Dead of Winter Tr (30 page)

They walked round, following the outside wall; an original wall: each stone laid by hand when the barn was first built two hundred years earlier. Spiders had made funnel webs between the cracks,
their webs now frozen like fine lace.

Ebony watched Carter as he looked at his feet, pressing the ground with his expensive boots encased in polythene, feeling his way. She looked skyward. The light couldn’t make it through
the tangled canopy of branches. The air was trapped with the smell of rotting leaves and past bonfires. At the end of the garden a newer wall marked the boundary between that property and the next
and the trees gave way to a cleared area where two composters stood, their open ends on the flattened ground.

Ebony lifted the lid on each one in turn; both were half full. Carter looked in and recoiled.

‘Fuck . . .’

Hundreds of fat worms were stretching their ribbed bodies over the rotting matter.

Ebony dipped her gloved hand in one of the bins and pulled out a handful of rich brown crumbly compost and let it sift through her fingers. Carter stared at her as if she were mad.

‘Not sure what it’s supposed to look like, Sarge.’

‘It should have all sorts of lumps of rotting stuff, vegetation, kitchen waste, that sort of thing in there.’

She moved it round with her hand. ‘Can’t see any vegetables or kitchen peelings in it, Sarge; it’s very fine.’

Carter looked back to the garden. ‘That’s a lot of compost produced from just leaves. Anything else in there?’ She shook her head.

He called back down the garden and two officers arrived.

‘Can you get something to slide beneath these bins? I want to empty them. I think this is shop-bought compost.’

Ten minutes later their contents were laid out on a plastic sheet and Ebony was gently scraping away the last of the rotting leaves and compost from beneath where the bins had stood.

‘Sarge?’ She moved the fragments of bone towards him. In the centre was a child’s tooth.

‘Unlike the previous victims, an attempt had been made to dispose of the body by burning it.’

Davidson sat at Carter’s old desk and bowed his head in thought, as if he had a heavy weight on the back of his head. Occasionally he seemed to realize what he was doing and sat upright,
but slowly gravity pulled him back down.

‘She was a young girl of around ten years old . . .’ Harding was addressing the meeting. ‘She was found by DC Willis and DS Carter in a fire pit hidden beneath a compost
bin.’

Jeanie looked across and smiled at Ebony proudly. It was eight in the morning in the ETO. The room was packed to hear about the latest development.

Harding continued: ‘The temperature in the pit was not high enough to have much impact on the skeleton but the flesh has gone. The bones are mainly yellowed and some splintering has
occurred. We will still be able to extract mitochondrial DNA. We’re waiting on results. I can’t give you cause of death but it’s not strangulation. The small bones at the top of
her spinal column were still intact. No obvious injuries except she broke her arm in the six months prior to her death. There is a metal pin in the humerus bone usually put in to help align it
whilst healing.’

Robbo spoke: ‘We think we have a match to a missing person: eleven-year-old Shannon Mannings was last seen on the Friday before the Easter weekend on March twenty-sixth 2010. She
disappeared from a children’s home in Wales. Hospital records show that Shannon had her arm broken on a home visit courtesy of her stepfather. We have requested mitochondrial DNA from her
mother.

‘Because of her home-life Shannon was sent to the children’s home, which is in a rural location. We do know that she was a problem child with a history of self-destructive behaviour;
sexualized young by her mother she was sexually active and undergoing counselling for it.’

Davidson stood and took over: ‘We should be able to find out if she had been groomed by anyone before she disappeared. Carter . . . you and DC Willis will head up to interview the manager
of the home and see if we can find out any more.’

‘Jesus . . . why Shannon Mannings? There must have been lots of kids they could kill for their organs? Why didn’t they find an easier target?’ asked Carter.

‘Because Shannon was an exact match for someone,’ answered Harding.

‘Pre-ordered?’ Davidson looked at her. ‘You’re saying that they have a shopping list, these people? They don’t just kill: they kill to order?’ Harding
nodded.

‘I agree,’ said Robbo. ‘She was for a specific client: tissue type, blood, age type, all of it was pre-ordered. But the person she was meant for wasn’t ready. Shannon was
a walking organ bank. She was kept in Blackdown Barn until they were ready for her.’

