A Killing Moon (33 page)

‘Nothing further afield,’ continued Brook. ‘Something larger, more remote.’

‘No.’

Brook glanced at Noble, who placed a photograph of Bernadette Murphy on the table. ‘Do you know this young woman?’

O’Toole looked at the photograph. ‘Should I?’

‘Her name is Bernadette Murphy,’ said Charlton. Brook put a hand over his face while Noble stared at Charlton open-mouthed. ‘We’re fairly certain that she was involved—’

‘Sir,’ snapped Brook. ‘Can I have a word?’ He stopped the tape and ushered Charlton through the door.

‘Yes?’ enquired Charlton when he was outside.

Brook closed the door behind him but held on to the handle. ‘Please wait here.’

‘Pardon.’

‘Or go to your office,’ said Brook. ‘But don’t come back in.’ He turned back to the interview room but was halted by Charlton’s indignation.

‘Would you care to explain that remark?’

Brook faced Charlton, choosing his words with care. ‘It’s my fault, sir. Sergeant Noble and I are trained detectives. You’re not. I should never have let you sit in.’ Charlton went red and Brook sensed a tantrum was only seconds away so continued in his most reasonable voice. ‘When we interview witnesses or suspects, we ask for information. We don’t give out the information we have because that might influence what we get back.’

‘I was just asking if he knew her,’ said Charlton.

‘No, you were just telling him that we knew her. And now Father O’Toole knows that he has no reason to lie.’

‘Lie?’ exclaimed Charlton. ‘He’s a priest. Why would he lie?’

‘Everybody lies,’ said Brook. ‘And what’s more, we encourage it because when we catch them in that lie, we have them.’

‘Are you suggesting Father O’Toole is a suspect?’

‘I don’t have to suggest it. He clearly is.’

‘I don’t understand.’

‘I know,’ replied Brook. ‘That’s why you should leave this to us.’ He slipped quickly back into the room.

‘I recognise the face, yes,’ said O’Toole. ‘I’ve seen her at demonstrations from time to time but never spoken to her. What did you say her name was?’ Brook turned off the recording of O’Toole’s disembodied voice and looked across at Noble.

‘The Chief Super teed him up nicely,’ said Noble.

‘He did.’

‘What did you say to Charlton?’ asked Noble with a grin.

‘Essentially to stay out of the interview room while the professionals did their work.’

‘Ouch.’

‘Ouch is right,’ said Brook. ‘I suspect my reservoir of goodwill is now a dust bowl.’ He looked at Noble. ‘Put someone on Father O’Toole, John.’

‘Follow him?’ Noble raised an eyebrow. ‘You know he’s a priest.’

‘Don’t you start! O’Toole lied to us. He knows where Trastevere is so there’s a chance he might lead us to her.’

‘Okay,’ said Cooper, clicking on the mouse. Brook and Noble watched the abduction of Banach again. The young officer approached her car, creeping up on the hooded figure seemingly intent on theft.

‘She did everything right,’ said Noble.

‘She should have called for back-up,’ said Brook.

‘Would you stand and watch some scumbag nick your car?’ enquired Noble. ‘Would anyone?’

Brook conceded with a shrug. ‘Wait. Freeze it, Dave.’

‘I haven’t got to the van yet,’ said Cooper.

‘Go back,’ said Brook. Cooper obliged. ‘There.’ Brook moved his head closer to the monitor. ‘Another car.’

‘Part of one,’ said Noble, also straining to make it out. ‘Looks like an Audi. Dr Fleming?’

‘Dr Fleming,’ agreed Brook. ‘That’s his personalised plate.’

‘To be fair, he does work there.’

‘That’s a pay-and-display, John. Fleming’s a consultant. He’d have his own parking space.’

Cooper restarted the film and they watched the burlier of the two assailants give Banach a fireman’s lift to the large white van while the slighter figure sprinted ahead to open the rear doors. A minute later the van roared away round the hospital ring road to the main entrance, followed by Banach’s Peugeot in hot pursuit.

‘Tell me you know where they went,’ said Brook.

‘I know roughly,’ said Cooper. ‘They drove north up the A
38
and took the A
52
towards Ashbourne. We can’t be sure but I don’t think they go past Ashbourne. The traffic flow cameras tracked them beyond Shirley. The bad news is the camera before Ashbourne is on the blink . . .’

‘Where’s that?’

‘Osmaston. But the good news is I checked the cameras on all exit routes from Ashbourne on that timeline and there’s nothing matching the van and the car driving through.’

