The Death Collector (23 page)

The drive was becoming all too familiar now. This was his third visit in twenty-four hours. It was his first time at night but the climb and swerve were just the same. His high beam swept the sky as he got higher but once the road levelled out it spread over the moorland, catching the eyes of the sheep that dotted the fields. Rabbits darted across the road before disappearing back into the heather. Despite the wildlife, it felt like he was completely alone, far from everywhere.

His car lights caught the sign ahead that heralded the arrival into Yorkshire, the pull-in just behind it. The steady hum of his wheels on tarmac turned into the crunch of dirt and gravel as he came to a stop.

Stepping out of the car, the first thing he noticed was the cold. The wind felt like it had gathered pace as it rolled across the open countryside with no trees to break its path. He shivered and pulled up the collar on his coat. He knew he was going to be there for some time and suddenly wished he had brought something warmer with him.

Then there was the silence.

His footsteps crackled like small fireworks. A sheep bleated. There was a car in the distance, but Sam knew it was a few miles away. He looked upwards. He was away from the orange glow of the city and all he could see were the glorious silver pinpricks of stars against the dark blanket of night sky.

He opened the car boot and took out a sack of logs that he had stored in his garage, for the garden heater he had bought the year before. He had wanted something torso-sized and it was all he could find. He decided not to use a torch at the start, as he guessed that whoever had carried the body would not have wanted to be seen. He hoisted the sack into his arms and started walking.

The ground was soft, with large puddles of water where the spring rain was too much for the peat soil. It was slippery underfoot and the heather grew in such clumps that Sam almost went to the floor a few times in the first fifty yards. He worried about breaking an ankle and spending the night there in agony. But it told him what he needed to know: whatever had made the killer take this path must have been important.

Sam struggled for a bit longer before he stopped and put the sack down. He was out of breath and his back was straining from holding the sack and struggling to stay on his feet. His feet had slithered on the soft ground and the logs that weren’t heavy soon felt that way. He looked back. His car was just a dark block, an outline, and as he looked at his feet they were just shadows. It was truly dark. There would be no need to go any further to dump a body and yet there was still a way to go to where the body was found.

Then there was a car. The headlights were long streaks as the engine noise grew steadily louder. Sam stopped to watch. It wasn’t travelling fast but the beams were on full. The road got brighter as the car got closer and as it passed his own car he saw that the beam didn’t reach him; the slight rise of the land at the roadside soaking up the light.

A passing car would not have seen whoever dumped the body even this short way onto the moors. There was no need for the killer to go as far as he had, which meant that he did it for a different reason. Sam was more certain now that the location was significant.

He went back to his car, dragging the logs this time, and sat in the passenger seat. He checked his watch. Three a.m. It wouldn’t be light for another couple of hours. His shoes were wet, his trousers too, and it would be a few hours before it would get warm again.

There was a flask of coffee behind his seat, just to keep him awake so that he could drive. He poured a cup and the moorland faded from view as steam misted his windscreen.

The time passed slowly. He thought about sleeping, but it was too cold for that. He huddled in his seat, his arms folded tightly, watching the slight hint of daylight to the east turn into the slow spread of dawn. The hills opposite turned blue before they faded slowly into a light mist as the first creeping rays of sunshine played with the dew that glistened on the slopes. Now was the time.

He stretched when he got out of the car, his joints popping some life back into his body. He was getting to the difficult part.

He went to his car boot again and took out a spade, before setting off across the moors once more. His trousers were still wet and his soles squeaked as he walked, mud clinging to them from his earlier effort. He had expected birdsong, the usual early-morning clamour, but there was silence, as if it was a landscape where nothing moved. He concentrated hard as he went, keeping a look-out for where he was. There were few distinguishing landmarks but if there was any point to what he was doing, he had to get the right spot.

