by Celina Grace
“Of course. Come in.”
Kate shut the door behind her and sat down opposite him. “I went through everything remotely connected with William Bathford. Apparently, one of the girls from the home, a Karen Black, came to this station in the late nineteen nineties, and reported that she’d been sexually abused by him. She apparently had made another accusation about him before but I can’t find any record of that at all.”
DI Randall lifted his eyebrows. “Right. So there was an investigation?”
Kate pulled a face. “Actually, I’m not sure there was. Apparently, this girl, Karen, had a history of reporting abuse. She grew up in care and she reported several of her foster families. I think they were investigated and nothing was found.”
DI Randall leant forward. “So, she reported it and nothing was done?”
Kate flipped through the pages of a report. “Nothing was done. Until another girl, a Melanie Smith, reported Bathford as well.”
“Ah. Can I have a look?” Kate handed over the folder and DI Randall began to read.
Kate let him read for a minute and then spoke again. “Anyway, there was an investigation into the home, but after a few weeks, Melanie Smith withdrew her accusation. She said Karen had bullied her into reporting it and it wasn’t true. So, any case against Bathford collapsed, and the investigation was stopped.”
DI Randall looked up from the file. “Right. So, what happened then? Sorry, I know I’m the one who works here, but this was way before my time. I was in London then.” They both laughed before he carried on. “What happened to the girls?”
Kate grimaced. “Melanie Smith was placed in another care home. Karen ran away. I haven’t been able to trace her yet.”
“Oh dear.”
“Exactly. Anyway, when I go to the council tomorrow, I’m going to see if I can find a link to what happened with these girls and whether Amanda Callihan was involved in any way.”
DI Randall looked impressed. “That sounds like a good plan.”
“Thank you.” Kate sat back in her chair and folded her hands in her lap. On impulse, she said “If that dinner invitation’s still available, I’ll take you up on it.”
DI Randall looked both surprised and pleased. “Oh, yeah, sure. When are you ready to go?”
“Whenever you are.” Just for safety’s sake, Kate added, “I just need to get back to my hotel at a reasonable hour. I’ve got to give my partner a call.”
“Sure.”
**
The restaurant that he took her to was within walking distance of the Whitehaven station, and on the way, Kate was able to take in a bit more of the city. It was prettily situated around a curving harbour, but Kate could see that it was far from a wealthy area. The streets were lined with betting shops, pound shops and charity shops. The restaurant was a pleasant surprise though; a family-run Italian place, with a black and white tiled floor and pictures of the Italian coast on the walls.
“Have you lived here long?” Kate asked when they were seated.
“About five years now. I moved up from London.” DI Randall handed her a menu and sat back in his chair. “My ex-wife had family around here, so we thought it would be a good idea to move closer.”
Kate felt rather awkward. Was he signalling to her that he was single? “Right,” was what she said, in a tone she hoped would shut down any further information on DI Randall’s romantic history. “What’s your first name, by the way?”
DI Randall smiled. “It’s Tom.”
“Tom, can you tell me what you think about the Bathford murder? What are your theories on it?”
Tom Randall took a sip from his glass of wine. “Well…”
Kate persisted. “Whatever you think. What have you got?”
“Well,” he repeated. Then he leaned forward. “The thing is, what you said about this—this Karen. She’s pegged as a liar because she’s reported people for things that they don’t seem to have done. Clearly, she’s troubled; she’s a troubled young woman. Troubled young child. She’s probably been sexually abused in the past, not by the people she’s accusing but by someone else, someone else who’s got away with it.”
Kate was listening intently. “Go on.”
“Well, say her accusation against Bathford—and I’m purely speculating here—say she was telling the truth?”
Kate stared at him. “So Bathford was guilty of sexually abusing her and the other girl, Melanie.”
“It’s purely a theory but I’ve been thinking about it on the walk over here. Just because someone’s made false accusations in the past doesn’t necessarily mean that they’re lying about what genuinely happened to them at a later stage.”
