Shadows and Sins (The Falconer Files Book 13) Read online

  Tomlinson was as staggered as Falconer had been about George knowing the girls but Falconer still wasn’t happy about the Anstruther woman, a situation which handily resolved itself when Reverend Lockwood phoned at that point.

  ‘Sorry to bother you, Inspector, but Ruth told me about your enquires regarding old Fanny, and I thought I ought to let you know that a nursing home has just contacted me to say that she has died in their care, but that she had asked to be buried within our parish. Nobody told me that she’d been admitted into a home, so I couldn’t advise you of her whereabouts any sooner. I’m just arranging the funeral now.

  ‘Apparently a distant relative arranged the sale of the house so that her fees could be paid, as her cash had run out, but this is the first I’ve known of the situation.’

  That sorted out Falconer’s gut feeling that the old lady’s disappearance didn’t figure in the series of murders, but it didn’t really leave him any further forwards with regard to the other women. ‘Thank you very much for the information, Reverend. It was very public-spirited of you to let me know.’

  ‘My duty, Inspector, my duty.’

  ‘So, that’s the old lady out of the picture, Tomlinson. Fanny Anstruther is dead, but in no suspicious circumstances. What are your feelings about the other deaths?’

  ‘I’m still not happy about Perkins and Mortimer from Drovers Lane. There’s just something about them. I don’t know whether there’s a guilty look in their eyes because they over-charge their customers, or whether I’ve just got a thing about their profession, but I think there’s something not right there.’

  ‘And I’d like a word with George Covington,’ said Falconer, ‘and the landlords of the Drovers Lane and the King George III Terrace properties aren’t out of my suspicions yet.’

  ‘What do you think we should do?’

  ‘Get them all brought in for further questioning. And we need to visit the house in Prince Albert Terrace where Marilyn Slade lived. Let’s get that out of the way first so that we can get a breath of fresh air.’

  The press officer had been siphoning off all the reporters who had crowded the steps and taking them into the conference room to give them twice-daily updates, if there was anything, on Chivers’ orders, so that they could exit the building without having to run the gauntlet of a mob of press, and for this they were grateful.

  The superintendent was also bringing in a posse of officers from other forces to conduct a search party for Natalie Jones. A lot of them would stay to cover the legwork on the current murder investigations, as it was obviously too much for a small station like Market Darley to cover. For this Falconer was grateful, as all the information gathered and sifted would be passed straight to him as SIO. Chivers had already stated that he wanted to hang on to these investigations, and it was obvious that he wanted all the glory when they were solved.

  Tomlinson and Falconer drove straight to Steynham St Michael and called in to Knitty Gritty to see if Amy Littlemore had any more information. She had remembered nothing else, which was hardly surprising, considering the state in which she usually struggled through life, but Malcolm had come up with a rather fuzzy photograph he had taken of Amy and Marilyn, when she first worked for them.

  ‘She was here a couple of years,’ he informed the detectives.

  ‘And you never enquired after her when she just didn’t turn up for work?’

  ‘You know how things were then, Inspector. We didn’t know what day it was, let alone how long she’d been gone, when we were on the sauce.’

  ‘It was only that TV appeal that jogged our memories. We’d almost forgotten that she used to work for us then your superintendent made us remember her, and realise that she might actually have disappeared,’ explained Amy. Falconer knew when to be grateful for small mercies. Marilyn Slade evidently wasn’t a victim over-burdened with family or friends, just like the others, and it was a chilling thought, how many women such as these could go missing without anyone being any the wiser, except for a passing thought here or there.

  The house in Prince Albert Terrace was a tiny Victorian build. Nothing about it was particularly smart or modern with the exception of the front door, which was visibly newer than the window frames and the interior fittings. It was grubby and neglected both inside and out, with the exception of this door. The kitchen fittings were sixties-style, the bathroom, ditto, and the wiring looked like it hadn’t been updated for a long time either.

  As with the other houses of victims, there were clothes in the wardrobe and chest of drawers, toiletries in the bathroom, and make-up on the dressing table: another Marie Celeste mystery for them to solve.

