Turn to Dust

by Amphlett, Rachel

  ‘No-one has a record of him,’ said Gavin. ‘They’re struggling with a lack of funding, and it sounds like that’s having an impact on the ability to keep track of homeless people in the area. He certainly didn’t apply for assistance with regard to housing, according to the people we’ve been speaking with.’

  ‘So, we have to start considering other options.’ Kay turned and tapped the map displayed on the wall. ‘In the circumstances, Gavin, I want you to work with uniform to coordinate a search of the wildlife reserve that includes the reservoir to the south of the farming land here.’

  ‘Do you think he’d manage to camp there without being seen, guv?’ said Carys.

  ‘Possibly, at this time of year,’ said Kay. ‘It’s been a harsh winter, so that might have contributed to low visitor numbers – only an avid birdwatcher or fisherman would have been brave enough to face these temperatures. Conversely, that could be something Ethan could have taken advantage of – it would be less likely someone would have spotted him.’

  Laura raised her hand. ‘Guv? Do you think he could’ve been deliberately hiding out in the countryside, rather than simply wild camping as an alternative to finding shelter in town? I mean, if he was scared, or hiding from someone?’

  ‘I do, yes. We also need to consider the possibility that he wasn’t staying in the area at all. If that’s the case, then why did he come back here? If he’s been hiding for all this time, what brought him out of cover?’

  ‘Someone must’ve dangled a bloody big carrot,’ said Barnes. ‘Something to draw him out. When you spoke with Stephen Halsmith, did he say anything about why Ethan might’ve disappeared in the first place?’

  ‘No,’ said Kay. ‘I don’t think they were close. He said Ethan just stopped turning up at the support group, and I’m guessing he had no way of contacting him.’

  ‘That was good work with the veterans’ associations, Kay,’ said Sharp, as he speared a tiger prawn with his fork. ‘I don’t think the council were going to provide the breakthrough we needed there.’

  ‘Thanks, guv.’ Kay took a sip from her bottle of beer, then scooped up another mouthful of rice. ‘God, I’m going to have to start a diet or something at this rate. We had takeaway at home last night, too.’

  ‘Are you still running?’

  ‘Not enough.’

  Sharp ran his thumb across the label on his beer bottle. ‘We need to find out where Ethan’s been these past three years or so since Halsmith said he went missing.’

  ‘I’ve had Laura contact veterans’ agencies within a two-hundred-mile radius this afternoon,’ said Kay. ‘It’s taking time, but so far his details haven’t raised a flag with any of them.’

  ‘Do you think he went to ground for all that time?’

  She shrugged. ‘If he managed to stay healthy, find enough to eat, and had shelter, I think he could’ve done. Especially given his background and training.’

  ‘And especially if he was determined not to be found.’

  ‘Well, we’ve got nothing for him through the DVLA, so he was travelling on foot – or bicycle, unless he had an unlicensed vehicle.’

  ‘Harder to hide that.’

  ‘I know.’

  ‘I suppose you’ve already tried all the local contacts we’ve got in various drug programmes?’

  ‘Yes, but I don’t think Ethan would’ve been a habitual user anyway. Nothing was picked up on the toxicology report that Lucas appended to his post mortem findings, and he didn’t note that there was any damage associated with long-term drug use.’

  Sharp used a paper towel to wipe noodle juice from his chin. ‘He wouldn’t have been able to stay in hiding for so long if he needed a regular fix.’

  ‘Exactly,’ said Kay.

  Sitting back in his chair, Sharp slid his beer bottle in circles on the desk, condensation creating a path across its surface.

  ‘I think it’s time to release his details to the public,’ he said. ‘It’s been a week, and we’ve only just managed to identify him thanks to Halsmith – and that’s yet to be corroborated.’

  ‘I did ask if he’d be willing to go over to the mortuary with Barnes to verify that it is Ethan,’ said Kay. ‘He’s agreed, but it won’t be until tomorrow morning.’

