Monument to Murder (14 page)

I
T WASN’T DIFFICULT
to achieve serenity under blue skies and brilliant sunshine on a long stretch of deserted beach. Emily had come here a lot with Robert. When he died, she stopped. There were too many ghosts. Too many plans for the future and promises made. Memories that reminded her of how much she’d lost.

Only when Rachel started lashing out at her had she returned, partly to get away from her daughter, mainly to clear her head and talk to her late husband in peace. Life went on here: birds flew, the sea pounded the shore and the view across open water changed
constantly as light rose at daybreak and faded at dusk. Here she finally began to grieve . . . and, later, to recuperate.

Jo Soulsby was a few metres in front of her. She seemed preoccupied today for some reason, deep in her own thoughts as she moved along the water’s edge, sturdy Hunter wellies on her feet. She stooped to pick up Nelson’s ball and lobbed it into the surf. The Labrador raced off in pursuit, returning seconds later to drop the ball at her feet for round two.

Emily selected a smooth white pebble and popped it into the pocket of her Barbour jacket. She’d suggested the trip to the beach because she needed to distance herself from HMP Northumberland, put things into perspective before they got out of hand.

She’d thought that sharing the details with Stamp would help. Turned out, that was a big mistake.

The moment he heard about Fearon’s latest escapade he’d launched into a lengthy I-told-you-so lecture. She tried tuning him out, trying to focus on the smooth pebble in her fingers, but when stress-relief tactics failed to do the trick she rounded angrily on Stamp, telling him that she was well aware Fearon was a threat, one she couldn’t afford to ignore. Nevertheless she wasn’t about to let him intimidate her.

‘At least put him on report,’ Stamp pleaded.

‘I can’t do that.’

‘You mean you won’t.’

‘OK, I won’t. I encouraged him to write his feelings down and now he has. I can hardly go running to the Governor because I don’t like the content. Besides, I’d rather know what’s going on in that mind of his.’

Kent and another prison officer jogged by, heading in the opposite direction. They were both wearing iPods so no words
were exchanged. But they acknowledged Emily with a nod as they ran by.

‘Have you spoken to
him
yet?’ Stamp asked. He was referring to Kent.

‘Ash already asked me that,’ Emily replied. ‘He gave Kent a gentle nudge in my direction yesterday but he’s been avoiding me like the plague all morning. The words bury, head and sand spring to mind.’

‘Makes two of you then,’ Stamp sniped.

Jo had overhead. She turned to join them, her glare warning the psychiatrist to back off. ‘Kent will have to see you eventually, Em. It’s either that or take unpaid leave, I heard. I’m not sure what the circumstances were, but I gather he’s had a lot of trauma in his life.’

‘So I understand.’ Emily looked at Stamp, hoping he’d bite.

He didn’t.

Turning back to Jo, she said, ‘Martin knows all about it but doesn’t think it’s his business to tell tales out of school. It’s obviously something quite personal. Apparently, Ash knows too. I made a half-hearted attempt to raise the matter earlier, but he didn’t open up either.’ Emily rolled her eyes. ‘I didn’t push it for fear I might jeopardize his relationship with Kent. To be honest, I’d rather get it from the man himself.’

Jo watched as Stamp carried on walking, obviously in a sulk. Whatever was going on between him and Emily, she didn’t want to be part of it. It was childish and stupid and it was getting her down. She threw the ball along the beach, trying to keep the dog out of the water in the vain hope that he’d dry off by the time they returned to her car.

As he bounded ahead, two figures emerged from the dunes to her left – one male, one female. They walked towards the water’s
edge, then turned right, striding purposefully, heading straight towards her. Both suited and wearing sunglasses, they looked like an FBI detail or a clip from a Madness video – except there were no baggy trousers in sight.

But then . . .

Emily had seen them too. ‘Isn’t that . . . ?’

‘Kate and Hank. Yes, I think so.’

I know so.

Jo swallowed hard.

This was going to be tricky.

There was nothing she could do to avoid the encounter. Kate had spotted her now, her step faltering as the realization dawned. Seconds later, they were face to face for the first time in a long while. Jo noticed Kate’s hair was a touch shorter and a little lighter than when they’d last met. She looked tanned and healthy, as if she’d taken a winter holiday. Jo ventured a guess at whom she might have gone with.

Fiona-bloody-Fielding in all probability.

