Detective Markham Mysteries Box Set

by Catherine Moloney

  Noakes had been furious. ‘Tragic accident, my arse!’ he raged to Markham after they had been dismissed. ‘Rees didn’t shut himself inside that thing. The lid was closed from the outside, for crying out loud.’

  ‘The DCI’s following the line that someone saw the lid up and accidentally secured it without realizing there was someone inside.’

  ‘Bollocks.’ The DS was plethoric with disgust. ‘Next thing, he’ll be telling us Rees was playing hide an’ seek.’

  ‘The Chief Super must’ve got the idea that Warr had hidden incriminating material in one of the art installations – by way of insurance.’

  ‘But why’d Rees pick that one?’

  ‘His mobile’s missing, Noakes. I’m willing to bet he got a text from some pay-as-you-go untraceable telling him to check out the diving bell. Then, he was in such a tearing hurry to get out of Warr’s office, that he left his phone behind.’

  ‘But whoever sent that text couldn’t count on him leaving his mobile behind.’

  ‘True. Which makes me think this was an impulse kill. Not planned like the others. Whoever lured Rees over to the diving bell saw him in Dr Warr’s office, had a rush of blood to the head and took a gamble.’

  Noakes whistled. ‘Mega risky, Guv. If Rees’d taken the mobile, he might’ve been able to fetch help.’

  ‘Assuming he could get a signal … but you’re right, it was taking a huge chance. The killer couldn’t be sure of the outcome – whether Rees would asphyxiate, go into shock, have a heart attack, or end up being spotted and rescued. That’s what makes me think this was disorganized … spur of the moment.’

  ‘It went like a dream, though, Guv. I mean, cos the courtyard was at the back of the café, no-one’d think to check it out.’

  ‘How come Doyle was round there?’

  The DS shrugged. ‘A headache. Couldn’t sit still, he said. Ants in his pants.’ A sudden malicious grin. ‘An’ he’d had an earful…. Burton doing her Doctor Spock bullshit … prob’ly wanted to get out before he bashed her over the head with one of them textbooks.’

  ‘It must have been a God awful shock. What did you do with him afterwards?’

  ‘Left him with that psychologist woman.’ Meaningful pause. ‘She said she’d look after him.’ The DS shook his head sagaciously. ‘The lad’ll need counselling like as not. You don’t get over summat like that in a hurry.’

  Rees had apparently climbed down the little metal staircase on the inside of the structure, checking the inner walls for cracks or recesses where paper could be wedged. Tardis like, the sculpture was bigger on the inside than the outside, extending to a depth of several feet beneath the courtyard in which it was embedded. When the lid slammed down and the policeman found himself trapped, he must have panicked. The position of his body suggested he had hoped to attract attention through the porthole, or find an air bubble. Mercifully, it looked as though a cardiac arrest had intervened. His terror inside that cement-rendered iron lung must have been unimaginable. As Markham watched Rees’s crumpled body being winched out of the sculpture, the art installation struck him as resembling some surreal version of Little Ease, the windowless cell favoured by medieval torturers, fashioned so that the prisoner within could neither stand nor sit down but was forced to crouch in agony until freed from the suffocating dark space.

  The DI had never warmed to Chief Superintendent Philip Rees, an officer he now strongly suspected had helped to dispatch Rose Seacombe and other vulnerable souls to their walled-up repose in the graveyard at Seacrest. And yet, the sight of the strapping detective reduced to a broken marionette filled him with pity and made him even more coldly determined to find whoever had appointed himself judge and jury. Nemesis was at hand, he told himself.

  The night is long that never finds the day.

  ‘Guv! Tea’s up!’ Noakes’s stentorian bellow interrupted Markham’s reverie.

  Gently, he readjusted the hangers in Olivia’s wardrobe, as though to convince himself that she would be returning any minute. Then he made his way to the living room.

  ‘I’ve done you builder’s,’ the DS said shyly. ‘Strong enough to stand a spoon in.’

  Indeed he had. And with God only knew how much sugar. The DI’s eyes watered.

  ‘Found some biccies too. Reckon your girlfriend,’ delicate pause accompanied by a wistful glance, ‘won’t mind me pinching a few Kit Kats.’

  ‘You know full well she never minds you raiding our stores, Noakesy. Only gets the junk food in for you.’

