Without Trace E-Book

Leigh Russell

• Herausgeber: No Exit Press
• Kategorie: Krimi
• Serie: A DI Geraldine Steel Thriller
• Sprache: Englisch
• Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2023

Seitenzahl: 457

Beschreibung

DISCOVER ONE OF THE UK'S FAVOURITE CRIME WRITERS WITH OVER 1.5 MILLION COPIES SOLD. ⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐ 'Another excellent thriller…leading to an electrifying conclusion' Kathleen on Without Trace She opened her mouth to scream, but he slapped something across her lips. The gag tasted of salt and mould, rough sacking on her tongue. With a terrifying certainty, she knew she was going to die. DI Geraldine Steel knows people go missing all the time; sometimes because they don't want to be found. So when her partner Ian asks her to look into the disappearance of his friend's girlfriend, her first instinct is to reassure him there's no need for concern. Until she's called to a suspected murder, and all her instincts tell her she's right about the identity of the victim. The young woman has earth and leaf mould and fragments of twigs in her long fair hair, her nose, her mouth, under her finger nails, clinging to her clothes. It's as if she'd been completely encased in earth. And yet she was found on the pavement, at the side of a suburban road, where she wasn't in contact with any soil or mud. Had she managed to escape a living grave? She needs to find out what really happened. Where did the assault occur? Why are there traces of DNA from two other unidentified sources on the body? What reason could there be to attack a popular young woman who never did anyone any harm? And why bury her body so carelessly that she was able to escape? Then another young woman is reported missing. Unless he has an accomplice, they have an innocent man in custody. And Steel is running out of time . . . A page-turning puzzle of a case with an unexpected final twist. If you're a fan of Angela Marsons, Mel Sherratt and Karin Slaughter, you'll love Leigh Russell. Can be read as a stand-alone.

Leseprobe

CRITICAL ACCLAIM FOR LEIGH RUSSELL

‘Brilliant and chilling, Leigh Russell delivers a cracker of a read!’ – Martina Cole

‘Taut writing, tense storyline and characters that jump off the page’ – Angela Marsons

‘An impressive series’ – Daily Mail

‘Unmissable’ – Lee Child

‘A million readers can’t be wrong! Clear some time in your day, sit back and enjoy a bloody good read’ – Howard Linskey

‘Taut and compelling’ – Peter James

‘Leigh Russell is one to watch’ – Lee Child

‘Leigh Russell has become one of the most impressively dependable purveyors of the English police procedural’ – Marcel Berlins, Times

‘A brilliant talent in the thriller field’ – Jeffery Deaver

‘Brilliant and chilling, Leigh Russell delivers a cracker of a read!’ – Martina Cole

‘A great plot that keeps you guessing right until the very end, some subtle subplots, brilliant characters both old and new and as ever a completely gripping read’ – Life of Crime

‘A fascinating gripping read. The many twists kept me on my toes and second guessing myself’ – Over The Rainbow Bookblog

‘Well paced with marvellously well rounded characters and a clever plot that make this another thriller of a read from Leigh Russell’ – Orlando Books

‘A well-written, fast-paced and very enjoyable thriller’ – The Book Lovers Boudoir

‘An edge of your seat thriller, that will keep you guessing’ – Honest Mam Reader

‘Well paced, has red herrings and twists galore, keeps your attention and sucks you right into its pages’ – Books by Bindu

‘5 stars!! Another super addition to one of my favourite series which remains as engrossing and fresh as ever!’ – The Word is Out

‘A nerve-twisting tour de force that will leave readers on the edge of their seats, Leigh Russell’s latest Detective Geraldine Steel thriller is a terrifying page-turner by this superb crime writer’ – Bookish Jottings

‘An absolute delight’ – The Literary Shed

‘I simply couldn’t put it down’ – Shell Baker, Chelle’s Book Reviews

‘If you love a good action-packed crime novel, full of complex characters and unexpected twists, this is one for you’ – Rachel Emms, Chillers, Killers and Thrillers

‘All the things a mystery should be: intriguing, enthralling, tense and utterly absorbing’ – Best Crime Books

‘A series that can rival other major crime writers out there…’ – Best Books to Read

‘Sharp, intelligent and well plotted’ – Crime Fiction Lover

‘Another corker of a book from Leigh Russell… Russell’s talent for writing top-quality crime fiction just keeps on growing…’ – Euro Crime

‘A definite must read for crime thriller fans everywhere’ – Newbooks Magazine

‘Russell’s strength as a writer is her ability to portray believable characters’ – Crime Squad

‘A well-written, well-plotted crime novel with fantastic pace and lots of intrigue’ – Bookersatz

‘Well written and chock full of surprises, this hard-hitting, edge-of-the-seat instalment is yet another treat… Geraldine Steel looks set to become a household name. Highly recommended’ – Euro Crime

‘A gritty and totally addictive novel’ – New York Journal of Books

To Michael, Jo, Phillipa, Phil, Rian, and Kezia

With my love

Without Trace is dedicated to the man behind the creation of Geraldine Steel, Ion Mills

Glossary of Acronyms

DCI – Detective Chief Inspector (senior officer on case)

DI – Detective Inspector

DS – Detective Sergeant

SOCO – scene of crime officer (collects forensic evidence at scene)

PM – Post Mortem or Autopsy (examination of dead body to establish cause of death)

CCTV – Closed Circuit Television (security cameras)

VIIDO – Visual Images, Identification and Detections Office

MIT – Murder Investigation Team

1

The girl lay still, her fair hair fluttering in a light breeze which shook the leaves of overhanging branches. A small bird flew down, attracted by insects congregating to scavenge, and was ousted by a boisterous crow that beat its wings and shrieked in triumph. Defeated, the small bird flitted away. The black crow flapped its wings before it too flew off at the approach of a more formidable creature. The man stood for a few moments, staring thoughtfully at the corpse. His wife would be home soon, and a proper burial would have to wait until she left for work again in the evening. The fabric of his jeans stretched across his brawny thighs and knees as he squatted down and began scattering forest bark and earth over the body. Starting with the face, he let fall handfuls of leaves and soil until the eyelids were completely covered. Clumps of earth crumbled between his fingers as he sprinkled it lightly over the rest of her face. He moved on down her inert figure, until only the toes of her black shoes were clearly visible, sticking up from one end of the makeshift burial mound. It would be enough to conceal her until nightfall.

