Born in a Burial Gown (33 page)

‘Would it?’ Fluke said. ‘Think about it for a second. We wanted him for rape and murder. Nathaniel saying she was falsely accusing his father of rape gives him a motive to kill her. More of a motive actually.’

She nodded. ‘Murder’s murder. Doesn’t matter what the reasons are.’

They accepted other ideas; Fluke liked that about his team. Especially when they accepted his.

‘It’s a perfect scam; ingenious, really. As long as she chose her marks carefully, she could have done this indefinitely,’ Towler said. His brow furrowed. ‘She was still in hiding though, boss. Who from and why? And why come to Carlisle? It’s slim pickings here millionaire-wise. There must be easier places for her to work than this.’

‘Anyone?’ Fluke asked the team, opening it up. He had his own ideas but wanted to check he hadn’t strayed too far from the pack.

There was a moment’s silence while they thought it through. Vaughn broke ranks first. ‘She was hiding from a previous mark. Got to be. She hit someone with too much clout. Someone who had the resources to find her.’

‘Yep. That’s what I’m thinking,’ Fluke said. ‘And that person, ladies and gents, is the person who hired our killer.’

‘So, she’s done this before then,’ Edwards said. Not a question, a statement.

‘Oh yes, she’s done this before. Probably several times,’ Fluke said.

‘How can we be sure, sir? How do we know this wasn’t her first time and she got it wrong?’ she asked.

‘It’s a fair question but I think it comes down to Matt’s point earlier; why was she in Carlisle? He’s right; this isn’t Mayfair. Millionaires aren’t bumping their Bentleys into each other round here. The surgery to disguise herself wasn’t cheap so she had access to money. I think she came here to hide and was running low on funds. Was probably going to tap Diamond for twenty grand or so then move on,’ he said. ‘And that’s the second line of enquiry. We need to know where else this has happened. Jo, work on a bulletin and get it sent out nationwide. Work with Kay and make sure every rape team and SARC in the country gets it. We want rapes where the victim disappeared.’

They both nodded.

Vaughn frowned. ‘Where does Diamond’s murder fit in, though? It must be related, surely?’

‘Must be,’ Fluke said. ‘I think the killer’s been tracking her for a while. But this time she makes a mistake and targets someone we can trace through his son’s DNA, someone who also has the resources to search the city at street level. Kenneth Diamond might have been clean but the family isn’t. They would have found her eventually. Every drug dealer in Cumbria would have been looking for her.’

‘How’d Cross find her though, boss?’ Towler asked.

Fluke was venturing into guesswork. Educated guesswork, but guesswork nevertheless. ‘He probably did something similar to her. Monitored all intelligence databases for drug-facilitated rapes until he came across any that fit her MO. He knew he only needed to look at those where no suspects were identified immediately. As soon as he got a hit, he raced over and started doing what Longy’s doing now; searching PNC to see who’s been looking at names with no criminal records. That’s her target.’

‘So, the longer she kept working the longer she was at risk. Ironically, the more careful she was with her checks the more she was giving Cross a chance to catch up to her,’ Vaughn added.

Fluke nodded. He’d come to the same conclusion. It was a game that was only ever going to end one way.

Towler finished it off for them. ‘So, Cross finds out that it was Diamond she’s blackmailed. Grabs him, tortures him and finds out where the drop is supposed to be. We don’t have a time of death for Diamond yet but I’m betting it’ll be before Farrar’s. He stakes out the drop site and finds her, follows her home and the rest we know.’ He paused, before adding, ‘Or think we know anyway.’

‘He would’ve had to move quickly,’ Vaughn said. ‘When Diamond didn’t show to pay, it would’ve spooked her. Her tradecraft was good. I think you’re right; there’s no way she’d ever go through with the threat of exposure. If it didn’t work the first time, she’d leave. We’ve all seen her flat. She could pack and be out of there in two minutes. Matt’s right. The time of death will be Diamond first, no more than a day before Farrar’s, I reckon.’

Fluke had a drink of his tea. A natural pause in the discussion settled over everyone. He tried to poke holes in the theory and knew the team would be doing the same. Unlike Chambers, he didn’t want to work with people who’d agree with everything he said. He liked people to challenge him, to disagree and have their own ideas.

