Fever of the Bone (28 page)

‘You make her sound a bit too perfect,’ he said. ‘Didn’t she ever go just a bit mad? Get drunk? Try drugs? Want a tattoo? Have her navel pierced? Mess around with boys?’

Claire giggled, then put her hand to her mouth, ashamed to be so light-hearted. ‘You must think we’re really boring,’ she said. ‘We did have our ears pierced the summer we were twelve. Our mothers went mad. But they let us keep them.’

‘No sneaking out after hours to gigs? No smoking behind the bike sheds? Did Jen have a boyfriend at all?’

Claire gave him a quick sideways look but said nothing.

‘I know everybody says she’s not going out with anybody. But I find that hard to believe. A good person who was fun to hang out with. And pretty. And I’m supposed to believe she didn’t have a boyfriend.’ He spread his hands wide, palms upwards. ‘I need you to help me here, Claire.’

‘She made me promise,’ Claire said.

‘I know. But she’s not going to hold you to that promise. You said yourself, if it was the other way round, you’d want her to help us.’

‘It wasn’t a proper boyfriend. Not like going on dates and stuff. But there was this guy on Rig. ZeeZee, he called himself. Just the letters, though. Like, two zeds.’

‘We know she talked to ZZ on Rig, but they just seemed to be friends. Not boyfriend and girlfriend.’

‘That was what they wanted everyone to think. Jen was paranoid about her parents finding out about him because he’s four years older than us. So she used to go to the internet café near school to talk to him online. That way her mum couldn’t check up on her. According to Jen, they were getting on really well. She said she wanted them to meet up face to face.’

‘Did she tell you about any plans they might have had?’

Claire shook her head. ‘She’d sort of gone quiet about him. Whenever I tried to get her to talk about it, she’d change the subject. But I think maybe they’d made arrangements.’

‘Why do you think that?’ Tony kept his voice free of urgency, making it sound like the most casual of inquiries.

‘Because ZZ was saying something on Rig about secrets and how we all have secrets that we don’t want anyone to know. And then him and Jen went into a sidebar. And I thought she was telling him off for hinting at what was going on between them.’

But she hadn’t been. She’d been pitched into that meeting they’d been skating round, according to Claire. It made sense of why a well-behaved girl like Jennifer would behave so recklessly. This was something that had even more of a build-up than they’d suspected. This was a killer who wasn’t taking any chances. The last time he’d encountered a killer who planned so carefully or over so long a time had been the first case he’d worked with Carol and it had taken a terrible toll. He really didn’t want to go into that dark place again. But if that was what it took to bring Jennifer Maidment’s killer to justice before he could kill again, he would do it without hesitation.

The caravan site wasn’t going to win any beauty contests. Boxy vans in pastel shades squatted on concrete pads surrounded by weary grass and tarmac paths. Some residents had attempted window boxes and flower beds, but the prevailing winds off the bay had defeated them. But as Sam got out of his car, he had to admit the view made up for a lot. A watery sun added charm to the long expanse of sand that stretched almost to the horizon, where the sea twinkled at the fringes of Morecambe Bay. He knew this was a double-crossing beauty. Dozens had perished out there over the years, not understanding the speed and the treachery of the tides. From here, though, you’d never suspect a thing.

Sam made for the office, an incongruous log cabin that would have looked more at home in the American Midwest. According to Stacey, Harry Sim had last used his Mastercard ten days before Danuta Barnes had been reported missing. He’d used to it buy ten pounds’ worth of petrol at the garage two miles down the road from the Bayview Caravan Park. The bill had been settled by a cash payment at a Bradfield city-centre bank three weeks later. Also according to Stacey, this was an anomaly, since Harry Sim normally settled his account by posting a cheque to the credit-card company. How she managed to find out this sort of thing was little short of miraculous, he thought. And possibly not entirely legal.

The billing address for the card had been this caravan site. And that had been the last trace either Stacey or Sam had been able to find of Harry Sim. Computer searches, phone calls to Revenue and Customs, banks and credit-card providers had turned up a big fat zero. Which wasn’t entirely surprising, since Harry Sim had apparently been lying on the bottom of Wastwater for the last fourteen years.

