A Deadly Thaw (21 page)

The boy had gone. Her empty consulting rooms, a refuge for so many of her clients, felt soiled. Her shock at seeing the scarf, an item that she recognised as belonging to her, had blinded her to the fact that he had deposited something else on the table when he left. A large brown envelope, thin and neatly gummed shut. For an instant, Kat had an idea of tearing it up into tiny shreds without even looking at the contents. Wasn’t that part of taking control of your life? She didn’t actually have to open the packages, to play the game that her sister was drawing her into.

She slid her finger under the gummed flap and reached inside for the contents. It was a glossy photograph of a pub. Kat frowned. There was a dated feel to the image, reinforced by the car that was passing when the photo was taken. The shot had to be at least ten years old. She squinted at the building. In large letters were the words, ‘Ups ’n’ Downs’. A terrible name for a gruesome pub.

She wafted the photograph at her hot face. She remembered the place, of course. It was where she and Lena used to go in the days when they were still socialising together. She could have sworn that the bar was now derelict. In fact, she was pretty much sure of it. It was up by the canal. Not the nice bit with the warehouse that had been converted into flats, but the other end of town. A place that had never managed to be regenerated. It had been a slightly dodgy area when she and Lena had gone there, but safe enough if there was a gang of you. She hadn’t been there for years though. Surely the pub couldn’t still be open?

Still slightly shaky on her feet, she pulled on her jacket. She didn’t feel up to driving, and the distance was just about walkable. The fresh air helped alleviate the anxiety she could feel insinuating itself around her body.

She found Mark’s number on her phone and called first his mobile, then his home. No answer from either of them.
Men
, she thought,
are just useless
. You had to rely on your own resources.

When she reached the canal, it was as she’d expected. The pub that had once been Ups ’n’ Downs was derelict. The windows and doors were boarded up, and there was just a small slot in the front entrance to post whatever junk mail the postman was inclined to deliver. Even the name had been removed. Just a red strip across the building indicated that there had once been a sign present.

The pub brought back no significant memories for Kat. It had been a place to go out for a sly drink in the days before she’d really been allowed to go to bars, but that was just about it.

She pulled out the photograph from her pocket and compared the image to the present state of the building. Definitely the same place, but that was all that could be said really. A pub she had once frequented. What the hell was Lena up to?

She could hear footsteps coming up behind her and turned sharply. Lena stood opposite her. ‘You always were slow on the uptake.’

That stung. Her sister always had the capacity to hurt her, and nothing had changed.

‘Where have you been?’

Lena was like a spectre from one of those films they’d watched together long ago. The grey in her hair seemed to have multiplied. Her shoulders were hunched over her thin frame. She didn’t answer Kat directly but turned to look at the derelict building. ‘Don’t you remember this place? What it was like?’

‘Of course I remember it. Bloody awful place it was. So what? This is Bampton. You want somewhere decent for a night out when you’re eighteen, go to Manchester.’

‘We weren’t eighteen though, were we? You were fifteen, me sixteen.’

‘So? We weren’t the first teenagers to go out drinking when we shouldn’t have. Mum and Dad weren’t bothered. They were happy to turn a blind eye.’

At the mention of their parents, Lena’s eyes filled with tears. Kat stared at her unmoved. ‘They weren’t just your parents, you know? They were mine too.’

Lena moved forward, and Kat got a familiar whiff of sweat. She recoiled. ‘You smell like that boy. The one who’s been leaving me all those presents from you. Are you sleeping with him?’

Lena moved back away from her. ‘He’s been helping me. I needed it.’

‘Helping you? You’ve implicated someone barely out of childhood in your schemes. Who the hell is he? Are you going to ruin someone else’s life as well as your own?’

‘His life has already taken a certain course and it’s not something any of us can do anything about.’

‘What course? What are you talking about? And why are you getting him to leave me gifts? I don’t understand what they mean.’

‘I’m trying to explain. The reason for all this. Haven’t you guessed yet?’

‘Guessed? What the hell am I supposed to have guessed? All I know is that you’re on the run from the police who think you shot Andrew. Remember him? The man you married?’

Lena stared at her. ‘The police still think I shot him?’

‘What are they supposed to think? Your husband turns up dead. The one you went to prison twelve years earlier for killing. Then you disappear. What are they supposed to think?’

‘But I had to leave.’

‘Had to? You’ve always done what you wanted to do. You did exactly the same this time. Disappeared because you felt like it.’