‘So their destination was somewhere this side of Ashbourne.’

‘That’s still a big area,’ said Noble. ‘They could even be holed up in Ashbourne.’

‘Van plates?’ ventured Brook.

‘Fakes,’ said Cooper.

‘What about Mrs Trastevere’s properties?’ asked Brook.

‘She doesn’t own anything in the area,’ replied Cooper.

‘Damn.’

‘There was one thing,’ said Cooper. ‘I said
she
doesn’t own anything.’

‘Meaning.’

‘CRI is a charity, right?’

‘So Father O’Toole claims.’

‘Well, he’s right,’ said Cooper. ‘He’s a trustee. The thing is, when you register as a charity, you have to demonstrate public benefit.’

‘Go on.’

‘To do that, Mrs Trastevere handed ownership of a smallholding near Rodsley over to the charity . . .’

‘Just off the A
52
,’ said Noble. ‘That could be it.’

‘What is it?’

‘According to the records, it used to be a farm, but it’s being converted into some kind of retreat,’ said Cooper. ‘Do you want an address?’

‘We do,’ said Brook, looking at Noble.

‘Wagons roll,’ said Noble, plucking his jacket from the back of the chair. ‘Not coming?’ he asked when Brook didn’t move.

‘Take Charlton.’

‘You’re joking.’

‘Far from it. It doesn’t need both of us and he needs a win for all our sakes.’

‘But . . .’

‘It’ll be good for him,’ said Brook. ‘And the division. I’m going for Fleming.’ Noble tried and failed to compose a further objection, nodded reluctantly and left the incident room, gathering up a pair of radios charging on a rack.

‘Dr Fleming, please,’ said Brook, speaking into his mobile.

‘He’s out of the clinic at the moment,’ replied the receptionist at the Rutherford. ‘Can I put you through to Dr Simons?’

‘Don’t worry. I’ll catch him at the Royal.’

‘You won’t,’ said the receptionist. ‘He’s taking a couple of days off to go walking in the Peaks.’

‘Whereabouts in the Peaks?’

‘I’m afraid I can’t give out that information, sir.’

‘This is DI Brook, Derby CID.’

‘I have strict instructions . . .’

‘And I’m investigating a murder.’

A pause at the other end. ‘I’ll have to clear it with—’

Brook rang off and tapped out a text to Noble.
Fleming may be in Rodsley. Good luck
. ‘Tell me more about CRI, Dave.’

‘There’s not a lot to tell,’ said Cooper. ‘Founded in
2012
 . . .’

‘The year Bernadette disappeared. How many trustees?’

‘Just three. O’Toole, Constance Trastevere and a Dr Cowell.’

Brook stared at him. ‘Helen Cowell?’

Brook ran down the corridor on to Cowell’s ward. He fumbled for his warrant card and thrust it into the nearest nurse’s eyeline. ‘Dr Cowell. Where is she?’

‘You just missed her, I’m afraid,’ said the nurse. ‘She left about fifteen minutes ago.’

‘What car does she drive?’

‘I don’t know if I should—’

‘It’s a matter of life and death,’ said Brook.

‘Her car broke down last week,’ shouted another nurse. ‘She’s borrowed Dr Fleming’s car for a few days while he’s away. It’s an Audi . . .’

Brook sprinted out towards the car park, grappling with his mobile. ‘Any joy, Dave?’ he barked when Cooper picked up.

‘The response car says Cowell’s not at her home.’

‘Tell them to stay there. Meantime get details to Traffic. She’s driving a high-end Audi belonging to Fleming; you know the registration. And find out if she has other property.’

‘I checked. She’s only got the house in Ockbrook.’

‘What about O’Toole?’

‘He’s on the electoral register but not as a homeowner and doesn’t own any property in his name.’

A thought occurred. Brook thumped the roof his car. ‘Sister-in-law,’ he mumbled.

‘What’s that?’ said Cooper.

‘Father O’Toole’s sister-in-law died in childbirth.’

‘So?’

‘So he must have had a brother at some time.’

‘Samuel O’Toole,’ said Cooper, reading from his monitor a minute later. ‘Still alive and living in Derbyshire.’

‘Do you have an address?’

Thirty-Two

At the sound of bolts being drawn back, Banach turned her head. Bernadette Murphy appeared, carrying a tray. She laid it down on the trolley and pushed it over the bed, smiling brightly. ‘How’s the patient?’

‘How do you think?’