Stepping back, he rotated his stiff shoulders, and tensed and relaxed his leg muscles as he checked the site from different angles before trudging back across the lawn to disappear inside his house. At the back of the garden, the small bird returned, peering around anxiously. It hopped on the ground where leaves trembled in a gust of wind without shifting their position. A few termites struggled busily across the irregular surface of the disturbed ground. Overhead, clouds hovered and passed by without shedding their rain.

It was a wrench, leaving her like that, but she was well concealed from prying eyes looking out of neighbouring houses. On his way back to the house he had dropped a fallen rotting pear on her for good measure, then removed it for fear some scavenging creature would dig around and dislodge her covering. For now, he had to go to work and return the van where her body had been stored overnight. He had been careful to hit her on the back of her head, even though it hardly mattered if her face was damaged, where she was going. Still, her looks were what had attracted him to her, and he hadn’t wanted to shatter her face. He had his standards. Whatever else happened, he couldn’t afford to attract any attention by deviating from his usual routine. Everything must continue as normal, on the surface, while he hid his impatience for the day to be over so he could complete his task. All through the day, as he shifted plant pots and answered customers’ queries, he was waiting to go home to her.

When it was time to return, he still had to wait. At last the sun cast a fiery glow across a bright sky before sinking below the horizon. As the daylight faded, the man emerged from his garden shed carrying a pristine shovel with a wooden shaft. The metal blade gleamed for an instant as it caught the dying rays of the sun. The man walked quickly down the long expanse of lawn to the area of trees at the back of the garden. He had to complete his task before his wife came home. She had been concerned about returning to night shifts, worried that he would object. Unknown to her, he considered it a godsend, giving him time to complete his project. But he didn’t know how long he had left.

Any day now, Linda might come home and tell him that she had decided to quit working nights, and then his opportunity would slip away forever. The prospect loomed over him, making him tremble with a mixture of trepidation and longing. He had already achieved so much. He couldn’t stop now, not when his efforts were beginning to show such excellent results. Everyone who came to the house commented on the beautiful garden. He was out there in all weathers, checking for signs of disease or infestation. As soon as Linda went to bed after her night shift, he would spend an hour raking and weeding before going to work at the garden centre, where he kept an eye out for ailing plants. He had rescued numerous small pot-bound plants that now thrived in the freedom of his flower beds.

A blow to the girl’s head had felled her without any fuss. After removing her handcuffs and gag, he had simply pressed her face into the crumbly dry earth to make sure she was no longer breathing, and covered her over. Having hidden her from view, he had turned away. He would never have walked off had he thought for one moment that she might still be alive. He remembered exactly where he had left her under the small pear tree, but when he returned shortly after sunset, she wasn’t there. There was only an indentation in the ground, beside a disturbed mound of earth and tree bark. Whether or not he had been slapdash, he hadn’t finished the job; she must have regained consciousness and crawled away.

For an instant he stood transfixed, staring at the spot where he had left her concealed beneath a covering of soil and bark. Turning his head, he surveyed the area beneath the trees. The body wasn’t there. Shaking himself free of his shock, he peered around. She couldn’t have gone far. Reluctantly, he pulled out his torch, hoping his neighbours wouldn’t notice the light and wonder what he was doing, searching in his garden after dark. The narrow shaft of light shook as he scanned the darkness for the missing girl, but there was no sign of her.

A stab of fear hit him. If she survived and remembered what had happened, everything would be over. He would never see his beloved garden again. The thought made his eyes water. On the other hand, if the girl’s corpse was discovered, the consequences might be equally terrible. There was bound to be a huge fuss. The police would investigate what had happened. With all the forensic skill at their disposal, they might track him down. There was only one possible way out of his difficulty. He had to find the girl before anyone else came across her, dead or alive. And he had to make sure she was unable to talk.

He studied the ground more closely in the light of his torch, searching for a trail, but the earth yielded nothing. Whatever trace the girl had left behind was invisible to his eyes. The police, with their equipment and bright lights, might fare better. He shuddered to think they might bring dogs to sniff and scrabble around in his garden, disturbing the plants and finding things that were best left hidden. He had read that the police had dogs trained to find corpses. If that was true, they would have a jamboree in his garden. Whatever else happened, he had to make sure no one else came into contact with his latest victim, before he found her.

Struggling to control his panic, he began a painstaking search of the garden. Systematically, he scoured every inch of the shrubbery before checking the shed, inside and out. As he hunted for clues to her whereabouts, his thoughts whirled. It was possible the girl wouldn’t remember where he lived. Her recollection of the evening’s events was bound to be confused. Perhaps his indignant denial would be enough to satisfy the police. But if they examined the van from the garden centre, they would almost certainly find traces of her DNA from where he had kept her for nearly twenty-four hours. He remembered with a sickening lurch that she had long hair. A few strands had almost certainly been brushed off onto the floor as he had transported her inert body. She might have scratched at the paintwork or left a drop of saliva on the floor as she lay unconscious but still, as it turned out, breathing, her heart still pumping blood through her veins. It was hard to believe she had survived his assault in the back of the van. Besides, he thought he had made sure she was dead by pushing her face into the earth. It was galling to discover she had survived all that, and infuriating that he had failed to finish the job when he had the chance. She had been right there, in his hands, unconscious, and he had let her slip out of his grasp. It seemed impossible, yet it had happened.

