Forgotten Graves: Whitby's Forgotten Victims Book 4, page 9
‘Sleep disruption?’
‘You only have four hours a night. You already disrupt your own.’
‘It’s optimal… for me.’
‘That’s a bit pointless anyway. I think you can still fit in four hours when married.’
‘True.’ The logic of his statement settled something in her mind. ‘Maybe I’m being too thorough. Sir?’
‘Aye?’
‘You know marriage statistics aren’t good.’
He snorted. ‘Ignore them. Best thing I ever did, Gerry. Statistics mean nothing.’
‘But Mary had an affair—’ She broke off and put her hand to her mouth. She was impulsive, and often thoughtless, but she should have caught that one in time.
Silence.
‘I’m sorry, sir.’
Still silent.
‘Sir… I’m—’
He cut her off with a sigh. ‘Pack it in, Gerry. A bolt of the truth never hurt anyone. Look, the affair was my fault. But still, maybe you’re right; keep your stats in mind.’
Gerry failed to see how it was his fault being that he wasn’t the actual person cheating, but this time she did clamp her hand over her mouth again, quick smart.
Frank must have heard his own bitterness, because his tone suddenly shifted. ‘Actually, scratch that! We would never have split, Gerry. Ever. I would’ve fixed it. We defied those statistics, and my advice? You defy them too – if you decide to say yes.’
‘What was the reason you were phoning, sir?’
‘Big news. Nasreen is grounded at home, but all is not lost… Helen made it to the lab. That pin we recovered… she cleaned up. It was a pin for reaching first place in the Yorkshire Dales Cross Country horse riding Championship in 1984. Take a look at the past winners.’
Gerry’s hands flew over the keyboard. She found the website for the competition and scrolled through the list of past winners.
1984. Sarah Matthews.
‘You were right, Frank.’
‘A proud moment for the lass, I imagine. She’d have been seventeen. I can see why she still wore that pin. What’ve you got for me?’
She fed back everything on Sarah’s background. Education, family, work history… right through to her tearaway boyfriend, and eventual disappearance. Then, they discussed the investigation, which had been rather too brief for Frank’s liking.
‘A lot of the investigation hinged around Malcolm Hargreaves’ witness statements, and the inconsistency of them. The original investigating officer noted that Malcolm Hargreaves changed his story about the time he actually saw Sarah three times during initial questioning, although he remained consistent on the red Fiesta.’
‘So, he was pissed as a fart…’
‘I also compiled that list of other potential victims for you as well.’
‘You did all that in a short afternoon.’
‘Yes, sir.’ As well as a draft of my marriage considerations, she thought, though that still feels grossly incomplete.
‘I’ll call the briefing for five-thirty…’ She listened as he provided details of what he needed her to talk through. Then, he told her the next steps that he felt were appropriate. ‘Sound in order to you?’
‘Yes.’
He didn’t know why he bothered asking; she’d let him know if she wasn’t happy with anything.
‘Okay… I’ll see you on Zoom. I’ll leave you to your marriage document.’
‘Do you think it’s a bad idea?’
‘I won’t lie, it threw me, but then, I didn’t know you like I know you now. And if there’s one thing I’ve learned over this last year is that your overly methodical approach – even making lists like this – usually leads you to the right approach.’
‘Which is?’
He paused. ‘I’m sure you’ll figure it out – like you always do.’
Chapter Twenty-One
Despite knowing, deep down, that he couldn’t unfreeze people on Zoom with brute force, Frank walloped the side of his laptop anyway.
When technology was involved, Frank had little patience… or skill.
He hit it again, releasing more of his frustration.
Then, he took a time out for a glass of water, because if he released all of the frustration Zoom was causing him, he’d owe his department for a new laptop.
When he returned, Gerry was unfrozen.
‘Bloody machines,’ he said.
Because Gerry was looking directly at her laptop – and therefore the camera—she seemed to be staring right at him. It felt like continuous eye contact and was unusual for Gerry. He assumed she’d probably minimised him to prevent feeling overwhelmed.
‘I can’t hear you, Gerry.’
