by Jane Isaac
‘It’s something that’s cropped up in our investigation.’
‘I don’t understand.’
‘A line of inquiry.’
‘Are you saying Whitefield’s has been mentioned in connection with Stuart’s murder case? But that was during the 1990s, the home’s closed now.’ Before he had a chance to answer, Gina shot him another question. ‘That other man, Moss. Was he connected to Whitefield’s?’ Her heart pounded.
‘It has been mentioned.’
Fear prickled Gina’s scalp. ‘Are you saying that’s why they were killed? Because of their connection to the children’s home?’
The detective ignored her. ‘Are you aware of any incidents that occurred while Stuart was supporting them?’
‘What kind of incidents? What are you suggesting?’
‘I’m not suggesting anything. Perhaps Stuart mentioned something out of the ordinary. A passing comment?’
‘I don’t know what you mean.’
‘We understand one of their residents, a teenage girl, committed suicide. What can you tell me about that?’
Gina’s chest tightened. ‘Yes. Jess, her name was. Jess… Adams. She was fifteen. Threw herself under a train.’ She raised her eyes to meet Warren’s. ‘A dreadful tragedy. But I can’t see how that could have a bearing now. It was investigated at the time and the staff at Whitefield were cleared of any impropriety. No one else was involved. From what I heard, she had a history of depression.’
‘When did Stuart finish supporting Whitefield?’
Her breath caught. The prickles of fear became sharper, heavier, needles piercing her scalp. ‘I’m not sure exactly. Sometime during the mid-Nineties. The estate agent business was expanding. He was looking for another premises. What with his charity commitments, his seat on the council and his business, we barely saw him. He decided to pull back and concentrate on business and family for a while. He wasn’t with them when Jess died.’
‘What about other people that worked at the home?’
‘It was run by a husband and wife team, David and Sarah Carpenter. They couldn’t have kids of their own. The children that passed through Whitefield were like family to them.’
‘Do you still have their contact details?’
She shook her head. ‘David died of a heart attack about ten years ago. Maybe more. Sarah was diagnosed with Alzheimer’s shortly afterwards and was taken into a nursing home. We lost contact with her.’
‘Do you know which nursing home?’
‘No.’ The detective’s expression was grave. She recalled him asking whether Stuart knew or had ever mentioned an association with Richard Moss, even before the link between the murders was declared on the news. ‘Are you saying something happened at Whitefield and that’s why Stuart, and this man, Moss, were killed?’
‘We are still investigating. It’s one of the leads we are looking into.’
A rush of blood to the head. Her stomach wrenched. Gina jumped up from the table, sending her chair crashing to the floor. She’d only just reached the toilet when she vomited, the contents of her stomach splattering across the glistening white pan.
Finally, she sat back on her heels. Rivulets of sweat trickled down her back. Time ticked past. She was aware of the detective knocking on the door, checking she was okay. She flushed the toilet. Asked to be left alone.
Slowly, her breaths evened. Her heart rate eased. She pressed her face to the cold floor tiles.
Memories of Jess Adams dripped into her mind: she was a strikingly pretty girl, with curly auburn hair and green eyes. Small for her age.
After her death, rumours circulated of an impropriety at Whitefield, although she seemed to remember social services investigating and clearing the home of any wrongdoing. And Stuart was no longer with them when it happened. But what if the rumours were true? That the poor girl had taken her own life because she’d been subjected to abuse over a period of time? A period of time when Stuart supported them. He knew her, had been shocked and upset when her death was announced, like all of them. It was incredibly sad to lose somebody so young. But what if he’d played a larger part than she’d realised? Muddy bile rose again in her throat.
She’d believed Stuart when he professed his innocence over the child abuse images on his computer last year. Suppressed all those niggling doubts. He’d been persuasive. Convincing.
She cast her mind back through their endless conversations, desperately grappling with her fears while she searched for a hole in his explanations. But there was nothing. Even the discussions with his legal team focused on proving his innocence.
But, then… He was a councillor. Used to being persuasive, politic. Used to putting together a sound argument.
