“Of course, because Danielle had a better
reputation than my Emma they didn’t wait the full day, they started searching
the next morning.” Her words were filled with bitterness. “It didn’t take them
long to determine that after leaving home Danielle visited her cousin, Gordon,
and that from there she made her way up to the Davis farm so she could meet her
boyfriend, Michael. It was after leaving her cousin’s house that she
disappeared.”
“Danielle Pale was Michael Davis’ girlfriend?”
Justin was caught by surprise by that revelation. “Didn’t the police question
him when her parents reported her missing?”
“Oh yes, for all the good that did.” More
than what she said, the expression on Patricia’s face told Justin what she
thought of the police’s questioning of Michael Davis. “From what I heard they
spoke to him for about ten minutes, that’s all; he told them he hadn’t seen
Danielle, that she hadn’t met him like she was supposed to, and he hadn’t seen
her when he drove down the road, and that was good enough for them.”
“What did the police do after speaking to
Michael Davis?” Justin asked.
“Nothing, or as good as; I don’t think they
even attempted to check that his story was true. They just accepted what he
told them and left it at that.” Patricia picked up a flowery cup from the desk
in front of her and brought it to her lips, grimacing when she discovered her
tea had gone cold.
Listening to what he was being told Justin
felt his excitement grow; he’d come to the village expecting to get a good,
possibly great, story about a community torn apart by a serial killer. The
possibility that Michael Davis had been left free to kill repeatedly, because
the police had failed to do their job, made him think the story could be bigger
than he’d thought. It might even be the biggest of his career. “So you’re
saying the police failed to conduct a proper investigation following the
disappearance of Danielle Pale?”
“Yes! If they had done their jobs properly my
Emma would never have been harmed.”
“Didn’t they make an effort to locate
Danielle Pale?” Justin tried to keep the excitement he was feeling from his
voice. “Surely they searched the village for her.”
“Oh they did that, sure.” Both her tone and
the expression on her face were dismissive, revealing her opinion of the
efforts made by the police. “At least they said they did. According to them,
they searched the village repeatedly, without finding any sign of Danielle.”
From what he had seen of the village, Justin
was sure it couldn’t have taken long for the police to search it, even if they
included the outlying areas in their searches. “Where was she eventually
found?” he asked, thinking that it would be a good idea to get some pictures of
every location in the village that was relevant in some way to the murders.
Even if they weren’t used with the story he wrote, he was sure they would prove
useful; they might even be inspiring, if any of the locations were atmospheric
enough.
“I was told that poor Danielle’s body was
found along the riverbank, past the pub. Mr Denton, whom Sergeant Underwood
incorrectly suspected of the murders, discovered her while out running on
Saturday morning. My Emma was discovered later that day in the woods alongside
the river, near to where Danielle’s body was found.”
“When is it that your daughter went missing?
I gather some time passed between Danielle’s disappearance and the
disappearance of your daughter.”
TEN
At the side of Leonard Dean, the owner of the
Dean Stables, Donna made her way across the yard to the office. “Do you have
any idea who might have wanted to vandalise your vehicles in such a fashion?”
she asked; despite her inexperience as an investigator, she was sure the damage
was not the result of someone simply looking for fun.
“No, not really, except maybe Gordon Pale and
his friends. They’re usually responsible for anything like this that happens in
the village,” Leonard said, moving ahead of Donna to unlock the office door.
“They graduated from vandalism a few years
ago; they don’t generally waste their time with it now unless they have a
grudge against someone,” Donna remarked as she followed the stud farm owner
into the office. Idly, she wondered if Leonard Dean had had some kind of run-in
with Gordon Pale and his friends, which would explain why he suspected them.
“Besides, it can’t have been Gordon or his friends on this occasion; Gordon’s
been in hospital since Saturday night, and his friends haven’t been up to doing
much since then either.
“Have you let anyone go recently? Anyone who
might be upset with you, upset enough to want to come back and cause you
problems?”
Leonard shook his head. “I haven’t had to let
anyone go in a long time; wait, I remember my wife telling me last week that
she had to get rid of one of the stable boys from the riding school.”
“Do you think he might be responsible for the
vandalism?” Donna asked. She was just reaching into her pocket for her pad and
pen so she could take notes when her mobile phone rang. “Excuse me,” she
apologised for the interruption. “Constable Harp,” she answered the phone. “How
can I help?”
