Lost Cause: An addictive and gripping crime thriller

Chapter 1

A waste removal lorry crawled along at a plodding pace. It was unhurried. Rubbish collection rounds in the Lake District were protracted affairs. Nonchalant sheep, devoted walkers, map-wielding tourists, overladen caravans and the odd eighty-tonne vehicle delivering building supplies to a cul-de-sac, all got in the way.

The men were chirpy – it was still a man’s job – and swapped jokes as they waved at patiently waiting car drivers and caught up on gossip from the Daily Mail. It was particularly difficult work at this time of year, when winter gripped the National Park and covered her with a blanket of white for a couple of months, and slowed everything down. The men were used to it and wore thick gloves, woollen hats and undergarments. Their breath billowed in clouds in front of them every time they spoke. In years gone by, the vapour would have been made up of cigarette smoke from fags hanging from the side of every worker’s mouth, but not in today’s health-conscious society: it was banned on the job, and the smokers had to wait until they got back to the depot to stand in the designated smoking area, just outside of the back gate.

Someone beeped a horn.

One of the men, dragging two heavy purple waste wheelie bins, looked up at where the noise had come from and scowled.

‘How long you gonna be, mate?’ asked a man with his head stuck out of the driver’s-side window of a new silver Mercedes.

‘As long as it takes. Mate,’ the worker replied, turning round and putting his back to the stranger. The others smirked and carried on with their tasks. There was no time to give everyone an explanation of their progress. Especially a fancy Merc driver who thought himself a cut above. They worked against a tight timeline, each worker an automaton, dragging, pushing, locking, changing, emptying and lining up. It was like watching a production line. It was a far cry from the days when burly, statuesque men carried tin bins on their shoulders and emptied them by hand. Now, the scrawniest teenager could get a job dragging a plastic tub to a machine that did all the work.

The Mercedes driver shook his head and banged his steering wheel. He was going to be late.

Despite snow piled up on the sides of the road, the sky was bright blue and every now and again a bin worker stopped to remove a hat, or his high-visibility orange jacket, throwing it into the cabin, where the driver was warm and dry.

He’d watched from the high vantage point of the lorry’s cab as the exchange with the silver Merc took place, and slowed down a little to further frustrate the guy driving. It was a regular pastime to make the job more interesting. He manoeuvred the vehicle deftly round a parked car, taking care to avoid the dry-stone wall on the other side. They were halfway along a narrow road, which was inhabited by possibly five residents, as well as one at the very end, before it opened up and split into two. Why the Merc was using this route was baffling, unless he wasn’t local and didn’t know either the waste disposal days or the tightness of this route. Or maybe he was one of the residents, though the workers recognised most of the homeowners on their rounds, and they didn’t think he was.

‘Jesus!’ One of the men tasked with lining the bins up bent over and vomit spewed out of his mouth.

‘Jim! You all right, mate?’ one of his colleagues asked.

The Merc driver rolled his eyes. A milk delivery van was behind him, and then two more vehicles behind that. They all came to a grinding halt. A sheep bleated from behind a stone wall in the distance.

‘That fucking stinks.’ Jim pointed to a wheelie bin.

His fellow worker was puzzled: they came across foul-smelling waste all day long, and he was at a loss to see what Jim could have found so repulsive. The lad was obviously ill.

Then he smelled it. He covered his mouth and backed away. He stepped from behind the lorry and beckoned to the driver in his cab to wait before he moved off. The driver gave him a thumbs up, which was acknowledged through the reflection in the wing mirror.

‘Fucking hell.’

An older guy, seasoned by years of malodorous fumes, stepped forward and walked past Jim and his colleague. A car door slammed and the Merc owner joined them.

‘What’s the hold-up? Christ! That reeks!’ He also covered his mouth and watched as the one worker seemingly immune to noxious, foetid fumes approached the offending wheelie bin and opened the lid. He peered in, and the others were satisfied to see that even he covered his mouth. He continued to look inside the receptacle and then slammed the lid and backed away. He walked towards them, the colour drained away from his face.