She had gone.

2

‘Oh bloody hell, not another one,’ Ian exclaimed.

‘I take it you’re not talking about my eggs?’ Geraldine asked, as she stood up to clear the dinner plates off the table.

Although she had refrained from boasting about her success, the yolks on their eggs had neither broken nor solidified. Ian prided himself on being able to fry eggs perfectly every time, but hers generally ended up more scrambled than fried.

‘What?’ Ian replied, looking up from his phone. ‘The eggs? They were perfect, thank you.’

She smiled, pausing in her clearing up. ‘You said, “not another one”. Another what?’

Ian’s regular features twisted into a frown as he held up his phone. Geraldine glanced at the screen before dismissing the article as click bait.

‘I’m afraid it might not be,’ Ian said heavily. ‘I mean, yes, of course, you’re right, it’s a sensational headline, worthy of the lowest form of tabloid, but there might be a germ of truth in it.’

‘Wherever she’s gone, surely something like that is for Missing Persons to look into. It’s nothing to do with us,’ Geraldine replied. ‘What makes you so interested in the story? Women leave home all the time. It says she’s in her twenties.’

‘I’m not sure you’re right about that.’

‘About what?’

‘About her leaving home voluntarily.’

‘Why? What do you think’s happening?’

Ian shook his head and admitted he had no idea. ‘The thing is,’ he went on slowly, as though unwilling to say more, ‘I’m breaking a confidence to share this with you, but I’m beginning to wonder if there’s something going on.’

‘I’ve no idea what you’re talking about.’ Seeing the anxiety in Ian’s blue eyes, Geraldine sat down. ‘Go on. I’m listening. What’s worrying you?’

Ian hesitated, although she knew he was comfortable confiding in her. As detective inspectors working on murder investigations, they were both accustomed to keeping quiet whenever discretion was called for. They rarely worked on the same case, and it was sometimes helpful to discuss their problems when an investigation was going badly. Still, he seemed reluctant to tell her what was on his mind.

‘Something’s bothering you,’ she said, rising to her feet. ‘You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to, but you know I’m here if you decide you want to talk about it.’

‘One of my football team just contacted me about this, in confidence,’ Ian said, with a frown.

Geraldine sat down again and brushed one hand through her short black hair as she listened.

‘He’s called Jason. I may have mentioned his name before. Anyway, he’s been living with his girlfriend in a turning off Heslington Lane. He thought they were getting along well, only she seems to have vanished into thin air. They’d had a row and he wanted to fix it, so he went along to the office where she worked and was told she hadn’t turned up for work that day. She hadn’t been in touch with any of her colleagues. One day she simply hadn’t turned up and they hadn’t been able to get hold of her. According to Jason, her manager was fuming. Jason had been living with her for nearly two years. Does it make sense to you that she would just disappear like that?’

Geraldine shrugged but didn’t answer.

Ian resumed his account. ‘He said he had no inkling she was going to leave him like that, walking out without a word. She hadn’t taken anything with her, only her bag with her phone and the number was unavailable.’

‘So, his girlfriend walked out on him. That’s a mean thing to do, but I hardly see what it has to do with us.’

‘The point is, he didn’t believe she would just go off like that without telling anyone, and without taking anything with her. As far as he could tell, she hadn’t taken any clothes with her – although he said he couldn’t be sure on that point. You know, women and their clothes.’

Geraldine grunted.

‘Anyway, he started to do a little digging. Her parents didn’t know where she was. He didn’t want to worry her family so he’s been playing it down, but he’s mystified, and alarmed. He checked the local hospital but they’ve got no record of her, and her GP wasn’t prepared to share any information with him. That’s when he asked me if there was anything I could do to help him trace her. He said he hoped my training and experience would be enough to find out where she was. He just wants to talk to her, and find out what’s going on. He’s afraid something’s happened to her, but he doesn’t want to involve the Missing Persons Unit in case she gets angry with him for making a fuss. He said he doesn’t know what to do.’

Geraldine frowned. ‘What did they row about?’

‘He said she met her ex for a drink and someone saw them together and told him. According to her, the meeting was perfectly innocent, and she accused him of not trusting her. He just wants to find her to explain and apologise.’

‘Was Jason violent?’

‘No, no, nothing like that,’ Ian assured her.

‘So he says. Well, she might have gone to stay with her parents, and asked them not to tell him where she was.’

Geraldine said she thought Jason was right not to make a fuss, but she was troubled by what Ian had told her. He wouldn’t have mentioned it to her if he wasn’t concerned. They drove to the police station together the next morning. On the way, Geraldine brought up the subject Ian had raised the previous evening. As casually as she could, she asked for the name of the missing woman.

‘So, you are going to follow it up?’ he said. ‘I thought you might.’

Geraldine smiled. ‘Go on, then. I have a feeling there’s more you want to tell me.’

‘Well, as it happens I did take a look, just briefly, and it seems that over the past month another two girls have been reported missing, in addition to the one mentioned in the tabloid. The latest one’s been missing for a month and she was living in Mitchell’s Lane, which is –’

‘Off Heslington Lane,’ Geraldine completed his sentence.

‘Those three girls all lived in the same area as my mate’s girlfriend, off Heslington Lane. That makes three young women and now my mate’s girl is the fourth. Is that a coincidence, do you think?’

Geraldine shrugged. ‘Possibly. But okay, I’ll look into it, if I have time.’

