Urban Myth (12 page)

T
here had been two significant developments during the night. Temple was told about them when he received a call from the
incident
room at 6 a.m.

His alarm had already gone off minutes before and he was in the process of trying to interest Angel in some morning sex. In fact she had just begun to respond to the touch of his fingers when the phone trilled.

‘You can’t ignore it,’ she said. ‘It’s bound to be important.’

It was DC Buchan, who had been the officer in charge of the night shift.

‘We’ve heard back from Houston Police Department,’ he said. ‘They’ve been to Jack Keaton’s house.’

‘Terrific. So what have they got for us?’

‘Keaton’s a lawyer living in a community development with his wife and two children. They weren’t there when the officers called but a neighbour who’s looking after their place said they’re on holiday.’

‘Where?’

‘Well that’s the interesting thing, boss. They’re actually renting a house near Burley.’

‘Really?’

‘That’s what she said. I’ve already checked with immigration. The family flew into Heathrow two days ago.’

‘Did the neighbour have an address for them?’

‘She did. The place is about two miles from where Genna Boyd’s body was found. You want me to send someone?’

‘No, I’ll go myself. But I’ll come into the office first for the debriefing.’

‘Fair enough, Guv,’ he said. ‘The other development is Genna’s car.
It’s been found in a street near the city centre. I’ve arranged for it to be towed to the forensics lab.’

‘Give me the details when I get in,’ Temple said.

He hung up and gave Angel a nudge.

‘I think we’d better postpone the nooky,’ he said.

She rolled onto her side and issued a sigh.

‘What’s going on then?’ she asked.

He told her about Genna’s car and then about Keaton.

Angel frowned. ‘So Genna called him on his home phone on the day she was murdered. And then a few days later he flew into the UK with his family.’

‘That’s right. But I can’t think what connection there might be between a lawyer from Texas and a porn star from Southampton.’

‘Maybe they know each other. He might even have been one of her fans.’

‘It’s possible, I suppose. They might have made arrangements to meet up.’

Temple threw back the duvet and got out of bed.

‘We’d better get a move on,’ he said. ‘I’ll go make the tea while you jump in the shower.’

Her face cracked around a smile. ‘Is this what life will be like when I move in here?’

Temple looked at her. ‘What do you mean?’

‘Well is it always going to be business before pleasure?’

He thought about it, said, ‘Not at weekends.’

She laughed. ‘Oh well, that’s all right then.’

There was a full house for the handover session at 7.30 a.m. The
incident
room was buzzing and the smell of coffee and sweat was almost palpable.

The detectives who had worked through the night were in their shirt-sleeves. They had tired eyes and stained armpits. The others were suited up and raring to go, spurred on by the fact that this was the biggest case many of them had worked on.

The session started with the news about Jack Keaton and his family coming to stay in the New Forest. But even as DC Buchan was reading his report, there was a bizarre update from the uniform division. In the
early hours of the morning a patrol car had gone to the house the family were renting in response to an emergency call from Keaton himself. He was in a panic because his 14-year-old daughter had wandered off. According to the officers she had sent a text message to her father telling him not to worry and that she would be back soon. But Keaton was apparently convinced that her disappearance was linked to poltergeist activity in the house. He had told them about the lights going on and off, the mess in the kitchen and doors opening and shutting of their own accord. He also claimed he did not know how his daughter had got out of the house, since all the doors and windows were locked on the inside.

‘So Jack Keaton is a nutter,’ one of the detectives said. ‘Someone should tell him to call Ghostbusters instead of wasting police time.’

Temple called for order but had to wait almost a full minute before the team got serious again.

‘Let’s not judge this bloke until we’ve had a proper chat with him,’ he said. ‘What concerns me is that whatever weird stuff is going on in that house might have some bearing on this case.’

He then asked DC Buchan to finish reading his report. Buchan told them the house was known as King’s Manor and was owned by a man named Nathan Slade.

‘I did a web search and found that it’s being advertised as a holiday let,’ he said. ‘That’s probably how the Keatons came across it. According to the site it used to be a guest house but is now rented out as a single unit to families.’

‘What else have you got on Keaton?’

‘Houston police say he works for a legal firm in the city and has never been in trouble with the law. An upstanding citizen as far as they’re concerned. The neighbours think very highly of him and his wife. Her name’s Nicole. She’s English and used to live near Burley. That’s why they chose to come here on holiday. There are two children – Tina and 10-year-old Michael.’

‘It’s hard to see what the connection is between the family and Genna Boyd,’ Temple said. ‘We’ll go straight over to the house after this meeting. Get to the bottom of it. Meanwhile, what else have we got?’

Forensics were still examining the carpet fibres on Genna’s clothes.
A report would be available later. The night crew had managed to trace Genna’s mother, whose name was Patricia Boyd, to a terraced house in Portsmouth. But a uniformed officer who called there got no answer and neighbours said they hadn’t seen her for several days. According to one, she had a serious drink problem and once collapsed in the street.

‘Check the hospitals,’ Temple said. ‘Maybe she’s sleeping off a hangover.’

