Page 20 of The Girl in the Grave
‘You’re kidding me; do they know who the male was or what car he was driving?’
‘Staff said they’ve seen him a couple of times, Chantel referred to him as “J”, driver of a white Astra, registration number JAZ 1991.’
Josh knew what she was going to say next; hopefully she’d already run the reg through the police national computer.
‘It PNCs to Jason Thompson of 13 Seabreeze Walk.’
He nodded. A gravedigger was almost as good as an undertaker.
Thirty-One
Josh sprinted to his car. He needed to get back to Kendal as soon as possible. Paton wasn’t picking up his phone. Was he was tied up? He hoped he wasn’t avoiding him because he hadn’t managed to catch up with Jason Thompson like he’d told him to earlier. He had a sinking feeling it might be the latter; he knew that Paton wouldn’t want to let the team down and would be blaming himself. Sam offered to drive so he could keep phoning, and he tossed the keys in her direction. As they left the hospital grounds his phone rang, and he answered it, praying it was Paton.
‘Walker, where are you?’ He recognised Smithy’s voice: one of the patrol sergeants and a close friend. ‘Just leaving FGH; why are you phoning off a work phone?’
‘I’ve just had an interesting conversation with Mickey: control sent him to a call-out to a missing hotel worker that came in over an hour ago in Bowness. Her boss took him down to her bedroom in the staff quarters located in the basement. Says he found something under the bed that you’re going to want to see ASAP.’
‘Like what?’
‘Like a photograph of a dead girl with three bloodied fingernails placed on top of it…’
Josh felt a wave of bile rise from his stomach all the way up his throat, burning every inch of the way. ‘I need a photo of the scene sent to me now.’
‘Already done it, mate. I don’t know exactly what’s going on, but I suggest you get there as soon as you can. Mickey has the scene on lockdown, and I’ve sent a couple of PCSOs to guard the entrance and exits into the hotel. I’m on my way down there now, because apparently the owner has turned up and not very happy the police are crawling all over the place on a busy Monday afternoon.’
‘Thanks, Smithy, I’ll be there as soon as I can. Is there a dog handler on?’
‘Already been requested and on his way from Carlisle.’
The phone went dead, and Josh looked at Sam. ‘Did you get the gist of that?’
She nodded.
‘It’s another victim, it has to be. He’s liking the attention and wants more. Would Jason Thompson be that bold though? I got the impression he was a bit of a wide boy, maybe dabbling in drugs, selling a bit of class B here and there. He doesn’t strike me as the type to abduct two women and play games with the police.’
Opening up the glove compartment he pulled his airwave radio out and switched it on, needing to get hold of Paton and see where the hell he was. The radio on the other end rang out: no answer.
‘He’s taking the piss now.’
‘Maybe he’s not in a position to speak to you; he might have Jason Thompson pinned.’
Josh grunted and began to type one of the many passwords into his hand-held tablet, to get access to his emails and look at the picture Smithy had sent. He needed to know if the dead girl in the photograph was Chantel Price, or someone else. The bloody thing took forever to load; he hated technology with a passion. He could feel his blood pressure rising with every second that went by. This was turning into a nightmare. He needed to put a stop to it, and now, before any more girls went missing, or were murdered; he’d kill whoever it was with his bare hands when he found them. He hadn’t felt this way since the night he’d arrived at Beth’s house all those years ago, the night of her attack. The hate he felt towards Richard Hartshorn had given him nightmares for months afterwards. He wouldn’t stand by and let another sick bastard terrorise innocent women; it wasn’t happening. Not on his watch. But a voice inside his head whispered,but it already has, and it already is, Josh. You can’t protect them. You never could.
Thirty-Two
Beth finished up the paperwork releasing Florence Wright’s body back for burial. There was no way she should have been exhumed in the first place. It was really bothering her; it had to have been a set-up, arranged so the body buried underneath her would be discovered. But why? Why go to all this elaborate effort to cover up what you’d done, only to undo it all again? It was risky. She knew it was possible the killer, or someone close to him, had spoken to her as well as the police. Granted, she couldn’t remember an awful lot about the voice on the end of the phone all those weeks ago, but he’d seemed genuinely distressed about what he’d discovered about his great-aunt Florence, and she remembered how she hadn’t wanted to upset him further by scrutinising his every sentence. She had a record of his phone number, and she’d spoken to him personally, so she had assumed it was all legitimate. Stupid, is what she’d been. She could see that now. After everything she’d been through, she should have known not to take anyone at face value. Her head was pounding, making her unconsciously rub the puckered scar on the side of her face to ease the tension; the late afternoon sun was still shining through the office window and it was unbearably hot. After the coolness of the mortuary she hadn’t expected the day to be such a scorcher. She wanted to go home, shower, eat, have a large glass of ice-cold wine on the patio and watch the sun set over the lake. She wanted to breathe fresh air and push all of this out of her mind for a couple of hours. Chantel Price wouldn’t be so lucky.
There was a soft tap on the door, and she knew it was Abe.
‘Come in.’
He opened the door, looking as hot and tired as she felt. That last post-mortem had been long and arduous.
‘Thank you for today. I think it’s time for you to go home and get some rest. Maybe a cold beer or two?’
He smiled. ‘What about you, Doc? You know I won’t go until you do.’
‘I’m walking out of that door right behind you. I have the headache from hell and need all the alcohol I can find.’
