On Laughton Moor (9 page)

15

For the second time, Knight’s sleep was interrupted, this time by his mobile phone. He groaned, rolling over. It felt as if he’d only slept for minutes, but a glance at the glowing figures of his bedside clock told him it was  about four hours since his dream had woken him, 6.36 am now. He fumbled for the phone, which was still chirping away somewhere near the clock. Finally grabbing it, he raised it to his ear. Thirty seconds later, he was out of bed, fumbling for clothes, rushing across the landing for the bathroom. He pounded on the door of the spare bedroom to wake DS Bishop, but there was no reply. He stared at the door, remembered, and stumbled back to the bedroom, picking up his phone where he’d dropped it on the bed. Sure enough, there was a text from her, he must have already been asleep when it arrived: Staying here, c u at station tomorrow. C
B
  He smiled in spite of the news he’d just received.
Good for you
he thought. Unfortunately, he was going have to disturb her.

Catherine Bishop stretched out a hand, and found Louise’s warm back. It was true then. She’d woken a few minutes before, taking a few seconds to remember where she was, why the wall she was looking at was pale yellow and not white. Louise’s house, Louise’s bedroom, Louise’s bed.  She stretched, then buried her face in the pillow, never having imagined accepting Louise’s invitation to meet up would lead to this. Were they back together then? Was that what she wanted? Louise, so familiar, so safe, the shared history and memories, the friends in common, the knowledge of each other’s past and hopes for the future. Everything she thought she’d lost was seemingly back within her grasp and she had to decide whether she wanted to take it, or to run. Perhaps staying last night hadn’t been the best way to begin making that decision. She realised her mobile was ringing. Where the hell was it? It had been in her jacket pocket and she seemed to remember her clothes were on the floor at the side of the bed. She leant over to look, and sure enough could see the screen of the phone, clearly lit through the fabric of her shirt, which was lying on top of it. She heaved herself on to the floor and grabbed it. DI Knight. Not good at this time in the morning.

  ‘Hello? Jonathan?’

  ‘Morning, Catherine, we’ve got another body with our friend’s calling card. Where are you, can I pick you up?’

Bishop gave Louise’s address, her head spinning. This changed everything.

  ‘Okay, we won’t lose much time if I call in for you. I think I can be there in about twenty minutes.’

He hung up. Bishop slowly stood up. Louise’s face appeared over the side of the bed, bleary eyed.

  ‘Let me guess,’ she said. ‘You’ve got to go?’

  ‘Another body. I’ll need some clean clothes, Louise, I’m sorry.’

Louise clambered out of bed, pulled on pyjama shorts and a vest.

  ‘Have a quick shower, I’ll sort you something out.’ she said.

Bishop kissed her softly on the way out of the bedroom door, trying to ignore the churning of her stomach.

The atmosphere in Knight’s car was noticeably tense. Although they’d both attended more crime scenes than they wanted to remember, this somehow felt different, more personal. They hadn’t been given much detail, only that the body of an adult male had been discovered by the roadside, next to a vehicle and, of course, that the same message found with Craig Pollard’s body had also been recognised at the scene. Bishop was quiet, her mind running through the possibilities of what this meant. Until they arrived at the scene, they couldn’t begin to answer any of her questions, but that didn’t stop her mind racing. She was wearing some of Louise’s clothes, black pinstripe trouser suit and a light grey shirt. It was strangely comforting to carry Louise’s smell with her, a tiny piece of the old familiarity in a world that suddenly felt very strange. Louise had provided a new toothbrush, been very understanding and even waved her off at the door. Perhaps she really was determined to turn over a new leaf. Bishop closed her eyes, opened them again, knowing she needed to concentrate, to focus on making sense of whatever was waiting for them. She glanced at the sat nav Knight was religiously following. It reckoned they would arrive at their destination in around four minutes. She gazed out of the window, not that there was anything to see but darkness. She could imagine the flat countryside, bare fields, the grass a washed out paler version of its summer self. Three minutes. She couldn’t mention the running figure last night now, it would have to be later.