The discovery of Genna Boyd’s car in the city threw up another possible lead even before the forensics team had examined it.

‘I went to see it,’ Buchan said. ‘It was locked and there was nothing inside belonging to Genna. The boot was also empty. But the call about the car came from a resident in the street – an old guy who lives across the road from where it was found. He saw the appeal on the news and went to check the licence plate. He told us it struck a bell with him because he remembered it being parked there on Saturday evening.’

‘Did he see who got out?’

Buchan nodded. ‘He says he was putting his bin out when the car drew up. The driver got out, locked the door and walked off in the direction of the central railway station. It was dark, but he reckons the driver was wearing trousers and a coat with a hood. Plus, he’s sure it was a woman.’

‘Why’s that?’ Temple asked.

‘The way she walked. He says he’s old enough to know the
difference
between the sexes when it comes to how we walk.’

Temple nodded. ‘So this raises the question as to whether it was Genna who parked it there before she was murdered.’

Buchan agreed. ‘Or was it left there
after
she was killed and dumped on Cranes Moor?’

Temple scratched his chin. ‘If that’s what happened, then who the hell was the woman driver? If indeed it was a woman.’

‘I’ll talk to the old guy again,’ Buchan said. ‘But he was pretty sure of himself.’

‘I don’t suppose there are any CCTV cameras in the street?’ This from Angel.

Buchan shook his head. ‘Not that particular street. But we’re checking others in the area.’

‘We need to come back to this,’ Temple said. ‘Meanwhile, what about Genna’s phone records?’

‘We’re still working through them,’ DC Reagan said. ‘Most of the numbers have been identified and are being followed up. But again it’s time consuming.’

Temple then turned his attention to the day ahead, saying he wanted to know more about Damien Roth and Belinda Wallis.

‘And chase up all their freelance performers,’ he said. ‘I’m guessing that those people were as close to Genna as anybody – and I don’t just mean in a physical sense.’

They discussed ideas and tactics for another twenty minutes. The press officer, Wayne Fuller, drew their attention to the first editions of the morning papers. All the tabloids had splashed on the news that the girl found murdered in the forest had appeared in porn films. Fuller said he thought it was time Temple held a formal press conference.

‘Organize something for this afternoon,’ Temple said.

At the conclusion of the meeting Temple and Angel got into a pool car and set off towards King’s Manor to interview Jack Keaton and his wife, Nicole.

T
he sun had started raking through the early morning mist several hours ago. The moor in front of King’s Manor was a blaze of green and purple. Behind the house the woods loomed high and proud, the autumn tones sombre and subdued.

I wondered if my daughter was lost in those woods. The thought that she might be scared or hurt filled me with dread. Since dawn, we had all been looking for her. I’d searched the woods and Nicole and Michael had trudged across the moor, calling out her name.

I had also walked down the track to the road because I still hadn’t found the keys to the Discovery. God only knew what had happened to them. But there was no sign of Tina anywhere. I’d tried ringing her cell but it continued to be switched off. An hour ago I’d called the police again and was informed that two officers would soon be coming out to the house. It was time they launched a full-scale search of the forest. If they refused to do so I intended to kick up an almighty fuss.

Michael was now in the house having some cereal. He was distraught. Twice he’d broken down in tears. Nicole was holding up well, but the strain was evident in her mournful expression and
downturned
mouth. She hadn’t looked so distressed and hassled since the miscarriage.

I’d just emerged from my latest walk into the woods. I’d discovered a footpath close to the house and followed it, but about fifty yards into the woods the path merged with two others and they went off in three different directions. I followed one, which went to the east, but after about fifteen minutes I turned back and concluded that it was a
hopeless
endeavour. The woods were so big and dense that you could wander for hours without seeing another living soul. Nicole was
standing behind the detached garage block. She had put on jeans and a sweatshirt.

‘Have you seen these?’ she asked as I approached.

She was pointing at the cigarette butts on the ground in front of the rear door to the garage.

‘I noticed them yesterday,’ I said. ‘Figured they were left there by the previous tenant – or by Slade himself.’

She crouched down and picked one up.

‘They’re pretty soggy,’ she said. ‘That’s the dew. But don’t you think they would look even more weathered if they had been out here more than a few days?’

I reached down and picked up two of the butts. The slightest pressure caused one of them to disintegrate between my finger and thumb.

‘Do you think someone’s been here since we arrived?’ I said.

Nicole motioned to the garage door.

‘I don’t know, but maybe we should look inside.’

‘I tried yesterday. It was locked.’

‘Well perhaps the keys are in the house. Let’s check.’

After a fruitless ten minute search of drawers and cupboards we returned to the garage door armed with a hammer and chisel I’d found in a tool box.

It was an old wooden door and it did not look very sturdy. But it proved more difficult to open than I expected. However, I eventually managed to break the rusty lock and push the door inwards.

