The DCI Yorke Series Boxset

by Wes Markin

  ‘Let’s start with the barn,’ Jake said, pointing towards the wooden shack which was being immolated by the glaring sun.

  When the pigs became unsettled again, flashing their jagged teeth at one another, and pounding the floor until clouds of hay and shit billowed into the air, Joe knew with certainty that someone was coming over to the barn. Paul did too; his head trembled in his lap.

  ‘We’re in danger Dad.’

  He stroked Paul’s hair. ‘No, we’re safe.’

  The pigs disagreed; they continued to barge and clamber over each other, scratching their thick hides against the wooden walls.

  ‘I’ll never go near another pig again,’ Paul said.

  Joe smiled and kissed him on the forehead. ‘That’s really going to annoy your mother when she makes you a bacon sandwich on Sunday.’

  Paul managed a smile, but then his eyes filled with tears again.

  Joe pulled his son tighter against him. ‘I won’t let anything happen to you, I promise.’ And while rocking his terrified boy, Joe looked up at the roof and prayed for the police.

  Beneath the blanket that kept her withered limbs warm, Stella checked the gun Lewis had given her was ready. Then, after Martha and the policeman had made their head start, she juddered down the ramp installed at the other side of the veranda.

  The years and the disease had been unkind to her appearance, but she was experiencing a period of remission and her senses were sharp; she could see, even at this distance, the policeman bending down and scooping up some dirt. God knows what he hoped to achieve with that! Still, if the nosy copper wanted to go into the barn, that’d be a different matter and they’d have a big problem. If he made the request, she’d have no choice but to put a bullet in his back and empty his belligerent head into the swill for the pigs to eat.

  She followed as fast as her wasted arms would allow – and they were stronger than they looked. She also enjoyed the energetic snow, which no longer seemed to spiral, but instead came in slanting skeins like falling guillotine blades.

  The snowflakes were coming faster, creating confusion.

  Can I trust my senses? Jake thought.

  If he couldn’t, then he was putting himself in danger.

  He didn’t expect to be ambushed here by a crabby old woman and her special daughter, but he had to be alert. After all, out here, with nothing for miles around, who would come to his aid if he did get into trouble?

  No wonder they were struggling to get this boy back. In this emptiness, who notices anything out of the ordinary? Who phones in unusual occurrences?

  No wonder the Ray disease had always prospered so well in isolation.

  The barn ahead jutted out of the ground at an awkward angle, almost as if it had resisted being built there, and had squirmed under the builder’s hands until it had become lopsided. The noise of pigs festering inside made Jake’s stomach turn and he regretted his mouthfuls of processed ham the night before.

  ‘They’re certainly making a racket,’ Jake said to Martha as they reached the door.

  ‘They always do, they think it’s their time. Mother says they’re even more intelligent than me.’

  ‘Well, you strike me as quite a bright young lady.’

  Under her white, fleece-lined trapper’s hat, which she put on before leading him out here, her pale face suddenly reddened.

  There was a screech as a blast of ice-cold wind drove over the farmyard. Jake shivered and the pigs squealed louder.

  ‘Poor bastards,’ Jake said and then put his hand over his mouth. ‘Sorry.’

  ‘It’s okay, Mother has a worse tongue.’

  Jake headed over to the barn door and took hold of a rusty padlock hanging from it, ‘The key?’

  When Martha didn’t reply, he turned around to see that the redness had gone from her cheeks.

  ‘Why?’ Martha said.

  ‘So I can have a quick look inside.’

  She took a step back. ‘Mother says you should never disturb them unless necessary.’

  ‘It is necessary.’

  Jake could see Stella wheeling toward them.

  Incredible, Jake thought, the woman looks half-dead and here she is braving the elements.

  ‘Have you got the key Martha or shall I ask your mother?’

  Martha looked like she was about to cry. ‘I have the key.’ She rustled in the pocket of her jacket and handed it over with a trembling hand. ‘Be careful.’

  But she said it so quietly that Jake could barely hear it over the frenzied sound of pigs and wind.

