresford nodded. ‘I’ll see what I can do.’

  DS Vaughan raised his hand so that he could reveal that Tom Fowler had not been in Winchester prison at the same time as Mason.

  ‘Mason was there for two years and Fowler was transferred there for a year,’ Vaughan said. ‘But there was no overlap. Fowler did his time long before Mason.’

  ‘So they didn’t meet up inside then,’ Temple said. ‘But that doesn’t mean they didn’t know each other before they moved to the forest. So let’s dig deep and see what we can come up with.’

  ‘So we have two prime suspects,’ Beresford said. ‘Fowler and Kane. That’s good. Shows we’re making progress. It’s a shame I wasn’t able to announce it at the press conference.’

  ‘How did that go, sir?’ Temple asked.

  Beresford cleared his throat. ‘As well as could have been expected. They’re now aware that we found a map and that Mason had an accomplice. And they know we have evidence which shows that the pair abducted the Hamiltons.’

  Temple was glad now that the media were all over the story. They needed to generate as much publicity as possible. It was the only way to draw information from the public, especially those living in and around the New Forest.

  Someone might have spotted suspicious activity in woods or on the moors. Or perhaps someone would recognize Ethan Kane when his picture was shown on television. The more people who tuned in to what was going on, the better.

  Temple spent a few minutes describing what had been found in the South Oakley Inclosure near Burley. He talked about the electrical cable around the neck of the body believed to be that of Jane Cramer. And he mentioned how the grave was only yards from a path leading from the car park.

  ‘The graves are near to parking areas, which makes sense,’ he said. ‘And I wouldn’t be surprised if that’s where the victims were seized. Mason and his pal were probably waiting in a car or van so they could pounce when they saw an opportunity.’

  DC Whelan chose then to reveal that van hire receipts had been found during the forensic sweep of Mason’s house.

  ‘I’ve followed it up with the company, which is based here in Southampton,’ he said. ‘Mason hired transit vans for a couple of days around the times of the disappearances. But the hire company knew him as Jonathan Pearson. He had a fake ID and driving licence and he always paid in cash.’

  ‘Did he always collect and return the cars by himself?’ Temple asked.

  Whelan nodded. ‘He did. And get this. He was there the Friday before last to pick up a van which he returned on the Sunday. That was no doubt the van used in the abduction of the Hamiltons so we’re having it checked over.’

  ‘Does the hire company have CCTV on the premises?’

  ‘It does, but it gets wiped after three days. So I’m checking to see if the van was picked up on any nearby cameras on that Friday and Sunday. If we’re lucky we might see who dropped Mason off and picked him up.’

  It was an encouraging lead and it made Temple feel more positive about how the investigation was going. He knew that the powers-that-be were monitoring the progress they were making. If it lost momentum, or stalled, then they wouldn’t hesitate to bring someone else in or set up a task force.

  Beresford, as the senior investigating officer, would take most of the flak, but he and the rest of the team would be hit by the fallout. It was always the same on big, sensitive cases where the force’s reputation was on the line and the media were demanding results.

  The briefing continued for another half an hour, during which a list of Mason’s mobile phone contacts was handed out. It contained only twenty names. There were no surprises and among those he most frequently called were Hilary Dyer, Tom Fowler, Noah Cross and Ross Cavendish, owner of Extreme Services.

  Ethan Kane’s name did not appear and all the others had been checked out. Which begged the question: Wouldn’t Kane’s number be on Mason’s phone if the pair had got back together after prison?

  Beresford rounded off the meeting by reading extracts from a report he’d commissioned from a forensic psychologist attached to Hampshire Constabulary.

  ‘These are headline points that were put together in a hurry by Dr Alex Hill and I think they’re worth sharing with you,’ he said. ‘Based on what we know, she believes Mason was a Grade-A sexual sadist. She provides a concise description of what that means. Sexual sadism, she says, is considered a mental disorder and is one of the paraphilias. A paraphilia is characterized by an obsession with unusual sexual activities with non-consensual persons. Paedophilia and voyeurism are other types of paraphilia.