‘Because I’ve said nothing, sir. I’m just opening the lobby so I can allow everyone in. Have you updated your internet service like I told you to?’
He recalled her badgering him to do so several weeks back, along with the many other things she pestered him about. ‘To optical fibro?’
‘Fibre optics.’
‘Ah yes. Fibro optical. I’ve emailed like you said. But I’ve been waiting on a callback.’
‘They’re usually prompt with upgrading services and charging more.’
Frank thought of the countless unanswered calls over the last couple of days – simply because he didn’t recognise the number. And the countless voicemails from the provider, who he’d been too lazy to call back.
The screen froze again. Frank exhaled sharply. ‘Give me strength.’
He picked it up from the kitchen table, carried it to the lounge, and sat closer to the window. That seemed to help. He also noticed that the rest of his team was now on the chat.
‘Can you all hear me?’
‘Yes, sir. We can hear and see you clearly,’ Reggie said. ‘Although your camera angle suggests you’re holding the laptop at an odd elevation. Perhaps place it on your desk?’
‘I can’t. Internet is crap. Seems to work up by the window.’
Gerry said, ‘It’s nothing to do with being close to the window. Are you closer to your router now?’
‘The black box thingy?’
‘Yes.’
‘Aye.’
‘That’ll be the reason,’ Gerry said.
‘Oh…’ he said, feeling his cheeks redden. He sat on the sofa with the laptop on his knees.
Outside, the rain hammered against the windows with growing intensity and would help to wash away the snow.
Good. He didn’t want to be cooped up in here too much longer.
He scanned the faces of the odd bunch. He meant the nickname as a term of endearment rather than a criticism, but he never said it aloud, fearing a negative reaction.
Gerry aside, who was obscenely talented and was being hunted by every department in North Yorkshire these days, Donald could never fathom why Frank kept requesting these particular officers for his team.
But it was hard not to ask for them when they were on such a roll.
Again, aside from Gerry, they might lack great reputations or skill sets, but their compassion was paramount – and in cases like this, where the bones were cold and lives forgotten, passion often mattered more than polish.
Still, with this lot, he had to be on his guard. And a Zoom call was not the best place to get them on the straight and narrow.
Unable to cope with that bloody moustache, he minimised Reggie’s box. He did the same to DC Sean Groves, who was lounging about in a jogging suit. However, he left DC Sharon Miller, smartly dressed, up there. He couldn’t understand why Sharon wasn’t in demand. She could be fierce and principled, and he liked that. Sean, on the other hand, always looked five minutes away from falling asleep. But, as long as he didn’t have to get up off his arse, he could really come up trumps with research. Clara, their data analyst, was a newer addition, and the jury was still out on her, but she seemed competent enough. Clara had chosen a virtual background that erased her surroundings, making her look more like a computer-generated avatar than a real person.
That was the odd bunch.
His odd bunch.
A smile tugged at his lips as he remembered Donald Oxley’s smug expression when he’d first assigned them to Frank – intended as punishment, delivered as a gift. He clearly hadn’t realised he was giving Frank exactly what he needed – people with something to prove.
‘Right then,’ Frank began, ‘let’s crack on. Gerry, if you would. Sarah Matthews.’
Sarah Matthews smiled at them from the photo, dressed in a crisp nursing uniform. Her sandy hair was tied back neatly, her eyes bright with purpose.
Frank’s chest went tight as he recalled her skeleton in a tight foetal position, arms and legs drawn close to the torso in an unnatural pose.
‘Sarah was twenty-two when she went missing on October 12 1989,’ Gerry said. ‘She was a student paediatric nurse, and this is a photograph taken in January 1989 during her first and only nursing placement with Dr Hannah Wright, a child psychiatrist. The practice was situated just beyond Ruswarp, a farmhouse surrounded by open fields.’
‘Let that sink in,’ Frank said. ‘A paediatric nurse who wanted to help children, helped children I expect. We’ve already heard some negativity surrounding Sarah, but this suggests to me she was a force for good.’
