Read The Message Page 12


  “Yes, DCI Prentice, but the first count is GBH, and the second is a missing person. There is no ransom demand or any other which is connected with the boy as yet. We can’t go around digging up people just because we can’t find a damned suspect who isn’t deceased.”

  “If you’re sure sir, I’ll leave it at that for now. I’d hate to think what the media will make of this if any of the people who’ve identified this man accuses us of incompetence. By that I mean, a scenario where the boy does die, and then we have our precious authorisation for exhumation, but it’s too late. It’s a tough call, but I accept that you’ve made it. I’ll get back to you when I have more justification.”

  *

  Prentice took two calls in quick succession. “Martha, what have you got for me?”

  “The woman at that address I visited in Rye Hill, she isn’t Mitchell’s widow, just a fancy woman. He left his wife a long time ago. And DI Jones asked me to tell you he’s on his way to see the anaesthetist in London. He called you but you’ve been incommunicado.”

  “Right, you’d better get back there Martha, none of us have shown this fancy woman the picture. Get her to confirm whether it’s Mitchell or not. That shouldn’t have got past us.”

  “It probably wouldn’t have if the place didn’t stink so much. I’m not going in there, she can decide on the doorstep, or better still I’ll call in a favour from uniform and get her in to make a statement.”

  Immediately he closed the call, Jones was on the line. “How did it go sir? I hope Martha told you I have an appointment with Philip Morrison, the anaesthetist. He will hopefully be decisive.”

  “We need him to be, the boss won’t go for digging up the coffin unless we have a cast iron reason to do so.”

  *

  Gladstone contacted Olivia from the wreck that used to be his house. “Hi, it’s worse than I thought. The fire people are saying it was caused by gas igniting in the kitchen. They asked if I was sure I’d turned off the gas this morning. I think they eventually believed me when I insisted that I’m a creature of habit, and breakfast is strictly continental, cereal and croissants. The kettle is electric and I never ever use gas in the morning, forgetting doesn’t enter the equation. There’s no evidence of a leak either inside or outside the property, so they suspect a break-in. They are now checking to see if the security alarm went to the police as it should have. I’d like to take up your offer of a night’s accommodation at your place Olivia, if that’s still on. All of my clothes are gone, and items I can’t replace. It’s more than disorienting, more like a funeral pyre. I have what I’m standing up in, that’s about it. I’ve spoken with the insurance people and someone will see me tomorrow. It’s such a remote spot that the fire must have burned for some time before my ‘neighbour’ called 999. For the first time in my indulgent life, I feel totally rudderless.”

  “I’m so sorry, what a shitty week this has been. Of course the offer is still open, I’ll call Tom and let him know you’re on your way. Is there anything else I can do?”

  “I don’t know, but thanks. I can’t imagine getting much sleep tonight. You know it’s a crazy thought, but it came into my head involuntarily. If I’d retired already, this may not have happened. I was going to put the house on the market once I had stepped down.”

  Chapter 23

  Martha paid a quick visit to forensics while she waited for Lena Wells to arrive. She was stonewalled by Cartwright. “I need to speak with DCI Prentice, would you ask him to call me?”

  “Sure, but why the secrecy? I found the car and Prentice told me to stay on top of any evidence coming from it.”

  “It’s complicated DC Hall, I’m sure he’ll explain.”

  She left it at that, but wasn’t at all happy. She opened the door to the interview room and was immediately cheered up. Lena Wells was still berating the uniformed officer who’d brought her in. She turned to see Martha, who smiled politely, looking her up and down. She might have used a trowel to apply her makeup, her untidy hair displayed as many colours as a peacock’s tail. The eyelashes were quite scary, and she was wearing enough perfume to strip paint. The cropped leopard skin trousers seemed to squeeze lots of excess flesh into her thighs, and the lower shins were heavily mottled by too much exposure to an electric fire. Precariously heeled ankle boots rounded off the haute couture of a woman fighting the ravages of time and whatever else contributed to her sallow complexion.