‘What is it?’ they all asked in unison.

‘It’s a fucking arm,’ he said, as he bent over and retched on the side of the road, wasting this morning’s fine cup of tea and thick bacon sandwich slathered in brown sauce. The spew steamed, and he could smell the vinegar of the sauce, and the smoke of the bacon.

Chapter 2

Kelly Porter ran along the Ullswater Road, flanked by grey dry-stone walls on one side and the beautiful lake on the other. From Pooley Bridge, where she lived in a small cottage overlooking the River Eamont, towards Aira Force, the traffic was minimal at this time of the year, especially this early in the morning, and she only saw the odd car speeding towards her. She was a confident runner and made her presence known on the road, though anyone who cared for her would have covered their eyes, trying not to wince at the risks she took. Especially with the thick piles of snow shovelled to the sides of the road. But a local was used to it.

She wore thick black Nike leggings, emblazoned with the logo in neon green along the length of her leg. A bright orange sweater made her stand out among the drab, brown stains on the road and the lifeless trees. A snood wrapped round her chin and her long auburn hair was tied tightly behind her head. She was not yet forty; her cheekbones were still high and her eyes bright. Her cheeks were flushed with new life inside her and she pounded the road at a steady rhythm. She could have been mistaken for a runner in her twenties, and vans beeped their appreciation as they passed her, making her smile and wave. Occasionally, if she wasn’t in such a good mood, they’d get a middle finger.

To Kelly, running along the main road wasn’t a risk. She knew it with her eyes closed and instinctively judged the terrain before her, around every bend and dip in the road. Her breath came in great pillows of vapour and her lungs worked hard to keep the rhythm. There was nothing wrong with keeping up strenuous exercise when pregnant, so her doctor had told her, and she hadn’t noticed much of a difference. But then she was only eight weeks gone. Her abdomen didn’t look any different and no one, except Johnny, knew that there was another human being growing inside her: a person who she had yet to decide if she wanted to meet or not.

Johnny was adamant: they should raise the child. But Kelly was concerned. Actually, she was terrified. For a start, Johnny had screwed up his first marriage and missed out on the rearing of his only child, Josie. They’d only rekindled their relationship very recently. What if it happened again? No, Johnny was a good man. It wouldn’t happen again. He wasn’t that soldier any more, and he wanted this child.

Then there was Rob Shawcross. Detective Constable Rob Shawcross, rising star of her department, new father, and showing the signs of what a little person could do to an adult person. It was pure torture. Rob came in to work at Eden House in Penrith, where Kelly ran the serious crime unit for the North Lakes, haggard, sleep-deprived, badly dressed and disoriented. It wasn’t a pretty sight. Kelly watched as the man she’d known as the ultimate vision of fitness and strength crumbled in the wake of a swaddled invader. His once-muscular frame was hunched over, his eyes were haunted and wrinkled and he rushed around, forgetting and dropping things, when once he’d exuded the essence of control and poise.

His baby was adorable, there was no dispute about that, but he’d decided to keep his parents up for most of the night every night, and catch up on sleep during the day. The dark circles under Rob’s eyes were the colour of the granite fells surrounding the lakes nearby, and they were growing darker by the day. Johnny was turning fifty this year and she would be forty: did they have the energy?

She pounded the tarmac of the road and wondered if she could give up her life for the sake of what was growing inside her. She took a keen interest in any debates on TV or radio that discussed abortion and the rights of the unborn foetus, and she lacked focus at work, reflecting instead on her own quandary. Johnny said it was her choice, but deep inside she knew that she couldn’t just go ahead and take such a big step alone; she needed his support. She’d never faced a question of this magnitude before, in her personal life at least. She touched her stomach absent-mindedly.

The only change to her body was a touch of fatigue in the afternoon. It told her to take a nap around three o’clock and she struggled to stay awake. She avoided late briefings at Eden House and opted to stay at her desk, rearranging such activities for morning slots. It was easy to pull off; after all, she was the gaffer. Like today. It was a quiet Monday morning and she’d make her way to the office after she’d made some calls from home.