Gerry’s tone carried its usual analytical certainty as she went through her information. ‘Despite the significant behavioural issues in her youth, Sarah successfully completed her Levels at Riverside College between 1983 and 1985, and then got a nursing degree from Middlesbrough over the following three years. So, she began working for Dr Hannah Wright when her course ended in 1988.’
Frank leaned closer to the image of Sarah on his screen and hoped his team was doing the same. Not just seeing another woman, but a life interrupted, a story unfinished. ‘This version of Sarah is important,’ he said. ‘Remember it. This is who Sarah became, not who people seem to suggest she was as a youngster. She tried to make something of herself. Help others. Five years of intense education before becoming registered as a nurse to help children, and obtaining a placement with a reputable doctor. And even before that, we’ve positivity… Gerry?’
Gerry clicked through to a series of earlier photographs – Sarah on horseback, beaming with pride, holding various ribbons. There was a picture of her holding the trophy for first place in the Yorkshire Dales Cross Country Championship in 1984 Frank described the pin that had been found near the remains. ‘So, a keen love of horse riding marked Sarah’s teen years. Before this, there’re reports of significant behavioural challenges during her time at secondary school.’
‘Having read these reports,’ Gerry cut in, ‘she would’ve benefitted from further investigation into neurodivergence.’
‘Unfortunately,’ Frank said, ‘such investigations were a rarity back then. Especially for girls whose struggles were dismissed as mere defiance.’
He noticed Gerry stroking Ryan. She was clearly feeling discontent over the system’s failure to recognise potential needs in Sarah.
‘Yes,’ Gerry said. ‘Any diagnosis was rare for girls exhibiting “difficult” behaviour. Still, at fourteen, in 1981, Dr Hannah Wright, during some routine observations in the local school, had noticed her struggling. Hannah offered to help her.’
‘Hannah? This is the doctor Sarah worked for after training to be a nurse?’ Reggie asked.
‘Yes,’ Gerry said. ‘It was also Hannah who funded the university course at Middlesbrough, on the condition that she’d return to do her placement with her.’
‘We’ll come back to the placement,’ Frank said. ‘Let’s not get too ahead of ourselves. Gerry, tell us about the treatment, please.’
‘Hannah Wright’s approaches were unconventional in that era,’ Gerry said. ‘But they aren’t really that controversial. In fact, these days, such recommendations from psychiatrists are commonplace. She really pushed the therapeutic value of natural activities such as outdoor walking, running, caring for a dog and, in Sarah’s case, horse riding. A lot of these ideas and therapies are in play today, with mindfulness and so forth. And she seemed very skilled at horse riding… possessing a natural talent,’ Gerry added, displaying competition results. ‘As we pointed out, Sarah won first place in the Yorkshire Dales Cross Country Championship in 1984, and her teacher at Meadowside, Sylvia Winters, had considered her remarkable – according to her daughters, Chelsea and Lorraine Winters, who now run the school.’
‘However,’ Gerry continued. ‘Before this happier period of her life, she experienced great turbulence, which seemed to peak when she was thirteen and she started a sexual relationship with a boy.’
Frank sighed. A tale as old as time. His mind drifted briefly to Maddie and her own troubled teenage years.
‘Tommy Reid was sixteen. Another child with behavioural issues. He spent more time out of school than in it. When Sarah’s father, Rory Matthews, discovered them in bed in 1980 together, he severely assaulted Tommy. They sentenced him to a lengthy prison term.’
‘Jesus,’ Reggie said. ‘Jail? His daughter was thirteen… I mean, who wouldn’t see red?’
‘Assaulting someone is against the law,’ Gerry said. ‘Whatever the motive.’
Frank expanded Reggie’s video window and watched him stroke his moustache, deep in thought. ‘Still… I’ve some sympathy—’
‘Reggie,’ Frank interjected. His voice carried the sharp edge his team knew meant no argument. ‘Severely… that’s the key word here. This wasn’t a slap around the chops. A bruise on the arm to buck up ideas. This was a fractured skull, coma and dance with the reaper.’
‘Okay,’ Reggie nodded, paling.
Frank’s methods of clarification weren’t always gentle, but they were effective.
