Watching the Ghosts (28 page)

After all that time in the slightly unreal atmosphere of Boothgate House he needed a dose of normality so he decided to walk to the station through the city centre. The sky was pale grey as he reached Gallowgate with its pubs, cafés and charity shops. Most of the people he passed were heading for work, bored yet purposeful as though their surroundings were so familiar that they no longer saw the quaint, medieval city the tourists came to gawp at in their thousands.

Turning right at the National Trust café he walked through Vicars Green and on past the cathedral. The great church dwarfed the surrounding shops and houses and the sight of it lifted his spirits. He was tempted to go in and have a word with George but he knew it was too early for him to be at his post in his chaotic office near the chapter house. In George's line of business, he didn't keep the same antisocial hours as the police. Joe was still uneasy about his friend's involvement with Boothgate House but he was thankful that he'd heeded his advice and hadn't visited the basement after dark.

Joe walked underneath Boothgate Bar and emerged from the pedestrianized quiet on to a street of flowing traffic. As soon as he crossed at the pedestrian lights near the Museum Gardens, now festooned with police tape, it began to spot with half-hearted rain but the drizzle stopped as soon as he'd crossed the river at Wendover Bridge. The police station lay behind the railway station and when he arrived he climbed the stairs to the CID office, impatient for news.

Jamilla was already at her desk and when she spotted him she gave him a little wave, looking rather pleased with herself. ‘There's a CCTV camera on the front of the museum and it shows Proud walking past carrying a briefcase. There was no briefcase with him when he was found, was there?'

‘His killer must have taken it. But he left his wallet so he wasn't interested in money. And if it was him who searched Proud's flat he must have taken his keys too. Anyone suspicious on the tape?'

Jamilla shook her head, disappointed. ‘The killer could have come into the gardens another way.' She searched on her desk for a piece of paper and when she found it she handed it to Joe. ‘This is that information you asked for . . . Jane Hawkes.'

Joe thanked her and when he read it he raised his eyebrows. But it was something he'd have to deal with later.

‘There's still no sign of Beverley Newson, by the way,' Jamilla said as he prepared to make for Emily's office.

Joe saw that she was frowning, as though she didn't reckon much to Beverley's chances. And, unfortunately, neither did he. But all patrols were on the lookout for her . . . for all the good it would do if the killer had her imprisoned somewhere out of sight . . . or if she was already dead. He knew Lydia was fond of Beverley so it seemed personal now. If Peter Brockmeister was alive and killing, he wanted to find him and put him away somewhere where he'd never be able to harm anybody again.

Emily had poked her head out of her office door. ‘Joe. A word.'

He hurried into her office and sat down. ‘How's Lydia this morning?' was the first question she asked.

The question took him aback. Somehow she knew that he hadn't dropped her off at a friend's house. She could read him so well. ‘She's gone to work.'

‘It might be best if she stayed with you for a couple of days. Is that a problem?' She looked at him, a smile playing on her lips.

‘No problem.'

‘That Boothgate House place is bad news. And I know your friend has been hunting ghosts down in that cellar . . .'

‘Not hunting ghosts,' Joe said, realizing his tone was too sharp. But sometimes he got sick of people misunderstanding George's work. ‘Karl Dremmer was the one hunting ghosts.'

She frowned. ‘I still can't understand why Dremmer was murdered. He was an eccentric academic without an enemy in the world, as far as we can tell.'

‘Creeny didn't like him. He had him beaten up – warned off.'

‘True. But he denies having anything to do with his murder . . . unless the thug he got to beat him up got carried away and went back for more when he found the warning hadn't worked.'

‘Anything's possible. Do we know who carried out the attack?'

‘One of Creeny's labourers. He got paid fifty quid for his trouble and he swears he only gave Dremmer a light beating, just to make a point. He's been arrested and charged so we know where to find him if necessary. Was there anything dodgy in Dremmer's private life? Any other reason why someone might pick on him?'

‘Nothing's come up.'

The thoughts that had been forming in Joe's head over the past few days had been nebulous until now. But now he was ready to voice them. ‘Remember the mortar dust that was found on the floor, as if Dremmer or somebody had tried to scrape it away from between the bricks? I'm still wondering if Dremmer was trying to break through that wall.'