‘Excited, I imagine,’ said the redhead. She pulled back the sheet and, with no little difficulty, unfastened one of the stiff buckles binding the leather straps to Banach’s left wrist.

Banach moved her freed hand to feel the bump on the back of her head.

‘Zeke overdid it, didn’t he? Sorry about that. He’s a love but he doesn’t know his own strength.’

‘You need to let me go. I’m a police officer.’

Bernadette smiled. ‘Not going to happen. It’ll take time to adjust, but you will. I hope you’re ready for some lunch.’ She put an extra pillow behind Banach’s back and removed the metal cover from the plate with a flourish. ‘There. T-bone steak today – in honour of your arrival. Good protein.’ Banach looked down at the steak, already cut into bite-size pieces. ‘We’ve got mashed potatoes, peas and gravy to go with, and a glass of apple juice to wash it all down.’

‘How about a glass of wine?’

Bernadette raised an eyebrow. ‘No more alcohol from now on, Anka. You’ve got responsibilities.’

‘Why are you doing this, Bernadette?’

‘I can’t believe you know who I am. Are they honestly still looking for me?’

‘Disappeared fourth of July, twenty-twelve.’

‘I suppose I should be flattered,’ said Bernadette. ‘The Garda would be shrugging shoulders in the pub after a week.’

‘What the hell happened to you?’

‘I met Zeke and chose a different path. Now I follow the Lord.’

‘Don’t you care that your family is worried? Your aunt . . .’

‘My aunt is a murdering cunt!’ spat Bernadette. ‘She kills babies for money. Understand?
That’s
what happened to me. When my aunt decided to become a killer at an abortion clinic, I knew I had to do something.’

‘Your aunt works at the Rutherford?’

Bernadette smiled. ‘Didn’t know that, did you? You met her. In fact I saw you with her.’

Banach paused to think. ‘Nurse Moran?’

‘Moran!’ sneered Bernadette. ‘The bitch wouldn’t even keep her married name. Another sacred promise to God betrayed.’

‘She’s only doing her job.’

‘And Zeke and me are doing ours. God before family. Work that the Lord means for us to do. Saving babies.’

‘You mean saving my baby?’

‘You’re welcome. Now eat while it’s hot.’

‘This is too much food,’ said Banach.

‘Not any more.’

‘I see. Eating for two,’ nodded Banach. ‘What if I don’t want this baby?’

Bernadette’s face hardened. ‘Luckily for your child, that’s not an option.’

‘But I have a career.’

‘Fuck your career,’ said Bernadette. ‘God has given you a gift, and you don’t snub the Lord in this house.’

‘But—’

‘But nothing,’ said Bernadette. ‘Be glad you’re pregnant, lady, because if you weren’t, I guarantee you’d be cast down like the Whore of Babylon and your life wouldn’t be worth the living.’

Banach stared. ‘Like Caitlin Kinnear?’

Bernadette looked away. ‘Caitlin was a mistake.’

‘A mistake?’

‘Forget it. Eat your food.’

‘No.’

‘Eat your food,’ snarled Bernadette.

‘Or what?’ said Banach. ‘You’ll beat me. Kill me.’ She saw the doubt on Bernadette’s face. ‘Course you won’t. Not while I carry a child.’

‘We could force-feed you.’

‘I’ve got a better idea,’ said Banach. ‘Tell me about Caitlin. Then I’ll eat. After all, I’m not going anywhere, so what harm can it do?’ She picked up the fork and lifted a mouthful of mashed potato to her mouth. ‘Smells good.’

Bernadette stared sullenly before her eyes dropped. ‘Very well. Zeke’s dad lost his wife giving birth to him. The poor man couldn’t cope with the loneliness and grief and had a stroke. It was all very sad.’ She hesitated, staring at the fork in Banach’s hand.

Banach put the food in her mouth and began to eat. ‘Mmmm, yum yum.’

‘A few months ago, Zeke was joking around, saying we should find his dad a girl to keep him company – someone who didn’t care who she gave her body to, someone who wasn’t pregnant and could be a proper wife.’ Bernadette grinned, then whispered as though blowing a kiss, ‘Physically.’

‘So you picked Caitlin,’ said Banach, biting down on her revulsion.

‘No, the bitch picked us.’ Bernadette looked at the plate and Banach forced herself to spear a piece of steak into her mouth. ‘Zeke was on the picket at the Rutherford one night . . .’

‘Taking pictures of future victims?’