They kissed – a peck on each cheek – Kate’s distinctive perfume affecting Jo in ways she hadn’t thought possible any more. After a moment of awkwardness, Hank shook hands with Stamp and introduced himself before turning to Emily. He hadn’t seen her since her bereavement. As he stepped forward to offer his condolences, her eyes filled with tears, one of which sat like a tiny balloon on her lower lid until gravity made it fall on to her cheek. Giving her a big bear hug, he held on until she’d regained enough composure to pull away.

Putting an arm around her shoulder, Jo told Hank it was good to see him. She meant it. She’d missed him. She’d missed them both.

‘Likewise.’ He smiled. ‘We’re heading for a jar after work. Fancy joining us?’

‘Thanks,’ Jo said. ‘But Martin and I have a squash game arranged.’

‘That’s OK,’ Stamp cut in. ‘We can play anytime.’

Jo shot him a look. ‘What, and deprive me of the chance to get my revenge?’

It was obvious to everyone that she was making excuses. Hank glanced sideways, urging Kate to say something. She didn’t flinch but must’ve felt the intensity of his stare burning a hole in her right cheek. He looked back at Jo. ‘That’s a damn shame, because we –’ he waved a hand to indicate himself and the DCI – ‘could use your help. Isn’t that right, boss?’

‘Don’t worry about it.’ Kate’s smile nearly cracked her face. ‘There are other profilers.’

‘That’s not what you said earlier!’ Hank gave her a
what-are-you-like?
look.

There was an awkward pause. After a moment, Jo said she had the time now if Kate was up for it. Glancing at Nelson – approaching fast, ball in mouth and covered in sand – she advised Kate to keep moving or she’d need a change of clothes. Kate kissed Emily, said goodbye to Stamp and told Hank to bugger off and get some exercise. Clearly he’d pushed his luck.

T
HEY WALKED FOR
a while, side by side. Jo was silent for the most part, Kate the opposite. She was overly chatty, anxious too, it seemed. She talked about Nelson, how big he’d grown, the atrocious weather, every damn thing, eventually asking after Emily and Rachel McCann.

Jo told her they were struggling, Emily in particular.

‘Aren’t we all?’ Kate said.

‘Not like Em is. She’s on another planet at the moment.’

‘She has a right to be, doesn’t she?’

‘It’s not just Robert. Rachel’s being a royal pain in the arse. That girl needs a reality check, if you ask me. Her father would have been furious at the way she’s treating Emily.’

Looking up and down the beach, Jo took in a long deep breath of fresh air. Apart from Hank, Emily and Stamp, there wasn’t another living soul to be seen in either direction. The surf was pounding the shore, great white waves rolling further and further inland before being absorbed into the sand. Both women loved this part of the Northumberland coast.

Picking up Nelson’s ball, Jo lobbed it down the beach, watching as he raced after it. He was more like a whippet than a Labrador. ‘Something bothering you, Kate?’

‘I was about to ask you the same thing. You’ve got something on your mind, I can tell. Does it have anything to do with Martin what’s-his-name?’

‘That’s very intuitive. How did you know?’

‘He was cool towards you. Is there some history between him and Emily that I’m not aware of? He didn’t seem to like it when Hank gave her a hug.’

‘You spotted that?’ Jo threw the ball again.

‘I’m a detective. Is something going on between them?’

‘In his dreams.’

‘Oh? They seemed quite close to me.’

‘They’re not.’ Jo turned towards her. ‘Well, they are . . . Let’s just say he wants to move their relationship on to another level.’

‘Talk about crap timing!’

‘You’re telling me. Actually, that’s not all. There’s this weirdo in the prison giving her a whole load of grief. It’s more than a crush, Kate. He’s obsessed with her. Martin knows about it and he’s taken it upon himself to play the hero. He’s going about it the wrong way too, undermining her in the worst way possible.’

‘So tell him.’

‘I have!’

‘Then do it properly next time. Has it occurred to you that Emily may need his help?’

Jo pulled a face. ‘She doesn’t know what she wants.’

‘And you do, I suppose.’

‘I think so, yes.’ Jo paused and turned to face her former girlfriend. She looked a bit uncomfortable as she changed the subject. ‘I
was
going to call you. Really I was.’

‘So what stopped you? Battery ran out on your mobile?’

The profiler ignored the jibe.

‘Personal or professional call?’ Kate asked. ‘I don’t like to presume we’re still mates.’

‘Don’t be like that. You know we are. We’ll always—’

‘Mates return calls, keep in touch.’

