Fry thought the journal had finished. She turned the page at what seemed to be the last entry. But on the other side, there was a final scrawl - two lines in hastily printed capitals: IT WAS ALL A LIE. HE’S STILL HERE IN MY HEAD. WHO ELSE DO I HAVE TO KILL TO GET RID OF THIS THING INSIDE ME?
‘There’s an earlier entry that looks identical to one of the phone calls,’ said Fry, when she’d finished reading.
Cooper nodded. ‘Some of it is borrowed from Professor
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Robertson. Notes from when Vernon was his student, perhaps? He seems to have taken in every word as gospel. But the professor could be very persuasive. Mesmerizing almost.’
Fry slid the journal back into its plastic bag and took off her gloves.
‘And what about the human remains at Fox House Farm, Ben?’
‘I think that’ll turn out to be Vernon’s father.’
‘Richard Slack? You think Vernon stole the body of his own father?’
‘It would have been easier to achieve than with Audrey Steele,’ said Cooper. ‘Especially as Richard was due to be buried rather than cremated. There were people already complicit by then.’
‘But why?’
‘It would make sense, if Vernon took on board some of the ideas that Freddy Robertson was teaching him - the practice of excarnation, the sarcophagus and the charnel house. He left a body in “the dead place” to be sure that all the flesh had gone from the bones.’
‘And he was going back at intervals to check on progress?’
‘He wanted to be sure that his father’s spirit had gone. He was afraid it would linger unless the bones were completely clean and dry. That’s what Robertson had told him, you see.’
‘And when the bones were finally clean ‘
‘Vernon thought he’d be free. Free of the nightmares, free of the memory of his father. He seems to have believed that his father was still in his head somehow. Well, you’ve read it, Diane. He expresses it clearly enough himself in his journal.’
‘So perhaps when he called, he knew he was getting close: “Soon there will be a killing.” He might not have been talking about his own death at all.’
Cooper sat back, suddenly weary. ‘Vernon must have hated his father very much. It appears his father abused him badly as a small child. Vernon bore the pain in his bones all his life.
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I noticed him moving stiffly, but thought it was a recent beating. It wasn’t - it was a very old one. A series of vicious beatings, dating back to infancy.’
‘Richard Slack was worth more as meat for the worms than he ever was alive.’
‘Yes, you might say that.’
‘And if his father was still alive, no doubt he’d turn up at the child’s funeral and send flowers,’ said Fry distantly.
Cooper stared at her.
‘Diane, are you all right?’ he said.
Fry seemed to shake herself out of some reverie. ‘Fine. Look, I understand now what Vernon meant about the dead place being in other people’s hearts,’ she said. ‘But there had to be a physical place too, didn’t there?’
‘Where else for him but his own home? The house he grew up in, the place he associated with his parents, particularly with the man he’d always hated so much. This house was always a dead place for Vernon.’
Fry was quiet for a few moments. Watching her, Cooper knew she’d return to the same subject that had obsessed her all along, though he didn’t know why.
‘Those messages he sent,’ she said. ‘The gibbet and the rock, and all that. Do you think Vernon was hoping we’d work out the clues in time and stop him?’
‘We’ll never know, will we?’
‘If he was, Ben, we were too late.’
There was nothing Cooper could say to that. ‘Too late’ were the saddest words in the language, and they both knew it.
‘Was it Rod Stewart?’ he said.
‘What?’
‘That line from a song. “I’m not quite as dumb as I seem”.’
‘I don’t know any Rod Stewart songs,’ said Fry.
‘Come on, you must do.’
‘Well, I hope I don’t.’ Fry shivered suddenly. ‘Bloody Freddy
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Robertson. He could have saved us so much time. Why didn’t he tell us what he knew?’
‘This Lucy Somerville, his daughter,’ said Cooper. ‘I imagine she’s an only child?’
‘Yes. Why?’
‘It means Professor Robertson never had a son of his own.’
‘Oh, I see.’
