by Wes Markin
‘This disappearance provoked its own investigation. I have learned nothing significant from a brief look at this investigation; however, I have assigned this investigation to DC Johnson for thorough scrutiny.’
‘I am also keen to pursue the Alex Drake angle too. Sturridge claimed that he is dead and has insinuated that it was Severance. If we can retrace Drake’s final movements, then we could find ourselves in Severance’s territory, so I believe that this angle is crucial. DI Topham will pursue this lead.’
Yorke took another mouthful of water. ‘Once again, I ask you to revisit everything on HOLMES, and then check your assignments on the board at the front. I understand there is a lot going on right now, and I’m hoping that we can narrow down the field of investigation as the day wears on.’
At the front door, Susie looked up at her father’s face. He swooped her up and pinned their faces together; she liked it when he did that, even when his stubble left an itchy rash.
While he continued to rub their cheeks together, he said, ‘Susie, Susie, I love Susie,’ over and over in that familiar sing-song voice she never tired of.
Eventually, she felt stifled, and tried to pull away, but couldn’t. ‘Daddy, you’re squashing me!’
He pulled her tighter still and her whole little face seemed to fold into his cheek. She tried pleading again, but her voice was muffled. Her heart beat faster, and she opened her mouth to draw breath, but simply sucked in his skin.
She beat her tiny fists against his chest, and desperately tried to pull away, but his grip tightened further. Her father was suffocating her…
She opened her eyes, snapped her head back, banging it on the plastic behind her, and then drew breath. She threw an arm in the air, but it rebounded off the plastic back towards her. Awareness flooded in.
Trapped in a coffin.
Her eyes widened, her heart thrashed wildly, and she flattened her body against the side of the container as hard as she could, willing it to crack, burst open and release her. She was no longer alone in here.
She’d had her mouth against the face of the man lying beside her. Breathing in his skin as if it were the skin of her father.
She felt sick rising in the back of her mouth, tasted it, and clutched both hands against her mouth for when it came out. But it never did.
The man’s eyes were open, but the way they sunk into the blue face, and pointed slightly inward, confirmed the lack of life. His lips were also parted slightly, exposing front teeth; he’d either been sneering or grimacing in pain when death struck.
Her eyes rolled over his body and settled on his exposed groin which was a pulpy mess of congealed blood and torn flesh. Adrenaline came again, white-hot, but she didn’t feel the need to vomit this time. She sucked in a breath, turned on to her back and with the balls of her fists pounded at the plastic roof again and again. Her heart thrashed so hard it hurt. But she didn’t care. She was happy for it to explode in her chest rather than be trapped in here.
‘LET ME THE FUCK OUT!’
She pounded and pounded.
‘WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU DOING TO ME?’
Christian Severance now loomed over the plastic coffin. She’d recognised him earlier when he pumped some sort of gas into the coffin and knocked her unconscious. She could never forget seeing his image in the newspapers over and over following her father’s attempt to kill him. Except the papers had never revealed a picture of the destruction wrought on the boy’s face. That special surprise had been saved for today – the day she realised that she would be the one being punished for her father’s crimes.
‘LET ME OUT YOU BASTARD!’
He lay a bloody knife on the coffin and a piece of paper with the following words:
Beside you sleeps the last person who tried to escape. Now lie still or join him in his eternal slumber. The choice is yours.
9
YORKE AND GARDNER were led through a large academy that resembled a prison; a huge open space with long staircases leading up to a succession of floors with classrooms pinned back against the sides like cells. Yorke imagined the children overhanging the balconies, dropping text books on fire, chanting and demanding a shorter school day in return for ending the riot. The reality was that the students were all contained within the classrooms studying silently, giving the expansive, modern structure a quiet, and therefore, eerie feel.