  “This is the third time your lot have pestered me, and without any explanation of why. This is the last time I’m putting up with it. Ask me everything now because I’m not coming back here, and I don’t want the neighbours poking their noses into my business, so don’t ring my doorbell again. I won’t answer. But first I want to hear what this is all about, or I’m keeping my trap shut. Have you got the message pet?”

  “I understand Lena, let’s start again. You might have seen a TV appeal about a missing boy. We’re pursuing every angle we can and lots of questions have to be asked of lots of people. We’re desperate to enlist any help we can get. We want to find him before something awful befalls him, he’s only six years old.”

  “Well, why on earth didn’t you say so love, if there’s a little nipper gone missing, I’ll help as much as I can.”

  “Thank you Lena. It’s all really about Edward Mitchell. He couldn’t be personally involved if he died some years ago, but we have to check out any person who may have known the family concerned, even if it was in the distant past. I need to speak to Edward’s wife, or ex-wife, or widow, whatever she is. Do you know where she lives now?”

  “Not exactly, but it was somewhere in the Cramlington or Bedlington area. A bungalow I think. They used to have a swanky house but had to sell it to get the money for the court case against…oh, so that’s what this is about. The whole case bankrupted Ted. Do you think she had something to do with this missing boy?”

  “We can’t discuss details of ongoing investigations Lena, but there’s one more thing I’d like to ask you before showing you a photograph, and then we can take a statement from you, it’s just routine.”

  “Fair enough, if I can help.”

  “Did Edward have any brothers?”

  “Not as far as I know, at least he never mentioned any. He had a sister, but she lives in New Zealand now. I got sick of hearing about her, you know the type. You could use her crap for toothpaste according to Edward.”

  “Right, well then do you recognise this man?”

  “Is this a joke? I’m a bit dozy these days, but I’ll never forget the wanker who conned me when I took him in. That’s our Ted, where was this taken, not at her place was it?”

  “No. Well that’s been very helpful, and after putting this in your statement we’ll get you back home, and I don’t think we’ll need to bother you again. I’m really grateful Lena.”

  *

  Gladstone rang the doorbell. Tom was surprised to see him, and kept him on the doorstep. “Hello Tom, I suppose Olivia has told you about the fire?”

  “No.”

  “Oh, so presumably she forgot, and I get the feeling she hasn’t mentioned offering me a bed for the night, until I get myself sorted out.”

  Tom couldn’t help replaying the scene where Prentice had made the allegation that his wife was in fact Gladstone’s daughter. The pleasant feeling of being able to jettison Peter Radford as some kind of obligatory father-in-law had worn off. Gladstone was an unknown quantity, and held sway over Olivia in a professional sense. His gut instinct put the guy in the creepy category, and Tom was still his impulsive self.

  “I don’t think that’s a good idea. By the way, what is it I’m supposed to call you now? Ian, Sir Ian, or Dad? How come you ain’t never told her? Some father you turned out to be. At least Peter ain’t never let her down, he’s pissed me off some of the time, but then who hasn’t? I don’t think you and I are going to become bosom buddies, and if you don’t mind, I don’t want to pretend to like Olivia’s baggage anymore. Why don’t you get you
rself a decent hotel? You can’t be short of the readies.”

  Gladstone held up his hand in a gesture of acceptance, even though he felt like lecturing this uncouth freeloader. Tom was intensely annoyed that he hadn’t been consulted on this, and he only just realised that maybe Olivia hadn’t told him that she knew. He wasn’t bothered unduly. ‘What the hell, I’m going to be out of here pretty soon, I ain’t gonna lose sleep over these morons.’

  Tom didn’t even invite Gladstone to call a cab from the inner hall, out of the grip of the horrendous drifting sleet.

  *

  The next afternoon, Jones was characteristically punctual for his appointment with Philip Morrison. The anaesthetist apologised that he had an unscheduled emergency, being prepared for surgery. “I can spare ten minutes, no more. Sorry about this, it happens.”

  “Ok, let’s check the picture and I’ll get out of your hair.”

