The Silent Dead: A gripping crime thriller with a stunning twist

by Graham Smith

‘That still means you’ll have to do two sets of dental records and DNA in the hope of getting a match. Dowdy won’t be pleased about her budget.’

  Beth ignored the jibe about O’Dowd’s budget. Her mind was focussed on the various lengths of time the victims had been in the cellar. Now they had some hard facts to work with, they could focus their investigation into the victims’ identities with more accuracy, and once they knew who the two women were, could start looking at links between the victims. Furnished with an idea as to when the two women had died, they could narrow down the number of potential victims by using the missing persons’ reports.

  ‘What else have you got for me?’

  ‘That isn’t enough?’ Hewson raised an eyebrow, so Beth put a stern look on her face. ‘Okay. Judging by her teeth, Woman 1 was in her fifties. There were no distinguishing marks on what was left of her and all of her joints were her own.’

  Beth understood why Hewson commented about the woman’s joints being her own. Hip and knee replacements all had serial numbers that could be used to identify the victims.

  ‘What about Woman 2?’

  ‘I’d say mid-twenties. No distinguishing marks. She was in good health and when I checked her internal organs, other than the damage wrought by the killer, I found them to be in good condition. Her muscle tone had obviously degraded after death, but from what was left, I’d say that she kept herself in shape, but I wouldn’t say that she was obsessed with exercise.’

  Hewson bent down and scratched at his ankle.

  ‘What about the wings? Were they attached with surgical glue again?’

  A nod.

  ‘Where are they?’

  ‘In evidence bags ready for you to take with you.’

  Beth gave a polite grin. ‘I should have known, shouldn’t I?’

  ‘You should indeed.’ Hewson pointed at the bags. ‘I had a wee look at the wings; I’d say the canary, parrot and crow were from birds that he’d killed for the purpose, but I’m no expert. However, the bird of prey’s wings were different. They had a kind of lustre to them as if they’d been treated with something.’

  ‘Do you mean a lacquer? The kind of thing a taxidermist might use?’

  ‘I do and I don’t. Taxidermists soak their charges in acetone to preserve them. The wings are being tested as we speak and I am confident the results will be positive.’

  This fitted with what Beth had been thinking on the drive up from Penrith. Eric’s suggestion that the easiest way to get the wings of a bird of prey was to use a stuffed bird made sense on every level.

  ‘Did you get anything from their bloods?’

  ‘Nothing from the women, but Nick Langley’s blood shows traces of flunitrazepam.’

  Beth cast her mind back to her training. ‘That’s Rohypnol, isn’t it?’

  ‘Indeed it is.’

  ‘That explains how the killer got his victims to go down to the cellars. How he got them to stand still while he tied them up and attached the wings to their bodies.’

  ‘It does.’ The smile faded from Hewson’s face. ‘This case is affecting you. I can see it’s already changed you a little. You got upset earlier and it was nothing to do with controlling your gag reflex. If you have a bottle of wine in your fridge, do yourself a favour when you get home, leave it there. Too many good coppers start with a glass of wine or a tin of beer, only to end up borderline alcoholics. Don’t let that happen to you. Knock seven bells out of a punchbag, or go somewhere you can scream and shout at the injustices of life without anyone seeing or hearing you, but don’t get into the habit of using alcohol to mask the trauma. Trust me.’

  ‘Thanks for your concern, but don’t worry about me.’ Beth jabbed a finger at her left cheek. ‘I didn’t turn to drink when this happened, and I won’t now.’ She rose to her feet. ‘If you’ll let me have those wings for evidence, I’ll leave you to carry on with your day.’

  Even as she marched back to her car, Beth was feeling guilty for the way she’d snapped at Dr Hewson. She knew her overreaction was due to how close to the truth he’d come. The bottle of wine in her fridge would have been opened tonight. But after what he’d just said, there was no way she was having even one glass.

  Fifty

  The man folded his glasses and placed them into the case on the passenger seat of his van. Since the test drive with Sarah he’d done nothing but curse himself.

