Monument to Murder

by Mari Hannah

  DC Maxwell raised a finger.

  ‘What enquiries were made?’ the DCI asked. ‘How far did they take it?’

  ‘That’s difficult to say. The parents maintained she was a lovely kid. Not the type to go off on her own. There was no fight. No argument beforehand. Others said different.’

  Kate’s interest grew. ‘Go on.’

  ‘There were rumours,’ Maxwell said.

  ‘Kind of rumours?’

  ‘Information from her mates that there was another side to her.’

  ‘The school bike, you told us,’ Carmichael made a face.

  Maxwell shot her a look. ‘Humberside’s description, Lisa. Not mine.’

  ‘Sounds like yours.’

  ‘Yeah, well it wasn’t.’

  ‘Oi! Cut it out, you two! Look, we’re all tired. But we need to focus, now more than ever.’ Kate’s eyes were on Maxwell. ‘And the upshot was?’

  ‘They did what they could but their enquiries came to a dead end.’ His face flushed as he realized his choice of words might’ve been better.

  ‘Did they do a reconstruction?’ Kate wanted to know. ‘Because if they didn’t, we might need to.’

  ‘Not sure.’

  ‘Find out. Lisa, phone Humberside. Let them know we’re on our way. I want the missing-person form and the file faxed up here immediately. I want you lot to grab a couple of hours’ kip at the B & B and then come straight back here. I expect a broad antecedent history by the time I return. Any links with this area, any links with Bamburgh in particular. OK, that’s it. You know the drill.’

  ‘SO I’M WASTING my time then,’ Emily glared at the young PC.

  ‘I’m not saying that, and I can see how distressed you are. But we’ve got to wait a while before we proceed further.’ The PC glanced at his watch, his eyes darting to Jo as he looked up. Then he turned his attention to Emily. ‘It’s barely eleven o’clock, Mrs McCann. She’s only been gone a few hours. You’re far better going home. If Rachel isn’t there by morning, by all means, contact us again. Why don’t you give her another call now?’

  ‘I’ve phoned her umpteen times and got no answer,’ Emily wailed.

  ‘Did you know she’d not been in college this afternoon?’

  Emily gave a resigned nod.

  The PC flipped his notepad open. ‘And did you also know she’d called her friend Susan Myers at four o’clock?’

  ‘Did she? Susan never mentioned it to me.’

  The PC shrugged. ‘According to her, you never asked.’

  ‘No,’ Emily said. ‘I don’t suppose I did.’

  ‘Miss Myers was in a lecture when the call came in. She wasn’t able to pick up but it was definitely Rachel’s number. She read it back to me . . .’ The officer shifted his gaze to Jo, then to Emily. ‘Your daughter has a new boyfriend, Mrs McCann. His name is Vic.’

  Emily went quiet.

  It was the killer blow Jo had been waiting for. She squeezed Emily’s hand. The PC might be very young but he was pretty switched on. Given the fruits of his enquiries he had good grounds to doubt Emily’s version of events. Maybe he was right to do so. Rachel had been stroppy, secretive, and downright disobedient of late. She’d come in drunk several nights running since her mother had returned to work. Was it any wonder she wasn’t thinking straight? Her story sounded farfetched, even to Jo.

  MAKING ARRANGEMENTS TO meet their Humberside colleagues early next morning, Daniels and Gormley grabbed their coats and left the incident room for the long drive south.

  ‘You got the sample?’ she asked.

  Gormley patted his jacket pocket and nodded his head.

  ‘I’ll have to ask the girl’s parents about the pearls whether I like it or not, and a whole lot more besides . . .’ As the DCI pushed through the door into the corridor her mobile rang. Cursing, she took the phone from her pocket, pressed to answer and lifted it to her ear.

  ‘DCI Daniels,’ she barked. ‘What is it? I can’t talk now.’

  ‘Can you call me later then?’ Jo asked.

  ‘Oh, sorry. Actually no, yes . . . maybe, I don’t know.’ A thought popped into Kate’s head. ‘Hold on!’ She grabbed Gormley’s arm, stopping him in his tracks, not bothering to cover the speaker. ‘Wonder if Munro knows about Maxine O’Neil?’

  ‘He’s bound to,’ Gormley said. ‘You want me to ring him before we set off?’

