Friday 2 November, 7 a.m.
DS Mike Korpanski’s day started with the curtains being drawn around his bed. Two doctors, one of whom was the surgeon who’d operated on him, were examining his right leg. The consultant was instructing the very pretty Asian doctor standing behind him.
He put his hand on Korpanski’s groin. ‘OK,’ he said, to the Asian doctor. ‘Tick for femoral.’
She wrote something in his notes.
The consultant groped again, this time behind the knee. ‘Popliteal. Yes.’
Korpanski watched, concerned. This man was the one who would be deciding whether he was going to lose his leg or not.
He looked from one to the other. The surgeon was frowning and touching lower down the leg. He didn’t look happy.
All of the Asian doctor’s attention was on the consultant. Neither of them was looking at him. He was starting to panic.
The doctor groped again further down the leg. ‘Anterior posterior tibial.’ He nodded, smiled to himself.
He touched the top of his foot next. ‘Dorsalis pedis.’ He looked at the Asian doctor.
He touched Korpanski’s foot again, a different part this time. ‘Medial lateral planters.’ He was frowning now, shaking his head. He moved his fingers lightly. Korpanski had always been ticklish, particularly on his feet. But he wasn’t tempted to laugh now. He could hardly feel the doctor’s fingers.
He tried to get his attention. ‘And in English?’
The consultant met his eyes. ‘Well, Sergeant,’ he began. Korpanski held his breath, knowing the medical profession were notoriously pessimistic.
‘Let’s just say …’ The consultant managed a tight smile and exhaled deeply. ‘It is too soon to say.’ He was speaking very slowly and deliberately and couldn’t seem to manage a smile. At which point he departed, but not before the pretty Asian doctor finished writing in his notes, and flashed him a wide, friendly smile.
Korpanski stared after them, his heart rocking in his chest.
8 a.m.
It was lucky she’d headed in to work early, because Friday morning brought an unwelcome and unannounced visit from Chief Superintendent Gabriel Rush. ‘Sir?’
He stood in the doorway and she looked up, met the pale eyes, the thin mouth, and what could only be interpreted as a scowl.
‘Piercy,’ he said and closed the door behind him. Sat down in ‘Korpanski’s’ chair. Would he ever sit there again?
Without any preamble he invited her to, ‘Fill me in.’
‘You mean about DS Korpanski?’
‘That and the progress you’ve made in finding out what has happened to the elderly man who went missing from a residential home almost two weeks ago.’
And when she hesitated he prompted her. ‘You said that you had a line of enquiry?’
She chose her words carefully, picking them out like fish bones, speaking slowly, considering each word before she spoke. Over the course of the couple of years they’d worked together, she’d learnt something about Chief Superintendent Gabriel Rush. There was only one way to play him. Dead straight. No messing around, no flowery language and definitely no jokes.
‘Even though it appears a physical and mental impossibility that Mr Foster would have been able to travel far, we haven’t, so far, found him.’
Rush’s mouth tightened. ‘CCTV?’
‘Negative. No sightings.’
‘Go on.’
‘We’ve done a thorough search of the town and its surrounds.’
‘Dogs?’
She couldn’t suppress her smile. ‘We let Holmes and Watson loose after sniffing on his clothes, but they just went round in circles.’
‘So?’
‘I’m working on the theory that he was picked up by car.’
Rush frowned. ‘Doesn’t that seem a little unlikely?’
‘It is unlikely, sir,’ she agreed, ‘but it is the more likely theory. It isn’t possible he’s wandering the moors after such cold weather and, as you say, after almost two weeks.’
‘What about looking for a body?’
‘We’ve taken the helicopter over the remoter areas of moorland with a heat-seeking device.’
Rush was still frowning. ‘So you think someone is harbouring him?’
‘It’s the only logical theory, sir.’
‘Why?’
She shrugged. ‘As to that, sir, I have absolutely no idea.’
‘You mentioned an inside job.’
‘I won’t go into the entrances and exits to the home but, suffice it to say, we were working on the premise that if the night sister was telling the truth when she assured me she had locked and bolted the day-room door, Mr Foster could not have let himself out. It’s impossible to gain access from the outside unless a member of staff lets you in, and all three members of staff working that night say they had no visitors. I can only infer that someone on the inside led him out.’
As she’d expected, he questioned the word: ‘Led?’
‘He was elderly, frail. I think it unlikely he left Ryland’s of his own volition.’
‘You’ve searched the moorland?’
Joanna nodded, picturing the steep hill that led up to Ramshaw Rocks, overlooked by The Winking Man, a craggy rock formation in the shape of a man’s profile. A hole in the rock behind gave the appearance as you passed of the man appearing to wink, something which amused passers-by. For a second, Joanna permitted herself a regretful smile. That was a stiff climb on a bike but she’d done it a few times, panting at the top but exhilarated too, loving the majestic panorama and watched by the stone man who, to her, appeared to smile as well as wink as she passed. The question that depressed her now as she rested a hand on her belly, which was appearing to expand by the minute, was: would she ever do that climb again? Not if Matthew had anything to do with it. Ouch. She felt the child move, kick her right under the ribs, and hastily resumed her report.