To her surprise, Ian thanked her, sounding relieved. She wondered if he had undertaken to investigate the matter to placate his friend, and had then found he didn’t have time to look into it as he was involved in a complicated case.

‘No promises,’ she said. ‘I only said I’d take a look if I have a moment.’

He nodded. ‘That’s really great. Her name’s Lucy Henderson. Seriously, it’s a weight off my mind.’

‘Because you can now tell your friend you’ve passed it on and it’s now out of your hands?’ she asked with a wry smile.

‘I can tell him I’ve passed it to the right person, yes.’

‘The right person?’

‘If anyone can find out what’s happened to his girlfriend, it’s you. I’ve never known you give up, even when it seems pointless to carry on.’

‘I’ll take that as a compliment.’

‘You have to agree that four girls disappearing in a month is a cause for concern.’

‘I said I’d look into it,’ Geraldine said.

It crossed her mind that Ian might have told her about his friend’s problem because he suspected she was bored. Although she would never admit it, she felt energised by the challenge of murder investigations, seeking justice for the victims whose lives had ended prematurely. Currently she was not working on anything at all, because she was recovering from a stomach upset. The previous week she had felt quite ill and her Detective Chief Inspector had insisted she stay at home for a few days.

‘You’re looking peaky,’ Binita had told her.

‘I’m fine,’ Geraldine had lied.

‘You’re staying at home for a week,’ Binita insisted. ‘You look washed out. And when you come back, I’m putting you on desk work until you’re feeling a hundred per cent again.’

At first Geraldine had been secretly relieved, but she was soon fed up. Having dedicated her working life to tracking down violent criminals, such unaccustomed enforced leisure made her feel useless. Back at her desk, she was stuck doing routine paperwork. As a rule, she would have passed an online search for a missing woman on to someone else, but the case had piqued her interest. No one had yet looked for a connection between four girls who had recently gone missing, and it was possible there might be a sinister connection between these apparently random disappearances.

3

Despite his anxiety he fell asleep before going up to bed, exhausted by the stress of the night. When he was woken by the sound of the front door closing, he was surprised to find he was still downstairs. Linda was home. He stood up and rearranged the cushions on the sofa before going to greet her in the hall.

‘You look tired,’ Linda said when she saw him. ‘Are you sure my hours aren’t bothering you? I don’t have to do it, you know. There are other girls who could take the night shifts, and most of them are a lot younger than me. I can tell them it’s too much for me. It’s quite all right –’

‘Don’t be daft,’ he interrupted her. ‘You just said they’re all a lot younger than you, meaning they need your experience overnight, don’t they?’

She smiled weakly at the compliment, muttering that her colleagues were all perfectly capable of doing the job and she was only a few years off retirement age anyway.

‘And it’s not as if it’s all the time,’ he went on. ‘I know you love what you do. As long as you can cope with the irregular hours, it’s fine with me. Seriously, it makes no difference to me,’ he assured her.

That wasn’t true, but she knew nothing about his real feelings. As long as she was working nights, he was free to pursue his own pastime.

‘Well, if you’re sure,’ she replied, with a faint smile. ‘But you will let me know if you change your mind? Look at me. I mean it, George. One word from you and I’ll stop doing nights.’

He wanted to shout at her, ‘No! No! You can’t stop!’ but, of course, he couldn’t. It was frightening to think how close she had come to ruining his plans, but he had to remain silent. Even a sympathetic woman like his wife was likely to misconstrue his activity. It was a pity, really, because he would have liked to share the success of his project with her, but it wasn’t to be. She wouldn’t understand. She might even report him to the police, and he couldn’t allow that to happen, not when everything was going so well.

‘It’s fine, really,’ he replied. ‘If you’re looking for an excuse to resign from your job, you’ll have to look elsewhere.’ He smiled, knowing how much she valued her time in intensive care.

‘It’s serene, somehow,’ she had once told him. ‘I mean, it’s not at all like what you might expect from the dramas you see on television. There isn’t as much interaction with patients as on ordinary wards, but you feel you’re right at the coal face, saving lives, and if you lose patients, you can be confident it was their time to go. I know it doesn’t really make sense, but I can’t explain it any better than that.’

He had assured her he understood what she meant, although, of course, he didn’t. Not really. More than anything, he had been struck by the irony of their situation. Outwardly a happily married couple, one of them saved lives while the other ended them. It was a perfect example of the yin and yang she liked to talk about, the universe in harmony. It was a pity he couldn’t tell her how perfectly matched they were. He had to make do with telling her he loved her, forcing himself to return the smile that lit up her homely features, reminding him of the young girl he had fallen in love with. Time had not treated her kindly. Her hair was threaded with white, her face was wrinkled, and she looked older than her years. He worried that the stress of her job was draining her energy, but she assured him she was as fit and healthy as ever. Her white hair was genetic, she explained, and inevitable.

‘How was your shift?’ he asked, as he always did.

It was important to behave as though nothing was wrong.

She shrugged. ‘Not good,’ she admitted, pulling a face.

‘Oh dear. What’s happened? Why don’t I make us a nice cup of tea and then you can tell me all about it?’

‘It was one of those terribly sad nights,’ she said, when they were sitting on comfortable armchairs in the living room, with their tea. ‘I mean, it’s always sad to lose a patient, even when there’s no hope, but this time it was a young girl who’d been found lying in the road, unconscious, not far from here. It seems she was out on her own.’

‘Oh dear,’ he exclaimed.

There was no need to fake his shock. He had to find out more. ‘What happened?’

She shook her head. ‘I’m not sure.’

‘So, she just collapsed? Is that what happened? Was it alcohol or drugs?’ He tried to control his panic.

‘It’s possible she’d been drinking, although she had a blow to the back of her head, which looked suspicious.’