He did immediately feel a little guilty, though. If that had been Maddie, would he have done the same?
He’d like to think he’d stop at a warning blow, but honestly, could he rule it out?
‘Well, I guess he learned to keep his hands to himself,’ Reggie said.
‘He did little learning,’ Frank said. ‘Someone murdered him in jail. A brawl in the canteen. He hit his head on a table.’
‘Christ,’ Reggie muttered.
‘Idiot attacked a prison officer,’ Frank added, before Reggie could start casting Rory as some kind of tragic hero. ‘That’s what started the brawl. Another prisoner saw him off. All this did, at least, end the relationship with Tommy.’
Gerry continued, ‘It was at that point that Dr Hannah Wright approached and offered to help Sarah. She’d read about the case in the newspaper. Going to the school, Dr Hannah Wright saw Sarah’s disaffection and subsequently approached her mother, Margaret, to offer help. She was clearly very wealthy and believed in Sarah’s potential. She not only paid for the horse riding but also, as mentioned before, financed her university education – on the condition that Sarah would return to work for her.’
Frank leaned forward, his face dominating the screen as the rain drummed harder against the window. ‘But things went badly wrong again in 1989 when she rekindled her relationship with Tommy Reid.’
‘Christ,’ Reggie said. ‘Why?’
‘Love, I guess,’ Frank said. ‘He’d a job at this point. A mechanic. A little more stability. He was twenty-four, she was twenty-one, I guess the age difference didn’t seem so controversial any more. She actually moved in with him and his mother. From what we gather from the missing persons investigation in late 1989, Hannah wasn’t best pleased with the nurse she’d rescued, trained and given a job to going to live with Tommy. Sarah stopped working with Hannah in March 1989.’
‘Sacked?’ Sharon asked. It was the first time she’d spoken, and you could hear the outrage in her voice.
‘Well, put on leave… although, she would’ve been welcome to come back if the relationship ended.’
‘Sounds like blackmail!’ Sharon said. ‘In what world is that even allowed?’
‘Ours, it seems. Although none of this was ever in writing, of course…’ Frank said. ‘Sounds more like an argument that escalated to Sarah walking away with Hannah’s blessing. She said she’d keep the job open if she saw sense.’
‘Flushing her life away over an idiot,’ Reggie said.
‘Well, no one should be blackmailed!’ Sharon said. ‘It’s outrageous.’
‘Aye,’ Frank said. ‘I agree with both of you. Tommy Reid has been in trouble a fair number of times. Doesn’t seem like the law-abiding type. Moral of the story… beware of the scrotes… there’s a lot about, and they can ruin your life. Gerry, can we see the timeline please on the day she disappeared?’
Another slide appeared and Frank went through it. ‘Tommy Reid claimed Sarah left his mother’s home on Thursday October 12, 1989, following an argument. Apparently, she was upset that he’d been late to work several times this week, and they were threatening to sack him. This, of course, concerned her, as money would be tight while she wasn’t working.
‘Malcolm Hargreaves then saw Sarah outside the Bridge Inn in Ruswarp. He said she climbed into a red Fiesta. Unfortunately, Malcolm Hargreaves’s timeline was inconsistent across three separate interviews. At first, he said, he saw her at around 8.15 p.m. The next time, he’d shifted it up to 8.45, and on the third occasion, he moved it down to 7.45. He also reported the person driving as an older man on two occasions, but on one occasion, he said he hadn’t even seen them properly! Now, the police never got to the bottom of who was driving the red Fiesta, or if it even existed because, as you can probably tell, Malcolm wasn’t the most reliable of witnesses. Drunk as a skunk most of the time, apparently. Gerry, would you like to continue?’
‘The investigation leaned heavily towards the wayward Tommy Reid. But Tommy’s mother, Honey, stood by him, and provided an alibi. She’d recently had an operation and was bed bound. He was helping her as much as he could. Actually, that ended up being the reason he’d been late to work frequently over the last weeks. When Sarah had stormed out on him, she’d mentioned meeting a friend for drinks, but she never said who, but no friend ever came forward, and all her known friends denied any planned meetings.’
