The Whitby Murders (A Yorkshire Murder Mystery) Read online

  The drive over to the coast was even more subdued than the one on Thursday had been in response to Louise’s urgent call. There was very little conversation throughout the journey except for Louise asking a few questions. She was still sceptical about the conclusions being reached in the official investigation.

  ‘How do they know he killed himself anyway? Someone could have shot him and pushed him into the water.’

  ‘Not impossible,’ replied her dad. ‘I can’t say more at this point until I’ve spoken to Inspector Granger. It ties in with that text he sent to your friend though, doesn’t it? It certainly sounds as if he was saying goodbye.’

  ‘I know, but . . .’ She shook her head, still refusing to accept what appeared to be what had happened.

  As Oldroyd had told Walker, he’d expected Holgate’s body to be found at some point, although he’d not said this to Louise. When Holgate had not been found alive or turned himself in after three days, the signs were not good. He was keen to find out more about the circumstances of his death and whether this development did finally solve his problems with the case or only added to them.

  The weather had broken again. The sky was dark over Fylingdales Moor and when they descended into Eskdale at Sleights, they could see heavy clouds over the sea. Spots of rain appeared on the windscreen and by the time the Saab drew up at the flat, the rain was quite heavy and the wipers were on.

  ‘Right then,’ said Oldroyd. ‘I’ll be in contact later. Are you sure you’re okay?’

  ‘Stop sounding like Mum,’ replied Louise as she got out of the car. ‘I really want to see Maggie. I know she’ll be feeling terrible. Bye and thanks for everything.’

  She walked quickly through the rain to the door and waved as Oldroyd drove off.

  ‘I don’t think you need to worry about her, sir,’ said Steph. ‘She’s pretty tough and determined. I wonder who she takes after?’ She grinned at Oldroyd in the rear-view mirror.

  ‘I haven’t the faintest idea,’ he said.

  As she entered the house, Louise was met by Maggie in the hall. They embraced and started to cry.

  ‘Oh God, I’m so pleased to see you. It’s just dreadful,’ sobbed Maggie. ‘I can’t bear to think about it anymore. I don’t see how I’m ever going to get over it. Mark says I will but I don’t see how.’

  ‘Come on.’ Louise led the way into the lounge and they sat down. ‘You will get over it and so will I. Life goes on; we’ve got a lot of time ahead of us to recover and start afresh. We can’t give up on life.’

  ‘Yes, but how can we ever forget what’s happened? Two of our friends are dead.’

  ‘It’s still raw and painful. We’ll need help, and not just from our friends, but professional help.’

  ‘You mean, counselling? Therapy?’

  ‘Yes. We’ve been through awful things and we can’t just ignore them.’

  Maggie looked wary. ‘Do you think so? I’m not sure. I’ve never had anything to do with stuff like that.’

  ‘There’s nothing to be ashamed of. I’m going to arrange something as soon as I get back to London.’

  ‘Right. Talking of which, we have to leave here by tomorrow at eleven o’clock; the booking expires.’

  ‘I know. I assume everyone’s going back to London.’

  ‘Yeah, I think so. They’re all up there packing. The police say it’s all right to leave. Me and Mark are going today, and I think the others are too; I can’t see any point in waiting any longer. Aren’t you going back, too?’

  Louise hesitated. ‘I don’t know. I want to see how my dad and the others get on with the investigation.’

  ‘Oh, I can’t be bothered with that anymore. They’re dead; it’s all over. I don’t understand it, I don’t think I ever will and it makes me feel worse just to try. As you said, we’ve got to somehow try to put it all behind us, so don’t hang around picking over it for too long. Where will you stay?’

  ‘Not here; I’m going to go back to Leeds and I’ll stay with my mum for a while. Then I’m in striking distance if I’m needed or something happens.’

  ‘Well, rather you than me. I want to get away from here. Jack was saying it’s a shame, but he doesn’t think he’ll be coming back here any time soon. I feel the same.’

  At that moment, Jack came into the room. ‘Did I hear someone taking my name in vain?’ He laughed.

  ‘You’re in a good mood,’ observed Louise, looking at him suspiciously.