‘Maybe that person also stayed at Blackdown Barn,’ said Carter. ‘They could have recovered there after the operation. Maybe that’s why Chichester chose an expensive
property. If it was just to hold the victims it wouldn’t have mattered what the place looked like as long as it was secure. If it was to impress clients it would.’

‘Is that possible?’ Davidson looked at Harding. His face was clouded with confusion. ‘Really? A bespoke organ stealing team?’

‘I think it is,’ said Harding.

Davidson shook his head in disbelief. ‘I can’t grasp it.’

‘Nor me . . .’ Harding agreed. ‘But the facts are there for us to see.’

Davidson was still trying to take it in. He shook his head, looked around the room, his eyes settled on Harding. ‘Who could live with that . . . saving someone they loved by harvesting
another? Plus, logistically?’

‘Logistically it would take enormous organization and insider help,’ answered Harding ‘You’d have to have a way into hospital records to find your matching donors. But
it’s not difficult. Someone working in the system now or able to hack into NHS records could do it easily. You ask me? I think it’s not just feasible, it makes perfect sense: people
don’t care about the moral side of things any more. If your kid, husband, mother was dying, and they needed a transplant? Are you telling me you wouldn’t consider buying them one? I
know I would.’

Carter watched as Ebony did up her seat belt.

‘You okay, Ebb?’

‘Yes, Sarge. I feel okay . . .’

He looked across at her as he pulled away from the parking space.

‘Spit it out, Ebb. What’s bugging you?’

‘Just that . . . no one’s heard of Shannon before today; she was a nobody who ended up murdered. There was never going to be a
Crimewatch
story about a girl like Shannon
disappearing. Kids run away all the time: normal kids even from good homes, from loving two-parent families . . . Even
they
run away and are never seen again. What hope has someone like
Shannon got and who cares? She’s just one more troubled kid from one more kids’ home.’

‘I understand what you’re saying, Ebb, and yeah . . . you’re right . . . a hundred and fifty thousand kids go missing every year in the UK. Some of them find their way home,
some end up in snuff movies. It’s the society we live in; we accept it as normal but it shouldn’t be. Everyone failed Shannon. She was easy prey. But if this is personal with you and
you want to talk to me about stuff . . . you go ahead. I’ve been sounding off about Cabrina and the baby but I can listen too . . . try me.’

‘I know you can . . . thank you.’

‘If this is too difficult for you, Ebb . . . you say. No one will think any less of you. This is your first case on the squad. There’ll be plenty more. If you’ve had enough,
you say. I’ll take someone else to the kids’ home.’

‘I’m fine, Sarge. It’s not personal.’

They arrived at the home just before lunchtime. Mrs Warrell the manager greeted them.

‘So the kids catch the school bus from here.’ Carter let Ebony take over the questioning whilst he was busy looking at the place: the kids’ rooms had posters on the walls; he
remembered the hassle it took to be allowed to put posters up when he was a boy. He had one of Chelsea football team and another of Pamela Anderson from
Baywatch
in her red bathing suit and
with a sort of floating device in her hands. No one seriously ever looked at what was in her hands. Carter had shared the room with two of his brothers, one older, one younger. No privacy to admire
Pamela. He had longed for his own room. Now these kids had privacy in this home but they didn’t have their family. Carter couldn’t imagine a world without family, so why was it so hard
to think about starting one of his own? Maybe he just wasn’t ready. But would he ever be?

‘Here is where they do their homework.’ Mrs Warrell showed them around on each level. Ebony had gone quiet. She was looking at the locks on all the doors . . . big locks everywhere.
That was the bit she never minded. She liked being locked into her room, locked into the building. She knew she was safe.

‘How does any kid manage to run away from a place like this?’ Carter followed Ebony’s gaze to the locks.

‘It was the last day of the term . . . Easter holidays. Shannon just didn’t get on the bus to come back here after school ended. We cannot be with the children twenty-four seven and
we try and give them as normal a life as possible.’

‘Of course . . . I can see that. Did Shannon have any hobbies? Did she support any football teams? Did you ever see her wearing an Arsenal top?’

Mrs Warrell shook her head. ‘I never saw her watch or play any sport really. She was a girly girl: a bit too much. We had to confiscate makeup. Her mother sexualized her way too young . .
. I expect you know.’