  Joe watched the roof. Watched the dust motes swirl in the shafts of light spearing the barn and watched the cobwebs shimmer on the gables like filigree jewellery.

  But nothing could distract him from what was coming. The padlock on the door rattled and in his belly, fear bubbled like boiling swill.

  Moments later – moments which seemed to last forever – he heard the key in the padlock, and the clunk of it being unlocked.

  The bubbles of fear exploded in his belly, and he held his son as hard as he could. He peppered Paul’s tear-drenched face with kisses.

  ‘What’s he going to do to us, Dad?’

  ‘Nothing,’ Joe said, staring down at the mouse-grey, hay-strewn, cold-earthen floor, making sure his eyes and the lie in them were hidden from his son. ‘Absolutely nothing.’

  Stella watched Jake take the key from Martha, and thrust it into the padlock. She lifted the gun from beneath the blanket.

  Readying the weapon several metres from her target, she smiled at her daughter, who turned away with tears in her eyes. She wanted to shout over to her, tell her how pathetic she was. But she had a better idea as she watched the copper open the door.

  Seeing his guts might just harden her up some.

  14

  LOOKING AT THE Pettmans’ terraced house from beside the bus shelter on the opposite side of the road, Yorke caught some snowflakes in the palm of his hand. Definitely firmer than before. He rubbed them away between his thumb and forefinger. Icier too.

  He turned around and looked at the bus shelter where Lacey had been sitting and watching Sheila almost an hour ago.

  What are you up to Lacey?

  He crossed the road and met Willows, who was shielding her eyes with the back of her hand from the sun glaring over the rooftops behind him.

  Behind her were two officers he recognised from the school. They were still talking to Sheila Pettman, who was safe. Thank god.

  ‘Did Lacey approach the house?’ Yorke said.

  ‘Yes – she approached and stared in from behind the garden wall, before turning back and catching the bus.’

  ‘To where?’

  ‘Andover, but it stops in town.’

  ‘Contact the bus company – get them to check cameras, find out which stop she got off at.’

  ‘Will do.’

  ‘How’s Sheila?’

  ‘Shook up, but not just because of the visit. Lacey Ray posted a memory stick too.’

  ‘Go on.’

  Willows took a deep breath. ‘DS Pettman and Lacey were having ... relations on the video.’

  ‘Sex?’ His word shot out on a spear of icy air.

  ‘Err ... yes, sir, but years ago, when they were much younger. Not now.’

  ‘Still. Lacey’s really stirring things up. Here we are trying to help her family as she tears another one apart! She’s gone too far this time. Collette, we need to find her, and find her quick.’

  In a small conference room at the Salisbury Cathedral School, Yorke drank two cups of coffee while Phil Holmes was being brought to them by Laura Baines, the head teacher. He only drank this quickly when his instincts were fired up.

  ‘It’s boiling in here,’ Gardner said.

  ‘Schools,’ Yorke said. ‘My memories of them are based around excessively heated classrooms.’

  ‘How are we doing this then?’ Gardner said.

  ‘We start with you interviewing him regarding the assault on Lacey, make him f
eel that this is his primary reason for us being here; if he doesn’t give us any indication that he’s connected to the case at this point, I’ll move in, chip away, see if he’s connected to the kidnapping.’

  ‘You think we’ll find anything?’

  Yorke reached for a third cup of coffee.

  The door opened and Laura led Phil in.

  ‘Hello, Mr Holmes,’ Yorke said.

  He was dressed in a suit and his hair was tied back into a ponytail. As usual, he avoided eye-contact. Instead, he stared over them at a row of pictures of previous headmasters. ‘I’m very busy.’

  He peeled off his leather jacket; Yorke half expected steam to rise from the heavy-set man like a split jacket potato. He took a seat at the head of a circular table. Gardner and Yorke sat to one side of him.

  ‘Can you talk us through what you did last night?’ Gardner said, immediately taking the lead.

  ‘Which part?’

  ‘The part with Lacey Ray?’

