Monument to Murder (25 page)

O
VER THE DAYS
that followed, Emily combed the area, posting Rachel’s picture at all points in local villages, stopping people in the street to ask if they had seen her. No one had. She kept ringing Kate in the incident room, frantic for news. At night she sat in her daughter’s bedroom, alone and distressed. Office hours she spent on B-wing, trying to act as if it was business as usual, as if she wasn’t watching Fearon’s every move, hoping he would betray himself with some careless word.

On the morning of 19 February, Rachel’s twentieth birthday, there was a light tap on her door. Kent put his head round, fatigue written all over his features. He was working a split shift and wanted to talk.

Emily was about to turn him away, but how could she?

She beckoned him in.

Stepping inside, he shut the door behind him. Even as he approached her desk he appeared to be having second thoughts. Declining the offer of a seat, he stood to attention on the other side of her desk, feet slightly apart and hands behind his back. Understandably nervous.

‘Maybe this isn’t such a good idea, under the circumstances,’ he said.

‘Bill, relax . . . I’m paid to look after the work force as well as the residents.’

‘Yeah, but now is hardly appropriate, is it?’

Emily knew he meant well. She appreciated his kindness but didn’t want his sympathy. ‘It’s as good a time as any,’ she said. ‘The word appears to be out. You know what it’s like in here. I haven’t had one single application all morning. Either the inmates’ lives have miraculously improved or they’ve heard the rumours that my Rachel is missing.’

Kent pulled out a chair and sat down. His personnel file was on her desk. She’d skimmed it once or twice over the last few days but couldn’t bring herself to read the whole sorry tale of his daughter’s disappearance. It just made her own personal drama that much more terrifying. Rachel hadn’t been in touch or contacted any of her friends. That meant one of two things: either she didn’t want to be found or . . .

Don’t think that way.

‘I know exactly what you’re going through.’ Kent managed to acknowledge her vulnerability and their common ground without actually mentioning his own daughter’s disappearance. Emily didn’t blame him. She could see how difficult it was for him – for both of them. He looked like a torn soul. Like he’d been to hell and back. ‘When it happened to me, I . . . well, let’s just say it’s not something
you ever get over. It does help to talk about it . . . not that I’ve been doing much of that lately.’

And still he hadn’t uttered his daughter’s name.

Without realizing it, Emily let her guard down. It was as if she’d crossed to the other side of the desk: therapist turned patient. She talked about Rachel openly, told him how lost she was without her, insisting vehemently that she hadn’t just run away. Emily had talked about nothing else for days, sounding off to anyone who cared to listen. She’d even appeared on local radio, appealing for information. There had been a groundswell of support from neighbours and community leaders. Everyone had been kind. At the very least, she knew that eyes and ears were alert to any news. Thanks to Kate’s intervention, an experienced female sergeant, Jane Lowther, was now on the case.

‘Emily?’

The sound of Kent’s voice pulled her back into the room.

‘I asked if there was news. From Sergeant Lowther or the SIO?’

A sinister thought popped into her head. Kent no longer looked like a man on the edge of the abyss. Why had he chosen to come to see her now? She doubted it was to talk about his problems. He’d never wanted to before. He seemed much more interested in discussing hers. She’d been so caught up in her own problems that she’d readily obliged. She couldn’t remember a damn word that had passed between them in the last hour. And that unnerved her. Suddenly, she was wary of him. Maybe he was digging for information, checking to see whether the police were taking her daughter’s disappearance seriously.

Maybe he was involved.

K
ATE
D
ANIELS SWORE
under her breath and stared at her warbling mobile phone. How in God’s name anyone expected her to evaluate a case and field calls at the same time was beyond her. One more interruption and she knew she’d start yelling. Snatching up the phone, she gave her name and rank, trying her very best to keep the annoyance from her voice.

‘Kate, I need to talk to you . . .’ Emily’s tone was urgent, her voice hushed as if she didn’t want to be overheard. ‘I know you’re busy but it’s important. I think it is, anyway, I’m not sure.’

‘Is Sergeant Lowther not on duty?’

Emily ignored the nudge to take her problems elsewhere. ‘I didn’t ask. This is something
you
need to hear.’

‘OK, I’m listening.’

For a moment there was silence.

