‘You weren’t the member of staff assigned to them.’
Cos you look all of ten years old, thought Noakes.
The woman drew herself up as though he had said it aloud.
‘That’s right,’ she said somewhat defensively. ‘The staff who dealt with the Seacombes are retired now – their key worker emigrated to Australia – but the details are in the files.’ She gestured to a slim manila folder on the coffee table next to her chair. ‘I pulled the relevant paperwork when I knew you were coming.’
‘Much appreciated, Ms Davies.’
Not by the flicker of an eyelid did Markham show the importance he attached to this interview. Unhurried and imperturbable, there was a stillness about him, a tranquillity which impelled trust.
‘Do you happen to know the siblings’ current whereabouts?’
The room seemed to hold its breath.
‘I’m sorry, Inspector, but that’s not in the files.’ She sounded genuinely regretful.
‘What did the boys do time for, luv?’
‘Shoplifting and TWOCing, Sergeant.’
No crimes against the person. No violence.
‘Known associates?’ This was Burton.
‘Oh, they weren’t big league. Hung about with some local troublemakers, that was all. Look,’ she held her palms upwards in a curiously supplicatory gesture, ‘the cards were stacked against them. There’d been some family tragedy which knocked Irene sideways, though they couldn’t get her to talk about it. It’s a miracle that those kids came out of it as well as they did.’
‘What about other relatives?’
‘An uncle Robert on the father’s side,’ came the crisp reply. ‘He was Merchant Navy. Married a local girl. I think the family was originally from Norfolk, so perhaps that’s why Irene came back in the end.’
‘Couldn’t the aunt and uncle have helped out with the kids?’ Noakes asked. ‘I mean, looking out for ’em an’ that?’
‘Mary Seacombe’s nerves were bad,’ the social worker replied in a determinedly non-judgmental tone. ‘And her husband was away a lot.’
In other words, they were as much use as a chocolate teapot, thought Noakes darkly. No help to those poor kids at all.
‘Nerves….’ Markham let the word hang interrogatively in the air.
‘She had a breakdown, Inspector. I can’t recall exactly when this was, but Irene told the key worker her aunt had been treated for clinical depression at some point.’
Jesus, what a family, thought Noakes. Wall to wall whack jobs.
Again, Sarah Davies picked up on the vibrations.
‘Fractured lives,’ she said. ‘We do our best to pick up the pieces.’
‘I’m sure you do a good job,’ the DI said with obvious sincerity.
She smiled at him, looking very young indeed. ‘Thank you, Inspector. Social workers get a rough ride in the press, but if you knew what we’re up against….’ Suddenly, she blushed. ‘What am I saying? Of course you do. We’re in the same business after all.’
Yeah, thought Noakes crossly, but we’re not feeding the psychos all that BS about not getting enough cuddles when they were little.
Again, from the distinctly hostile glare he received, Noakes had the uneasy feeling Sarah Davies could read his mind. Of course she was coming over all soppy round the guvnor – practically melting into a flaming puddle – while him and DS Swot hardly got a look-in. There was definitely no justice in the world.
Clearly there was nothing else to be gained from the interview. Clutching the manila folder, Markham led his team back to the car.
‘Where to, Guv?’
It was still early in the morning and everywhere was very quiet.
A drowsy, unremarkable Sabbath in the little market town.
But they had a killer to catch.
‘We’ll book into our B&B in Holkham then head out to Seacrest. Bob and Mary Seacombe are worth another crack.’ The DI spoke with more assurance than he felt.
‘D’you honestly think we’ll get anything out of ’em, Guv?’ Noakes asked glumly. ‘They’re a few sandwiches short of a picnic them two. An’ if the hospital’s said to keep it zipped, there’s not much chance they’ll cough.’
‘We’ll have to go in heavy then.’ Markham’s face had an implacability that his colleagues recognized of old. ‘Tell them they may hold the key to four murders including a senior police officer.’ He added grimly, ‘I’ve a few post-mortem photographs that should help to concentrate their minds.’
‘Who’s our prime suspect, sir?’