  Jack looked sheepish and raised his hands. ‘Yeah, sorry. It’s awful that Dom’s dead, but I can’t say I was surprised. I suppose I feel like this because I’m leaving here soon, if you want me to be honest. I can’t wait to put some distance between myself and this town. It’s sad because it’s a lovely little place, but that’s how I feel. Anyway . . . Hi . . . How are you?’ He came over and gave Louise a hug.

  ‘Okay,’ said Louise, whose hug back was half-hearted. ‘Some of us are obviously more upset about Dom’s death than others.’

  Jack pulled back. ‘Hey, don’t you start! She was having a go at me yesterday.’ He pointed at Maggie. ‘Just because I was with Andrea for a while before she got together with Dom. Okay, he wasn’t my favourite person in the world, but I didn’t want to see him dead. If I hated him that much, why would I stay part of this group?’

  He’d worked himself up into an angry state. The calm he’d previously shown was clearly only on the surface.

  Mark came in. ‘What’s going on? I heard shouting.’

  ‘Oh, nothing, forget it,’ said Jack with a wave of his hand. ‘Sorry, I lost my temper. We’re all on edge. I just can’t wait to get away from this damned place,’ he repeated and then stalked out of the room. His footsteps could be heard on the stairs.

  ‘Hi, Louise,’ said Mark, looking at the door as though to make sure Jack had gone. ‘Wow! What was all that about?’

  ‘Nothing,’ said Maggie wearily. ‘Have you packed your stuff?’

  ‘Just about.’

  ‘Where’s Ben?’ asked Louise.

  ‘In his room as well. Packing, I think.’

  ‘I’m worried about him.’

  ‘Are you?’

  ‘Yeah. He’s had the worst time of any of us: he tried to save Andrea and he was holding her when she died. Then he volunteered to identify Dom’s body. Sights and experiences like that can make a big impression. He seems to be by himself a lot. I hope he’s not dwelling on those images and getting depressed.’

  ‘He seemed okay earlier. I’ll call him.’ Maggie went across to Ben’s room and knocked on the door. ‘Ben, are you okay in there? Louise is back.’

  ‘Okay,’ came a voice from within, before Ben finally appeared, looking bleary-eyed.

  ‘Hi, Louise.’ He gave her a hug. ‘I was asleep. I can’t stay awake at the moment. I suppose it’s the stress and I’m not sleeping well at night.’ He yawned.

  ‘Me neither,’ said Maggie also yawning.

  ‘Are you leaving now as well?’ Louise asked Ben.

  ‘Yeah, I don’t think there’s any point in hanging around. I’m needed at work too. I’ve got some teaching lined up starting in a couple of days and I need to prepare for it.’

  ‘Right.’ Louise sounded a little sad.

  At that moment Jack came back into the room still looking shamefaced. ‘Look, why don’t we all go down to that café and get a bite to eat before we leave. It’s brightening up outside. It would be a nice way to end all this instead of us arguing and then just sloping off by ourselves.’

  They all agreed and soon they were walking down the hill past the park together for the last time.

  ‘Well, sir, it’s all kicked off here over the weekend and no mistake. I’ve got lots to report . . . and now my daughter’s involved in this, too.’

  It was lunchtime, and Oldroyd and Steph were in Inspector Granger’s office at the Whitby station. She had called them straight in following the dramatic events of Saturday evening and the discovery on Sunday morning. She explained to
a puzzled Oldroyd how her daughter had been at the pub where the incident had happened.

  ‘Oh dear,’ said Oldroyd smiling. ‘I know the feeling. As a police officer you’re always hyper-vigilant about your own kids doing anything wrong and coming into contact with the police. It’s not fair, though. Why should we be held to higher standards of parenting?’

  ‘You’re right, sir, but that’s the way it is. She’s been very quiet since Saturday so I’m hoping this quells her desire for going out on the town. We’ll see.’

  ‘Don’t count on it.’

  Granger laughed. ‘I won’t. Anyway, I’ll just run through the details and confirm everything that’s happened.’ She referred to a summary on her screen. ‘First off, the body of Dominic Holgate, wanted in connection with the murder of Andrea Barnes, was found in the harbour area yesterday by a fisherman. Holgate had a bullet wound to the temple and was also submerged in the water. It appears that he shot himself at the harbour edge at the end of a wooden jetty and then fell into the water. His body was identified by Ben Morton.’