They passed some modern toilets; two facing rows of individual cubicles which led into an open-plan area with basins. ‘At least there is nowhere to hide in this building,’ Yorke said, recalling a time when he was pinned up against a cubicle door by three older lads, who threatened to extinguish their cigarettes on his forehead. ‘Should cut down on the bullying.’
‘Were you bullied?’ Gardner said.
‘Can’t you tell?’
The receptionist stopped them outside the principal’s office and knocked on the door. It opened immediately.
Amanda Werrell was a severe, looming woman with cropped grey hair. She wore bifocals and a cardigan – an odd choice considering the heatwave throttling England.
She offered her hand. Her handshake was firm. Yorke and Gardner introduced themselves. She didn’t smile. Despite the solid exterior, Yorke immediately detected a fragility. His years in the force had made him wise to such pretences.
‘Please sit,’ she said, standing aside to let them pass. She closed her office door.
Yorke surveyed an immaculate desk headed with two framed photographs of a young man and woman in graduation gowns. She came around to the other side of the desk, and Yorke noticed a wedding ring. Another pretence. Yorke had done his research and knew she’d been divorced for three years now – he’d left soon after the children. She was a pillar of the community, so she was clearly just keeping up appearances.
She flattened her skirt and took a seat. Finally, she offered them a tilted smile. If Yorke hadn’t realised that she was trying to feign a pleasant demeanour, he would have assumed she was sneering at them.
Yorke began with a pleasantry. ‘I visited this school, several years ago, it’s definitely moved forward.’
‘Yes,’ Werrell said. ‘When we were converted into an academy, we were granted a new build. We were also sponsored by one of the private colleges in Hampshire.’
‘All I can remember about my own school are the leaking roofs, boarded windows and frozen pipes, Mrs Werrell. I’m glad things have moved on. Thanks for seeing us.’ Yorke pulled out a notepad and readied a pen. From the corner of his eye, he saw Gardner do the same. ‘We wanted to ask you when you last saw or heard from Christian Severance.’
It was Yorke’s turn for pretence. He had his pencil poised over the paper ready to write. He knew she’d be stunned by the question. He allowed it to play out for ten seconds.
‘Sorry.’ Yorke looked up. ‘Would you like me to repeat the question?’
Amanda Werrell took a sharp intake of breath through her nose. ‘Let me see … over fifteen years ago, I think. If you need the exact date and time, I will have to consult SIMs, our database.’
‘You can provide that later today, Mrs Werrell. What happened the last time you saw him?’ Yorke looked back down at his pad.
‘You know what happened, Detective, or you wouldn’t be here!’
‘Please answer the questions, Mrs Werrell,’ Gardner said.
‘Christian Severance disclosed his experiences with Marcus Long to the designated safeguarding lead. His parents came to pick him up. For obvious reasons, he never returned to this school.’
‘Obvious reasons?’ Gardner said.
‘He accused Marcus Long of sexually abusing him, but why are you asking me questions to which you already know the answers?’
‘It is quicker, Mrs Werrell, if we just ask the questions,’ Yorke said. ‘Did you believe the accusations?’
Werrell adjusted her glasses. ‘He’s been found guilty, so the answer is yes. I trust in our system.’
Yorke looked up at her. People who trust in t
his system aren’t usually so hostile, he thought.
‘How about before he was found guilty? Did you believe the accusations then?’ Gardner said.
Werrell chewed her bottom lip for a moment before answering. ‘It wasn’t my position to judge him. It was simply my position to act on the accusations and safeguard the child.’
‘That is the correct stance, no question, Mrs Werrell, but, could you tell me, deep down, whether you believed Marcus Long was capable of this?’
Again, she paused before answering. Not impulsive, are you? You are a very measured person.
‘I never saw anything in his behaviour to suggest this was to be the case. But when the disclosure occurred, I behaved only in the young person’s interests. Records will show that Marcus Long was immediately suspended.’
‘Was your relationship with Marcus Long completely professional?’ Yorke asked.
Werrell ripped her glasses off and started to clean them with her cardigan. ‘What do you mean by that?’
