Buried

Chapter 17

DI Prescott watched a young PC stepping from foot to foot and clapping his hands together in an attempt to stay warm. Prescott smirked — the poor kid looked like he was doing a Greek dance. Prescott, on the other hand, stood statue-still by the side of the muddy Range Rover. This was a big find and would allow him to legitimately get bang up to speed on the case.

Mike’s Range Rover sat in a field, tucked in close behind a tall hedgerow, about a quarter of a mile back from Rose Cottage. The fuel cap was missing and the tank had been siphoned almost dry; a sample of the fuel had been taken for analysis and Prescott was confident that this was where the accelerant for the fire had come from. Police tape protected the vehicle and the messy array of footprints that surrounded it. Rain had taken most of the evidence, but between the vehicle and the hedge the ground was sheltered, and SOCOs were getting some good casts from the footprints they found right next to the open fuel cap. With no keys in the ignition and no sign of hot-wiring, the immediate area was being searched — the keys could have vital fingerprints on them.

Prescott’s eyes narrowed as he processed the scene in his mind and tried to figure out the sequence of events.

Had Mike siphoned his own tank with the intention of burning down Rose Cottage? Probably not — because if the fire was premeditated, he’d have been more likely to bring a siphoning hose with him and not cut a piece from the one they found in the back garden, or just siphon the petrol into a container before he got there. Unless Mike had been to Rose Cottage before and knew the hose was there. The fire somehow just seemed more likely to be a forensic countermeasure by the person Mike had fought with and was killed by. So, the killer must have known where Mike had hidden his Range Rover, because it had been a bugger to find. Maybe they’d arrived together. Or was there a second vehicle for the killer to escape in?

Prescott reached for his phone to call Ridley. It was a fair bet Mike Withey had known his killer.

‘Barry Cooper.’ Ridley looked around at the sea of blank faces gathered in the squad room. ‘Where the hell is he? I know he’s binned his old mobile, so that’s a dead end, but there must be something. He’s not a genius. Come on! Why can’t we find him?’

‘He is ex-army, sir,’ Jack offered.

Ridley snorted. ‘And what are we? Chopped liver? He’s our main suspect. The Range Rover’s on its way to the pound. The SOCOs will go over it with a fine-toothed comb. And we’ve got footprint casts and soil samples from the scene to compare with the soles of Barry’s shoes.’

He turned to look at the ever-expanding evidence boards. A third board had been added and they were all overflowing with details of four crimes spanning four decades.

‘All of this...’ Ridley said calmly. ‘Don’t let any of it distract us from the fact that we’re here to solve the brutal murder of one of our own. If this is all connected, it’ll come to light through the investigation of that murder, so stay focused.’ He paused. ‘However, it’s looking likely that Mike was involved with the train robbery. Anik...’

Anik spoke from his desk, head down, looking at his extensive notes.

‘Late eighties or early nineties, Audrey bought a villa in Spain — I still need to establish where that money came from — but in 2005 it was sold for £350,000 and Mike’s family home in Weybridge was purchased for one point five million. So there’s an extra million to be accounted for, too.’

Anik looked up before continuing.

‘When Mike left the force, he... Well, he pretty much fell apart. He drank, gambled, slept around. I spoke to Susan about this time in their lives. She never knew who he was having affairs with, but always assumed they were coppers or prostitutes he nicked. When he was drunk, he’d also get a bit handy with his fists. She never reported him, but her medical records tell us that he didn’t hold back. Then they tried to start again in Spain — I’ve got bank statements from over there spanning ’96 to ’05 — but the kids’ schooling eventually brought them home. The villa was sold, the house was bought. Being back in the UK turned Mike straight back into the arsehole he used to be, so Susan finally kicked him out. That’s where we came in.’

As Anik spoke, Jack became increasingly frustrated by how vague his information was. Why didn’t he already know where the extra money had come from? Why didn’t he already know the names of Mike’s mistresses? Anik had a lot to learn about manipulation. That’s all interviewing really was — the manipulation of another person into revealing the things you needed to know.

‘Right,’ said Ridley, ‘let’s get on with it. Why isn’t Barry Cooper’s picture on the board yet? Why hasn’t someone contacted the army, or the Passport Office or the DVLA, to get a picture of him? Why aren’t you trawling Missing Persons for him as well? Mike’s dead, Barry could be too. He could be our killer, but he could also be a second victim... well, couldn’t he? I want him to be alive because we’ve got questions that need answering and no bugger to ask. So find Barry Cooper!’

As the meeting broke up and the team started bustling about, Jack slipped out.

In the middle of Susan’s lounge was a box full of items belonging to Mike: hats, shoes, underwear, toiletries. In her hand, she held one brown leather shoe.

‘One shoe,’ she said to Jack. ‘How did he not realise he’d only taken one shoe?’

She dropped the shoe into the box and closed the flaps.

‘I’m sorry for disturbing you again,’ said Jack. ‘I’ll be as quick as I can.’

‘It’s fine. You’re a distraction from... whatever this is. If Mike had been here, sharing my life, I’d know how to deal with that. I’d cry and mourn and help the girls to do the same. But I’d already lost Mike. I’m sad for the girls, but I’m finding it hard to muster any sadness of my own.’