‘She had problems on the last home visit?’

‘Yes, her stepfather hit her. Her mother blamed Shannon, accused her of bringing it on herself – same old story really. We stopped all home visits and we were waiting on the court
case when she disappeared.’

‘Did you see any problems leading up to Shannon’s disappearance?’

‘She hadn’t been the same since her stepfather assaulted her. She became withdrawn.’

‘Is there someone she confided in?’ asked Carter.

She shook her head. ‘She floated around at the edges of friendships but never really got close to people.’

‘What about the social worker assigned to Shannon? Can we speak to them?’

‘I’m sorry to say she was killed in a hit and run within days of Shannon disappearing. Someone just mowed her down near her home. The police never really came close to solving it. I
guess that’s the problem with being so rural. There are no cameras, no CCTV.’

‘Did Shannon have access to outsiders?’ asked Carter.

‘What do you mean?’

‘She ended up dead in a house where there was a trafficked pregnant woman. She didn’t get there by accident. She was vulnerable, she was troubled.’

The care home manager was flustered and looked as though she suspected a hint of accusation in Carter’s tone. She replied curtly:

‘Shannon was a difficult child, Sergeant, who needed watching like a hawk – that’s why she was sent to a rural location. The only contact she had with the outside world was on
organised outings.’

‘What kind of outings?’

‘To the zoo, the museum. We even took her to Thorpe Park as a treat paid for by our sponsors, the Chrissie Newton Foundation.’

On the drive back Ebony phoned Robbo. She had two missed calls from him.

‘I tried to reach you.’

‘Sorry . . . there’s no signal out here . . . We found out that there’s a connection to Martingale here. The Chrissie Newton Foundation sponsored trips for Shannon.’

‘I was just about to say that.’

‘Okay . . . we’ll be back in a couple of hours.’

‘Okay, but if you’re looking for something to do on the way back I have Martingale’s home address if you want to ask him about Shannon Mannings? I checked at the hospital;
he’s not due in today. The receptionist Ivy says he takes Mondays off.’

‘Okay, thanks . . . text it to me and I’ll talk to Carter.’

She hung up and turned to Carter.

‘I have Martingale’s private address.’

‘Ahh?’ Carter looked interested.

‘But is it harassment, Sarge? Davidson’s keen for us to avoid upsetting Mr Martingale.
’

‘Is it on the way?’

Ebony looked up the postcode on her phone.

‘I guess we could go back into London that way. It’s North London . . . Hampstead. It
could
be on the way.’

‘No problem then . . . it’s only polite to keep him informed. Let’s go and see what he can add to the story.’

‘Do you need me to put the sat nav from my phone on loud speaker?’

‘No I don’t . . . Christ almighty, Ebb, you are gadget girl with that thing. Can it make us a cup of tea? You know, something I would really find useful? My dad was a cabbie. He read
me the Knowledge instead of nursery rhymes. I know every road in and around London.’

‘Really, Sarge?’

‘No of course not bloody really.’ He smiled. ‘Keep it to hand, Ebb. If we get lost you can ask the oracle for directions.’ Ebony sat looking at it in her hand. Carter
glanced across. ‘You don’t need to hold it; I’ll let you know if we get lost.’

‘It’s not that, Sarge . . . It keeps turning on by itself.’ She looked across at Carter. He was alternating between looking at the road, at her face and then her phone.

‘What do you mean?’

‘It means someone could have put spyware on it.’

‘What would someone do that for? Hack your bank account?’

‘My bank texts me if any sum of money goes out of my account that’s more than a hundred quid. It can’t be that. Anyway, I don’t have any overdraft facility and I never
have any money in the bank. It must be to do with the investigation.’

‘How does someone put spyware on your phone?’

She was still holding the phone in her hand and staring at it. ‘It would have to be loaded on manually. It can be done in a few seconds.’

‘At home then . . . who do you live with?’

‘Tina from the canteen. Two other girls, one’s a nurse, the other’s a teaching assistant. I’ve never had trouble before. It doesn’t seem likely they would start it
now. Tina would need to go on a course to be able to do it and she wouldn’t bother anyway. The others? Just can’t see it.’