by James Raven
He would have preferred to bury them somewhere else, but with the forest crawling with police, it was too risky to move them.
He walked over to Rosemary’s bed and placed a bottle of water on the mattress next to her. She stank of urine and sweat, a smell that evoked bitter memories from his childhood.
A lot of the men who came to his bedroom were fat and sweaty and he could remember two of them actually pissing on his body after they’d sodomized him. One of them had even got him to take off the soaking wet dress he’d been made to wear so that the creep could keep it as a memento.
It was the same man who had once described him as their plaything. And for a long time that was how he saw himself. A young, helpless boy who was there to be used and abused by anyone who was prepared to pay a fee to his father.
A prison psychiatrist had told him once that his father was ultimately responsible for what he’d turned into. But he’d already known that; just like he’d known as a young teenager that he was never going to be a normal person. That had been obvious since he’d started to feel the overpowering urges to hurt and humiliate his fellow human beings.
By the time he was eighteen or nineteen, he’d come to believe that some people existed merely to satisfy his own relentless cravings.
And that’s when he also started referring to his own victims as his playthings.
‘You’re a wicked, perverted madman who should never have been born.’
Rosemary’s sharp words brought him out of his reverie with a start. She was staring straight at him, her eyes boring into his.
‘You have no right to treat us like animals. We’re people. Parents. We don’t deserve this.’
It was the first time in days that she’d flared up and it surprised him. He thought she’d given up the ghost like her husband had. But not so.
Despite all she’d been through, she was still able to strike a note of defiance. It was more than he ever did when the men came into the bedroom. But then he’d been just a boy, and his father’s beatings had made him docile and submissive.
‘I beg you to let us go,’ Rosemary whined. ‘Please show us some compassion.’
He wanted to laugh because he had never felt compassion for anyone or anything. The concept was completely alien to him, as were the ideas of love and empathy. For him, life was about pain and pleasure. Nothing more. He wasn’t religious and he’d never wanted to be burdened with a family of his own.
Grant Mason was the only person who had ever come near to understanding how he felt. And that was probably because they were so much alike.
He stared down at Rosemary Hamilton and felt something stir inside him. Her lean, blood-smeared flesh made his heart beat a little faster and flooded his throat with saliva.
She must have seen something in his expression because she started to shake her head and back away from him.
‘Not again,’ she begged. ‘Please. No.’
But he was in the zone now and she knew it. And so did her husband. He started shaking the chains that bound him to the bed and pleading for mercy.
But it fell on deaf ears. Instead of showing them mercy, he was going to spend the next few hours overdosing on pain and pleasure.
It would be a good way to celebrate the fact that he no longer had to worry about being exposed by the police.
Another man was now going to pay for all the crimes that he and Grant Mason had committed.
53
Temple got to the hospital before the ambulance arrived with Angel. He waited anxiously at the entrance to the accident and emergency department. His heart was pounding, and he felt a terrible panic rising inside him.
When the ambulance pulled up and she emerged from the back in a wheelchair, he was shocked to see how pale she looked. He rushed over, grabbed her hand as a paramedic wheeled her inside.
‘Are you OK, sweetheart?’ he said. ‘What’s happened?’
‘I started bleeding heavily,’ she murmured, her voice strained. ‘And it hurts. Like a cramp in my stomach.’
Inside, under the fluorescent lighting, he saw that her eyes were swollen with bright, shiny tears.
‘I’m losing the baby, Jeff,’ she said. ‘I know it.’
He squeezed her hand. ‘You can’t be sure of that. Just try to relax.’
But it didn’t look good. He knew that. Bleeding heavily during the early stages of a pregnancy was serious and often signified a miscarriage.
Oh God.
The medical staff responded to Angel’s arrival with alacrity. The paramedic spoke to a nurse as she was wheeled in to a cubicle.
Temple suddenly felt dizzy and unfocused. He couldn’t believe this was happening, not after Angel had been through so much. Just months ago, she’d been brought to this same emergency department after the crash on the M27. And she still hadn’t fully recovered physically and emotionally from her injuries.
Now she was back and it made him angry that fate had been so unkind to her.
She was helped onto a bed and as the curtains were pulled around her he was asked to wait outside. He didn’t want to leave her but Angel told him to go.
‘I’ll be all right,’ she said. ‘I just want them to find out what’s going on.’
He stood beyond the curtains, feeling helpless and confused. A cold shiver convulsed his entire body and tears pressed at his eyes.
He heard them asking her questions and telling her that she would need to have a scan. But then his mind turned inwards and he was hit by the first wave of guilt.
He hadn’t wanted this baby even though he’d told Angel that he had. And he probably wouldn’t have stopped her having an abortion. So was this God’s punishment for being so callous and selfish?
He closed his eyes and his lips moved in silent prayer. He asked a God he had never really believed in to save their child, hoping the hypocrisy in his words would be overlooked.
Around him the emergency department was hectic. Doctors and nurses were attending to patients, talking on phones, staring into computers. Temple felt strangely detached from it all, as though he was watching from behind a window.