  The DS appeared gratified by this mixed compliment, though he continued to look around anxiously as though he had intuited Olivia’s flit. Soon, however, he was happily munching away. Looking up after a few minutes’ blissful consumption, he was staggered to see a cigarette dangling from the DI’s mouth.

  ‘I know, I know, Noakesy.’ Markham waved away the anticipated reproaches with an embarrassed air. ‘It’s just a one-off.’

  Noting the exhaustion of the grey eyes embedded in deep dark hollows, the DS said nothing while the guvnor inhaled grimly as though his life depended on it.

  Finally, chocolate and cigarette were finished. The two men contemplated each other from the depths of their respective armchairs.

  ‘What do we do now, Guv?’

  ‘We’re travelling to Norfolk tomorrow, Sergeant. You, me and Burton. We’ll stay the night and come back on Monday.’

  The DS sat up alertly.

  ‘Not Doyle?’ he said. ‘The lad’ll be disappointed you don’t want him in at the end.’

  ‘Doyle’s too fragile. And this is too close to home, Noakes. I’ll find a way of making it up to him, I promise.’

  ‘Are we staying in the same place as last time?’

  ‘Yes, though I doubt there’ll be much time for Sky in the bar this time round.’

  ‘What’s the game plan then?’

  ‘Tomorrow we’re going into Diss for a meeting with one of Norfolk Council’s Social Care team. After that we’ll play it by ear.’

  ‘Oh yeah?’ The DS was carefully non-committal. ‘Another of Burton’s snouts, is it?’

  ‘Not as such.’ There were lines of fatigue around the DI’s eyes, but they glistened with an inner light. ‘Mrs Hart, the lady she spoke to at Mind—’

  ‘The woman who knew Rose Seacombe’s family?’ Noakes interrupted with quickening interest.

  ‘That’s the one. Well, Rose’s sister Irene kept in touch and sent postcards from Banham … that’s just six miles from Diss.’

  ‘Irene. Oh yeah.’ This had kindled Noakes’s interest. ‘The stroppy one who tried to blow the whistle on her sicko dad.’

  ‘The very same.’ The brooding, penetrating glitter in Markham’s eyes intensified. ‘It appears Irene took the younger children to live in Norfolk with her after their mother died, and Burton thought they might be on social services’ radar – especially if any of the siblings had gone off the rails. With Banham being so close to Diss, she tried South Norfolk Council and struck lucky. They were pretty cagey over the phone, but she’s managed to set up an appointment with a family welfare assistant who knows the background.’

  ‘What’re you hoping to get from it, Guv?’

  ‘A handle on the family, Noakes.’ The DI’s long fingers twitched as if he was desperate for another cigarette. ‘We need to know the dynamics.’ He leaned forward eagerly. ‘The answer lies there, I’m sure of it.’

  ‘S’pose we’ve got nothing to lose,’ the DS conceded. ‘An’ they’re likely to wheel on the big guns next week if the case doesn’t break soon.’

  ‘Yes.’ Markham’s voice was bitter. ‘The DCI’ll scapegoat me into the bargain, I shouldn’t wonder.’

  ‘Oh aye, shit runs downhill. That’s Sidney’s motto all right.’ Noakes was philosophical.

  The two men sat in silence for a time. Outside, the wind was getting up, soughing and sobbing like the refrain of lost souls cast out from heaven. The sound made Markham shudder.

  ‘I c’n stay
the night, if you’d like, Guv. If your Olivia’s at her friend’s.’

  Markham could think of nothing better. He shrank from saying that Olivia had moved out, but Noakes made it seem the most natural thing in the world. And in doing so, with a gentle sensitivity so strikingly at odds with his uncouth exterior, the DS had poured balm upon the wound. The pain was still there, but it no longer smarted as acutely.

  ‘Good idea, Noakesy,’ he said hoarsely.

  ‘Right.’ The DS rubbed his hands. ‘Now that’s sorted, what about a takeaway?’

  By mutual consent, the subject of the investigation was dropped, and Markham abandoned himself with some relief to his sergeant’s idea of a ‘lads’ night in’.

