Songs of Innocence: The thrilling third book in the Hannah Weybridge series Read online

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  First published in Great Britain in 2018 by Urbane Publications Ltd

  Suite 3, Brown Europe House, 33/34 Gleaming Wood Drive, Chatham, Kent ME5 8RZ

  Copyright © Anne Coates, 2018

  The moral right of Anne Coates to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act of1988.

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without the prior permission of both the copyright owner and the above publisher of this book. All characters in this book are fictitious, and any resemblance to actual persons living or dead is purely coincidental.

  A CIP catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library.

  ISBN 978-1-911331-54-4

  MOBI 978-1-911331-56-8

  Design and Typeset by Julie Martin

  Cover by Julie Martin

  Printed and bound by 4edge UK

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  For Olivia and Harriet

  Can I see another’s woe,

  And not be in sorrow too?

  Can I see another’s grief,

  And not seek for kind relief?

  William Blake, On Another’s Sorrow

  Contents

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Chapter Thirty

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  Chapter Thirty-Six

  Chapter Thirty-Seven

  Chapter Thirty-Eight

  Chapter Thirty-Nine

  Chapter Forty

  Chapter Forty-One

  Chapter Forty-Two

  Chapter Forty-Three

  Chapter Forty-Four

  Chapter Forty-Five

  Chapter Forty-Six

  Chapter Forty-Seven

  Chapter Forty-Eight

  Chapter Forty-Nine

  Chapter Fifty

  Chapter Fifty-One

  Chapter Fifty-Two

  Acknowledgements

  About the Author

  CHAPTER ONE

  Peckham Rye, London May 1994

  Early morning in Peckham Rye Park composed its own symphony. An excited bark from an unseen dog. Birds sounding out their morning chorus high in the trees. A rustle of branches and leaves as a squirrel bounded from one tree to the next. The caw of a crow. A fox scratching the ground before marking the territory with his scent.

  Two young boys sneaked around the lake – known locally as the Pond – to the far side and leapt over the low fence which bore the sign: No Fishing. No Bathing. Both were wearing dark hoodies, jeans and trainers that were cheap and without a fashionable logo. The smaller of the two slipped and landed awkwardly near the water’s edge.

  “Shit.” A few stones he had disturbed splashed into the lake.

  “Shh,” said the other looking around, but only the ducks and Canada geese had heard and they showed a marked disinterest.

  “How deep d’you think it is, Ollie?”

  The other boy shrugged. “Dunno.” He elbowed his friend in the ribs. “Deep enough to cover you, Jace.”

  Jason eyed the murky water with suspicion and shuffled backwards on his bottom. The boys unpacked their rucksacks in companionable silence.

  Quickly they assembled their fishing tackle. Ollie opened the tin of bait and grinned as he took a moment to select a worm and handed the tin to his freckle-faced friend. They sat on the bank, partially hidden by a clump of bushes tall enough to make them less conspicuous. A large rat ran along the water’s edge near the reeds. Jason shuddered. He hated rats ever since he’d seen one eating rotting leftover food from a split black rubbish bag in the stairwell in their block of flats.

  “Ready?”

  “Ready.”

  Together they cast their lines. The plop of their baited hooks caused a slight ripple, which ruffled a moorhen’s feathers as it glided past. A mandarin duck with its spectacular red, orange, white and blue plumage perching on a low branch just skimming the water, raised its head but showed no curiosity in the boys.

  Peace prevailed. Jason felt his eyelids grow heavy, his long lashes brushing his cheeks. Ollie nudged him. “Don’t fall asleep, wanker.”

  “I’m not.” Jason wiped his sleeve across his nose and sniffed.

  Ollie handed him a sandwich from a sliced loaf bag he’d had in his rucksack and munched on one himself. Chocolate spread. His favourite. “I love it here. It’s like the country where my nan lives.”

  Jason nodded though he’d never been anywhere really. Never somewhere as exotic and exciting as he imagined the country to be. His whole world was the council estate where he lived with his mum on the seventeenth floor of their tower block, and school. Both were intimidating and harsh. He only ever came to the park when Ollie invited him.

  “Where does your nan live then?”

  “Harlow. There’s a field and a brook at the bottom of her garden. I love it there. Love it.” Ollie finished his sandwich and threw the crusts to the pigeons patiently waiting nearby.

  Suddenly Jason’s line tightened. “I think I’ve got something.”

  Ollie helped him reel in. A small fish neither could identify wriggled on the hook. Both boys were too excited to notice that they had also disturbed something else that floated to the surface. A coot rose in a flurry of wings and seemed to scream out at the boys who looked up from their task to see a face staring out of the water. Then a hand emerged and appeared to point directly at them as the terrified fishermen both let out an almighty yell.