‘This is off the record, OK?’ Emily explained she didn’t want to get anyone into trouble. ‘Kate? You still there?’

Looking up at the ceiling for divine inspiration, Kate wished she had a quid for every time she’d heard that. In her early days in CID there used to be a red phone –
the Bat Phone
– in the incident room for ‘off-the-record’ calls. Only trusted informants were given the number, and when answering the Bat Phone detectives just said ‘hello’ or recited the number, keeping it all strictly unofficial – no mention of rank or name. But those days were long gone. Besides, Emily wasn’t an informant. She was a mate.

‘This sounds like it’s going to take a while. Can you hang on a second? I’ve got someone with me but I’ll send her away.’ Kate made a ‘sorry’ face to Carmichael and covered the speaker. ‘We’d get more peace and quiet in Sarah’s Café. Gimme five, will you?’

Lisa got up and left the room.

Kate waited until she’d shut the door. ‘All clear, Emily. What’s the problem?’

‘There’s an officer on my wing who has issues with Walter Fearon, the inmate I told you about. This man’s daughter went missing in suspicious circumstances . . .’ Emily hesitated. ‘She was the subject of a murder enquiry, Kate.’

‘How old was she?’

‘Not very old . . . ten, I think.’

Alarm bells rang in Kate’s head. Her thoughts shot to the morgue, to an unidentified girl reduced to bones, a grotesque grinning skull, a set of sandy pearls around her neck. Picking up her fountain pen, she asked, ‘Do you know her name?’

‘Sophie Kent. Her father, Bill – full name William George Kent – was questioned, along with other males known to the family. No charges were ever brought.’

‘How long ago was this?’

‘Ages, several years at least. I’m not exactly sure.’

‘And they never found her?’

‘No, they never did. I have to tell you, I didn’t hear it from Kent. His SO told me in confidence a few days before Rach went missing—’

‘And you didn’t think to tell me before now?’

‘I’m so sorry, I didn’t think.’

Kate had to work hard to keep her temper in check. ‘Tell me about the officer.’

‘He was advised to consult with me.
Ordered
might be more accurate – he was given no choice in the matter. He’s been victimizing one of the inmates at every opportunity and threatened with the sack if he doesn’t lay off. He’s been avoiding me like the plague – until about an hour ago, when he knocked on my door and asked to see me.’

‘That’s good, isn’t it?’

‘Maybe, I don’t know. We talked for a while and . . . well, I felt uncomfortable around him. He didn’t talk about his problems. He seemed more interested in mine. He may just have been curious. Look, I know this sounds paranoid, but I got the distinct impression he was fishing for information.’

Emily was moving as she talked, pacing up and down by the sounds of it. Kate sensed there was more to come. ‘How did he know Rachel was missing?’ she asked.

‘Are you kidding? Everyone knows. I’ve been on the bloody radio, haven’t I? Look, I don’t want to accuse anyone of anything.’

‘You said that already. Is that why you waited several days before calling me?’

‘No! I’m sorry, OK . . . I did hesitate, that’s true – for good reason. I could be out by a mile. If Kent is entirely innocent, he’s gone through a terrible trauma and I don’t want to add to that. It would help if . . .’ Emily paused: an icy silence for a split second. ‘Kate, I need to know if his name has come up in your enquiry.’

‘Hang on! This guy turfs up at your door giving you lots of sympathy and that makes him suspicious?’ Daniels’ office door opened. Irritated, she waved the intruder away and carried on with her call. ‘Did Kent mention his daughter at all?’

‘Kind of, in a roundabout way.’

‘Either he did or he didn’t.’

‘He said he knew how I felt. I took that to mean he’d experienced the same thing. I didn’t push it or let on that I knew his situation. How could I? I’d promised his SO that I’d treat what he’d told me in the strictest confidence.’

‘That’s the problem with off-the-record, Emily. It ties people’s hands.’ Daniels had a nasty feeling in her gut. There was something
wrong with the picture. She didn’t have a clue what it was, but she sure as hell wanted to find out. ‘He never mentioned his daughter once? Are you absolutely sure about that?’

‘I’m . . . I don’t know.’

‘Emily, think very carefully before you answer my next question. Is Fearon the only inmate Kent has a downer on?’

‘Why?’

