Kissing the Demons (19 page)

Now it was almost eleven and Matt sat in bed; but he knew he wouldn't sleep because it was bound to begin again at any moment. The footsteps, the dragging, the hint of voices which could be the wind in the chimney. It would be there above his head. He held his breath and waited.

There it was. Tap tap tap. Then a dragging sound. Then silence again.

Matt hugged the duvet around him and suddenly felt a desperate need to talk to someone who wouldn't judge him . . . who wouldn't call him stupid. He found the card George Merryweather had left and picked up his mobile phone off the bedside table. He knew it was late but he needed help.

‘George,' he said when he heard a voice on the other end. ‘It's Matt Bawtry from Torland Place.'

‘You sound worried,' said George. ‘I'm listening. Take your time.'

‘There are noises . . . above my room. In the attic.'

‘Have you had a look up there?'

‘It's sealed off.'

‘I'm sure there'll be some simple explanation but if it's worrying you I'll call in again if you like.'

Matt could feel his heart beating fast. ‘Can you come now?'

George hesitated. ‘Can it wait till tomorrow? I'll call first thing. Then perhaps we can take more . . . more drastic measures to sort out your little problem. And I assure you that even if there is a restless presence, it's unlikely to do you or your friends any harm.'

That was it. He'd have to wait there in that room overlooking the woods until the morning with God knows what going on above him. He lay down in the bed, keeping his bedside light on, and shut out the world by pulling the duvet over his head.

But the silence seemed worse than the noises.

When Anna reached the cathedral she tried Andy's mobile number but there was no reply so she put her phone back in her bag.

She felt a little nervous now as she walked through the darkened, winding streets. Eborby seemed to have a strange atmosphere at night, as though there was something there beyond what she could see; as though the air was filled with all those busy ghosts from the city's past, going about their business like their mortal counterparts.

There was a chill in the air and she pulled her coat tightly around her as she passed an open pub door, catching a whiff of stale beer and fried food mingled with the stronger smell of tobacco smoke from the huddle of smokers gathered outside the front door, puffing away with intense concentration.

She reached the end of Pottergate and found herself in Queen's Square. A busker, a slender boy with a beautiful face and dark curls, was singing beneath the trees in the centre of the square while passing tourists, mellowed by wine, threw coins into his guitar case. Anna watched him for a while before hurrying past. He was good but she was too concerned with her own problems to be generous.

The narrow mouth of the Fleshambles was directly in front of her. The top storeys of the buildings there almost met above the street and as she walked past the wide windowsills where the city's butchers had once displayed their bloody wares, the street felt like a tunnel. There were still tourists about, lapping up the quaintness, but none of them noticed Anna slipping down a narrow snickleway between two shops. She could see the market square at the end of the passage but instead of walking on she turned right and stopped. Although everywhere was in darkness she knew this was it.

She pushed the door and it swung open silently to reveal a flight of narrow stairs. She climbed them slowly and when she reached the top she heard the front door behind her open and bang shut.

And when she turned round she gave the newcomer a tentative smile.

FIFTEEN

T
hursday morning was dull with an icy chill in the air, which wasn't unusual March weather in that part of North Yorkshire. As Joe had been unable to sleep, he'd arrived in the office at six thirty, reasoning that he might as well make use of the early hour to go through reported sightings of Pet Ferribie between the time of her disappearance and her death. Not that he believed any of them. He was as sure as he could be that she'd been abducted shortly after she was last caught on CCTV and kept somewhere until her killer was ready to dispose of her.

Den Harvey had been released late the previous day after a spate of fruitless questioning and Joe now seized the chance to familiarize himself further with the murder of Sharon Bell. Because of the similarities to Pet's murder, he was as sure as he could be that the same killer was responsible. And there was always the possibility that there had been more than two victims.

