Devils way, p.23
Devil's Way, page 23
‘Can we make copies on a photocopier?’ asked Kate, looking over at Paula.
‘Very funny.’ She checked her watch. ‘You should get moving. You’ve already used up five minutes,’ she said.
Tristan’s eyes were wide, and Kate could see he was starting to panic. There seemed to be so many papers stuffed inside the diary. Kate also saw a smaller plastic bag at the bottom of the tray, which contained a blue NOKIA mobile phone, one of the old ones with no internet or email access.
‘Can we have a copy of the data from this phone?’ Kate asked.
‘Did you bring a USB key?’ said Paula.
‘Yes,’ said Kate, indicating the new USB key they’d grabbed from a newsagent on their way. She’d kept it in the packaging as requested.
‘If you give it to me, I can get the desk officer to copy the contents of the phone onto your USB,’ she said. She pulled on latex gloves and took the bag with the phone and the USB key.
‘Come on, we don’t have much time,’ said Tristan. He took out his phone and opened the camera app. Kate’s hands were shaking as she gently slid the diary out of the evidence bag.
Kate carefully removed the elastic band, trying to avoid ripping the pages. She moved the plastic tray to one side and put the diary on the metal surface. There were faded spots of blood on the pages at the side and one on the cover.
Checking the time and seeing they now had eighteen minutes, Kate opened the diary to the first page. Written in a sloping hand, in blue ink was:
If found, please return this diary to Anna Treadwell, 4 Kirby Cane Walk, Okehampton. It was odd to see her neat mundane writing, and a splash of blood was on the edge of the page. Kate imagined her sitting down at a table and writing this out. Did she ever imagine it would be spattered with her blood?
Tristan took a photo of the first page, and Kate flipped it over. The first week of January was blank, apart from a couple of scribbled times “Manager’s Meeting 10.30am” on January 4th and “Caseload Meeting 3.45pm” on January 6th. Tristan flipped his camera around and took a landscape shot of the double page. Kate carried on flipping the pages. It was disappointing stuff, endless times of meetings.
Kate stopped pausing to look at the pages and started to flip them so Tristan could take the photos. There was nothing of interest as they moved through February, March and April. In May, there were some details about the writing group meeting at Maureen’s house. Maureen’s address was written down, but the pages until Anna was killed were empty. Two weeks before her death, there was a note about a security company coming to install the alarms and lights at her house.
Kate checked her watch and saw that they had seven minutes left. The rest of the papers in the diary were work printouts about fire safety and a charity fun run.
Then Kate saw the man from the front desk hurrying down the shelving aisle, holding up a clear plastic bag.
‘Paula, there’s one more from that case file.’ He handed her the bag. She came over with a slim package containing a blue school exercise book. The little lined window on the front was blank with no writing.
‘Can we get extra time?’ asked Kate as she took the plastic bag.
‘’Fraid not,’ said Paula.
‘Quick, open it, and I’ll take as many pictures as possible,’ said Tristan.
Kate got it out of the bag and opened the first page. She saw with a leap of her heart that this was a personal diary, written in a neat hand in black ink. There wasn’t time to read the contents, and they whipped through with Tristan taking landscape photos of the double pages. It was a sixty-page lined notebook, and they just ran out of time as Tristan took the last image.
48
The weather had turned, and a storm was brewing on the horizon as Tristan drove them back to the office.
‘How are you feeling?’ she asked.
‘Need coffee,’ he said with a smile. Kate had Tristan’s phone, and she was zooming in and out of the photos he’d taken of the diary pages, trying to read them, but the writing was small and neat.
‘The diary seems to jump around over a few months,’ said Kate reading snippets. ‘We need to print these out because my eyes can’t cope with the zooming and the tiny screen.’
‘Is there anything in there about the writing group or Maureen Cook?’ asked Tristan.
‘No.’
When they were parking outside the office, the wind roared through the trees and blew sand off the dunes into their faces. There were only a few people left on the beach who were hurriedly packing up to leave.
Just as they got inside the office, the heavens opened, and it began pouring rain. It rattled on the roof as they set to work; Kate printed off the images Tristan had taken using his phone, and Tristan set to work downloading the data from Anna’s phone from the USB key.
The first set of images came from the diary, and the other sheets of paper stuffed inside.
‘How are you getting on with the NOKIA data?’ she asked.
‘Each text message chain is saved as a different file, and there are a few low-resolution pictures,’ said Tristan, moving his finger lightning fast over the laptop trackpad.
Kate took the hot pages with the diary and the blue exercise book entries out of the printer tray and brought them to the desk. Tristan started to print the data from the NOKIA.
As Kate saw in the evidence store, Anna’s diary pages mainly contained practical information about work meetings. There were also several work documents stuffed into the diary, which made up the bulk of the additional paperwork; printed guidelines of what to do during a social work visit. There were copies of a form to have a father of three boys referred to the mental health services, but the name was left off. This was the only piece of paper related to Anna’s social work.
