did a remarkable job to track down the van.’ Godley leaned forward, holding Whitlock’s gaze with that intensity that made you feel you could walk through fire for him, that you wouldn’t mind dying for him … ‘Without the van, we would probably never have made a connection between the missing women and Stone, even if we’d found the bodies. The van broke the case.’
Whitlock ducked his head. ‘We did all right. I had a good team. I may be wrong but I don’t think there’s much new ground to explore when it comes to Willa Howard’s death.’
Except how she died, and where, and when. I thought of Dr Early revisiting the files, the photographs. ‘How do the Howards feel about this?’
‘They think Stone is guilty. It’s easier for them than the Greys, I think, because they didn’t believe a word of the story about him finding the cupboard in the street. There’s the van in the right area and the blood – that’s enough for them. They fell out quite badly with the Greys over it, which was a shame. Nice people.’
‘Are they the kind of nice people who would mind if we apply to exhume their daughter’s body?’ Derwent, blunt as ever.
Whitlock winced. ‘Depends on how you approach it.’
‘With great sensitivity,’ Godley said, and I wondered if he’d forgotten how Derwent preferred to work. I had a question to ask myself.
‘Tell me about Rachel Healy.’
‘A dead end.’ Whitlock’s face had hardened, stubbornness making it into a thing of angles. There was something in Whitlock’s voice that sounded final, as if the subject was irrelevant and therefore the discussion was at an end.
‘She went missing not long before Willa Howard.’
‘We concluded the disappearance was too close to Willa for it to be connected. He took one in July and one in October, not two. That’s the sort of thing a killer does when they’re losing control – when they’re running out of time. Stone had no idea we were going to knock on his door, and he didn’t take a fourth woman after Willa Howard, though we didn’t catch up with him for a few weeks.’
‘Maybe something went wrong,’ I said. ‘Maybe it wasn’t a satisfying murder as far as he was concerned.’
‘We did look for her. We never found the body. The conclusion we reached was that she was never in Stone’s house or his van. The blood from under the floorboards wasn’t conclusive. It sent us on a wild goose chase. We were under pressure to clear up as many disappearances and murders as possible and Rachel Healy got lumped in with the other two.’
‘There was a reason the CPS didn’t charge him with her kidnap and murder,’ Hollingwood said. He was watching me, his face open and friendly. I knew when I was being placated and it prickled along my nerves. ‘I didn’t want Rachel Healy on the indictment. The evidence that he was involved in her disappearance was circumstantial at best. The forensics were the weakest part of our case. I was of the opinion that including her and introducing the idea that a third woman had died in that room – whether it was Rachel Healy or not – could only damage us. It would have provided an opportunity to the defence to muddy the waters. We had no body. We were asking the jury to take too many leaps of faith – that she was dead, that Stone had been involved, that her body had been left somewhere other than the area where the other two women were found, for a reason we didn’t know. Too many questions there, don’t you think?’
‘Questions that deserve an answer,’ I said.
‘We did our best.’ Whitlock, bristling.
Derwent got there before I could. ‘No one’s saying you didn’t. There’s a reason she’s on this case.’
She being me. I opened my mouth to change the subject before he said anything else, but he steamed on.
‘Kerrigan can charm the birds from the trees and find things you never knew were missing. If there’s a way to trace Rachel Healy and tie her murder into this case, Kerrigan will find it. Once she’s decided she’s going to do something, she doesn’t give up.’ Derwent paused for a beat. ‘It makes her bloody irritating to work with, obviously, but she’s right about this one.’
‘Thanks,’ I said, and he grinned at me. A ripple of amusement ran around the table, a welcome break in the tension. I waited until they’d stopped laughing.
‘Anything on Rachel Healy will be new to the defence. If Stone killed her, he thinks he got away with it. At the moment we don’t even know where she was before she disappeared. It’s not going to be easy to make enquiries after so many years, but it’s surprising what people can remember when you ask.’
‘All this time and not a sign of her body. I really wanted to find her.’ Whitlock grimaced. ‘I dream about her sometimes. Gets under your skin, you know.’
I did know, all too well.
‘We’ll look after her,’ Derwent said to Whitlock. ‘We won’t let you down.’
The retired policeman nodded and attempted to smile. It flickered across his face uncertainly, like a lightbulb about to blow.
‘The rural dream. You can keep it,’ Derwent said. ‘Why would anyone want to live here?’
‘Grammar schools. Commutable distance from London. Local amenities. Decent lifestyle.’
‘Yeah, but apart from that.’
‘I don’t think we’re seeing it at its best.’
We were driving out of London towards Aylesbury, a medium-sized market town where Sara Grey had grown up. Her parents still lived there, outside the town. It was a cold day, the sky the colour of steel, and the fields were boggy from heavy rain the night before. Crows hunched in the branches of trees and along fences like witches’ familiars, their rasping call echoing across the countryside.
I went back to the opinion column I was reading out from my phone.
‘“In the era of social media, when everyone has access to the internet all the time, is it even possible to have a fair trial by jury? A case such as that of Leo Stone is the ideal test: a horrific series of headline-grabbing crimes, a suspect who seems to fit the image of a ruthless killer, grieving families and photogenic victims, and an unregulated internet full of rumours. If it’s a crime to be unattractive, then the prisons should be overflowing. Leo Stone was on trial for murder but he was judged on his past and his appearance. That’s not justice – it’s prejudice.”’
I paused expectantly, and was not disappointed.
‘What fucking horseshit.’ Derwent glowered at a driver who was failing to give way to him.
‘There’s more.’
‘Of course there is.’
‘“What must Leo Stone’s lawyers have thought when they read juror Stan Maxwell’s self-published account of the trial? They must have been pleased that they had grounds for an appeal, but I think they must have been horrified too. How easily a man can lose his freedom and his reputation.