  But the case came back to haunt his dreams in the shape of a withered looking woman, her lips blistered and livid, her hair lustreless, her temples bony and concave. ‘I’m Rose,’ she whispered. Although the figure stood in a storm-lashed field, not a hair of her head nor a fold of her dress stirred as she looked intently at him. Then the phantom was replaced by Olivia, with a corpse-like pallor, her slim form wrapped in an invisible cloak of aloofness. She was standing on a windy beach, her arms outstretched. ‘I’m in a cage, Gil.’ The words came from very far away. ‘I want to get out. Help me to get out!’ Then her face was blotted out by the sun, a huge ball of fire which came dancing out of the sky towards him, whirling like a giant Catherine wheel as though bent on crushing him. He cowered on the ground to get away from it, and when he looked up Olivia was gone.

  Markham woke up in the small hours, drenched in sweat.

  Logic told him that Seacrest, Holkham Bay, the investigation and row with Olivia were all jumbled up in his mind, triggering the turmoil in his subconscious.

  But logic was cold comfort in the circumstances.

  His dreams had felt so vivid….

  There was no point trying to get back to sleep.

  Markham headed for his study by way of the whisky decanter. Pouring himself a generous shot, he hunkered down to await the dawn.

  After an artery-hardening fry up the next morning, they were joined by Kate Burton, and the three officers set off in the DI’s car. Noakes took the wheel, rear-view mirror carefully angled so he could keep tabs on his fellow DS who sat in the back with Markham.

  Somehow Burton managed to tamp down her jealous curiosity about the DI’s domestic arrangements, though her mind teemed with questions. Noakes’s air of watchful protectiveness was ample indication that things had gone awry, but she knew better than to raise the guard dog’s hackles.

  ‘Seeing as I’m driving, we’re not having any of your poncey classical music,’ he glowered. ‘No way am I listening to Mozart and Beethoven all the way to Norfolk.’ Burton had been about to request Classic FM, but decided that discretion was the better part of valour. Smooth was better than nothing.

  After an uneventful journey broken only by a ‘refuelling stop’, they approached Diss. Noakes switched off the radio and the thoughts of all three turned to the case.

  ‘Where do the weirdo bird-watchers fit in, Guv?’

  ‘Bob and Mary Seacombe,’ Markham said repressively before pointing out that ornithology was a perfectly respectable hobby. Thoughtfully, he added, ‘Presumably Bob Seacombe’s related to Rose’s father.’

  ‘Oh yeah, the paedo.’

  ‘But it doesn’t necessarily mean they’re caught up in the conspiracy.’

  ‘You thought there was something a bit off with them, though, didn’t you, sir?’ Burton prompted the DI.

  ‘They were certainly uncomfortable when they caught us in the graveyard, Kate,’ he replied. ‘But that could just as well have been because the hospital had asked them to keep it out of bounds to visitors and they were afraid of getting into trouble.’

  ‘But what the heck were they doing there in the first place, Guv?’ Noakes was clearly struggling to get his head round the set up. ‘I mean, wouldn’t they be the last people Warr and the others would want nosing around?’

  ‘Could be a guilt-offering,’ Markham rationalized. ‘They spun the relatives a line about what had happened to Rose and offered them the position of wardens by way of compensation.’

  ‘A bribe you mean,’ Noakes said bluntly.

  ‘More like an inducement not to make waves.’

  ‘“Ask me no questions and I’ll tell you no lies,”’ put in Burton.

  ‘Yes, something like that, Kate. They struck me as timid characters, naturally fearful of those in authority. So, I don’t think we’re looking at Norfolk’s answer to Hindley and Brady.’

  ‘But that’s their niece or cousin or whatever chucked out there in that horrible field,’ Noakes burst out passionately, red-faced in his outrage. ‘Mouldering away without even a bunch of flowers.’

  Markham recalled having heard that Noakes belonged to the Bromgrove Cemetery Clearance Association, taking it in turns with other volunteers to tidy neglected plots, clean headstones and adopt unloved graves. His tone was very mild as he replied, ‘They may have been advised an unmarked grave was right in the circumstances … best not to stir up unhappy memories … let Rose rest in peace … publicity a bad thing …. I imagine they’d fall into line pretty quickly.’

  ‘They could have been afraid.’

  ‘That too, Kate. From the conspirators’ point of view, it worked out well. They had the Seacombes where they could keep an eye on them.’

  ‘Not all of ’em.’

  ‘True, Noakes. They weren’t able to guard against every eventuality.’

  Nemesis.

  ‘D’you think the same person killed all four victims, sir?’ Burton shot the DI an anxious sidelong glance. ‘I mean, the Chief Super’s murder doesn’t seem to fit the pattern.’