But, apart from the physical question of whether she could cope with a screaming baby, there was the moral dilemma that raged in her head. In her line of work, seeing the batshit-crazy stuff people do to one another… why the hell would anyone want to bring another life onto the planet?

The lake was like glass and, at this time of the morning, there were no boats, steamers, dinghies or even paddleboards to be seen. Snow burdened the evergreen foliage of the trees and mist settled in clumps around the inlets of the lake shore. January in the Lakes was about as peaceful as it got. The post-Christmas lull in the tourist trade came as a welcome break for those who lived there, though the small businesses would always welcome trade. Snow was at its deepest; up on the fells it was as thick as a double-decker bus, and treacherous, making it Johnny’s busiest time of year. He was a mountain rescue volunteer and the winter months took him out on the fells in the most extreme conditions. Gullies, cliff edges and changes in terrain were all buried out of sight and caught the unprepared traveller unaware. It was also difficult getting the chopper to the more remote areas and poor visibility made it even worse.

But it was good that he was so busy. They both needed distraction. Long evenings in front of the fire had become the norm and, usually, before they could discuss their options – or her options – she’d be asleep. They had both agreed to share their dilemma with somebody else but neither could decide who. Out of Kelly’s colleagues, the best person would probably be DS Umshaw. Kate had three daughters and there was nothing she didn’t know about raising kids. However, should Kelly decide not to go ahead with the pregnancy, Kate may possibly judge her harshly and that would make work uncomfortable. One could never guess what people’s views were. Johnny had thought about talking to Ted Wallis, the coroner, but he happened also to be Kelly’s father and so was involved already. Kelly knew that Ted longed to be a grandparent, so he couldn’t exactly be trusted to be impartial. It would also make work more difficult if every time she had to deal with the senior coroner she was reminded of her emotional state.

Johnny would go crazy should he find out she was running alone, in such icy conditions, and along a main road, but at least she’d left her headphones at home. After the murder of a female jogger in a park in Penrith last year, who was approached unawares with her music blaring, Kelly had promised him she wouldn’t use them. But she missed them. Music when she ran was like a dramatic context in which to think. Without the pounding of loud beats, running lost its lustre and seemed more taxing. Maybe she’d use them but not tell him. The area had almost got over the paranoia since the murder, as the perpetrators had been caught, thanks to Kelly. Surely it was a one-off, and safe now?

She grew warm and took off her gloves, stuffing them into her pockets. The snood round her neck suddenly felt claustrophobic and her hat made her head itch. She had an overwhelming desire for ice cream. As a police officer, she never left home without her debit card. Johnny called it ‘fighting order’, a phrase he had used in his army days when he and his fellow soldiers would go out armed with only their cash card, a cigarette lighter and a condom.

The nearest ice cream shop was in Glenridding, which was probably another twenty minutes’ running. Pooley Bridge was forty minutes behind her. She decided to carry on to the small village, which was a well-used base for climbing Helvellyn, as well having the best views over the lake and being a popular place to get married. Maybe she’d call Johnny for a lift when she got there. Rummaging around her pockets, trying to zip away her gloves, she realised that she had her wireless headphones with her after all, and she plugged them in. The sound was welcome and made her smile as she faced the last leg of her run. Johnny needn’t know.

Her worries cleared and her thoughts turned to her work – or, more specifically, the disappearance of a woman from Ambleside close to the lovely village of Grasmere, last week after the bank holiday Monday for New Year, which had fallen on the weekend. Lisa Lau had been reported missing by her employer, a guest-house owner in Glenridding. All the preliminary enquiries had been carried out by uniforms over a huge area: the woman’s background, last known movements, any sightings of her and witness statements. The Chinese embassy was informed by the Foreign Office, because the woman was a Chinese national with a work permit. There was a rumour that she had been pursuing some after-dark activities in areas known for soliciting, such as nearby Bowness, and even as far south as Barrow-in-Furness, but none of that had been substantiated. Sex work went on in every corner of the UK – of that there was no doubt – but proving it was an entirely different matter. There were also plenty of Chinese nationals with work permits in Cumbria, working in restaurants and hotels; Lisa wouldn’t stand out for her looks.

