CHAPTER TWENTY TWO

 

Despite her late night, Kate was up early and feeling pretty good, all things considered. She was behind her desk by seven, and threw herself into bringing her paperwork up to date. She knew that as soon as the day got underway the chance would evaporate, and she didn’t want another bollocking like the one she’d already received. If Megan Edwards wanted reports, then bloody reports she would have.

By eight o’clock she’d achieved enough to keep the Super quiet for a while.

Jon backed into her office carrying two coffees and packet of Jammy Dodgers, and pushed her door closed with his hip. ‘I saw what you were doing, ma’am, so I left you in peace.’

As there was no hint of the irritable, jumpy Jon of the night before, Kate decided to leave it at that for the time being. ‘Appreciated, Jon, and so is that coffee.’

He sat down opposite her and tipped sugar into his mug. ‘With last night’s caper going on, I forgot to ask you how it went with Toni Clarkson.’

Kate pushed the pile of reports across the desk and sat back. ‘Emotionally draining.’ She told him the basics of what the girl had said. ‘For the first time, I saw a little of what young Ethan Barley saw in her. And the poor kid is devastated by the thought of Emily being taken.’

‘No wonder. When you think what happened to Shauna Kelly, Toni was lucky to come out of that little debacle alive.’ Jon placed his mug on her desk. ‘And on that note, uniform tells me that one of Shauna’s school friends has confirmed that Shauna confessed to attending a ‘party’ in, as she put it, “some filthy hovel filled with gorgeous fit blokes and dirty old men.”

‘Sadly, it’s as we suspected. That poor mother.’

Jon sighed. ‘Yeah, I know what our family went through with Isabel. It’s horrific when a child dies, but when they are involved in something unsavoury too..,’ He shuddered and shook his head. ‘Horrible.’

Kate could only imagine, but changed the subject. ‘I meant to tell you, Toni remembered about the singing. She reckoned someone was chortling away like a demented chorister, if that helps you?’

Kate watched as Jon swallowed a gasp, then hastily grabbed control of himself.

‘Uh, maybe. I’m not quite sure yet, ma’am.’

‘Okay, Sergeant Secretive,’ her eyes narrowed suspiciously, ‘We’ll discuss whatever all that’s about later. Meanwhile, you go find PC Andy English and tell him that we’ll be going out to Roman Creek as soon as the morning brief is over. And that, my friend is in about ten minutes, so I’ll see you in the murder room.’

Kate watched his hasty retreat and wondered what on earth singing had to do with anything, but there was no time to ponder right now. She gathered up the folders and the reports, stuck her head out of the door and yelled for Clive. The sooner the Superintendent got these, the sooner she could get on with some proper police work.

 

Jon was not having a good time right now. Not only was he worried about ‘seeing’ tunnels and ‘hearing’ singing; he now had another problem eating away at him. And that was Rosie.

For years now they had been close working colleagues and good friends, and in all that time he had never thought of her as anything else, until she volunteered to go into that bloody drinking club undercover. And what had happened? He had almost shit himself with worry and shown himself up in front of the team.

Jon shook his head in exasperation. How could he? He wasn’t even sure how he really felt. Yes, he’d considered asking her for a drink, and she was beautiful, and he liked her company, but…?  He blew out a long noisy breath. This really wasn’t the time to start writing a new chapter in his sparse love life.

As he entered the CID room, he made a decision. He would keep things normal until the case was sewn up. Then he’d take a really close look at himself. But right now he would apologise for his over-reacting, blame it on personal matters, which was not quite a lie, and they could return to the status quo.

By the time he reached Rosie’s desk, he hoped he sounded like the old Jon. He gave her a suitably apologetic speech and promised to buy her and Scotty doughnuts for the rest of the week. Then having seen her broad smile, he hurried off to find Andy.

As he walked towards the lifts, he allowed his mind to return to what had happened out at Jamie Durham’s crime scene.

Toni Clarkson had heard a man singing like a chorister, and so had he.

Toni had also described a man with blank eyes, and maybe he’d seen the memory of such a man too. That was not actually a fact, after all he had not been watching a flesh and blood person, and the images that he saw were often distorted or feint. But somehow it had to tie up, didn’t it?  He groaned softly. Every time he allowed his mind to wander back to Jamie’s death; he saw those dreadful empty eyes.

Had it been just a trick of the light or a real connection to evil men who abducted young girls? And if that were the case, what the hell was he doing watching Jamie Durham die?

‘I’ve got a memo here for you, Sarge,’ called out Clive, as he passed him in the corridor. ‘It’s the forensic report that you asked for, from the Durham file.’

