The eleventh grave, p.24
The Eleventh Grave, page 24
‘What about her clothes?’ said Kennedy.
‘Alice Fields has two probationers helping her to go through the charity shop donations in the cage over there again,’ said West. ‘If anything looks remotely like what our victim was wearing in the CCTV footage from the train station, they’ll bag it for testing.’
‘Good. Anyone interviewing the charity shop volunteer?’
‘She’s next on our list,’ said Mark. ‘She’s already been interviewed by Alice and Grant regarding Patrick Westington’s clothes and denies any knowledge of how those ended up in the shop, but we’ll ask her if Tom was seen hanging around the back of the shop within the past forty-eight hours.’ He pointed to the fire exit door of the shop where a small camera faced the cages. ‘And we’ll chase up the CCTV footage that Alice requested as well.’
‘Okay, thanks.’ Kennedy turned his attention back to Gillian. ‘If no donor was here, why continue with the operation?’
‘Kidneys will keep for twenty-four to thirty-six hours if stored correctly,’ said the pathologist. ‘It wouldn’t be ideal, but if the donor wasn’t able to get here until after Mildenhew killed this woman, then they may still be en route.’
‘Or waiting nearby in case he finds somewhere else to carry out the operation,’ said Mark. He sighed, and gestured to all the police and forensic teams working in the yard. ‘And anyone who was meant to be meeting him here will have been alerted to all of our activity by now, I’ll bet.’
‘There’s another possibility, too,’ said West, her voice bleak. ‘If we’re dealing with a network of people dealing in illegal organs, then they might be trying to sell those kidneys to someone else online.’
CHAPTER FIFTY-TWO
Jan broke off a corner from a chocolate bar and tossed it across her computer screen to where Turpin was sitting.
He caught it one-handed, shoved it in his mouth and mumbled his thanks, his gaze never leaving his own work.
Behind her, she could hear the rest of the team on phones or talking in small groups gathered around each other’s desks, all working through the growing list of tasks that Kennedy had passed around at a hurriedly organised briefing.
The detective inspector stalked the carpet outside his office, his phone to his ear while he coordinated with HQ, his face haggard.
Checking the clock in the corner of her computer screen, she saw it was after 2AM and rubbed at tired eyes. And yet she wasn’t exhausted, not yet. Instead, her mind turned to the scanned list of documents she had been sifting through for the past hour.
Tom Mildenhew’s history had been updated as the statements from the house-to-house enquiries were collated, and she was gaining a better understanding of the man’s upbringing.
Thankfully, the housemate Tom had rented a room from on his return from Thailand had emerged unscathed, phoning the incident room upon arriving back from a university alumni event in Edinburgh. The man had been surprised by the interest in Mildenhew, but had provided valuable information about the young vet when Jan had spoken with him.
‘Hey, here,’ she said, handing over the rest of the chocolate bar to Turpin. ‘You can get the next one.’
‘Thanks.’ He bit off a corner. ‘How are you getting on with Tom?’
‘Slowly. I’m going to work my way through some emails that came in late afternoon while we were over at the vet’s surgery, but so far I’m not seeing anything that can help us. The bloke over at Maidenhead confirmed he knew Tom from university but had lost touch after they graduated – he pursued a career in pharmaceuticals while Tom was studying to become a vet. Apparently Tom got in touch out of the blue to ask if he could stay with him for a couple of weeks while he found somewhere else to live.’
‘Any red flags?’
‘Not that he could remember, no.’ She closed the document she had been reading and turned to the growing number of emails, biting back a groan. ‘And I spoke to someone at the Home Office who confirmed there was nothing untoward noted in relation to Tom’s passport while he was out in Thailand, either.’
‘Maybe he was keeping his head down until he got back here,’ Turpin said, tapping his pen against his nose while he stared at his screen.
‘Or, I wondered if he was making his own enquiries into illegal organ harvesting while he was out there,’ said Jan. ‘He might have been on a fact-finding mission to see if it was something he could replicate once he was back here.’
Turpin grimaced. ‘Good point. Christ, it doesn’t bear thinking about, does it?’
