Chapter 31 #2
I made my way through the standing clusters of officers and in between those seated in chairs.
As I approached the front, I saw that Young had joined the briefing, which was unusual for him.
He was sitting next to the man I suspected was Franklin, which I presumed was the reason for his attendance – inter-departmental goodwill.
I reached Laura and turned to the assembled officers.
‘I’ve just got back from Staines Cemetery,’ I said, ‘where Derek Evans was interred the day before yesterday. As you may have gathered, we’ve seen some activity there overnight. SOCO are currently on site.’
I told the room about the scene that had been secured at the cemetery. As I expected, looking around, I saw expressions of disgust on the faces of the officers. What had been done to the grave was the act of an animal, and I heard people muttering to that effect.
‘As horrible as it is,’ I said, ‘it gives us another problem as well. A logistical one, you’ll all be glad to hear, because we don’t have enough as things stand.’
There were the expected groans.
I said, ‘The funerals of Sandra Peacock and John Kramer are scheduled to take place later today. The others, over the next few days. We’re going to need a presence at each.’
It seemed unlikely to me that he attended the burials in person – certainly, he hadn’t been at Derek Evans’s – but we needed to cover ourselves.
‘We’ll also need surveillance on all the burial sites in case he shows up again. My guess is he won’t. Of course he won’t. But he knows this will stretch us thin, and he knows we have to do it anyway because we can’t afford to miss anything. He’s playing with us.’
I looked around the room, picking out faces, allowing the silence to let the implications of what I’d said sink in.
There were other things to discuss – an idea I’d had on the drive back from the cemetery – but I didn’t want to share them with the room yet, not until I’d talked them over with Laura.
‘That’s where we’re at for the moment,’ I said.
Last of all, I looked at Young, sitting in the front row, and then at the man beside him.
DCI Franklin of the Buxton police force.
He was in his late fifties, but well-preserved: skin tanned and unlined, silver hair swept neatly in a side-parting.
He had his arms folded. Legs crossed too, so that one trouser leg had ridden up far enough to reveal five inches of black sock above his polished black shoe.
A tightening.
Storm clouds rolling ever blacker in the sky.
Because it was him.
‘Earth to Hicks,’ Laura said. ‘Are you okay?’
‘I’m fine.’
‘I seem to be asking that a lot recently.’
‘And I seem to be telling you I’m fine a lot, which I am.’
Which I wasn’t. Not at all. After the briefing had finished and everyone in the room had dispersed, Laura had introduced me to Franklin.
I’d shaken his hand, tried to look him in the eye, tried to pretend I was fine.
I had no idea how good a job I’d done, but I thought I’d hidden the unease I felt fairly well.
He didn’t appear to have recognised me, but I expected, sooner or later, that he would.
Laura said, ‘Are you sure? Because you seem –’
‘The letters,’ I said.
‘Don’t change the subject.’
‘I already have. The subject was changed and you’re too late to stop it. I’ve been thinking about the letters.’
‘So have I.’
‘Yes, but I’ve been thinking something different from you. Because you didn’t see what the guy did at the cemetery.’
Laura leaned back and sighed, running her hand through her hair. Naturally, it fell down impeccably again.
‘Go on.’
‘It just strikes me that that kind of behaviour doesn’t fit with the letters. With the way he comes across in them, I mean. He seems so controlled and articulate. Not the kind of man to go and shit on someone’s grave.’
‘He said they mean nothing to him.’
‘Exactly. And he could be displaying that, I suppose. But it doesn’t strike me as the kind of thing you do if someone genuinely means nothing to you. If I was going by instinct – by logic – then I’d be betting that the man writing the letters did not desecrate Evans’s grave …’
‘But?’ Laura said.
‘But I don’t trust my instincts anymore. I don’t know what to make of this investigation. None of it makes sense.’
She looked at me for a while, then leaned forward again.
‘What about the video? He sent us the video.’
‘That’s true. So maybe there’s two of them working together. Or maybe what happened at the cemetery last night isn’t connected.’
‘You think?’
‘I don’t know what to think.’ But I said it too hard, and I could tell from Laura’s face that she was on the verge of asking me that too-familiar question again. Are you okay? ‘I’m just throwing this out there. Just chucking ideas in the pot.’
‘Okay. Listen, I –’
But she was interrupted by the phone ringing. She frowned at it, then took the call.
‘Fellowes.’
I watched her, silent now, as she listened to the incoming call. A moment later, she snatched up a pen and began scribbling furiously. Her expression had turned grim. Her pad was upside down, but I could see she was writing an address and details.
Marie Wilkinson …
‘Right.’
She sounded sick.
When she put the phone down, I didn’t need her to tell me. I was already getting my jacket on. We had another. And it was a bad one.
Right then, of course, I had no idea.