A shiver slid down her spine. Since the charge, she’d lost everything: friends, neighbours, her standing in the community. Her daughter. Her grandchildren. Was it possible, after everything they’d been through, everything he’d said, that he’d been smoothing things over? Covering up his guilt?
A fresh wave of nausea flooded her and she pulled herself back up to the toilet pan. And retched.
26
‘Freeman’s advised me to apply for promotion,’ Beth said to Nick as they made their way back to the incident room.
‘That’s great. I think you should go for it.’
‘Thanks.’ Quiet fell upon them. Had Freeman informed him about PSD closing their internal investigation? If so, it was odd he hadn’t mentioned it. Nick was still her sergeant, after all. Perhaps she should bring it up, suggest they go out for a drink to celebrate? She drew a breath, about to fill him in when Nick’s phone rang.
He glanced at the screen. ‘I need to get this,’ he said and moved away.
Beth nodded, pushed the thoughts aside and checked her own phone, sighing inwardly at her empty inbox. As soon as they’d ended the interview with Craig, she’d called Warren, passed on the information about Richard Moss and the children’s home, and asked him to speak with Gina again about any connections. Any moment he should be in touch with the result of their discussion. Nick had turned to the wall now, the phone pressed to his ear. She started back along the corridor. The mellifluous sound of his chuckles faded as she rounded the corner and noticed Freeman approaching.
‘Morning, sir,’ she said. ‘Any luck with the additional staffing?’
Freeman heaved a sigh. ‘It’s tight. Seems everyone’s in the same position. We’ve got to put together a business case, the DI’s working on some figures as we speak. How did you guys get on? I hear you’ve been interviewing the second victim’s son?’
‘It was certainly interesting,’ Beth said.
Her words were muffled by Nick’s footsteps. He’d finished his call and was jogging down to catch them up. He nodded at Freeman, motioned to him to follow them into the main room. ‘We need to share this with everyone.’
Heads lifted as they entered. ‘Let’s gather around,’ Nick said. Beth crossed to her desk and voices hushed while Nick updated the team and gave a summary of Craig Moss’s interview.
‘I remember the suicide,’ Freeman said when he’d finished. ‘The girl was only fifteen. Tragic. Whitefield closed soon afterwards. The building was converted to a care home for the elderly as far as I remember.’
Beth’s phone pinged with an email. ‘Ah!’ she said, looking up to find a sea of eyes on her. ‘I asked Warren to check with Gina to see if Stuart had a connection with Whitefield’s,’ she said. ‘Apparently he did some fundraising with them during the mid-Nineties.’ She relayed the details of Warren’s interview.
‘That’s close to the time when the girl died,’ Nick said.
Freeman placed his hands on his hips. ‘So, we have two victims, connected to a children’s home at the time of a child suicide.’
Beth scanned her computer screen. ‘There clearly wasn’t a complaint made to the police at the time,’ she said. ‘We have a suicide recorded on the system. I’ll request the coroner’s file, it might show details of any distant
family or connections.’
‘We need to examine Whitefield’s records,’ Nick said, ‘although we’re talking over twenty years ago. Will they have records that go back that far?’
‘Social services should hold something.’ Freeman turned to Pete. ‘Get onto them right away, will you? We require a list of all residents and staff at Whitefield from 1990 to 1996, urgently, especially anyone who was close to Jess Adams. And ask them whether they have any complaints recorded there during that time, formal or informal.’ Pete nodded and jotted down a note. ‘Get someone out to interview the former proprietor, Sarah Carpenter, too. I understand she suffers from Alzheimer’s, but she may have some recollection.’
‘If we’re talking the 1990s, why wait until now to do anything about it?’ Nick said.
Beth pushed her tongue against the side of her mouth and thought hard. ‘Maybe they’ve been detained, or out of the country?’ she said eventually.
A phone rang, the trill punctuating their conversation. Freeman cast it an annoying glance. ‘Check with the prison service for releases in the area within the last six months,’ he said. ‘It’s a long shot but might explain the time lapse.’