‘One of the siblings or someone connected to them.’ He spoke authoritatively to disguise the sick hollowness he felt.
‘What about the hospital, Guv?’ Noakes asked stubbornly. ‘Ain’t it more likely to be someone there? I mean, say it is one of Rose’s family behind all of this, how’d they find their way into the Newman?’
‘I don’t honestly know, Noakesy.’ Markham looked round uneasily, as though fearful of being overheard. ‘Even since Kate told us about Rose’s case history and I saw that abandoned graveyard, I’ve felt certain the answer lay here.’
Oh no. Noakes’s gloom intensified. The guvnor was going all psychic on them. Like when he talked to the dead. Slimy Sid’d do his nut if he heard owt about ghosts and graveyards.
Then the DS clocked miss smarty pants Burton taking it all in with a furrowed brow. No point letting her see they were up shit creek without a paddle. Markham was his chief always, and that was that. If the DI was making it up as he went along, so what? He reckoned they had twenty-four hours tops before Sidney called in the Yard.
United we stand.
‘Right, boss,’ he said, starting the engine. ‘Mebbe once we bring out the thumbscrews they’ll play ball.’ With Noakes, the mixed metaphors were a sure sign he was kerflummoxed.
They were just turning into Denmark Street when suddenly Burton exclaimed, ‘Stop, Sarge!’
Noakes pulled over. ‘What’s up?’ he rumbled. God, this was all they needed. Burton fannying about on some hairbrained scheme when he was desperate for a cuppa.
‘Tell you later.’ Breathlessly, she grabbed her shoulder bag and wrenched at the door handle. Over her shoulder, she told Markham, ‘I’ll catch up with you, sir. There’s something I need to do.’
With that she was gone.
‘Chuffing Nora.’ It was a sigh of purest exasperation. ‘D’you want me to hang on in case she comes back, Guv?’
‘She’s dropped her notebook.’ Markham tucked it into his jacket pocket while looking round to see what had attracted his colleague’s attention. ‘Did you notice anything unusual, Sergeant?’
‘Nah.’ The DS glanced in his rear-view mirror. ‘She dived down one of them ginnels back there like her pants were on fire. Gave me a right turn shrieking like that.’
‘No point waiting, since she told us she’d catch up.’ The DI’s expression was uneasy. It wasn’t like Kate Burton to take off. ‘I think she saw someone, Noakes.’
It was Noakes’s turn to look worried. ‘Someone as in a suspect, boss?’ His pudgy features contracted in bewilderment. ‘But she doesn’t know what them three look like … Simon, Gary and whatsherface …’
‘Lynsey.’
‘Mebbe she saw someone she recognized from the hospital.’ The DS thumped the steering wheel as if by that means he could unlock the puzzle.
‘I think she saw someone and had a light bulb moment.’
‘Eh?’
‘She made a connection.’
‘Oh aye.’ Noakes observed in a tone of profound scepticism. But the note of concern was clear when he added, ‘The silly bitch shouldn’t have gone charging in there without us. She could get herself into trouble.’
‘She’s on an adrenaline rush.’
And looking to impress me, the DI could have added. Damn, if he’d only played fair with Kate Burton – let her in more – she wouldn’t have felt the need to place herself in danger.
Aloud, he said, ‘Let
’s go straight to Seacrest, Noakes. I’ve got a bad feeling about this.’
Silently, he sent up a prayer for Burton’s safety.
They were in a race against time.
14. Finis
THE QUAINT PASTEL-PAINTED COTTAGES of Diss would normally have pleased the DI, but he was in no mood to appreciate their charm.
Before quitting the town, they drove past the cobblestoned ginnel down which Burton had disappeared. Lined with mews houses, it was just a sleepy-looking little back alley with no distinguishing features. Denmark Street itself was equally unremarkable, only the drab soot-streaked Baptist church standing out from its terraced neighbours.
The January day was fine and crisp, the sun a clear white disc above them – nothing like the fireball of Markham’s nightmares. But deep inside, he felt cold fear creeping into his heart as stealthily and remorselessly as one of those sea-fogs that hugged the Norfolk coastline.
Fear for Kate Burton.