‘And yet, here we are.’ Kennedy clapped a hand on Jan’s shoulder. ‘How’s it going?’
‘Getting there,’ she said, opening each email in turn and scanning the contents.
Then Turpin sat upright and reached for his desk phone. ‘Bloody hell.’
She looked up to see him clutching a witness statement in his other hand. ‘What’ve you got?’
‘Hang on.’ He paused while the call connected, then: ‘Hello? Is that Sarah? It’s Detective Sergeant Mark Turpin. Sorry for the late call, but I’m just going through the statement you gave earlier today to one of my colleagues, and I have a few questions I wondered if you’d mind answering? Thanks. You’ve said here that the CCTV camera on the back of the shop facing the yard doesn’t work, and that it’s just a deterrent to stop anyone breaking in. When PC Fields asked you whose decision it was not to fit real cameras, you told her the woman who’s one of the charity trustees said it was a cost-cutting exercise, and that because not much cash was kept on the premises, real cameras were an extravagance. Is that correct?’
He nodded while the woman on the other end of the phone spoke, and Jan held her breath. Kennedy went to lean against her desk, then changed his mind and paced back and forth instead.
‘Okay,’ said Turpin, returning to the caller. ‘Thanks. Who is the trustee that told you the cameras weren’t required? Really? Is she very involved in the day-to-day running of the shop? Right. Right. No, that’s really helpful, thank you. Yes, I’ve got her details, and I’ll give her a quick call now. Thanks for your time.’ He ended the call, his eyes sparkling. ‘We’ve got a breakthrough, I think.’
Kennedy stopped pacing. ‘Well, spit it out.’
‘The trustee who nixed having real CCTV cameras at the back of the charity shop is Judy Sarsgold.’
Jan frowned. ‘Charmaine Abbott’s campaign manager?’
‘I’m wondering if maybe Judy is overseeing the charity shops to get rid of victims’ belongings,’ said Turpin. ‘And, maybe it was Judy who persuaded Charmaine that it was a bad idea to let Barry redevelop the airfield site so she could prevent the graves being discovered.’
Kennedy checked his watch. ‘It’s almost three o’clock. I’ll send uniformed patrols to pick up Judy Sarsgold. We’ll start the interviews at eight o’clock this morning to give her time to organise legal representation. If you want to go home and shower, and get a few hours’ sleep, then do so. You’re all going to be busy today.’
CHAPTER FIFTY-THREE
Mark yawned, his eyes adjusting to the bright sunshine that dappled the water and cast sparkles of light across the river. Beyond the boat, downstream from where he stood, a lone kayaker approached, his face determined as he dug in his paddle left then right to offset the current.
He raised his half-empty coffee mug in salute as the man passed, then looked through the hatch into the galley at the sound of footsteps.
‘You off in a minute?’ Lucy said, rubbing at wet hair with a towel.
‘In a sec, yes. Just waiting to spot Jan’s car.’ He squinted across the water meadow to the car park. ‘She won’t be far off, just stuck in the usual morning traffic.’
He wrapped an arm around his girlfriend as she joined him on the deck at the stern of the boat, burying his nose in her hair. ‘You smell nice.’
‘Thank you.’ She smiled up at him before her face grew serious. ‘So this is it, do you think, a breakthrough at last?’
‘I hope so. I don’t want to find any more bodies.’ He shivered, despite the suit jacket he wore. ‘We let her down, you know. If we’d moved quicker, if we’d asked the right questions…’
‘No, you didn’t let her down.’ Lucy laid a hand on his chest. ‘There’s nothing you could have done for her, Mark. But yes, you can try to stop him killing anyone else. That’s what you need to focus on today. Find the answers you need.’
He blinked, then pulled her into a hug. ‘You always know what to say.’
‘Sometimes.’
A car horn beeped twice, and he looked over her head to where a silver hatchback pulled into the car park. ‘I have to go.’
Lucy stood on tiptoe and kissed him. ‘You’ve got this.’
‘I bloody hope so,’ he murmured, then climbed over the gunwale. ‘I’ll call you later if I get a chance.’