  Jason and Ollie were sitting a few inches apart at the back of the park-keeper’s van, their legs dangling above the ground. The groundsman had been alerted, along with the police, by a man and a woman walking their dogs on the other side of the Pond. They had heard the boys’ screams and raced over, moving them away from their grim discovery. The woman and her dog went off to make the necessary phone call. The ashen-faced man was now sitting on a bench idly stroking his dog’s head, placed in sympathy, on his lap. His trousers were wet from the knees down, having dragged the body from the Pond. Just in case… but there was no doubt. The girl was dead.

  No one said a word as DS Mike Benton approached. The boys looked so young and vulnerable, he thought, but the little blighters had been fishing illegally. Sergeant Benton shook the smile from his face. He recognised his younger self in them. He’d been brought up in a similar area of south London and hadn’t been averse to br
eaking the rules. But fortunately he’d never discovered a dead body as they had. That had come later. Much later.

  Uniform had done a thorough job of sealing off the area and most of the regulars who walked their dogs just gave the lake a cursory glance and carried on, eager to keep their distance and maintain the momentum of their morning. Only a few stood around to see what the action was about.

  In an attempt to be less intimidating, DS Benton crouched down by the van so that the boys were looking down at him. The younger boy was sniffing. His freckles stood out in marked contrast to the paleness of his skin. The other boy’s red-rimmed eyes belied his nonchalant air.

  “So, Jason, Ollie –” he’d been given their names by uniform – “I think we’d better get you home, don’t you?”

  Jason wiped his hand across his face. “Me mum’s goin’ t’ kill me.”

  Ollie shot him a look, which clearly told him to shut up.

  “Don’t worry, you won’t be in any trouble.” Benton smiled in what he hoped was a reassuring manner.

  The boys’ faces betrayed their suspicion of all adults, especially the police. Distrust of anyone in authority was part and parcel of growing up on their estate.

  “It’s been a terrible shock for you, I know.” He paused trying to find the right words. “But you’ve probably saved another family a lot of heartache. They will be able to grieve for their daughter and not keep wondering where she is.”

  The boys nodded not knowing what the hell the detective was on about.

  “D’you know who she is?” Ollie asked.

  “Not yet, son, not yet. But we will – soon enough.”

  “Is the Pond very deep?” Jason shuddered remembering how he had nearly slipped in.

  “Deep enough.” He signalled to two women who were waiting nearby. “These ladies will take you home and explain to your parents that you’re not in any trouble but that we will need to take a statement from you at the station. Okay?” The boys nodded again and slid down from the van. “Just one thing.” The boys looked at him, expecting the worst. “No more fishing in the lake, okay?”

  “Yes sir,” they chorused.

  “And if you want to talk about anything they’ll give your parents a number to call.” Benton watched them go, guessing that any thought of fishing, with or without permission, would be far from their minds for a long time to come. He strolled over to have a word with the man sitting on the bench.

  In contrast to the grim discovery in the lake, sunlight flickered through the treetops with a tantalising promise of a warm afternoon to come. Benton had stood by the body while the photographer moved around taking shots from every angle. A beautiful face slightly bloated from its time in the water, with a fine line of white foam around the mouth.

  What the hell was so bad that she had to do this? He wasn’t usually given to introspection but the sight of the dead girl moved him. Some poor parents were going to have their hearts broken today. He hoped he wouldn’t have to be the one who broke the news to them, whoever they were. But he knew that more than likely the task would fall to him. And it never got any easier.

  There wasn’t much left to do. Thrusting his hands in his pockets, he looked across the lake where he spotted a familiar figure pushing a buggy and made his way over to her.

  “Well, well, Ms Hannah Weybridge. To what do we owe the pleasure of your illustrious presence here? A Peckham drowning’s hardly national news, is it?”

  “Nice to see you too, Sergeant.” Hannah glared at the man who had given her such a hard time when she’d found Liz Rayman’s body only a few months previously. He’d gone out of his way to be rude and nasty as she had tried to make sense of her friend’s murder. His boss, DI Claudia Turner, even had to reprimand him on a couple of occasions. But she never made excuses for him. She didn’t allow personal issues to impinge on her professionalism and didn’t expect it from her team either as both Hannah and the sergeant had learned.

  However Hannah, when she’d swallowed her irritation at this man’s interruption of her stroll with her daughter, noticed a marked change in Mike Benton. He looked younger, in fact. His hair had been cut and styled. His clothes looked fresh and fitted him better. And those laughter lines around his eyes that she’d noticed before seemed as though they were more often in use.

  “You’re looking well. A lot better than the last time I saw you.”

  Benton scanned the sky, shading his eyes with a hand. “Things change. Improve.” He stared across the lake. “But not for that young lady. Looks like she topped herself.”