“Constable, it’s Hannah Gottlieb, at the
Water House,” the housekeeper said.
“Hello, Mrs Gottlieb, how can I help you?”
Donna wanted to know.
“I thought you should know; there is a
journalist here.” Her agitation made Hannah Gottlieb’s German accent thicker
than usual, but Donna was able to make out what it was she was saying, just.
“He arrived about five minutes ago, wanting to talk to Mrs Water about Miss
Emma and the other girls. I was going to shut the door on him but he told Mrs
Water that Michael Davis has escaped and she insisted on speaking to him.”
Donna wasn’t happy to hear that there was a
journalist in the village, especially since he knew about Michael’s escape from
police custody. She was sure that if he knew enough to go to Patricia Water for
information, he would know of others to talk to in the village, all of whom
would be distressed by a journalist asking questions about recent events.
“I’ll be over just as soon as I’ve finished
here, Mrs Gottlieb,” she said. “If he causes any problems, please call again
and let me know, I’ll be right there.” Donna ended the call then and returned
her attention to the man across from her. “I’m very sorry about that, Mr Dean,”
she apologised, slipping her phone back into her pocket. “Do you think the
stable boy your wife let go might be responsible for the damage to your
vehicles?”
“I honestly couldn’t say, I didn’t know the
boy, he worked for my wife, not me; you’ll have to ask her if you want to know about
him,” Leonard Dean told Donna. “I couldn’t even tell you his name.”
“Is your wife around?” Donna suspected that
Claire Dean wasn’t around, she was sure she had seen the riding instructor on
her way out of the village a while before, but it was possible she had
returned.
Leonard Dean shook his head. “Not at the
moment; she’s gone to town, but she’ll be back later. You’ll have to speak to
her then.”
“Okay, Mr Dean, I’ll come back and speak to
your wife, if you could let her know that I’ll need to know whatever she can
tell me about the stable boy she let go.”
*****
“Is that journalist still here, Mrs
Gottlieb?” Donna inquired when the housekeeper answered the door.
Hannah shook her head. “You missed him; he
left about five minutes ago.”
“Is Mrs Water alright?” She was a little
disappointed to have missed the journalist, not that she had the first clue
what she would have said or done if he had still been there.
“Yes.” The housekeeper nodded. “As well as
can be expected, anyway. I don’t think he said or did anything to upset her but
I can’t say for certain, they spoke in Mrs Water’s office.”
“I’d better check she’s alright, do you mind
if I come in?” Donna asked, moving forward to step past the housekeeper as
Hannah Gottlieb stood aside.
When she reached the office where Patricia
worked, hot on the heels of the housekeeper, Donna moved inside. “Good
afternoon, Mrs Water, it’s Constable Harp,” she said, not certain the older
woman had even realised anyone had entered the office.
“What do you want?” Patricia asked after a
few moments, her voice hovering between annoyance at being disturbed, despite
the fact that she didn’t appear to be doing anything, and indifference.
“I’m very sorry to intrude; Mrs Gottlieb
called and said you were being bothered by a journalist, I thought it a good
idea to come over and make sure everything is alright.” The barest hint of a
smile of gratitude crossed Patricia Water’s face. “Can you tell me what the
journalist wanted?”
“What do you think he wanted?” Patricia
asked, her voice taking on the acerbic tone she generally spoke with when
dealing with someone she considered beneath her, either socially or
intellectually. “He wanted to know about Emma.” The moment she uttered her
daughter’s name her voice cracked and she had to turn away to conceal the tears
that threatened to fall. “He said Michael Davis has escaped.”
“That’s right. Inspector Anderson informed me
of his escape before he left to return to town.”
“And you didn’t think you should tell me? Did
you not think I have the right to know that the person who murdered my daughter
has escaped police custody?” Patricia wanted to know, her voice growing harsh.
Donna looked apologetic. “Forgive me, Mrs
Water; I’ve been quite busy this morning, looking after Lucy Davis and dealing
with a case of vandalism at the Dean Stables. Not only that but I have very
little information I could have given you; Inspector Anderson had no
information to give me beyond that Michael had escaped custody when he left the
village, and he hasn’t been in touch since to tell me anything.”
“That is a disgrace. You should be disgusted
that a journalist was able to provide me with more information than you
possess.”
“What was the journalist able to tell you?”