Pete dropped the phone into the receiver with a loud crash. ‘You’re not going to believe this, sir,’ he said to Freeman. ‘There’s been another murder, on Rothersthorpe Road in Northampton. The body of a man was discovered in his flat by the postman. Sounds like a bloodbath. They found a note, the same as the others, stuffed in the victim’s mouth.’
Freeman wiped his hands down the front of his face.
‘And that’s not all,’ Pete continued. ‘His name’s Harry Underwood. He was released from prison eighteen months ago. He’s on the sex offenders’ register.’
*
Oscar lifted his head and gave a short bark as somebody knocked the door of Gina Ingram’s bedroom. Hours earlier she’d scraped herself from the bathroom floor and slipped upstairs with him. She stroked the dog’s ears soothingly and ignored the knocks. The last thing she wanted was human company right now.
‘Mrs Ingram?’
The female voice on the other side of the door surprised her. She’d left Warren downstairs when she came up. Had someone else arrived?
‘Mrs Ingram, it’s DC Beth Chamberlain here.’
It was the female detective. The one that had visited Phoebe. Perhaps her arrival heralded news. Gina reluctantly hauled herself up and straightened her shirt.
The detective pressed her lips together when Gina answered the door. ‘I’m sorry to bother you, but would you mind coming down?’
Warren was waiting for them in the hallway when they arrived downstairs. He followed them through into the kitchen and opened his notebook.
‘Is there some news?’ Gina asked, switching from one to another.
‘Please, take a seat.’ Beth pulled out a chair for her, but she ignored it. The sombre tone touched a nerve. This didn’t sound like the type of news she wanted to hear.
‘What is it?’
‘There’s been another murder.’
Gina clamped a hand over her mouth, smothering the yelp that escaped.
‘His name was Harry Underwood. He was killed at his home in Northampton yesterday evening.’
Gina’s knees weakened. She stumbled. The chair rattled as she slipped into it. ‘And you think it’s connected to what happened to Stuart?’
‘Yes, we have reason to believe it is.’
‘Oh, my.’ The walls were closing in.
‘Gina, this is important,’ Beth said. ‘I need to ask you if you’ve ever heard the name Harry Underwood before. Or whether he was an associate of Stuart’s.’
Gina grappled with her thoughts. The name didn’t sound familiar but her brain was hazy. Everything was jumbled. She shook her head. ‘What happened to him?’ she asked quietly.
‘A knife wound, I believe. That’s all I know, presently. We wanted to tell you before the news broke in the media.’
‘Was he connected to Whitefield’s too?’ Her voice was barely a whisper.
‘We’re not sure at the moment.’
‘How do you know the murders are connected then?’
‘I’m not at liberty to say. I’m sorry.’
‘But you are certain?’
A silent nod. ‘There is something else we need to tell you.’
She looked up.
‘This is a high-profile investigation. Details will be mentioned in the press—’
‘Tell me.’
‘Underwood was on the sex offenders’ register. He served a spell in prison from 2006 to 2016.’
Gina recoiled. ‘What for?’
The detective hesitated before she answered. ‘He was convicted on two counts of grooming and rape of minors.’
27
Beth left 46 Hay Close and pulled the door to a gentle close behind her. She’d felt the heat of Warren’s glare as she advised Gina of Harry Underwood’s history. While they wouldn’t normally disclose the information about Underwood’s background before it was released to the press, she felt Gina had a right to know. The woman had been through so much already and the thought of her hearing it on a news bulletin tugged on a heartstring.
It was common for victims to become reliant on detectives, especially those who spent time with the family, another reason why liaison officers worked in pairs. Freeman could have asked Warren to update Gina, but he’d deliberately sent Beth to deliver the news of another murder and gauge Gina’s reaction. Although they were pretty convinced Gina was no longer involved in Stuart’s death, it was always possible she might try to cover up or conceal information in an attempt to protect her late husband’s memory.