  He knew he’d come on too strong. That he’d let his eyes wander too often. That his clumsy attempts to share a joke with her had backfired. Most of all, he knew that he’d blown any chance of seeing her again after tomorrow’s visit to inform her that he wouldn’t be buying the car.

  If he had the money he’d buy the car tomorrow. That way, he could go and see her every now and again. He’d have to make silly excuses like imaginary rattles, but every time the car needed a new tyre or was due for a service, he’d be able to go to the dealership and wait around until the work was done. For him, that would be perfect; he’d just take a seat and pretend to read his paper while she got on with her day. He’d be able to admire her flawless face and desirable figure as she strode back and forth.

  The problem was, he didn’t have the money. His army pension was decent, but if he bought the car, he’d have to change his lifestyle, eradicate the meals out, save money on petrol.

  As beautiful as Sarah was, there was no way he was prepared to give up his search for angels. Especially for one who’d shunned him. Yes, she may have done it with a false smile and good manners, but he knew she wasn’t happy to have him around her.

  Painful as the experience may be, he needed to move on from her. She was an angel who’d got away and he had to let her go, give her the freedom to fly. After tomorrow he’d never see her again. That was the way it must be.

  He clambered from his van and walked into the Hare and Hounds. Wednesday’s were one of Tamara’s working days and he needed a distraction from his thoughts about Sarah.

  The bar was almost empty when he walked in. A couple of men were sitting in a corner. Judging by the slur of their voices and the glassiness of their eyes, the man reckoned that they’d been drinking since opening time.

  Tamara put down her mobile and came over to him. Her voice full of welcome. He loved that she greeted him by name and asked if he wanted the usual.

  She’d reverted back to skinny jeans rather than Saturday’s skirt, but on the plus side her hair was tied in a ponytail, which showed off her graceful neck.

  The man climbed onto a bar stool and prepared to spend an enjoyable couple of hours in the company of a beautiful young woman.

  Tamara would be his salvation. She would erase Sarah from his mind and mend his breaking heart.

  Fifty-One

  Beth returned to the office at Carleton Hall to find Thompson working alone. She recounted what she’d learned from Hewson and her own thoughts then settled down at her desk ready to update the files and fill out the necessary reports.

  Thompson gave her a look. ‘Sound like you’ve been busy, Young Beth.’

  ‘I have, Old Frank.’

  As soon as the words left her mouth, Beth regretted them. Hewson’s comment about not using alcohol as a crutch still rankled her, and now she’d gone and given the irritating Thompson confirmation that he was getting under her skin.

  ‘I did wonder how long it would take you to get sick of that.’

  When Beth looked at Thompson she saw a genuine smile.

  ‘I got sick of it at the age of eleven when I first heard it from a registration teacher. He thought he was funny. He wasn’t, but a lot of adolescent boys thought he was.’

  ‘Ouch. Did it follow you? How long did it last?’

  ‘Until I started to develop. It’s funny how boys stop taking the piss when you grow a pair of breasts.’

  Beth looked away. She was ashamed of the vehemence to her tone. The memories of mocking boys turning into gawping teens still ate at her. Worse than that, she’d just overshared with the kind of prick who’d
regurgitate her admission to anyone who’d listen.

  ‘That sounds like a typical boy thing.’ Thompson drummed his fingers on the desk. ‘For what it’s worth, you’re a good-looking woman. It’s no surprise teenage boys took an interest in you when you were growing up.’ He pointed at his own face. ‘Me, I had a face like a pizza and bugger all confidence. I married the one girl in the school who gave me the time of day, and now she can’t remember who I am.’

  Even though she knew about his wife’s condition, Beth played dumb to protect O’Dowd. ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘She has early-onset Alzheimer’s.’ He turned away from Beth. ‘She’s forty-seven and no longer recognises me, or our daughters.’

  Beth didn’t know what to say, so in place of saying the wrong thing she kept silent.

  ‘I took the girls to see her on Sunday. I agreed that it could be the last time they had to visit her. They hate going since she stopped remembering who they are.’ Thompson turned to look at her. ‘I am not sure you can ever see pain like a child saying goodbye to their mother for the last time.’