Donna asked; she suspected the lack of information from DI Anderson was down to
him having little to no interest in keeping her up to date with what was going
on. She was sure he was more concerned with trying to catch Michael Davis, and
dealing with the aftermath of his escape. Letting her know what was going on
was almost certainly very low on his list of priorities.
The look on Patricia Water’s face made it
clear what she thought of the constable’s lack of knowledge; she couldn’t
resist revealing what she knew, though.
*****
“Did he say where he was going after leaving
here?” Donna asked of Patricia when the older lady had finished telling her
everything the journalist had revealed.
Patricia shook her head. “No, he said nothing
of his plans, not that I was interested anyway. He asked me about, about Emma,
and in returned he told me about Michael Davis, that was all I was interested
in.”
“Thank you, Mrs Water. I’m sorry you were
troubled by this Mr Over,” Donna apologised, though she wasn’t responsible for
the journalist. “I wouldn’t have expected journalists to find their way here so
soon. I was sure that any journalists who learned of what happened here would
be more interested in Michael’s escape from the hospital in town, and would
remain there to find out what they could.”
“Clearly you were wrong.”
Donna nodded, abashed by the accusing tone.
“Yes, I was. Now, if you’ll excuse me,” she pushed herself up from the chair,
“I must try and locate this Mr Over before he troubles anyone else. Please, if
he gets in touch again, or you have any more problems with journalists, contact
me immediately and I’ll be right over.” She waited for a moment to see if there
was going to be a response from Patricia, when none appeared to be forthcoming
she made her way out of the office and followed the housekeeper to the front
door, where she was shown out.
ELEVEN
With purposeful strides, his eyes surveying
both sides of the road, Constable Floyd turned down Lincoln Street to continue
his patrol. He had been out for more than an hour and a half, and had a similar
time to go before he got a break; he was looking forward to that break, as he
always did, though he didn’t allow the anticipation of it to dull his alertness
as he looked out for trouble.
He was about halfway down the street when he
stopped, his attention arrested by the car at his side. There was nothing
especially eye-catching about the car, except that it was out of place among
the rest of the cars parked down the street. The Vauxhall Astra next to him was
the only vehicle he could see that was more than five years old, it was also
dirtier and in worse shape than the other cars in the street.
Though he could see nothing obvious about the
car to explain why it had caught his attention, the constable was sure there
was a reason. It wasn’t until he had walked all the way round the vehicle,
examining it from every angle, that it struck him; the Vauxhall matched the
description of the vehicle stolen from the hospital.
“Control, this is four-nine-six, come in,
over,” Floyd said into his radio, stopping in the road at the rear of the
Vauxhall.
“Control to four-nine-six, receiving.” The
response came through after just a moment. “Say your message, over.”
“I have a suspicious vehicle, matching the
description of the vehicle reported stolen from the hospital; do you have the
license number to hand, over?” Remembering the report that had accompanied the
description of the stolen car the constable kept a careful eye out, scanning
the street from one end to the other, alert for trouble.
“Yes, Constable, can you confirm, you believe
you have found the car stolen from the hospital by Michael Davis, a grey
Vauxhall Astra, registration Y381 KKX, I repeat, Y for Yankee three-eight-one
kilo kilo x-ray, over.”
As the license number was read out Floyd
compared it to that at the rear of the vehicle, nodding, though there was
no-one to see him doing so. “The license number matches, I confirm, this is the
vehicle reported stolen from the hospital, over.”
“Is there any sign of the suspect, Michael
Davis, over?” the control room constable queried, summoning a duty sergeant to
listen in on the report from the patrol officer.
Floyd made yet another check of the street,
which remained empty, as he walked around the car, in case the suspect was in
the car and he had somehow missed seeing him before. “Negative, the street is
empty, over. Hold on,” he said quickly, turning away from the car as his
attention was caught by something in the middle of the street.
“What’s the matter, Constable, over?”
Sergeant Hurley asked in concern, entering the radio conversation. “Is Michael
Davis there, over?”
“No, Sergeant, no sign of the suspect,” Floyd
reported, squatting at the stain he had spotted. “I do have blood, though.”
Reaching out a hand he gingerly touched the stain, which he discovered was sticky.
“Fresh blood, over.”
There was silence for a moment, and then the
sergeant spoke again. “Did you say you have blood? Please clarify, over.”