‘Come on, Joe, you know we've already checked out that possibility. It would have been pointless because the basement doesn't extend any further.'

‘According to Jack Hawkes' plans – we only have his word for it. I want that wall broken down.'

Emily's eyes widened. ‘What if it's structural? What if the whole building collapses? Think of the damages? The Chief Constable would wet himself. And there's no sign of any other entrance so . . . Look, I'll order a thorough search if it makes you feel better.'

‘It would.'

Emily suddenly looked serious. He could see lines around her eyes that seemed to have deepened over the past few days, as if the burden of the investigation was ageing her as he watched. ‘Think we're too late to save Beverley Newson?' she asked, her voice hushed.

Joe didn't answer. It wasn't in his nature to be so pessimistic but he had a terrible feeling that Beverley would turn up dead like the others.

Emily's phone rang. After a short conversation she replaced the receiver and looked up, triumphant. This was good news.

‘Paul Scorer and Una Waites have been picked up in Scarborough. Daisy's with them. Her and Una were staying in a caravan there . . . having a wonderful time apparently. They're being brought in.' She paused, suddenly serious. ‘They've called Social Services to take care of Daisy.'

Joe was unsure whether the news was good after all. Scorer and Una clearly loved Daisy more than Jack Hawkes did, but sometimes the law didn't take the heart into account when someone's done something really stupid. He suddenly felt sad. ‘I suppose we should let Jack Hawkes know.'

Emily picked up the phone again. ‘I'll ring Janet Craig. She's still at Hawkes' place so she can pass on the good news.' The last two words sounded unconvincing and Joe knew her thoughts matched his.

‘What do you think of Hawkes?' he asked.

Emily took a few seconds to answer. ‘I can't say I like the man.' She gave him a quick, businesslike smile and moved on to other things. ‘Beverley's mum's post-mortem is in half an hour but my money's on natural causes. She was elderly and it doesn't look as if her health was good.'

‘Do we have to attend?' Joe asked, hoping the answer would be no.

Emily pulled a face. ‘I suppose we should, seeing that there might be a link to Beverley's disappearance.

They left the police station like a pair of reluctant schoolchildren and drove to the hospital mortuary where Sally greeted them, favouring Joe with a big smile. She sounded remarkably cheerful for a woman who was about to conduct an autopsy. He noticed the engagement ring on her finger, a large solitaire diamond.

Once everything had been prepared and Sally had donned her gloves and gown, he and Emily stood behind the glass screen and watched as she went about her work, quietly and efficiently as she always did. At one point she stopped and began to work more delicately, a frown of concentration on her face as if she'd found something that worried her.

‘What is it, Sal?' Emily said into the microphone.

Sally stepped back and stared at the wizened old woman on the table. She didn't answer for a while but when she did, her voice was quiet, as though she was shocked by what she was about to say.

‘I've found a tiny feather caught in the airways and there are signs of pressure on the face.' She looked up at the screen. ‘I'm as sure as I can be that this woman was smothered.'

J
oe's mobile phone rang just as they got back to the CID office. As his thoughts were on Sally's verdict and his desire to see what, if anything, was behind that basement wall, he answered it absent-mindedly. He was hoping for news of Beverley but when he saw the caller was George Merryweather, he experienced a sudden desire to speak to him, to ask his advice about Lydia. George never judged and Joe valued his wisdom. But he knew there was no time to talk.

‘Joe, I don't know if this is important but—'

‘Sorry, George. Can it wait? I've got to get straight down to Boothgate House.'

‘I'll meet you there.' George rang off. He'd sounded anxious, which wasn't like him, and Joe wondered why.

Emily entered the office, her huge handbag slung over her shoulder. ‘You ready?'

Joe followed her out. She'd just been upstairs to bring the Superintendent up to date with the latest development and she looked peeved at the delay. She'd already given orders that Beverley's mother's room should be sealed off as a crime scene but Joe suspected it was a futile gesture after all those policemen, paramedics and undertakers had trampled all over the place.