‘Did you have a relationship outside of work?’ Gardner said.
‘We were friends, yes. But I was also friends with his wife. Myself and my husband used to go out for meals with them.’
‘And how long were you friends for?’
‘Marcus started working here at roughly the same time I did – we were close, yes, I won’t deny it, but as I’ve said, on countless occasions, I never suspected that anything was happening.’
‘Were you approached by two members of staff regarding his unprofessional conduct?’ Yorke said.
‘You will know, Detective, I have denied this vehemently since the accusations were made, and I was cleared of any wrongdoing.’
‘Still,’ Gardner said, ‘I can understand one false allegation, but two. This strikes me as more unlikely.’
‘The two male PE teachers in question, who I may add, are no longer in education, were unprofessional themselves. I had spoken to both, on countless occasions, about behaving in a more adult manner with children. Granted, these two newly qualified teachers were young themselves, but that does not justify flirtatious behaviour with Year 11 girls. I caught both men changing their shirts in front of the class after a PE session. I was pursuing them for their conduct, so they saw an opportunity to turn the tables. This was all recorded, Detective, following the hearing in which I was cleared of any wrongdoing. Feel free to take a look.’
‘We have looked, Mrs Werrell,’ Yorke said. ‘And have you been in contact with Marcus Long since?’
She flinched. ‘No, I have not.’ She looked away. ‘He let us all down.’
Yorke looked at Gardner, then back at Werrell. ‘There have been some developments since then.’
Yorke had to be really careful how he explained recent events to Werrell. There were many details that the press wasn’t privy to yet. He tried to explain the link between Simmonds and Christian Severance. She knew what had happened to Severance, including the details of his disfigurement, as this had made it into the press many years previous. Yorke stressed that he wanted her to be vigilant.
Werrell shrugged. ‘But I’m innocent. Cleared of any wrongdoing. Surely he would know that?’
‘Like I said, Mrs Werrell, this is all precautionary. I need you to be aware that this investigation is ongoing, and you may be considered, by Christian Severance, as part of the chain of events that led to the incident.’
She rubbed her forehead. ‘Poor boy. He’d done so well for himself. His work for the Gates’ foundation was inspirational. I really thought he’d put the bad times behind him.’
‘We are going to station an officer outside the school, and outside your home until this is over,’ Yorke said. ‘As long as you are okay with that?’
‘I really do not think there is any need, but yes, Detective, do what you must.’
After Amanda Werrell had closed the door behind the two officers, the tears came.
She approached the desk from which the detectives had grilled her and then warned her, put her hands flat on the surface, and used it for support as her body racked with sobs.
She pulled the wedding ring from her finger and threw it across the room. It disappeared behind a bookshelf loaded with science textbooks. How she missed those days of just teaching science! Why had she saddled herself with so much responsibility?
After slipping back into the chair on which the pompous officer had sat, she closed her eyes, and remembered a time when Marcus Long had clutched her hand tightly and said, ‘I saw them together, around the back of the restaurant, all over each other. I’d suspected for a while – that’s why I followed them outside when they went for a cig. They were so engrossed in each other, they didn’t even see me standing there, watching them. It wasn’t the first time either. They knew their way around each other. Bastards, the pair of them. Didn’t you notice my shock when we were all sitting back around that table? Come here, lean on me, I’ve cried for days, don’t feel embarrassed about crying now. It’s your right. Well, I just came right out and asked her yesterday, couldn’t stew on it any longer. They’ve been at it for six months! Six fucking months! Last time was last week when we were at parent’s evening. Can you fucking believe it? While we were working to support our families! Selfish, selfish idiots.’
Werrell came out of the memory, lifted her glasses and brushed away tears.
Get control of yourself.
She closed her eyes and took some deep breaths.