Beth surveyed the late morning sky. The clouds had conjoined, blocking the early sunshine. She replayed the conversation in her mind, considering Gina’s body language and her demeanour, and could see no reason to disbelieve the woman’s answers. If Stuart had been acquainted with Harry Underwood, his wife didn’t appear to know about it. But something else bothered Beth about the meeting. Gina Ingram’s cheeks were sunken; her cardigan hung off her bony frame. Liaison officers were trained to support families, spot the signs of stress and depression and ensure they were offered the help they needed. The dark shadows under Gina’s eyes were testament to her lack of sleep, but she’d refused a visit from a doctor and it left Beth uneasy.
Gina needed help and, with the breakdown of her relationship with her daughter and no other family nearby, she was struggling. In the email reports Beth had received from Warren, he’d referred to Isla as Beth’s friend. If Gina needed anything right now it was the support of someone close. She crossed the road to number 48.
The doorbell was answered on the second ring by a slim woman who looked as though she’d just stepped out of the shower. She was dressed in a powder pink tracksuit; wet grey curls clumped on her forehead.
Beth held up her ID card and introduced herself. ‘Would you be Isla, Gina’s friend?’ she asked.
A shadow flickered across the woman’s face. ‘Yes,’ she said. ‘Is there some news?’
‘I wonder if you could spare me a few minutes?’
*
Beth left Isla’s house satisfied that she’d put in place some support for Gina. Isla seemed genuinely concerned and shared how supportive Gina had been when Isla’s husband died, two years ago. She had never forgotten how Gina cooked her meals, gave up long evenings to chat, and coaxed her out during those early months. As soon as she was back in the office, Beth would feedback her concerns about Gina and alert Victim Support but, having left Isla her card and asked her to call if she was alarmed, at least now somebody nearby was watching over her.
She texted Warren to let him know and was crossing the tarmac to her car when her mobile rang out. It was her sister.
‘Hey,’ Eden said. ‘How are you doing?’
Beth rubbed the base of her neck. ‘Is everything okay?’
‘Sure. What are you up to?’
‘I’m a
t work.’
‘Oh. I thought I’d check on the arrangements for Mum’s birthday.’
‘I thought we agreed a picnic at the churchyard, 4 p.m. on Saturday.’
‘Ah. Just checking that’s still okay with you?’
‘Yes, why wouldn’t it be?’
‘No reason. Okay, I’ll see you later.’ Eden rang off.
Beth stared at the phone, bemused. For the second time in a week, her sister had called her at work; most out of character. And she detected something in her voice, a strange rasp. Beth rolled her shoulders, turned over the engine and pulled off down the street.
*
Back on her bed, Gina hugged her knees to her stomach.
Harry Underwood. Richard Moss. The detective intimated they were acquainted with Stuart, yet their names weren’t familiar. If Stuart had known them personally, wouldn’t she remember them? Although Stuart and she met with a lot of people in the course of both his job at the estate agents and his position at the council.
She worked through the details in her mind, desperately seeking some order, some rationale. Richard Moss was an employee at Whitefield’s in the Nineties, at the time Stuart was supporting them. Perhaps that explained an acquaintance. The detectives talked about Jess Adams’s suicide. They also made a point of telling her that Underwood was on the sex offenders’ register.
The police were connecting the murders. The detectives implied the men had known each other… Did they think the link was an unnatural interest in children? In Jess?
She pictured the pitiful look in Stuart’s eyes in the days after he was charged with possession of child abuse images. She’d listened to his legal team when they said he had a good case. Had she been duped? Was her judgement really that impaired that she could be married to someone, share a home with them, a child, a bed, and yet missed a propensity for the most heinous of crimes?
Three men together, possibly connected to underage children: a paedophile ring. No! Her stomach swirled with sickly acid, the idea too repulsive to contemplate. This happened to other people. It was something she might watch on the news, abhorred at the raw cruelty. The notion that her husband may have been involved in an act or series of acts with other men sickened her to the pit of her stomach. No, he couldn’t have been. She’d have known, wouldn’t she? Seen the signs.