Sam knocked on the office door and walked in, his ID front and centre. The man behind the desk was playing some kind of word game on the computer. He glanced round at Sam, froze the screen and lumbered to his feet. He looked in his mid-fifties, a big man whose bulk had started to sag into fat. His hair was a mixture of sand and silver, too dry to readily submit to brush or comb. His skin had acquired a papery texture from years of salt air and stiff winds. He was neatly dressed in a flannel shirt, a scarlet fleece and dark grey corduroy trousers. ‘Officer,’ he said, nodding a greeting.

Sam introduced himself and the man looked surprised. ‘Bradfield?’ he said. ‘You’ve come a few miles, then. I’m Brian Carson.’ He waved a vague hand at the window. ‘This is my site. I’m the owner.’

‘Have you been here long?’ Sam asked.

‘Since 1987. I used to be a printer, down in Manchester. When we all got made redundant, I sunk my money into this place. I’ve never regretted it. It’s a great life.’ He sounded sincere, which left Sam feeling baffled. He couldn’t imagine many more tedious occupations.

‘I’m pleased to hear it,’ he said. ‘Because the person I need to ask you about lived here fourteen, fifteen years ago.’

Carson perked up. ‘By heck, that’s going back. I’ll need to look in the records for that.’ He turned and pointed to a door behind him. ‘I keep all the files in the back. Not that I need the files. I pride myself on knowing my tenants. Not the holiday-makers so much, but the ones who keep their vans on, I know all of them. What’s occurred that you’re looking for someone from that far ago?’

Sam gave a lazy, rueful smile, the one that generally got people on his side. ‘I’m sorry, I’m not allowed to discuss the details. You know how it is.’

‘Oh.’ Carson looked disappointed. ‘Well, if you can’t, you can’t. Now, what’s the name of this person you’re interested in?’

‘Harry Sim.’

Carson’s face brightened. ‘Oh, I remember Harry Sim. He stuck out like a sore thumb round here. Most of our long-term tenants, they’re older. Retired. Or else they’ve got young families. But Harry was unusual. A single bloke, in his middle thirties, I suppose he must have been. He kept himself to himself. He never came to barbecue nights or karaoke or anything like that. And his unit was right out at the very back. He didn’t have much of a view, but he did get peace and quiet. The units down there are always the hardest to let, on account of they’ve not got the benefit of the bay view.’ He flashed an awkward smile. ‘With a name like ours, that’s what people expect. A bay view.’

‘I imagine,’ Sam said. ‘You said he lived alone. I don’t suppose you remember if he had many visitors?’

Carson was suddenly crestfallen. ‘It’s not that I don’t remember,’ he said. ‘It’s just that I’ve no idea. Where he was, down at the end there - well, there’s no way of seeing whether people were visiting or not. And in the summer, I know it’s hard to believe, looking at it today, but it’s mayhem out there. There’s no way I could keep track of any individual’s visitors unless they’re right out there where I can see them through the window.’

‘I appreciate that. Did you have much to do with him?’

Carson sank even further into gloom. ‘No. Obviously, when he took up the tenancy, we spoke then, to make the arrangements. But that was pretty much it. He never stopped by for a chat, only came in if there was a problem, and since we pride ourselves here on there not being problems, we didn’t see much of him at all.’

Sam almost felt sorry for the man, obviously so eager to help but with so little to offer. Except that he was the one losing out because of Carson’s deficiency. ‘How long did he live here?’

Carson brightened again. ‘Now that I can tell you. But I’ll have to look at my records to be precise.’ He was already halfway through the door into the back office. Sam could see a row of filing cabinets, then he heard a drawer being opened and closed. Moments later, Carson re-emerged with a slim hanging file. ‘Here we are,’ he said, laying it on the counter. The label on the file read
127/Sim
.

‘You’ve got quite a system here,’ Sam said.

‘I pride myself on keeping proper records. You never know when someone like yourself is going to be in need of some information.’ Carson opened the folder. ‘Here we are. Harry Sim took out a year’s lease in April 1995.’ He studied the sheet of paper. ‘He didn’t renew the lease, he only had the unit for the year.’

‘Did he leave anything behind? Any papers, clothes?’
The remains of a life that had been snuffed out by someone else
?

‘There’s no note of anything. And there would be if he hadn’t cleared it out, believe you me.’

Sam did. ‘And you’ve no idea when specifically he left?’

Regret on his face, Carson shook his head. ‘No. The keys were left on the table, it says here. But nothing to show how long they’d been there.’