She waved in response, then hugged her arms around her waist and pulled her cardigan close as he turned away and set out for the waiting car.
When he climbed in, West handed him a foil-wrapped bacon sandwich that was still warm to the touch. ‘Thanks, although between you and Lucy I’m going to have to really get back into running with Hamish at this rate.’
‘You can put it back in the bag down there if you don’t want it.’
‘Bugger off,’ he said, unwrapping the food. ‘I’m not letting this go to waste.’
West laughed, then fell silent until they had passed through Abingdon’s town centre. ‘So, Judy Sarsgold… If she’s involved, what’s in it for her?’
‘Apart from any monetary gain? I’m not sure.’ Mark unclipped his seatbelt as West turned into the police station car park. ‘So, let’s go and ask her, shall we?’
Judy Sarsgold was wearing a white blouse over blue jeans, her brown hair tied back from her face and a petulant expression in her eyes as she watched Mark and West walk into the interview room and prepare the recording equipment.
While West read out the formal caution, he maintained eye contact with Judy, biting back the doubt that had set in, the niggle at the back of his mind that he had missed some vital clue, that maybe – despite Lucy’s assurances – he might have saved a life.
A polite cough from his colleague brought him back to the task at hand, and he opened the folder under his elbow. He took his time extracting each of the photographs from it, laying them side by side on the table facing Judy, then stabbed his finger on the last one. ‘Tell me where this clothing came from.’
She shrugged, barely giving the photographs a second look. ‘I don’t know. I don’t work at the shop.’
‘But you do manage them, don’t you?’
‘Yes.’
‘So, where does the clothing come from?’
Judy sighed, and held up her hands. ‘Anywhere. I mean, we have donations dropped off at the shops at any time. That’s why we have the locked cages at the back.’
‘If they’re for donations, why are they locked?’
‘Because we had an issue with kids getting into them and throwing the clothing all over the car park last year. We had to do something.’
‘Why haven’t you got working CCTV cameras outside?’ Mark said. ‘That would’ve at least shown who was responsible.’
‘We’re a charity, detective.’ Judy snorted. ‘We can hardly afford the overheads on the shop, let alone pay out for extravagances such as security cameras.’
‘How many employees do you have?’
‘Three on part-time contracts, the rest are all volunteers.’
‘We’ll need names and addresses.’
‘Of course.’
‘Do you ever work in the shops?’
‘Yes.’
‘Do you ever work in the Ravenswood shop?’
‘From time to time, yes.’
‘When was the last time you were there?’
Judy glanced sideways, her jaw working. ‘Tuesday. Just in the morning though. One of the volunteers had the morning off and no one else could cover her shift.’
‘When you arrived on Tuesday morning, where did you park your car?’
‘Behind the shop, where I always park.’
‘Was this van parked nearby?’ Mark pointed to the next photograph, showing the vet’s liveried vehicle. ‘Did you see this?’
‘I’m not sure.’
‘Not sure? Ms Sarsgold, it’s a long wheel-based van with the vet’s logo all over it. You could hardly miss it.’
‘I realise that, detective,’ she said, ‘but you know what it’s like – things you see every day become scenery, nothing more. I couldn’t tell you whether it was there on Tuesday any more than I could tell you if it was there Monday.’
‘Was it?’
‘What?’
‘Was the van there on Monday?’
‘How would I know? I wasn’t at the shop then.’
‘Are you sure?’
‘Absolutely.’
Mark slid the third photograph towards her. ‘Do you know Tom Mildenhew?’
‘The vet? I wouldn’t say I knew him,’ Judy said, her brow creasing. ‘But I’ve seen him around, obviously.’
‘When was the last time you saw him?’
She screwed up her nose. ‘Last Wednesday, maybe… I can’t recall.’
‘Where?’
‘Outside the vet’s of course – where else would I see him?’
Mark pushed another photograph closer, one taken from the CCTV footage that showed Mildenhew’s last victim as she arrived at Didcot railway station. ‘Who’s this woman?’
‘No idea.’