‘I suppose she would have written official reports and kept a lot of stuff on her computer files at work and email,’ said Kate.
Tristan had joined her and taken half of the printed paper, and he started to go through everything with her.
Then Kate found a sheet of paper with a poster image about a charity fun run organised by Exeter Council. It had been due to be held on August 14th 2007. The following printout was the reverse side of the poster, which was scribbled over with hurriedly made notes. The bottom of the photocopied version had a black stain. The original had been soaked in blood, cutting off the bottom details about the fun run. Kate looked at the writing and froze. At the top was written:
DANVERS FARM, South Zeal.
Underneath was a bullet point list with writing in a scruffy hand.
- diagnosis of bipolar disorder
* * *
- Child always seemed happy/thriving. (Visited 14.6 as part of routine follow-up. No one was in and left a note asking to call me for routine follow-up, but no call was made to my phone, which caused concern).
* * *
- Visited again. 23.6 Rang the bell, no answer, then I saw mother through the side window of the house hiding. She reluctantly came to the door. I said I needed to see the mother and child for a follow-up appointment due to the husband’s concerns on 1.6 about her. She let me in but wouldn’t let me see the boy, who was poorly in bed and half asleep.
* * *
- Demanded to see him. The child’s head was shaved. A drastic change in appearance. Weight loss?
* * *
- They are a strict Christian family, but behaviours have changed since the husband’s alleged affair. Husband flagged concern about pagan influence.
Anna had underlined a lot of this in black, and the writing seemed more frantic as it moved down the page. And then, at the bottom of the paper was written:
Is father well? Spoke of diabetes due to poor diet
* * *
Is the mother’s dia
* * *
Does David have p
The bloodstain bloomed on the edge of the paper, cutting off the rest of what she had written.
‘What is that written at the bottom?’ said Kate. It was now dingy in the office, the sky outside was black and rain was hammering against the windows. When she got up to turn on the light, she could barely see down to the sea, the beach was such a blur of grey. She held the piece of paper up to the light, to try and see what was written under the bloodstain, and then saw it was a photocopy.
‘What is that? Is the mother’s diabetic? That doesn’t make sense. It’s not, does mother have diabetes? And what’s Does David have p? What can “p” mean?’
‘Oh my God,’ said Tristan, reading through the pages they’d photographed from the blue exercise book. ‘Look.’
Kate could see, written in neat black ink, the text from Maureen’s short story published in the anthology:
* * *
My little boy had been scared in the house. I knew it. His bed is in the back room, further from where we sleep than I would like, but the mould is so bad in the room next to ours. And in the summer months, the walls run with condensation and the moment I try and scrub the black mould away, it comes back. The spores lie in wait for when my back is turned and bloom through the plaster and wallpaper.
So I put him in the other room to save his little lungs.
‘We need to be absolutely sure,’ said Kate. She went to her bag and found her Kindle. She pulled up the short story and put the two side by side.
The text in the short story was the same word for word to that which was written in the blue exercise book.
‘Look. The handwriting in the blue exercise book is different from the handwriting in Anna’s work diary,’ said Tristan.
Kate looked back at the piece of paper from Anna’s work diary, where the blood stain had covered some of the writing. Yes. The handwriting was slightly different.
She looked at the second line of Anna’s handwriting:
* * *
Is father well? Spoke of diabetes due to poor diet
* * *
Is the mother’s dia
* * *
Does David have p
‘Let’s leave the blue exercise book to one side for a moment. What if the first line and the second line of this aren’t related?’ said Kate. ‘And if Anna’s not writing about the mother’s “diabetes”, what if the rest of that word is “diary”? “Is the mother’s diary”.
‘Is the mother’s diary… Is the mother’s diary what?’ asked Tristan.
Kate looked back at it all.
‘What if Anna read what was written in the blue exercise book, which is like a personal diary, and she saw the part about the woman burying the child. Anna could have been writing on the paper, “Is the mother’s diary real? Meaning, is what she wrote in the blue exercise book real?”’ said Kate.
‘But who is the mother? The woman who used to live at Danvers Farm?’ said Tristan. Kate stared at him.
‘Libby Hartley, she was the previous tenant of Danvers Farm. She has a son called David with her husband, Steve. So that third line of writing, “Does David have p”, that could be referencing Libby’s son, David… No… The husband’s name in the short story is Dan, not Steve.’
‘Whoever wrote it, could have changed it, deliberately. It’s the only name that appears in the story. The child and the mother aren’t named.’
‘No, they’re not,’ said Kate scanning the words again.
‘What could ‘p’ mean?’ asked Tristan. She looked at the handwritten pages for a moment longer and felt a shiver go down her spine.
‘I don’t know, but we need to share this information with the police.’
49
Maureen Cook had spent the night in her favourite bed and breakfast and then a pleasant day shopping for clothes in an elegant boutique for ladies of a certain age. She’d found a stylish blue pleated skirt to wear with her white jacket with the blue piping and an anchor embroidered on the lapels. It was the perfect outfit for boarding the ship. Nautical and very nice.