She went into the kitchen and Jack watched her make two mugs of tea.

‘You recently spoke to my colleague about life with Mike,’ he said. ‘I have a few more questions, if you don’t mind?’

He spoke gently, but was aware that he’d caught her at a point of maximum vulnerability.

Susan shrugged. ‘Fire away.’

‘You mentioned to DC Joshi that Mike — and forgive me for mentioning this, but... that Mike was unfaithful. Was there any specific occasion that sticks in your mind?’ Susan didn’t look up as she stirred the milk into the teas. ‘I have to ask, you see, because we need to understand what made Mike tick in those difficult years after he left the force. Understanding him is very important for us.’

Inwardly he winced. Was he overdoing it?

Susan looked down at the mugs of tea. ‘Mike once told me he’d been part of a raid on a brothel. They went in and cleared the place out, arrested everyone they found, girls and punters. Then, in the kitchen, he found a young girl hiding underneath the sink. She was fifteen, sixteen, and she wouldn’t come out. She stayed pressed against the wall, just out of his reach, crying and swearing blind that she just served drinks. Mike talked her out, took her to the station in his own car and made sure he was the one who took her statement. He didn’t know if she was one of the prostitutes or not, but he said he believed her story that she was nothing more than a maid... so she went free. The following week, he started working late.’ Susan handed Jack his tea. ‘He did like his waifs and strays.’

‘Are you suggesting that Mike may have had a relationship with this girl?’

‘I don’t know what I’m suggesting, really. I can tell you that Mike had affairs. I can tell you that he liked to be needed. Did he sleep with a teenage girl? He’s capable of it, yes. I guess she’d have done anything to avoid custody. Maybe she saw him as a “hero” for some reason. Mike wasn’t a rapist.’

Just a paedophile, Jack thought, if this story was true. He glanced at the photos of Mike’s own daughters.

While they were saying their goodbyes, Jack replayed one of Susan’s comments in his head.

He didn’t know if she was one of the prostitutes or not, but he said he believed her story that she was nothing more than a maid.

Was there a connection somewhere? Ester Freeman had said that Angela Dunn was a worse maid than Geoffrey... and Angela had claimed that she’d let Dolly down by ‘making a mistake’ and then losing a baby. Could the raided brothel Susan mentioned have belonged to Ester? It was a long shot, he realised — but if Angela had worked for Ester as a kid, and if Mike did raid The Grange as a young PC, then they could all have known each other. Suddenly, the Grange women were right back in the frame.

Outside Susan’s inexplicably expensive house, Jack got out his mobile. Within minutes, the HOLMES database confirmed his hunch: Angela Dunn was named in an arrest report from September 1985. She was arrested on suspicion of solicitation during a raid at The Grange. Released without charge.

If Susan’s story was true, Angela Dunn had been Mike Withey’s mistress.

Back home, Jack leapt up his stairs, two at a time... and then stopped dead. He checked his watch — 10.30. Shit! He was desperate to tell Maggie about his day, but that would have to wait till morning now. He sneaked into the bedroom — the bed was still neatly made and Maggie wasn’t there. He quickly ran through her calendar in his head, certain she wasn’t at work.

In the kitchen, Maggie nursed a glass of red and stared at her laptop screen. She looked at him like a stern mum catching her teenager sneaking in late.

‘What’s up, love?’ Jack asked.

Maggie spun the laptop round so that he could see the screen, got up and poured a glass of red wine for him. On the screen was a photo of Charlie and Penny on the balcony of their cabin. The selfie caught half of Penny’s face and all of Charlie, but it was mostly sea and sky. In the bottom left corner of the image was half of a bright orange pilot boat that had come into the deeper waters to take them ashore for a day trip.

Jack smiled. His mum was terrible at taking photos! He flicked through image after image — dozens of new memories desperately made in such a short space of time. His dad was starting to look ill and Jack was so far away.

Maggie put Jack’s wine on the table.

‘You missed their Skype call.’

Jack’s face drained and his skin went cold. His eyes began to fill and he gulped to stop himself from crying. He felt so ashamed. Maggie had reminded him in the morning before he left, and he’d promised not to forget.

What am I doing? he asked himself. He looked up at Maggie.

‘Was he OK, Mags? Does he sound OK? He looks pale, doesn’t he?’

Maggie knew she didn’t need to say anything more and just rubbed his back as he flicked through more terribly framed selfies.

‘He’s having a wonderful time, Jack. He said he feels fine — gets tired more quickly, but they slow down after lunch and Penny plans each day to include a nap, so they don’t miss out on any of the evening cabaret shows.’

‘I should have been here.’ Jack thumped the table. ‘Was Mum angry? I bet she was. I’m going to stop looking for Jimmy Nunn, Mags. It’s making me miss the here and now and I can’t get any of this back. I can’t get that Skype call back.’ He slumped down into the chair. ‘Tell me what they said again.’

Maggie put Penny’s photos on ‘slide show’ and then relayed the Skype call, word for word. When she’d finished, she said, ‘I’ll go on up to bed. You come up when you’re ready.’

As she left the room, she looked back to see him staring intently at the screen as the slide show went round and round.