  Morrison’s brow furrowed. “Well, I remember this guy with more hair, maybe a wee bit heavier, and with a pathetic attempt at a beard, but this is Edward Mitchell. I’m pretty sure he didn’t have this earring when I knew him. Is that it then?”

  “I thought you might be able to shed some light on a documented allegation that you were prepared to give evidence that Ian Gladstone tried to cover up the ‘incident’ involving you and Olivia Radford-Wickham, when young James Mitchell lost his life.”

  “Maybe another time Inspector. I was threatened. It was put to me that I shouldn’t spend too much time worrying about losing my job, it would be a lot worse than that. Anyway, I don’t want to get worked up about this again just before a procedure, you’ll have to excuse me.”

  Jones thanked Morrison, and said he’d be in touch. He called Prentice on his way back to the airport and confirmed that their prime suspect was a dead man.

  “Bugger,” said Prentice, “Martha has just told me the fancy woman Mitchell was living with has also said it’s him in the still picture from Hamsterley Mill. We’ve pulled out an address for Mitchell’s wife. I’m heading up there now. See you when you get back.”

  *

  It took a while to find a boat which Kieron liked, and which allowed dogs on board. The nice man was becoming more relaxed with the boy in public, but had to keep reminding him to put his shades back on. The showing of the national appeal the previous night served to re-emphasise this instruction, it just had to be constantly repeated. The simplicity of the appeal omitting the appearance of either of the parents threw him at first, but fitted with the statement that the boy was merely missing. He knew that the police knew that he knew that they knew that the boy had been taken. Kieron was amazed at the activity on the water. It didn’t spook him like being surrounded by a group of talking people. The different colour patterns and written names intrigued him. The criss-crossing of the wash left in their wake was strangely soothing, and the gentle rolling of the one they were in added to the mystique.

  “Where are the boats going? I want to tell Mickey.”

  “They all go to different places, ours stops at a place where we can get off and then go to the Tower of London. It’s a prison where some of the people were tortured to reveal secrets. Others were executed. It’s a spooky place, do you want to see it?”

  “What is executed?”

  “It means the people were killed.”

  “Will Mickey be frightened?”

  “Mickey can’t go. We’ll look at it and go tomorrow if you like it. Then we have to go back home to our house with all of your computer stuff and puzzles.”

  As they stood by the Tower, Kieron was asked to take off his sunshades for a photo. Mickey wasn’t allowed to be in the picture. The nice man asked if Mickey was still Kieron’s best friend.

  “Yes, am I his best friend?”

  “Definitely. You see, dogs only have one best friend, not like people. It’s very important that Mickey knows he’s your best friend, because that makes him happy. I wonder why Daddy didn’t come today for the boat ride. Maybe you’re not his best friend now. I’m beginning to get angry with him again, we’ve given him lots of chances.”

  Chapter 24

  “Cartwright here.” The tenor of his voice indicated discomfort.

  Prentice guessed what it was about and closed his office door. “Go ahead.”

  “The ‘unknown’ DNA we don’t have and haven’t tested points to the mitochondrial source of Olivia’s mother. I’m very troubled by the morality of this DCI Prentice, and I am now going to discard both the sample and the result. It never happened and you can’t make use of this information as evidence in your official investigation. I take it you’re clear on that?”

  “Sure, as I said, it merely confirms something I already suspected. I could have upset a lot of people by openly asking about this. Now I don’t have to, it’s damage limitation. Thanks for trusting me.”

  “Fine. Now to other results. The car has thrown up quite a few hours of laborious head-scratching, because there were so many different prints and DNA profiles. So, all we can concentrate upon at present are ones for which we have matches. The wristband does marry up to the one in the stun gun package, and the same applies for those on the hand grip. The same two people whose prints and DNA were found on the tablet and in the package were in that car, one of whom was Kieron. We can be sure of that as we have a control sample for him, provided by his hairbrush. The other data will be kept on file to compare with other samples related to this case in future.”

  “Great. This really helps, and may open up a new line of thought. Thanks Cartwright.”

