Broken Angel
BROKEN ANGEL
A thrilling murder mystery, full of nail-biting suspense
DIANE M. DICKSON
Published by
THE BOOK FOLKS
London, 2018
© Diane M. Dickson
Other novels by Diane Dickson published by The Book Folks:
LEAVING GEORGE
WHO FOLLOWS
LAYERS OF LIES
PICTURES OF YOU
YOU’RE DEAD
THE GRAVE
DEPTHS OF DECEPTION
SINGLE TO EDINBURGH
TWIST OF TRUTH
TANGLED TRUTH
BONE BABY
Polite note to the reader
This book is written in British English except where fidelity to other languages or accents is appropriate.
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Contents
Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Chapter 42
Chapter 43
Chapter 44
Chapter 45
Chapter 46
Chapter 47
Chapter 48
Chapter 49
Chapter 50
Chapter 51
Chapter 52
List of characters
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Prologue
There had been rain in the night, not much but enough to drench the corpse, to turn what had been a pale, flimsy cotton nightdress, embroidered around the hem with forget-me-nots, into a grey shroud and to soak the long blond hair.
When the pathologist began his work, the body had already passed through the rigor stage and was decaying. There were flies, of course, and, given the location, there was already evidence that rats had taken a look – more than a look, truth be told.
The woman had been moved shortly after death, there was no discolouration of the body, no darkening of the tissue where it had lain.
There was no obvious trauma and it wasn’t until later, in the cold atmosphere of the mortuary, that they found the marks of needles, the evidence of drug abuse that gave them the cause of death.
Another tale of despair ending in tragedy, but this time, not in a doorway, not in a stinking squat but here, in the peace of the woods, laid among the heather – left for nature.
It was obvious that the body had been posed and, in the end, the police concluded that some friend or lover, afraid of authority, had brought the woman here and left her with some degree of dignity, at least until the rats had begun their work.
If the reports were to be examined later, it would be true to say that the time spent trying to identify the woman, to find who had put her there, was probably not as vigorous as it could have been, but she was just one more druggie. She didn’t show up on any missing person lists, she had nothing to identify her and even her teeth, neglected and rotten, weren’t of any use in finding out who she had been. Her fingerprints and DNA were taken but they weren’t on record. It was unusual though not unknown for there to be absolutely nothing, but they couldn’t keep her forever and she was disposed of, buried rather than burned, just in case they needed to look again later. And although, of course, the case remained open, she was forgotten by almost everyone.
Tanya didn’t forget her. It was the first corpse she had seen. There had been others since then, accident victims, some who died by their own hand, deliberately, and there were the murders, but they all had a name, a family, and someone to miss them. The woman in the woods did not. In her pale gown, her wet hair sticking to the once pretty face, she haunted.
Often in the quiet of the night, in her flat, Tanya would go over it all again, wonder what they had missed and where the people were who had the answers.
Chapter 1
It was always the same. They would make arrangements and Steve completely ignored them. It wasn’t a lapse of memory, most of the time he just didn’t listen, or couldn’t be bothered to stick to what they’d agreed. Sarah paced back and forth in the smelly, steamy, damp mall of the service area. It was warm and muggy, filled with the stink of greasy burgers, whining kids, grumpy fat women and lecherous teens who, for some unfathomable reason, thought she gave a damn about their opinion of her. The rage grew, she still couldn’t see him anywhere.
Finally, she’d had enough. They had said ten minutes by the Costa outlet and it had been – what – bloody twenty already. She had come straight here, well almost. A quick stop to pick up a couple of sandwiches and drinks but for heaven’s sake, how long could it take to have a pee?
Maybe he was already back at the car. Yeah, that would be typical. They would agree where to meet and then he’d wander off and do his own thing. He was probably sitting in the bloody front seat right now, texting and playing with his phone in comfort.
Furious didn’t begin to cover it.
Sarah stepped out into the miserable drizzle and, head down, arms clutched in front of her juggling the picnic and her bag, she scuttled towards the Mondeo.
Great, bloody great, there was still no sign of him.
The car park was jammed. Well of course it was, Thursday evening at the end of the school holidays. One last chance before the start of term. Everybody and their bloody kids off for the weekend, though if this weather lasted it’d be another typical English wash out. The wind whipped at her coat and blew the drizzle into her face. “Shit, shit, shit. Steve sodding Blakely,” she muttered under her breath, “I’m done with you, I really am.” When they had talked about this break, she had wanted Benidorm, Majorca, anywhere but here, anywhere but the English Lakes where it always rains, absolutely every time. She kicked the car tyres in frustration.