  ‘No, it’s OK, I have his number in here.’ She pointed at her phone with her free hand. ‘C’mon, you can bell him on the way.’ As they left via the rear exit, Jo’s voice was drowned out by the din from a passing ambulance. ‘Sorry, Jo. Didn’t catch that. What did you say?’

  ‘I said, that’ll be a no then.’

  ‘What’s that supposed to mean?’ Kate pressed her key fob and the lights on the Q5 blinked as the door locks clunked open. She climbed in and started the engine. ‘Hey, look, I’m sorry. Something’s come up. I’m flat-out here.’

  ‘Fine!’ Jo’s voice filled the roomy interior of the Q5. ‘Sorry I bothered you.’

  ‘Don’t be daft . . .’ Kate hadn’t figured on a public row. But as soon as she turned her key in the ignition, her mobile had switched to the hands-free system. She tried to ignore the heat of Gormley’s eyes on the side of her head and the sarcastic remark that followed, an observation about Jo being in a strop and laying the blame at her feet. Resisting the temptation to rip into him, Kate said, ‘Take no notice of Hank. Just believe me when I tell you it’s important.’

  ‘It always is,’ Jo said. ‘Shame you care more for the dead than the living.’

  Kate winced. ‘How is Emily?’ she asked, sheepishly.

  The dial tone hit her ear as Jo put down the phone.

  ‘Great answer,’ Kate muttered, pulling away.

  ‘Mind if I ask you a serious question?’ Hank said.

  She looked at him. ‘Fill your boots.’

  ‘Do all dykes argue 24/7?’

  Kate didn’t know whether to laugh or cry.

  59

  THEY MADE GOOD TIME. Even managed to snatch a few hours’ shuteye at a hotel in Beverley, the East Yorkshire market town closest to Maxine O’Neil’s home. Carmichael woke Kate Daniels shortly before six to advise that the missing-person file had an important note attached. Anyone with information should seek out PC Ailsa Richards, a community liaison officer at the town’s police station.

  ‘She has close links with the family,’ Carmichael said. Her voice sounded thick, the result of another late night and very early morning. ‘She was the first to attend when Maxine went missing. I managed to catch her going off duty an hour ago. She’ll stay on and meet you there at seven.’

  ‘Thanks, Lisa. Anything else?’

  ‘No, not yet.’

  ‘Call you later then.’

  Hanging up, Kate rang Gormley’s room to make sure he was up and about, then jumped in the shower and joined him for breakfast. There was no way either of them could face the day without fuel. They ate in silence, neither with any real appetite for food – much less for informing the dead girl’s parents that they would never see their child again.

  Kate wondered if the O’Neils were the type to leave their daughter’s stuff untouched, as was often the case when children went missing. She’d known cases where Christmas and birthday presents had lain unopened for years. One family kept a burning candle in the window the whole time, a beacon of hope they firmly believed would guide their loved one home to them.

  It didn’t.

  That depressing thought matched the weather outside. A veil of dense fog shrouded the outskirts of Beverley, making travel difficult. What little traffic there was on the road appeared out of nowhere like dark smudges on a white canvas, rendering headlights useless as drivers picked their way cautiously along.

  They were late getting to the nick but PC Ailsa Richards was waiting in reception when they arrived. She gave them the hard copy of the missing-person file, confirming that she’d sent a copy electronically to Carmichael. Then th
ey adjourned to a quiet office where they could talk without fear of interruption.

  Ailsa Richards was about twenty-five years old, shorter than the average copper, with fair hair cut in a bob. She had an interesting face, a slightly crooked nose that had obviously taken a beating at some point. Her eyes were the colour of cornflowers, the left one with a green fleck in it the DCI couldn’t stop staring at.

  She sat down, gestured for the other two to do likewise and then focused on the Humberside officer. ‘I understand you’re close to the O’Neil family, is that correct?’

  PC Richards nodded. ‘Yes, ma’am.’

  ‘Are you properly involved with them, or is that a load of bollocks?’

  ‘Ma’am?’

  ‘Drop the ma’am, Ailsa. No offence intended, but people write things on forms that aren’t true sometimes.’

