Detective Markham Mysteries Box Set

by Catherine Moloney

  She felt a sharp flare of resentment. Why did the DI keep her at arm’s length? Why did Noakes always get the plum assignments? Why was she always palmed off with the desk jobs when what she craved was to be out in the field?

  Aware of the DI looking at her, she summoned an expression of geisha-like submission, but inside the hard bitter feeling was getting pretty bad. Unfair, unfair, she raged silently.

  ‘Everything all right, Kate?’ Markham’s keen gaze raked her face. It would be too humiliating if he guessed her thoughts.

  ‘Absolutely, boss.’

  One day she’d be able to show him, she thought. One day soon…. The DCI and Chief Super were looking restive.

  ‘Let’s travel,’ he said.

  Footsteps crunched on the gravel.

  Gradually, peace returned to the crematorium grounds. Only the tall pines twisted and writhed as if there were secrets they would tell if they could.

  10. A Mystery

  CONVERSATION ON THE LONG drive to Seacrest was desultory, but Markham and Noakes were perfectly comfortable together. ‘Like a pair of old slippers,’ as Olivia was wont to put it.

  Before attending Jonathan Warr’s funeral, they had visited the intensive care ward at the Newman to break the news of his brother’s death to Mikey Belcher. The DI had suggested that DC Doyle accompany them, feeling that the experience would prove beneficial to the young officer.

  ‘An’ a fat lot of use he turned out to be,’ groused the DS. ‘Kept looking round like he couldn’t wait to be out of it.’

  ‘I think you’re being a little hard on him,’ Markham demurred. ‘Dealing with bereaved relatives is difficult at the best of times.’ There was silence while both men recalled their traumatic visit to Hayley Macdonald’s parents on Tuesday after the discovery of her body, her mother going into complete nervous shock at their announcement so that a doctor had to be called to administer a strong sedative. ‘And let’s face it, the locked ward of a special hospital isn’t your average set-up.’

  ‘He was a right snowflake.’ Noakes was having none of it. ‘Goggling at that poor lad like he had three heads.’

  ‘Pot, kettle, black,’ Markham responded with some asperity. ‘I seem to recall you were pretty spooked yourself by the Newman to start with.’

  ‘Yeah, but that Mikey, he’s all right.’ The DS spoke gruffly. ‘Got more sense than the medicos, if you ask me.’

  Markham suppressed a smile. ‘Maybe you and Mikey clicked because you’re both Yorkshiremen. “God’s own country” and all that.’

  ‘Got our heads screwed on the right way, you mean.’

  ‘Hmmm.’

  Something was troubling Noakes. ‘When we told him about David, it was almost like he’d been expecting it. Like it were fate or summat.’

  It was true. Mikey Belcher had said nothing when the DI told him of the two previous murders, and his response to the news of his brother’s death was simply, ‘Dave won’t be coming then.’ Sister Appleton had borne down on them at that point, but Noakes had interposed himself between nurse and patient before telling her to ‘Bugger off!’

  ‘Mikey’s on pretty strong meds, remember.’ Markham was gentle. ‘That’s why his response seemed flat.’

  ‘Poor bastard, having to cope with the gruesome twosome….’

  Markham sighed. ‘You weren’t exactly diplomatic, Sergeant.’

  ‘Well, I jus’ don’t like ’em, Guv.’ The DS cherished his prejudices. ‘Lopez is all teeth. Like Tony Blair. An’ that nurse is a right cold piece. The way she looked at Mikey, her face would’ve curdled milk.’

  ‘Well, at least Anna Sladen’s dropping by to spend time with him this afternoon, that’s some comfort.’

  ‘You like that one.’ A statement, not a question.

  Markham became aware the DS was watching him appraisingly, almost wistfully, as though apprehensive of clouds on the horizon.

  That was the trouble with Noakes. The grizzled copper was just like a child when it came to concealing his emotions – at least where Olivia was concerned. He seemed to have settled into the role of faithful servitor, as though into the foundations of a building. And Markham’s faith in his ever budging from that position was not much greater than if he actually had been a building.

  For all his exasperation, the DI was touched. He and Olivia each knew that the other liked Noakes, and that he loved them both. It was the strangest of eternal triangles.