Now it was Jo’s turn to blush. ‘I thought you, me and Emily might go out and eat sometime when she feels up to it. Recapture a little of the old days. Have some fun. She needs her mates around her while she gets back on her feet. You remember how to have fun, don’t you?’

It was a dig, one Kate didn’t deserve. She was in the middle of a murder enquiry and didn’t have time to socialize, friend or no friend. Jo knew that. She back-pedalled quickly, apologized for asking, melting away the tension between them. Kate promised to call her if she found a window of opportunity in her busy schedule . . .

‘But only if you promise to pick up the phone,’ she added. ‘Where are you living now?’

‘How did you know I’m not at home?’

Kate didn’t answer.

‘You staked out my place?’

‘We don’t stake out places in the UK. We keep obs on them. I might’ve called round once or twice. You should get a neighbour to pick up your mail more often and dump some stuff in your rubbish bin, close the curtains now and then. The house
looks
empty – it’s a dead giveaway. Where did you say your place was?’

‘I didn’t . . .’ Jo hung her head, avoiding eye contact. Her face was flushed when she looked up. ‘I rented a cottage at Low Newton-by-the-Sea. I’m sorry.’

‘Nice . . . I’d love to see it.’

‘Thought you were too busy?’

‘There are some things you make time for.’

To cover her embarrassment, Jo looked at her watch, her smile fading as she realized the time. ‘Look, I’ve gotta go.’ She didn’t look happy about it.

Picking up Nelson’s ball, she began to walk towards the car park.

Kate fell in step. ‘You love the new job then?’ She was being ironic.

‘Is it that obvious?’

‘To me it is. I told you it would be pants, but you wouldn’t listen.’

‘I should have,’ Jo said. ‘There’s no point denying it. The research project doesn’t quite fire my jets like the incident room used to. Bad call on my part. Stamp doesn’t give a shit about the project either. He’s too busy chasing Emily.’

‘Want to come back?’ Kate asked. ‘To work with us, I mean. Position’s still vacant.’

Jo gave a half-smile. ‘Naylor already asked me that.’

‘And what did you say?’

‘I said I’d think about it.’

‘And will you?’

‘Depends.’

‘On what?’ Kate pulled up sharp, wanting an answer. It didn’t come. ‘Are we OK, you and I?’

Jo looked off into the distance. It was the six-million-dollar question she’d been asking herself for weeks. Could she go back? Could they? Should they? She didn’t answer, just turned away and kept on walking.

T
HEY HAD HARDLY
said goodbye when the text came in. Kate reached into her pocket. Instead of pulling out her phone, she pulled out her car keys. Handing them to Hank, she told him to go on ahead and wait for her in the car. As he set off along the narrow winding path through the dunes, she turned towards the advancing sea, her eyes dwelling on the dramatic scenery as she accessed the message she suspected was from Jo.

It was.

Kate smiled.
About the case. About them. About any bloody thing so long as they were talking and she had Jo’s ear. She wasn’t arsed what the topic was.

Glancing along the strip of sand to her right, she caught sight of Jo about seventy-five metres away. She was making her way slowly off the beach, head bowed, her sole focus the phone in her hand.

Seconds later, she was gone.

On the fringes of the dunes, Kate sat down on a tuft of rough grass. She was about to respond to the message when a second text arrived in the light blue chat box beneath the first.

Daniels keyed a quick reply:
NOT ON THE PHONE. CAN YOU GET AWAY FROM THE PRISON FOR AN HR OR TWO THIS PM?

Daniels grinned.
I’VE ALREADY TOLD BRIGHT YOU’RE COMING BACK.

There was a short pause:
GIVE ME AN HOUR.

J
O MADE IT
to Alnwick Police Station a few minutes earlier than expected and was escorted upstairs by someone who happened to be entering the station at the same time. She looked amazing in a figure-hugging navy suit; shirt unbuttoned a touch, high-heeled boots – a complete contrast to the dog-walking gear she’d been wearing at the beach.

She sat down beneath the windowsill.

Kate looked outside.

The sun had disappeared and it was beginning to cloud over. More heavy snow was forecast. By the looks of the sky it wouldn’t take long to arrive. It meant a longer stay at the B & B for the whole team, a thought that didn’t exactly fill her with joy. She was about to ask Jo a question when her office door opened and Hank walked in, a mug of tea in his hand.

They got straight down to business.

Jo agreed to work up a profile in an unofficial capacity and was briefed on the case. The more she knew, the better equipped she would be to make a judgement on the type of perpetrator they should be looking for. The only thing Kate omitted was the fact that she had a suspect in her sights.