‘Suspicious?’ A spasm of fear shot through him and he struggled to speak in an even tone. ‘You mean she hit her head when she fell over?’ he prompted her cautiously.

She took a sip of her tea, oblivious of his impatience. ‘Maybe. Either that, or else someone hit her hard enough to crack her skull.’

He whistled but didn’t trust himself to speak.

‘Yes,’ she went on, ‘her head was bashed in.’

He was itching to know what the patient looked like so he could rule out the woman he had met earlier on, but he couldn’t think how to ask. He could hardly enquire if the woman in intensive care had long fair hair and blue eyes, and was wearing a dark blue jumper with very narrow vertical white stripes. Instead, he asked whether the patient was expected to recover.

‘We worked all night to save her,’ Linda replied. ‘We managed to stabilise her condition.’

No, no, please no, he thought, but could not utter a word. Please don’t let her wake up. Don’t let her remember. Although he didn’t believe in God, he realised he was praying. Struggling to conceal his keen interest in this particular patient, he waited on tenterhooks as his wife sipped her tea.

‘But in the end we weren’t able to save her.’

He let out an involuntary gasp of relief.

‘Oh, I’m sorry,’ she said, putting down her cup. ‘These things happen. I shouldn’t burden you with it. There’s no need to feel down. She died without recovering consciousness. She didn’t suffer.’

‘That’s good,’ he murmured, wondering what kind of evidence he had left on the girl.

If the hospital doctors suspected foul play, they would ask the police to look into the girl’s death, and nothing would remain hidden from them for long. They had no record of his DNA on their database, but once they detected it on the girl, it might only be a matter of time before they traced it back to him. He had heard all kinds of stories about how much information could be gleaned from a sample of DNA. Hehad done his best not to come into contact with her any more than was necessary to get the job done, but he hadn’t been able to avoid touching her. With hindsight, he realised how stupid he had been. But at least she was dead. He shuddered, realising he’d had a narrow escape.

It was a man working at the garden centre, he imagined her telling the police, if she had survived. He pushed me into his van and the next thing I remember was waking up, half buried in earth. There was earth in my mouth, and up my nose, and in my ears, as though someone had tried to bury me. I don’t remember who it was, but I do remember he said he worked in the garden centre. He was tall and muscly, and he had shaggy brown hair and a moustache, and he told me his name was George.

‘Are you sure you’re all right?’ Linda asked.

He nodded. ‘Just not fully awake yet,’ he replied, forcing a smile. ‘Now, it’s time for you to catch up on your beauty sleep.’

His comment amused her. He thought with a pang how beautiful she was when she laughed, although she never believed it when he told her. He watched her walk out of the room and a moment later he heard her padding up the stairs to bed. With a sigh, he collected their cups and took them to the kitchen. He had to make plans, and be prepared for anything. If it turned out that he had to flee the country, he was ready for that. His documents were stored at the back of a locked drawer in a rusty old filing cabinet in his garage: a fake passport, and several thousand pounds in cash which he had carefully squirrelled away over the years. Neither his wife nor his manager at work had any idea of the extent of his pilfering, but he had to have money ready in case he ever needed it. But running away would be an absolute last resort, leaving his home and his wife and, hardest of all, abandoning his beloved garden. Before long, the flower beds would be overrun with weeds, and his carefully nurtured lawn would become riddled with moss and clover. It was little consolation to know he wouldn’t be there to witness its deterioration. He would know.

‘Would you look after the garden if anything happened to me?’ he had asked Linda once.

‘What are you talking about? Nothing’s going to happen to you,’ she had scoffed before asking, with genuine concern, whether he was feeling ill.

‘No, no, nothing like that,’ he had hastened to reassure her, hating to think he had upset her. She had enough to cope with at the hospital. He was supposed to be her safe place. She had told him so often enough. ‘But if it did,’ he had persisted. ‘You would take care of the garden, wouldn’t you? For me?’

‘I can’t see how that would help you, if you weren’t around to see it any more. But nothing’s going to happen to you, not as long as I’m here to look after you.’

With care, he would evade detection and complete his project. He certainly had no intention of stopping, but he was going to have to be more circumspect than ever. He had buried three girls successfully. He only needed one more, or possibly two. Three if the opportunity arose. It was going to be a wrench when he had to stop. He would miss the thrill of spotting a young woman healthy enough to meet his requirements. But, for the rest of his life, he would be able to relive the joy that coursed through him every time he had a successful encounter.

4

Geraldine had spent a couple of days sitting at her desk catching up on paperwork. It was keeping her busier than she had expected. She had begun researching girls who had gone missing locally, but working on her own, in stray moments, she had made little progress. By Wednesday, she was feeling physically stronger, which was just as well because midway through the morning the detective chief inspector set up a briefing. Geraldine walked down the corridor with her friend and colleague, Detective Sergeant Ariadne Moralis.

‘What’s this all about?’ Ariadne asked, as they made their way to the incident room.

‘Search me,’ Geraldine muttered in response. ‘No one’s told me what’s going on, but I’d say something must have happened.’

‘No wonder they pay you to carry out detective work,’ Ariadne chuckled and Geraldine smiled.

Wondering whether they were about to hear that a murder had been committed in York, Geraldine suppressed a faint tremor of anticipation. She glanced at her colleague. With a brusque movement, Ariadne swept her long loose hair back from her face into a ponytail. Admittedly, it looked more businesslike than when her shoulder-length black curls swung freely around her face, which now wore a strained expression. They entered the incident room, where several officers had already gathered and were talking in hushed tones. An air of expectation rippled around the room as their senior officer, Binita, came through the door with the brisk stride and determined air of someone who had important information to share. She looked around the assembled detectives with a grave expression.