“Yes; I’m in the road a short distance from
the car and there’s blood alongside an empty parking space. I can’t say how
fresh the blood is, but the stain is still sticky so I’m guessing it isn’t more
than a couple of hours old.”
“Report your location, I’ll have a patrol car
there A.S.A.P..” The sergeant scribbled down the location he was given. “Remain
there, and remain alert, the suspect may still be in the area, he is to be
considered extremely dangerous. If you see him, do not approach without backup,
confirm, over.”
“Confirm, do not approach suspect without
backup, over,” Floyd said, his eyes darting up and down the street, as though
Michael Davis was going to appear from between a pair of the parked cars.
*****
“Anderson.” Not caring in the slightest that
he was breaking the law the DI answered his phone as he continued down the
road, one hand on the steering wheel, the other holding the phone to his ear.
“Sir, this is Sergeant Hurley; we’ve had a
report that the vehicle believed to have been stolen from the hospital car park
by Michael Davis has been found,” the duty sergeant reported to the inspector.
The news was good, sort of, but it still made
the DI swear as he shifted gears and hit the indicator switch to warn the car
behind that he was leaving the main road. “Where’s the car?” he asked once he
had brought his car to a safe stop on the side street he had turned onto and
could concentrate on the phone call.
“Lincoln Street, behind the High Street,
sir,” Hurley answered. “The car was found by Constable Floyd, he’s confirmed
that the vehicle matches the description of the wanted vehicle, he’s also
reported the discovery of blood in the road a short distance away.”
“Is there any sign of Michael Davis?”
Anderson asked, using his free hand to enter Lincoln Street into his SatNav; he
knew where the street was, but since he was outside of town on his way to Crane
Lake Prison, he wanted the quickest route back.
“Negative, sir,” the sergeant said.
“Constable Floyd has reported that the car is parked and appears to have been
abandoned, he has also reported discovering blood in the road near the car.”
“What action have you taken?” Anderson asked;
the fingers of his free hand tapped impatiently on the gearstick in his
eagerness to turn the car around and head back to town to get on the trail of
Michael Davis. Even though he was apparently no longer at the car, the very fact
that the car had been found was good since it might help them locate the killer
teen.
“I’ve despatched a patrol car and several
officers to secure the car and begin a search of the area for Michael Davis,
and to question any potential witnesses. Additionally, a forensics team is
en-route to examine the car and the bloodstain Constable Floyd discovered.”
“Very good, sergeant,” Anderson said
approvingly. “Anything else?”
“Yes, sir, I’ve made certain that all
officers are aware that Michael Davis is extremely dangerous and should be
approached with caution. DS Murphy should be on scene shortly to take charge of
the situation until you arrive, and the chief inspector has put an armed
response team on alert. He’s also asked to be kept informed of every aspect of
the case, and he wants your assurance that no attempt will be made to arrest
Michael Davis without the response team, sir; he wants no more avoidable
deaths.”
Since he wanted the same thing, Anderson had
no problem agreeing to the use of an armed response team for the arrest of
Michael Davis. He had no intention of getting himself shot, like his
predecessor had. “I should reach Lincoln Street in approximately fifteen or
twenty minutes; if there’s any news on the whereabouts of Michael Davis I want
to know immediately.” With that he ended the call and made a quick three point
turn so he could head back to town.
*****
Seventeen minutes after hanging up on the
duty sergeant Anderson parked his car round the corner from Lincoln Street and
got out. The street in question had been blocked off at both ends, to prevent
anyone getting in the way of the investigation, and after identifying himself
to the officers on duty he made his way to where DS Murphy was standing.
“Any sign of Michael Davis yet?” Anderson
asked the moment he reached the sergeant.
Murphy shook his head. “No, sir, we’ve got no
idea where he is at this time. So far we’ve found no witnesses to his presence
here either; I’ve put in a request for access to CCTV footage from the area,
but, as you know, it’s likely to take time for the request to be approved.”
“Is there anything in the car to suggest
where he might have gone?”
Murphy shook his head again. “We haven’t
checked yet; I didn’t want to do anything until either you or the forensics
guys arrived, sir.”
Anderson gave a nod of approval. “I’m here
now, so let’s take a look at the car.” He moved over to the parked Vauxhall,
reaching into a pocket as he did so for the gloves he’d taken from his car.