  There was also a CSI team flinging grey fingerprint powder around with gay abandon, and Falconer, who had momentarily forgotten that he had unleashed this team, blustered at them that they’d need to sort through everything for evidence that might help them with the case. Of course the CSIs already knew this and were actively engaged in doing just that, but he felt he had to save face somehow at blundering in on them in the middle of their search.

  ‘Did you mention we were getting Carmichael back this afternoon?’ asked Tomlinson, apropos of nothing, as they slunk from the house, slightly red-faced at this unexpected meeting of officers.

  ‘We are indeed, and we’ll need to get him up to speed.’

  ‘I understand, from office gossip, that the super’s doing another appeal tonight.’

  ‘Typical, but it won’t do any harm. Best get back, and get those suspects brought in. Actually, scratch Driscoll. We still don’t have a body, but we can bring in both Covingtons. You and I can do the interviews, while Carmichael updates himself.’

  DS Carmichael was waiting for them when they returned to the station. ‘How are things?’ asked the inspector.

  ‘The twins are doing well, and Kerry’s more rested now. I’ll pop in on my way home this evening. She knows the score with this job, so she won’t be too upset that I don’t spend hours by her bed. We haven’t thought of any names yet, so she can occupy her mind with that.’ Carmichael raised a hand to Tomlinson and added, ‘By the way, thanks for the scoff you brought in. My stomach thought my throat was cut.’

  ‘No problem, mate.’

  ‘Good good good.’ Falconer recaptured the lead. ‘Now, let us tell you what you missed.’

  Bridger brought in his solicitor, having phoned him when the car arrived, and picked him up on the way. The interview went as expected.

  ‘Falconer: You are Colin Bridger, the owner of 2 Drovers Lane, Castle Farthing?

  Bridger: Yes.

  Falconer: You had a relationship with your tenant, Ms Annie Symons?

  Bridger: No comment.

  Falconer: Was your relationship in any way sexual?

  Bridger: No comment.

  Falconer: Did you have anything to do with the disappearance of Ms Symons?

  Bridger: No comment.

  Falconer: Did you do any harm to Ms Symons?

  Bridger: No comment.

  Falconer: Were you responsible for the death of Ms Symons?

  Bridger: No comment.

  Falconer: Did you conceal her body in Castle Farthing woods?

  Bridger: We’ve already discussed why I knew Annie. No comment.

  Falconer (in exasperation): Would you like cod and chips this evening?

  Bridger: Yes, please.

  Falconer: Then buy it yourself. Interview terminated…’

  Or, at least this was how Falconer related the interview to Carmichael afterwards, with a surprisingly good imitation of Bridger’s voice. He was feeling unusually upbeat today, even given his lack of grip on the case.

  George and Paula Covington were another case entirely. For one thing, there was no solicitor present, and for another, they were more than willing to have a chat with Falconer and Tomlinson.

  ‘Falconer: Mr Covington, you stated to me last night that you knew the women about whom our superintendent put out a television appeal: that would be Annie Symons,
Melanie Saunders, Fanny Anstruther, Suzie Doidge, and Natalie Jones, the first two dead, the other three missing? And did you also know Bonnie Fletcher or Marilyn Slade?’ This last one he had added as the most recently identified body.

  George: I know all of them, except the third one you mentioned, but we’ve both met the others. Two of them worked for us, but you already knew that. And are the last two missing or dead as well?

  Falconer: The first, missing, the second, unfortunately, also dead.

  Paula: Whatever is the world coming to? But to clarify, we’ve met just about everyone who lives in Castle Farthing, and Market Darley, and a good number of the villages.

  George: The Fisherman’s Flies is a popular pub.

  Paula: Everyone comes out to us, especially in the summer.

  Falconer: Did you know them outside of work?

  Paula: Well, I used to bump into Annie sometimes in Allsorts – you know, the little shop?

  George: No.

  They both spoke their answers together.

  Falconer: Do either of you have any idea how they could have disappeared or been murdered?

