As soon as the helicopter had risen from the ground and the sound of the engines receded, Jim got on his mobile. An hour later a helicopter from the air rescue service landed. I stood there watching it, my mouth agape.
“Where are the rest of the emergency services?” I asked Jim.
“They’ll be mobilised once we know we’re in the right place.”
Oh, of course. There was me being stupid again. It simply hadn’t occurred to me that Connie might be wrong. Imagine calling out all those different services and then discovering the pit was empty. So I remained quiet and let Jim do his job.
Two rather young and athletic men from the air rescue service, carrying some equipment, joined us. We exchanged greetings and then went over to the edge of the pit, where I watched them unravel what appeared to be an extensive wire cable, fitted to the end of which was what looked like a small camera. The other end of the apparatus was still plugged into the helicopter’s power supply. Neither of them spoke; obviously, they had already been briefed.
They began lowering the cable down the shaft for what seemed to me to be an interminable length of time. I was impatient to discover whether or not Connie was to be proved right.
Eventually, one of the men, addressing Jim, said, “Have a look at this, Chief Inspector.” He was holding a miniature TV set in his hands, which in turn was showing what I thought was distorted picture of the ground far below.
“What?” I demanded. “What can you see?”
Jim said nothing; he just stood there for a while examining the picture on the tiny screen.
“Yeah,” he said, tension on his face. “We’re at the right place.” He turned to me, pointing at the screen. “Look carefully,” he advised. Then with his finger he traced what appeared to be indentations in the ground. It was rather like looking at a series of humps and bumps, and I had to admit that, in all honesty, I was unable to make what they might be. So I told Jim so.
“They’re bodies, Ange. God only knows how many there are – it’s impossible to make out with this limited equipment. But there’s a hell of a lot more than one, and they’re all children.”
“Are you sure, Jim?” I asked.
He turned towards the officer holding the screen. “Do you agree?” he enquired.
“Yep; they’re bodies alright.” He stood, silently, whilst his colleague began withdrawing the cable from the shaft.
I was dumbstruck; not only by the horror of the news I’d been given, but also by the confirmation of Connie’s immense and immeasurable talent. She was right! By God, she was right! We had found his burial ground.
Jim was already back on his mobile; when he had finished his calls we went across to the helicopter, where he insisted I take one of the two seats. “You look done in,” he said.
It took over two hours for the first emergency vehicle to arrive. It was a caterpillar type of machine I had never seen before, and was obviously designed to climb the most severe of inclines. It was followed shortly afterwards by a whole convoy of police Range Rovers and air ambulance helicopters, together with vehicles with heavy lifting gear. Evidently, the chains blocking the access road had been severed, which in turn allowed the Crime Scene Unit to enter the site.
Very quickly it started to take on the appearance of a film set, with huge, freestanding arc lights set up around the perimeter of the shaft, attached to thick cables running from a generator. Next, a kind of harness was hung over the shaft, with a safety seat attached. I noticed that this too was mechanised, making for a much faster descent into the bowels of the mine.
By now there must have been in the region of 30 police and service people on the site; it gave me the impression of degenerating into chaos, although when I managed to have a word with Jim he assured me it was all well organised. After checking that I was okay to remain on-site, he went off to speak with the assistant chief constable of Derbyshire, whose force had been alerted to our planned incursion into their territory. I wandered across to talk to a very subdued Peter Conway.
“You’re not sulking, are you?” I asked innocently.
“Piss off, Angie.”
“Oh, come on, Peter. Surely you didn’t expect the DCI to brief you when we first set off, did you? There was every chance Connie could have been wrong, and then he would have looked pretty silly in your eyes.”
“Who exactly is this Connie? I still don’t pretend to understand. And why all the mystery?”
“Because, my dear Peter, Connie is a very special kind of psychic – and, before you snigger, let me tell you she’s the one who helped us find the bodies of all those murdered kids four years or so ago.” Before he could say anything, I continued: “Connie has visions; not like your ordinary psychic – she actually sees things in ‘real time’. And they affect her, badly. Recently she experienced a vision of our paedophile dumping a body into an old mineshaft. There was no way we could be certain which one of over 200 it might be, so this, if you like, is a process of elimination.”
He looked stunned and was unable to say anything for quite a time. I could imagine the thoughts whirling around in his mind, like the dust from the helicopter. Eventually he was able to express himself, although, I must confess, it was hardly enlightening.
“I thought that was something that only happened in fiction, or in the films. Now I I’ve heard it all! You’re telling me that we’re here” (he spread his arms open) “not as because of police work, as I thought, but because some kid – a highly disturbed one at that – has convinced you and the chief that somehow she can ‘divine’ her way into the supernatural world and lead us into the mind of a killer? Well – I’m not having that. The very idea that we’d actually use a psychic in serious police work is beyond fucking belief. I can only think you two are off your bleedin’ nuts; you’ve lost it, Angie. And, while you’re being so forthcoming, why don’t you explain to me why your precious psychic gets all this security. She’s not being chased by evil spirits, is she?”