The case had put her back in touch with DI Craig Lockwood, the head of serious crime for the South Lakes, which had been a happy reintroduction. She’d worked with him on several occasions and enjoyed the way his mind worked. They were similar. More than similar: they got each other. It had been a pleasing reunion, but they both agreed, after a sighting of the woman at Preston train station, that Miss Lau had more than likely taken off to better job opportunities, and the case was transferred to Lancashire Police. The witness had seemed credible, though CCTV was slow in coming through to confirm. Still, there was no evidence of any concerns for her welfare. The woman was, after all, twenty-three years of age; she could do whatever she liked, as long as she didn’t outstay her work permit. Kelly had made a note of its expiry, which was this coming weekend, and moved on; but occasionally, like now, she found herself wondering if she and Craig had done everything.

The woman was probably safe and sound in a new job in Preston, she thought. The boss who’d reported her missing was frank about his low opinion of her work ethic: she wasn’t missed. The parting wasn’t unexpected.

By the time Kelly rounded the corner and entered the outskirts of the town, she’d begun to tremble slightly thanks to low blood sugar, and she knew the colour would have drained out of her. It was happening a lot lately and was another indicator of her changing body. She walked to her favourite ice cream parlour with her hands on her hips, trying to settle her breathing. It was inside the tourist information office and so opened earlier in the year than all the others. The quality of its product didn’t hurt either. Early-morning walkers stopped there before heading out onto the hills.

Once inside, she ordered a double chocolate and mint cone and watched the woman serving her, checking she was getting her money’s worth. Recently she’d begun to understand cravings and how they really felt. It wasn’t just a desire, it was a mad obsession that would not abate until satiated. She reckoned it was how murderers felt.

Once outside, she bit into the ice cream and gulped it down. A couple walked past her and stared but Kelly kept chomping, dribbling stray drips down her running top, which she wiped with her hand and sucked too. When she reached the cone, she kept going and crunched the thing down in one. When she’d finished she stared at her hand as if surprised that there was none left. She turned round and went back inside to order another cone, this time with strawberries and caramel.

The woman smiled at her.

‘Hungry?’

‘Starving. I’ve run from Pooley Bridge, and I’m…’ She didn’t finish the sentence, deciding not to share her news with a complete stranger before her own family knew.

‘Bloody hell, love, this one’s on the house. Local?’

‘Yes, I live there.’

‘I know you from somewhere. You’re that detective, aren’t you? I’ve seen you on the telly. You keep us all safe, you do.’

The woman beamed as she handed Kelly her second feast. Kelly smiled and said thank you. She didn’t know what else to say. It wasn’t every day that a copper got congratulated by a member of the general public. She walked out of the shop and began devouring her second sweet treat. When she’d finished, she’d already walked a good ten minutes back in the direction of Pooley Bridge, and she felt her blood sugar equalise. She decided to run all the way back home after all.

She was recharged and rejuvenated. It set her mind thinking about another case that had been transferred to Lancashire Police in October of last year. She hadn’t given it another thought until now. A woman called Dorinne Callaghan had been reported missing by a youth hostel in Ambleside. She was behind on her accommodation fees and they wanted the room emptied of her belongings. Lisa Lau had also resided at a youth hostel in Ambleside, a different one, but nonetheless only a stone’s throw away. She’d been over the details of both cases a hundred times with Craig and nothing had come of it.

Her phone ringing jolted her back to the present. It seemed her run would be cut short after all. It was the office at Eden House in Penrith, telling her about a body in a wheelie bin. She called Johnny for a lift home.

