Watching the Ghosts (26 page)

There was no sign of a police presence in the entrance hall now although more crime-scene tape still drooped forlornly around the entrance to the basement. Her natural curiosity made her wonder what was down there, although she had no inclination to venture down herself.

When she'd last talked to Beverley the woman had twittered on about contacting somebody from the cathedral who dealt with exorcisms – that friend of Joe's she'd met in the café. If it had happened, no doubt she'd hear all about it in due course. Beverley always liked to talk, which was hardly surprising. Looking after her bedridden mother must be a lonely and stressful existence.

She quickened her steps as she passed Alan Proud's door. Since her break-in she'd experienced a feeling of trepidation each time she arrived home, even after the culprit had been caught, so when she opened her front door she stood in the hallway, listening for any telltale sounds of intrusion, anything that might tell her she wasn't alone in there.

There were muffled sounds all right, but she soon realized they were coming from Proud's flat. Not the usual footsteps, cooking and TV but the sounds of somebody conducting some sort of search – opening drawers and cupboards and walking from room to room. She told herself that Proud was most likely looking for something he'd lost. It probably meant nothing. But she knew in her heart it sounded wrong. Somebody was in there searching the place.

And she didn't know what to do.

C
hristopher Torridge sat in the interview room, his head in his hands, a picture of despair and defeat. Joe began to feel a little sorry for him. Emily, in contrast, was giving the man a hard stare that would freeze the fires of hell. Nice cop, nasty cop. A classic combination.

‘Where's Daisy?'

Torridge looked up. ‘She's fine. She's having a good time.'

‘Even with her mum dead?' Emily leaned forward, accusing.

Torridge held his hands up in a gesture of self-defence. ‘She doesn't know. We didn't know how to tell her. And since it happened we thought it'd be best for her to stay with Paul and Una because she can't stand Jack. Una reckons he's not fit to look after a kid . . . especially with Melanie dead.'

Emily shifted in her seat. ‘So let me get this straight . . . what's your connection to Una and Paul?'

‘I'm Una's brother. When her and Paul thought this up they asked me to help. They knew Melanie had been helping me with this stuff about our aunty and Una said if I followed her into the park and distracted her with some questions, her and Paul could take Daisy off. They told Daisy it was a game . . . like hide and seek. They were worried about the kid – Melanie was working all hours and Jack . . .' He hesitated.

‘What about him?'

Torridge looked away. ‘He wasn't interested in Daisy. Treated her like she was a nuisance. Like I said, she doesn't like him. Paul reckoned that now he's settled with Una he can be a proper dad to her but Melanie wasn't having any of it.'

‘So he snatched her?'

‘He felt he had no choice.' He sounded defensive and slightly self-righteous.

‘You knew they were asking for money?' said Joe.

‘Paul reckoned Hawkes wouldn't miss ten grand. He could have asked for more but he didn't want to be greedy. He's had some financial problems recently and he thought it would be a way of solving them. And giving Daisy a decent life. As soon as they'd got the cash they were going to take her to Spain and call Melanie as soon as they got there to let her know Daisy was safe and that she could come over and see her whenever she wanted. Paul thinks it'll be good for the kid to grow up in the sunshine.'

‘Where's Daisy now?'

‘She's being well taken care of and as far as she's concerned she's just having a little holiday with her dad and her Aunty Una.' He suddenly looked serious. ‘But it's been awkward since we heard about Melanie. Sometimes Daisy asks when she's going to see her mummy and we've had to keep fobbing her off. But she never asks about Jack. Una reckons she's scared of him so once Melanie died there was no way we were going to let her go back.' He looked at Emily. ‘Look, Paul loves that kid and so does Una – she's great with kids and can't have any of her own. Well, what would you have done?'

‘I'd have gone through the proper channels . . . and I wouldn't have worried her mother sick and tried to extort ten grand from her stepfather.' She sighed with exasperation. If there was any truth in Torridge's dark hints about Jack Hawkes, then, following Melanie's death, her biological father and his partner might well have had a chance of getting custody of the child. But as things stood, they'd messed up the situation big time.

