The Descent (Detective Louise Blackwell) Read online

  ‘They dealt with it all right. They sent it to Morley in a panic, and now all the shit in the world has been let loose.’

  Louise shook her head. Yes, the article could potentially cause some issues but she was senior enough not to have to run everything by Robertson. No doubt Morley had seen her name on the report and had decided to make an issue where there wasn’t one.

  Assistant Chief Constable Morley had presided over her departure from the major investigation team. If he’d had his way she would have been dismissed for what happened during the Walton case. The man was firmly on Finch’s side and had given him both a promotion to DCI and a free reign to completely overhaul the MIT. Louise was sure Morley had expected her to resign. The move to Weston had been as good as a dismissal, but she’d stuck it out and ever since he’d been waiting for her to slip up.

  ‘I don’t know what you want me to say, Iain. The article is factual enough. It is the third suicide and the notes are almost identical.’

  ‘She doesn’t mention the latest note though?’ said Robertson.

  ‘No, that hasn’t been leaked to her yet,’ said Louise, regretting her defiance as soon as she spoke.

  Robertson leant back, rubbing his hand over his mouth and down his chin. ‘Jesus Christ, Louise, one crisis at a time.’

  They sat for a while in silence, Louise studying Robertson, who was gazing at his office ceiling as if an answer lay there. ‘Aside from these notes, do we have anything linking the three women?’ he asked.

  ‘We have the software on the first two women’s computers,’ said Louise, before showing him the CCTV image of Sally’s male companion. ‘This was taken two days before we found her body.’

  ‘Do we have a name for him?’

  ‘Not yet. There’s one more thing.’ She told him about her chat with Dr Everson, and the DMT that had been found in the hair samples of Victoria and Claire.

  Robertson breathed out, his cheeks inflating then deflating. ‘The last thing this town needs is another drug story. Does the journalist know about this yet?’

  ‘No, only me and Dr Everson.’

  ‘Let’s leave it like that for now, shall we?’ Robertson leant back. ‘Is there nothing you can do to stop this Elliot woman from running this story?’

  ‘Save from arresting her, no.’

  ‘I don’t know why she doesn’t just fuck off to London. Why she has to hang around here bothering us is beyond me. You can’t sweet-talk her into postponing, or get Garrett to have a word with her?’

  ‘I don’t like it any more than you, Iain, but to be fair to her she has sat on the story.’

  Robertson was about to speak when both of their phones pinged in unison. Louise looked down at her message as Robertson’s phone began to ring. It seemed Tania Elliot wasn’t content to wait for the story to hit the evening paper. It had already reached one of the national tabloids.

  It was annoying, but not surprising, how quickly resources could be found when the assistant chief constable took an interest in a case. By the afternoon, the office was overrun with officers, all concerns about overtime vanished. The suicide case was now the only priority and Robertson – who had been summoned to Portishead without Louise to see Morley – had cancelled all leave. The three images of the dead women had been blown up and moved out of the incident room to the CID department where they took centre stage with the photofit of Sally’s companion from the pier.

  New searches were being conducted at the homes of Victoria, Claire and Sally and at one point, Louise noticed Claire’s old landlord Mr Applebee being led to an interview room by one of the junior officers. Simon Coulson appeared to have taken up residence in Weston. He was heading the digital campaign and was trying to uncover a link between the three women online. The women’s laptops were now allegedly something of a priority at the specialised department at the Met.

  Despite all the activity they still knew relatively little. Nothing beyond the shared software, the three suicide notes and the hair samples from Victoria and Claire connected the women. They’d never worked or lived together, yet everything pointed to a connection.

  Louise’s phone had been off the hook with requests from media outlets. She could hear the journalists sharpening their pencils. The town was already trending on social media, and when Simone placed a later edition of a tabloid newspaper on her desk Louise knew the attention was only going to increase. The paper had gone with the headline:

  Suicide by Sea

  Experience told Louise that she now had two options: resent the involvement of the press, or use them for her own ends. She chose the latter, calling Tania before she could change her mind.