‘But Kat,’ her sister reached out and clutched at her arm. It was the first touch Kat could remember since they were teenagers. ‘Andrew was killed. How do I know I won’t be next?’

I’ve made a right cock-up of things
, thought Palmer.
I’m even going to borrow an expression from Llewellyn to describe it.
Connie hadn’t made a fuss this morning. She was a good one. There had been no awkward silences or pleading glances. She treated him as she always did. Yet, despite his carefree manner, it was he who was struggling. It wasn’t because he felt guilty. The problem was that he didn’t feel any guilt at all. Surely that’s what he should be feeling. Joanne was at home with her fertility kits. Thank God it was the wrong time of the month. He doubted he could have managed it this morning but there would be no excuses if the time were right.

Connie was jigging her legs to one side of him. He wanted to put his hand out to still them. She annoyed and attracted him in equal measure. What a complete and utter lunatic he was. It was time to go home. The problem was that he was happier here than where he needed to be that evening. He couldn’t disentangle his feelings enough to understand if it was the pull of Connie that was keeping him here or the thought of going home to Joanne that was repelling him.

Sadler walked across to them with a face like thunder. ‘Come into my office.’ Palmer looked at Connie, and she shrugged. They followed their boss into his room. ‘Shut the door.’

Sadler didn’t seem to notice Connie’s frown.
Well, hardly surprising
, thought Palmer. They usually conducted their meetings with the door shut anyway. What was the problem?

Sadler sat down heavily in his chair. ‘The trouble with being a local is that sometimes it goes against you. If I hadn’t been from this area, I might have paid more attention to the history of Hale’s End.’

‘The history,’ asked Connie. ‘You mean the First World War?’

‘Forget about the war. I mean its more recent history. Because I spent the odd evening larking about in Hale’s End when I was a teenager, that’s what I associated it with. Messing about. Somewhere you could go when you wanted to frighten yourself stupid.’

‘I think it’s still a bit spooky now,’ said Connie.

‘The problem is that a witness has come forward today to say that Hale’s End also used to have a reputation for being a place to go and have sex.’

‘What, in the building?’ asked Connie.

It’s all going to be about sex today
, thought Palmer.

‘Not inside the morgue, thank God. However, you could once get a car along the path.’

‘Like dogging?’ asked Connie. ‘You know, where people drive and watch other people have sex in cars?’

Sadler’s face was sour. ‘I can see a hint of amusement in your face, Connie. Get rid of it. I’m not talking about voyeurism. I’m saying that it was a place, literally off the beaten track, where you could go to have sex.’

‘Llewellyn said it was all about sex,’ said Palmer.

‘Yes, he did, didn’t he? Well, I dare say most of it was young teenage couples with nowhere else to go. Although there may have been the odd spot of adultery going on too.’

Fuck
,
thought Palmer. He didn’t dare look at Connie.

‘You think this is about adultery?’ Her voice sounded hoarse to Palmer’s ears.

‘No, I think it’s about non-consensual sex.’

‘What?’ Connie’s voice had returned to its normal pitch. ‘You mean rape?’

Sadler tapped his pencil on his desk. ‘I’ve had, from a reliable witness, an account of her being taken to Hale’s End, voluntarily at first, and then assaulted during the course of the evening.’

The room fell silent. Both were digesting the information.

Connie, of course, was the first to speak. ‘But it’s Philip Staley that we’re linking with sexual assault. Through the testimony of Rebecca Hardy. It’s Andrew Fisher’s body that we found at Hale’s End. We’ve not found any connection between the two yet.’

‘Well, this might be it. It might not have been Philip Staley who was killed at Hale’s End, but he’s connected to this case. Now there’s a possible link to the location where the murder took place.’

‘Who’s this witness?’ asked Palmer.

Sadler looked down at his desk. ‘I’d rather not say at the moment. We’ll take a statement in due course. I think we’ll have to. But I want to see if we can come up with something more substantial to ensure it’s relevant to the case.’

Palmer frowned. This wasn’t right. If this woman was a potential witness, then they needed to take a formal statement from her. Any delay might jeopardise a future trial if they cut corners regarding witness statements.

‘Is the victim traumatised?’ asked Connie. ‘If you like, I can take along a victim-support officer. Two women. It might help.’

Palmer saw Sadler hesitate. ‘Not for the moment.’

‘She doesn’t want to speak to anyone?’

Sadler didn’t respond, and, in the moment’s silence, Palmer felt the need to fill the void. ‘Did she report the attack?’

