Page 27 of Worse Than Murder (DCI Matilda Darke Thriller #13)

A ccording to the satnav, it should take one hour twenty-three minutes to get to Seascale.

Tania Pritchard arrives just over the hour mark.

She cares very little for the laws of the road and takes corners in fourth gear, speeds up when a green light changes to amber and overtakes slow-moving vehicles without a care for what’s coming in the opposite direction.

‘For someone who has a detective in the front passenger seat, you’re very reckless with the highway code,’ I say as I hold onto the handle above the door for dear life.

‘I’m a very law-abiding person,’ she says.

‘But I think they’ve gone too far. I’m fine with the big stuff– don’t commit murder, don’t steal, don’t take drugs, don’t park in someone’s designated parking space– but, once you start with laws and rules, people take them further until we get to a point we can’t do anything without fear of being arrested.

If I can get to my destination in one piece and not kill anyone, does it matter if I’m doing ninety on a dual carriageway? ’

I find it difficult to think of a counter-argument.

* * *

Seascale is a small, picturesque village on the Irish Sea coast of Cumbria with a population of less than two thousand. It seems cooler here than inland where Nature’s Diner is. As I step out of the Punto, and give thanks for surviving, I feel a chill.

According to Damien Ashton’s LinkedIn profile, he works from home as a freelance copy editor.

Tania found his address on the electoral register, and she parks outside his whitewashed cottage on the sea front.

He has a stunning view from his front garden.

For the first time in ages, I wonder if I should move.

I live in a former farmhouse with massive rooms, tall ceilings, a formal dining room and its own library.

There’s only me there. I don’t need all that.

A quaint cottage would do me perfectly well. Something to think about.

As we walk up the short garden path, I see a man in a downstairs room, presumably the living room, turn and look at us. He answers the door before we can ring the bell.

Damien Ashton had been a good-looking man when he was a teacher at High Chapel Primary School in the early nineties.

Now in his fifties, his once short dark hair is swept back, thinning and grey.

His once smooth face is lined and gives him a tired, hangdog expression.

As he smiles at us, his dull eyes wake up slightly, and reveal a hint of the younger, carefree man he used to be.

Tania introduces us both and asks if we can ask him a few questions about the disappearance of the Pemberton twins. It’s usually me leading a conversation. I can’t get used to deputising.

‘Have there been any developments? Have they been found?’ There’s genuine concern in his voice.

‘There has been a development,’ Tania says.

Damien leads us into the house which has the aroma of freshly made coffee. He shows us into a tastefully decorated, yet untidy living room. There’s a desk in the corner with two large monitors and a laptop.

‘Let me just save what I’m working on,’ he says, rushing over to his desk. ‘Take a seat where you can find one. Sorry for the mess. I’m not a tidy worker, I’m afraid.’

‘Do you live alone?’ I ask as I look at the pictures on the walls. They’re all landscapes and works of art. No photos of family members or friends.

‘I do. Yes.’

‘Are you married? Single?’

‘I’m single,’ he says, looking up from his computer as he shuts it down.

‘By choice?’ Tania asks, sitting down and making herself comfortable.

‘Yes, actually.’ He moves to the armchair and hitches up his skinny jeans as he sits. ‘I don’t function well as part of a couple.’

‘Why is that?’

‘You want to talk to me about Celia and Jennifer,’ he says, avoiding Tania’s question.

I go over to the sofa and sit down next to Tania. ‘You remember their names?’

‘Of course, I do. It was a massive news event. I was only twenty-four at the time. I hadn’t been teaching long.

It’s strange: I remember thinking teaching was going to be fun, that teaching primary age kids was going to be this worthwhile job.

Celia and Jennifer going missing sort of opened my eyes to the reality of adult life. ’

‘What does that mean?’ Tania frowns.

‘It was the first time I’d come face to face with evil.’

‘Evil? That’s a strong word,’ I say. I’ve met evil. I’ve fought evil. I’m not sure if I’ve won or not. Right now, it doesn’t seem so. Damien was Celia and Jennifer’s teacher. He wasn’t living with them. He wasn’t personally connected to them enough to be close enough to experience evil firsthand.

‘That’s what it was. Someone took those girls. You don’t have to be a detective to know that when two beautiful little girls go missing it’s for… well, it’s not going to have a happy ending when they’re not found straight away, is it?’ His fingers worry at the cuffs of his long-sleeve T-shirt.

‘You thought they were beautiful?’ I ask. I’ve seen photos of Celia and Jennifer, and they were beautiful. But should their teacher be thinking of his pupils that way?

‘Well, yes. They were. They were always smiling, always clean and dressed nicely. They were lovely girls.’

‘How were they in class? Any problems?’

‘No. They were bright and attentive. They listened and did their work.’

‘Did they have friends?’

‘Yes. The whole class was friendly. There was no bullying.’

‘None at all?’

‘No. It was a fun group of children.’

‘What about Lynne and Jack, the twins’ parents? What did you think of them?’

‘I… they seemed nice enough. They were interested in the girls when it came to projects and parents’ evening, that kind of thing.’

I adjust myself on the sofa. It’s not very comfortable. ‘In the run up to Celia and Jennifer going missing, did you notice anything different about their behaviour?’

‘In what way?’

‘I don’t know. Something that might stand out.’

Damien looks away and frowns as he thinks.

‘I… No. I don’t think so. Actually, yes.

Jennifer fell down in the playground. She ran and tripped, nothing major, but she kept saying for a couple of weeks that her arm was hurting.

I looked at it; I had basic first aid training and, when I pressed it, looking for a bruise, she cried out in pain. She’d only grazed it when she fell.’

‘Was she bruised?’ I ask.

‘No. But she was clearly in pain.’

‘Did you mention it to her parents?’