‘So all that talk about your aunt, Dorothy Watts, was just a way of getting to Melanie Hawkes?' Joe asked.

Torridge shook his head so vigorously that Joe was afraid he might be about to do himself an injury. ‘You've talked to my mum so you should know I was telling the truth. She's desperate to find out what had happened to Dot before she . . . passes away. Una didn't want to see Melanie because of . . . because of her connection with Paul. It would have been embarrassing for her so we decided that I'd do it.'

‘We'll ask Una about that . . . when we find her,' said Emily. ‘Where is she, Chris? And where's Paul?'

‘I can't tell you.'

‘Can't or won't?'

Torridge pressed his lips together in a stubborn line. He wasn't going to betray his sister and her partner. And, in his opinion, Daisy was better off with them now her mother was dead. In some ways, Joe sympathized. But he kept telling himself that the trio had broken the law and he was a policeman, not a priest. It wasn't his job to give absolution and tell them to go away forgiven and not sin again.

Emily nudged him. They both knew they were unlikely to get any more out of Torridge that night and it was time for a break.

Emily switched off the tape machine and nodded to the constable on duty by the door, a signal for him to return their prisoner to the cells.

When they got back to the CID office it was still buzzing with activity in spite of the late hour. Joe saw that Jamilla was still engrossed in Dr Pennell's notebook. He walked over to her desk.

‘Anything new?'

When she looked up he thought she looked like a woman who'd just witnessed something unpleasant, an accident, perhaps, or a disturbing scene on film.

‘Have a look at this.' She handed him a sheet of paper as if she could hardly bear to be contaminated by its contents. ‘I haven't finished transcribing it all yet but . . .'

Joe took it from her and as he absorbed the words he felt numb.

It was a list. Horribly methodical. Cold and clinical. Dorothy Watts' name was there with the comments: ‘Ice bath. Three teeth extracted. Burns to abdomen. Cuts to right thigh resulting in profuse bleeding.' Then there was a series of clinical readings: blood pressure, temperature, heart rate.

Jamilla spoke softly. ‘I think he tortured them. Experimented on them.' She swallowed. ‘Some of the entries have the initials PB beside them. In fact, most of them do. Do you think it's Peter Brockmeister? Do you think he and Dr Pennell were in it together?'

Joe bowed his head. ‘It's possible that they fed each other's violent fantasies – doctor and patient. Only I get the feeling Brockmeister was in charge. Any luck with the relatives of the other people named?'

‘I've traced a couple and it's the same pattern. Unexplained death. And the interesting thing is that the patients in question were all comparatively wealthy and their money went to their next of kin . . . but after that the money gradually disappeared. Most of the people I talked to were the younger generation but there was one person who put the phone down on me. Might be worth a look?' She pointed at the notebook. ‘And there's this name – Jane Hawkes – any relation, do you think?'

‘Possibly.' Joe smiled. ‘You've done a good job, Jamilla. Why don't you get home? Can you do more digging on the Hawkes entry tomorrow?'

Jamilla stood up and shot him a grateful look. She'd had a harrowing day.

‘I hear you've got the kidnappers,' she said. ‘Is the kid all right?'

‘She's fine. Turns out she was with her father. He'd hit on it as a way of getting some cash. They were planning to go to Spain.' Before he could say any more his mobile rang and the caller display told him it was George Merryweather. He answered the call, glad of the distraction.

‘Are you at home?' It was clear that George had hoped he'd be free for a chat. But he had to disappoint him.

‘I'm still at work. Is something the matter?'

‘I visited Boothgate House today. I just wanted to tell you about it.'

‘Go on. What happened?'

George hesitated. ‘Beverley Newson asked me to go there because she sensed a hostile atmosphere in the building. And with the late Karl Dremmer's findings . . . Well, let's put it this way, I couldn't resist the challenge. There was definitely something in that basement, Joe. You know I have to be sceptical if I'm to keep my credibility but I sensed real evil down there. I can't be specific at this stage but . . . I said some prayers but I think it might take more than that.'