‘Is he? Does he give anyone else a hard time?’

‘I’ve had no other complaints.’

‘Fearon’s offences: do they involve children?’

‘No.’

‘Could they . . . potentially?’

‘What do you mean?’

‘Just answer my question.’

‘I guess, but it’s not likely. He’s into older women.’

‘Isn’t that what paedophiles do when they want to target children? Make friends with their mothers, I mean. See what I’m getting at? Why is Kent so down on Fearon? Because he’s a sex offender?’

‘Yes, well, that’s what I assumed . . .’ More pacing at the other end. Kate could hear the distress in Emily’s voice as she tried to explain her concerns and put her point across. She was failing in that regard. ‘What if he’s a sex offender too? What if their antagonism towards one another is nothing but an elaborate hoax to fool people into thinking they’re the worst of enemies?’

‘You’re suggesting they’re in cahoots, jointly responsible for Rachel’s disappearance? No, Emily, I’m not buying that. When I had dinner with Jo last week she talked about Kent, not by name, and without mentioning his daughter’s disappearance. I don’t imagine she knows about that or I’d have heard about it before now. It was his inability to curb his temper she was angry about; “a despicable
animal” – those were the exact words she used to describe him. She said he’d beaten Fearon on more than one occasion.’

‘So?’

‘Sex offenders acting together don’t beat each other up.’

‘Unless Fearon had stepped out of line. He’s not the easiest person to control. If he’s a threat to Kent, that could explain it, couldn’t it?’

The DCI didn’t answer.

‘Please listen to me, Kate. I checked Fearon’s record against Kent’s personnel file. HMP Northumberland isn’t the only thing they have in common. The inmate spent a short time at HMYOI Wetherby when he was fifteen years old. Kent was on secondment there for part of that sentence. I’m begging you, please tell me whether he’s already under suspicion.’

‘You know I can’t do that, Emily.’ Kate wished she could. The internal phone rang. ‘Damn! Leave it with me, Em. I’ve got to go.’

‘No, wait! Walker said Kent was upset because of what happened on the beach at Bamburgh. Can you at least confirm whether he has or hasn’t come forward in relation to the bodies you recovered there?’

‘No, I can’t. I’m sorry.’ Robson stuck his head round the door and mouthed Bright’s name. Kate nodded at him. ‘OK, I’m hanging up now, Em. My guv’nor is screaming for me. I need to be somewhere. Rest assured, I will look into this. You were right to come forward. It might be important.’

‘You promise?’

‘Promise.’

‘Thank you.’

‘Don’t thank me. You do realize this man could be entirely inno—’

‘Kate, I’m not going mad.’

‘I didn’t suggest you were. But you’ve been under a lot of stress lately. It’s hard to keep a clear head with Rachel missing. If Kent
is
the father of a murder victim, I wouldn’t necessarily expect him to contact the incident room or turn up here. Even if it happened ten years ago, we’d have taken samples from him. The minute a match was found, we’d have been on to him like a shot to inform him that his daughter had been located, and probably to take a closer look at him.’

‘Have you identified your victims?’ Emily asked.

‘Don’t ask me that. I can’t say any more.’

The line went dead.

T
HE PRISON GYMNASIUM
was noisy with the clatter of equipment and multiple conversations taking place as officers used their break time to get some exercise. Senior Officer Ash Walker lay on his back on a bench lifting barbells, his jaw bunching as he extended his arms for the final time. He liked to stay in shape but his ability to haul heavy weights had diminished in recent years. He’d have to consider switching to something that put less strain on his body.

‘I’m done,’ he said.

Kent took the strain of the bar, placing it on its cradle, throwing his sweaty senior officer a towel. Walker sat up, his stomach muscles impressive for a man of his age. Draping the towel around his neck, he hauled himself off the bench and rubbed his hands together, sending a plume of chalk high into the air.

‘What time is it?’ he said.

Kent looked at his watch. ‘Time we weren’t here.’

They moved to the changing rooms, stripped off and took a quick shower.

Kent hardly said a word as he donned his uniform, though it was obvious he had something weighty on his mind. Assuming it was his daughter, Walker didn’t pry, hoping Kent would tell him of his own free will. When it didn’t come, Walker felt duty-bound to intervene.

‘How did it go with Emily?’ he asked.