  ‘All right, so in the meantime let’s get his photo – or the sketch at least – onto the breakfast news, and see if anyone comes forward with more information.’ He leaned forward and scrawled in his notebook.

  ‘I’m going to ask Barnes to follow up the Kosovan angle,’ said Kay. ‘I’m not aware of any problems from within the community here in Kent, but someone might have overheard something that could help us.’

  ‘Good, yes – do that. Barnes can be trusted to be discreet.’

  Kay sighed, and dropped her fork into the empty foil container.

  ‘And if all of that doesn’t turn up anything, then we’re screwed, aren’t we?’

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  A fine mist cloaked the street as Kay left the police station, heading down the steps and turning left along Palace Avenue.

  She clutched the strap of her handbag over her shoulder and hugged the collar of her wool coat at her neck with her other hand, wishing she’d worn a scarf – or at least a coat that left her less exposed to the elements, such as the waxed jacket she’d left hanging on the newel post in the hallway in her haste to leave the house that morning.

  Her breath fogged the damp air as she picked up her pace and turned into the short stay car park behind the Carriage Museum.

  Despite her having no plans to work late, Sharp’s suggestion of catching up over a meal after everyone else had drifted away made sense, and they’d spent some time mulling over Carys’s decision to move on as well as the case in hand.

  She appreciated that despite his elevation through the ranks to DCI, Sharp remained a good listener – and a friend she could rely upon to see problems in a new light that she might not have considered.

  He had been more stoic about the fact they were about to lose their most experienced detective constable, and pragmatic about what Kay saw as disruption to the team.

  Besides, until they knew what additional funding or staffing decisions could be taken by those in charge of such matters at Headquarters, they could do nothing anyway.

  Kay tried to shake off her glum mood as she walked behind the vehicles that remained in the car park and headed towards the pavement that hugged the road opposite the Archbishop’s Palace.

  Traffic was light at this time of night, and she jogged across the one-way street behind a passing bus rather than stand and wait at the pedestrian crossing.

  The path separated from the road once she passed the Registry Office and cut through the Palace grounds, the mist creating an eerie softening to the occasional noise from a passing car and shrouding the ancient gravestones that stood solemnly outside All Saints Church.

  She had no fear of the dead.

  It was the live monsters that crossed her path that gave her nightmares from time to time.

  Suppressing a yawn, she nodded to an elderly man who walked past in the opposite direction with a terrier cross on a lead, the dog stopping to sniff at the base of the rowan and yew trees that lined the path.

  The doors to the fourteenth-century church remained resolutely closed; the next service wouldn’t be held until Sunday and the place wasn’t open to visitors after four o’clock. Ahead, the path dog-legged right then left, past a clutter of gravestones that huddled under the trees, shrinking away from sight as they aged.

  She enjoyed walking the short cut through to the College Road car park – it was reasonably well-lit, despite the street lamps resembling white blobs in the mist swirling off the river, and it gave a little respite from the concrete mass of the town centre after a day’s work.

  Approaching a crossroads in the path, she automatically glanced to her right and smiled.

  A number of years ago, the borough council had installed Victorian-style lanterns along the Hor
seway leading down to the water, and in the chill night air she was reminded of a childhood story about a wardrobe and places beyond.

  A split second later, she stumbled as someone barrelled into her from the direction of the car park.

  Crying out from the shock, Kay tightened her grip on her handbag and wheeled around, the shout of alarm still on her lips.

  ‘Sorry, lady. Sorry.’ A hooded figure held up her hands, backing away, her face in shadow and her tone apologetic. ‘I didn’t mean to frighten you.’

  ‘Watch where you’re going,’ Kay snapped, her heart racing.

  ‘Sorry.’

  The figure shoved her hands in her pockets, turned and jogged away through the churchyard, leaving behind a stench of unwashed clothing and body odour.

  Exhaling, Kay felt heat rise to her cheeks as she looked around her, reassessing her surroundings.

  No-one else was around; no-one else to witness her guilt and embarrassment at her reaction to the other woman bumping into her.