“You’re acting like a dickhead, Peter. And you’re going to feel pretty damned stupid when she’s proved to right again.” I held him away with my hand. “Before you say anything else you might regret, let’s wait and see, shall we? It shouldn’t be too long now.”
I walked away from him before my temper really exploded. It wasn’t that I objected to cynics so much; it was the utterly wasteful expenditure of energy in trying to convince them they were wrong that I couldn’t handle – especially where Connie was concerned.
I went over to talk to the engineers who were assembled at the head of the pit shaft. They were deep in discussion, and, although I didn’t like to interrupt, my natural nosiness compelled me.
“Any chance of an update?” I asked. “I’m DS Crossley, by the way.”
A heavily built man, who I guessed was in his early fifties and who appeared to be the chief engineer on the site, looked towards me, frowning heavily. “The problem we have here, Sergeant Crossley, is access. As far as we can tell this shaft goes down almost a mile – that’s some 5,000 feet. We’re just debating whether to drop a fully optimised TV recording system down there, or wait until the cable extensions arrive so we can send a man down on the winch.” He continued frowning. “I mean – we are clear on this, aren’t we? There’s no doubt what we’re gonna find down there, is there?”
“You’ll have to speak to the chief inspector about that. My information is that the site’s already been camera tested and there’s enough evidence to justify all you guys being here. I’m sorry, Chief; I thought you’d been fully briefed. We do have reason to believe there are bodies down there – children’s bodies – but we’ve no way of actually confirming exactly how many without getting a proper look. Would you prefer to talk to my DCI about it? ...He’s in charge of the scene.”
He exchanged glances with his colleagues before answering the question, and then said, thoughtfully, “Well, as you say, sergeant, we don’t really lose anything by lowering a television system. Except, of course, it don’t come cheap - specially if we lose the fucker! Come on, fellas; let’s get it set up.”
I left them to it and wandered into the crime vehicle for a coffee and a chat with the SOCOS and the forensic people. There wasn’t a lot for them to do at that time, although they had looked over the whole site and were able to confirm they had found a couple footprints. They had also checked out the access to the mine from the area of the trees. Apparently, there was a path of sorts through the woods, and beyond that was a single-track country lane, sufficiently wide to accommodate a vehicle; but that didn’t really prove anything. I spent the next hour or so chatting to the scientists before we heard a shout from the engineers at the head of the shaft.
When I got over there I noticed the grim faces. They were examining the pictures coming live from the video camera.
“Sweet Jesus!” I heard one of them say, just before he vomited on the ground.
The chief engineer was doing his best to retain a degree of composure, but I could see that even he was having difficulty hanging on. Finally, I glanced at the screen displaying the pictures. “Oh, no. No … No” I gasped, as I saw my worst fears realised. This really was my worst nightmare come true. It was like watching one of those horror films from a Nazi extermination camp. Bodies could be seen everywhere, jumbled together randomly in a grotesque parody of a death dance. It was macabre; there was no other word I could think of to describe the scene, other than cynically insensitive. They were all children, and, from what I could see, all girls. And each one was unclothed. God only knew at this stage just how many bodies there were – it was impossible to count.
A couple of the women from the forensic team began weeping. All I could do was to stand there, virtually paralysed with shock at this outrageous horror. Then I began to tremble, and I felt my hands shaking. A feeling of rage swept through me as I tried to envisage the kind of evil monster who could visit such atrocities on innocent little children.
There was an eerie silence around the shaft entrance, as if there were no appropriate words to describe our feelings. I felt a hand touch my shoulder and I turned to see Peter there, his face drained of colour and expressing what was obviously remorse. He didn’t need to say anything, but I squeezed his hand to let him know I understood. Jim came and stood beside me, joining in the silent memorial. Eventually he said to the engineers, “Turn it off, will you? We’ve all seen enough to last us a lifetime.”
As the visual display went dark people began to move again. Jim and I got involved in conversation with the assistant chief constable as to the best way to organise our resources. Self-evidently, we were facing a long and difficult job. Getting one man down that shaft was challenging enough; now we would need a team of people to enable us to extract the bodies.
I couldn’t stop thinking of the children and how they must have suffered. My thoughts also turned to the parents, just as they had done all those years ago. Their grief would be unbearable; how would we tell them, after we had identified the bodies? And who would break the tragic news to them? And even more disturbing was the reality that we couldn’t possibly keep this lamentable story off the front pages of the newspapers, which in turn would add to the suffering of the parents, wondering if their child was one of the victims. For the first time in years, as tears trickled down my cheeks, I prayed for God to give me the strength and fortitude to bear up to this tragedy. And, not for the first time, I genuinely regretted ever joining the police force.
I felt Jim’s grip on my arm. “Come on, Ange,” he whispered softly. “I need you. Please, don’t go to pieces on me now.”
I almost smiled at his petition; it sounded very much like a lover about to be deserted. In the event, I was able to smile at him, more in gratitude than anything. I wiped the tears away and then followed him in the direction of the crime vehicle, resolved that I would get a grip on things again. The heavens opened as we were crossing the waste ground, quickly turning the area into channels of streaming mud and soaking us to the skin. This sure as hell wasn’t going to make the job any easier.