She wouldn’t go back into the services, would not go and search for him. There was a spare key in a little plastic box hidden under the wheel arch, stuck with a magnet, apparently. Okay, he told her it was for emergencies only, but as far as Sarah was concerned this was an emergency. She knew it wouldn’t start the car, but it would at least get her inside and out of the weather.
The strap of her bag was slung over her shoulder, no way did she want it going on the filthy wet floor. She hoisted it up, settled it more securely. She wouldn’t have brought it if she’d known it was going to be this wet, but she loved it. Yes, she’d spent more than she should, yes, Steve had a paddy, but sod him. It was her money and she had always paid her share of the rent and the running costs on the flat.
She crouched by the rear wheel, hands on the cold wet metal, it was a struggle to balance on her haunches. The dirty puddles made
kneeling an impossibility. It was filthy in the space where the key should be. When he’d told her where he was going to put it she’d questioned the sense of it. “Won’t it just fall off when we go over bumps?” He’d given her one of those looks. Well he’d been wrong; the sodding thing had gone. Just as she was about to give up, her fingertips touched it.
“Can I help you?”
From her position down beside the tyre, all that was visible was a pair of wet, grey trainers and rain speckled jeans. “Bloody hell, Steve, where have you been?”
“Is this your car?”
She turned, squinted, and peered up into the drizzle. Ah, it wasn’t Steve. She took in a breath to tell this person to mind his own business, but then she saw the wallet. He was leaning towards her. In his hand was a small, dark coloured folder, on one side a picture. There was no way for her to know whether it was the owner of the voice, she hadn’t seen him properly yet. On the other side was the badge, a gold metal shield. She had never seen one before but knew what it must be.
“Ah. Right. No, it’s not actually my car but it is my boyfriend’s, I’m Sarah, Sarah Dickinson, he’s Steve.”
As she scuttled back, her shoes scraped on the gravel, it was awkward and clumsy. She reached upwards, holding the door handle for support as she uncurled. She pulled her hair away from her face, tucked it behind her ears. The man was taller than she, and much older, but broad, a bit rough looking. He was wearing a black leather jacket, the soggy looking jeans, and no hat, so his short dark hair dripped onto his face. His head was tipped to one side, eyebrows raised.
Sarah peered towards the service area. Where was Steve?
“So, it’s not your car?”
“No, as I say it’s my partner’s and he’s in there.” She pointed at the building across the expanse of parking. We were supposed to meet up, but I decided to come back to the car and there’s a spare key, under here.” She waved a hand towards the rear bumper.
“Wouldn’t it be easier just to wait for him?”
“I’ve done that. I’ve waited ages for him and I don’t know where he is. It’s okay. He’s always doing this, and I just decided I’d wait in the car.”
“Have you tried ringing him?”
She sighed. “Yes. I’ve rung him, of course I’ve rung him, but his sodding phone’s turned off or something. Look, he went to the toilet, I went to the ladies, and we agreed to meet by the Costa place. He’s not come back yet. He’s probably in the games area, or maybe in one of the shops but honestly, he’s always doing this and it’s not a problem, really.”
The man just stood and looked at her, the rain was heavier and, struggling with embarrassment and frustration, she wished he would go away.
“So, what are you going to do?”
“Oh look. I’ll just go back inside, see if I can find him.” She reached to gather her belongings, but the black clad arm stretched past to collect the shopping in the sopping carrier bag from the roof.
“Tell you what. Why don’t you come and sit in my car? I’ll call inside, and we’ll get an announcement on the loud speaker.”
“Oh, well, yeah that’s nice of you but really, you know, there’s no need.” Before she had finished speaking, the stranger stepped away, pulled out his mobile, bowed his head to keep the rain out of his eyes as he muttered into the handset.
“Right that’s sorted. Come on, my car’s just over here.” He turned, still carrying the sandwiches and strode off. There was no other choice but to follow and, after all, it would get her out of the wet. Steve was going to be so embarrassed, hearing his name on the loudspeaker, having to explain to the police what he’d been doing. She couldn’t resist the grin that spread across her face as she quickened her pace to keep up.
The car wasn’t one of the blue and whites, it was a van, dark coloured, parked around the side, near the motel. What could they be doing, hidden here? Maybe it was about terrorism, or maybe drugs. She felt a frisson of fear mixed with excitement. She looked more closely at the policeman. He was a bit scruffy, unkempt really. Undercover, he must be. It was a dangerous job, you had to admire that. She couldn’t wait to tell Steve. Thinking of her boyfriend irritated her all over again.
“You’d better get inside.” He slid open the side door with a rattle and Sarah clambered in. There were bottles of water in a torn plastic wrapper, he pulled two of them out, held one out to her and then opened the other, gulping back a half of it. His hands were not quite steady. “Is it dangerous? What you’re doing.”
