The Crossing Page 30

  “Juliet? Juliet! Where are you?”

  Chapter Sixty-Five

  TIM LEFT JULIET and Verity Tandy at the A & E department of the Johnson Hospital and returned to the police station. He was shaken by how much they’d been damaged by being trapped for just a few hours under the stage. Verity was being treated for shock and Juliet’s hands and knees were a bloody mass of splinters. Both were filthy, exhausted and dehydrated.

  Richard Lennard had appeared to be horrified when Tim and Andy had pulled the two policewomen out. He’d said that he’d vaguely known that the space was there, but simply hadn’t thought about it when they’d gone into the storeroom. On balance, Tim believed him and had allowed him to go home, but asked him to remain on call in case he was needed again. Tim kept the bunch of keys that opened the doors to the hall complex and asked for the key to the main door of the school. He promised to return them by Monday morning.

  Juliet had told Tim about the photographs. He asked Andy to put on protective clothing and retrieve them; a police constable was sent to guard the lighting store while Andy was under the stage. Andy had yet to return with the photographs.

  Reporting to Superintendent Thornton, Tim saw his boss had the grace to look sheepish.

  “They’re OK, you say?” he asked eagerly.

  “Yes, but shocked. They didn’t know how long they were going to be trapped there: their mobiles wouldn’t work. They must have been terrified.”

  “Do you think someone shut them in there deliberately?”

  “DC Armstrong says it’s possible, but she isn’t certain. It was clear to her that whoever slid the bolt intended to do it anyway. They didn’t check to see if there was anyone in the cavity, but why would they? Though she did hear one of them say that if anyone was there, fastening the bolt would ‘cook their goose’.”

  “Interesting. If we’d reported them missing, I wonder if anyone would have come forward?”

  “Not if it was one of The Bricklayers. And we still don’t know the identities of all of them or exactly what it is they do.”

  “Well, it’s time we found out now, isn’t it?” said the Superintendent, as if only Tim’s reluctance to act was holding them up. “You’d better bring in Councillor Start. I’ll question him myself.”

  “Yes, sir.” Tim concealed his amazement.

  “There’s still no sign of his son. I’m going to push Start harder on that. He must have some idea where the lad’s got to.”

  “Hardly a lad, sir. Matthew Start is in his forties.”

  The Superintendent didn’t answer immediately, but scrutinised Tim for a long moment, looking peeved.

  “Yes, well, we can’t all boast your youth, can we? Have Councillor Start brought in, will you? And then check on the roadblocks again and see how the house-to-house enquiries are going. I want a breakthrough on these kidnappings, Yates, and I want it today.”

  “Yes, sir,” said Tim again.

  “Oh, and look in on Katrin, will you? I don’t want her to think we’re leaving her entirely on her own. She is doing us a favour, after all. And she’ll want to know about Armstrong.”

  A rush of indignation turned Tim’s face scarlet. It had taken considerable self-discipline to head for Thornton’s office on his arrival at the station, rather than going to update his wife first. He mumbled something unintelligible and left.

  Katrin was serenely writing something on one of her glass panels when Tim entered the meeting room. She looked up at him and smiled.

  “Hello. No need to tell me about Juliet and the policewoman. The staff sergeant’s given me the whole story. Have you had anything to eat? There’s a packet of biscuits and crisps if you’re hungry.”

  Tim realised he was starving.

  “Thanks! Shall I fetch some coffee?”

  “The water from the dispenser will do me,” said Katrin, indicating the plastic water-tank in the corner of the room. “I’m only going to be able to stay for another hour or so. I told Sally Dobbs I’d be back to collect Sophia by 5 p.m. She’s going out this evening.”

  “How are you doing?”

  “I’m making progress, but slowly. There’s a lot I don’t understand. And I’ve got a colossal timeline.”

  “What do you mean by that? How colossal?”

