‘I haven’t seen any sign of any building work, have you?’ Khosa said.
Holder shook his head but then went very still, frowning. ‘That’s because he’s not building anything here. Look at the delivery address.’
Khosa peered. ‘Pux Cottage, Wird Lane. There’s even a postcode.’
Holder said, ‘You talked to his employer. Where did they say he should be today, Swindon?’
‘Yeah, at the Western Hospital, but Trisha rang them and there’s been no sign.’
‘Maybe he’s at this Pux Cottage?’
Khosa was already punching the postcode into her phone. ‘Fifteen minutes by car.’
‘You go,’ Holder said.
‘Go where?’ Woakes was standing inside the back door, listening.
‘There’s a second address, sarge. Somewhere he’s been doing building work.’
‘Then what are we waiting for?’
Khosa threw Holder a glance, but all he did was shrug.
When they’d gone, Holder went back to the shed and studied the rubbings. There were more in a trunk under some books. Dozens and dozens of them. Some very plain, others intricate and elaborate.
‘You have been a busy boy,’ whispered Holder.
* * *
Twenty-two minutes after she’d left, Khosa rang. Immediately he pressed accept; Holder knew instantly they’d found something.
‘Justin? This is it. The bloody jackpot! It’s a horror film set. A white van and a horse transporter in the barn. And there’s a cellar room. A bloody cellar room where he kept them. And it’s the one, Justin. It’s the one in Rosie’s and Blair’s images.’ Khosa’s voice was high and breathless.
Holder heard doors slamming, crashes and bangs. ‘What the hell is going on?’
‘Starkey’s not here. There’s no one here. The house is empty. But Woakes has lost it. He’s gone ballistic, tearing the place apart.’
‘That’s a crime scene, for Christ’s sake.’
‘I’ve called it in. There are uniforms and Forensics on the way. But Woakes is threatening to come back and go through the house again.’
‘Shit. No. There might be more evidence here. He sounds out of control.’
‘What can I do? He’s the bloody sergeant.’
‘You come. Get in the car and leave him there.’
‘But—’
‘Leave him, Ryia. Get out of there now.’
Four long seconds of silence followed before Khosa said, ‘OK. I’m on my way.’
Holder killed the call. They’d found their monster, but where was he? Where would Starkey have gone?
Forty-Five
Anna took Holder’s call when they were ten miles from the M4 junction on the way back to Bristol. They’d lost half an hour at least in the never-ending road works and were crawling along in single lane traffic once again.
‘What’s happening, Justin?’
‘I’m at Starkey’s house in Clevedon, ma’am. Nothing here, but you were right. Starkey’s our man. He has a cottage out towards Congresbury, too. Ryia’s there and there’s a soundproofed cellar with evidence of recent occupation.’
Holder’s words seemed to make the world zoom out of focus before snapping back again. Anna’s foot pressed down on the accelerator unbidden and she eased off, trying to compose herself and concentrate. ‘Empty?’
‘Yes, ma’am. We missed him.’ Anna heard the despondency in Holder’s voice.
‘What aren’t you telling me, Justin?’
‘Dave Woakes, ma’am. He insisted on muscling in. I had no choice.’
‘Shit. Is he with you now?’
‘No ma’am, he’s at Starkey’s cottage.’
‘OK, let him stay there. You’ve mobilised CSI?’
‘Yes, ma’am.’
There was hesitation in Holder’s voice.
‘What, Justin?’
‘Sergeant Woakes. He thinks that Hawley warned Starkey.’
Anna looked across at Hawley. He looked back at her, shaking his head. ‘Rubbish. I’ve been with him all day,’ Anna said. ‘Woakes is wrong. Forget it, Justin. Come on, I need you snappy. Is there anything there that might indicate to us where Starkey has gone?’
‘He’s into graveyards, ma’am.’
‘What?’
‘He has a shed full of gravestone rubbings. Most of them have skulls and bones. It’s weird.’
‘Memento mori,’ Anna said.
‘Yeah, exactly what Trisha said when she looked them up.’
‘That’s not much use.’
‘No, ma’am. But there was a bone, too. In a drawer. I think it’s human.’
‘Shit. OK, so Rowsys think he’s off sick?’
‘Yes, ma’am.’’
‘Right. Get on to them. Tell them to text Starkey on his work phone, if he has one. Not phone him, text him. Some pretext. Something about where he was the day before. Another equipment malfunction. See if he responds. Do it now, Justin.’
Anna kept driving, not looking at Hawley. Aware only that her passenger was sitting tense and rigid in his seat and knew she was feeling much the same way.
Forty-Six
Starkey uncovered the small pile of kit he’d stored from previous visits. Clear plastic sheeting, a couple of cheap duvets, plastic garden ties, box cutters and rope. All in preparation for what was to come. The excitement churned inside him.
Almost there. With trembling hands, he unfolded the sheeting and began cutting it to size to line the floor.
So much easier for cleaning up.
He laid out the duvet, placed the ties and rope near the entrance to the chamber, checked the box of AA batteries for the lights.
He took his time, savouring it all. Though it was cool in the crypt, he was sweating, a foetid body odour leaking out from his armpits that he knew had the tinge of lust about it. He stood, the stacked bones almost at hip level, and fetched some water. He drank thirstily, leaning with one hand against the wall, desperately trying to distract himself from the anticipation coursing through his veins. He drank the whole bottle and waited for the moment to subside. He’d have to watch that, control the urges, otherwise…
Finally, satisfied, he retraced his steps up and out of the crypt to suck in some fresh air.
Soon there would be more bones to add to the hallowed pile.
Small bones.
Exhilaration gushed up from deep in his gut, transporting him from this mundane world to the one he dreamed of. The one where he was king, where no one laughed at his obscene nakedness anymore. Where he could inflict the humiliations he’d suffered onto someone else.
The buzz of his phone in his pocket threw him. Just the one vibration. A text.
He fished it out and read the message from Sheryl, the service coordinator.
Can you contact the Musgrove Park Hospital haematology dept ASAP? Calibration needed on two refrigerators.
Starkey sighed. There was no peace. He texted back.
Will do.
But not yet. Now he had other things to occupy him.
Forty-Seven
Holder rang back exactly seven minutes after she’d issued instructions.
‘He’s responded, ma’am.’
Anna squeezed her eyes shut and blew out air. ‘Right, it means he’s still got his phone on. Ring the super. He’ll authorise contacting the phone network’s SPOC team. Let’s find out where Starkey really is.’
Hawley looked confused.
‘Single point of contact,’ said Anna by way of explanation. ‘It’s a designated team that works with the service providers to obtain live data on the location of a phone. The providers have staff who can respond to this sort of thing where sensitive enquiries for high-risk cases are concerned. They can tell us which towers and masts he’s connected to. But it all comes at a cost. That’s why we need it signed off.’
Traffic was stop start. She watched a huge transporter half a mile away easing around a bend. A brake light blinked off in front of her. She drove on thirty yards and then came to another exasperating halt.
Ten minutes later, Holder came back on the line again.
‘Ma’am, we have him located in the Chepstow Park Wood area.’
‘Chepstow?’ Anna glanced to her right at the flat farmland leading towards the estuary. Beyond that was the Welsh border. Chepstow was only twelve miles from where she was now.
‘Send me the location. I can be on the M48 in five minutes if these sodding roadworks ever come to an end. Chepstow in twenty. Have you any idea where he is exactly?’