Chapter 3

By the time Kelly was showered, changed and ready to attend the scene of the dead body, forensics had already made their way there and uniforms had sealed off the area. She’d had the obligatory chat with Johnny about personal safety. He was definitely more cautious these days. When they’d first met, it had been a frivolous and charged affair, kept secret initially because she’d lived with her sick mother at the time and hadn’t known what the future might hold. He’d been something for her to enjoy without her mother or sister getting in the way. They’d realised pretty rapidly that there was no time at their ages to waste on swooning, tactics and testing. They’d fallen in love quickly, and she’d wanted to keep it the one thing that was hers and only hers. Everything else in her life seemed to be run and dictated by other people: her mother’s illness and subsequent death, her sister’s constant blame and judgement, and her job, and psychos hell-bent on causing harm in disgusting ways… It all was better put into little boxes to be dealt with when she was ready, or had the energy. Johnny was elevated above all of the other crap, and she didn’t want that box tainting.

Now, though, with her mother gone and her sister Nikki staying out of the way, as well as her being three years into her new job, her life had found some kind of rhythm.

Then this.

‘You need to be careful.’ Johnny was talking to her and following her around as she packed her bags for what could be a very long day. She kissed him. It didn’t matter what season it was; he wore the same: shorts, T-shirt and flip-flops. His hair was becoming heavily streaked with grey and she liked it. His skin always seemed to be tanned, like all the mountain rescue volunteers, who all went the colour of mahogany in summer. His blue eyes were serious, but she smiled and pretended to concentrate on what he was saying. She could smell him (another heightened sense thanks to pregnancy): Mont Blanc Legend. That was the smell that had enticed her to his bed in the first place.

‘I am careful. I can’t stop everyday life. I just went for a run. Then devoured two massive ice creams.’

‘Two?’

‘The place in Glenridding. She gave me the second on the house. I had mint and choc chip first and then strawberry caramel. Oh my God, they were divine. She recognised me. I’m famous.’

He shook his head and smiled. At almost fifty, his eyes were framed by laughter lines and so much time on the fells had carved deep lines along his forehead. His arms were muscular and he was built like a mountain man, even though he wasn’t raised here. Kelly tried to change the subject; pregnancy was making her feel rampant and frankly it was the last thing she had time for.

‘Is that officially a craving?’ she asked.

‘As far as I remember. It’s been fifteen years. I was in Northern Ireland and Bosnia for the most of it.’ He was referring to his ex-wife being pregnant with the now sixteen-year-old Josie.

‘Do you fancy being a stay-at-home dad?’

‘I’ve already told you I do. You can go back to work as soon as you want to and I’ll be here, looking after him.’

‘Or her,’ Kelly said.

‘Or her. Another teenaged daughter in the making? Christ, boys are simpler. No mood swings, make-up, hang-ups and needing to talk about endless emotions.’

She fake-punched him. ‘I think you get off lightly with Josie. She’s an amazing girl. When should we tell her?’

‘Have you made your mind up then?’ he asked.

Kelly saw tears at the corners of his blue eyes and she didn’t know what to say. She went to him and he held her close. She felt guilty for poking fun at him and making him wait; she hadn’t understood until now how much it meant to him. There really was no other end to this. She couldn’t make love to this man, then ignore what came from that: they’d created a child. She had to let it sink in, though. He held her. She smelled his neck and exhaled. It was like an acceptance of what might come next.

‘I need to go.’

‘Don’t get too close. And wear a mask.’ He was talking about the body.

‘I never take chances at a crime scene, you know that. Besides, I’m pregnant, not ill.’

‘Of course you don’t. Sorry. So is it a crime, then?’ he asked.

Kelly had been told few details about the scene, just that a binman on shift had noticed a disgusting smell, opened the bin and found a human arm. It had since been confirmed by a forensic officer on site that the arm was attached to a female torso, which had an intact head, but there were no legs.

‘There’s no doubt that it’s homicide, unless she chopped off her own legs and dragged herself into the bin by her hands.’

‘Not likely, then. Grisly.’

‘Exactly. It takes a lot to butcher a body. Not just a strong stomach, but determination and detachment. It’s chilling. I can’t help wondering if that Chinese woman actually left the Lake District or not.’

‘It’s not her then?’

‘No, the woman in the bin is Caucasian.’

He kissed the top of her head and she put her forehead on his chest and smelled him again.