‘As well as the helicopter I’ve alerted PCs Timmis and McBrine, the Moorlands patrol, but they’ve seen nothing of a wandering man. They’ve interviewed the general population of the area.’ She smiled. ‘Hikers, bikers and climbers and residents but, so far, nothing there.’
‘I’ve had frogmen down both Tittesworth Reservoir and Rudyard Lake, but nothing there either. Which leaves me with the most likely narrative being that he was abducted and is either dead or being sheltered somewhere possibly against his will.’
‘Still doesn’t answer why.’
She allowed herself a smile. ‘No.’
‘I take it he wouldn’t have wanted to escape the residential home?’
‘Ryland’s appears quite pleasant, sir.’
‘Do you have suspicions of any particular member of staff?’
‘I’m keeping an eye on all of them.’
‘You don’t sound as though you’ve got very far, Piercy.’
He’d picked up on that then. ‘I am … confused,’ she said. ‘Initially I expected us to find Mr Foster wandering, muddled, somewhere in the town, spotted by a member of the public within twelve hours of his going missing. Instead – we seem to have hit a brick wall.’
‘OK. OK,’ he said impatiently. ‘Yes. I agree.’ Another pause while he thought it out before making a brisk response. ‘If you want to extend the search at Tittesworth and Rudyard that’s OK. For now I suggest you keep your powder dry and keep the search up.’ Another brief, thoughtful pause before, ‘Put more stuff in the media. See if you can draw a response from Joe Public. Someone, somewhere must have seen him.’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘I want him found whether he’s dead or alive.’
She nodded.
She didn’t even mention taking the police helicopter up again. There was no way Chief Superintendent Gabriel Rush, her senior officer, recently moved to Hanley to cover the entire Potteries area, which included Leek, was going to sanction further use of that. But she’d got her way with the police divers. She should be grateful for that. Thanks to budget cuts and assessments, they all knew how much everything cost these days and could anticipate decisions made on cost-effective interventions, which often meant no interventions at all. She should be content with the team of divers and could always involve the local civilian divers’ club.
‘Did they say Mr Foster has dementia?’
She wanted to say, I am no doctor. I never met the missing man. I have no clue as to his mental state except … She began, keeping her tone carefully neutral, ‘He is diagnosed with dementia but I know little and understand less about his mental state, except that he was attached to a childhood toy which had apparently gone missing.’
Chief Superintendent Gabriel Rush gave no clue that he had heard this, except a minute raising of the eyebrows. She could read his expletive. And the sarcasm made his voice sour. ‘If I’m not mistaken, one line of enquiry you’re following is to do with this “toy”?’
And she had no option but to jump in with both feet. ‘I have a theory about that, sir. From things that were said by another resident of Ryland’s, I think there’s a possibility that the teddy bear Mr Foster was so fond of carrying around might be valuable.’
She tried to ignore the fact that Rush was looking at her with incredulity and tried to avoid his eyes, staring, instead, at the floor.
He beetled his ginger eyebrows together. ‘Are you saying that the teddy bear was, you think, stolen, and that has some relevance to Mr Foster’s disappearance?’
‘It’s one line of enquiry we’re pursuing, sir.’
Rush tried his hand at a joke. ‘And you think the old man is also valuable?’
Not even tempted to smile, Joanna shook her head.
Rush continued. ‘You think the old man was abducted?’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘Possibly by the same person who stole his teddy bear?’
Joanna was cautious. ‘I think it’s at least a workable theory.’
And he destroyed her entire hypothesis with one word. ‘Why? They could have simply nicked the bear.’
And that was the point when Joanna shrugged and gave up.
But not CS Rush.
‘So what do you intend doing next?’
‘I’ve appointed a team to continue looking into Mr Foster’s disappearance while I look into the hit-and-run accident involving DS Korpanski.’
‘Ah, yes. DS Korpanski. First of all, do you have an update from the hospital?’
‘His wife rang this morning. She says the doctors still have concerns. They’re worried he could still lose his leg, particularly if he picks up an infection.’
‘I see.’ He was silent for a moment, his response difficult to interpret apart from one long sigh. ‘And your investigation into the hit-and-run?’
‘It’ll take a few days to get any prints or DNA from the van, if any survived the fire. Apart from confirming that the collision was deliberate, we’ve not picked up anything helpful from the CCTV footage.’ She corrected her statement. ‘At least, we see the car travelling up Russell Street with two people in. We’re trying to get the images enhanced but we’re not hopeful we’ll be able to identify them.’
That kept him quiet for a moment. His expression was grave. He shook his head. ‘This is bad.’
And this time it was she who was trying to cheer him up. ‘Sir, it’s early days yet. I’m hopeful we will get the driver.’ She didn’t dare broach the subject of Korpanski being a potential amputee. Her voice would have let her down. And she didn’t want that. Not in front of Rush.