In truth, there was no hard evidence against John Edward Thompson beyond the knowledge that he was local to the area and liked to dress his victims up. So what if he’d legged it when confronted by a police officer earlier in the day? That didn’t mean he was a candidate for a double murder. They would have to wait until he was picked up to determine that.

‘I requested a comparison on the kids play pearls,’ she concluded. ‘We may have got lucky with the provenance of—’

‘So soon?’ Jo was surprised.

‘Rush job. Plastics expert just confirmed a positive match on all three sets.’

‘Three sets?’ Jo asked.

Kate explained about her own set of pearls. Her hope that they might be a match for those found on Nominal One – the unidentified child who’d been in the ground the longest – and those supplied by a local woman who claimed to have received hers on Coronation Day 1953.

‘Their manufacture and composition is identical,’ she said, before rewinding slightly. ‘Given the killer’s return to the crime scene, it goes without saying that the burial site is crucial. That much was obvious from the moment the second body was unearthed. We’re assuming the offender might have lived or holidayed in Bamburgh at some time in the past.’

‘Do you still have a beat bobby there?’ Jo asked.

Kate shook her head. ‘There used to be a police house in the village, but it’s now in private hands. These days it’s just a case of someone doing a drive-through to show the flag occasionally. Once upon a time we’d have gone to see the collator. By the time he’d had a fag and made himself a cuppa, he’d have recalled every last incident and told us, “I know what this is about . . .” And we’d have been in possession of stuff it would take us months to assemble nowadays.’

‘But you have super-duper computer systems.’

‘They’re only as good as the person who inputs the information,’ Hank told her. ‘Good indexers are hard to come by.’

‘He’s right,’ Kate said. ‘If you use HOLMES in the way it was intended, following all its rules and conventions, then it’s a fabulous
tool. But free-text searches don’t actually work very well. If the terms are too broad, you get too many responses. It’s like Google: key in the wrong search criteria and you’re screwed. I’ve raised an action to trace all officers who’ve been stationed in, or had responsibility for Bamburgh in the past. I’m hoping to jog a memory or two.’

‘Retired officers too, I take it?’ Jo said.

Hank nearly inhaled his tea. ‘That’ll not be hard. There’ll only be three of them in the last half-century. Once they get in there, you need a shoe horn to get them out. Salty Sam was there for twenty-odd years that I know of!’

Jo chuckled. ‘Who’s Salty Sam?’

‘Tell you over a pint sometime.’ He paused. ‘You miss having a laugh with us, doing something worthwhile, don’t you?’ He didn’t look at Daniels and therefore had no idea that she’d tuned him out. ‘We miss having you around, Jo. Well, personally I can take you or leave you. But Kate does. Don’t you, boss?’

‘The Coronation was a long time ago . . .’ Kate was thinking out loud rather than addressing the others. ‘Even if the offender was a kid in 1953, he’d have to be over fifty-eight years old by now, if my maths are correct. What do you reckon, Jo?’

Gormley sighed, exasperated with her insensitivity.

‘What?’ Kate realized she’d missed something.

Hank was already staring into space.

‘Forget it,’ Jo said. ‘Wasn’t important.’

‘Will someone tell me?’

Jo carried on as if she hadn’t heard her. ‘I don’t think you’re looking for an elderly male.’

‘What makes you say that?’ Hank asked.

Now they were tuning Kate out.

‘I think it’ll be someone much younger,’ Jo said. ‘The offspring
of a recipient of the pearls, or someone who’d been given them to play with, as Kate was.’

‘But therein lies our problem,’ Kate butted in. ‘If we’re looking for a descendant of a female recipient, wouldn’t it be a woman? I mean, what man would want to hold on to a set of cheap plastic pearls? I’m not ruling out a female offender altogether, but I don’t believe a woman was responsible, do you?’

Gormley gave an emphatic: ‘No.’

‘Me either,’ Jo said. ‘But I agree that after the crime scene those pearls are the most significant clue to follow. It can’t be a coincidence that the victims were wearing similar jewellery. Logic would suggest it must mean something to the killer.’

‘Yeah, but what?’ Hank asked. ‘Our crystal ball isn’t working today.’

‘Your guess is as good as mine,’ Jo said. ‘The more we talk about this case, the more inclined I am to think it might involve an act of devotion.’

Hank’s interest grew. ‘Like a sacrifice, you mean?’