  Beth shook her head and tried not to see the hurt in his eyes. ‘No. I can’t imagine how hard that must have been for you.’

  ‘However hard you think it was, double it. I took each of my girls in by themselves, which meant I had to see it twice. My girls are hardly eating, they’re grunting at me and they spend all their time holed up in their bedrooms with music blaring.’

  ‘They’re teenagers, aren’t they? That’s what they do. It’s what I did. Give them space and time. Be there if they need you and don’t expect them to understand something you can’t.’

  Thompson wiped a hand over his face. ‘Shit, Beth. I’m sorry for dumping all this on you.’

  ‘Don’t be. I’d rather deal with this version of you than the DS Thompson who’s been nipping my head all week. For the record, I don’t know how you cope, but that’s what you’ve got to do. Keep putting one foot in front of the other. The only advice I can offer you is to try and look after yourself too. Somehow you’ve got to give yourself a break. Go for a few pints with a mate, or take your girls to the pictures, just do something that puts a smile on your face for a couple of hours.’

  ‘Thanks.’ He gave her a sidelong look. ‘I half-thought you were just a pretty face when I first met you. Then I saw the scar on your cheek, and I realised you were probably tougher than I’d realised – to be a copper with such an obvious target for abuse on your face. Then I saw you at work. You’re bright, you cover all the normal bases and then you come up with some great ideas. I shouldn’t have taken credit for your idea the other day though. That was wrong of me. You deserve better than that.’

  ‘You were a bit of a dick that day.’ Beth gave him a gentle smile. ‘Now I know why, I will try to forgive you.’

  Beth found herself wondering how many more pressures were going to show in the team’s personal lives. In less than twenty-four hours she’d had both of her superiors opening their hearts to her. It was flattering that they trusted her, but also worrying that they had these distractions while investigating such brutal murders.

  The fact her own temper had been frayed for her to snap at Thompson just hours after snapping at Hewson concerned her though. She’d endured enough abuse in the past to know the best defence was to ignore it and move on. Yet she’d still gone ahead and said her piece. Worse, she’d lashed out at a man she knew was in pain. She’d meant what she’d said to him though; she’d forgive him for his unnecessary snaps at her, but she sure as hell wasn’t going to forget what he’d tried to do by stealing her idea and then embellishing it with his own sexist take. Beth vowed to herself that every time he crossed the line, she’d call him on it.

  But it wasn’t like her to get so wound up; she realised the stresses and horrors of the case were getting to her. With both Thompson and O’Dowd struggling with personal issues, as well as dealing with the horrors of the case, Beth knew there was more pressure than ever before on her if FMIT were going to succeed with this investigation.

  It was bad enough that these heinous crimes were taking place, but the idea that the perpetrator of the killings may escape justice was something Beth couldn’t accept. She vowed to herself that she’d keep pushing forward as much as she could, because whatever happened, she wasn’t going to let any of the victims or their families down. Not when she had the memory of Angus Keane’s daughters spurring her on.

  Fifty-Two

  The atmosphere in the office was subdued. O’Dowd and Thompson were cloistered over the DI’s desk while Beth and Unthank were hard at work. Beth was going over the missing persons’ list and Unthank was looking into Nick Langley’s life.

  O’Dowd had decreed that they were to leave a lot of the donkey work to the officers DCI Phinn had seconded to their investigation. The four members of FMIT would collate, examine and work to identify the killer and his two female victims.

  Beth’s eyes flicked back and forth between the screen and the printed notes she’d made about the two unidentified victims. It didn’t take her long to find a possible match for Woman 2. Rachel Allen had set off to backpack around Europe four and a half weeks ago. Her parents had reported her missing a fortnight later when they’d heard nothing from her.

  According to the report filed by the person who’d taken the parents’ call, she’d set off from Carlisle train station and they’d never heard from her again. A perfunctory check had shown that Rachel had got on the train south only to get off again at Penrith station. The officer had gone so far as to run Rachel’s passport through the various databases. She’d never left the country. A footnote gave the officer’s thoughts; namely that they presumed Rachel had lied to her parents and run away from home.