The light switch was next to the door but when I flicked it on nothing happened. It was difficult to see much in the gloom, but we could tell that the garage was packed with Slade’s personal
belongings
. Most of the stuff was in cardboard boxes, but a lot of it had been left in piles on the floor, including clothes, bed linen and towels. There were also half-empty tins of paint that matched the colours inside the house, some moth-eaten cushions, a threadbare rug and a mangled mountain bike.

The two side walls were lined with shelves on which rested tools and other junk that had been accumulated over the years. My heart slumped with disappointment. There was no sign of Tina in the garage, but I hadn’t really expected there to be.

‘N
ow that’s my idea of a haunted house,’ Angel said when she saw King’s Manor. ‘You can scream till the cows come home and nobody will hear you.’

‘Don’t tell me you believe in all that rubbish,’ Temple said.

‘I’ll have you know that my Great Aunt Edith is a medium. I’m serious. She’s been talking to ghosts for years.’

‘And conning gullible people out of their hard-earned cash at the same time, I don’t doubt.’

‘She’s the genuine article. Even performs before an audience.’

‘Yeah, and I bet she makes a tidy packet from it.’

‘That’s not why she does it.’

‘Of course not. She does it because out of the goodness of her heart she wants to reunite people with their dear departed.’

‘Exactly.’

Temple rolled his eyes. ‘Please tell me this is a wind-up.’

‘Absolutely not,’ Angel said. ‘I’ve believed in the spirit world since I had a paranormal experience at the age of twelve.’

Temple gave her a look. ‘Now I know you’re getting me at it.’

She shook her head. ‘It’s true. I swear. I was sleeping at a friend’s house. I woke up and saw the figure of a woman standing next to the bed. I was too terrified to scream. So I stared at it. After a couple of seconds it faded away.’

‘Ever thought you might have been dreaming?’

‘No, because I wasn’t. I know what I saw and I’ll never let anyone persuade me otherwise.’

‘So I’m going to be sharing my home with a woman who thinks she sees dead people,’ Temple said.

Angel chuckled. ‘That’s right, boss. Aren’t you the lucky one?’

An attractive middle-aged woman was standing in front of the house, holding the hand of a small boy.

‘That must be Nicole Keaton and her son, Michael,’ Angel said as their car drew to a halt on the gravel driveway.

Temple’s first impression of Mrs Keaton was that she was pretty, but not in the way of a beauty parade contestant or model. She had a pleasant, open face with full lips and high cheekbones. But as he stepped from the car and walked up to her, Temple was struck by how stressed out she looked. Her eyes were wide and solemn, her complexion almost grey. He showed her his warrant card and
introduced
himself and Angel.

‘You must be Mrs Keaton,’ he said.

She nodded. ‘We’ve been expecting you. This is Michael, my son.’

Temple smiled at the boy, who did not smile back. He looked forlorn. His eyes were dull and opaque, as though someone had switched off the light.

‘Has your daughter turned up yet, Mrs Keaton?’ Temple asked.

‘I’m afraid not. And please, call me Nicole.’ Her words sounded pained and filled with anguish.

‘Jack’s in the kitchen,’ she said. ‘Come in.’

In the hallway she bent towards her son and whispered something to him. He responded by disappearing through an open doorway on the right. Temple peered in and saw that it was the living room.

The bright, modern decor of the house surprised Temple. He had been expecting the interior to be old and gloomy – like any
stereotypical
‘haunted house’. But the walls looked as though they had recently been painted and the rooms smelled of lemon air freshener.

Jack Keaton was sitting at the kitchen table. He was hunched over a mug of tea or coffee. It looked to Temple as though he had been crying. His eyes were bloodshot, the skin beneath them red and puffy.

‘Hello, Mr Keaton. I’m DCI Jeff Temple. This is my colleague, DI Metcalfe.’

Keaton was tall and lean, with a tanned face and stooped shoulders. He had light brown hair cut short, the grey just finding its way around his ears.

‘Tina’s still missing,’ he said.

Without being asked, Temple pulled out a chair from under the table and sat opposite him. Angel remained standing, her back against the worktop.

‘Actually we didn’t come here to talk about your daughter, Mr Keaton,’ he said. ‘The uniformed officers who were here last night told us she had been in contact with you. That’s why they didn’t feel it necessary to launch an immediate search of the forest.’

‘But I think it is,’ Keaton snapped. ‘My daughter is only fourteen. She’s not safe out there.’

‘Well she probably hasn’t gone far,’ Temple said. ‘I’m sure she’ll be back soon.’

Keaton shook his head. ‘It’s not that simple. She wouldn’t have gone off like that. Not alone and in the dark.’

‘She’s a teenager, Mr Keaton. They can be unpredictable.’

‘This is different. I’m sure it has something to do with all the other crazy things that have happened.’

‘Are you talking about the poltergeist activity you mentioned to the other officers?’

‘I didn’t actually use that word,’ Keaton said. ‘And you’re making us sound like head cases. Some weird shit has happened here.’

Temple did not know what to think. Keaton’s distress seemed genuine enough and he didn’t appear to be on drugs.

‘Why don’t you start by telling me what’s been going on then?’ Temple said. ‘Maybe I can help you make sense of it.’