‘You worked it out. Clever you. Well if you spent any time there, you’d know that every girl who walks in or out of that godforsaken place carries the guilt with her. Even you. Don’t bother to deny it. But when Zeke and the others confronted the Kinnear girl, they encountered someone with no shame about the crime she was about to commit. Worse, she had a mouthful of obscenities about God and our work.’

‘Maybe she had some blasphemous notion that her body was hers to control.’

‘Then she should have controlled it before she got pregnant.’

‘You believe in contraception, then?’

‘Of course,’ exclaimed Bernadette. ‘We’re not fanatics. Use whatever you want to lead a selfish life. But don’t get pregnant, because once that seed starts to grow in your belly, that life belongs to God. Not you.’

‘So you abducted Caitlin even though she wasn’t pregnant.’

‘Zeke wanted a companion for his dad. And to teach her a lesson in humility. We tried with one of the other girls . . .’

‘Other girls?’

‘One of the mothers . . . but she screamed every time he went near her. I can’t say I blame her.’

‘And now the other girl’s dead,’ said Banach.

‘No, of course she’s not dead.’

‘Then where is she? Cast down like the Whore of Babylon.’

‘She’s on her way to a new life in America.’

Banach managed to laugh. ‘Fuck off.’

‘It’s true. We have the resources. A rich patron.’

‘You mean Mrs Trastevere?’ said Banach. Bernadette raised an eyebrow. ‘And the other girls? Daniela, Adrianna, Nicola, Valerie.’

Bernadette stared at her open-mouthed. ‘You’re good.’

‘Answer me.’

‘They’re all in America. Some took their babies with them. Others gave them up for adoption to rich childless couples for a cut of the fee. That’s how we raise our money.’

‘And that’s what I’ll be offered?’

‘It is.’

Banach grinned. ‘You actually think I’m going to swallow that bullshit. I know a scam when I see one.’

‘It’s not . . .’

‘I’m a police officer, Bernadette. We both know you can’t risk letting me go.’

‘Trust me,’ said Bernadette, busying herself with a little sheet-straightening. ‘Everything changes when we put your baby in your arms. Until then we care for you like a goddess. The best food, the best treatment . . .’

‘Treatment?’ scoffed Banach.

‘We have a doctor on the team,’ said Bernadette, looking at her watch. ‘Someone else you’ve met.’ Her smile was teasing. ‘Though not at the Rutherford.’ Banach cocked her head in confusion. ‘Worked there as a locum for a few weeks, of course, and saw the horror for herself. She left but kept her password, which got us access to the records of all the girls we wanted . . .’

‘Her?’ exclaimed Banach. ‘Dr Cowell?’

‘She’ll be here soon. See! We take no chances with your baby.’

‘My God.’

‘Amen to that, sister.’

‘But we took a printout of Rutherford employees,’ said Banach, confused. ‘Dr Cowell wasn’t in the records.’

‘That’s the beauty of access,’ said Bernadette. ‘You can delete your own record.’ She leered malevolently. ‘While making sure you only abduct the patients of your murdering bitch of an aunt.’

‘Neat.’ Banach darted a glance at her. ‘Why are you telling me about Dr Cowell?’

‘Because you’re family now,’ said Bernadette. ‘We trust each other.’

‘Then undo these straps.’

‘One day at a time, Anka – as soon as you come to understand the value of our work. And on the slim chance you can’t . . . appreciate your child, he or she will be offered to a couple who desperately want a baby to love.’ Bernadette made an involuntary grab for her own stomach.

‘Like you?’

Bernadette’s smile disappeared. ‘Your meal’s getting cold.’ Banach gazed forlornly at the barred window. ‘Scream all you want.’

‘How did you know?’

‘That’s what they all do. At first. But the room’s soundproofed, so save your breath. Ain’t no one gonna hear you that ain’t in here.’

Banach stared unhappily down at the tray. Realising that she might need all her strength to get out of there, she speared another piece of steak.

A phone rang somewhere deep in the house and Bernadette left the room. Seconds later the bolts were drawn across, and Banach dropped the fork, picked up the T-bone from the plate and tore at the meat with her teeth.

Driving through a sudden shower, Brook turned left at the Mackworth roundabout on to the A
52
towards Ashbourne, making the same journey that Noble and Charlton – with Read, Morton and DI Gadd in tow – had taken earlier that afternoon once the warrant had been swiftly issued.

The skies were dark and brooding and the roads wet. Brook looked across at his mobile, cursing his failure to grab a radio handset from the incident room. Having set out to go to the hospital, he had thought his phone would be sufficient, but once in the countryside, he realised his mistake when the mobile signal became sketchy.