‘A young woman died in the intensive care unit at York Hospital in the early hours of this morning,’ she announced. ‘The medical team suspect she was the victim of an assault which left her unconscious. Since they believe her death occurred as a direct result of the attack, we are opening a murder investigation. As yet we have no identity for the victim who was discovered yesterday evening by a passing couple who spotted her lying on Heslington Lane just off Fulford Road, at the junction with Grants Avenue. They summoned an ambulance and she was taken straight into intensive care. She never recovered consciousness and died several hours after being admitted.’

‘Was it a hit and run?’ Ariadne asked.

‘The medical team thought that unlikely, given the nature of her injuries,’ Binita replied. ‘Her clothes and hair were full of earth, and they found more in her nose and mouth and ears. She appeared to have been covered in it.’

‘Earth?’ a constable echoed.

‘Yes, it almost looks as though someone had tried to bury her,’ Binita said quietly.

She turned to display an image of woman with long fair hair. It was difficult to tell what she had looked like while she was alive, but in death she was horribly pale. Her eyes were closed but there was nothing about her face to suggest she might be sleeping peacefully as was sometimes the case with the dead. Staring at the blank face on the screen, Geraldine recalled what Ian had told her about the disappearance of his football friend’s partner.

‘I may have a possible identity,’ she murmured.

Instantly everyone turned to look at her, and she hesitated.

‘Go on,’ Binita urged her. ‘Do you recognise the victim?’ She paused, watching Geraldine hopefully.

‘No, I’m sorry, I haven’t seen her before,’ Geraldine said, suddenly unsure of herself. ‘It’s probably just a coincidence and nothing to do with us at all. I need to make a few enquiries before I can come up with a name.’

‘Very well,’ Binita replied, clearly disappointed. ‘In the meantime, we need to find out everything we can about this woman. Check your allocated tasks and let’s get started.’

On her way to the mortuary, Geraldine called Ian who answered straightaway.

‘How are you feeling?’ he asked, before she had a chance to speak.

‘I’m fine. I just need the name of your friend’s girlfriend.’

‘Who are you talking about?’

Geraldine took a breath. ‘You told me one of your football mates has lost track of his girlfriend. I think you said her name was Lucy Henderson?’

‘Why? Have you found her?’

‘I don’t know.’

Quickly, she explained about the woman who had died in hospital that morning. At the other end of the line, she could hear the concern in Ian’s voice as he confirmed the name: Lucy Henderson.

‘Jason sent me a photo,’ he added. ‘I’ll ping it over to you. I take it you’ve seen an image of the victim?’

Geraldine confirmed that she had. Ian had been keen for her to stay on desk work until she had fully recovered from her stomach bug, so she held back from telling him she was on her way to the mortuary to see the body for herself. He would find out soon enough that she was working on a murder investigation. In the meantime, she was fine now and there was no reason for him to fuss.

‘I’ll let you know if I get anywhere with this.’

Ian thanked her and she rang off thoughtfully. There was no proof yet that her suspicion was right, but there was a chance she had found Jason’s missing girlfriend.

‘Lucy Henderson,’ she repeated softly to herself.

If her hunch proved correct, not only would they have a name for the dead woman, but they would have a potentially useful lead to learn about her life, and possibly her death as well. Smiling grimly, Geraldine put her foot down, impatient to reach the mortuary. A moment later her phone buzzed; Ian had sent her a picture of Lucy. Now she just had to check the image against the dead woman’s face. As soon as she reached the hospital and parked, she took a look at Ian’s picture and compared it with the image of the corpse already stored on her phone. The two faces were almost certainly the same person, but Geraldine wasn’t sure. The dead face was hard to match with that of a vibrant woman smiling flirtatiously at the camera, full of life and mischief.

With a sigh, she made her way to the entrance to the mortuary where the pathologist was expecting her.

5

The anatomical pathology assistant, Avril, was a friendly young woman who seemed far more interested in her own forthcoming wedding than the dead woman recently brought in for a post mortem. Geraldine didn’t comment that she was hardly an appropriate person to offer advice on wedding arrangements. Instead, she listened politely as Avril related her latest series of problems, most of which seemed to relate to a cousin who had fallen out with Avril’s sister after the invitations had been sent out.

‘What does she expect me to do about it?’ Avril moaned, running her manicured fingers through her blonde hair. ‘I can hardly tell her she’s no longer welcome, can I? I mean, the invitations have gone out. I didn’t even want to invite her in the first place. Everyone warned me it’s a nightmare organising a wedding but, really, this takes the biscuit. You’ll never guess what happened.’

Geraldine did her best to sound sympathetic but she was beginning to lose patience when Avril stopped herself in mid-sentence. ‘Sorry, sorry,’ she muttered, looking shamefaced. ‘I shouldn’t keep going on about it like this. You have to get back to work, and so do I. It’s just that this is driving me nuts and it’s difficult to focus on anything else.’

Geraldine was pleased to see the familiar face of Jonah Hetherington, a pathologist she had worked with several times since her transfer to York. Although they had never met outside the mortuary, they had become firm friends. He was excellent at his job, but what Geraldine appreciated almost as much as his expertise was the strong bond of trust that had grown up between them. Knowing she could rely on Jonah’s discretion, she felt able to speak without constraint in front of him. Other than the pathologist, only a cadaver was present to witness her words. Aware of the need to restrict herself to the evidence, nevertheless Geraldine found it helpful to speculate about how victims might have met their deaths. With Jonah she could discuss various possibilities without fear of her theories being shared with anyone else, a freedom she found invaluable.

‘You have no idea how useful this is,’ she had told Jonah once. ‘I mean, being able to air ideas with you like this.’