“True.” Kate was interrupted in her sentence by the arrival of their main courses. She sat back, allowing the waitress to position the plates and offer black pepper to them both. Once the woman had left, she leant forward again. “So, say we take it as read that Karen and Melanie are telling the truth. Bathford had sexually abused them.”
“Yes.”
Kate picked up her fork and began twisting spaghetti around it. “So, if you were one of the victims, how would not being believed make you feel?”
“Bloody angry, I’d expect.”
“Exactly.”
They ate for a few minutes before Kate wiped her mouth with the napkin and spoke again. “But the trouble with that theory is, as I’m sure you’ll agree, Bathford wasn’t killed at the time of the accusations. It was later. Years later.”
“I know.”
Kate bent her head to her plate. “So, it could have absolutely nothing to do with this, whatsoever.”
“It’s a possibility,” agreed Tom.
Kate sighed. She pushed a few more mouthfuls of spaghetti in and chewed thoughtfully.
“Well,” said Tom. “One thing we could do is try and track down these two girls. Karen and Melanie. Find out what they’re up to now.”
“Yes. That would be a given.”
“I can do that tomorrow.” Tom reached for the wine bottle and topped up Kate’s glass. “No problem.”
“Thank you. I’ve got the council visit tomorrow so hopefully I’ll be able to prove a link between Amanda Cahill and the children’s home.”
“Good luck.”
They talked about other things for the remainder of the meal. Kate found him an easy conversationalist. From time to time she was conscious of that flash of attraction she’d felt in his office and batted the thought away. She stuck to two glasses of wine as well. She’d mentioned Anderton as her partner, but as the evening wore on, she was conscious that Tom might, just might, have interpreted that as Kate having a police partner, not a romantic one. Try as she might, she couldn’t think of a way of bringing the subject up without looking odd or, as was actually the case, as if she suspected Tom on having designs on her.
“Do you fancy having a drink somewhere?” asked Tom as he paid the bill. Kate had offered her fair share, but he’d waved her away.
“Sorry, I can’t.” She decided to be brutally honest. “I have to give my boyfriend a call.”
“Oh.” Although he hid it well, there was a moment when Tom looked completely crestfallen. “Oh, well, never mind.”
Kate took pity on him. “I’ve had a lovely evening, thank you. And thanks for offering to track down those girls for me.”
“My pleasure.” The fact that Tom reacted so graciously made Kate like him all the more. Anderton, she reminded herself.
“See you tomorrow, then.” She held out her hand to be shaken.
“Good night.”
Kate gave him a farewell smile and left the restaurant. Walking back to her hotel, she blew out her cheeks. When does life get any easier? She shook off the thought and pulled her coat tighter about her neck, warding off the chill northern breeze.
Chapter Twenty
The council officer that Kate met with the next morning was a lady who looked as if she was fast approaching retirement. In fact, as she mentioned in passing, Luc
y Masterfield was only in her fifties but the stress and worry of her job had aged her beyond her years. She had grey hair cut brutally short, stooped shoulders and, in a contrast that was oddly touching, earrings that were shaped like strawberries.
“Pleased to meet you, DI Redman. I hope I can be of assistance. I have been here a long time.”
“Thank you, Mrs Masterfield.”
“Oh, do call me Lucy.”
Kate smiled at her. “Right. Thanks, Lucy. I’m trying to find out as much as I can about one of your former social workers. Amanda Callihan. She worked in Whitehaven from nineteen ninety six to the early noughties, I think, when she resigned from the job.”
Lucy Masterfield took the file that Kate held out to her. She wore no rings on her hands and her nails were short and unpolished. “Yes, I remember her. She was a nice girl. And you say she’s been murdered?” Her face puckered for a moment. “That’s awful.”
“Yes. I’m sorry.” Kate waited for a moment and then spoke again. “That’s why we’re trying to find out as much as we can about her work up here, as we think it might have a bearing on her case.”
Lucy Masterfield nodded. “Right, I understand.”
Kate went on. “I’m particularly keen on finding out if she had any link with a particular children’s care home, the Carndale. Could I have that folder for a second?” She took it back from Lucy and extracted a photograph. “This is the place.”