Five minutes later, the car in front turned off and Brook found himself behind an Audi. He realised with a jolt that it was Fleming’s car. The personalised plate left no room for doubt. He plucked his mobile from the passenger seat – still no signal.

‘Damn. On your way to Rodsley, I hope,’ he said.

Ten minutes later, Fleming’s Audi ignored the first turn-off to the village of Shirley that would have fed into Rodsley. When Cowell also failed to take the second road, Brook realised there was a third option. He held the directions to Jobs Wood Farm up to his face.

‘Next right, Doctor?’

Sure enough, the Audi turned on to a tight little road called Rough Lane. Brook slowed to make the turn and drove unhurriedly to let the Audi put some distance between them. If Cowell was heading for Samuel O’Toole’s farm, she’d be there when Brook arrived, and he didn’t want to frighten her away.

Bernadette watched as Zeke took the lid from the steaming pan. The water had cooled sufficiently for him to manoeuvre a large slotted spoon under the head and lift it from the milky liquid before dropping it in a bucket. He repeated the procedure with two hands and two feet.

‘Errrrr,’ said a voice from behind him.

Zeke turned to smile at the gargoyle in the corner chair, with his twist of pink tongue. ‘No, it’s for the pigs, Dad.’ He winked at Bernadette. ‘Italian pig feed.’

‘Very funny,’ she replied, without mirth. ‘What have you done with the pluck?’

‘I put all the chopped innards and organs in the trough this morning. You should have heard the noise. Hog heaven.’ He nodded at the bucket. ‘Now these are softened up, they’ll go in the grinder with the legs and trunk.’

‘Good. Make sure it all goes in the trough by tomorrow.’

‘No problem,’ replied Zeke, keeping his eyes trained on her. ‘What’s occurring, hun?’

‘That was Mrs T on the phone. The police have been to see her and she thinks we need to have a clear-out.’

‘The police?’

Bernadette flattened her hands on the kitchen table. ‘We took a copper, Zeke.’

‘I know, but how did they connect her to Mrs T?’

‘Seems they’ve been working it for a while,’ said Bernadette. She nodded to the ceiling. ‘Clever clogs knows who I am, and about some of the other girls too.’

Zeke grabbed her hands in his. ‘It wasn’t your fault, Red. Cowell should never have selected her.’

‘Unfortunately, that changes nothing. The police won’t rest until they find her.’

‘Let them try,’ said Zeke, pulling her towards him. ‘We have God’s shield around us.’

She rested her head on his shoulder and a tear fell on to her cheek. ‘That’s not all. Mrs T says she’s taking the boys.’

‘Our boys?’

‘They’re not our boys, Zeke.’

‘But she said we could have them.’

Bernadette managed a watery smile. ‘I know. But they’re evidence.’ It was Zeke’s turn to stifle a tear. She rubbed his arms until he looked at her. ‘When this dies down, we’ll be together again. The boys too.’

‘A new life in America?’ Bernadette laughed and Zeke managed a sad smile.

She touched his scarred cheek. ‘Come on. Finish up and then you need to process the Kinnear whore. She deserves no better.’

‘What do we do about . . . ?’ He left the sentence unfinished, content to nod to the upper floor.

‘To be decided.’

‘She carries part of God’s plan in her womb.’

‘I know.’ Bernadette was distracted by a car pulling into the farmyard and strained to see out of the barred window. She beckoned Zeke over anxiously. ‘Do you know that car?’

Zeke shook his head. ‘It’s an Audi.’

‘See who it is.’ He unlocked and unbolted the kitchen door and was about to step out. ‘Zeke!’ Bernadette nodded towards the bucket. Zeke covered it with a tea towel.

‘It’s the Doc,’ he called from the yard.

Bernadette saw a fingernail floating in the pan of steaming water and placed the lid over it.

‘How’s the patient?’ said a disembodied voice.

‘Good,’ said Zeke, stepping back over the threshold. Helen Cowell followed him into the kitchen.

‘New car?’ said Bernadette.

‘Did I worry you?’ said a smiling Cowell.

‘Yes, frankly,’ replied Bernadette, withholding a return smile. ‘Seeing as we abducted a police officer last night.’

‘Car trouble. Had to borrow a colleague’s.’

‘Did you hear what I said?’

Cowell opened her doctor’s bag. ‘Usual room?’

‘Did you know she was a copper?’ insisted Bernadette. ‘The new girl.’