  His casual dismissal of a life angered Hannah but she’d learned not to let her emotions show. Especially not to the likes of Benton. She glanced over at the tent, which had been erected on the far side. She’d been surprised when she saw all the police cars in the parking area. A walk in the spring sunshine with Elizabeth was a rare treat. One she didn’t want hijacked.

  The toddler was struggling to get out of the buggy. “Ducks,” she shouted, then turned to Benton to give him the full force of her smile. “Elizabeth feed the ducks.”

  To Hannah’s surprise he knelt beside the buggy. “Not today, sweetheart.” Elizabeth looked mutinous. “But you can still go to the swings over there.” He pointed to the play area.

  Elizabeth considered this for a moment then turned to her mother with a happier expression. “Swings, Mama.”

  Hannah was grateful for the distraction. “Well I’ll leave you to it, Sergeant. I’m not here in a professional capacity as you can see. I daresay the local press will be demanding your attention.”

  She turned the buggy towards the playground. “I’m glad things are going better for you.” And she meant it. But she couldn’t help wondering about the body they’d found in the lake. Usually the park-keeper’s biggest concern was the terrapins who’d colonised the Pond after being dumped there by owners who’d grown tired of them.

  By the time she’d reached the playground, with Elizabeth now trotting beside her and stopping every few minutes to inspect any stone, insect or blade of grass that caught her attention, Hannah had managed to put aside all thoughts about the body in the lake. Although she did speculate about what had caused DS Benton’s transformation.

  Playing on the swings and slides had Elizabeth shrieking in delight, especially when she found a little playmate who chased her round and played hide and seek in the Wendy house. Hannah smiled at the other mother who, she guessed, was at least ten years her junior. She returned the smile but looked bored and moved away to sit on a swing, rarely looking at her son as he raced around. Hannah was happy to see Elizabeth enjoying his company. She let her thoughts drift back to the Pond and DS Benton but didn’t take her eyes off her daughter. Some twenty minutes later, Elizabeth was coaxed out of the play area and into her buggy where she promptly fell into a contented doze.

  Hannah envied her. Sleep was something that didn’t come to her easily now. Every sound was a potential threat, every shadow a menace. But this afternoon the shadows cast by the spring sunshine were soothing as she ambled through the Japanese garden then on to the Rye, making her way home.

  The last thing she expected to see as she turned into her road was a police car parked outside her house and, standing by her gate speaking into her mobile phone, DI Claudia Turner.

  CHAPTER TWO

  “Sorry, Hannah, I should have phoned beforehand but I was in the area and…” Claudia left the sentence unfinished as she watched Hannah unlocking the door and turning off the alarm as they went into the hall.

  Hannah looked tired, Claudia thought, and after everything she’d been through it was little wonder. At least the security on her home appeared robust with the new, reinforced door and locks, plus a top of the range alarm system.

  “Are you here about the body in the Pond? Sergeant Benton said it was a suicide.” They had left Elizabeth dozing in her buggy in the hall as Hannah made coffee in the kitchen.

  “Would seem so. Stones in her pockets, poor kid.”


  Hannah looked horrified. “A child?”

  “No, a teenager, I think.” Claudia seemed distracted for a moment then continued, “Anyway, as I said I was in the area so called in to tell you, before you saw anything on the news, that two more Somali girls have been found. A woman took them in to her local police station. We’re not sure yet what the woman’s connection to them is, if any. It seems they hadn’t been harmed or abused but they’re having a full medical check in hospital.”

  “And then?”

  “Foster care, I suppose, until the authorities work out what to do with them.”

  “Be nice to think they could return to their families.”

  Claudia studied the other woman’s face. “You don’t sound very pleased.”

  Hannah handed her a mug of coffee and they sat at the kitchen table. The DI waited for her to say something. The silence was not a comfortable one. Hannah’s investigation into her friend’s death had uncovered an evil syndicate trafficking Somali girls into Europe and the US. Some high-profile people had been involved and had to resign from their various positions. But she feared that some of those who were masterminding the racket had not been caught or brought to justice.

  “Believe me, I am pleased, Claudia. It’s just that every time this comes up I think about how Liz died. This was why she died. And it hurts.”

  Claudia nodded. “I can imagine. But without your investigative work and perseverance, maybe none of the girls would have escaped. Think about that.”

  Hannah sipped her coffee. “I know. And I have so much to be grateful for as well.” She looked away for a moment. “By the way did you ever find out what happened to Sherlock, that guy who took a bullet for me?”

  Hannah’s tone belied the terror she’d felt, standing on the steps of St John’s church in Waterloo, suddenly confronted by the blinding flash of a camera and then the jostling around her. Voices shouting – commanding. The memory of the man who had moved in front of her so quickly and stood resolutely still although he had been hit by the bullet meant for her…

  “Sorry, no.” Claudia had flushed slightly. Hannah assumed she was lying but was in no mood to pursue it.