‘A bit of a role reversal, if you want the truth.’ Kent buttoned up his shirt.

‘How d’you mean?’

‘She’s losing it, boss.’ Kent made a screwing motion with his index finger against his forehead. ‘And you think
I
need help? Jesus Christ, I couldn’t get a word in edgeways. She’s convinced Fearon is behind her daughter’s disappearance, did you know that? Totally barking, if you ask me.’

Walker didn’t comment.

‘What?’ Kent scoffed. ‘You think it’s possible?’

‘Did I say that?’

Kent stood for a moment, head on one side, as if Walker had defended the theory and he was weighing both sides of the argument. ‘You could have a point. Nonces stick together, don’t they? Maybe he has someone on the outside doing his bidding. Stranger things have happened.’ Pulling on his jacket, Kent gave the SO a wry smile. ‘If I had the hots for her, I’d tear the little shit apart ’til he squeals.’

‘E
VERYONE
,
DROP WHAT
you’re doing and gather round!’ Kate Daniels didn’t have to ask twice. The look on her face was enough to tell the Murder Investigation Team she had something important
to say. ‘I’ve just received information that the father of a missing ten-year-old is working down the road at HMP Northumberland. His name is William Kent. The girl’s name is Sophie. So, why didn’t I know about it? It should’ve been flagged up.’

No one spoke.

‘Well?’ she pushed.

Robson’s face was flushed. ‘There’s no DNA match to any missing kid on the database.’

‘I still don’t like it . . .’ Kate’s unease was reflected in the rest of her team.
If a mistake had been made with the DNA, this could be a vital lead.
‘Pull the file. Get me everything there is on the father and the names of anyone who was hauled in under suspicion.’

‘Did Kent come forward?’ Carmichael asked.

‘No, but you can’t read too much into that, Lisa. Neither did the O’Neils, remember? Innocent parents fear asking the question when they can’t face knowing the answer. Besides, he knew we had her DNA, so in the event of a match we’d contact him. No, this information came from Emily McCann. She’s in a bad place now and acting as mad as a box of frogs – but that doesn’t leave this room. Clear?’

There were nods and murmurs of: ‘Yes, boss . . . crystal . . . understood.’

‘Good. I gather Kent was interviewed at length, along with a number of others. I want to know who they are and whether any of them has form. If they so much as dropped litter, especially in the vicinity of Bamburgh, I want to know about it . . .’ Kate pointed at Carmichael’s computer screen. ‘Lisa – ten-year-old females, missing, presumed dead – get the list up now. Make sure Sophie’s on it. I don’t trust computers, even ours. If there’s a glitch, she might’ve been missed.’

Carmichael practically broke into a run. Tripping over a loose
wire in her rush to get to her desk, she arrived a lot quicker and a little less elegantly than she’d anticipated, snagging her tights in the process and swearing loudly. Ignoring derisory comments from her colleagues that she was a hopeless Health & Safety rep, she logged on to her computer, pressed a few keys, then sat eyes glued to the monitor as the page loaded.

Text popped up on screen and she tapped a few more keys.

‘Fuck!’ Her face paled.

‘Don’t tell me she’s not on it,’ Kate said.

‘She is . . .’

‘But?’

‘She’s from East Yorkshire, boss. If I’m not mistaken, she was taken from a village not far from Beverley. Geography was never my strongest subject, but I know that area because my mum was brought up there. If I’m right, it’s a stone’s throw from where the O’Neils live.’

No one said a word.

Kate leapt from her seat, joining Carmichael at the computer as the others gathered round. It wasn’t a Eureka moment exactly but, in her considered opinion, it was unlikely to be a happy accident either. Sophie Kent was the same age as their un-ident
and
went missing from the same county as their second victim
and
her father just happened to be working in the wilds of Northumberland less than thirty clicks from the burial site.

The atmosphere in the room was suddenly charged with electricity.

Kate’s eyes found Maxwell’s. ‘Neil, get Hank on the phone.’

‘I just spoke to him, boss. He was heading out for dinner.’

‘I don’t give a shit if he’s being knighted – do it!’