‘You flatter me,’ he replied, his pug-like face beaming. ‘We both know I’m just the butcher here. You’re the one doing all the brain work.’

She hadn’t pursued the matter, but she hoped he realised how sincerely she appreciated his help, not only for the physical evidence he was able to share from his examinations of the victims.

Entering the room, she stared at the dead woman before holding up her phone to show Jonah an image of Lucy Henderson.

‘Is this her?’ she asked. ‘It’s difficult to tell. I mean, it could be the same woman, but she looks so different.’

Jonah inclined his head. ‘Death changes people’s physical appearance, some more than others,’ he said softly as he leaned forward to scrutinise the picture on Geraldine’s phone. ‘I’d say it almost certainly is the same woman, but I could be mistaken.’

Geraldine nodded. It would be easy enough to acquire a sample of the missing woman’s DNA, and check for a match.

‘So, you think it’s worth looking into?’ she asked.

‘I’d say so, definitely. Who is the woman on your phone? Presumably someone who’s gone missing?’

‘Exactly. I’ll get that checked out. So, what can you tell me about this body?’

They both stared at the dead woman in silence for a few seconds. She appeared even paler than she did in the images Geraldine had seen.

‘She looks like a ghost,’ she said.

Jonah grunted. ‘You’re looking a little under the weather yourself,’ he murmured, raising one eyebrow quizzically. ‘Are you well?’

Geraldine shook her head impatiently. ‘It’s just a bug I’m throwing off,’ she replied.

Jonah took a step back in mock horror and mimed feeling faint. ‘I’m not used to dealing with the problems of living bodies.’

Geraldine laughed at his antics before enquiring how the woman had died.

Jonah frowned. ‘This is a tricky one to call. The cause of death is cerebral haemorrhage. It looks very much as if someone hit her on the head with an implement which could have been metal and was probably flat, looking at the shape of the contusion. Whatever the object used, the blow was violent enough to crack her skull, so the attacker was strong. Probably a man.’ He pointed to a bald patch where he had shaved the dead woman’s hair to expose a blackened area of skin, which had been very neatly sliced open. ‘But the curious thing is, we found a significant amount of dirt on her: earth and leaf mould and fragments of twigs and such like, common detritus picked up from the ground. Forest bark. There were fragments in her hair, her nose, her mouth, her ears, under her fingernails and clinging to her clothes everywhere, not just on one side. It’s almost as though she’d been completely encased in earth.’ He frowned.

‘Buried, you mean?’

Jonah nodded uncertainly. ‘The odd thing is she was found on the pavement at the side of the road, where she wasn’t in contact with any earth or mud.’

‘Is it possible she was buried alive and then recovered consciousness and somehow dragged herself out of her grave?’ Geraldine failed to suppress a shudder at her macabre theory.

‘It sounds highly unlikely,’ Jonah replied, ‘but it is the most obvious explanation for the state she was in when she was found. Perhaps the only explanation. If that was the case, then she wasn’t buried very well, and she must have still been breathing, but unconscious. It’s altogether an odd one.’ He shook his head. ‘It doesn’t really make sense, but then murder very rarely does. Why would anyone do that? Hit her on the head and then attempt to bury her? If that was the intention, all I can say is the killer wasn’t very adept at what he was doing, because he didn’t kill her, at least not straightaway, and his attempt to bury the evidence was botched.’

Geraldine stared at the dead woman’s face, wondering what it must have been like to recover consciousness in a shallow grave.

‘And why would the killer leave her like that without making sure she was dead?’ Jonah added, almost under his breath.

‘He might have been disturbed,’ Geraldine suggested, ‘or too frightened to stay any longer for fear of discovery. Or maybe he was convinced she was dead. But I agree, it seems odd. Apart from anything else, how could she have survived that?’

Jonah nodded. ‘Either bury the body properly, too deep to be found, or don’t bury it at all. He seems to have been in a temper.’ He indicated a bruise on the dead woman’s cheek. ‘He gave her a violent slap on the face here. I’m afraid this is – well, I don’t really know what to say, except that I’m glad it doesn’t fall to me to try and make sense of it all.’

Geraldine sighed. ‘We’ll get to the bottom of it,’ she promised him.

But she wasn’t convinced that would be possible. All the murders she investigated were strange in different ways, but this one seemed utterly bizarre.

She turned back to the body. ‘We’ll find whoever did this to you,’ she murmured. ‘We’ll find them, no matter how long it takes.’

But she had a sinking sensation this killer might prove impossible to track down.

6

Ian gave Geraldine the address she needed. She didn’t invite him to accompany her to his friend’s house. Apart from the fact that Ian wasn’t involved in the investigation into the unidentified body, meeting his friend under such circumstances might be awkward for both of them. Although Geraldine was only going to gather a sample of his missing girlfriend’s DNA, it was possible that Jason might become a suspect in a murder enquiry, should DNA establish the dead woman was his missing girlfriend. If only for Ian’s sake, Geraldine hoped the body would not turn out to be Lucy.

Geraldine went to see Jason with her colleague, Naomi Arnold, who had recently been promoted to detective sergeant. Naomi drove them to Heath Moor Drive, which ran parallel to Heslington Lane, not far from the police station. The houses were detached, with sizeable front gardens whose well-tended lawns were bordered by a variety of hedges and shrubs, giving the street a pleasant green aspect. They pulled up a few doors along from their destination, a house which was smaller than some of the others. It was early evening, and the heat of the day had given over. A light breeze ruffled the leaves in the gardens. Under other circumstances Geraldine would have enjoyed the short walk, but the thought that she might have to tell Jason that his girlfriend had been killed cast a shadow over the gathering dusk.

Ian had told them he thought Jason was likely to be at home at that time, and he was right. The door was flung open almost as soon as they knocked by a young man who gazed out hopefully. On seeing them, his face fell.