  *

  Olivia arrived home. “Tom, I’m just about ready to explode, but then I’m not you am I? What was your problem with letting Ian Gladstone stay over for one night?”

  “I don’t know, he gives me the shits, and that was before we knew he’s your pater. Perhaps I thought he could be mixed up in Kieron’s disappearance, being our son’s biological grandfather. I don’t know, he unsettles me. Do you buy into this stuff with his house? Maybe that’s his way of retiring and evaporating in a puff of smoke. He could have started the bloody fire himself. Why are you so pissed about this anyway?”

  “Why am I outraged? This is my house, and will be mine alone when you slink off to London. Gladstone is still my boss, for maybe another couple of weeks, and you’ve deliberately tried to derail my chances of succeeding him haven’t you? Why don’t you leave now? You’ve never been able to face up to bad things Tom, and you aren’t doing anything to help find Kieron in a practical sense. Neither of us are, but you can’t handle being a eunuch, so you react by causing trouble for everyone else. I’m making you a solemn promise. I’ve always said that I’d never rest until I’d found a way to fix our son’s affliction, and I do it by research and being in a position to take advantage of it as a surgeon. Getting Gladstone’s job puts me closer to that objective, it opens doors. You’re too bloody thick to see that, always bleating on about the sacrifice you make for him. That’s the difference, I understand your sacrifice, but you don’t reciprocate. You won’t get custody, but I’d never try to stop you having access, even though you’re such an arsehole. He loves you Tom, he merely likes me, and that hurts. Go, and help your brother to give Ernie a proper send off.”

  For once, Tom’s mouth stayed in neutral. “Maybe I should do exactly that, I’m bloody well dreading it.”

  *

  Prentice and Martha entered a quiet cul-de-sac in Bedlington. It was a leafy, well-kept estate, in contrast to the abode in which Edward Mitchell had apparently spent his final days. They introduced themselves and entered. They declined a cup of tea and confirmed that Angela Mitchell was the estranged wife or widow of Edward.

  “This must sound strange to you Mrs Mitchell, but we have a picture of someone resembling your husband, which was taken recently. We’ve seen the death certificate, so we’re just as confused as you must be. Can you take a look at it for us please?”

  “It sounds a bit far-fetched but let me see it.”
>
  Martha handed it over, and Angela immediately burst into tears. “I can’t believe it, where is this place and when was the picture taken?”

  “A few days ago,” said Prentice, “somewhere over the other side of the river Tyne. I take it you believe this could be Edward?”

  “I could have, yes. But I saw him in his coffin. I touched him, he was so cold. And he had lost so much weight. That cow mustn’t have fed him at all. Mind you, I couldn’t believe he hanged himself, he would never do that. The police took no notice of me when I told them that suicide just wasn’t in his nature. They said he might have become totally depressed about our James’ death. Well of course he was, from the day it happened and for years afterwards. But he was an obstinate man, fighting this malpractice case, but even though we ended up broke, he never gave up. It’s hard to explain, but it was that obsession which kept him going. I made the mistake of saying we had to move on, suggesting that we should have another child, and he thought that was betrayal. He left me.”

  Angela had a second flush of tears. The detectives looked at each other, recalling that Lena Wells said his wife had thrown him out.

  Martha asked her the same question she’d asked Lena Wells. “Did Edward have any siblings?”

  “Just Evelyn, she’s in Australia…no, New Zealand, she has been since she got married.”

  Prentice thanked her and they got up to leave when he turned and said, “You mentioned that Edward looked so thin in his coffin, did he still have his earring.”

  “Earring? No. He hated stuff like that, he thought jewellery was just for girls.”

  “Ok, thanks again Mrs Mitchell.”

  “What will happen now Inspector? I mean I’m so confused. That’s him in the picture, but it can’t be. It’s very upsetting, I thought I’d put all this behind me.”

  Prentice took a deep breath. “I don’t know, my hands are tied really. Normally, I would ask for his body to be exhumed, because a lot of other people agree with you that it is Edward in the photo. The authorities would refuse permission unless someone such as yourself agreed to it, without coercion. Did you divorce Edward?”