The Fifth Grave, page 4
part #1 of DCI Jacob Series
Somewhere above their heads, hidden in the boughs of a birch, a redwing sang out for its mate, its sharp call lighting the dark moment below.
“Have you been up here before?”
“To walk, yes,” Croft said. “But not with the detector, at least not in Four Sisters. In fact, this is brand new. I only got it yesterday. It was a present from my kids.”
“What about you two?”
“We’ve detected up here before, yes.” Stephen Cornwell and his wife caught each other’s eye for a moment. “We’ve been trying to get Phil into it for a long time, and the first trip out – look what happens.”
“You say you’ve brought your metal detectors up to Grovely before?”
“Yes, several times,” Stephen said. “But it’s a big place – the second largest woodland area in the county. We’ve never got around to searching Four Sisters. It’s a virgin site – at least it is for us.”
“When you discovered the remains you phoned the police immediately, is that right?”
Croft nodded. “I didn’t touch a thing, except for when I reached out for the ring. Oh God.”
“All right, thank you all. I know it’s been difficult for you but we have all your details and we can get in touch if we need to.”
“Is that likely?” Stephen said.
Jacob slipped his notebook away. “You never can tell.”
*
Anna Mazurek watched Jacob walk back up to the woods. Snow was settling on the shoulders of his black peacoat by the time he’d reached the top of the field, hands pushed down into his pockets and the lower part of his face now hidden even more by a thick black scarf.
The icy wind whipped at his hair but he never flinched as he trudged on up the hill. She had remembered him from her first days in the police as a defiant man, although his enemies used the word stubborn, so seeing him back so soon after the fire hadn’t surprised her. He’d spent his career working hard to stop crime and violence and protect innocent people. Hiding away even after such a profound personal tragedy wasn’t in his nature.
She balled her gloved hands into fists in a bid to warm them. He was halfway up the hill now and Mia Francis and her CIS team were conducting an ever-expanding fingertip search, the radius gradually moving further away from the shallow grave.
Just a week past midwinter and the shortest day, even approaching midday the light was weak and what little of it broke through the clouds was further blocked by the dense woodland. It had a frail and spent feel to it and made her wish to be anywhere else but here. She’d been in places like this before, but usually during the summer when families walked and children played. When photographers took pictures of bluebell carpets and dogs played in an undergrowth twisted with pignut and foxglove.
It was a very different world today.
She thought back to what the ranger had said about the dead witches, and the young people coming up here to drink and make bonfires at night. Is that what had happened to their victim? She shuddered as she thought of the last few minutes of her life. Had she died here in the trees or was she murdered somewhere else and dumped here?
Jacob had made it to the woods and was now walking over to the hollow.
“Anything?” she asked.
He shook his head. “He was up here with a new Christmas toy and he stumbled onto the remains when the detector located the ring. We’ve got their details, but not sure there’s anything more there that can help us. I want you to organise some uniform to do house to house within a three mile radius. That might shake things up.”
“Guv.”
“And who’s that having it out with Smith down on the other road? I saw her earlier.”
Anna turned away from the huddle of emergency vehicles and the detectorists and looked down to the other road further along to the south. “No idea. Probably irked that the woods are shut and her Boxing Day walk has been cancelled.”
“She seems very persistent. I think I’ll go and have a chat.”
*
“All right, Smith. I’ll take it from here.”
“Thank you, sir.”
“Are you Detective Chief Inspector Jacob?” The woman in the red hat stepped closer and held out her hand.
“I am, yes. And you are?”
With one hand holding the umbrella, she fumbled in her bag for a business card. “My name is Dr Sophie Anderson. I’m a forensic psychologist and criminal profiler.”
He took the card and read her details. “I’ve heard of you. You were involved in the Keeley Murders, is that right?”
She looked momentarily to the ground, searching in the snowy stillness for time to think of a response. “I was part of the team that caught him, yes.”
“Nasty case.”
“Yes, it was.”
“But what are you doing here?”
“I’m here to help.”
His smile faded. “I don’t understand.”
“I heard what happened on the news and I knew straight away that I could help. I’ve researched and written a great deal about both serial killers and occult deaths.”
“Woah, no one has said anything about anything like that.”
“Reports on the internet mentioned a possible ritual dimension to the murder.”
Jacob sighed and handed the card back. “Then reports on the internet are wrong, or at the very least wildly premature. We know next to nothing about what happened here and nothing has been formally communicated to the press. Any reports you might have read are based on nothing but pure speculation,” he said, shooting a dark look at PC Smith. “The investigation is barely off the ground.”
“But you’re aware of the history of these woods?”
Another sigh. “If you’re talking about the witches, then yes I have been made aware of that history. But I fail to see any reason at the moment to link those murders, if indeed they ever happened, with the discovery of these remains.”
Anna Mazurek reached the bottom of the hill. “Guv.”
“This is Dr Sophie Anderson,” he said with the trace of a smile returning to his face. “She wants to help us catch the killer.”
Sophie said, “I developed an interest in criminal psychology when I was finishing my master’s degree, so I wrote a PhD in it. I’ve been working in America.”