He was sure, however, the crime went down the way they’d described it. There were still things they didn’t know and he didn’t think the Crown Prosecution Service would be too happy. Theories work fine in an incident room. In court, with a five-hundred-pound-an-hour barrister ripping witnesses and evidence to shreds, it was a different matter.

He thought about Samantha. What had made her choose a life like that? A life where she was claiming to have been violated time and time again. A life where she knew she was ruining other lives. And then the sudden realisation that she’d got one wrong. That she’d targeted someone too powerful, too well connected. Someone who had no intention of being blackmailed. Someone who had more than one way to resolve problems. And the hunter became the hunted. Fluke imagined her panic when she realised someone had gone a step further than call her bluff. The urge to flee must have been overwhelming. But she didn’t, she took the time to prepare. Either that or she had a contingency plan already in place. Cosmetic surgery, some superficial alterations and she turned into a ghost, moving from town to town, from city to city, always looking over her shoulder, never daring to settle. And eventually, she travels to the northern-most city in England. Carlisle. The end of the line. Figuratively and literally.

He thought about Nathaniel Diamond. He suspected that if he’d found Farrar first, she would’ve quietly disappeared. Or perhaps not. He was intelligent enough to see the whole board. Perhaps he would’ve thought paying her off was the cautious move. He didn’t have the information Fluke had about the PM and the extensive things she’d done to change her appearance, but he may have felt that there might have been a bigger player at the table. Someone who hadn’t declared their hand yet. Why risk cancelling someone’s asset? Nathaniel couldn’t be sure she wasn’t someone’s employee.

He was interrupted by Towler who stood up and stretched. ‘She was born in a burial gown,’ he said simply.

He didn’t expand and Fluke didn’t need him to. He was right. It was a term he’d heard once or twice in the Marines. It was said about someone who seemed to have a death wish, someone who volunteered to do things that most people were terrified of doing. They were the first through the door and the last one to take cover when coming under enemy fire. They appeared fearless, even reckless. Maybe they were.

People who didn’t know him thought Towler was like that. The truth was the opposite. Towler had fears. He’d told Fluke one night over a couple of cigars, that he was terrified of something happening to Abi. Something he brought home with him every night. A grudge held by someone he’d put in prison. Nurturing it during the twenty-three hours a day he was in his cell. Blaming Towler for his predicament. A twisted revenge fantasy that wouldn’t go away. Eating at him, keeping him awake. Towler knew he had a reputation and knew it was fully deserved. His daughter would be a far easier target.

Fluke had heard a rumour a few years back. A rumour that he’d deliberately not looked in to. Towler had just joined the police and Abi was still an infant. A drunk in Cleator Moor had thrown a bottle at him while he was on nights. Towler was busy putting him into the back of the van for a night sobering up in the cells, he hadn’t even intended to charge him. The rumour was, that in the morning as the drunk was being let out, he’d turned to Towler and told him he knew where he lived. A none-too-subtle threat. Towler had ignored him.

Three days later the same man had turned up at A&E with two broken legs and two broken wrists. He refused to name his attacker. Fluke had no way of knowing if the rumours of a big man seen walking on the back roads of Cleator Moor on the night of the attack were true, and he wasn’t going to ask.

No, Towler had fears like everyone else.

Nathaniel Diamond had been released. Fluke left instructions for the duty officer to try and locate him. Fluke wanted to speak to him before anyone else did. He’d know about his father by now, secrets weren’t easily kept in Carlisle but they had a statutory obligation to tell him anyway. With their father being a widower, he or Wayne would have to formally identify the body. Fluke was going to ask him to do it from the neck up. He couldn’t stop him looking at his father’s broken body but he didn’t think any child should see a parent in that condition. Nathaniel had shown remarkable self-control in all his dealings with Fluke up to then but he doubted it would stretch to that. Fluke didn’t want a psychotic army of vigilantes on the streets of Carlisle.