Joe could tell by George's voice that he'd experienced something disturbing in that basement. And with Jamilla's new findings, things were starting to add together. But he knew there were many who'd scoff, Emily included. But he always kept an open mind.

‘Beverley's quite insistent that I spend the night there tonight. She's frightened, Joe.'

‘I wouldn't advise it, George.'

‘Well, I have a committee meeting tonight at the cathedral so it's quite impossible. I told Beverley and she began to cry. I assured her that . . .'

Joe was surprised at how relieved he felt. ‘Good. Promise you won't be tempted to go there after the meeting?'

‘I'm tempted by lots of things, Joe, but the prospect of being in that basement after dark isn't one of them. I'll call Beverley in the morning to see how she is.'

‘Good idea,' he said, hoping George wasn't just saying it to stop him worrying. If George thought Beverley needed his help it would be just like him to abandon caution to come to her aid. But he'd said his bit – the rest was up to George.

He told him he'd be in touch and ended the call just as the phone on his desk began to ring. When he picked up the receiver he heard a male voice on the other end of the land line. A constable who'd been on patrol in his car had been flagged down by a young man in the Museum Gardens area. The lad had been incoherent, half drunk and in shock and it had taken a few minutes to find out what had happened.

He'd been in the Museum Gardens, messing around with his mates and drinking cider, and when he went off to relieve himself among the abbey ruins he saw a man a few yards away, lying half hidden next to a low stone wall.

When the man didn't move he went over to have a look and realized that he was dead.

The constable who went to investigate found credit cards in the corpse's wallet. All in the name of Alan Proud.

‘This is all we bloody need,' Emily muttered to nobody in particular as she stood in the abbey ruins watching Sally Sharpe do her bit underneath the newly erected floodlights. ‘How long has he been dead, Sal?' she called to the pathologist.

‘No more than two hours,' Sally answered. ‘It must have been dusk when he was killed. The killer took a risk in a public place like this.'

‘The ruined walls are high in places,' said Emily. ‘And if nobody was around at the time . . . I presume that's the cause of death?' She pointed to the wound in Proud's abdomen. A patch of blood, half dried to a rusty brown, had spread over his pale shirt and there was a dribble of dried blood around his mouth. ‘What kind of weapon would you say?'

Sally sat back on her heels. ‘A sharp blade – something fairly thin. I'll be able to tell you more after the post-mortem.'

Joe was standing beside Emily and when he leaned towards her and whispered in her ear that he had to make a call, she gave him an enquiring look and told him not to be long. He could see the strain was beginning to tell on her face. She hadn't touched up her lipstick like she usually did and there was a stain on her white shirt, evidence of a Chinese takeaway eaten hastily at her desk at six.

Joe walked away, stopping once he was outside the taped off area. He speed dialled Lydia's number and waited, holding his breath. When he heard her voice he felt relieved.

‘Alan Proud's dead. He's been murdered.' He hadn't time to dress the news up in tactful words.

After a short, shocked silence, she spoke. ‘I saw him earlier in the Museum Gardens. He was hanging around as if he was waiting for someone. Then I heard someone in his flat about an hour ago. It sounded as though they were searching for something . . . opening drawers and . . . I wondered whether to call you but then everything went quiet so . . .'

‘You should have told me.'

‘I thought it was probably him . . . Proud. Besides, I didn't want to bother you.'

Joe stood for a few moments, watching all the activity around the corpse. Suddenly the needs of the living seemed more important to him than those of the dead so he told Lydia he'd be with her soon and ended the call. Then he retraced his steps and told Emily where he was going.

‘His flat needs to be sealed off and searched,' she said. ‘And we have to find out whether any of the neighbours saw anyone go in there . . . or noticed anybody hanging round the building.'

Joe began to hurry away, anxious to ensure Lydia's safety, but Emily called him back. ‘We'll need to check all the CCTV footage from this area to see whether Proud makes an appearance . . . hopefully with his murderer in tow. Get Sunny to organize that before you go?'