Knight coughed, cleared his throat. She wanted him to say something, anything, but he just kept driving, fingers gripping the steering wheel tightly, his lips pressed tightly together. Two minutes. The sat nav’s computerised voice suddenly boomed out, making them both jump, instructing Knight to turn left at the next junction. Knight braked, slowed right down. It was a tiny break in the hedge, barely noticeable, especially in this light. Out of the darkness loomed a figure in a high visibility coat. A uniformed constable, blowing on his hands, stood by a line of cones and a ‘POLICE ROAD CLOSED’ sign. Knight stopped the car next to him and wound down the window, fumbling for his warrant card. The constable leaned in.

  ‘Sorry, sir, this road’s closed, as you can see. I’m going to have to ask you to turn around.’

  ‘DI Knight and DS Bishop – here you go.’ The constable took the warrant card from him and scrutinised it.

  ‘Okay, thank you, sir. I’ll move a few cones for you. Just up the road, they’re sorting some lighting out.’

Knight nodded his thanks, wound the window back up.

  ‘Freezing out there.’ he muttered.

Bishop leant back in the seat, staring through the windscreen. Knight pulled onto the grass verge behind a battered burgundy Volvo estate.

  ‘Doctor Webber’s here then.’ Bishop said tonelessly, pressing the seatbelt release button. Knight followed suit and they climbed out into the cold, damp morning.

  ‘Doctor Webber?’ Knight asked.

  ‘You’ll see.’

They made their way further down the lane, past scene of crime vans and hurrying people. Sure enough, the area was suddenly bathed in a yellow glow as several large spotlights that were quickly erected. Mick Caffery bustled up to them.

  ‘Morning.  You’ll need to get suited up before you go any further. The body’s over there, where the blue van is.’

He pointed. There was an obvious concentration of activity in that area, white suited figures scurrying around, all sorts of equipment being ferried that way.

  ‘Any early thoughts?’ asked Knight.

Caffery sighed.

  ‘Take the Pollard scene, add a van and a more scenic location and there you go.’

  ‘Similarities then.’

  ‘Practically the same, except this poor sod’s lying on his front next to a van. It’s registered to a local courier company. Back of his head’s smashed in all right though. Doctor’s having a look at him now. Photographs and filming just about finished I think.’

  ‘And the same message as last time?’

  ‘Oh yes, exactly the same. Under his foot, the top trapped so it didn’t blow away.’

Bishop swallowed, nausea rising from her stomach.
Deep breaths
she told herself firmly. A sudden urge to run came over her, the impulse to get as far away from this place, from this case, as possible. She fought it, clenching her hands into fists.
Come on, Catherine, get a grip
. Knight turned, and Bishop wondered for a second if she had spoken out loud.

  ‘There are some suits in the car boot.’ Knight told her. Bishop followed him back down the lane, still struggling with unfamiliar and unwelcome feelings. They pulled on the scene of crime suits silently, each lost in their own thoughts, then made their way back to where they’d left Caffery. He was talking to another white suited figure who turned as Knight and Bishop approached. It was all Knight could do not to gasp. Bishop had to hide a grin in spite of it all.

  ‘Good morning, Doctor Webber.’

Jo Webber smiled back, her perfectly even features made even more attractive by the shadows cast on them.

  ‘Hello, Catherine. I asked you last time we met to call me Jo.’

  ‘Jo, then. This is DI Knight - Jonathan.’

Webber turned to Knight.

  ‘Pleased to meet you. You'll want to know about our victim?’

  ‘Please.’ squeaked Knight. Bishop bit her lip. Jo Webber didn’t seem to notice.

  ‘Well, cause of death looks like being the trauma to the back of his head. Time of death – I’m not going to speculate now, but sometime last night. He’s not been out here long – obvious really as he would have been found before now, not that you need me to tell you that. I’ll do the post mortem later this morning, I’ll say eleven thirty.’

  ‘Eleven thirty.’ echoed Knight.

  ‘That’s right, Inspector. I presume you’ll be attending?’

  ‘I . . . yes, I’ll be there.’

Webber smiled again and swept away. Knight rounded on Bishop.

  ‘You could have told me she looks like a bloody supermodel!’

Grinning openly now, Bishop said ‘I thought I’d let you have the pleasure of discovering that yourself. Rather her than Doc Beckett then?’