  Phil continued looking over them as he spoke. ‘Nothing important. I went to her apartment. We spent some time together and then I left.’

  ‘Can you define “time spent together?”’

  ‘That’s a silly question,’ Phil said, bringing his gaze down from the parade of headmasters and making eye-contact with Gardner for the first time.

  She leaned forward and opened a brown folder on the black, varnished table. ‘Just after you left, she called the police and reported an assault.’

  ‘An assault?’

  ‘Yes - I thought you could help us with that.’

  ‘I never touched her.’

  ‘That’s not what she claims.’

  ‘She’s lying,’ he said, looking at Yorke for the first time.

  ‘Can you talk me through what happened last night, please?

  ‘So, can you be more detailed as to what happened last night?’ Yorke said.

  ‘I arrived at ten-past eight, ordered a Chinese from Happy Wok, watched TV, slept with her and left.’

  He sounded robotic; recalling facts like he was reading from a shopping list. Where are your emotions?

  ‘And you never hit her?’ Gardner said.

  ‘No. Are you going to arrest me?’

  ‘She’s not pressing charges.’

  Yorke looked for the look of relief on his face; he couldn’t see any.

  ‘Good, because I’ve not done anything.’

  He felt it was time to move in. ‘So why do you think she’s done this. Made up this story and then refused to press charges?’

  Phil shrugged and ran his fingers over a scratch on the table. ‘I’ve no idea.’

  ‘Do you like her?’

  ‘Yes, but she likes to control.’

  ‘In what way?’

  ‘In every way.’

  ‘Sexually?’

  Phil didn’t answer, content to continue fiddling with the scratch.

  Yorke leaned over to make some notes. ‘Has she mentioned her missing family to you?’

  They locked eyes. A rare occurrence. Yorke searched for a reaction. He was usually good at doing that. Usually, but not this time.

  ‘In passing.’

  ‘Just in passing! Does that not strike you as strange?’

  ‘It’s none of my business.’

  Yorke turned to Gardner and leaned over to whisper in her ear. He didn’t actually say anything meaningful, just ‘I’m going to up the tempo’, but he did it to make Phil feel less comfortable.

  ‘I would be happy with everything you’ve told me, Mr Holmes, but for one problem: if you didn’t hurt her, who did?’

  ‘That’s your problem, not mine.’ His eyes fell away again.

  Am I boring you? ‘What time did you leave her place?’

  ‘Five-past eleven.’

  ‘That’s precise.’

  Phil didn’t respond.

  ‘Tell me, what drew you to working at this school, Mr Holmes?’

  ‘A good job.’

  ‘How did you find it?’

  ‘They advertised online. It was a long contract.’

  ‘How long?’

  ‘Twelve months.’

  Yorke looked down at his notes. ‘Of which you’ve completed six months.’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Is it well-paid?’

  ‘Reasonably.’

  ‘How much?’

  ‘Fifty-five thousand for the year.’

  ‘And how has the last six months been?’

  ‘Hard work.’

  ‘How so?’

  ‘Setting up a VLE is time-consuming.’

  ‘But you enjoy it?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Did you ever meet Paul Ray?’

  Phil locked eyes with Yorke again. ‘I’ve been interviewed about that twice already.’

  ‘I know. But you have to see it from our perspective, you work at the school where Paul was abducted, and then you are suddenly in a relationship with the child’s aunt. In my experience, coincidences are always worth following up on.’

  ‘I thought I’d explained myself well.’

  Yorke glanced at Gardner. He wondered if she was holding back a laugh too.

  ‘Up until now, Mr Holmes, you have been vague in interviews. Worryingly so.’

  Phil fiddled with his watch. ‘Social anxiety. Never been good in these situations.’

  ‘Are you being treated?’

  ‘I used to take tablets. They made my head cloudy.’

  Yorke made some notes. He then opened his folder and slid a picture across the table. It was a still shot from outside the Sapphire restaurant. ‘That’s the man who took Paul Ray. Apart from the facial hair, he looks very similar to you; he even has the same long hair.’