  ‘Sexual sadists frequently have violent fantasies that start in childhood. Once the sadistic behaviour begins, it continues on a chronic course and grows more bizarre and violent over time. The element of fear in the victim, coupled with complete control over them, is the main sexual stimuli.

  ‘She goes on to say that Mason was probably keen to operate with an accomplice because it made him feel more empowered. It also made things easier and less risky. They would have developed a routine for seizing and holding their victims, and they almost certainly thought it was fool-proof.

  ‘Doctor Hill adds that Mason’s accomplice will share most, if not all, of his traits. He’ll be a sociopath – cold, calculating and completely ruthless. And if he hasn’t already murdered Bob and Rosemary Hamilton, then she believes he’ll do so very soon unless we get to him first.’

  31

  After the briefing, Temple retreated to his office with the thoughts of Dr Alex Hill ringing in his ears.

  If he hasn’t already murdered Bob and Rosemary Hamilton, then he’ll do so very soon unless we get to him first.

  Temple didn’t doubt for a single second that she was right. Mason’s accomplice would be aware by now that the net was closing in around him. If he had no links to the community then he might already have fled.

  If he was a local man then he’d be desperately trying to cover his tracks and distance himself from Mason. Either way, he wouldn’t want the Hamiltons left alive to bear witness to what he had done to them.

  Temple sat back in his chair and a shadow of anxiety passed over his face. He suddenly felt less positive about the investigation. True, they already had two suspects in Ethan Kane and Tom Fowler. But they had no idea where Kane was and Fowler might well be guilty of nothing more than being a fan of kinky sex.

  Temple knew that it was dangerous to read too much into Fowler’s reluctance to have his house searched without a warrant. It wasn’t unusual for people – especially those who had form – to adopt that position these days. Television had made the masses more aware of their rights and less trusting of the police and other figures of authority.

  And of course there was no guarantee that they’d find anything when they did get to search Fowler’s house. It might well prove to be a waste of time.

  And time wasn’t on their side. The Hamiltons had been missing for a week and Mason had died nearly three full days ago. The odds on finding the couple alive were receding by the minute.

  Temple didn’t like to dwell on how the couple might have suffered. For four days they were at the mercy of both Mason and his accomplice. But since Wednesday night the other man had had them all to himself. Would he have carried on abusing them for his own sexual gratification? Or would he have taken immediate steps to dispose of them?

  The questions just kept on coming, like darts being fired at his brain. Temple rubbed his eyes and sighed. His head was pounding again, and he could feel the tension gripping his body.

  He took another painkiller and washed it down with lukewarm coffee. Then he powered up his computer so that he could check his emails before writing up his notes.

  Just then his phone buzzed. It was a text from Angel.

  I knw u r busy, but any idea when u’ll be home? I’ll make dinner and we can have tht chat xx

  He felt a knot tighten in his throat. Christ, he hadn’t thought about Angel – or their unborn baby
– since this morning. He’d been so wrapped up in the investigation that he’d pushed them from his mind. But now he was confronted with the issues again. The guilt. The doubts. The fear of being a middle-aged father.

  The last thing he wanted to do was go home this evening and talk about it. But he knew he’d have to because Angel was wound up as tight as a ball of twine and eager to get his blessing in respect of the baby, before breaking the news to her friends, including Marsh.

  But how would she react if he told her how he truly felt? Would she accuse him of being a selfish bastard for not embracing the idea of them having a child together?

  He let go another sigh and tapped out a reply on his phone.

  Can’t b sure when get home. Best not to cook dinner xx

  He pressed the send button and hoped she’d understand. After all, it was the truth. He had no idea when he’d be able to go home. It wasn’t as though he was deliberately trying to delay the inevitable. This wasn’t a run-of-the-mill case he was working on.