She couldn’t blame the police for reopening old wounds; they were trying to protect her. Not that she believed she was in any danger, Christian Severance would have no reason to come after her. She’d been cleared of any wrongdoing and no one knew that she’d lied - apart from Marcus Long.
She closed her eyes again and remembered a time when he’d stroked her back. She’d been sitting naked on the side of the bed with her head in her hands.
‘Try not to feel guilty. We didn’t start this. Yes, they’ve told us it’s over, but does that excuse six months? Six months! Come on. We deserve this too. Some happiness. Besides, do we even know they’ve stopped? Are we tracking their every move? Their lunch breaks? I don’t trust them. Come here, Amanda, lean back. Let’s not forget. We didn’t start this. I love you.’
The thing is, at that point, she’d loved him too.
Back in the present moment, she took another deep cleansing breath and wondered if she still did.
They kept their voices down as they followed a male receptionist through the building to the exit.
‘Of course she’s lying,’ Yorke said. ‘She’s fragile, defensive, holding onto the remnants of a long-dead marriage. We may never know exactly what went on, but one thing is for sure, she tried to protect Long.’
‘But the question is – does Christian Severance know?’
‘I can’t answer that for sure,’ Yorke said, ‘but let’s assume he does. And if he does, this is a hot spot. Until the officer I requested arrives, Emma, can you stay in reception and keep an eye out? I’m not seriously expecting Christian Severance to just stroll in but let’s not take any chances. And remember Severance could have enlisted others like Sturridge. Anything is possible.’
He looked at his watch. It was past twelve. He wanted to arrive at The Wyndham Arms before Harry, so he could make it his territory.
Just before they reached reception, Yorke put a hand on her shoulder. ‘Emma, you’d tell me if you weren’t alright, wouldn’t you?’
Gardner flushed. ‘Of course, why do you ask?’
‘You seem quieter lately. You don’t seem to be bollocking me as much as you usually do.’
‘You’ve not been smoking, so there’s been no need.’
Yorke smiled, thinking about his willpower failing last night in the garden. ‘Still, you can always talk to me.’
Gardner smiled. ‘I would Mike, but honestly, there’s nothing to worry about.’
The door into the reception area opened before they reached it, and a strong smell of perfume mixed with
tobacco smoke wafted over them. Walking out of reception, wearing a low-cut top and a pair of white leggings, was a woman in her late twenties. Her make-up was bold and Yorke could see it was a desperate attempt to cover up a bad case of acne. She wore oversized hoop-earrings and clutched a small pink handbag to her side. A visitors’ lanyard bounced off her exposed midriff.
While marching behind her, a female receptionist said, ‘This is Ms Lang, sir. Here for a meeting regarding her daughter.’ She then rolled her eyes, suggesting that Ms Lang’s child was troublesome.
In reception, Yorke explained that Gardner would be staying on duty until a plain clothes officer arrived to add extra security. The receptionists were inquisitive as to why this was the case, but Yorke brushed them off as politely as he could.
He turned to Gardner. ‘I’ve got an appointment. I’ll be off the grid for an hour. Then, we’ll rendezvous back at the station for afternoon briefing unless anything else comes up. Do you have your tic-tac’s?’
Gardner smiled and tapped her jacket pocket.
Yorke smiled back when he heard them rattle.
It was boiling hot in the plastic coffin, and judging by the stench, the body next to her was decomposing. Biology was one of her interests and strengths at college, and she knew how death worked. It was clear to her that the corpse was well into self-digestion. Enzymes were eating the cells of the organs from the inside out.
Susie gagged but, as she’d done on many occasions these last few hours, managed to hold back the vomit.
She’d taken off as much as she could to cope with the extreme temperatures. Her bra and knickers were damp, and a sheen of sweat sparkled on her pale skin. However, she wasn’t prepared to remove her underwear, and allow this man, Christian Severance, to see her naked. Next to her, the face of the dead man sparkled too, not because of sweat, but rather because of the small blisters rupturing all over his body.