At five o’clock that evening, the passengers were due to board the Duchess of the Ocean at Southampton. Maureen arrived in a taxi with plenty of time to spare. The ship seemed enormous, and as she climbed out of the car, she stood on the dock and took it all in. The tourists lined up to enter the departures terminal, and a flock of seagulls cawed loudly above the shouts of men unloading trucks. A horn blasted, shaking the ground underfoot, and Maureen could smell the sea mixed in with the diesel fumes, and it always smelt like freedom.
She turned to look at the large blue sign high up on the wall behind her, where white letters read:
* * *
WELCOME TO THE
PORT OF SOUTHAMPTON
GATEWAY TO THE WORLD
‘Can you close the door!’ shouted a voice behind her. She turned and saw the taxi driver scowling at her. He could not dent her happy mood today, and she thanked him, shut the passenger door and walked towards the terminal. Maureen liked to step onto the ship unencumbered with luggage. Her suitcases had been sent ahead a few hours before, so she could walk the executive gangplank carrying her new white tote handbag with an anchor monogram that almost matched the ones on her jacket lapels.
Maureen took out her ticket and passport, smiled at the young woman welcoming the stream of passengers, and stepped in line behind an older couple. The terminal wasn’t too congested, and she was proud and pleased to avoid the riff-raff and take the priority lane for exclusive Diamond Club members, emerging back into the open quayside in just a few minutes.
Maureen stopped for a moment to look up at the enormous curved bow of the cruise ship where DUCHESS OF THE OCEAN was written in elegant script. Two vast ropes strained as they kept the boat tethered to the colossal jetty. Using her ticket and passport to shield her eyes against the bright sunshine, Maureen tried to find the window of her executive en suite port-side cabin with a small balcony. She always liked to imagine that she was following in the footsteps of many intrepid travellers when she boarded. This time around, she’d sent an email to the cruise company to ask if the Duchess of the Ocean would be docking in the same place as the Titanic had for her maiden voyage, but she hadn’t heard anything back from them.
Maureen joined the line of passengers on the wide executive gangplank, which had a red velvet carpet trimmed with gold braiding. The crowds slowed, and Maureen noticed they were rechecking people’s passports and tickets. She saw two handsome sailors flanked by a portly man and a younger woman, watching the people boarding.
Maureen reached the entrance to the boat and handed her passport to the smoulderingly handsome sailor. She could see inside the welcome area where the other passengers were enjoying complimentary glass flutes of Asti Spumante from silver trays.
She looked back at the sailor and saw he was still checking her passport.
‘Is there a problem?’ she asked. ‘I have been a Diamond Club member for many years.’ He handed her passport and ticket to the portly man. Maureen thought he was dressed rather scruffily for greeting passengers on such a prestigious vessel.
‘Mrs Maureen Cook?’ he said, looking up from her passport under craggy hooded eyes. She noticed his shirt wasn’t correctly tucked in at the back and was bunched above his belt.
‘Yes?’
‘I need you to come with me,’ he said, indicating a roped-off area next to the gangplank. The stern woman with him wore a plain black trouser suit, and she unclipped a section of the rope.
‘May I ask why? I’ve already been through security and the metal detectors,’ said Maureen.
He indicated the roped-off area. The passengers boarding behind her were backing up on the executive gangplank. The stewards with the silver trays of complimentary drinks were so tantalisingly close. Maureen glanced behind her. Everyone seemed to be watching. She turned back to the man.
‘Do you work for Empress Cruises?’ she asked, irritated that he was ruining her Titanic moment. ‘I am a Diamond Club member.’
The man rummaged in the back pocket of his trousers and pulled out an ID card.
‘I’m Detective Chief Inspector Gareth Morrison. I’d like to talk to you in relation to a murder enquiry.’
His voice suddenly seemed very loud on the crowded gangplank. Maureen moved closer to him.
‘Please, keep your voice down.’
‘This concerns a body found at Danvers Farm in South Zeal. We believe you might have information that could help with our enquiries,’ he said.
‘A body? What could I possibly know about that?’
‘We’d like you to come in voluntarily to talk to us.’
‘This is ridiculous!’ said Maureen, raising her voice. ‘I’ll say again that I am a Diamond Club member, and I don’t expect to be ambushed on the executive gangplank when the ship is about to sail!’
‘I’m afraid you won’t be leaving tonight,’ said the man.
‘Step aside,’ said Maureen, enraged at the embarrassment this man was causing her. The woman standing beside him came close and put her hand on Maureen’s arm.
‘Don’t you dare touch me!’ shouted Maureen, pulling her arm away. The woman held on, and what happened next was fast and horrifying. Maureen found herself lying flat on the executive gangplank with her hands cuffed behind her back.
The crowds were now moving and being welcomed onto the ship. All faces were turned towards her, watching with curiosity and disdain as Maureen was pulled up and marched back down the executive gangplank towards a waiting police car.