  Still, perhaps responding by text wasn’t very sensitive. He should call her, explain that he was up to his neck with work but was thinking about her the whole time.

  He pulled up the pre-programmed number on his phone, but just as he was about to press it, Vaughan came rushing into his office.

  ‘We just had word from the team at Godshill, guv,’ he said. ‘They’ve found another body.’

  Temple didn’t make the call. Instead, he grabbed his coat and said, ‘I’ll go straight there. No point anyone coming with me.’

  32

  The tiny village of Godshill is nestled on the western escarpment of the New Forest. The third grave had been discovered at a nearby beauty spot known as Deadman Hill, which apparently got its name from the fact that it was used as a mass grave during the second world war.

  The large visitor car park was surrounded by woods and open heathland, with views across the forest in every direction.

  Just as with the South Oakley Inclosure, the parking area was packed with police vehicles, while the media traffic was spread along the road in both directions.

  The grave site was just inside some woods about seventy yards from the car park. A tent had already been erected over it, and uniformed officers were positioned around it to keep reporters and press photographers away.

  For Temple it was a depressingly familiar scene. SOCOs in white suits and boot covers. Flashing cameras. High-powered spotlights. Skeletal remains on a rough bed of soil and stones and shredded black plastic.

  ‘There’s one body,’ the senior SOCO told him. ‘Been here seven or eight months is my guess.’

  ‘Male or female?’ Temple asked.

  The SOCO hitched his glasses higher on the bridge of his nose.

  ‘The supraorbital ridge on the skull is not pronounced which indicates a female. As does the size of the pelvic cavity. I reckon these are the remains of a young Caucasian woman about five-foot-two. It’s too soon to know the cause of death.’

  Temple felt the rush and tingle of adrenaline. The name against the location on Mason’s map was Angeline Bedel, a 22-year-old foreign exchange student from France. The date next to the name was 1st August – only days after she went missing.

  Temple stepped out of the forensic tent and took a couple of deep breaths. His skin felt clammy despite a sudden drop in temperature as the night started to close in over the forest.

  There was a bitter taste in his mouth and he felt the acid rise in his throat again. He stood outside the tent for a while, wondering how many more horrors would unfold in the days ahead.

  The body count had already reached four and there were eleven more names on the map. Plus, at least two more people were missing, possibly dead.

  The smiling face of the monster responsible leapt unbidden into Temple’s mind. He wondered how Mason had managed to get away with it for so long. How had he deceived everyone who had known him into believing that he was a decent, normal guy?

  It was a question they’d be asking themselves for the rest of their lives.

  And so will I, Temple thought. I’ll forever wonder if I should have seen the madness in his eyes on the few occasions I met him.

  Because it must have been there all along, hidden behind a fake façade of respectability.

  Temple didn’t bother to hang around. It wasn’t as if there were any witnesses to interview or statements to take.

  He left Deadman Hill to the SOCOs and headed back towards Southampton. But on the way he decided to swing by Mason’s house.

  He hadn’t been back there since Thursday night and he’d been meaning to. An inventory of objects taken away for examination and analysis had been sent to him. In addition to the stuff from the loft, the list included clothes, a diary, a half-finished manuscript and a box full of utility bills and correspondence. But conspicuous by their absence were photographs of Mason or any references to his life before he set up home in the forest.

  The house was still a crime scene and a police officer stood at the entrance to the lane. Inside, two SOCOs were still at work, checking every square inch of the place.

  Fingerprint dust coated much of the furniture, and Temple could see where Luminol had been spread on the floors and walls in the search for traces of blood that might have been washed away.

  Temple told the SOCOs he just wanted to look around and he was given paper shoe covers. But after a few minutes he wondered why he’d bothered to come. The house had been tidied up and he was able to walk around without having to step over anything.

  But if he’d been hoping it would give him an insight into the sick world of Mason the monster, then he realized he was going to be sourly disappointed.