  And now, with that acuity of a jealous lover, Noakes had sensed the presence of a cloud, though it was as yet no bigger than a man’s hand.

  ‘Ms Sladen struck me as a caring and sensitive professional,’ Markham said carefully.

  ‘Oh aye.’ Noakes was cool. As much as to admit there might be other goddesses but he preferred to worship at his own exclusive shrine.

  A change of subject was called for.

  ‘I’ve told Kate and Doyle to re-interview Claire Holder and go in hard this time.’

  The tactic was successful.

  ‘D’you think she’s hiding summat, Guv? I mean, the woman lost it big time up there on the roof.’

  ‘Oh, she knows something all right.’ Markham’s voice hardened. ‘And if it turns out that she withheld information that could have stopped a killing spree, then I’ll nail her to the wall.’

  There was a long silence.

  ‘That service for Warr fair turned my guts.’ Noakes was angry. ‘Pillar of the community an’ all that, when he was really a murdering bastard ’isself.’

  ‘Yes, it was horrible.’ The DI spoke with feeling.

  ‘An’ the DCI an’ Chief Super there an’ all.’ The DS choked. ‘When the Chief Super’s likely in it up to his neck…. I mean, Magnum, for fuck’s sake, it’s gotta be him.’

  ‘We’ve only got circumstantial evidence on Rees. The CPS would laugh us out of court. Mikey would never stand up to cross-examination … we couldn’t put him through it.’

  ‘It’s gotta be Rees,’ Noakes said obstinately. ‘Doyle said a couple of the porters were gassing about him practically having the run of the place. Like Jimmy Savile in Broadmoor, they said. Ernie Roberts shut them up pronto.’ A reluctant chuckle. ‘Doyle said the old boy looked proper shocked by the way they were carrying on.’

  ‘All circumstantial, Sergeant.’

  ‘Yeah, I know.’ The DS thumped the dashboard by way of giving relief to his feelings.

  ‘And you can stop vandalizing my car,’ Markham added mildly.

  ‘How are we going to get him, then?’

  ‘Well, I want a search warrant for Ted Cartwright’s office. But—’

  ‘Sidney’d have your balls on a plate.’

  ‘In a word, yes.’

  ‘So we’re stuffed.’

  ‘I think there may be a way round it.’

  ‘Yeah?’

  ‘Kate has a contact over at the council.’

  ‘Like a snout?’

  ‘Frankly, I’m not enquiring too closely, Sergeant. This is all on the QT.’

  ‘What’s the plan then? Breaking and entering?’ Noakes’s tone was derisive. ‘You’re not telling me Little Miss Muffet’s up to that kind of caper!’

  ‘I prefer to think of it as a discreet recce … into Cartwright’s office using a pass key followed by a quick look at his files.’

  ‘What if Cartwright comes back?’

  ‘He won’t. He at the university most of Friday delivering – God, the irony of it! – a course on Ethics to Bromgrove’s budding legal eagles.’

  ‘What if he’s moved the incriminating stuff out of his office?’

  ‘Something tells me he hasn’t.’ Markham frowned at the road ahead. ‘Cartwright’s arrogant, you see. Just like Warr.’ He shrugged. ‘If I’m wrong, it’s back to the drawing board, but if not … well, we could hit pay dirt.’

  ‘Cartwright’s computer?’

  ‘Shouldn’t be a problem, so Kate assures me.’

  Noakes was clearly torn between his traditional resentment of
the department clever clogs and an equally deep-rooted desire to cock a snook at the local hegemony.

  ‘That slimy shit’s been riding for a fall,’ he grunted.

  From which Markham deduced that Noakes’s subversive instincts had come out on top.

  It was now dark.

  ‘We won’t see much of Sea … whatever it’s called…’

  ‘Seacrest. That’s why I told you to pack a bag, Sergeant,’ Markham said patiently. ‘I’ve booked us into a B&B in Holkham for tonight.’ And we can’t get there soon enough, he thought, registering the dull ache in his lower back. ‘It’ll do us good to be away from the Newman for a bit. Breathe some sea air … take stock.’

  He felt guilty about not giving Kate Burton a turn, but knew she was better deployed back at base keeping the pressure on Holder and the rest, her terrier-like instincts focused on running clues to ground. She could also be relied on to send up the requisite smoke signals in the event that DCI Sidney became importunate. Noakes was useless when it came to finessing their superiors, whereas Burton’s quick thinking was invaluable in such situations.