This was looking like a very dead end. Harry Sim had gone, but nobody knew when or where or why. Sam knew where he’d ended up, but not where he’d begun. There was one last question left to try. ‘When he took on the rental, did you ask for references?’

Carson nodded proudly. ‘Of course.’ He pulled out the bottom sheets from the file. ‘Two references. One from the bank and one from his former boss, a Mrs Danuta Barnes.’

To Carol’s relief, Blake was available almost immediately. She was surprised to find him behind his desk in full dress uniform. She’d grown accustomed to John Brandon only wearing the full rig when it was absolutely necessary, much preferring the comfort of a suit. Blake clearly liked to make sure nobody in the room forgot exactly how important he was.

He waved her into a chair, steepled his fingers and leaned his chin on them. ‘What brings you here, Chief Inspector?’

Carol resisted the childish temptation to say, ‘My own two feet.’ Instead, she said, ‘I need you to intervene on our behalf with West Yorkshire.’ She outlined the situation clearly and succinctly. ‘This is a murder inquiry, sir. I haven’t got the time to play silly buggers with my oppo. We need not to waste any more time.’

‘Quite. They should be happy to hand it off to us. It’ll save them money and, if we’re successful, I’ve no doubt they’ll claim at least half the credit. Leave it with me, Chief Inspector. I’ll get it sorted.’

Carol was pleasantly surprised at Blake’s lack of fuss. And that he took her side so readily. But then, there might be serious credit further down the line, which would suit a man with his presumed ambitions. ‘Thanks,’ she said, starting to rise from her chair.

Blake waved her back down again. ‘Not quite so fast,’ he said. ‘These two murders are definitely connected, in your professional opinion?’

She felt a sense of trepidation. Where was he going with this? ‘I don’t think there’s any room for doubt. Identical MO, similar victims, same sort of body dump. It looks pretty clear that Seth Viner was stalked online and we’ve been told something similar went on with Daniel Morrison. We were careful not to release any details of what happened to Daniel, so we can rule out a copycat. I don’t see how it can be anything but the same killer.’

He gave her a small tight smile that bunched his cheeks into a pair of crab apples. ‘I trust your judgement,’ he said. ‘That being the case, what you need to do now is to bring in a profiler.’

Carol struggled with her composure. ‘You told me my budget didn’t run to that,’ she said, her words clipped and tight.

‘I told you your budget didn’t run to Dr Hill,’ Blake said, managing to invest Tony’s name with disdain. ‘What we have access to are the profilers from the National Faculty. Once I’ve dealt with West Yorkshire, I will arrange it.’

‘I can do that, sir,’ Carol said, hastily trying to wrest some control back. ‘You shouldn’t be wasting your time on admin like that.’

This time, Blake’s smile had an air of cruelty. ‘I’m happy to help,’ he said. ‘You have two murders on your plate. I know how easy it is for things to slip through the cracks when you’re so occupied.’

The bastard was suggesting she’d deliberately ignore an order. Anger fizzed underneath her polite demeanour. ‘Thank you, sir.’ She couldn’t manage a return smile.

‘You’ll be amazed how well you manage without Dr Hill.’

Carol stood up and nodded. ‘After all, sir, we’re none of us indispensable.’

Ambrose had dropped Tony back at the house so he could pick up his car. ‘You’re not planning on going back there tonight?’ Ambrose asked as he unloaded Tony’s overnight bag from the boot. ‘Because if you are, you need to tell the estate agent to call you before she brings more people round.’

‘I won’t be there. I promise you won’t have to bail me out again.’

‘That’s good news.’ Ambrose popped a piece of chewing gum in his mouth and shook his head in a more genial way. ‘Not the best way to start the day. So, what’s your plans now?’

‘I’m going to find a quiet pub where I can sit in a corner with my laptop and write up my profile. I should have it with you late this afternoon. Then I’ll have something to eat, so hopefully I’ll miss the rush hour in Birmingham when I drive back to Bradfield. If that’s all right with you. Obviously, if there are issues with the profile that you need me to resolve, then I’ll stick around. If there’s one thing I’m pretty sure about with this killer, it’s that he’s going to do it again. I’ll do whatever it takes to help you stop that happening.’

‘You really think so?’

Tony sighed. ‘Once they get the taste for it, guys like this need the buzz.’