  ‘Not in this instance, I can assure you.’ Richards stood firm. ‘I’m not sure how you deal with things in Northumbria, but here in Humberside we try to do things right. I promised the family I’d keep them updated of any developments, big or small, good or bad. I’ve kept my word, visiting every three months for the past five years, never missed once.’

  ‘That’s good to hear.’ Kate meant it. If she was any judge of character, this officer was not only truthful, she had balls. She liked that. ‘I hope you understand my need to be sure. This is going to be a difficult day for everyone involved. The family don’t need a fuck-up and neither do I.’

  The PC didn’t flinch.

  Daniels studied her closely. It was important to see the whites of her eyes and work out how well or ill-equipped she was to deal with something as sensitive as a death message. To an outsider, they were all much of a muchness. But to anyone charged with the task of delivering them on a regular basis, there was a world of difference. The death of an elderly relative was often half-expected; the sudden death of a young person was deemed somehow worse; in the case of a road accident, an element of bad luck came into the equation. Most people understood and came to accept that eventually. But the deliberate, violent and senseless deaths, the ones where murder was involved, those were another matter entirely.

  And then there was the worst type of all.

  On a sliding scale of one to ten, the kind of death message Kate was about to deliver was in a league of its own. The O’Neils had waited five long years to hear news of a much-loved daughter. It was hard to imagine how they had coped, every single day dragging painfully on to the next, keeping themselves going by clinging to the hope that Maxine was out there somewhere. Living a new life – happy, even.

  ‘The O’Neils have other children?’ Gormley asked.

  The PC nodded. ‘Two boys and a girl.’

  ‘How old?’

  ‘Twelve, nine and five.’

  ‘Mrs O’Neil was pregnant when Maxine when missing?’ Kate queried.

  Another nod. ‘Seven months.’

  The DCI glanced at Gormley, an unspoken message passing between them. From the look of him, his antenna had raised just as hers had. They were both remembering an enquiry they had worked some years ago where the victim’s father had turned to her for sex when his wife, the girl’s mother, was heavily pregnant. The girl threatened to go to the law, so he silenced her for good, concealing her body in the bottom of a chest freezer under legs of lamb and pork chops.

  ‘Who’ll tell them?’ the PC asked. ‘You or me?’

  ‘Depends on how you feel about that.’ Kate looked at Richards. When she made no comment, the DCI made an observation: ‘You know them personally, I don’t. But I can’t have you getting upset. If you’re going to do that, it’s best that I tell them.’ She paused, allowing her comment to sink in. ‘Do you usually ring before you visit?’

  ‘I didn’t used to, but . . .’ Richards looked away.

  ‘Let me guess. Every time you went to the door, every time they saw a Panda in the street, they were shitting themselves, right?’ Richards answered with a nod. Kate noticed the green fleck in her eye twitching slightly. ‘Well, as soon as they see me and DS Gormley they’ll know.’

  For a moment, no one spoke.

  ‘I’m tempted to say if you want to do it, you do it, and if you look like you’re going to bottle it, I’ll interrupt. Question is: have you done it before?’

  The PC shook her head.

  ‘Then this is no time to start, Ailsa. There’ll be difficult questions to answer. In situations like these you can’t afford to pull your punches. There are no mistakes to be made, get me? I can see you don’t want to do it and that’s perfectly fine. There’s no shame in that. How about I do it? I know you’ve been up all night but it would really help me out if you were on hand to pick up the pieces when I leave. Are we agreed?’

  ‘Thanks, boss.’

  ‘C’mon then, let’s get it over with.’

  60

  AT THE END of her fifth consecutive nightshift, PC Ailsa Richards looked shagged out as she climbed into the Q5 and rode up front with Daniels. Gormley took the back seat, the missing-person case file open on his knee, speed-reading as they made their way through the back streets. The fog hadn’t lifted any. They could hardly see a hand in front of their face as they skirted the edge of town. There was nothing to recommend being out and about.

  Even less the reason for their journey.

  ‘So, Ailsa . . . what is it you’re not telling me?’ Kate turned left and then glanced at her brooding passenger. ‘You have something important to say, I’d like to hear what it is.’

  Gormley offered to pass Richards the file to refresh her memory.