Lucy took the photograph. “Yes. Yes, I remember this. It’s closed now. In fact, wasn’t there something… The chap running it was killed, wasn’t he?”
“Yes, he was. We’re thinking that there’s a link between the two cases.”
Lucy’s eyebrows lifted. “And you think Amanda might be that link?”
“Did she have any dealings with the place?”
“I can soon find out.” Lucy beckoned Kate over and pointed to the kettle, over on the counter by the wall. “Help yourself to a coffee and I’ll dig down into the archives and see what I can find.”
Kate did as she suggested, making one for Lucy as well. She waited, leaning against the counter, and watched Lucy tapping away at her computer. Lucy, as if she felt Kate’s gaze, turned around. “I’ll be a while here. Did you want to find yourself somewhere more comfortable to sit?”
“Actually, I need to make a few calls. I’ll be back in half an hour or so.”
**
Kate negotiated her way out of the unfamiliar building and stepped out into a fresh breeze, a faint hint of salt carried with it. Why did the sea smell so good? She took in a few, deep inhalations and turned her attention to her phone.
Anderton, first. Kate genuinely had tried to call him on her return from the restaurant last night, but the call had gone straight to voicemail. She left him a light hearted message and then tried the office. Theo answered.
“All right, mate? How are they treating you up north?”
Kate filled him in on her discovery. “We’re still waiting to see if there is an evidential link between Amanda Cahill and the Carndale children’s home.”
“You want to talk to the boss?”
Kate didn’t, particularly. “No point, Theo. Let me wait until I’ve actually got something—or not. Has anything else come up your end?”
She heard Theo’s irritated sigh in her ear. “Not a lot, mate. Rav’s still not been able to track down the manufacturer of those statues. We’ve had forensics back though, so I’m going through them.”
“Ok. Listen, can you do me a favour. If you’re too busy with that, Chloe could do it. Can you run a check on these two names: Melanie Smith and Karen Black.” Kate spelled them out for him and added, “Just see if anything comes up.” She knew that DI Randall was doing a similar search but Theo was good at tracking people down, and more eyes on the job couldn’t hurt. “Thanks, Theo. I’ll check in later and I’m back tomorrow, pending anything explosive up here.”
“Laters, mate.”
As Kate hung up, she pondered whether a DI should actually be allowing a DS to call them ‘mate’. But then, what was the harm? She could just see the look on Theo’s face if she requested he address her more formally. Grinning, she wondered whether it was worth doing, just for a laugh. Then her phone rang—Anderton, finally calling her back—and she dismissed the thought.
When Kate got back to Lucy Masterfield’s desk (she had only taken one wrong turn and was soon back on track), Lucy had a small pile of computer print-outs by the side of her keyboard. Kate’s stomach twisted in anticipation.
She sat down opposite Lucy, trying not to look too eager. “Did you manage to get anything?”
Lucy smiled. “Yes, I did. Amanda Callihan wrote several reports on the Carndale children’s home. She was the social worker for several of the children there.” She handed Kate the pile of printed paper. “I’m sure you’ll be able to see what I mean.”
Kate clutched the paper in one hand. “Was she the council liaison for Karen Black or Melanie Smith?”
“For both. She had several meetings with both.”
Under the table, Kate clenched her free hand in triumph. “That’s great, Lucy, thank you so much. That’s just what I needed.”
Lucy smiled again and it illuminated her tired, wrinkled face into something like beauty. “That’s good. I’m glad I could help.”
“I’m going to take these and read them through.” Kate stood up and extended her hand. Lucy shook it. “And for what it’s worth, I’d like to thank you.”
“Thank me?”
“Yes. I sometimes think I have a difficult job but then I meet you guys, and I realise I actually have it easy. So, thank you.”
Again, that illuminating smile. “Thank you, DI Redman.”
**
Kate drove back to the Whitehaven police station, her stomach fluttering with anticipation. This was it; she could feel it. Veteran of many an investigation, she knew that in almost every one, you hit paydirt. You found the lead, the suspect, the motive. A small part of each, perhaps, but something you could work with.