  ‘Hi, Louise,’ said the journalist, as if nothing out of the ordinary had happened between them that day.

  Louise could have punished Tania and gone straight to the nationals, but felt it better to have her on her side at that point. ‘I have an image I need circulating. A man, possibly one of the last people to have seen Sally Kennedy alive. Do you think you could get it into the later edition of the Post tonight?’

  Louise thought she could hear Tania sitting up straight on the other end of the line. ‘Can you email it over now? I’ll do my best. Thanks, Louise, I appreciate this.’

  Louise hung up, wondering how much the journalist’s appreciation was worth.

  Thomas was standing by her desk as she did so. ‘Boss, I might have something. I’ve managed to locate Sally’s father. Goes by a different surname, and he’s not on the birth certificate, but we have a record of him from social services at the time Sally was put into care. Works in a warehouse over in Nailsea.’

  ‘Let me send this and I’ll be right with you.’

  Louise let Thomas drive, checking on a message from Tracey as he weaved through the afternoon traffic. Louise had told her about Paul’s call last night and Tracey was wondering if Louise wanted her to continue the search. Louise would have called her but didn’t want to get Thomas involved. Although she trusted him, she couldn’t take the risk that news about Paul and Emily would spread. She could just picture the satisfied smirk on Simone’s face at the knowledge that Louise couldn’t even look after her own family properly. She sent a text back:

  I’ll keep trying his phone. Leave it for the time being x

  At least we know they’re safe x, replied Tracey.

  Tracey was right, but that didn’t make it any easier. She had to consider Paul’s frame of mind. He’d been stupid enough to take Emily away without telling anyone, so what was to stop him doing it again? From what she understood, Dianne’s life insurance had paid off the flat and provided him with a lump sum. And although he’d managed to drink a fair share of that, she imagined there was still some money left.

  The factory was in an industrial estate on the outskirts of Nailsea, a more run-down version of the isolated area where their new police station was situated. Thomas had called ahead and the man they wished to speak to was waiting in the reception area.

  ‘David Lancaster,’ said the man, as Thomas introduced them.

  Lancaster was a giant of a man. He had to stoop under the doorframe as he led them to a small office area. It was hard to imagine that he was the father of Sally who’d been tiny in comparison to him. ‘What’s this about?’ asked the man, his voice a deep West Country slur.

  ‘It’s about your daughter: Sally Kennedy,’ said Thomas.

  The man squinted. His face was like a giant slab of concrete, his jaw and forehead over prominent. ‘Sally isn’t my daughter,’ he said, after a pause.

  Thomas looked at Louise and handed Lancaster a print of the social services letter. The man scrutinised it. ‘Oh, this. I just put my name down as the father as it seemed the easiest thing to do. Angela was already pregnant when I met her. Angela was a piece of work. When she died there was no one to look after Sally so I went to the council. What else could I do?’ said Lancaster, his oversized jaw thrust out at them in defiance.

  ‘I’m afraid we have some bad news. Sally w
as found dead earlier this week. We believe she may have taken her own life.’

  Lancaster frowned. Louise couldn’t tell if he was upset. ‘Didn’t you consider looking after her?’ she asked, when he didn’t respond.

  ‘What the hell do I know about looking after children? I only put my name on the form to help out Angela. Sally was four years old when Angela died. I didn’t even know her that well. I didn’t even live with them. It was an on-off sort of thing. She was better off without me. Better off without her mother that was for sure.’

  ‘Did you keep in contact?’

  ‘With Sally?’ The man scratched his head and Louise saw a hint of regret in his eyes. ‘I ran into her once. Last year. She had no idea who I was. I wasn’t even going to speak to her, only recognised her because she looked so much like her mother.’

  ‘You spoke to her though?’

  The man shrugged. ‘Yes. I told her I knew her mum and she was interested about that. I bought her a cup of tea and told her what I remembered, missing out the bad shit. Of which there was a lot.’

  ‘Sally’s mum, Angela, she took her own life as well?’ asked Louise.