  Several shelters for the homeless were nearby, and she had donated to local charities via their websites from time to time.

  Yet here she was being scared out of her wits by someone who had probably just left such a place after receiving help.

  ‘Stupid.’ She berated herself under her breath, and then picked up her pace and walked under the stone archway that cut through a drystone wall and led into the car park.

  By the time she reached her car, her heart rate had returned to normal.

  Rummaging in her handbag, still cross at herself, she swore as she tried to angle the bag to see inside to find her keys, and failed. Exasperated, she shoved her hand in her coat pocket.

  Her fingers touched the familiar metal surface of her house keys alongside the plastic fob for the car, but also something else.

  Frowning, she extracted her hand and stared at the folded piece of paper in her grip.

  She had no recollection of putting it in her pocket – she’d only collected the coat from the dry cleaners two weeks ago, and today was the first time she’d worn it.

  Feint blue lines crossed the white page and, as she ran her thumb over the creases, she peered over the top of the car to the churchyard beyond the drystone wall.

  There was no sign of the hooded woman who had bumped into her.

  ‘Dammit.’

  Kay unlocked the car, threw her bag onto the passenger seat and sat behind the wheel. Leaving the door open, she unfolded the paper under the beam from the interior light.

  Her heart missed a beat as she read the writing scrawled across the page.

  I know what happened to Ethan. Meet me tomorrow. 7am – amphitheatre. Come alone.

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Kay adjusted the thick woollen scarf at her neck, cursing the fact she had forgotten to cut away the label that had been scratching against her skin.

  She peered through the early morning gloom towards the town centre.

  The towpath was deserted this morning, save for a pair of ducks who had swum up to her when she’d arrived five minutes ago before turning their backs in disgust at the lack of food she offered.

  She checked her watch.

  Two minutes to seven.

  A pair of matching takeout coffee cups stood on the first of the low concrete walls that created the amphitheatre behind the Hermitage.

  She had purchased them from a takeaway wagon running a brisk trade from a lay-by on her way into town, its usual customers a gaggle of construction workers in high visibility vests.

  She had laughed and joked with them as she waited in line, the aroma of bacon sandwiches too much to resist, which was why a bundle of greaseproof paper perched on top of each of the coffee cups.

  Now, she wondered if the woman was going to turn up.

  She sighed, and turned from the river to face the amphitheatre.

  The modern structure blended into the sloping landscape up from the watercourse and towards the back of the Hermitage. Its semi-circular concrete walls were interspersed with thick lush grass in the summer that filled with people as impromptu picnics accompanied organised plays or concerts over the warmer months.

  She cast her gaze over the damp muddy turf that had been churned up over the winter, and shivered.

  Somewhere within the hedgerow that bordered the Hermitage, a blackbird scolded before falling silent and a robin bickered a response. The traffic was starting to build beyond the building now, the rumble of lorries thundering along College Road as a weak daylight began to lift the darkness.

  She spun around at the sound of footsteps to her right.

  The woman wore an anorak, scruffy jeans and shoes that had seen better days but Kay recognised her from the night before.

  She walked towards Kay, her dark eyes peering left and right, shoulders slumped as she drew near.

  ‘I was beginning to think you’d changed your mind,’ said Kay.

  ‘I had to make sure you’re on your own.’

  The woman’s voice was thin; reedy, as if unused and unsteady, tinged with fear. ‘You are, aren’t you?’

  ‘Yes.’ Kay picked up one of the coffee cups and a warm sandwich. ‘I haven’t had breakfast. I figured you might like something, too.’

  The woman snatched the food from her, then eyed her warily.

  ‘I haven’t done anything with it,’ said Kay, impatient. ‘It came from the van up on the Sittingbourne Road. If you don’t want it, I’ll have it.’

  She unwrapped the other sandwich, sank her teeth into it, and then wandered over to one of the sets of steps built into the amphitheatre’s walls and sat. Standing her coffee cup on the step beside her, she watched as the woman licked grease off her fingers and bolted down the food.