‘I’m on duty today, and if yesterday was anything to go by, we’ll be busy too.’

She reluctantly went downstairs and put on her coat, shouting goodbye to him as she left.

She drove to where the forensics team had erected a tent over the wheelie bin. It was the other end of Ullswater, and not far from where Lisa Lau had disappeared, but for now she had to push thoughts of the woman from her mind, and concentrate on this new case, where they had tangible evidence to work with. Disappearances were always so vague.

Her first job would be to study the scene and see what forensics had found, then she’d get back to the office and start a new case file while they waited for an identity. The team’s recent work on Lisa Lau had already brought missing persons in Cumbria to their attention, but without a timeline based on the time of death, or facial recognition, Kelly wasn’t in a position to make any guesses yet.

The drive to Patterdale, at the southern tip of Ullswater, was just as beautiful as her run had been earlier this morning. Patterdale was a gorgeous tiny village where people parked up to start their walks either up the Helvellyn range or opposite, up Place Fell. The fell always gave her slight shivers, since she’d investigated a case there a couple of years back. But it hadn’t shaken her passion for the straightforward, if steep, hike. She’d been up there with Johnny on countless occasions. The view from the top was breathtaking and took in the whole of Ullswater snaking away to the north-east, like a great silver serpent.

She turned off at the White Lion pub and it only took her a minute to find the correct street. It was well sheltered and not obvious, meaning that whoever dumped the body parts probably knew that. Kelly had never driven down it before and she paid attention to the display of affluence. Uniforms had already established that none of the residents on the street had claimed to own the bin, a point that had yet to be verified: only a thorough forensic tracing of the bin would establish if one of them was lying. The remains as well as the bin in its entirety would be transported to the mortuary for examination. The street was dark because the ancient trees provided so much shade, but through the canopy Kelly could still see the blue sky. Here, away from the main roads, the snow was shovelled up the sides of the road in high piles, turning grey from the few cars that used the route.

She drove to the police tape and parked, not needing to show her identity badge because she was well known across the force. The uniform nodded in greeting. ‘Ma’am.’

Kelly went to where the white tent had been erected and paused to look around. She wasn’t surprised that there were no CCTV cameras along the street, but that didn’t mean that some of the wealthy owners of the large detached houses didn’t have their own. There was a slim chance of witnesses too. The waste removal lorry had been allowed to progress with its duties after statements had been taken. Some of the drivers waiting behind the lorry at the time had also been interviewed and then allowed to get on with their day.

She looked up and down the street, deciding that to know how perfect a dump site this would be would take local knowledge and a few reconnaissance missions. Either that or the person who disposed of the body lived here. Uniforms were in the process of going door to door (not that there were many) and at this time of the morning most residents were home and able to talk. Each had displayed horror at what had been discovered on their doorstep and a few local journalists had turned up, hanging around addresses, hoping for soundbites. A body in a wheelie bin would be a huge story. Kelly had certainly never heard of anything like this before in the Lakes. There was the head found in Wast Water years ago and never identified, but this was proper tabloid stuff.

Kelly looked along the ground, all thoughts of cravings and nausea forgotten for the time being; she had her detective head on as she tried to imagine the sheer audacity required to drive a wheelie bin to this remote spot, park up and place it along with the others, knowing when collection day was. They’d need some kind of van. At least this was the theory emerging in Kelly’s head. To drag it here through the streets would be too risky. She called Kate at Eden House and asked her to start a search for CCTV footage in the area, specifically looking for vans, at least as large as a Transit.

She pulled her coat around her against the wind that had whipped up and shivered with the lack of direct sun in this dark spot. Beyond the end of the road, it would be business as usual. The White Lion pub would open and serve bar meals, the public car park would fill up with walkers eager to get up on the fells early, and the corner shop would sell the best pasties in the Lakes. That thought caused Kelly to feel a flicker of need to bite into the buttery, crumbly pastry and the rich gravy within.

She pushed it to one side and entered the tent. Two forensic officers were processing the scene. They both greeted