  Paula: How dare you!

  George: No.

  Falconer: I mean, did you perhaps ever overhear anything in the bar that might have made you suspicious?

  Paula: I just let the chatter go in one ear and out the other.

  George: No.

  Paula: We had a barmaid disappear on us once in London, didn’t we George? Never did find out what happened to her. Probably ran off with her fancy fella, if truth be told.

  George: Don’t remember that, Paula love.

  Paula: Course you do.

  George: No I don’t.

  Paula: That there flighty one who was always flirting with the customers. And you didn’t help matters when she flirted with you and you flirted right back at her.

  George: Did I?

  Paula: Yes, you did. A woman notices these things.

  George: Can’t say as I can place her; there have been so many barmaids over the years.

  Paula: George, you’re hopeless, you are, with your memory.’

  ‘I didn’t know you were so good sir, at impersonations, but that sounded just right,’ said Carmichael, both taken aback and impressed with his senior officer’s levity. This was unheard of.

  The rest of the interview had been similarly unhelpful, but Falconer’s interest had been spiked by the mention of a woman who had disappeared from their previous establishment, and he made a mental note to get in touch with the brewery, and perhaps interview them again separately. Was George just playing the old duffer? Did he really have a sinister past? Was he that good an actor? And surely he was past it. Many a murderer had put on a good front, though, while concealing heinous deeds. And should he bring Peregrine and Tarquin in as well? Good God! He couldn’t think straight because of Honey.

  Unfortunately, the brewery that owned The Fisherman’s Flies was very unhelpful about casual staff and could not give them any information even if they’d had it. This was due to something that was referred to as ‘human rights’, data protection, or some such nonsense, though Falconer could see little about human rights for the victims in this case. In the middle of the afternoon, however, the diligent hum of the office was disturbed by the trilling of the outside line, and Falconer answered it to find a furious Sadie Palister on the line.

  She was a sculptress whom he and Carmichael had met on the case they had investigated in Stoney Cross, when they had originally met Reverend Ravenscastle and Peregrine and Tarquin. At the moment she was spitting fire, insisting that he come out to the Mill, which Falconer remembered was her friend and fellow artist Araminta Wingfield-Heyes’ house. She was more or less hysterical, but all he could get out of her was, ‘There’s something in the lavatory that you need to see. And you need to come here right away and do something about it. It’s an utter disgrace.’

  Apart from that, he could get no sense out of her, but knowing what a pragmatic, if somewhat unpredictable, person she was at times, he decided that he really ought to take a look. There had been something about her tone that not only brooked no argument, but that had the seeds of something really disturbing about it.

  ‘Come along, Carmichael,’ he said, out of long habit more than anything else. ‘Hold the fort, Tomlinson. We’re off to Stoney Cross again.’ Tomlinson grimaced, feeling he had been shrugged off like an out-of-favour concubine.

  ‘What was the phone call about?’ asked Carmichael as they went down the stairs.

  ‘It was Sadie Palister saying that there was something horrible down her lavatory,’ the inspector explained bluntly, ‘or rather, down Araminta Wingfield-Heyes’.’

  ‘I know how she feels, sir. There’s often something horrible down mine as well, but that’s usually one of the boys not flushing when they’ve finished.’

  ‘I have a feeling she meant something even more sinister than that, Sergeant.’

  When they arrived at the Mill, the sculptress answered the door and bade them enter, where they found Araminta Wingfield-Heyes sobbing on the sofa. The former still wore unashamedly gothic make-up and sported her long waterfall of jet black hair, her nails painted to match. The latter was a little bit chubbier than she had been at their last meeting, but her cropped mousy hair had grown considerably.

  ‘It’s absolutely ghastly, Inspector,’ declared Araminta – Minty to her friends – now considerably calmer than just a moment ago. ‘Take him to see it, Sadie. We don’t know what to do about it.’