He followed a path between the clusters of heather, made by the rivulets of water that ran down from the top of the rise, and ahead there was the flattened area where boots had gathered just hours before. In the centre of the muddy patch was a less spoiled area, where her body had been, left untouched as the forensic people did their work around it and combed for minor clues once she had been taken away. It made finding the exact spot easier than he had imagined.

If Charlotte was right, there had to be something underneath because there certainly wasn’t anything on top.

The spade felt heavy as he paused, wondering if he was doing the right thing, but he hadn’t spent the night freezing in his car to have doubts now. He thrust the spade into the ground.

It was soft and he was able to get a good spade-full with his first dig. The peace of the early morning was broken by the sound of his exertion: his grunts of effort, the squelch of the soft soil. It wasn’t long before he had made a square hole around four feet wide. It wasn’t deep, although it seemed enough to work out whether there was anything to be found. He checked his watch. Nearly six o’clock. There was more traffic noise now, just hums in the distance, and the occasional engine roared along the road by his car, but it was still pretty quiet. He would have to go home and get ready for his day at work soon so he couldn’t stay too much longer. If something was buried here it wouldn’t be in the first layer, as it would be exposed too quickly as the peat soil moved, creating new cracks in the surface. One more spade depth and he would leave. No one would know he had been there.

The sound of the sheep seemed to get louder as he raised his spade in the air, their bleats carried over the moors. A large bird of prey circled over him, its wings wide, swirling against the bright blue.

It was after the second thrust of his spade that everything changed.

The spade didn’t go in as far, as if it had met some extra resistance. He threw it down and dropped to his knees, the tension in his throat telling him that this was something different. The moisture soaked his trousers and dirt started to coat his cuffs as he moved the soil with his hands, but he wasn’t going to stop. He brushed it away and felt something under his fingers. It was cloth. His hands moved faster and as he cleared the soil, he saw a blue-checked shirt, dirty now, but there was a button. One more sweep with his hands and then Sam felt himself turn cold. His fingers had brushed against something hard, and as he moved them along and realised what it was, he sat back on his haunches and looked up at the sky, not wanting to see any more. It was the bony ridges of a ribcage.

Joe raised his head from the pillow, bleary-eyed, his mouth dry, his tongue sticking to its roof. There was a noise, familiar but distant, the real world taking its time to come into view. As the mist in his head cleared, he recognised it as the buzz of his phone, dancing on the bedside table as someone waited for him to answer. He glanced across at the clock. Not even eight o’clock.

When he grabbed for it, he moved too quickly, so that his head felt like it had gone in a different direction. He wasn’t going to answer, but he saw that it was Kim Reader. He groaned when he remembered the texts he had sent when he had been drunk the night before, when he had almost gone to her place.

He pressed the answer button and drawled, ‘Hi.’

‘Come on, sleepy bones. Get up and let me in.’ Kim’s jauntiness was like a jab at his consciousness.

‘Uh huh?’

‘I’m outside, and I’ve got coffee and bacon sandwiches.’

‘I could have been out at a police station.’

‘Not if you’d been with Hugh all evening, and your blinds are still closed.’

‘Okay, okay,’ Joe said, swinging his legs out of bed. ‘Hang on.’

His steps were uncertain as he walked out of his bedroom, picking up clothes on the way, before he buzzed to unlock the external door and left his apartment door open. Kim would find her way. He went into the bathroom, so that by the time she came in, shouting his name, he had splashed and cleaned himself into some semblance of normality.

When he emerged back into the living room, he saw that Kim had moved onto his balcony, the coffees and two bags of sandwiches on the small table outside. Joe joined her. ‘Morning,’ he said. It came out slow and deep.

He looked down at himself and ran his hands across his stubble. His grab for clothes hadn’t got further than a pair of grey jogging trousers and an old blue T-shirt. Kim looked, as always, a picture of elegance. Her blouse was crisp white, open-necked, under a navy trouser suit, tight around the long stretch of her legs, but not so tight that it was inappropriate for a court appearance. Her dark hair was tied back in a silver clasp.