  Markham gave a heartfelt sigh.

  ‘As far as the DCI’s concerned, it was “accidental death”, Kate. Someone shut Rees into that thing by mistake.’

  ‘Accidental death?’ She looked startled. ‘Have we got any evidence for that?’ Her natural deference to authority kicked in. ‘Are the facilities people holding their hands up?’

  ‘Of course they’re bloody not!’ Noakes burst out indignantly. ‘Cos it never happened. It’s just some cock and bull story designed to take the heat off Sidney. Think about it. Three murders plus a copper. An’ not jus’ any old copper neither.’ His voice was a growl. ‘You can bet Ted Cartwright tipped Sidney the wink that we were sniffing round the Chief Super. So he’s circling the frigging wagons. Wants to bury the mess six feet deep. Along with Rees.’

  ‘Sir?’ Burton looked as though her well-ordered universe was tumbling about her ears.

  ‘I don’t believe it was an accident, Kate,’ Markham said soberly. ‘I think there’s something different about the fourth death. The other murders felt calculated, but this was opportunistic … almost reckless….’

  ‘Are we talking two killers, sir?’

  ‘It’s possible.’

  As Burton digested the implications, Noakes eyed her balefully in the mirror. He just knew the daft bint couldn’t wait to check it out in one of her creepy books. Probably had one packed for tonight’s bedtime reading. Ugh.

  They were coming into the old centre of Diss. There was the fleeting impression of cottages and town houses interspersed with newly refurbished public buildings. Then it was down a side alley next to the palladian Corn Hall. Consulting her pocketbook, Burton directed Noakes to pull up outside a small gabled building that looked like a converted chapel.

  ‘Doesn’t look much like council offices. Are you sure this is the one?’

  ‘Yep. The contact’s name is Sarah Davies and this is the address I was given.’

  It being Sunday, there was no difficulty about parking. Within minutes they had been whisked upstairs and into a thoroughly modern, light-filled office.

  Looking around at the pictures of marinas and boats, Noakes thought they could have been back at the Newman. What was it about the chuffing seaside? He supposed there must be a m
arket for this kind of thing. Artwork for nutters.

  While the DS was engaged in these aesthetic reflections, Markham sized up the woman who had ushered them into the building. Petite, with long dark hair and dressed simply in a tunic dress and leggings, she looked absurdly young to be what her lanyard proclaimed her – a family welfare assistant – while the soft accent-less voice suggested she wasn’t a native of Norfolk.

  Once they were seated in brightly upholstered pine easy chairs and introductions had been made, she offered tea or coffee. Markham swiftly declined, ignoring Noakes’s hopeful glances towards the pristine galley kitchen tucked away in an alcove.

  ‘We don’t want to take up too much of your time, Ms Davies,’ he said cordially. ‘It’s very good of you to see us at such short notice.’

  ‘Not at all, Inspector.’ She hesitated, her manner wary. ‘I understand you want to know about the Seacombes in connection with an ongoing investigation?’

  Markham flashed Burton a grateful glance. The DS had clearly been circumspect.

  ‘That’s correct. Obviously, we can apply for a court order if necessary, but I hope you will take my word for it that this is a matter of some urgency.’

  Whatever Sarah Davies saw in Markham’s steady gaze seemed to reassure her.

  ‘Irene Seacombe died in 2012, Inspector.’

  It was a blow, but Markham had expected something of the kind.

  ‘She’d moved to Banham in 1992 with her three younger siblings.’

  ‘Do you have their names, Ms Davies?’ Kate Burton’s pocketbook was already open.

  ‘Simon, Gary and Lynsey.’

  Something about the names seemed to have arrested Burton’s attention. The DI raised an eyebrow, causing her to flush self-consciously. Carefully, in her neat copperplate, she made a note.

  ‘How did they come to your department’s attention, Ms Davies?’

  ‘Irene had difficulty coping,’ the social worker said frankly. ‘Problems with drink and drugs. The kids’ schools got in touch over possible neglect, and that’s how we became involved. Long story short, Simon and Gary ended up in the criminal justice system, but Lynsey made something of herself in the end. Got six O levels and 2 A levels. According to the files, she did a secretarial course at the Pitman College in Diss before moving away from the area. The three of them would be in their sixties now.’