Her words were met by silence. Jacob spoke next. “America?”
“Trained by the FBI.” She handed her card to Anna.
“Dr Sophie Anderson,” she read out. “Forensic Psychologist. And criminal profiler.”
“I’m impressed by your credentials,” Jacob said. “But…”
“But you don’t want me to help?”
“I can see why you’re such a good psychologist,” Anna said. “You’re really good at picking up on what people are thinking.”
The two women exchanged a glance as frosty as the surrounding fields.
“It’s not that,” Jacob said. “It’s just that we have people who do this for us. People on our payroll who we know and trust.” He saw the look on her face and backtracked. “Not that I don’t trust you, but it’s more complicated than that. There are all sorts of things to consider, like your potential access to confidential information off limits to the public, your Criminal Records Bureau check, hell – even insurance to be in our headquarters building.”
He held the card up and handed it back to her.
“Well, that last one’s just silly,” Sophie said, waving her card away. “No, you keep it. My number’s on there and something tells me you’ll be needing it.”
“Cocky,” Anna said. “Nice.”
“Confident in my abilities,” Sophie said. “Not cocky.”
Jacob blew out a breath and scratched the side of his head as he pocketed the business card.
“Will you at least consider it? I’ll work for free and you look exhausted. I think I can help.”
“All right, I’ll speak with my boss. That’s all I can do and I can’t promise – wait, I look exhausted?”
She shrugged. “Just saying.”
After a pause, he found the words he needed. “Thank you for your time, Dr Anderson.”
Jacob watched Sophie climb back into her car, a new Audi coupé liberally covered in mud and filth from the recent cross-country drive.
“What do you think Kent will say?” he asked.
Anna snorted a dismissive laugh. “No way.”
“I like her,” Jacob said. “She risked her life to get Keeley behind bars.”
“I know. I remember the stories in the papers, but there’s still no way Kent’s going there.”
Jacob tracked the progress of Sophie’s car as it climbed the hill and then turned around a bend, disappearing behind a line of trees. “Still, I like her.”
CHAPTER 6
In the corner office of the HQ building in Devizes, a man sat at his desk and stared thoughtfully into his computer screen. Seeing his old friend leaning on the door jamb, he shook his head and smiled. Deadpan, he said in a strong Welsh accent, “They’ll let anyone into the police these days.”
“Bill.”
Detective Inspector William Morgan leapt to his feet with his usual high-energy and walked over to the desk. The two men clasped hands and Jacob was once again reminded of his former colleague’s strength. Twenty years in the Royal Marines Commandos had instilled a powerful ethic of fitness and exercise in the Welshman that he was obviously maintaining with vigour.
“When they said you were coming back, Jacob, I thought about retiring.”
Jacob gave his best withering look. “You haven’t changed.”
“This leopard is far too old for any of that nonsense. Coffee?”
He accepted the offer of a cup of coffee and took a seat beside the desk while Morgan switched on a black plastic kettle and dropped some instant coffee into two chipped mugs. Handing the steaming brew to him a moment later, Jacob peered down inside the mug with a frown.
“Thanks.”
“And you look like shit.”
“Thanks again. When I left the message on your answerphone I wondered if you’d get it or not.”
“Not much else going on in my life these days.”
Jacob took a sip of the coffee and decided not to tell his friend how bad it tasted. He’d met Bill Morgan in his first weeks on the force when he was a uniformed police constable. The tough, no-nonsense Welshman was fifteen years older and had already made it to sergeant by that time, although both men transferred into the CID in the same year. He’d always considered him to be the salt of earth – a solid old-fashioned policeman and a top-drawer detective, if a little rough around the edges.
On the surface, Morgan was blunt and his physical strength made him an intimidating presence but Jacob had got to know the real man over the years before he had left to work in the Met. A fairer and more loyal man he had never met or worked with before or since and they had shared more ups and downs than most colleagues over the years. Despite his junior rank, he valued his opinion more than anyone else on the force.
“How’s life post-Leanne?” Jacob asked.
“Getting there.”
There wasn’t a man or woman in the station who didn’t know about Morgan’s wife and how she had walked out on him after declaring a long-running affair with another man. Some had thought he would collapse like a house of cards but Jacob knew him better than that. He’d circled his wagons and rededicated himself to his fitness training. Despite developing a new, cynical attitude to life he was the same man he’d always been.
“Talking of which – how many men does it take to screw in a lightbulb?” Morgan’s voice was tinged with bitterness.
“I don’t know.”
“No one knows,” came the weary Welsh accent. “They never get to keep the house.”
Jacob narrowed his eyes and cocked his head. “Is that funny?”
“Not right now it bloody isn’t.” The cynical smile faded from his lips as he jabbed a sausage finger at Jacob. “Enough about me, What about you? You’re all right now?”
Both men knew what he was referring to, and both men wanted to keep it brief.
“Same as you – getting there. I’m ready to lead the team again, if that’s what you’re talking about.”
A long silence.
“I heard about the remains.”
Jacob’s mind was taken back to the woods. The shallow grave, snow as soft and white as ermine and the barking deer. “We think they’ve been there for around twenty-five years.”