  A belt and braces suicide, thought Oldroyd.

  ‘We’ve got divers looking for the gun, and I’m waiting for the report from forensics,’ continued Granger. ‘We assume death was from the bullet wound and not drowning. The police were called out to an incident on Saturday evening at a pub in Church Street. A person answering the description of the dead person walked up to the Old Ship Inn, fired two shots towards the inn and then ran down an alley towards the sea. Witnesses said the person seemed to be very upset: shouting things out and crying. Then another shot was heard. Police were called but found nothing.’

  ‘Did the onlookers get a good look at the face?’ asked Oldroyd.

  ‘No. It was dark. The figure was wearing a hood and maybe a mask, which he presumably removed before he shot himself. None of the witnesses said they would be able to confirm that the dead person was the figure they saw, but the circumstantial evidence is very strong, don’t you think, sir? Especially as we have evidence from another text message sent to Maggie Hinton.’

  Oldroyd sat back, frowning. ‘Yes, my daughter told me about that. Maggie did the right thing this time, informing you. Was anything else found on the body?’

  ‘Just the usual in his pockets: money, wallet with cards and so on. No phone though.’

  Oldroyd raised his eyebrows. ‘Really? That was the phone from which he sent the text messages. I’m surprised he didn’t have it with him. It’s unusual for a person of that age not to be carrying their phone.’

  ‘We assume it must have dropped into the water. We’re searching for it, though if it has been in the water it won’t be able to tell us very much.’

  Oldroyd thought for a moment. ‘Well. It seems that Holgate couldn’t live with what he’d done and was losing his rationality. He turned up in an agitated state, fired the gun he’d brought to Whitby at random, shot himself and his body was found next day. And so ends this unhappy story: a terrible murder committed in a fit of rage or something and then the tormented, unstable perpetrator commits suicide. At least that’s what we’re expected to think.’

  ‘I see you’re still sceptical, sir.’ Granger smiled, remembering how Oldroyd doggedly pursued every loose end in a case until he was satisfied he had the right solution. ‘You’ll be interested to know that the substance found in that sarcophagus was human blood. We’re checking it against Holgate’s and if it proves to be a match that will be interesting.’

  ‘Indeed: it would strongly suggest that his attack was planned and he hid inside that thing, but how his blood got there is still a mystery unless we stay with the theory that he cut himself when he attacked the victim. Have you managed to contact the owner of that escape room yet? We need to ask him about that trick sarcophagus.’

  ‘No, but the search is ongoing.’ Granger clicked the mouse, closing one file and opening another. ‘Next item: I have some reports from the Met. First, from the detectives who searched the Tower Hamlets apartment rented by Holgate and Barnes.’ Granger was looking at her screen. ‘They found nothing that could be connected to the case. Nothing that might suggest a motive for Holgate to murder his partner. No diaries, letters, notes and nothing on the computer. They also spoke to people living in adjoining apartments, but none reported hearing any serious rows and nobody saw any evidence of violence.

  ‘Another team spoke to work colleagues of the couple. Holgate worked in a media production company in Hackney. Everyone he worked with had nothing but good words for him and some had met Barnes on social outings. These latter confirmed that the couple argued sometimes but it never got really serious. Barnes was part of a female theatre group based in Tower Hamlets. According to the person who ran the group, she was, I quote: “A very special person and a crucial member of the team who will be badly missed.” Apparently quite a number of the women there were in tears when the detectives spoke to them. So there’s nothing here either except . . .’ She scrolled down the page while Oldroyd and Steph waited with anticipation.

  ‘One of the women Barnes worked with reported seeing her in a café near the theatre group’s office with a man she didn’t recognise. They were easy and friendly with each other and the woman says he may have given her a packet of something, but she was too far away to be sure.’ Granger stopped reading from the report and turned to Oldroyd and Steph. ‘It’s very thin stuff, but I suppose she could have been having an affair and Holgate found out. Maybe they rowed about it, but kept the details from their friends.’