  ‘It’s not me. I was in the school.’

  Yorke stared. If the man was having any reaction to this, he was burying it deep.

  ‘Look at the time,’ Yorke said, tapping the digits in the corner of the photo. ‘That was much later, after I’d left. The poor boy had been waiting in the van, hadn’t he?’

  ‘I don’t know what you’re talking about. I didn’t know the boy.’

  ‘Yes, so you keep saying. You have very little to do with the children. In a school! Do you not think that’s odd?’

  ‘Sometimes they see me with ICT problems, but there are many children, and I don’t form personal relationships. At least, not easily.’

  ‘Apart from with Lacey Ray?’

  ‘She approached me.’

  Yorke pretended to read his notes. ‘That day I saw you, you had damp hair?’

  ‘I’d been playing squash and had just showered.’

  ‘Are you allowed to play squash during work hours?’

  ‘There’s no rule. I don’t work standard hours. Some nights I stay late.’

  ‘Who did you play with?’

  ‘I played alone.’

  ‘Played squash alone?’

  ‘Practising my serve.’

  ‘Did anyone see you?’

  ‘I didn’t speak to anyone.’

  ‘It’s just there was a lot of blood at the scene of the kidnapping. Whoever put it there may have had to wash.’

  Phil shrugged and looked up. ‘Ask the PE staff. Maybe, someone saw me?’

  Yorke slid another photo over the table. This time it was the photo Harry had taken outside the barn.

  Phil glanced at it.

  ‘Would you say that was the same man on the other photo, the one that looks like you?’ Yorke said.

  ‘I don’t know. It’s not good quality.’

  ‘Do you know where that is?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Did you know Thomas Ray?’

  ‘Heard of him. I know what he did. Saw that he was dead on the news today. I’ve never met him.’

  ‘Where were you yesterday at two PM?’

  ‘Here, working, of course.’

  ‘Did anyone see you around that time?’

  ‘Staff are always stopping in. I can check my computer ac
tivity around that time, I’m sure I can find someone I was helping.’

  Yorke looked at Gardner and gestured for her to go outside with him. ‘Excuse us a moment, Mr Holmes.’

  Outside, with the door closed behind them, Yorke said, ‘What do you think?’

  ‘There’s clearly something wrong. We need to get this social anxiety confirmed.’

  ‘We’re lacking motivation though. Apart from his fling with Lacey, what is his connection to the Rays? I’m going to have his background thoroughly investigated. He’s ambiguous with most of his answers, but most notably with his visit to the school sport’s facilities. Head down to the sports hall and see if anyone saw him first period on the day of the kidnapping playing squash or having a shower. Then, could you find out if he was seen at the school between two and three PM yesterday during the time of Joe’s abduction? I’m going to talk to Laura Baines again.’

  ‘Have you seen the papers today?’ The frosty, well-spoken head teacher said, staring up at him over her spectacles.

  Yorke nodded, closing her office door behind him.

  ‘They’re dragging us through the mud.’

  Accidental classroom injuries and minor complaints made by students against staff over recent years were being pulled to the surface.

  ‘Yes.’ Bad for business, Yorke thought. ‘It’ll blow over, it always does.’

  ‘So, did you find out what you needed to know about Phil Holmes.’

  Yorke pulled up a chair. ‘What can you tell me about him?’

  ‘Surely you don’t suspect him.’

  ‘We just want to rule him out, Mrs Baines.’

  ‘Okay, what can I tell you ... he’s quiet and reserved. He does not have anything to do with the other staff really, apart from when he’s helping them with an IT issue. But he’s effective, very efficient actually. He was the best candidate for the job, and his CRB check came back fine. He’s been solid for six months. As I said, he’s quiet, but I could say all this about some of my other teachers too.’

  ‘He claims he has social anxiety. What do you think?’

  ‘Well he isn’t much of a conversationalist, and does have an annoying habit of avoiding eye contact, but I’ve come across many people like this. I just assumed he liked gadgets, and preferred to spend his time with them rather than people.’