  Deep down, Markham knew that Kate was hurt by his reserve and apparent preference for Noakes. But he also knew that he wasn’t ready to allow her too close – that he was afraid to give too much away. One day, he told himself, but not just yet…

  His spirits drooping, he asked himself why he had decided to visit Seacrest, telephone calls having elicited the information that there were currently only a skeleton staff on site.

  ‘What’re you expecting to find, Guv?’

  It was almost uncanny the way the DS knew what his boss was thinking.

  ‘That’s just it, Noakesy,’ Markham said lamely, ‘I’ve no idea. Somehow, I’m hoping this place will speak to me … that I’ll pick up the vibrations from those poor lost souls who were hidden away….’

  ‘Out of sight, out of mind,’ Noakes concluded for him.

  ‘Exactly.’ There was an overwhelming sense of relief that the DS understood. ‘I can’t get it out of my head … keep imagining some man or woman, regressed into an infant-like state, maybe mumbling a few words, sitting for hours staring at the walls…. While the world outside pretended that nothing had ever happened and they no longer existed. No visits. Nothing.’

  ‘Nasty,’ Noakes agreed, not in the least fazed by the reference to psychic emanations, as though it was eminently reasonable that Markham should want to hook up with the ghosts of folk who had endured botched lobotomies and God knows what else.

  ‘Have they got Sky at this B&B, boss? Bromgrove Wanderers are playing away, see, an’ I’ve got a score on our lads.’

  ‘I imagine so … in any event, we can always watch it in the bar.’

  ‘An’ another thing.’

  ‘Your wish is my command, Sergeant.’

  ‘Any chance of going round by Sandringham on the way back?’

  ‘I’m not scaling the fence to spy on royalty.’

  ‘Nah, Guv … it’s just … I c’n tell the missus … she loves the Queen.’

  Markham felt a great wave of affection for his big awkward subordinate. He was such a very human human being. Had it been Kate Burton with him, interminable shop talk would have been the order of the day. And he really didn’t care to imagine her likely reaction to psychic communings down by the beach….

  ‘Too much sky,’ Noakes pronounced on Friday morning as they took in the landscape surrounding Seacrest.

  The DI understood what he meant. Paradoxically, there was something oppressive about the sweeping breadth of the horizon, which reduced the countryside to a huge circular enclosure: a coliseum where human beings crawled like ants beneath the gaze of an inscrutable and hostile deity. The grass-fringed sandhills, bounded by a great black sheet of water stretching out to meet the sky, were desolate enough to fill him with profound depression. Even in the day’s vigorous prime, there was a sense of solitude and sadness. As though the spongy ground sought to draw travellers down, down into its opaque depths.

  Hastily, Markham roused himself. ‘Those are the chalets, over there. The same as in the photograph.’

  ‘Right enough,’ Noakes concurred unenthusiastically. ‘But ain’t there some kind of reception place … y’know, somewhere to … book in or what have you?’

  ‘It must be that building across to the left. The log cabin affair just in front of that grove of trees.’

  ‘Not much to write home about.’ The DS was unimpressed. ‘Jus’ like a camping site.’

  But the isolation was perfect, Markham thought, a chill stealing over his heart….

  The current wardens of Seacrest, Bob and Mary Seacombe, turned out to be a couple of retirees and passionate ornithologists to boot. Once they’d established their visitors’ grievous ignorance of bittern and bullfinches, the supply of small talk was pretty much exhausted.

  ‘We’re fairly new,’ Mrs Seacombe said in warm comfortable tones which were curiously at odds with her surroundings. ‘Been here around a year and a half now.’

  ‘That’s right.’ Bob Seacombe was a homely, weathered-looking man whose deeply lined and bronzed face and thick mane of iron-grey hair falling almost to his shoulders stamped him as a former sea captain. His diction too had something quaintly nautical about it. ‘It’s a snug berth for us here…. Only light watchkeeping seeing as there ain’t much call for respite holidays lately…. The last time anyone came was just before we started.’

  ‘No money for extras these days.’ His wife nodded sagely. ‘Seems a shame.’