Scooping up the nearest phone, he made the call, handing her
the receiver as soon as Gormley picked up. Kate rapidly brought him up to date and said she’d email all the relevant information, asking him to stay on in Yorkshire for a few more days and make discreet enquiries at his end. ‘And don’t chew while I’m talking to you, Hank. It’s very rude!’

Detectives earwigging the conversation smiled at one another.

‘Have you got plenty cash?’ the DCI asked.

‘Yeah, no worries,’ he replied.

‘OK, I’ll cover your Xs and overtime as soon as you get back . . .’ She could almost hear him grinning as he thanked her. ‘Let me know if there’s anything else you need. And tell Ailsa I’ll clear it with her supervision. Her input is going to be more important than ever now. You think she’ll agree?’

‘Are you kidding? She’s my new best friend.’

Kate hung up.

I
N THE DEAD
of night with the prison locked down and only a skeleton night shift on duty, Walker instructed a security officer to join him in the wing office, requesting that he bring his sniffer dog along. Minutes later, the pair arrived.

The German Shepherd, Flash, was the pride of the dog section. While Walker briefed his handler on the search they would be conducting, Flash sat looking up at him, a long pink tongue lolling from his mouth, an elastic string of saliva dripping from the end of it on to the highly polished floor.

‘No names, no pack drill,
capisce
? I just want to drag the bastard out of his pit and turn his cell over.’ Although there was no one else in the room but the two men and a dog, Walker lowered his voice conspiratorially: ‘By the way, this operation never happened – until I say otherwise. Understood?’

‘What operation?’

‘Good man.’

‘What we looking for anyway?’

Walker glanced at the dog. ‘He’ll know when he finds it.’

Taking a green silk scarf from his pocket, Walker put it to the dog’s nose. Flash sniffed at it enthusiastically, his tail going back and forth at such a speed and with such force that it was drumming on the office wall. He was ready to go to work.

S
O W
ALKER CHECKED
the cell landing. The coast was clear. Stopping outside Fearon’s cell door, he lifted the flap and peered inside. The occupant was fast asleep – as still as a corpse. Walker unlocked the door, allowing his security colleague to step inside. The officer shone a torch around walls covered in bare flesh, then directed the beam into the inmate’s eyes and kept it there.

No sodding response whatsoever.

Seconds later, Fearon blinked and turned his head away without waking.

Giving him a dig with a size-ten boot, Walker commented on the stench of stale sweat in the room, pushing open the tiny cell window to let it escape. The temperature plummeted. Hearing voices, Fearon sat up, using his hand to shield his eyes from the harsh light, giving his jailers a load of abuse for disturbing his sleep, asking what the time was.

‘Shut it!’ Walker said.

The security officer loosened his grip on Flash.

More terrified of the dog than the screws, Fearon lifted his knees to his chest and scrambled to the corner of his bunk, pulling the covers around him for protection, his eyes showing real fear. Warning him to remain still and calm, the dog handler spoke a few
words of encouragement, telling his canine partner that they were good to go. But Fearon wasn’t having any. He struggled as he was dragged off his bunk and dumped unceremoniously on the floor, leaving his gonads hanging loose from torn boxer shorts, a source of added curiosity for the dog that brought howls of laughter from both officers.

‘Get that fucking thing away from me!’ Fearon was yelling now. ‘And shut the bastard window. It’s fucking freezing in here.’

Yanking the prisoner out on to the landing, Walker held on to him with a vice-like grip, advising him to button his lip while the dog did what he was trained to do. Guided by his handler, Flash covered every inch of the floor, including under the bed and round the toilet bowl, two favourite hiding places for contraband items smuggled in by prison visitors.

Fearon fixed his gaze on the SO. ‘What you looking for, man? I’ve got nowt!’

Walker ignored him.

‘Oh, I get it. This is Kent’s idea, right? Told you the bastard’s got it in for me!’

One or two prisoners were banging on their doors now, yelling at them to keep the noise down. Walker urged the dog handler to step on it before the whole damn prison woke up.

Flash leapt on to the bunk, burying his nose in the rumpled grey blanket, grabbing the pillow between his teeth. Then he lifted his leg and peed on the bed – something the search dogs often did in cases where the personal hygiene of the inmate was dodgy. This led to more verbals from Fearon – but not for long. He ceased whining as the dog began barking and pawing frantically at the collection of porn by the head of the bed. It had picked up the scent of something.