After about ten minutes, he was told they were taking Angel down for a scan. When the curtains were pulled back he saw that she was now wearing a hospital gown. Her face was hollow, eyes sunken into the back of her head.
‘Can I go with her?’ he asked the doctor and was told that he could.
He held onto Angel’s hand as the bed was wheeled to the X-ray department. It seemed to take an eternity and along the way, he could feel his heart twisting in his chest.
When they got there, the ultrasound scan was quick and simple. A lubricating gel was spread over Angel’s stomach and the doctor moved a sensor across it. They both watched as the inside of Angel’s uterus appeared on the monitor.
Temple experienced a jolt of alarm when the doctor frowned and leaned forward to have a closer look.
‘Is the baby OK?’ Angel asked him, her voice filled with desperation.
He didn’t respond for almost a minute as he concentrated on the screen. Then he clenched his jaw and turned to Angel.
‘I’m afraid there’s no heartbeat, Miss Metcalf,’ he said. ‘I’m sorry to say that you have indeed suffered a miscarriage.’
54
Silent tears trailed down Angel’s face as she was wheeled up to a ward. They wanted to keep her in overnight for observation and because she was suffering severe abdominal pain.
For Temple, the shock had been joined by a feeling of intense loss. He hadn’t wanted a baby and had dreaded the impact it was going to have on his life. Yet now he wished he could turn back time. It was a cruel irony.
On the ward, the curtains were pulled around the bed and Angel was given tablets for the pain. She was clearly devastated, and Temple struggled for the right words to say to her. He didn’t think that platitudes and empty phrases would make her feel any better.
‘I’m so sorry, Jeff,’ she said through the tears. ‘I can’t help feeling
responsible.’
‘It’s not your fault, sweetheart,’ he told her. ‘These things happen. You heard what the doctor said. It’s not uncommon between eight and ten weeks into a pregnancy. No one is to blame.’
He felt a strong urge to say sorry to her for not being more enthusiastic about the baby when she first told him. He was going to find it hard to forgive himself for that.
The pair of them sat without speaking for a while, wrestling with their own troubled thoughts. For Temple, the investigation was briefly forgotten as the drama in his own life took centre stage.
He was oblivious to the sounds around him; the voices of the other patients, the squeaking wheels of medication trolleys, the beeping of bedside monitors.
Time passed quickly and before they knew it the evening was drawing in and Angel was finding it hard to keep her eyes open.
‘You should go home now,’ she told him. ‘There’s nothing you can do here. I’ll be fine.’
He sensed she wanted to be alone, to grieve for the baby she’d lost before it was even born.
‘I’ll come back in the morning,’ he said. ‘Try to get some sleep.’
‘I will.’
‘I love you, sweetheart.’
‘I love you too, Jeff.’
55
It was 7 p.m. when Temple left the hospital. But he couldn’t face the prospect of going home to an empty house. He wanted to stay busy for fear of sinking into a well of despair.
The guilt now hung like a lead weight around his neck and he couldn’t help wondering how Angel was going to cope with another major set-back. The last couple of months had been difficult for her. She’d struggled with depression and had developed an irrational fear of the future. The pregnancy had lifted her spirits and given her something to look forward to. But now that glimmer of hope had been extinguished.
Would she want to try for another baby? Or would she take the view that the miscarriage was a sign that she was destined not to be a mother? He resolved not to try to second-guess her or attempt to discourage her from trying again.
He got so lost in his thoughts that he didn’t realize he’d been driving aimlessly around the city. By the time he did, he was somewhere in the Bitterne area of Southampton. He did a swift U-turn at the first opportunity and headed back towards the central police station.
Most of the detectives had left for the day and the incident room was quiet. There were only four people in, including Fiona Marsh and Dave Vaughan. They both acknowledged him as he walked straight to his office. As soon as he was seated behind his desk, they appeared in the doorway.
‘How’s Angel, guv?’ Marsh said.
He felt his voice drop low in his chest.
‘She had a miscarriage. They’re keeping her in overnight but she should be OK.’
They both stepped into the room and he felt self-conscious suddenly.
‘How far gone was she?’ Marsh asked.
‘About nine weeks. She only broke the news to me a couple of days ago. She’d been planning to tell you at the weekend.’
‘I didn’t have time to go and see her,’ Marsh said.
‘She knows that and so do I. This case has taken over our lives.’
‘I’m really sorry, boss,’ Vaughan said. ‘I didn’t realize that you two were trying for a baby.’
‘We weren’t. Angel always said she didn’t want one. It was an accident.’
They fell silent and there were a few awkward moments before Temple said, ‘I didn’t want to go home by myself so I thought I’d come in and do some work. I need something to keep me occupied.’
‘We could go for a drink,’ Vaughan said.
Temple stuck a finger in his collar, stretched his tie loose. ‘I’d rather not. If I do I’ll probably end up drunk. So come on, guys. What’s been happening since I left here this afternoon?’
They sat down across the desk from him and Vaughan began by saying that the search team still hadn’t located a tenth grave at Honey Hill. They were going to work through the night because the forecast for tomorrow was heavy rain.