  ‘Come with me, you two, and make it snappy,’ barked Palister in her usual brusque manner. ‘I’ve had to use a bucket since we phoned you. I was too desperate to nip home.’ The hysterics on the phone had been a surprise, as nothing usually upset this strong woman, and what was all this about a bucket? She led them to a bathroom on the ground floor, walked towards the lavatory, screwed up her face in disgust, and pointed down the pan as she stood there, pointedly looking in the other direction. ‘Just look down there,’ she ordered them, and the two men walked tentatively over to stare down the pan.

  ‘Whoa!’ yelped the sergeant in surprise.

  ‘Well, well, well,’ mused the inspector in a more measured fashion.

  What was staring up at him from the bottom of the pan was a skeletal hand, its index finger pointing upwards. ‘It was me that found it as I went to squat over it,’ stated Sadie, ‘And I had such a shock that I damned near cacked myself. Minty had total hysterics when I showed her. Where the hell has it come from, and what does it mean?’ she asked. ‘And when are you going to arrange for it to be taken away?’

  ‘I don’t know, as yet, Miss Palister, but I shall get a team over to investigate as soon as I can. Is this property on mains drainage?’

  ‘No. The village has only got septic tanks.’

  ‘That should make life easier, then, for the men searching.’

  ‘So, what will Minty do in the meantime?’

  ‘Can she stay with you? I remember your studio from when I was here before.’

  ‘She can, but how long will this take? I mean, you’ve got to take that thing out, haven’t you?’

  ‘I can’t say with any accuracy how long that will be, but I’ll do my best to hurry it along, as it compromises the drainage system at Miss Wingfield-Heyes’ home. It’s lucky she’s got a friend like you who can put her up.’

  ‘It is, isn’t it, Inspector,’ agreed Miss Palister with sarcasm, and she stomped out of the bathroom calling, ‘Come on, Minty. You’re going to have a little stay at mine, so you ought to pack a bag. Get your nose wiped and get a move on. We don’t want to delay these intrepid officers any longer than necessary,’ she concluded in a very slightly shaky voice. She had been uncharacteristically unsettled by this outrageous discovery.

  The four of them left the Mill together, Minty locking up behind them. ‘There’ll be a key at my studio when you get someone to come over and get that disgusting thing out of Minty’s loo,’ Sadie said.

&nb
sp; As they walked towards the car, Falconer exclaimed, ‘Bloody hell! Part of another body. What the hell has been going on? Somebody’s been on an out-and-out killing spree and we’ve known absolutely nothing about it.’

  ‘Could this be one of our missing girls?’ asked the sergeant. ‘Obviously not Natalie Jones, because she’s only just gone missing.’

  Falconer stopped and stood for a moment, in thought. ‘Could be. We just have to hope it is either Bonnie Fletcher or Suzie Doidge, but I get the feeling we’re never going to find the latter. We’ll have to have a good team meeting when we get back to establish exactly where we are. There seem to have been so many stray bodies come to light, and so many missing people, that my head’s in quite a whirl. In the meantime, Carmichael, get Uniform to seal the scene and we will send the CSI team tomorrow.

  They arrived back to a sulking Tomlinson. He’d become used to being the one who was working with Falconer, and he had not appreciated just being dumped – but there were two builders who had been brought in for questioning, and any bad feelings would have to wait for later, as would their case summary.

  Mortimer was furious at being dragged away from his work at such short notice, and was angry with himself for telling a colleague where he was working that day. He had thought he could trust Simeon Perkins not to let him get dragged away from earning a crust, but Perkins had been taken in for questioning too. It was just both their misfortunes that Perkins had been collecting some tools from home when the police car turned up, and he’d thought, if he had to go in, why shouldn’t Mortimer?

  They exchanged glances as they were led almost simultaneously to interview rooms, and Falconer and Tomlinson went in to Mortimer first. It seemed only fair that the DC should do these interviews with him, as he had been the one to deal with residents from Drovers Lane in the initial stages of the case, this action a small consolation for being left behind when the other two had gone over to Stoney Cross.

  ‘Can you confirm for the tape your name and address?’ asked the inspector, after recording the officers present and the date.