For the briefest of moments, their eyes met. Neither said a word. Then Rush nodded. ‘Do you need more manpower? A couple of officers on secondment?’
‘Not at the moment.’
He stood up and, surprisingly, touched her on the shoulder. ‘When do you go on your maternity leave?’
‘The end of the month, sir.’
‘And when do you intend to return to active duty?’
‘As soon as possible. The baby is due early January, though my husband thinks it will come early – before Christmas. I hope to be back by February.’
His eyebrows would have met his hairline, but CS Gabriel Rush’s hairline had receded too far back.
‘Motherhood not your thing, Piercy?’
And she gave an honest answer. ‘I don’t think so, sir, though I’ve yet to try it.’
At which she read a new expression on the chief superintendent’s face. Surprise.
Then he turned towards the door. ‘Keep me up to date, won’t you?’
‘I will, sir.’
‘On both counts. And Piercy …’ Now he was frowning. ‘That Whalley girl?’
‘Quiet as a mouse, sir.’
His response was predictable. ‘Let’s hope it stays that way.’
It was only after he’d left that she had time to reflect on his attitude. Not judgmental, not critical. In fact, with his offer of backup officers, CS Rush had been positively helpful.
12.50 p.m.
Kath was on a last recce. She wanted this to go right and she couldn’t afford any problems so she was going to have a trial run. Monitor times, allowing for the old man slowing her down. She gave him an extra dose of the sleeping stuff, left Fifi in charge and ‘persuaded’ Debs to drive her over to Gradbach and park up while she hiked the mile or so over open moorland to Lud’s Church. She was drawn to the place by its dark past.
She didn’t care what was fact and what fiction. She was going to make her own fiction into bloody fact.
Kath rubbed her jagged tooth and remembered the ship’s figurehead in the form of a woman which had been placed at the entrance to the ravine. ‘I wonder,’ she mused, as she strode towards the entrance, ‘if one day they’ll put a little statue or a plaque or something saying:
Here lies Detective Inspector Joanna Piercy and child. Murdered by … Martyred by …
So she, Kath, would have her own permanent tribute here too. So fitting. But at least she’d be alive, whereas Piercy …
Kath was a stocky girl and, in spite of a life so far filled with fags and plenty of cider, she was well able to cover the hike through bracken-lined paths, sloping across mud and bare trees. With a satisfied smile, as she threaded through bracken, she realized she hadn’t seen another soul for almost an hour. Perfect. The area was scrub, a few trees but mainly open moorland. Of course, dragging the old man along would have its challenges. But she’d manage it.
Even though she knew the area well, it was still easy to miss the entrance. But there it was, slippery moss-covered steps steeply descending right down into the narrow cleft in the rock which had hidden the Lollards so effectively from their fate. Kath smothered her mouth with her hand, the chuckle still escaping. ‘No such luck for you, Piercy,’ she said.
But the remoteness of the area posed a problem. They were going to have trouble bringing him here. The old man didn’t have much juice in him any more. If they dragged him he would struggle. Even without the bellyful of sleeping stuff they were habitually feeding him. And so would they. It was quite a hike from the nearest place a car could drop them off, and the ground was rough and uneven. It would be very difficult to get him here. But it did have to be here.
Nowhere else would do. Kath wasn’t stupid; she was a strategist these days, thanks to the teachings of Lakshmi. She closed her eyes for a moment, saw the old man pushed down the steps, Joanna Piercy charging in for the rescue. But she had a plan for the bitch. No one was going to rescue her. Kath fingered her knife, sharpened in readiness. By the time the rest of the team got here, having been delayed by her scattered clues, Piercy would have been dealt with, the sproglet no longer kicking around in her womb. She rubbed the jagged tooth with her finger. Two for the price of one.
She felt so happy she laughed out loud. Kath’s laugh was an odd sound, more of a cackle. And it served as a warning to those who knew her well. Kath didn’t laugh at the usual things, the jokes and tricks. She laughed at misfortune, accidents, particularly bad ones. The worse the tragedy, the harder Kath laughed.
She descended the steps, slipping on the damp rocks covered in moss; she tried to grab a handhold on the dripping and cold walls of the gulley, but they were too slippery. She looked up. The walls were as high as a house. Well concealed from prying eyes. In the week, at this time of year, in this dull and uninviting place, it was empty.
She walked to the end of the chasm, emerging into the watery light at the bottom. Then she looped round the back and found some rocks on the top. She stroked them as a friendly ally. To add insult to injury she could bury Piercy and child under a cairn.
She leaned over. ‘Look out, Piercy,’ she sang out, her voice bouncing along the walls, calling back to her. Look out, Piercy. Look out, Piercy.
And then she left the dripping chasm, hardly able to wait before she added to its sinister folklore.
She covered the ground quickly, hiking back to the car, and Debs who was peering into her phone.