‘Thanks.’ Jon took the paper, shook off his worrying thoughts, unfolded the sheet and scanned the short report pertaining to the crime scene.

As he expected several sets of boot and shoe prints had been lifted from the boat-house floor. Most had been identified as belonging to the dead boy’s brothers, the paramedics and the killer. Three sets remained unaccounted for, and one was a badly scuffed partial print of the deeply ridged sole of a size 10 work-boot. ‘Mm.’ he murmured. ‘So maybe you left something for us, you heartless bastard.’

He tied up with Andy English, then returned to the CID room and flopped down at his desk. He had a problem; a big one. He needed the boss to know about this, but if he told her about his second lone excursion to the river to invoke the memory of a murder, she’d hit the roof and never come down.

He flicked on his computer and stared at the screen as it loaded. For the life of him he couldn’t think of any other way to tell her, other than coming clean and admitting that once again he’d buggered off alone. Jon pulled a face. Now that would go down a treat, wouldn’t it? He glanced around and wondered where everyone was. Then he saw the clock. Shit! The morning meeting would already be underway. With a grunt of annoyance, he closed his computer and ran from the room.

 

Jon should not have worried. Kate wanted to keep the meeting short so that they could start the search as soon as possible. She told them of the discovery and infiltration of the drinking club, the fact that Emily was most likely an illegal immigrant, and then she instructed them to prepare to go out to Roman Creek.

‘Have you organised a warrant, ma’am?’ asked PC Andy English.

Kate nodded. ‘I know we have been promised cooperation by Broome, but I’ve decided to hedge my bets. Just in case things go pear-shaped, I’ve swung it with upstairs, and a constable is already with the nearest magistrate getting one signed.’ She then looked at Scott. ‘I’d like you to have a word with Stefan, our Polish interpreter. See if he’s heard anything on the Eastern European grapevine regarding a missing immigrant, a girl who calls herself Emily. Tell him we believe she’s in grave danger, Scott, and make sure he understands this is not an excuse to do a sweep on illegals, okay?’

Kate then broke up the briefing and returned to her office to wait for Andy English to bring her the latest on Windrush from the council’s planning office.

He arrived at the same time as the warrant. ‘We may need that, if my hunch about the big bloke who is working there is correct.’ Andy adjusted his equipment belt, and stared at the warrant. ‘Fair gave me the creeps, he did. I’m dead certain he’s what my old Gran would have called, “lacking up top”. And he’s built like a brick out-house, too. I wouldn’t want to upset him.’

‘Benedict Broome did intimate that Mr Lee could get a trifle overprotective to the place. Frankly, I can’t wait to meet him. Now, what have you found out about the planning permission?’

‘Well, Broome does have permission for a material change of use for the proposed development. It seems that he has requested to modify the old sanatorium, add certain other structures etc, and make it a sanctuary, just as the big guy said. Most of the plans have been accepted, it’s just that he seems to have altered the specifications a dozen times.’ Andy stared at the paperwork in his hand. ‘The man in planning said he was a nightmare, and even now, when work is almost about to begin, he’s not convinced that he won’t try to change things again.’

‘What do we know about Broome?’ Kate asked. He seemed to be prepared to spend a fortune on the old place, and being an individual, made it all the more of a mystery. Who, other than major players in the business world, and in this gloomy financial climate, had that kind of money to flash around?

‘Well, I checked him out, and he’s not known to us. All we know is that he lives with his housekeeper, in one of those big houses along the waterway. You know those old three storey Victorian terraces?’

Kate recalled the educated speaking voice. ‘You mean Admiralty Row? That’s one classy address. He must be loaded to own that property and the Windrush estate.’

Andy nodded. ‘Absolutely, but you do know the old story, ma’am, don’t you? About how the sanatorium was won in a wager?’

Kate nodded. ‘Jon mentioned it, and it’s true?’

‘Oh yes, Broome won the place playing poker.’

Kate raised her eyebrows. ‘How come I only ever get a tenner once a year on the Lottery?’

‘You and me both, Ma’am. But regarding Broome’s history, I’ve asked Ivan to keep digging.’

Kate nodded. ‘Okay, but even though it all seems kosher, you still feel that we should check the place over?’

Andy looked her directly in the eyes. ‘Absolutely, ma’am. There were places there that Micah Lee definitely steered us away from, for one reason or another. Plus he was really uptight about our being there. We need to go back and not just accept the scenic walk.’

‘Okay.’ Kate agreed. ‘That’s good enough for me, constable. Get your team together. We’ll move out at ten o’clock.’