He shrugged his shoulders, of course he couldn’t tell her. She pulled open the bottle top and raised it to her lips.
Chapter 2
Charlie Lambert pushed the heavy wooden door open with his elbow. The uniformed officer behind the desk grinned across at him. “Morning Detective Inspector.” He smiled back, shook his head, a bit embarrassed. It was still new enough to be a thrill. Acknowledging the couple of people waiting on the benches, he strode on past to the ‘staff only’ doors and up to the office.
There were only two people in the squad room, both constables, both working on computers. Kate Lewis and Sue Rollinson. He waved across at them as they looked up and then he carried on through. His office was tucked into the far end; his office, it still made him smile. It had been two weeks since his promotion was finalised and one since he had taken over this small space. He pulled the chair away from his desk with his foot and dropped various bits and pieces on the desk and the floor. As the computer booted, he took the cover from the tall cup of latte and sipped as he scrolled through the overnight reports. He starred a couple of things to go back to: a robbery at an off licence, and a mugging in the town centre.
He swivelled his chair around so that he could see out of the window, see the roofs and roads, and the endless lines of cars snaking through the rush hour. Five minutes and then he’d collect one of the constables from the office and get on with it. He could walk to the off licence and the victim of the mugging wouldn’t leave hospital until later in the day, so he could put that off until she was home.
When the phone rang he had a mouth full of pastry and should have left it until he was able to speak but the red light on the base was flashing. The Chief Inspector’s office. There was no option but to mumble through the mouth full of food at Glynis, Bob Scunthorpe’s secretary. “Hold on a sec.”
She chuckled at the other end of the line.
“He wants to see you, soon as you can manage it.”
“Okay, five minutes.”
“Sorry to interrupt your breakfast, Charlie.” With another giggle she was gone.
He took the time for a quick stop at the toilets on the way to the third floor. It wouldn’t look good to arrive with crumbs on his shirt and grease on his chin.
DCI Bob Scunthorpe looked up at the knock on his door and waved a hand, beckoning Charlie inside. “I won’t keep you long, Inspector.”
This was never going to be a lengthy interview, there was no invitation to sit, just a report held out for him to read.
“As you see we’ve got a woman missing. She hasn’t been gone long and normally we would be waiting to see how things pan out. Very likely it’s just the result of some sort of row and she’s taken herself off to make the boyfriend worry. The problem is him, the boyfriend, partner, whatever. Have a look at the attached printouts.”
Charlie flipped the papers over, read the copy of Tweets and Facebook posts. He screwed up his nose. “Hmm, nasty sir. He’s not pulling his punches, and these are getting lots of reposts.”
“Yes, quite. Get over there will you, see if you can calm things down. Take somebody with you, make it look as though we’re giving it all our attention.”
“Yes, thank you, sir.” Back in the squad room there was only one constable still working: Sue, more properly Suhrita but anglicised, probably for convenience more than anything. Newly promoted to CID, there hadn’t been much time to get to know her, but when Charlie told her to grab her coat and follow him down to the car
park she beamed at him.
Once in his car he handed over the sheaf of papers, then gave her a quick precis of the situation.
“We’ve got to go and see a Steve Blakely. Created a bit of a fuss yesterday at the motorway services.”
“Shouldn’t that just be dealt with by the motorway patrol, sir?”
“Yes, normally, and they were on the scene at first. Anyway, he reckons his girlfriend went missing while he was in the toilets.”
“Right?”
“Well, they got separated and when he couldn’t find her he asked them to make an announcement – they did that, but nothing, and he became a bit agitated.”
“How old are we talking, is this a teenager?”
“No, a woman, it’s down there.” He wagged a hand towards the papers, sounding a bit impatient. She blushed.
“Anyway, when she didn’t turn up – after the announcement and so on, going everywhere looking for her, pestering women to check the ladies, all that stuff – he was pretty upset and then to cap it all they tried to charge him for parking because he’d been there for more than two hours.”
Sue gave a short laugh, “Bloody typical.”
Charlie grinned back at her, his brown eyes sparkling. “Yeah I know.”
“So, what is it that we’re doing now then?”
“Turns out he’s a well-known blogger. Gets back home, starts bleating on, blogging, Facebooking, Tweeting – all about how the police didn’t take him seriously; his girl is missing and all anyone cares about is the parking money.”
Sue drew in a hiss of breath. “Nasty. So, the local bods, what do they think?”
“Not really sure, no sign of anything in or around the car. She’s not answering her phone.”
Sue shook her head, “Well duh, of course she’s not. If they had a row.”
“He insists they didn’t. Anyway, the Chief Inspector wants us to go and have a word. Try and calm things down, try and stop the Twitter storm.”
“Bit late for that. It’s bloody mayhem. Have you looked at these print outs?”