  ‘She was a selfish . . .’ Lancaster stopped himself. ‘I almost didn’t tell Sally that but I did in the end.’

  ‘Didn’t she already know?’ asked Thomas.

  ‘No. They’d kept it from her. Not that it bothered her. She started coming out with all this weird shit about one world, everything being connected. I didn’t know what the hell she was going on about.’

  ‘Do you think she may have been taking anything?’ asked Louise.

  ‘Drugs? Well, she sure as hell sounded high. And now that you’ve told me she did the same thing as her mother then it doesn’t surprise me.’

  They showed him the picture of Sally’s companion at the pier but Lancaster didn’t recognise him.

  ‘Can I go now?’ he asked, as if news of Sally’s death meant nothing beyond a minor inconvenience.

  Back in the car, Thomas appeared to be in a sullen mood. His eyes were focused on the road as if he expected something to jump out in front of him. Louise had seen it all in her time in the police but the callousness she was sometimes forced to witness never ceased to amaze and dishearten her. At one point, Lancaster had been a surrogate parent of sorts to Sally. The fact that he couldn’t muster even a hint of empathy for her death and the life she’d been forced to lead, puzzled Louise to the point of anger. Despite herself, she considered the parallels between Lancaster and her brother, regretting the comparison as soon as she’d made it. Paul had been making mistakes of late but no one could question his love for his daughter. Where Lancaster had abandoned Sally after his partner had died, Paul had clung on to Emily. He thought he was making the right decisions and it was wrong of her to associate the two men.

  ‘It’s Noah’s birthday soon,’ said Thomas, breaking the silence.

  Louise was thankful for the chance to discuss something more positive. ‘Already?’ she said, stopping short of repeating the cliché about children growing so fast. ‘You having a party?’

  ‘Yep, jelly and ice cream and all that sort of stuff. Though it’s more hummus and wraps nowadays.’

  ‘How are things with Rebecca?’

  ‘Better. I mean, we’re not going to be getting back together but we manage not to shout at each other every time we meet. Funnily enough, I feel I see Noah more now that we are separated. Rebecca gets some time off as well so she’s more relaxed. Shame we couldn’t work that sort of system when we were together.’

  Of all the officers at the station, the last one she’d imagined succumbing to a police divorce was Thomas. She’d seen so many police officers go through it. With the unpredictable hours, it was a wonder how anyone in their profession survived outside relationships. In fact, some of the most successful relationships she’d seen had been police marrying police. It sounded hackneyed, but there was a certain mindset to being in the force and often being in the profession was the only true way to understand. He’d always seemed so together, but such things were notoriously impossible to predict.

  ‘Things like this do make me wonder whether I’m making the right decision though,’ said Thomas.

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘These poor women. They all come from broken families. Maybe if Sally hadn’t had such a bastard stepdad like Lancaster, her life would have turned out different. What if I’m risking the same happening to Noah? He might not understand now but as he grows older he could come to resent me.’

  ‘It’s not the same, Thomas, you know that. He’s got two parents who love him. Sally didn’t have anyone.’

  Louise wanted to tell him how she had the same worries about Emily. Her niece would have to grow up without a mother, and at present with an alcoholic father. If anyone could understand it would be Thomas but she couldn’t bring herself to confide in him. She needed to remain professional, to avoid all distractions.

  Thomas looked embarrassed by his revelation and didn’t look at her. ‘Yeah, maybe. Anyway, how’s your little niece? Haven’t seen her for a while,’ he said.

  ‘She’s fine,’ said Louise, taking a sharp intake of breath.

  ‘You’ll need to bring her into the station one day.’

  ‘I will,’ said Louise, her attention diverted by something she’d seen on the forecourt of a garage. ‘Go back to that petrol station, will you,’ she said.

  Thomas did a U-turn and parked up in the forecourt of the petrol station. It seemed Tania had been working hard. The billboard for the Post had a picture of Sally’s companion on it under the headline:

  Local Man Wanted for Questioning

  Louise bought two copies of the paper and returned to the car.