By the time Emily arrived at work he had discovered one nugget of gold buried in the mountain of paperwork. The team investigating the murder of Sharon Bell had interviewed a friend of Den Harvey's – one Andrew Cassidy. As Joe entered Emily's office to break the news of this unexpected connection, he noticed that she looked tired, as though she'd dragged herself out of bed with considerable effort.

‘We'd better have another word with Cassidy,' she said. ‘He knew both dead girls, Pet and Sharon. And his sister, Grace Cassidy, was stabbed like the others.'

‘But her hand was mutilated instead of her face.'

‘If it had been her face we might have made a connection sooner.'

‘Pet was found at Harvey's place of work so he's not off the hook yet. Cassidy might have introduced him to her.'

‘OK. We'll talk to Harvey then we'll give Cassidy another grilling.'

They walked down the corridor side by side and Joe noticed Emily give the stairs to the upper floors a quick, fearful glance as she passed.

He knew what was on her mind. ‘Has the Super mentioned Barrington Jenks recently?'

‘No. Jenks is in London for the week.'

‘So when are we going to break the news to him that this Jasmine doesn't exist?'

‘She might exist, Joe. She might not have told him her real name. She might have chosen something more exotic to create the right impression.'

‘I think old Quillan, the ex-landlord, recognized the name.'

Emily gave him a knowing look. ‘Perhaps our Jasmine paid her rent in kind.'

‘Mmm. There's something odd about the Jasmine story and we need to get to the bottom of it. I want to have another word with the families of Nerys and Jade.'

Emily rolled her eyes. ‘Must we, Joe? It'll only get their hopes up.'

‘We don't know for sure that those girls are dead. No bodies have ever been found.'

Emily didn't answer and Joe knew that years of experience had taught her to be pessimistic. But he still preferred to cling to a scrap of hope, however tiny.

They drove to Bearsley and Joe parked the car outside Den Harvey's terraced house. The pavement was filled with overflowing wheelie bins and as they emerged from the car Joe could hear the low growl of a bin lorry somewhere in the distance, the next street perhaps.

They'd already checked that Den was on a late shift so, with any luck, they'd find him – and his mother – at home.

Den himself answered the door and it was hard to read his expression as he stepped aside to let them in. It might have been bored resignation but Joe didn't think it looked like guilt.

Den led them into the front parlour; a room untouched by time. There was no TV here; this was a room kept for best and for visitors. When Den had been interviewed about Sharon Bell's murder this was no doubt where the initial questioning had taken place. Now history was repeating itself as it often seemed to.

Den closed the door behind him and invited them to sit. ‘I can't tell you any more than I did yesterday,' he said, sounding a little defensive.

‘We've been looking at the Sharon Bell case and we've come across something we'd like to ask you about,' Joe began.

Den looked wary. ‘What's that?'

At that moment the door burst open and an elderly woman stepped into the room. She was tall and the old-fashioned crossover apron she wore emphasized her barrel-like figure. It was a long time since Joe had seen an apron like that and on Mrs Harvey it looked as formidable as armour.

‘Why can't you leave him alone?' she said. ‘You had him at that police station for hours yesterday. I've already said he was here with me. Are you calling me a liar?' She put her hands on her hips, a mother defending her young.

‘No, of course not, Mrs Harvey,' said Emily sweetly. ‘We just think Dennis might be able to help us, that's all. He's not under arrest.' The word ‘yet' hung in the air unsaid.

Mrs Harvey sat down beside her son who looked rather embarrassed. But it was her house and unless they took Den down to the station again for questioning, there was nothing much they could do to get rid of her.

On the other hand, Joe thought, she might be useful. Mothers often remembered the most surprising things about their sons' friends.

‘Do you know a man called Andrew Cassidy?'

Joe saw Den glance at his mother, as though seeking permission to reply. In the end it was Mrs Harvey who got in first.