She handed him one of the coffees. ‘I guessed you would be in no mood for making me one, and that there’d be even less chance of breakfast.’ She pushed over one of the bags, the outside made grey by grease. The aroma assaulted him and reminded him that he hadn’t eaten the night before.

He sat down and started to eat. It tasted good, the bacon sloppy and brown sauce leaking from the bread.

Kim peeled off the plastic top from her coffee and said, ‘I like your view.’ She was squinting into the brightness outside, the balcony facing towards the slowly rising sun.

‘It’s what sold it to me.’

And that was the truth. The water shimmered as the first shards of sunlight lightened the rooftops on the other side, turning red tiles into bright pink. Even the screeches of the trams and the occasional rumble of a train were like soft murmurs to Joe, his morning soundtrack.

‘A bachelor pad with a view,’ he said between mouthfuls. ‘All television and gadgets. It needs some warmth.’

‘A woman’s touch?’ Kim said, her eyes dancing with mischief.

‘I wouldn’t insult you by saying that.’

‘So that’s a yes?’

Joe grinned and raised his coffee in salute.

He took a drink and his brain slowly came into focus. ‘How come you’re so early?’

Kim eyed him for a few seconds over her drink, taking her own sandwich out of the bag and placing it on top. ‘I’ve got some files to look at before I go into court, and I was wondering why you texted me last night.’

Joe took another bite as he tried to recall whether he had said anything inappropriate, but it was a fog. ‘I was just being friendly.’

‘No you weren’t.’

‘What do you mean?’ He winced. ‘Did I say something wrong?’

‘You wanted to come round. Why else would you text?’ Kim blushed. ‘And you should have done. I was glad you called.’

‘Simon would have minded.’

‘Simon wasn’t there.’

‘Okay, I would have minded.’

Kim reached across and placed her hand on Joe’s. ‘I was hoping you would come, and when you wouldn’t I was angry with you, because you made me think that you could have done.’

‘I’m sorry,’ he said. ‘I thought of you and it seemed right to contact you, but then, well, you know how it is.’

‘No, I don’t know. You tell me.’

‘You’ve got Simon,’ he said. ‘Haven’t you?’

‘Like I said, it’s complicated. I broke off the engagement, but we still see each other.’

‘That changes things,’ Joe said. ‘It changes us.’

Kim scowled and took her hand away. ‘There isn’t an
us
. Do you want there to be?’

Joe took a deep breath. ‘I don’t make plans like that. I can’t expect you to leave Simon just so you can have something with me. What if we don’t work out? You’ll have given up everything, and for what? Some fling with an old flame?’

Kim leaned in and looked deeply into his eyes. She had gone beyond the boundary of friendliness and was in his space, her eyes boring into his. His fog lifted enough for him to see the fire in there. And he felt it too. A yearning. A need to have her arms around him. Her perfume filled his nostrils, delicate and flowery, and he breathed it in, wanting to drag her closer, to feel the soft kiss of her lips.

He sat back and shook his head. ‘I can’t do this,’ he said, frustration in his voice, pushing the sandwich to one side. ‘It’s not fair on Simon.’

‘And not fair on me for you not to,’ Kim said, hurt in her voice. ‘I want you, Joe Parker. I’ve always wanted you.’ She looked down and concentrated hard on her coffee. ‘You’ve made me feel cheap.’

Joe took her hand this time. When she looked up, he thought there were tears in her eyes. ‘I don’t think you’re cheap,’ he said, squeezing her hand. ‘I wish I could think differently, but I can’t. I’m sorry.’

Kim wiped her eyes with the back of her hand. She gave a small embarrassed laugh. ‘Okay.’ She exhaled. ‘I’m sorry. I’m being stupid. Eat your sandwich. Let’s talk about something different. Work. Why were you with Hugh? Old times?’