  She waved it away, telling him she didn’t need it. There wasn’t a detail in there she hadn’t been over a million times already. It was clear she’d taken a personal interest in the case and the Northumbria detectives were keen to hear why.

  Kate tried to draw her out. ‘Tell us about the O’Neils.’

  ‘They’re a big Catholic family and lovely with it. For what it’s worth, I don’t think they have anything to hide.’ Richards peered through the gloom, then pointed towards an upcoming junction. ‘Take a left here, and then the second exit off the mini roundabout. That’s if you can see it, boss.’

  Kate took the turning. ‘Who raised the alarm?’

  ‘Suzanne, the girl’s mother.’

  ‘Odd timing, I thought. Eleven-thirty at night I could understand, but in the morning?’

  ‘Maxine had slept over at a mate’s house the night before she went missing. She was a gifted musician and a brilliant dancer with an important audition at eleven the next day. She’d spent years practising. It was a chance in a lifetime – not exactly X Factor, but not far off. She had big ideas for such a little girl. Suzanne hadn’t wanted her to stay out that night, but her father thought it might relax her to be with her mates. In the end, they let her go. When she didn’t return the next day, Suzanne called us.’

  ‘What’s he like?’ Hank asked.

  ‘Graham? He’s a nice bloke and a fantastic dad. He’s had to be . . . Suzanne isn’t the most stable since Maxine went missing.’

  ‘File states he was at work at the time,’ Hank said.

  ‘Clocked in at seven, out again at eleven when his wife rang with the news.’

  ‘There’s no dispute about that?’ Kate asked.

  ‘None.’

  ‘What about the teacher? What’s his name?’

  ‘John Butterworth.’

  ‘Was he absolutely sure it was Maxine he saw at the bus stop?’

  ‘Yes. He knows . . . knew Maxine very well. He taught her music in the third year. Knowing what a big day it was for her, he gave her the thumbs up as he drove by. She waved back but glanced anxiously at her watch. He automatically checked the clock on the dash. It was nine forty-five. There was a bus due in five, plenty of time before her interview. Otherwise, he said, he would have stopped, rules or no rules.’

  ‘The bus driver was traced?’

  ‘Yes. No one got on or off at that stop. At lea
st four passengers corroborated his evidence.’

  ‘Did you check the whole of Butterworth’s journey?’ Kate asked.

  Richards nodded. ‘His alibi checked out.’

  Kate looked sideways. ‘You figured he needed one?’

  ‘Someone did. There was a five-minute window in which the girl went missing. In my opinion, she was taken against her will, and by someone she knew.’ Richards pointed out the window. ‘It’s left here, boss. Actually, no, if we go that way we might end up in a hole. There are roadworks down there. Take the next one instead.’

  The DCI cancelled her indicator. ‘What made you think it was someone she knew?’

  ‘Everyone I spoke to was agreed on one thing: there was no way she’d have got into a car with a stranger. Besides, it’s a busy road. If she’d been dragged into a vehicle kicking and screaming, someone would’ve seen it happen. There were other things too. Apart from the music thing, Suzanne and Graham say she was happy at home. She adored her siblings and was excited about the new baby—’

  ‘With respect, Ailsa, all families say that.’ Hank was playing Devil’s advocate.

  ‘Left here?’ Kate asked.

  Richards nodded.

  ‘We were told Maxine was sexually active,’ Hank said. ‘Was she?’

  ‘No more than the rest of us, Sarge.’ Richards had made herself blush. ‘She had the world at her feet and was hugely popular with the boys. She was fifteen! Of course she was experimenting. Hell, we’ve all been there – least, I have.’

  ‘You must’ve been very young in service when this happened,’ Kate said.

  ‘Nineteen. I’d been in less than a year. It was the most important case I’d worked on up to that point. Still is. Consequently, it meant a lot to me.’ Richards paused, keeping her eyes on the road ahead. After a second or two she said, ‘Can I talk off the record, boss?’

  Here it comes.

  ‘Be my guest,’ Kate said. ‘But I’ll be straight with you, Ailsa. If you tell me something case-related, there’s no guarantee I won’t repeat it. There’s too much at stake.’ She pulled up at a red light. It was important to get the unofficial as well as the official version of events, to build a picture of what had gone on back then. She could see that Richards was in two minds whether or not to trust an SIO from another force.