‘Andy. You remember Andy, Dennis. He got put away for killing his sister. And I'd thought he was such a nice boy. Always very polite. His family lived in a big house in Bacombe. And he went to St William's School.' She looked at Emily as though she expected her to be impressed. ‘I were right pleased when our Dennis started to go round with him. He weren't like some of the lads round here.'

Joe smiled to himself. This woman was a snob and, to her, the big house in Bacombe and the place at a private school seemed to trump the inescapable fact that the boy had murdered his own sister and spent time in a secure hospital.

‘How did you come to know Andy?' Emily addressed the question directly to the son.

‘It were at that camp, weren't it, Dennis?'

‘Is that right, Den?' said Emily. ‘Which camp was this?'

‘It was held once a year in the summer holidays,' said Mrs Harvey answered. ‘Yorkshire Schools and Youth camp. YSY. Isn't that right, Dennis? I didn't want you to go but your teacher said it would do you good.'

Den nodded meekly.

‘So you met Andy at this camp?' said Emily.

This time Den got in first. ‘Aye. We were in the same dormitory. We found out we were both from Eborby so we stayed in touch when we got home.'

‘And you saw each other often?'

‘There was a time when Andrew was always round here, wasn't there, Dennis?' the mother butted in proudly. ‘And you went to see him. You stayed over sometimes.'

‘Was that around the time his sister was murdered?'

Mrs Harvey's expression changed. She opened her mouth to speak but no sound came out.

‘Yeah. Mum wouldn't let me go round there after that,' said Den matter-of-factly.

‘You knew his sister?'

‘Yeah. She was very good at the piano and she let me have a go once.'

‘Did you ever meet her piano teacher – Ian Zepper his name was?'

Den nodded earnestly. ‘Aye.' He hesitated. ‘When he was there, she was different . . . all flirty with him, like. They used to be locked away in that room for hours on end.'

‘You think there was something going on?'

Den shrugged. ‘I don't know. Might have been.'

‘Have you seen Andy since he was released?'

Den wavered for a few moments. ‘Once or twice.' He glanced at his mother.

‘Do you mind if we talk to Dennis alone, Mrs Harvey?' said Emily in a tone that brooked no argument.

Mrs Harvey stayed put for a few seconds but eventually she hauled herself out of her armchair with some difficulty, telling Den that she'd only be in the next room if he needed her. Joe watched her shuffle slowly from the room, each painful movement exaggerated for their benefit.

Once his mother had gone Den seemed to relax and Joe found himself feeling a little sorry for him. But he wouldn't let pity influence his judgement.

‘We've not had a look at your computer yet, have we, Den?' Joe said.

‘You can't. Not without a search warrant.' He sounded nervous, as though there was something on that computer he didn't want them to see.

‘We can get one but it'll be much easier if you just let our technical people have a look at it. They'll take good care of it.'

Den's face turned an unpleasant shade of red. ‘I need it.'

‘We won't keep it long,' Joe said by way of reassurance as Emily made a quick call to Scientific Support. ‘Where was Andy when Sharon was killed?'

‘He'd just got out of prison . . . or hospital or whatever they called it.'

Joe had been wondering whether Sharon had died while Cassidy was behind bars but now it looked as though he was still in the frame.

‘Did you kill Sharon, Den?'

The man's face twisted with anguish. ‘Of course not. I loved her. She was fantastic.' There was a long pause. Then ‘I haven't always been like this. I used to want to be a teacher . . . go to uni. But after she died I just went to pieces.'

‘I thought you'd had a row on the night she died.'

‘That wasn't serious. I wouldn't have harmed a hair on her head. Anyway, I was with Mum when it happened. I wish to God I'd gone to the pictures with Sharon like she asked but Mum wanted me to help with . . . That's what we rowed about, if you must know. Me being so bloody weak.'

‘Any chance Sharon went to the pictures with someone else?'

‘No. She wasn't two-timing me . . . that was a lie.'

‘Andy Cassidy was the landlord of the girl whose body was found at the leisure centre. If you and he were friends you might have met her.'