  Cordial but apparently incurious, the pair accepted at face value Markham’s vague reference to an ongoing investigation and promptly handed over keys to the cottages.

  ‘They’re numbered one to eight, as you can see. If you walk along the path about a hundred yards from the last one, you’ll find the loos and shower block. Just beyond that there’s the ECT suite.’

  ‘The what?’

  ‘Careful, Mother.’ Bob cautioned his wife with a rueful chuckle. ‘Remember, it’s not called that anymore.’

  Mrs Seacombe appeared flustered. ‘Oh yes, silly of me. I just call it that because apparently they did electroshock therapy in there long ago and the name stuck.’

  ‘It’s all non-invasive treatments now, isn’t it?’ her husband said cheerfully. ‘Ceramics and basket-weaving, that kind of thing.’

  ‘Basket-weaving!’ Noakes burst out when they were well out of earshot. ‘An’ freakin’ ceramics! What planet are those two on?!’

  ‘They’re just very unworldly, Sergeant, and conveniently uninterested in pretty much everything outside bird-watching.’

  ‘Just as well you turned down tea, Guv. Good call. They’d be jabbering on about mallards and sodding geese till fuck knows when. Prob’ly try to get us signed up into the bargain.’

  ‘I thought you’d approve,’ Markham said gravely.

  ‘Did you clock what Captain Nemo said about visits dropping off?’

  ‘Just before Doctor Warr went missing….’

  ‘The same time them investigations into patient abuse were getting started.’

  ‘Yes.’ Markham spoke in a low halting voice, as though fearful the rustling grasses might catch his words. ‘It was all too close for comfort. So … business was suspended.’

  Inside the huts, Markham felt nothing at all. No vibrations. Nothing.

  What had he expected, he asked himself, feeling foolish. They were just dusty empty spaces, with no trace in their modest wooden bedsteads and little galley kitchens of any former occupants.

  It was outside, on the path that wound round the cottages, that Markham had an extra sensory awareness of evil. He knew he felt it in that narrow weed-choked space. The air was icy, the pine trees crippled and stunted. Suddenly, he wanted very much to be away from Seacrest and all its works.

  ‘Guv?’ Noakes had sensed his discomfort.

  ‘Let’s have a quick look at that ECT block she mentioned and then we’re off.’ He looked at the
DS apologetically. ‘There’s nothing for us here.’

  As with the chalets, the two cabins which comprised the treatment suite were bare save for two long benches running the length of each room. While Noakes prowled the perimeter, testing the barred windows, Markham closed his eyes and briefly imagined a faceless patient lying on an operating table, head placed on a sandbag, waiting for a spatula to destroy the white matter of the brain….

  What happened at Seacrest? Did anyone try to escape? Did patients die here, or were they carried along that overgrown path to somewhere even more remote, even more secluded … beyond the reach of all human aid?

  ‘Zilch, Guv. No hypodermics or scalpels. Someone gave this place a good clear out.’

  Barely repressing a shudder, Markham began to lead the way in silence back across the dunes.

  ‘Hold on a sec, Guv.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Well, aren’t we going to check out that path round the back?’

  ‘Which path?’

  ‘There’s a little tow path or summat. I saw it from the back window. Dontcha want to see where it goes?’

  ‘Lead on, Sergeant,’ Markham said, resigned to further exploration.

  The two men walked round to the back of the treatment block where a dirt track led to a broken gate. Beyond this was a scrubby field with roughly cropped grass and a couple of stunted yews.

  Passing through the gate, as they advanced into the field they came across sunken gravestones and lopsided blackened crosses choked by nettles, but there was no church or any other building to be seen. A curlew wheeled overhead, keening mournfully, otherwise nothing stirred.

  Markham scanned the derelict scene. ‘There must have been a church at some time.’

  ‘Wouldn’t fancy pushing up the daisies in here,’ Noakes said. ‘It’s proper depressing.’

  The DI felt a prickling between his shoulder blades.

  Slowly, he turned 360 degrees.

  ‘What’s that?’ he said at last.

  ‘Where?’

  ‘Over there by the wall.’

  Markham led the way to some delapidated, moss-encrusted burial vaults crudely assembled from local bricks and boulders. There were no plaques or markers. Nothing to identify the sleepers in their tumbledown resting place.