  ‘That would be understandable, sir,’ added Steph. ‘They’d want to try to resolve it without anybody else knowing what had happened, but maybe they failed. Barnes wouldn’t stop seeing this other man and eventually Holgate lost it with her.’

  ‘Yes, you’re right,’ said Oldroyd, sounding reluctant and fidgeting in his chair. ‘It all fits together nicely. Too nicely for me. I’ve got so many warning bells in my head, the jangling’s driving me mad.’

  ‘What worries you in particular, sir?’ asked Granger.

  Oldroyd raised his arms and dropped them in a gesture of dissatisfaction. ‘A lot of things. Judging from the despairing and remorseful texts his friends received, the murder appears to have been committed by Holgate in a fit of anger, or maybe jealousy now we’ve heard about this other man. He regretted the attack immediately afterwards. But then how come he had a knife with him and hid in the sarcophagus? That clearly suggests planning. Then what’s all this about meeting his friends at the church late at night and then ducking out at the last minute without a word? Very strange. Then we find out he had a gun, which was probably the one he got from his uncle, but why did he bring it with him to Whitby? Did that mean he felt threatened by someone? Or was it part of some plan? Finally, on the night he killed himself, presumably with this same gun, he created a rumpus first, outside a pub, by firing off the gun. Why? And then we can’t find the phone; wouldn’t it be in his pocket?’

  ‘Some of that behaviour would be consistent with someone who had become irrational. Maybe through guilt and despair?’ suggested Granger.

  ‘Maybe.’ Oldroyd sighed. ‘I’m always suspicious when we try to explain difficulties away by ascribing them to madness; it’s too easy. But anyway, I defer to you, Alice, as it’s your case. If you think you have sufficient evidence to wrap things up, then fine. But I have my doubts. What about you, Steph?’

  ‘I agree there are some odd things in the case, sir, but surely the evidence is unavoidable that Holgate stabbed Barnes whether he planned it or not. He did it in front of reliable witnesses and then left the building. Whether he hid in the sarcophagus first, I don’t know. Maybe he’d been mentally unbalanced for some time; his later behaviour certainly suggests that. We found the gun holster and ammunition, and if the gun is retrieved it is likely to be the gun he brought to Whitby and which he killed himself with. If he was paranoid about some non-existent threat, then that would be consistent with his failing mental health.’

  �
�Very good. So you also think the strange elements can be accounted for by the murderer’s mental state?’

  ‘I think it’s likely, sir. It’s hard to get away from the evidence we have regarding the murder and suicide. Sometimes people successfully conceal their failing mental health, don’t they?’

  ‘They do and I tend to agree with Steph, sir,’ said Granger, ‘but I’m happy to carry on with the investigation until you’re satisfied. What do you think we should do?’

  ‘I’d like to find out a lot more about the past lives of all the people involved and see if we can turn up something interesting. The past is so often the key to unlocking these mysteries.’

  ‘If there is a mystery, sir,’ added Steph with a smile.

  ‘Yes, well, I’m not infallible and I don’t mind being proved wrong . . . but I want to know a lot more about who they all are, what they’ve done, where they’ve been. And by the way’ – he paused and raised a hand – ‘I don’t want either of you to think I’m doing this just because my daughter has doubts. I definitely believe we need to keep the investigation going.’

  ‘Of course, sir,’ replied Granger, though there was the hint of a smile on her face too as she didn’t entirely believe her former boss and mentor. As a parent herself she knew that there was always a powerful tendency to humour your children’s ideas.

  ‘By the way, how did you get on with the parents?’ asked Oldroyd as the meeting came to an end.

  Granger frowned. ‘Not pleasant. The mother was almost speechless with grief and kept bursting into tears. The father was angry and he seemed to be taking his grief out on Whitby; claimed he hated the place. Apparently Andrea had an uncle here who her father described as a rogue; said he had to close his business in Leeds because he was on the fiddle.’

  ‘Louise told us that Andrea had mentioned an uncle in Whitby.’

  ‘Ian Withington. He has a jeweller’s shop in Church Street – Whitby jet and all that.’