‘Yes, but she says she was treated badly during the questioning.’

‘Badly?’ echoed Palmer. This didn’t sound good.

‘I don’t at this stage want to go into any details. Except to say that she felt one of the officers took a prurient interest in the minutiae of the attack. There doesn’t appear to have been an investigation of any substance. She thinks the case was eventually classified as “no crime”.’

‘Fucking hell.’ Connie stood up.

Palmer put his head in his hands. ‘No crime’ was a police classification for when, following an initial report of a crime, subsequent investigations came to the conclusion that no offence had actually been committed. There were a myriad of reasons why this happened. Some were legitimate, for example when there were few witnesses or little chance of securing a conviction. But for sexual assault, the historic ‘no criming’ of cases had been because of a lack of willingness to investigate claims further. This wasn’t just the case in Derbyshire. It had happened everywhere. A disgrace and often the result of an excessive workload.

Palmer risked a look at his boss. Sadler’s expression was calm.

‘Sit down, Connie. This is important. We need to keep our emotions out of this. It wasn’t Philip Staley who was her attacker. Or Andrew Fisher.’

‘So why is her story important?’ Palmer caught sight of Sadler’s face. ‘I mean in relation to this case. Except that she was taken to Hale’s End. That’s a tenuous link.’

‘It’s a link all the same though, isn’t it?’ Connie’s voice was subdued. ‘I think the boss is right. This is sounding right. There’s been something missing, and this could be it.’

Sadler tapped his pen on his desk. ‘I want you to do some digging into that club where Rebecca Hardy says she was assaulted by Philip Staley. What was its name?’

‘Ups ’n’ Downs
.
It’s not open any more though,’ said Palmer.

‘Well, you’re going to have to use your initiative. I want you to go and talk to some of the girls who used to go to that club when it was open. They’re going to be in their late thirties and early forties now. Try some women’s organisations. Even the Women’s Institute. Put out some feelers. I want to know about Hale’s End too. What went on inside the club and if the girls ever went to Hale’s End. Voluntarily or not.’

‘Why don’t we go through the files?’ suggested Palmer. ‘We could see what we can dig up in relation to both locations.’

‘Leave the files alone.’ Sadler’s voice was cold. ‘And don’t, for the moment, discuss this with anyone.’

He doesn’t want Llewellyn finding out about this
, thought Palmer.
What the hell’s going on?

Lena’s life in danger? Kat took a closer look at her sister. She was wearing pale-blue jeans and a threadbare white jumper with a hole in the sleeve. A cigarette dangled from her left hand, burning uselessly. Lena didn’t seem inclined to smoke it, but neither did she stub it out.

‘You don’t believe me.’

It wasn’t a question. Kat struggled to form the necessary words. ‘I don’t know what to believe any more. I haven’t known what to say to you for years.’

Lena finally took a puff of her cigarette. ‘Well, my life is in danger. It doesn’t really matter whether you believe me or not.’

‘But why? Why is your life in danger?’

Lena looked at the floor. ‘I don’t know.’

‘Did you kill Andrew?’

Lena remained looking at the pavement. She shook her head.

‘But you know who did, right?’ Kat was thinking of the boy.

Lena didn’t answer. Kat took a deep breath. ‘Who was it in your bed in 2004?’

‘I can’t talk to you about that.’ Now she did look up, and Kat nearly recoiled from the look of misery in her eyes. For the first time that she could remember she felt a human stirring in response to whatever mess Lena had found herself in. Even if it was one of her own creation.

‘Why have you got that boy to leave me things? I know you always liked to be mysterious, but what do the clues mean?’

‘Don’t you remember them?’

‘I remember wearing the necklace. As a kid. The blouse? It took an old photograph to work out that it had even belonged to you.’

‘But you remember the scarf?’

‘The scarf? I remember wearing it in the early nineties, I think. So what? What are you trying to tell me?’

Lena looked deflated. ‘I’m trying to tell you a story. About what happened back then.’

‘Story? So you can taunt me with relics from that time?’

‘I’m not taunting you. I’m trying to explain.’

‘Explain? Explain what?’

‘Why I’ve done what I’ve done.’

‘You mean killing someone who you pretended was your husband?’

‘Yes.’

Kat stood still. ‘And? Well, I’m listening. Tell me.’

‘Kat. You don’t seriously think I’m the only one? The only woman he attacked? It’s not only my story. It’s the story of others too. Including you.’