  To Beth’s mind such thinking was lazy. There were other avenues that could have been pursued. Rachel Allen was an attractive young woman; therefore she was in the high-risk category when it came to possible abduction by rapists and murderers. On the other hand, there was no evidence to suggest that she hadn’t just run away from home.

  She put in a call to the train station at Penrith to see if they had any CCTV coverage from the day Rachel Allen stepped off the train. With luck, they may see if she met someone.

  The person she spoke to was abrupt. When she asked about CCTV footage she got a curt laugh and was told that the camera hadn’t worked for at least six months.

  Beth dug further into the file opened on Rachel Allen. When she saw the picture, she felt a mixture of elation and sadness. The face looking back at her from the screen was a happier version of the one Dr Hewson had supplied of Woman 2. While it felt good to make the connection, there was now another family who’d have to be told of their bereavement.

  ‘Ma’am, I’ve got an ID on Woman 2. She’s Rachel Allen. Twenty-two years old, from Carlisle.’

  O’Dowd looked up and gave her a nod. ‘Good work. Have you an address for the next of kin?’ The printer starting with its usual racket made O’Dowd turn her head. ‘That it?’ Beth nodded. ‘Good. Unthank, what have you got on Nick Langley?’

  ‘There’s nothing of note in his life other than the neighbour we’re getting picked up for fighting with him. His bank accounts are all normal and there’s no indication that either he or his wife were playing away from home. He’s a kitchen fitter and when I spoke to his boss, he was full of praise for both his workmanship and the way he kept customers happy.’

  ‘What’s the story with the fight?’ This part was news to Beth and she wanted to know more about it.

  ‘It was a dispute over the hedge at the back of his house. He and his wife were trying to grow it to give themselves some more privacy, when their neighbour started cutting a foot off the top of it. Nick had challenged him and the guy had just kept cutting away. Things got heated and blows were exchanged. A different neighbour dialled treble nine, but by the time someone got there, the fight had all but ended. The responding officers’ reports suggested that Nick had got the better of his
opponent. Both of them got a caution and life moved on.’ Unthank shook his head. ‘It happened last year, so it’s more than likely a waste of time speaking to the guy.’

  ‘Well, we’re going to do it anyway.’ O’Dowd lifted the sheet of paper from the printer and pointed it at Thompson. ‘Go and do the knock. Take Unthank with you.’

  ‘Ma’am.’ There was reluctance as well as obedience in Thompson’s voice.

  It was tough on him to have to go and inform Rachel’s parents of her likely death when he was so emotionally fragile, but Beth saw a certain logic to it. If Thompson was dealing with someone else’s grief, he wouldn’t be able to wallow in his own.

  As for Rachel’s next of kin, they wouldn’t get the closure of saying goodbye. Along with the killer’s work, Dr Hewson’s post-mortem had left Rachel in a condition that no parent should see. The formal identification would have to be done from the pictures Dr Hewson had taken of her before starting the post-mortem.

  ‘See if you can identify that other woman, Beth. Once the plods bring the neighbour in, we’ll see what he has to say for himself.’

  Before he left the office, Beth got Unthank to print off the details of the fight. If she was to sit in on an interview, she wanted the relevant knowledge in her head so she could make a contribution, or at the very least, not sit there looking as if she hadn’t a clue what was going on. Although, she’d already heard enough to assume it was a typical domestic argument. When in uniformed response, she’d been called out to many a dispute between neighbours. Whether it was to do with a boundary wall or hedge, or the playing of loud music, there was always a source of irritation that saw neither party willing to compromise.

  She turned back to the list of missing people, and scrolled down the database until she was looking at the names of those who’d been reported missing between four and eight months ago. This would be a lot harder than identifying Rachel Allen. Woman 1’s eyes had been removed. Her face had been eaten away, and lacking any tattoos on the scraps of flesh the animals hadn’t eaten, the best she could hope for was to narrow the list of possibilities to an acceptable number of women whose dental records would have to be checked.