Emily drove in silence, a look of fierce determination on her face. The killer had evaded them for too long. He was playing games with them, abducting and killing under their noses. And they had to put a stop to him.

When they arrived Joe was surprised to see that George was waiting by the entrance, passing the time of day with the uniformed constable who'd been posted at the front door because Emily wasn't taking any more chances. He must have made the journey swiftly which meant that his information was so urgent that it had made him break his habit of doing everything at a measured thoughtful pace. He stepped forward as soon as he saw Joe get out of the car.

‘George. What's wrong?'

George waited for Emily to join them as though this was something they should both hear.

‘Have you found Beverley yet?'

Joe shook his head.

‘I've remembered something that might be important. Beverley mentioned it in passing yesterday but it didn't really register until I'd heard she'd disappeared and I started thinking over everything she'd said. She told me that her mother had worked here when it was a hospital. She said she'd been a nurse and that she'd been in charge here.'

Joe looked at Emily and saw her mouth fall open. ‘In charge,' she said. ‘How do you mean?'

‘That's all she said. She worked here and she was in charge. This is important, isn't it?'

‘It could be very important, George. We've been looking for the former matron, a Mrs Chambers, but we've found no trace of her. If that was Beverley's mother . . .'

‘Before you get carried away we need to be sure,' said Emily. She walked away and took out her phone. Joe knew she'd be asking someone in the CID office to check out Mrs Newson's official history – her birth and marriage certificate, census and tax records. It might take time but if, according to the authorities, Mrs Newson didn't officially exist, it would mean she'd changed her identity at some point. But, if that was the case, what were the implications for Beverley?'

‘I'm going up to the Newsons' flat,' Joe said. ‘There might be some photographs of the mother up there that I can show to some people who met Mrs Chambers. I can start with the Reverend Rattenbury.'

George nodded. ‘Yes. I'd like to catch up with Kenneth. I believe he went to live down south somewhere. I didn't know he was back. Nice little chap.'

Joe was about to make for the door when he swung round. ‘What did you just say?'

George looked puzzled. ‘Just that Ken Rattenbury was a nice chap.'

‘You said “nice little chap”. The Kenneth Rattenbury I met wasn't little. He was fairly tall.'

George shook his head, as though he was exasperated with himself. ‘I've come across so many clergymen over the years; I'm probably thinking of the wrong person.' He gave Joe a rueful smile. ‘Old age. Comes to us all. I'd better get back to the cathedral.' He began to walk away but when he'd gone a few feet he turned back. ‘If I can help in any way . . .'

‘Thanks,' said Emily. ‘We'll bear that in mind.'

Without another word she led the way into the building, briefly acknowledging the constable who was holding the door open for them to pass through. ‘Let's take the Newsons' flat to bits. If Beverley's mum was really Mrs Chambers I want to know.'

Joe followed her, making a call to the CID office. There was something else he wanted checking out. Something that might confirm his worst suspicions. But he knew it was likely to take a bit of time.

When he reached the Newsons' flat Alan Proud's door was standing open and he could hear the voices of the detectives who'd been assigned to carry out the search. He followed Emily into the Newsons' flat and began to search through the sideboard and bureau in the living room while Emily examined the bedrooms. Fortunately everything seemed to be neatly filed, which was to be expected as mother and daughter had only recently moved in. As they were packing they'd probably have discarded all those old papers and souvenirs that everyone builds up over the course of their lives. But there was a chance that Mrs Chambers – if she was Mrs Chambers – might have kept things to remind her of the time when she had ruled in this place . . . of the time when she had probably colluded with Dr Pennell's basest actions.

Joe found a birth certificate for a Katharine Johnson and a certificate of her marriage to a John Newson – both fairly recent copies by the look of it – but no birth certificate for Beverley and nothing to link Mrs Newson with Mrs Chambers. When he entered the bedroom where the old woman had died he found that Emily had drawn a similar blank. Perhaps George had got it wrong. Or perhaps she had worked here before Mrs Chambers' time or exaggerated her position of authority to her daughter. There were any number of possibilities so maybe they were reading too much into Beverley's chance remark.