‘I thought – I thought – you were – someone else,’ he stammered, staring at them in dismay. ‘I’m sorry, I don’t want to buy anything and I’m afraid I’m not looking for God. I can’t help you.’

Before he could close the door, Geraldine stepped forward.

‘Are you Jason Anderson?’ she asked.

As she introduced herself, holding up her identity card, Jason’s disconsolate expression changed to one of alarm. Geraldine studied him covertly. He was sturdily built, with light ginger hair that was almost blond, and rugged good looks. Probably older than he appeared, his boyish features made him look younger than Ian, who was almost forty. Meeting Jason, Geraldine understood why Ian sometimes complained that he struggled to keep up with the other players on his football team.

‘Is it about Lucy? Have you found her?’ Jason asked.

His voice expressed barely suppressed panic and his green eyes were almost closed, as though he couldn’t bear to look at Geraldine. Carefully, she explained that they were pursuing a possible lead, and had come to ask for a hairbrush or a toothbrush belonging to his girlfriend. There was no need to tell him they were examining a body.

‘You want a sample of Lucy’s DNA because you’ve found her,’ Jason whispered, his voice sounding choked. ‘You’ve found her body, haven’t you? She’s dead, isn’t she? What happened? Tell me what happened. Where – where is she?’ His voice rose and he visibly struggled to control his distress.

As gently as she could, Geraldine confirmed that a body had been discovered and the police were exploring the possibility that it could be Lucy.

‘We don’t yet know the identity of the dead woman,’ she reiterated. ‘Lucy is just one of several possibilities,’ she added untruthfully. ‘So, if you could let us have a toothbrush, or a hairbrush, we can find out, and, of course, we’ll let you know as soon as we can. I appreciate how difficult this must be for you, but please be patient while we look into this. The woman we’ve found may not be Lucy. There’s no reason why it should be her rather than someone else. It’s only that you reported Lucy missing, so we need to confirm, one way or the other, whether we’ve found her. Whoever she is, we need to identify this woman as soon as possible so we can notify the family.’

‘Where did – where was she found?’ he asked.

‘I’m afraid we can’t discuss anything further with you at present.’

She nearly added that an identity for the woman would help the investigation into her murder, but she stopped herself. Assuming the dead woman actually was Lucy, and Jason was innocent, he didn’t need to be tormented by learning the circumstances of her death yet. And if he had murdered Lucy, the less he knew of the police suspicions the better, until he was arrested and locked up. And there was still a chance that the body wasn’t that of his girlfriend at all. Whatever the truth, it wasn’t looking positive for Jason and Lucy’s relationship. If she wasn’t dead, she might conceivably have met with an accident. The best he could hope for seemed to be that his girlfriend had deserted him.

Jason nodded and disappeared into the house. A few seconds later they heard him pounding up the stairs. When he returned clutching a pink electric toothbrush, he seemed perfectly composed.

‘Here you are,’ he said, almost cheerfully. ‘Take it and do whatever you need to do. I don’t suppose she’ll want it back after you’ve mucked about with it. You realise I’m going to have to buy her a new one when she gets back. A bloody electric toothbrush!’ His voice was calm, but there was a slightly manic gleam in his eyes as he spoke.

‘We’ll let you know the outcome of the test as soon as we can,’ Geraldine assured him.

‘Oh, don’t worry. It’s not her. It can’t be. She’s just gone away for a few days. She’ll be back.’

With Jason’s hollow assurances ringing in her ears, Geraldine walked back to the car. In a way, she hoped he was right, although that wouldn’t help move the investigation forward. And if the dead woman wasn’t Lucy Henderson, it wouldn’t alter the fact that a woman was dead. If Jason hadn’t lost his partner, someone else had lost a person they loved.

As it turned out it didn’t take the forensic team long to analyse DNA on the pink toothbrush and confirm the dead woman’s identity. Jason would have to be told that his optimism was misplaced. His girlfriend had been murdered.

7

‘He’s in the waiting area with one of your colleagues,’ Avril told Geraldine. ‘He’s been protesting too much.’

Geraldine nodded. She had encountered that reaction before, where next of kin refused to acknowledge the identity of a corpse, even when the evidence was irrefutable. The occasions where a body was impossible to recognise were relatively rare, and heartbreaking, but DNA evidence was conclusive. All the same, Lucy’s father had insisted on viewing the body so he could confirm the identification for himself. Geraldine didn’t blame him for that. She would probably have done the same.

‘You people make mistakes all the time,’ Mr Henderson told her, with an authoritative air, as though dealing with murder investigations was an everyday occurrence for him.

He was a tall, gaunt figure with a strained expression which was perhaps habitual, or could have been due to the situation. His wife was not with him. According to her husband she was busy, but Geraldine understood Lucy’s mother was afraid to risk seeing the dead body in case it was her daughter. It was difficult to believe that Mr Henderson could really be convinced his daughter wasn’t lying in the mortuary, in spite of his confident assertion to the contrary. After greeting him solemnly, Geraldine did her best to prepare him before leading the way to the viewing room where Lucy lay, her eyes closed, her expression peaceful. Her father gave a small start on seeing her. Recovering himself quickly, he nodded.

‘That’s her,’ he said shortly. ‘That’s Lucy.’

Leaving the shocked father with a family liaison officer trained to deal with bereavement, Geraldine reported the identification and went back to the police station to begin investigating Lucy’s life in earnest. By the time she arrived at her desk, everyone at the police station knew about the identification. Binita summoned the team to a short briefing where the duty sergeant allocated their tasks. Before speaking to Jason, Geraldine went to find Ian and explain what was happening.

‘I know what’s going on,’ he replied bleakly.