Chapter 15
The estate was a warren of semi-detached houses. The post-war homes had once aspired to be middle class but now they were beginning to look tired and run down. A few of them had made an effort; neat modern conservatories and new windows amongst the cracked paths and peeling paintwork. But they were the exceptions, lonely optimists in a neighbourhood that had once seen better days.
'Take the next left,' Sophie told me.
She seemed outwardly calm, but there was an underlying nervousness she was trying hard to conceal. I still didn't know where we were going or why, just followed the directions she gave as I drove.
'Why the mystery?' I'd asked.
'No mystery. It's just better if you wait till we get there.'
I hadn't argued. It seemed easier to go along with whatever she had in mind. I'd known Sophie was stubborn, but her determination to find the bodies of Lindsey and Zoe Bennett bordered on obsessional. The night before I'd tried to persuade her it was useless, that the two of us couldn't hope to accomplish anything after a full- scale police search had failed.
I'd wasted my breath.
'We can still fry,' she insisted.
'Sophie, I wouldn't know where to start. We don't know if Monk buried Zoe and Lindsey anywhere near Tina Williams. And even if he did, grave location was more Wainwright's field than mine.'
I'd told Sophie about the archaeologist's condition. Not that there was much chance she'd have wanted his help anyway. She brushed away my argument.
'Wainwright couldn't see past his own ego. He was more interested in preserving his reputation than anything else. Even back then you were just as capable as he was.'
'I'm flattered you think so, but even if that's true you've got to be realistic. No one enjoys failure, but we did everything that could be done last time.'
'I don't accept that.'
I squeezed the bridge of my nose. 'Sophie…'
'Look, I'm not saying we'll be able to actually find them, not by ourselves. All I want to do is try to come up with enough for the police to launch another search. One day, that's all I ask. Give me one day, and if you still think we're wasting our time you can walk away.'
'I just can't see how-'
'One day. Please.'
I should have said no. We couldn't hope to achieve anything in a single day, and there was no point in building up her hopes. The refusal was on my lips, but even in the firelight I could see the need in her eyes. She sat with her hands clenched, waiting for my answer. This is a mistake.
'One day,' I heard myself say.
Now I was regretting it. The face in the bathroom mirror that morning had looked like an older, tireder version of me. I'd slept badly, turning restlessly in the small bed in the spare room and determinedly trying not to think about Sophie lying on the other side of the wall. When I'd finally fallen asleep it had been to wake gasping, convinced that Monk was breaking in. But the darkened house had been silent, and the only sound from outside was the cry of an owl.
Before we'd set off on Sophie's mysterious trip, I'd given her the card with Terry's mobile number. She'd promised to tell the police about writing to Monk if I agreed to help her search for the graves, and however much they disliked each other it made sense for it to be him. I'd pretended to need something from my room while she made the call, waiting until her murmured voice had stopped before going downstairs.
'Voicemail,' she said, handing me his card. 'I left him a message.'
Her face was studiedly neutral. I tucked the card back in my wallet without saying anything. Perhaps she had called Terry, but it hadn't sounded like she'd been leaving a message.
It had sounded like a conversation.
We had to wait for a local joiner to come out to repair the front door, so it was early afternoon before we finally set off. The atmosphere in the car was awkward from the outset, and grew more so as we neared wherever it was we were going. Sophie directed me into a cul-de-sac where the road curved round on itself.
'Pull up here.'
I switched off the engine. The semi-detached houses lined both sides of the road. I looked at her, waiting. She gave me a strained smile.
'Just bear with me. Please?'
You've come this far… I locked the car and followed her through the wrought-iron gate of the nearest house. A short path led to the front door past a well-kept lawn and flowerbeds. Sophie's nervousness was evident as she pressed the plastic doorbell. Westminster chimes sounded from inside, and a moment later the door was opened.
The woman who answered was in her late forties or early fifties, blond-haired and pleasant-faced but with a drawn look about her. She was smiling, but the expression seemed forced.
'Hi, Cath. Sorry we're a bit later than I thought,' Sophie said.
The woman's hand went to her mouth as she stared at the bruising on Sophie's face. 'Never mind that, what happened to you? Are you all right?'
'Oh, I'm fine, I just slipped in the bathroom,' she said quickly. 'Cath, I'd like you to meet Dr David Hunter. David, this is Cath Bennett.'
The name hit me like cold water. Bennett. As in Zoe and Lindsey. Now I knew who Sophie had been talking to on the phone earlier, when she'd pretended to call Terry.
She'd brought me to meet the murdered twins' mother.
The woman turned her brittle smile to me. 'Pleased to meet you, Dr Hunter.'
I murmured something polite. Sophie avoided looking at me as we went inside, but from the flush spreading up her throat she knew how angry I was. I couldn't believe she'd done this, not without warning me first. You don't meet the families. Ever. It was hard enough staying objective as it was, without that added emotional burden. Sophie knew that, yet she'd still brought me here.
I wondered what else she might be keeping from me.
I struggled to keep my feelings under control as we went down the hallway. The house was almost obsessively clean, the air sharp with the smell of bleach and air-freshener. Swirling patterns from the vacuum cleaner were carved in the carpet's thick pile, like crop circles in a field of lilac wheat.
The door whispered over them as Cath Bennett led us into a pristine sitting room. A sofa and matching chairs were positioned with clinical precision, the glass coffee table polished to a mirror finish. Ceramic figurines and animals gleamed on the mantelpiece, free from any taint of dust.
Framed photographs of the dead girls were everywhere.
'Please, take a seat,' their mother said, with rigid politeness. 'My husband's at work, but he isn't very good at this anyway. He still can't talk about it. Would you like tea or coffee?'
Sophie was still avoiding looking at me. 'Some tea would be lovely.'
'And how about you, Dr Hunter?'
I managed a smile. 'Same for me, please.'
She bustled out, leaving us alone with the photographs of her murdered daughters. They smiled at us from all over the room, two identically pretty, dark-haired girls. I tore my eyes from them and stared at Sophie.
'Please don't be mad,' she said in a rush. 'I'm sorry to spring it on you, but I knew you wouldn't come otherwise.'
'You're right. What the hell were you thinking?'
'I wanted to remind you what's at stake. What all this is really about.'
'You think I don't already know?' I made an effort to calm down. 'Sophie, this is wrong. We shouldn't be here.'
'We can't go now. Just half an hour. Please?'
I didn't trust myself to speak. We sat in silence until Cath Bennett returned, carrying a tray set out with tea things. Best cups and saucers, and a plate of neatly arranged biscuits.
'Help yourself to milk and sugar,' she said, taking a seat on the sofa. 'Sophie says you're a forensic anthropologist, Dr Hunter. I'm not sure what that is, exactly, but I appreciate what you're doing.'
What you're doing? Sophie flashed me a look of mute appeal. 'David was involved in the original search on the moor eight years ago,' she said quickly.