  “I’ve started with the last sighting of Helena Nurmi, on July 9th 1993. Then there’s the birth of Cassandra Knipes on 27th July 1997. Philippa Grummett was born on 13th July 1999. According to her mother, the young woman named as Ariadne Helen who was admitted to the Johnson Hospital on Thursday was born on July 31st 1995.” Katrin had stuck the most recent photographs available against each of these dates. The one of Philippa Grummett had been taken from a blow-up of an old school photo supplied by Alice Cushing, so it was somewhat blurred, but, in spite of that, the likeness between the three was astonishing. There was no photograph of Ariadne Helen.

  “All July dates, and all spaced about two years apart. More bloody coincidences. But I’m not sure how it helps.”

  “Neither am I, but there is one other date to add.” The dates she’d already given Tim and the photographs were all on the same glass screen. Now she pointed to another screen.

  “Matthew Start was born on July 9th 1970. Helena Nurmi disappeared on his twenty-third birthday. He was at home at the time, in the house where Helena was working as an au pair, looking after his younger sister. The year before, Start had completed a degree in architecture at Sheffield University and joined the family firm.”

  “That’s fascinating! Go on.”

  “That’s where the pattern ends, I’m afraid. Except for one more thing. As you know, Matthew Start was questioned closely about Helena Nurmi’s disappearance. He was held in police custody at one stage. But he always maintained that he’d dropped her at the station as planned. She was estranged from her family because her stepfather had died in suspicious circumstances, so it took several weeks for a friend to report her missing. It was discovered that she never left the UK, as Start had claimed. He was on record as the last person to see her – no-one could remember her waiting at the station – which obviously made him a prime suspect. But in Start’s favour was the fact that he’d paid for her ticket back to Finland. The police reasoning was that he wouldn’t have done it if he’d been planning to kill her.”

  “Or he might just have been one step ahead in cunning.”

  “I thought you’d say that.”

  “So what’s the final piece of your pattern? There’s a welter of detail here, but I don’t see that it adds anything new.”

  Katrin laughed. “Steady on! Is that how you usually talk to people when you want a job done?”

  “Sorry! I’m just impatient to get to the results. I think you’ve done a brilliant job. You know that.”

  “Helena Nurmi applied very late to be an au pair in the summer of 1992. The agency that she registered with had more or less filled all the places available. They suggested that she reapplied in the autumn, when apparently there would be further opportunities because not all au pairs managed to stick it out, so the agency had to find replacements. She was adamant that she wanted a placement immediately. There was some suggestion during the police investigation that before he died her stepfather had been abusing her, but the Finnish police weren’t co-operative and the police here gave up on that line of enquiry. If she was either being abused or mixed up in his death, it would explain why she was desperate to find a job immediately. Anyway, one of the few placements the agency could offer was in the Start household. They were dubious about it, because Mrs Start had left her husband a couple of years before. They had shared custody of the daughter, who was much younger than Matthew – still a primary school child when the parents split. Frederick Start wanted an au pair to help look after the girl when she stayed with him. The agency wasn’t convinced this would be a suitable arrangement, as the au pair would freq
uently be in the house on her own with him or him and his son when the girl was with her mother; there would be no adult woman present. Extra interviews were held and the Starts went through a vetting process, which they passed with flying colours – Councillor Start being a pillar of the community, etcetera, etcetera. Helena herself didn’t take much persuading: as I’ve said, she was keen to get away from home and the Starts’ offer was attractive. Spending less time with the child would mean she’d have more time to devote to learning English. They offered to pay for lessons at Boston College. She took the placement.”

  Tim whistled. “Do you think that would still happen today?”

  “I’m not sure. The vetting process now is probably stricter. On the other hand, there are more laws about sexual discrimination. But coming back to the date pattern again: the police enquiry was very thorough in some respects. They went into Matthew Start’s background in some detail. Apparently he was very cut up when his mother left and was referred to a psychologist. He was still receiving counselling. And the police account records that his mother left home on his birthday.”

  “Two years before Helena’s arrival?”