  ‘We’re going to get all the crazies on the phone now,’ said Thomas, pointing to the helpline number in Tania’s article that linked directly to the station.

  Louise gazed at the photo of Sally’s companion. The image had been lifted from the CCTV footage but was well defined. ‘I’m fine with that as long as it leads us to find out who this man is,’ she said.

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Calls relating to the Post article had already started coming in by the time they returned to the station. A small pile of notes waited on Louise’s desk for her to action, and she feared the reaction to the photograph would lead to more work than the small station could handle. Dr Alice Everson from the Met had called, so Louise turned her attention to that first, giving the pile of slips to Thomas.

  The call to London went straight through. ‘Sorry I missed your call earlier, Dr Everson,’ said Louise.

  ‘No problem. We ran some tests on your third woman, Sally Kennedy, and found an almost identical trace amount of DMT in her hair samples. You can draw your own conclusions but these results would suggest she’d taken a similar amount of DMT as Claire Smedley and Victoria Warrington.’

  ‘Okay, I’m not sure if I wanted to hear that or not.’

  ‘Yes,’ said Everson, as if distracted by something. ‘Yes, here we are. I’m glad you called actually. I was discussing your case with a colleague. He doesn’t work in the police but has an interest in psychedelic drugs and in particular DMT. He’s currently running a clinical trial on DMT in London. He’d be interested in talking to you. He’s at a conference at Exeter University and said he would be happy to meet you to discuss further. That’s not too far from you, is it? His name is Dr Mark Forrest.’

  ‘No, that would be great,’ said Louise, taking the contact details before hanging up. She managed to catch Forrest just before he was about to leave and arranged to meet him the following morning.

  Before leaving for the day, she checked in with Thomas, who’d been coordinating the telephone hotline since their return from Nailsea. ‘We have a few names but no two are the same so far,’ he told her.

  She considered asking if he wanted to go for a drink but the day had drained her. She wanted to get back to eat and shower, to get a full night’s sleep
for once. She hesitated a bit too long.

  ‘Everything okay, boss?’ asked Thomas.

  Louise shook her head. ‘Sorry, miles away. And stop calling me “boss”,’ she added, walking away.

  At home she called her mother while boiling some ravioli. Despite the drama of the last few days, Paul’s phone call had placated her parents somewhat. Her mother sounded lucid, close to her usual self. ‘His phone is still off but I suppose he doesn’t want us tracing him,’ she told Louise.

  Louise didn’t like the way her mother made excuses for Paul, but she was content for now that he had called. The next two weeks would be hard on everyone but even Paul wouldn’t be selfish enough not to call again. ‘How’s Dad?’ she asked.

  ‘You know him. He’s gone all silent now. I’m worried about what will happen when they come back but for now I’m happy they’re both safe.’

  ‘You’ll call as soon as he contacts you again?’

  ‘Of course.’

  ‘Okay, Mum. Sleep well,’ said Louise, hanging up.

  Louise had tried tracking Paul’s phone on her find-a-phone app but didn’t have any login details for him. She’d considered asking Coulson for help but doubted there was much he could do at that moment and she didn’t want anyone else involved. However, she already had a mental list of where Paul could have taken Emily. She’d ruled out the first possibility – Weston – but there were other options. If she had to guess, she would say he’d gone somewhere in Cornwall. They’d spent summer holidays in the county, and Paul and Dianne had taken Emily there on a couple of occasions when she’d been a baby. Louise wasn’t about to start a county-wide search for her brother just yet, but should it come to that she would at least have a head start.

  A picture of Sally’s companion flashed up on her television screen as she ate her dinner. Louise closed her eyes as the newsreader repeated the emergency number, wondering if among the nuisance calls they would strike gold.

  Despite her earlier promise to herself, she didn’t go straight to bed. Pouring herself a decent measure of vodka from the bottle she kept in the freezer, she updated her files, still reeling from the headline she’d read earlier: Suicide on Sea.