Monument to Murder (23 page)

T
HEY MADE GOOD TIME
. Even managed to snatch a few hours’ shuteye at a hotel in Beverley, the East Yorkshire market town closest to Maxine O’Neil’s home. Carmichael woke Kate Daniels shortly before six to advise that the missing-person file had an important note attached. Anyone with information should seek out PC Ailsa Richards, a community liaison officer at the town’s police station.

‘She has close links with the family,’ Carmichael said. Her voice sounded thick, the result of another late night and very early morning. ‘She was the first to attend when Maxine went missing. I managed to catch her going off duty an hour ago. She’ll stay on and meet you there at seven.’

‘Thanks, Lisa. Anything else?’

‘No, not yet.’

‘Call you later then.’

Hanging up, Kate rang Gormley’s room to make sure he was up and about, then jumped in the shower and joined him for breakfast. There was no way either of them could face the day without fuel. They ate in silence, neither with any real appetite for food – much less for informing the dead girl’s parents that they would never see their child again.

Kate wondered if the O’Neils were the type to leave their daughter’s stuff untouched, as was often the case when children went missing. She’d known cases where Christmas and birthday presents had lain unopened for years. One family kept a burning candle in the window the whole time, a beacon of hope they firmly believed would guide their loved one home to them.

It didn’t.

That depressing thought matched the weather outside. A veil of
dense fog shrouded the outskirts of Beverley, making travel difficult. What little traffic there was on the road appeared out of nowhere like dark smudges on a white canvas, rendering headlights useless as drivers picked their way cautiously along.

They were late getting to the nick but PC Ailsa Richards was waiting in reception when they arrived. She gave them the hard copy of the missing-person file, confirming that she’d sent a copy electronically to Carmichael. Then they adjourned to a quiet office where they could talk without fear of interruption.

Ailsa Richards was about twenty-five years old, shorter than the average copper, with fair hair cut in a bob. She had an interesting face, a slightly crooked nose that had obviously taken a beating at some point. Her eyes were the colour of cornflowers, the left one with a green fleck in it the DCI couldn’t stop staring at.

She sat down, gestured for the other two to do likewise and then focused on the Humberside officer. ‘I understand you’re close to the O’Neil family, is that correct?’

PC Richards nodded. ‘Yes, ma’am.’

‘Are you properly involved with them, or is that a load of bollocks?’

‘Ma’am?’

‘Drop the ma’am, Ailsa. No offence intended, but people write things on forms that aren’t true sometimes.’

‘Not in this instance, I can assure you.’ Richards stood firm. ‘I’m not sure how you deal with things in Northumbria, but here in Humberside we try to do things right. I promised the family I’d keep them updated of any developments, big or small, good or bad. I’ve kept my word, visiting every three months for the past five years, never missed once.’

‘That’s good to hear.’ Kate meant it. If she was any judge of
character, this officer was not only truthful, she had balls. She liked that. ‘I hope you understand my need to be sure. This is going to be a difficult day for everyone involved. The family don’t need a fuck-up and neither do I.’

The PC didn’t flinch.

Daniels studied her closely. It was important to see the whites of her eyes and work out how well or ill-equipped she was to deal with something as sensitive as a death message. To an outsider, they were all much of a muchness. But to anyone charged with the task of delivering them on a regular basis, there was a world of difference. The death of an elderly relative was often half-expected; the sudden death of a young person was deemed somehow worse; in the case of a road accident, an element of bad luck came into the equation. Most people understood and came to accept that eventually. But the deliberate, violent and senseless deaths, the ones where murder was involved, those were another matter entirely.

And then there was the worst type of all.

On a sliding scale of one to ten, the kind of death message Kate was about to deliver was in a league of its own. The O’Neils had waited five long years to hear news of a much-loved daughter. It was hard to imagine how they had coped, every single day dragging painfully on to the next, keeping themselves going by clinging to the hope that Maxine was out there somewhere. Living a new life – happy, even.

‘The O’Neils have other children?’ Gormley asked.

The PC nodded. ‘Two boys and a girl.’

‘How old?’

‘Twelve, nine and five.’

‘Mrs O’Neil was pregnant when Maxine when missing?’ Kate queried.

Another nod. ‘Seven months.’

The DCI glanced at Gormley, an unspoken message passing between them. From the look of him, his antenna had raised just as hers had. They were both remembering an enquiry they had worked some years ago where the victim’s father had turned to her for sex when his wife, the girl’s mother, was heavily pregnant. The girl threatened to go to the law, so he silenced her for good, concealing her body in the bottom of a chest freezer under legs of lamb and pork chops.

‘Who’ll tell them?’ the PC asked. ‘You or me?’

‘Depends on how you feel about that.’ Kate looked at Richards. When she made no comment, the DCI made an observation: ‘You know them personally, I don’t. But I can’t have you getting upset. If you’re going to do that, it’s best that I tell them.’ She paused, allowing her comment to sink in. ‘Do you usually ring before you visit?’

‘I didn’t used to, but . . .’ Richards looked away.