  “Yes. The pattern of events relating to the date of his birthday had not been started by him, but it seems to me that he decided to continue it. Those three birthdays were as close to his own as he could possibly have managed, given that gestation is an inexact science.” Katrin gave an ironic smile. Sophia had been born almost two weeks later than anticipated. “The physical evidence that we have shows a strong resemblance.” She gestured at the photographs. “I think that Helena Nurmi is probably the natural mother of both Cassandra Knipes and Philippa Grummett.”

  “Juliet may have come to the same conclusion. And the child who died?”

  “Probably that one as well. But we’ll need the DNA results to be sure. There is surviving DNA material from Helena Nurmi and the Pilgrim Hospital sent samples from the woman who died yesterday. They’ve been couriered to the lab that I told you about, along with samples from the missing girls. We should know the answer on Monday.”

  “If you’re right about all this, Helena Nurmi could still be alive.”

  “If I’m right, she was still alive in July 1999, when Philippa was born. There’s no proof that the woman who left ‘Ariadne Helen’ at the Johnson Hospital was Helena Nurmi.”

  “I know that. But the nurse at the hospital, Marianne Burrell, said that woman’s clothes were old-fashioned. As if she’d dug stuff out of her wardrobe from twenty years back.”

  “Well, if it is Helena Nurmi, either she’s created a complete new identity for herself or she’s being held captive somewhere, because there’s been absolutely no trace of her since 1993.”

  “Am I missing something?” said a bright voice. Katrin and Tim both turned to see Juliet come hobbling through the door. “Excuse the clothes. One of the nurses lent them to me. They keep spares for drunks, apparently.” Juliet wrinkled her nose. She was wearing an A length skirt and a baggy sweater, both in nondescript colours, both extremely ill-fitting. Her knees and one of her hands were bandaged.

  “What are you doing here? The doctor at A & E said he was signing you off until Tuesday at least,” said Tim.

  “I’m no more ill than if I’d fallen off my bike and I certainly wouldn’t go sick for that. Besides, this looks fascinating. You’ve got a lot further with it than I would have,” Juliet said, turning to Katrin with a smile. “Are you going to talk me through it?”

  Katrin looked at her watch.

  “I’m going to have to go. I’m sorry. I promised that I’d pick Sophia up by five.”

  “Why don’t you go home with Katrin and take all this stuff with you?” said Tim. “You’ll probably get a lot further with it together. And you can have a decent meal and a stiff drink, too, if you stay the night.”

  “And some better clothes,” added Katrin.

  “It would be the second time today I’ve imposed on you,” said Juliet doubtfully. “And we’ll need a van to shift these screens. And what about Superintendent Thornton?”

  “It’d be great to have your company and work on this with you. I imagine that Tim intends to work late again tonight. There’s no guarantee he’ll come home at all.”

  “And what about Thornton?” said Tim. “I can manage him.”

  “Can you, indeed, Yates,” said a voice from the back of the room. “I’m looking forward to it already.”

  Chapter Sixty-Six

  IT CONTINUED TO snow through the night. Tim stayed at the police station until after midnight, still painstakingly keeping tabs on the teams making the door-to-door enquiries and manning the roadblocks and helping to co-ordinate the intensified search for Matthew Start. Superintendent Thornton had grilled Councillor Start for two hours that evening, with Tim watching from a one-way window, but the Councillor was adamant that he had no idea of his son’s whereabouts or who his associates might be. He also denied that Matthew Start had taken his dogs to guard the Start Construction Builders’ Yard. A police check proved the dogs weren’t there, nor was there anyone working either in the offices or the yard itself. Veronica Start had said that Matthew would be sure to return to their home in Blue Gowt Lane on Sunday afternoon and certainly the policeman stationed there had so far reported no activity. Veronica had given the police the keys to the house and permission to search it. Matthew Start wasn’t there. The Superintendent detained Councillor Start until a warrant could be obtained to search his house, as well. Again, they drew a blank. Before he was released, Councillor Start was asked to provide a list of the men who’d attended The Bricklayers meeting that morning. The list he came up with was suspiciously short, but there were two names on it that they recognised: Ivan Grummett and Peter Cushing.