He drove back to Carlisle and the crime scene but Sowerby and Lucy had already left with the body. Fluke thought the PM would probably take place the next day. He certainly hoped so. Towler could attend on his behalf. The investigation was moving fast and he needed to be in the thick of it. He knew Jiao-long would have information on who’d accessed PNC checking the name Kenneth Diamond soon. It didn’t matter what user level you had, PNC left footprints. If you logged on in your own name it was recorded. Everyone protected their passwords for exactly that reason.

He’d wait for a name before deciding how to continue. The N in PNC stood for National so there was no guarantee that it would be a Cumbrian, although Fluke suspected it would be.

The bulletin to rape teams and SARCs across the country had been sent. Fluke was hopeful it would get a response, although he didn’t know how helpful it would be. There would be no suspects. No victim, no case. The investigation would have struggled on without the victim but ultimately they would have filed it as open unsolved, and moved on to other things. Fluke would have no way of telling which investigation had resulted in successful payments and which hadn’t. She’d have disappeared either way.

The photofit artist was interviewing Penny the next day. There was decent software available but a good artist was always the better option. Someone who understood the way faces were structured. They would have something to send out with the name by lunchtime the following day hopefully.

Fluke left the crime scene and called in at the hospital. He needed to thank Leah for her help. He also needed to see where he stood with his forged letter. He was going to ask if she could just wait until the end of the following week before she reported it. He’d know one way or the other if there was going to be an arrest by then.

She’d gone home. Fluke wished he had such luxuries.

His phone rang. It was a Penrith number. Police HQ but not one in his contact list. He answered it as he walked back to his car. A nasal voice spoke when Fluke answered. ‘Ah Fluke. It’s Alex Fenton from Professional Standards. I need a few words.’

He’d been expecting the call. Fenton wasn’t the type of person to let an opportunity pass. Fluke would need to be careful. Fenton outranked him but was universally despised throughout the force, which evened things up a bit. Fluke’s earlier despondency had lifted. If Fenton had definitive proof the letter to Occupational Health had been forged, he would’ve already arrested him. The prick would have probably done it at HQ, in front of everyone. Fluke suspected all he had were suspicions. He’d need proof. Proof that could only come from Leah, and Fluke knew she hadn’t confirmed anything yet. Fluke’s gut feeling was that it was a call to put pressure on him. To twist the knife.

The prick thought he could outthink him. There wasn’t a single person in FMIT Fenton could outthink. Or anyone in CID for that matter. But he thought he could, which gave Fluke an advantage. A skilled interviewer could get more out of Fenton than he got out of them. Fluke couldn’t afford any distractions, though, so decided the direct approach was the best option for now.

‘Fuck off, Fenton,’ Fluke replied calmly, pressing the end call button. He’d deal with him when it was finished. He turned off his work phone and sent a group text to his team from his personal phone saying it was how he was to be contacted for the next couple of days. He sent one to Jo Skelton telling her to take Sunday off. She had young children, and a husband who’d been looking after them all day. Towler would let Fluke know if he needed time off and no one else in FMIT had kids.

He immediately got a text back from Skelton, who’d ended up with the hospital warrants job. They were ready and she was driving to the duty magistrate’s house now. One for the file and one for the CCTV tapes. If they were signed, and Fluke was sceptical whether they would be, Skelton would drive up to the hospital and collect everything. She’d also be able to discuss aspects of the investigation with Doctor Weighman if he was in. Fluke suspected there’d been things he’d wanted to tell him, but couldn’t. He sent a text back to her, ‘Buy Doctor Weighman a doughnut if he’s in’, before getting back in his car and heading home.

He’d just finished boiling some pasta when his phone rang.

Half an hour before, he’d looked in his fridge for something healthy to eat. There was nothing. Fluke’s kitchen was functional. No decorative bottles of olive oil on the window ledge, no fancy plates, no ornamental scales in this house. The food in his cupboard was chosen for longevity rather than taste and he only ever bought fruit and veg to see how long it took to go off.

After spending the day with Leah, he thought he better try to have a healthy meal. He settled on dry pasta and a ready-made sauce. He defrosted a Cumberland sausage link to add some protein. He told himself he’d need it the next day, although he knew he’d ignore the pasta and only eat the meat. He was basically having a sausage for tea.

He dried his hands and answered. It was Jiao-long.

‘Got him, boss. Gibson Tait. He’s not badged; civvy in charge of IT.’