And a guilty awareness that she might not have been so impetuous but for a burning desire to gate-crash his fellowship with Noakes.
He had unfairly kept her at a distance, he realized – making her feel there was no room at the table, when all she wanted was a few crumbs.
If she came out of this in one piece, he would bring her in out of the cold. Show her that she was valued..
If …
For all that Burton was his bête noire, Noakes was clearly worried too, grinding gears in a manner that Markham would normally have deplored.
‘Don’t worry, Guv,’ the DS said finally. ‘We’ll find her.’ He cleared his throat. ‘She’s a canny lass when all’s said and done.’ Markham could only wish she was there to hear the admission. ‘She’ll play her cards close to her chest.’
‘If our killer thinks she’s on to him, I wouldn’t give much for her chances, Noakes.’
It was a sobering thought which held them in its grip all the way to Seacrest.
The complex itself looked even more forlorn and isolated than on their previous visit, as completely cut off from the world as if it had been a seagoing vessel. The grass-fringed sand dunes, rising and falling in stark monotony only added to this impression, beckoned by the black stretch of water beyond. Even the sun, striking the place, seemed chilled, passing quickly on to Beacon Hill in the distance.
They found Bob and Mary Seacombe in their log cabin. From the apprehension in their faces, it was almost as though they had been waiting for the policemen to return.
Once they were seated around the small office table next to the reception desk, the DI informed the couple without preamble that he was investigating four deaths connected with the Newman Hospital and that it was a murder inquiry.
As he spoke, the life seemed almost visibly to drain out of the wardens till they seemed like husks of the placid retirees who had greeted the detectives on their former visit. Nervously, Mary Seacombe fidgeted with the brittle strands of hair that spiralled untidily from her bun, while her eyes held a look of dull entreaty. Her husband’s dry calloused fingers told their own tale as they drummed nervously on the table in front of him.
When he had concluded, the DI’s keen grey eyes regarded the pair steadily with an almost magnetic power.
‘You need to trust me,’ he said quietly, his gaze conveying a meaning beyond the simple words. ‘Lives may depend on it.’
One life in particular.
‘You had a connection with the Newman Hospital through your niece Rose,’ Markham prompted.
‘Patrick Seacombe was my older brother.’
The former sea captain’s voice had something curiously flat and mechanical in its tone, in marked contrast to the easy rounded countryman’s lilt that had fallen so pleasantly on the DI’s ear before.
‘Pat and I both left home as soon as we could … our dad … he abused us, see …’ The words came out in fits and starts. ‘I can’t talk about it.’ Gently, his wife laid her hand on his and the restless drumming stopped.
‘I understand.’
Something about Markham’s compassionate gentleness broke through the man’s painfully erected defences. Almost as though Bob Seacombe knew he was talking to a fellow survivor.
‘I went off to sea.’ For a moment, he brightened with a glow of reminiscence. ‘Later, I heard that Pat had done very well for himself … started a cleaning company then sold it for a small fortune.’ He smiled ruefully. ‘I never made a fortune like Pat, but I persuaded Mary to take me on, so I guess I hit the jackpot too.’ A soft pressure of her hand on his.
‘Did you stay in touch with your brother?’
‘No.’ He met Markham’s eyes. ‘We both wanted a fresh start … too many memories, you see. I went into the Merchant Navy and he moved up north after the old man died.’
‘So you never really knew your nephews and nieces?’
‘Not to speak of. Mary sent cards for birthdays and Christmas….’
‘They kept themselves to themselves, Inspector,’ Mary Seacombe put in hesitantly. ‘I knew there were problems with Rose … schizophrenia, Pat said.’ Her mouth puckered as though the words were difficult to formulate. ‘Irene wrote to me later that Rose had surgery and ended up being put away … but she said the doctors got it wrong … she said…’ The woman’s lips twisted grotesquely.
‘Go on, Mrs Seacombe, don’t be afraid to tell us everything.’
‘Irene said Pat … interfered with Rosie and got her put away so she couldn’t tell.’
She fell back limply in her chair as though aghast at what she had said.