  The place was cold and impersonal, with muted colours and few creature comforts. It gave no clue as to what had made Mason tick. What had made him become a sadistic killer? The house was totally devoid of personality.

  ‘Is there much more work to be done here?’ he asked one of the SOCOs.

  ‘We’ll probably be here another few days, sir. Tomorrow we’re taking up some of the floorboards and digging up parts of the garden.’

  ‘So why are there only two of you?’

  ‘The others have finished for the day. They went to the local pub. I’ll be joining them in a bit.’

  ‘You mean the Court Jester?’

  ‘That’s the one. It’s just down the road.’

  Temple looked at his watch. Eight o’clock. Too late to go back to the incident room and too early to go home if he wanted to avoid having a heavy conversation with Angel.

  So he sent her a text message saying he’d be late and headed for the pub.

  33

  ‘Your ears must have been burning, Inspector,’ landlord Mick Russell said when Temple stepped up to the bar in the Court Jester and ordered a drink.

  ‘What do you mean?’

  Russell grinned. ‘Well, earlier tonight, you were the subject of a conversation at this very bar.’

  ‘Is that so? Who was talking about me?’

  ‘Tom Fowler and Noah Cross. Tom was ranting on about how you and your female partner gave him a hard time today. Noah was saying you’d spoken to his sister, Amanda.’

  ‘That’s right,’ Temple said. ‘She told us her brother wasn’t coming back from London until tomorrow.’

  ‘Well he got back earlier this evening and dropped in here for a couple of pints. He’s only just left.’

  Temple looked around. The bar was busy and in one of the booths, he saw a couple of SOCOs he recognized. One of them gave him a wave and he waved back.

  ‘So where is Mr Fowler now?’

  Russell angled his head to the left. ‘In the loo. He’s had a few too many as usual. Wouldn’t surprise me if he’s throwing up.’

  As if on cue, Tom Fowler emerged from the toilets, looking like he was struggling to stay upright. His eyes scoured the floor as he stumbled towards the bar. When he reached it, he announced for the benefit of anyone within earshot that he�
��d lost his keys.

  ‘How the fuck am I supposed to get home?’ he said.

  Then he spotted Temple and stared at him through eyes that struggled to focus.

  ‘What the hell are you doing here?’

  ‘Having a drink,’ Temple said.

  Fowler wiped at his mouth with the back of his hand. The front of his beige polo sweater was streaked with vomit.

  ‘Well, since you’re here, you can find out who’s pinched my frigging keys,’ he said, slurring his words. ‘They were on the bar. A whole fucking bunch of ’em.’

  When Temple failed to respond, Fowler turned and pointed an accusing finger at the landlord.

  ‘Have you got them, Mick? Are you trying to wind me up?’

  Russell rolled his eyes. ‘I swear I haven’t seen them. Are you sure you didn’t leave them in the car like you did before?’

  ‘Of course I’m fucking sure.’

  ‘Well, it’s not as if you’ll be able to drive home anyway, Tom. You’re too drunk.’

  ‘Yeah, but I’ve still got to get into the bloody house. How am I supposed to do that?’

  Fowler leaned up against the bar and grabbed a pint glass with only a small amount of beer left in it. He swallowed that in one go and held the glass out towards Russell.

  ‘I’ll have the same again.’

  Russell shook his head. ‘You’ve had enough, Tom. If you have any more you won’t be able to stand up.’

  ‘Oh, come off it. You’re only saying that because the filth are here.’ Fowler turned to Temple. ‘Will you tell him it’s all right and he won’t get into trouble? It’s your bloody fault I’m pissed anyway.’

  Temple’s brow knitted up. ‘How do you work that one out then?’

  Fowler’s tone rose even higher, filled with aggression.

  ‘You came into my house and virtually accused me of being in cahoots with Mason. You’re trying to tar me with the same brush just because I’ve got form. And now you’ve turned up here to harass me. You’re out of fucking order.’