With the gloves on, he took hold of the door handle;
he was unsurprised when he discovered the door was unlocked. Carefully, he
began searching the vehicle for anything that might provide a clue to where
Michael Davis had gone.
*****
“Fuck!” Anderson swore violently, startled by
the body that stared up at him from the boot of the dirty grey car. “Fuck!”
“Bloody hell!” Murphy joined his superior in
swearing. “This kid is one sick bastard,” he said, looking down on the body in
the boot.
Anderson nodded his agreement of his
partner’s assessment; what he could see of the body was bloody and battered,
indicating the man had been beaten severely before being stuffed into the boot.
“Have we got paramedics on the way?” he asked as he leaned into the boot to
check the body for a pulse; even as he did so he was sure the man was dead and
he was wasting his time. He had to check though.
“Yes, sir,” Murphy said, having radioed in a
request for medical backup. “They’ll be here shortly.”
“For all the good it will do,” Anderson
remarked; having discovered what he had suspected, that the man was dead, he
moved his hands from the man’s throat so he could search for a wallet, or some
other means of identifying Michael Davis’ latest victim.
The man’s wallet was missing, Anderson found
no trace of it, either on the body or in the boot, but he did find a business
card in the inside pocket of the man’s jacket. “Simon Glenn, Operations
Manager, Harwell Logistics,” he read off the card before holding it out to his
partner. “I want to know everything there is to know about him, especially what
type of car he drives, and any possible connection he might have with Michael
Davis.
“I think it likely that Mr Glenn was merely
unfortunate enough to bump into Mr Davis at the wrong moment, and there’s no
connection between the two of them, but you never know.”
“I’ll have an alert put out for Mr Glenn’s
car the moment we’ve identified it,” Murphy assured his superior, flipping the
business card idly in his fingers. “Do you want to handle the notification of
the next of kin, Sir, or shall I do it?” he asked, laying odds with himself as
he posed the question as to what the answer would be.
Anderson didn’t need much time to think about
the question. “You handle it; I was hoping there would be something here that
might give a clue to where we can find Michael Davis. Since that’s not the case
I might as well head back out to the prison like I originally planned.”
“Yes, sir, just as soon as I have Mr Glenn’s
details I’ll deliver the news to his next of kin.” Murphy wasn’t surprised that
his partner preferred to leave the unpleasant task to him, the DI had never
been keen on delivering bad news to relatives, and wherever possible he avoided
it.
“Good, make sure you continue the search of
the area for anyone who might have seen Michael Davis after he ditched the car
here,” Anderson told his partner. “And find out everything you can about Davis,
he must have friends or family he’s likely to turn to, even if only
temporarily.”
“Yes, sir,” Murphy nodded, accepting his
instructions.
*****
DS Murphy came to an abrupt halt when he
turned off the road onto the drive of the house belonging to Simon Glenn.
“Is everything alright, sir?” Constable Vine
asked.
Murphy turned to the WPC at his side, whom he
had brought along in the hope that her presence would help ease the news he was
there to deliver. “No, Constable,” he said, his attention returning to the car
parked in the drive in front of the house, just out of sight from the pavement.
“Everything is not alright; that’s Simon Glenn’s car.” He indicated the vehicle
he was looking at. “I think you’d better call for backup.” As he spoke he
reached into his pocket for his mobile phone.
“What is it, Dean?” Anderson wanted to know.
He hoped his partner had good news; just then he was being escorted through the
visitor’s area of Crane Lake Prison, on the way to hopefully getting
information that would help him catch Michael Davis.
“I’ve found the car registered to Simon
Glenn,” Murphy reported. “I’m at the Glenn residence and the car’s in the
drive.”
“What!” Anderson stopped dead in his tracks,
his exclamation startling the prison officer escorting him. “What the hell is
his car doing there? I thought Davis took the car after he killed Glenn and
stuffed him in the boot of the Astra.”
“So did I, sir.”
Anderson’s mind raced as he forced himself to
start moving again. “Have you found any connection between Davis and the Glenn
family?”
“Not as yet.”
“Do you think it possible that Davis is
there? Could he have gone there to hide out for a while?” Murphy realised from
his superior’s tone that he was thinking aloud, not asking him questions, and
so he kept quiet. “Yes, that must be it. Call the chief inspector and get the
response team there A.S.A.P.. Do not, I repeat, do not, approach the house,
leave it to the response team to make entry and apprehend Michael Davis if he’s
there.”