  A flicker of a smile flitted across her face as she scrunched up the paper bag, walked across to where Kay sat and took a sip of coffee. She wrinkled her nose.

  ‘Sorry – I didn’t know if you took sugar, so I had to guess,’ said Kay.

  ‘Doesn’t matter. It’s warm. Thanks.’

  ‘You’re welcome. How did you know who I am?’

  ‘Saw you on the telly in the shelter. Asked one of the volunteers.’

  ‘Are you local?’

  ‘For now. I’m not hanging around, though.’

  ‘What’s your name?’

  ‘Shelley.’

  ‘Shelley…?’

  ‘Just Shelley.’

  ‘How did you know Ethan?’

  The woman blinked, lowered the coffee cup and stared at the horizon as weak sunlight began to lend a warmth to the air. She swallowed. ‘He saved me. Got me away.’

  ‘From who?’

  ‘Them.’

  Kay drained the last of her coffee and pushed herself to her feet before brushing off the back of her coat.

  Shelley was about four inches shorter than her, stick thin with hollow cheekbones and a sickly pallor to her skin that was amplified by the long dark hair framing her face.

  Her eyes never stopped roaming their surroundings, and she visibly jumped as a brightly clothed cyclist shot past on the towpath. The whirr from his wheels receded into the distance as she turned her attention back to Kay.

  ‘I shouldn’t have come here,’ she said.

  ‘But, here you are. What did you want to tell me about Ethan? Do you know who killed him?’

  Shelley bit her lip, then shrugged. Said nothing.

  ‘Where did you meet Ethan?’ said Kay.

  A sadness filled Shelley’s eyes. ‘Here. In Maidstone, I mean. At a shelter.’

  ‘When?’

  ‘I don’t know. About three and half years ago. Christ – feels like a lifetime ago,’ she said, her tone wistful.

  ‘Can I ask why you were there?’

  Shelley flinched. ‘I wanted to get away from my boyfriend. He scared me. I had nowhere else to go.’

  ‘Your accent – it’s not Kentish.’

  ‘Liverpool. Moved down here with my mum and dad when I was thirteen. They went back a
few years ago when my nan got ill.’

  ‘And you didn’t want to go back with them?’

  Shelley shook her head, her top lip curling.

  ‘How old are you?’

  ‘Twenty-five. You?’

  ‘Thirty-seven.’ Kay smiled. ‘Probably sounds ancient to you.’

  ‘Why did you join the police?’

  Kay took the rubbish from Shelley’s hands before wandering over to a nearby bin and shoved the cups and sandwich wrappers through the hole in the side. Wandering back to where the woman waited, she sighed.

  ‘Because I wanted to help people. Because I wanted to try to make a difference.’

  ‘And now?’

  ‘Because I love what I do. What happened to Ethan, Shelley?’

  ‘I told him it was too risky. I told him they’d find out.’

  Kay rested her hand on the woman’s arm, then pointed out a bench seat tucked away under the trees. ‘Come over here, and you can tell me all about it.’

  Shelley shuffled to one end of the seat, and hugged her arms around herself as she stared across the amphitheatre. It was several moments before she began to speak, but when she did, it was as if it were a relief to get the words out.

  ‘We were broke, all right? I’d got talking to Ethan at the shelter – a different one; the church one up the path there wasn’t around back then. He seemed okay, not like some of the blokes you meet on the street. He sort of started to look out for me.’ She gave a sad snort of a laugh. ‘He was old enough to be my dad, but better than my dad ever was.’

  Kay crossed her legs, and said nothing, waiting to understand where the conversation was going.

  ‘We’d been hanging around for a couple of months, I suppose,’ said Shelley. ‘It was autumn by then, and starting to get bloody cold at night. We’d found some cash work, picking fruit for a place up near Snodland but that was all gone and I was starting to panic about how I was going to get through winter. Then one morning – must’ve been a Saturday – we were hanging around while the market was being set up and this bloke came up to us. Said he could give us some work. Indoors, too. Told us if we were interested to be there the next morning at four o’clock and he’d drive us.’