‘Let me guess. Every time you went to the door, every time they saw a Panda in the street, they were shitting themselves, right?’ Richards answered with a nod. Kate noticed the green fleck in her eye twitching slightly. ‘Well, as soon as they see me and DS Gormley they’ll know.’

For a moment, no one spoke.

‘I’m tempted to say if you want to do it, you do it, and if you look like you’re going to bottle it, I’ll interrupt. Question is: have you done it before?’

The PC shook her head.

‘Then this is no time to start, Ailsa. There’ll be difficult questions to answer. In situations like these you can’t afford to pull your punches. There are no mistakes to be made, get me? I can see you don’t want to do it and that’s perfectly fine. There’s no shame in that. How about I do it? I know you’ve been up all night but it would
really help me out if you were on hand to pick up the pieces when I leave. Are we agreed?’

‘Thanks, boss.’

‘C’mon then, let’s get it over with.’

A
T THE END
of her fifth consecutive nightshift, PC Ailsa Richards looked shagged out as she climbed into the Q5 and rode up front with Daniels. Gormley took the back seat, the missing-person case file open on his knee, speed-reading as they made their way through the back streets. The fog hadn’t lifted any. They could hardly see a hand in front of their face as they skirted the edge of town. There was nothing to recommend being out and about.

Even less the reason for their journey.

‘So, Ailsa . . . what is it you’re not telling me?’ Kate turned left and then glanced at her brooding passenger. ‘You have something important to say, I’d like to hear what it is.’

Gormley offered to pass Richards the file to refresh her memory.

She waved it away, telling him she didn’t need it. There wasn’t a detail in there she hadn’t been over a million times already. It was clear she’d taken a personal interest in the case and the Northumbria detectives were keen to hear why.

Kate tried to draw her out. ‘Tell us about the O’Neils.’

‘They’re a big Catholic family and lovely with it. For what it’s worth, I don’t think they have anything to hide.’ Richards peered through the gloom, then pointed towards an upcoming junction. ‘Take a left here, and then the second exit off the mini roundabout. That’s if you can see it, boss.’

Kate took the turning. ‘Who raised the alarm?’

‘Suzanne, the girl’s mother.’

‘Odd timing, I thought. Eleven-thirty at night I could understand, but in the morning?’

‘Maxine had slept over at a mate’s house the night before she went missing. She was a gifted musician and a brilliant dancer with an important audition at eleven the next day. She’d spent years practising. It was a chance in a lifetime – not exactly
X Factor
, but not far off. She had big ideas for such a little girl. Suzanne hadn’t wanted her to stay out that night, but her father thought it might relax her to be with her mates. In the end, they let her go. When she didn’t return the next day, Suzanne called us.’

‘What’s
he
like?’ Hank asked.

‘Graham? He’s a nice bloke and a fantastic dad. He’s had to be . . . Suzanne isn’t the most stable since Maxine went missing.’

‘File states he was at work at the time,’ Hank said.

‘Clocked in at seven, out again at eleven when his wife rang with the news.’

‘There’s no dispute about that?’ Kate asked.

‘None.’

‘What about the teacher? What’s his name?’

‘John Butterworth.’

‘Was he absolutely sure it was Maxine he saw at the bus stop?’

‘Yes. He knows . . . knew Maxine very well. He taught her music in the third year. Knowing what a big day it was for her, he gave her the thumbs up as he drove by. She waved back but glanced anxiously at her watch. He automatically checked the clock on the dash. It was nine forty-five. There was a bus due in five, plenty of time before her interview. Otherwise, he said, he would have stopped, rules or no rules.’

‘The bus driver was traced?’

‘Yes. No one got on or off at that stop. At least four passengers corroborated his evidence.’

‘Did you check the whole of Butterworth’s journey?’ Kate asked.

Richards nodded. ‘His alibi checked out.’

Kate looked sideways. ‘You figured he needed one?’

‘Someone did. There was a five-minute window in which the girl went missing. In my opinion, she was taken against her will, and by someone she knew.’ Richards pointed out the window. ‘It’s left here, boss. Actually, no, if we go that way we might end up in a hole. There are roadworks down there. Take the next one instead.’

The DCI cancelled her indicator. ‘What made you think it was someone she knew?’

‘Everyone I spoke to was agreed on one thing: there was no way she’d have got into a car with a stranger. Besides, it’s a busy road. If she’d been dragged into a vehicle kicking and screaming, someone would’ve seen it happen. There were other things too. Apart from the music thing, Suzanne and Graham say she was happy at home. She adored her siblings and was excited about the new baby—’

‘With respect, Ailsa, all families say that.’ Hank was playing Devil’s advocate.

‘Left here?’ Kate asked.

Richards nodded.

‘We were told Maxine was sexually active,’ Hank said. ‘Was she?’

‘No more than the rest of us, Sarge.’ Richards had made herself blush. ‘She had the world at her feet and was hugely popular with the boys. She was fifteen! Of course she was experimenting. Hell, we’ve all been there – least, I have.’

‘You must’ve been very young in service when this happened,’ Kate said.