“Bloody hell, I was on the beat back then. CSI have any luck?”
“There was a bag buried with the remains, but it’s very badly decomposed. Nylon. Mia told Anna it takes forty years to rot away completely so we got a break on that one. Anyway, everything’s gone over to the mortuary for the PM.”
Jacob watched his friend push back in his chair and give a sigh. Wiltshire Police was divided into four sectors, each headed by an Inspector but Morgan was part of the senior management team based here in the county police’s headquarters. He’d hoped for a few days off over Christmas but had come straight in after the call about the remains.
“Listen, thanks for coming in, Bill.”
Morgan sipped his coffee and seemed to enjoy it. “No problem. It’s better than being at home now the place is empty.”
Jacob paused a beat. “Have you got anything else on at the moment?”
“Cashpoint thefts. There’s a lot of it about at the moment and we picked up two just last night in a joint operation with Thames Valley. Conspiracy to burgle and perverting the course of justice. Needless to say the lawyers are already working around the clock to get them both off.”
Jacob spoke without hesitation. “Like I said on the answerphone, I want you on the team looking into the remains.”
Morgan weighed the words in his usual measured way. “A quarter of a century, you say?”
Jacob said nothing but gave a simple nod.
“Beats ATM thefts,” the Welshman said. “Have you run it past Kent?”
“Not yet.”
“Well, good luck with that.”
“Is he difficult?”
“You’ll find out. Bastard came in when he heard about your discovery this morning. He’s upstairs now, as we speak.”
“You should be in that office, Bill.”
“Yeah, right.”
“We both know that you’d be Chief Super by now if you only stopped and took the time to butter people up.”
“Career advice from the man who turned down the chance to be a Superintendent at Thames Valley.”
Jacob shrugged. “Didn’t like the office space, but I hear Kent’s an ambitious man.”
“He has a lean and hungry look,” Morgan said.
Jacob recognised the Shakespeare quotation but ignored it. “Sounds like trouble.”
Morgan gave a conciliatory sigh. “I don’t know. He’s not all that bad.”
“Rumour has it that he doesn’t want me here,” Jacob said. “Says I’m not fit for work.”
“When you say rumour, you mean Anna Mazurek?”
He nodded.
“But the Chief Constable has every faith in you, Jacob. He doesn’t suffer fools gladly and he wouldn’t have approved your return to work if he didn’t think you were ready for it. That’s what counts. Hey – talk of the devil.”
Jacob twisted in his chair to see Chief Superintendent Marcus Kent looming in the doorway. “Welcome back to the force, DCI Jacob.”
“Thank you, sir.”
“My office. Now.”
When Kent was safely out of earshot, Morgan tossed his pen on the desk, pushed back into his chair and crossed his chunky arms behind his head. “Off to the lion’s den,” he said with a smile.
“So they say.”
When he reached the door, Morgan spoke again. “And Jacob.”
“Yeah?”
“It’s good to have you back.”
*
“It’s not good to have you back,” Marcus Kent purred, “if you’re not ready to be back.”
“I’m ready.”
“Please, sit.” He made a generous sweeping gesture towards a plastic chair situated opposite his expansive hardwood desk.
“Thank you, sir.”
Jacob sat down and tried to make himself comfortable in the cheap seat. He noted that the CID chief’s seat was a plush leather captain’s chair, nicely softened by his extensive use of it. His boss was tall, lean with a thick thatch of neatly-combed grey hair framing a tanned face, which at this time of year suggested a sunbed or an exotic holiday. He wore fashionable browline glasses and had an aura of expensive aftershave.
Kent leaned back in the seat and casually pulled a manila folder from the top of his in-tray. Flipping the cover open, he began to study the first page of the report. “That’s not exactly what Dr Lovelace says, is it now?”
“What, sir?”
“About you being ready.”
“I’ve read the report, sir. It concludes that I’m ready to return to work.”
Kent sucked his teeth and shifted in his seat. “Yes, that is the conclusion, but it’s the observations along the way that bother me.”
Jacob knew where this was going. He’d heard about Marcus Kent. A ruthlessly ambitious man who took no enemies, his chief concern was avoiding blowback on any department he was heading. He’d worked in the force rising to DCI before Jacob joined, and left to take a promotion in Cumbria Police before returning home a year ago. He guarded the integrity of his career fiercely. If one of his senior officers had a public meltdown, his own judgement would come under the sort of scrutiny a man with an eye on the top job could well do without.
“I wouldn’t be here if I didn’t feel up to it, sir.”
Kent leaned forward and rested the heels of his hands on top of the report. Steepling his fingers, he gave a long, concerned sigh. “That’s all well and good, but if your judgement is impaired by the terrible tragedy you endured, then your own views aren’t reliable.”
“My judgement is sound,” he said flatly.
Only now, did the man opposite him start to relax. He leaned back in his chair and crossed his arms casually behind his head, rocking himself gently in the sumptuous swivel chair. “Terrible business, Jacob. My condolences. Losing a loved one in a fire like that. I can’t imagine…”