  “We knew Grummett was there,” said Tim. “We saw him. And Andy told me that Ms Greaves had said that Cushing was a Bricklayer.”

  “We’ll lay off Grummett for the moment, though I think we should have him followed from tomorrow. Who’s been detailed to the Cushings as family liaison officer?” the Superintendent demanded when they’d finally let the Councillor go.

  “Ann Bridges, from Boston,” said Tim. “I don’t know her.”

  “Is she staying with them?”

  “Yes, until the end of the weekend.”

  “Get on to her, will you?”

  It took Tim some time to find PC Bridges’ number. Not for the first time, he cursed himself for not being as well-organised as Juliet. The call itself did not take long.

  “She says that Peter Cushing did go out for a few hours this morning. He returned in the early afternoon.”

  “Why didn’t she stop him?”

  “He’s not under arrest, is he, or obliged to account for his movements? Not yet, anyway. And we had no good reason to put a stop to The Bricklayers’ meeting.”

  “All right, Yates,” said the Superintendent wearily. “Sometimes it’s me doing things by the book on this case and sometimes it’s you. Perhaps we both need to adopt a more maverick attitude. Put a round-the-clock watch on Grummett and have Peter Cushing followed every time he leaves his house. Ask Bridges to tell you when he goes somewhere. And tell her to try to find out where he’s going.”

  “Yes, sir, but as I’ve said, she’ll only be there until tomorrow.”

  “I imagine we can extend that if necessary. But, quite frankly, if we don’t find those girls tomorrow, we may as well give up.”

  “Don’t say that, sir.” Tim disliked negativity in any of his colleagues and always tried to cajole them out of it, but on this occasion his protest was half-hearted. He knew the Superintendent was right.

  “Maverick!” he thought to himself as he drove home, in an attempt to cheer himself up. “As if.”

  Chapter Sixty-Seven

  KATRIN AND JULIET had both gone to bed. Tim sank down on the sofa in the sitting room, having poured hi
mself a large Scotch. The glass screens had been erected all around the room. Tim noticed that many more details had been added to them. He’d have to make sure that the van came back to collect the screens in the morning, in time for the next briefing meeting.

  There was a sheaf of multi-coloured papers on the coffee table in front of him, torn from a pad that Katrin used for shopping lists. Each of the slips bore handwriting, mostly Katrin’s, with some shaky additions by Juliet. (He remembered that it was her right hand that had been bandaged.) He picked them up. Along the top of each a name had been written in block capitals, with a sentence or just a few words in longhand beneath it.

  HELENA / HELEN. Zeus’s mortal daughter. Abducted by Paris.

  ARIADNE? Means ‘she knows’.

  PHILIPPA. Lover of horses.

  GRUMMETT. Common Lincolnshire name. Of seafaring origin. Naval rating of low status. Sometimes described as a ‘workhorse’ because served as a skivvy to the higher ranks.

  CASSANDRA. Means ‘doomed’.

  KNIPES Scottish name for a hill. As a family name, used in the North of England, Ireland. Diaspora in Australia. Site of a famous long barrow.

  Tim sipped his whisky. He was half asleep, but his interest was piqued, nevertheless. He could see where Katrin and Juliet were going with this, or at least had some inkling. But were they solving word games that gave them insight into a disturbed mind, or just muddying the picture with a too-ingenious theory?

  He mulled over this question, eventually falling into a disturbed sleep. He woke up a couple of hours later to discover that he had spilt what remained of the whisky down the front of his shirt. It was two days since he’d showered and the mixture of smells rising from his body disgusted him. Rousing himself, he staggered upstairs to the bathroom, where he peeled off his clothes and dumped them on the floor. With some relief, he stepped into the shower and put gel and water to work. Finally, he rolled into bed beside Katrin. She stirred slightly.