‘Nineteen. I’d been in less than a year. It was the most important case I’d worked on up to that point. Still is. Consequently, it meant a lot to me.’ Richards paused, keeping her eyes on the road ahead. After a second or two she said, ‘Can I talk off the record, boss?’

Here it comes.

‘Be my guest,’ Kate said. ‘But I’ll be straight with you, Ailsa. If you tell me something case-related, there’s no guarantee I won’t repeat it. There’s too much at stake.’ She pulled up at a red light. It was important to get the unofficial as well as the official version of events, to build a picture of what had gone on back then. She could see that Richards was in two minds whether or not to trust an SIO from another force.

She needed a little nudge.

Kate looked at her. ‘You told me earlier you do things right. Well, there’s never been a more important time to do that than now. This is a murder investigation, Ailsa. I need your help.’

‘I struck up a relationship with Graham and Suzanne. They trusted me, always asked for me personally if they rang the station. My then sergeant cottoned on. He was a lazy git. The shift called him Olympic Torch because he never went out.’ Richards wasn’t smiling. ‘He’s retired now. Anyway, he encouraged me to get involved with the family. When he found out Maxine wasn’t a virgin he made a judgement error, in my view. All of a sudden she was labelled as some promiscuous little slag who liked to put it about. One up from a prostitute.’

‘Let me guess . . .’ Kate moved off as the lights changed. ‘He lost interest?’

‘In a word, yes. He refused to take her disappearance seriously. I disagreed vehemently and fell out of favour. He accused me of getting too close to the family, marked me down for it too, the bastard.
I never told anyone this but I became a bit obsessed with the case. I took the file home, even spoke to Maxine’s mates on the QT when I was on patrol—’

‘And when you were off duty too, I bet.’

The PC refused to be drawn on that. ‘Some of the kids were sixth-formers, a couple of years younger than me. I got on well with them. No one suspected Maxine was going to do one. Run away, I mean. But I couldn’t find any evidence to get the case upgraded to an abduction—’

‘Sounds like you’re wasted in uniform,’ Kate said.

Ailsa’s face lit up. ‘I’d swap with you any day of the week.’

‘You’ll get there,’ Kate said. ‘If you want it enough and stick in.’

‘Not with a black mark on my record, I won’t.’ Richards tried to keep the bitterness from her voice. ‘Anyway, my sergeant suggested that the kid had run away because she couldn’t face the pressure of the audition. He persuaded Suzanne to take part in a TV appeal. You know the type:
If you don’t want to ring us, get in touch with someone: relative, friend, police officer. Tell us something about yourself that only you and us will know. We’re not angry with you. Just come home . . .’

Richards sighed. ‘It was a load of bollocks. All the local TV and radio stations covered it. Graham was furious. He could see that it was counter-productive, taking everyone’s eye off the ball, making out Maxine had run away and letting the police off the hook in one fell swoop. He suspected something awful had happened to her, but Suzanne wouldn’t have it. She seized on the idea that Maxine had fled from the threshold of fame.’

‘And since then?’

‘The family have survived. Just. Suzanne has clung on to the ridiculous belief that her daughter is out there somewhere. But now
we know she isn’t . . .’ Richards went quiet for a moment. ‘There’s one thing I don’t understand, boss.’

‘Fire away.’

‘Didn’t you recover
two
bodies in Northumberland?’

‘My DC tell you that?’ Kate asked.

‘No, I saw it in the police bulletin.’

‘Really? I’m impressed. And, yes, we have two bodies.’

‘We only had one missing girl,’ Richards said. ‘I checked.’

‘There’s information about the case we’ve not yet released.’ Kate eyeballed her Humberside colleague. She seemed like an honest soul, someone she could confide in. ‘I’m going to trust you to keep your mouth shut, Ailsa. If you don’t, you’ll have me to answer to. Is that understood?’

‘Perfectly.’

‘This is going to sound odd, but was there any mention in the file of pearls?’

‘Pearls?’

‘Kids’ fake jewellery.’

‘No.’

‘Sure?’

‘Positive.’

‘’Kay . . . forget I asked you that.’

Again, Richards pointed through the window. ‘This is it, boss. Number twenty-four.’

Kate pulled up in the quiet street next to a semi-detached local authority home. Curtains drawn. Lights on upstairs and down. She imagined the family round the breakfast table, going about their business, getting ready for work or school. Radio tuned to a local station, kids arguing over the last piece of toast or whose turn it was to use the bathroom.

Normality.

‘Right, you two. Mobiles off.’

They got out of the car and walked up the narrow path in single file. It seemed to take for ever to reach the front door. Ailsa Richards rang the bell and stepped aside. Kate swallowed hard. Heard a female voice from within. The hall light went on. An indistinct shape appeared through the glass panel. The DCI couldn’t be sure, but the figure seemed to falter as it neared the door and then pick up speed again.

Her stomach churned as the chain came off and the door edged open. Predictably, the woman knew as soon as she set eyes on them. A strangulated wail cut through the foggy street as her legs gave way and she collapsed in the doorway in a heap, her heart breaking as the truth hit home.