‘Have you seen her anywhere before?’
‘I just told you, I don’t know who she is.’
‘How––’ He turned at a sharp knock on the door and frowned as Caroline stuck her head around it. ‘Sorry, Sarge. Got a minute?’
Heart thumping, he reached out for the recording equipment as West gathered up her notebook and the photographs. ‘Interview paused at eight thirty-two.’
Mark hurried from the room, waiting until West closed the door behind them before following Caroline a few paces along the corridor. ‘What’s going on?’
In reply, the detective constable handed him a photograph, the page still warm from the printer. ‘While you’ve been prepping and doing the interview with her, I’ve been delving into her social media accounts. That’s from an old post I found from a few years ago.’
West peered over his shoulder. ‘Bugger me.’
‘Shit.’ Mark’s hand trembled as he held the photograph closer. ‘Is that who I think it is in the background?’
Caroline grinned. ‘Yes. It’s Tom Mildenhew.’
‘When was this taken?’
‘At his graduation ceremony. Which means––’
‘Judy Sarsgold is lying,’ Mark snarled, turning back to the interview room. ‘She’s his bloody mother.’
CHAPTER FIFTY-FOUR
Mark swung open the door to the interview room so hard that it bounced off the protective spring fixed to the wall and rebounded. He caught it before it hit him in the face, held it open for West, then crossed to the table, reached out for the recording equipment and restarted it.
‘Interview recommenced at eight thirty-five. Why didn’t you tell us that Tom Mildenhew is your son?’ he snarled, towering over Judy Sarsgold while he rested his hands on the table.
The woman paled. ‘How did you––’
‘Your social media has a photograph from a few years ago at a graduation ceremony. Tom’s in the photo with you.’ Mark saw the warning glance that West shot his way, then took a deep breath before pulling his chair towards him and sitting. ‘Explain.’
Judy turned to her solicitor, bowing her head while they spoke in low murmurs, then twisted back to face Mark. ‘I was just trying to protect him, like any mother would.’
‘Protect him?’
‘Yes.’
‘From what?’
‘I just wanted to stop him.’ Her shoulders slumped. ‘Really, I did. We tried everything, you’ve got to believe me.’
Mark frowned, bile tumbling in his stomach. ‘How long?’
‘What?’
‘How long has your son been murdering people?’
Judy waved her hand in front of her face as if afraid to utter the words. She brought her fist to her mouth for a moment, and then let out a strangled gasp. ‘Maybe since he was a teenager. We were never sure.’
‘Jesus,’ West muttered. Then, ‘Sorry, Sarge.’
Mark said nothing for a moment, his own thoughts similar to his colleague’s shocked outburst. After a while, he reopened the folder and extracted the images captured from the railway station CCTV footage. ‘This is Tom here, isn’t it? With this man, and then earlier this week with this woman.’
Judy looked at each photo, hugging her hands to her chest. ‘Yes. That’s Tom.’
‘Do you know who this man is?’
‘No.’
‘Your son murdered him. His name is Patrick. After your son murdered him, you took Patrick’s clothing and belongings and sold them through one of your five charity shops, didn’t you?’
‘I don’t know.’
‘Tom also arranged for the murder of a man called Barry Windlesham. Barry’s clothing has also been found in your shop.’
Judy said nothing, her jaw set.
‘This woman here,’ Mark continued, ‘was murdered by Tom earlier this week. Her clothing was found in the sorting cages outside your shop in Ravenswood. Her body had been thrown into the back of the van he uses for work. And her kidneys were found in a fridge in the vet’s surgery.’
Judy swallowed. ‘Kidneys?’
‘Tell me about Tom’s involvement in illegal organ harvesting.’
‘What?’ The woman’s eyes widened. ‘I don’t know anything about illegal organs, or kidneys.’
‘Then why were you hiding the victims’ clothing?’
Judy wiped at her eyes. ‘I just thought, I suppose, that if I did that it’d give us time to work something else out, to try and get him some help.’
‘Help?’ Mark said. ‘It doesn’t sound like that worked before. What happened at his school, before he went to university?’