‘No. School broke up for the summer holiday a couple of days later.’

‘Where were you on the day the girls went missing?’ Tania asks.

‘I was on holiday in Cornwall.’

‘Oh. Nice. On your own?’

‘Yes.’

‘Isn’t that a bit odd?’

‘I’m sorry?’

‘A twenty-four-year-old going on holiday on his own? At that age I had loads of friends. We were always going away together.’

‘Maybe I wasn’t as confident as you were at that age,’ Damien says, slightly acidic.

‘On the day in question, 11 August,’ I begin. ‘Can you remember exactly what you were doing?’

‘Am I a suspect?’

Tania opens her mouth to say something, but she has a confrontational style of questioning, and I think Damien needs a gentler hand. I jump in first.

‘We’re trying to establish where the main people in Jennifer and Celia’s life were at the time they disappeared.’

‘I’ve already said. I was in Cornwall.’

‘On the day they disappeared, 11 August, can you remember exactly where you were?’ I ask again, slowly.

‘No. Can you remember where you were on 11 August 1992?’

‘No. But I’m pretty sure I would remember, if I was a teacher and two pupils in my class went missing on that date. Do you remember where you were on Tuesday the eighth of January 2019?’

‘No. Why?’

‘I do. I was being shot. I’ll always remember that day, just as I’d expect you to remember where you were when two of your pupils went missing.’

‘Well, I’m sorry. I can’t.’

‘Why did you leave High Chapel Primary School?’ I ask, changing the subject.

He shakes his head. ‘It wasn’t the same. There was always an atmosphere at the school after they disappeared. And after that business with Alex Costello and how everyone treated him, I felt people looked at each other differently.’

‘I agree with you there,’ Tania admits. ‘The village changed that day. I don’t think it’s been the same since.’

‘Where did you move to?’

‘I got a job in Manchester teaching primary again, but I felt like I was seeing Celia and Jennifer everywhere. I moved again and changed to teaching older students.’

‘You don’t teach now, though,’ Tania says.

He looks at her with hooded eyes. He knows where the conversation is going. ‘No.’

‘Why did you leave?’

‘I think you know why.’

‘Enlighten me,’ Tania says, crossing her legs at the knee.

Damien sighs. He looks defeated. ‘I was teaching sixth form in Newcastle. There was a boy there. We… we started seeing each other,’ he says, almost embarrassed.

‘How old were you?’ Tania asks.

‘I was thirty-one.’

‘You were thirty-one and he was… what? Sixteen?’

‘Yes. Look, I know I was stupid. I know I shouldn’t have done anything, but I didn’t force him to do anything he didn’t want to do. I didn’t groom him. The attraction was mutual.’

‘But you were his teacher,’ I say.

‘I know. I know. There isn’t a day goes by without I’m sorry for what I did, but we didn’t actually sleep together. We… kissed, that’s all. We went on dates. We enjoyed each other’s company.’

I can see the hurt in his eyes. He seems genuinely sorry for abusing his position. He’s paid the price by losing his job, his career.

‘What do you think happened to Celia and Jennifer?’

‘You’re the detective, you tell me.’

‘You know those involved, you tell me,’ I fire back.

‘I don’t know. I honestly don’t. But I seem to remember their younger sister, Alison, saying something about waving at them and they waved back? Something like that. That sounds like they were taken by someone they knew, or they wouldn’t have been so relaxed, would they?’

‘Does anyone come to mind?’

He shrugs. ‘The father? I don’t know.’

‘Why the father?’

‘It was just a guess. I really don’t know. It’s usually the father, though, isn’t it?’

‘The father. The uncle. The family friend. The neighbour. The trusted teacher,’ Tania says.

‘Me? You think I took them? That’s ridic… why? Why would I do that? What’s my motive?’

‘You have an interest in people younger than you.’

‘Oh, for fuck’s… once. That happened once. And the person in question was a boy. I’m gay. I’ve always been gay. Why would I be interested in twin six-year-old girls? Are you one of those people who think all gay men are sexual predators or paedophiles? I thought we’d left the Dark Ages behind.’

I glare at Damien. I don’t see a potential killer.

I see a sad and lonely individual. We’ve asked him enough and I wrap up the interview.

It’s clear Tania wants to ask him more, but I fear it would end up in an argument.

I thank him for his time, apologise for disturbing him while he’s working, and even shake his hand on the doorstep. I’m not usually so pleasant.

It’s not until we’re travelling back to High Chapel at warp speed that Tania asks me what I think of Damien.

‘He’s living a very solitary life, isn’t he?’

‘Self-induced,’ Tania says.

‘Hmm,’ It’s all I can think of to say.

‘What?’

‘Nothing. Just thinking.’

‘Is he a suspect?’

‘No. Though, it’s interesting what he said about Jennifer just before the school broke up for the summer holiday. She was clearly in pain. I wonder what happened to her.’

‘You think she was beaten?’

‘Someone had hurt her, and she hadn’t told her teacher about it, which suggests to me it wasn’t a simple accident and it involved someone close, someone who perhaps told her not to say anything to anyone.’

‘A secret between Daddy and his special little girl?’ Tania asks.

‘That’s what I’m thinking.’

‘Where to from here?’

‘I need to go for a run,’ I’m feeling tense and claustrophobic.

‘Do you think better when you’re running?’

I don’t answer that. I turn to look out of the window and watch a blurred landscape rush by.

I don’t think better when I’m running. I run in order to silence the dark, disturbing, horrific, chilling thoughts that won’t leave me the fuck alone.

And now, on top of reliving my mum and nephews being killed, I’ve got the beautiful and smiling Celia and Jennifer setting up home in my mind, and the thoughts of the evil they witnessed in their final minutes.

I close my eyes and wish someone would invent something to return the brain to its factory settings.