Knight didn’t bother to reply and they hurried after Caffery who was already striding his way towards the blue van. Knight didn’t like laughing and joking at a crime scene. He knew why people did it, protecting themselves against the horrors they saw every working day, but he could never approve of it. Doctor Webber’s appearance had stunned him, it was true, but she was forgotten now as he stared at the body in front of them. Face down, as Caffery had said. The wreckage of the man’s head was stomach turning and he felt Bishop tense beside him. The blue van’s driver door was open, the victim lay on the road. From his position, it seemed he had either just climbed out of the driver’s seat, or was doing so when he was attacked. They couldn’t be sure of course, not yet, but it looked that way to Knight. They were lucky a passing vehicle hadn’t run him over as he lay there. He said as much to Caffery, who agreed and explained that the man who had discovered the body had been travelling in the opposite direction.

  ‘It’s a quiet road and chances are it happened in the early hours.’ Caffery pointed out.

  ‘Okay.’ Knight pondered. ‘So the victim’s driving along, minding his own business, then suddenly decides to stop, presuming of course he was driving.’

Caffery beckoned to them and they followed him to the back of the vehicle. SOCOs had been working on the road, there were several numbered markers. Caffery explained they identified skid marks made by the van.

  ‘Don’t quote me on this yet,’ he said, ‘but it looks to me as if he was travelling at speed and slammed his brakes on. We’ll keep looking.’

Frowning, all frivolity forgotten, Bishop said ‘So maybe there was an obstruction in the road or a vehicle coming towards him?’

  ‘Could be either of those, or both. Something that forced him to stop, at any rate. If it was a vehicle, and it didn’t brake sharply, we probably won’t have tracks. We’ve not found any yet anyway, though it’s obviously early days.’

They moved back around to the side of the vehicle where the body lay. Caffery left them and went to speak to a member of his team. Bishop glanced at the A4 paper under the victim’s shoe then quickly averting her gaze to his face, or what little was visible. Knight stared down at him too.

  ‘Seems strange that he was out here in the middle of nowhere. Even if he’s a courier or delivery driver, you’d think he’d stick to the main roads wouldn’t you, quicker journeys?’

  ‘It does seem odd, now you mention it. Although if he was using a sat nav, they can take you to some strange places if you’re not careful.’ Bishop glanced at Knight. ‘Another body, sir, the same message.’ She felt nausea rise into her throat again, wished she had some water to hand. Swallowing, she rubbed her hand across her mouth.

  ‘Yes. We need to find out who he is as soon as we can.’

  ‘Hopefully they’ll be able to move him soon.’

They both span around as a loud metallic banging suddenly started, apparently coming from inside the blue van.

  ‘What the . . .’ exclaimed Knight, as Bishop gasped ‘Shit!’

They ran around to the back of the van, almost colliding with Caffery and two of his SOCOs. Caffery stared, hands on hips. A padlock was threaded through a latch that had been drilled into the van doors.

  ‘Someone locked in there . . . ’

  ‘Shall we open it?’ asked one of the constables.

Everyone looked at each other. The noise grew louder, faint shouting could be heard too.

  ‘Sounds like they’re terrified.’ Bishop observed. Knight stepped back.

  ‘We’ll have to open it,’ he said. ‘They could have been in there for hours.’

Caffery nodded.

‘It’s been dusted for prints, I think we’ve got everything we can from it out here. Pass me a suit, we’ll need the clothes from whoever’s in there, they could be the one who killed him for all we know.’

A uniformed constable stepped forward with a hammer and gave the padlock a few hefty blows. Protective suit in hand, Caffery stepped forward, reached for the handles, gave them a sharp twist. The doors flew open so suddenly that the young woman who was pounding on them from the inside almost fell on top of Caffery. He spoke softly to her, indicating she needed to change into the suit he handed to her. She looked bemused, but obediently disappeared back inside. Caffery held the door closed until she emerged again, wearing the same outfit as the rest of them. Caffery reached into the van and brought out her clothes in evidence bags. She climbed unsteadily to the ground, gazed at the surrounding group, seeming to single out Bishop.