From one generation to the next, thought Markham wearily. Incest and sexual abuse had spread through the family tree like an inherited defect.
‘What about the younger kids?’ Noakes put in. ‘Two boys and a lass, weren’t it?’
‘That’s right. Simon, Gary and Lynsey,’ she confirmed faintly. ‘Irene brought them back to Norfolk, but I didn’t see much of them.’ Beads of sweat broke out on her forehead. ‘I wasn’t myself at the time … depression.’ Brokenly she added, ‘I wish now I’d tried harder, but I don’t know that it would have made any difference…. Irene went round in a sort of haze … drink and drugs … and the kids were out of control.’
‘Did Irene want you to help her find Rose?’
‘Oh, when she first came down here, she was on and on at me to write to the Health Trust and came out with all sorts of stuff about a cover-up … about Rose having been locked up to stop her talking.’ An ugly flush ran up her neck. ‘She even thought Rose could’ve been kept at Seacrest for a while…’ Her voice trailed away into silence. ‘Look, Inspector,’ she said miserably, ‘Irene was paranoid. Saw conspiracies everywhere.’
‘Didn’t you think it strange that no-one ever knew Rose’s whereabouts?’ Markham put in.
‘There was a care plan in place … Pat decided to leave it to the professionals … it meant the family could get on with their lives.’
‘Not Rose’s mum, though,’ Noakes said bluntly.
‘Anne had been ill for a while. She took what happened to Rose very hard.’
‘Your brother-in-law didn’t try to stop Irene upping sticks with the younger kids?’
‘No, Inspector. I suppose he was tired of all the drama and thought a fresh start all round would be best.’ Through stiff lips she added, ‘Something went out of him after Anne died. Then their eldest boy, Andrew, was killed in a car crash which pretty much finished him off.’
‘Pat was a broken man when he died,’ Bob put in. ‘Whatever happened with Rose, believe me, he paid for it.’
The expression on Noakes’s face suggested this was open to doubt, but he said nothing, sympathy for the man’s obvious distress restraining his tongue.
‘I believe there was another older brother.’
‘Yes, Inspector. Neil.’ Mary Seacombe answered the question as her husband appeared beyond speech. ‘He died of cancer two years ago. Neither Andrew nor Neil had a family.’ The woman looked worn, tired and pa
thetic. ‘We didn’t really know the older boys at all,’ she said through bloodless lips. ‘Pat didn’t welcome interference …’
‘You don’t have to justify yourselves to me, Mrs Seacombe.’ Markham’s voice was unusually soft. ‘Other people never really know the truth of what goes on in families.’
God knows they didn’t with mine.
Something in the DI’s serene assurance must have communicated itself to her. Sitting up straighter, she managed a tremulous smile.
‘How’d you end up managing this place?’ Casually, Noakes brought her back to the Newman.
‘Oh, it was just one of those unlikely coincidences,’ she said timidly. ‘One of the consultants who treated Rose remembered me from one of the letters I’d written for Irene after she moved back to Norfolk. I heard from him out of the blue about a year and a half ago. The hospital was looking for caretakers for this place, and he wondered if we’d be interested. Bob had left the Navy and we were looking about us, so it came at just the right time.’
‘Who was the doctor, luv?’
‘A Doctor Warfield.’
Bob Seacombe found his voice. ‘No, it was Doctor Warr, Mary.’
‘Sorry, yes, that’s right. Doctor Warr.’ She sounded flustered. ‘It was a terribly nice letter…. Obviously, he couldn’t go into Rose’s case cos of patient confidentiality and all that. But he said he remembered the family and wanted to do something.’
She looked at the two men, nervously pleating her skirt. ‘I’ve still got the letter somewhere … I could look it out if you like.’
‘Thank you, Mrs Seacombe.’ Markham was very calm. ‘As I said, our investigation relates to the Newman, so anything you can tell us will help.’
‘You said it was murder.’ Her voice was very small. ‘Is Doctor Warr … I mean, did someone…?’
‘He’s one of the victims, yes.’
She looked stunned and, suddenly, very scared.
Detective Markham Mysteries Box Set Page 76