‘I’ve also just received an email from the lawyer who handled the sale of Miss Bellamy’s house,’ Vaughan said. ‘There’s an attachment which I haven’t yet opened, but I can’t imagine it will tell us anything useful about Ethan Kane.’
‘Did Seth Peters come in to work with the artist?’
‘He didn’t, but he’s on his way now. Whoever was supposed to man his shop earlier failed to turn up so he couldn’t get away. I checked with the artist and he’s happy to hang around.’
‘We need to get that picture out there.’
‘I know and I’m on it.’
Marsh then said that she was still checking out Noah Cross’s alibi for Thursday night.
‘As you know, the Met spoke to his friend in London who said he arrived there about ten,’ she said. ‘But I thought I’d check CCTV at the central station anyway. I looked at tapes that were running between six and eight, but he’s not on them.’
‘So what about his car?’
‘That’s the thing, guv. I checked with the DVLA and according to them, he doesn’t have a driving licence and there’s no car registered in his name.’
‘Well, he’s probably driving around without a licence then, like thousands of other people. As for the CCTV, well we’ve all missed someone on those tapes, especially when there are a lot of people around.’
Marsh looked at her watch. ‘I’d better go and see him. Check that there’s nothing more to it.’
‘It can wait,’ Temple said. ‘Go tomorrow. Right now I want you to bugger off home to that boyfriend of yours. If he sees any less of you he might call off the wedding.’
She grinned. ‘Thanks, guv. I’ll pop over and see Angel tomorrow night if that’s all right. Hopefully she’ll feel like a chat.’
Marsh and Vaughan then left the office and Temple sat back and inhaled a shallow breath. He realized he wasn’t going to be able to concentrate. His mind was in tortuous turmoil and it felt like a pneumatic drill was going off in his head.
Perhaps I should have gone for that drink, he thought. Or perhaps I should go straight home and get plastered.
He switched on his PC and brought up the live feed of the BBC News Channel. And there was the Chief Super fronting the latest press conference, and telling the world that Tom Fowler had been charged in connection with the disappearance of Bob and Rosemary Hamilton.
‘We anticipate that more charges will follow,’ he said. ‘In the meantime, every effort is being made to identify the bodies that have been recovered so far from the graves in the New Forest.’
He was making it sound pretty straightforward, but Temple was no longer convinced that it was. Something gnawed at him about this case. Something he couldn’t quite reach. But it related to Ethan Kane. Of that he was sure.
He just couldn’t accept that Kane hadn’t got involved again with his former cellmate. Why else would he have turned up in this part of the world? And if he and Mason had been in touch, then surely Tom Fowler would have known about it. Which came back to the possibility that all three had been acting together. Three ex-cons with a taste for violent, unconventional sex living out their sadistic fantasies.
Temple was beginning to wonder if he should have delayed bringing a charge against Tom Fowler. Maybe they could have eventually worn him down before the ninety-six hour deadline and got him to open up.
It was a mystery to Temple why he hadn’t already since the evidence against him was stacked higher than an Egyptian pyramid. The blood-soaked clothes, the flogger whip, the fact that he’d lied about being in work on the day the Hamiltons had been abducted.
Surely he could see that there was no way he’d be able to wriggle out of it. His lawyer must have advised him that he could probably make it slightly easier on himself by confessing.
And yet he’d refused to and in so doing, had left a bunch of crucial questions unanswered. Such as where they’d held their victims whi
le they abused them. Were the Hamiltons still alive? How did Kane fit into the picture? Were there more bodies buried out there in the forest?
Temple felt the pressure building behind his eyes. He was struggling to focus. It was as though his mind was crammed with too many thoughts.
He needed to get out of the office, perhaps go for that drink after all.
But as he was slipping on his jacket, Vaughan appeared in the doorway with some news.
’I just received word from our man at Honey Hill,’ he said. ‘They’ve found the tenth grave. Do you want me to go out there and check it, boss?’
‘No, leave it to me,’ Temple said. ‘It’ll give me something to do.’
56
Temple forced himself to think about the case as he drove into the forest. He owed it to the fifteen people whose graves had been uncovered and to Bob and Rosemary Hamilton.
But it wasn’t easy to switch away from the tragedy in his own life, from Angel’s suffering and his own burden of guilt.
The thing was, he felt that he was missing something. Something important. It was lurking somewhere in his sub-conscious and he needed to flush it out.
He trawled back in his head over the events of the past week. The various crime scenes. The people he had interviewed. The shocking information about the past lives of Grant Mason, Ethan Kane and Tom Fowler.
If he had missed something then it wouldn’t be the first time. All detectives at times struggle with those elusive clues that get buried in the pockets of their minds. Most times, the clues eventually surface and prove instrumental in the success of an investigation. But occasionally they stay beyond reach and cause immense frustration.
Temple usually got there in the end. He had a good record when it came to solving cases. But there were a few he hadn’t solved and most of those he’d worked on when he wasn’t firing on all cylinders.
Was that why he was having problems with this case? he asked himself. Had his personal life been too much of a distraction? Should he have let someone else take the lead? The questions swirled around inside his head, and by the time he pulled into the visitor car park at Honey Hill, he was feeling even more miserable and frustrated.