She bounded up the steps of the station and hurried for DI Randall’s office, sure of her way there now. He wasn’t there, and Kate clicked her tongue with annoyance. Then, deciding on something, she picked up his desk phone and dialled her own desk number.
Chloe answered the phone. “Hey, bird. How’s it going up there?”
“It’s going great. I’ve found something.” Kate gave Chloe a succinct run down of what she’d discovered.
“Fantastic.” Kate could hear the smile in Chloe’s voice. “So, what now?”
“Can you put me through to Nicola?” Kate thought that DCI Weaver, now treating her more fairly, deserved to be referred to in less formal (and indeed, less insulting) terms than she normally used.
“Hold on.” There were rustles and beeps before Chloe came back on the line. “She’s on a conference call.”
“Don’t worry, I’ll email.”
Just as Kate was saying goodbye, Tom Randall walked into his office. He looked surprised to see Kate sitting at his desk.
“Don’t worry, I’m not after your job,” Kate said with a grin. “Just wanted to use your phone.”
“Be my guest.” Tom placed a cardboard folder in front of her. “I’ve got something for you.”
Kate looked at him eagerly. “You’ve found the two girls?”
“No, unfortunately. I have found one, though. Melanie Smith. It’s all in here.” Kate reached a hand for the folder. Tom added, rather plaintively, “Can I have my seat back now?”
“Sorry.” Kate gathered her things together. “Here, have your desk back too. Thanks for this, Tom.”
She found a spare desk and read through the new information. Melanie Smith had been born in 1983, which would have made her fifteen in 1998. Kate did a rapid head-calculation and worked out that Melanie would now be thirty-four. She didn’t appear to have married, or if she had, she’d kept her name. Kate looked at the address and raised her eyebrows. Melanie w
as now living in Bristol, right on the doorstep of the Abbeyford force’s jurisdiction.
Kate made up her mind. Melanie needed to be interviewed as a matter of urgency, and although she knew that Chloe, Rav, or Theo would be quite capable of doing so, Kate found herself strangely protective over her right to question the suspect. After all, she was the one who’d found the link between the crimes, hadn’t she? She pushed aside the thought that, as a DI, she probably should be delegating a little more. Sod it. She stuffed the papers into her laptop case and went to find DI Randall, to say goodbye.
Chapter Twenty One
It was almost eleven o’clock at night by the time Kate made it back to Abbeyford. Tired as she was, she headed for the police station. She needed to type up her report for DCI Weaver, and that would be best done at her desk. If she went home and sat down, she’d fall asleep.
Wearily, she parked the car, locked it and trudged towards the back entrance. There was someone fronting the reception area at all times, but Kate was feeling too tired to have to make small talk. Yawning, she climbed the stairs, her hand trailing the plastic coating of the banister, her laptop case banging against her hip.
As she walked down the corridor, she noticed a light on in DCI Weaver room. Pulling a late one, thought Kate, with some admiration. All the better, as now she could give her a verbal report now and type it up formally in the morning. Kate knocked gently on the closed office door. Then she knocked again. Finally, she pushed it open.
“It’s just me—” she began and pulled herself up with a gasp. There, on her desk, was Nicola Weaver, semi-dressed and in a tangle of limbs with—My god! Is it? Yes, it is!–Theo.
For a frozen moment, the two of them stared in horror at Kate, who stood as if turned to marble. Then, coming to her senses, she gasped, “Sorry, sorry!” and pulled the door closed with a slam.
Oh God, oh God. Kate ran for the incident room with her hand to her mouth. Oh, God! Why had she opened that bloody door? Why? And how long had that been going on? She threw herself into her chair and put her head on the table, cringing. Jesus. She tried to unsee what she’d just witnessed but it was impossible. Kate groaned and considered her options. She should probably just go home. Oh, God, how was she going to face Nicola tomorrow? And Theo… Kate remembered the funny conversation they’d had some time ago, when she’d had the suspicion that he’d been talking about a girlfriend. Had he been referring to Nicola? Oh, God…