‘God, I hope not,’ Kate said. ‘We’ve got enough to cope with.’

‘Sacrifice is not a word I’d care to use,’ Jo said.

‘But you wouldn’t rule it out?’ Gormley pushed.

‘Or in,’ Jo countered. ‘Not yet anyway.’

‘What word
would
you use?’ Words like
tribute
and
homage
barged into Kate’s thoughts. ‘Are you suggesting the crazy bastard is somehow marking his respect?’

‘Nah,’ Gormley screwed up his nose. ‘People lay flowers to mark respect, not dead bodies!’

‘Not if they’re completely unbalanced,’ Jo reminded him.

Running the scenario in her head, Kate picked up her pen and wrote:
MO searches: crimes involving any kind of devotion/sacrifice
. She looked at Jo, still trying to come to terms with such an outlandish
theory. ‘You think these murders were triggered by the long-term effects of separation? A permanent one? A death?’

‘Possibly.’

‘Blimey, you two are fun to be with.’ Hank looked at the SIO. ‘How d’you make that leap?’

‘I’ve been around Jo long enough to have picked up some tips.’

‘Oh yeah?’ He grinned. ‘What tips would they be?’

‘Shut up and concentrate, Hank! There’s a clear parallel here. This is beginning to make sense to me. My pearls were kept for that very reason.’ Registering Jo’s confusion, she added, ‘Long story – my father’s twin sister died shortly after receiving them – I won’t bore you with the details.’

‘I didn’t know Ed had a sister!’

‘Neither did I, until yesterday. We already know that the death of a family member can be completely devastating, psychologically speaking. Remember Makepeace?’ She was referring to a previous murder case where a man had taken revenge several years after the death of his only daughter. ‘Would it make a difference if the bereaved person was very young at the time?’

‘Why?’ Jo asked.

‘No reason.’

‘Then why ask?’ Jo pressed her.

‘It has no bearing on the case,’ Kate sighed. ‘Or maybe it does . . . My dad lost his twin sister when he was four years old. It’s a wonder he remembers her at all. Instead of dealing with it, he buried it. I’m talking figuratively, not literally. You should’ve seen him when he was telling me about it. All these decades later, it’s obvious that he still hasn’t come to terms with it.’

‘It’s not uncommon,’ Jo said. ‘I’m not talking about your father in particular, but kids who lose significant family members can
become completely detached, unable to form bonds like the rest of us. The human psyche is complex. Some people withdraw. In extreme cases – rare ones, thankfully – it can lead to the equivalent of mental meltdown. The majority internalize it—’

‘And the minority?’ Hank asked.

‘A tiny percentage may say and do things the rest of us would find abhorrent. A killer’s motivation isn’t always fuelled by hate, Hank. Love is as powerful an emotion. In this context it’s twisted love, but love all the same. For some, the trauma of losing a loved one is so strong they are driven to kill.’

‘Like Nilsen, the Muswell Hill Murderer,’ Hank offered. ‘Weren’t his crimes sparked by loss?’

‘It’s true Nilsen claimed his grandfather’s death sowed the seeds of his psychopathy, but he was a necrophiliac, murdering his victims to feed – no pun intended – his fascination with corpses. I don’t buy his explanation for killing those young men—’

‘I agree,’ Kate said. ‘He was a sexual predator offloading his guilt.’

‘I take it there was no sexual element in this case?’ Jo queried. ‘You never mentioned—’

‘We can’t tell,’ Kate said. The room descended into silence for a while. Then she spoke again. ‘Maybe we
are
looking for someone exactly like my old man, an adult who was a child when they lost a female family member, someone who later inherited her stuff. Think about it: the demographic of Bamburgh is white, middle class, wealthy . . . elderly. Stop me if this seems too much of a long shot.’

‘No, I think you’re on the right track,’ Jo said. ‘As far as I’m concerned it’s highly plausible. A female recipient dies and the pearls are a reminder of that person – a beloved mother or grandmother perhaps? You said yourself the victims were dressed in adult clothing.’

‘We’d assumed that was done to put us off the scent. To conceal the fact that the victims were kids.’ Kate’s focus shifted to Jo. ‘Maybe we were wrong! Maybe the killer dressed his victims up to look like an adult to replicate the person he’d lost. It’s worth a trawl of parish records, a cross-reference to the names of miners our outside team comes up with.’

Her words hung in the air. The notion that Bamburgh Castle or Holy Island – two of the most revered places in Northumberland – could be some kind of macabre monument to murder stunning them into silence.