‘What happened next?’ asks Nelson.
‘It all stopped,’ says John. ‘The group broke up. Lisa and Leonard got married, right out of the blue. God knows why. I’d always thought that Leonard was the other way inclined, if you get my meaning. They moved away and Bob went too. Ivor met that Chantal and then he and Crissy broke up. Crissy carried on running Grey Walls as a writers’ retreat. Like I say, she was always the one that did all the work. She’s kept it together, even when she heard about Ivor. I mean, she couldn’t believe it at first, but she carried on, almost as if nothing had happened.’
‘Did you believe it?’ asks Nelson. ‘Did you believe that Ivor March killed Jill Prendergast and Stacy Newman?’
‘I didn’t want to believe it,’ says John. ‘I mean, I liked Ivor. He was always nice to me. But there was all that evidence . . .’
‘Then why are you telling us all this now?’ asks Clough.
‘Because I met Lisa,’ says John. ‘She’s back in East Anglia, running some sort of community centre. I think she means to get Ivor released. Crissy does too. Lisa told me that she wants to get all the gang back together. If that happens, I’m afraid that it’ll all start up again.’
‘What will start up again?’ says Nelson.
‘The killings.’ John looks at Nelson, his face briefly illuminated by the bright lights of the fruit machine, red, orange and yellow.
‘But Ivor March is in prison,’ says Nelson. And he’s going to tell us where the other bodies are, he reminds himself. Soon the case will be closed.
But John still looks at him with that haunted expression. ‘Lisa’s still free. Crissy too.’
‘Can you tell us more about this Lisa?’ says Clough. ‘Her full name, for a start.’
‘I can’t remember it,’ says John. ‘But I’ve got a picture.’ He draws an envelope from his pocket and brings out a photograph. It’s the kind of slightly out-of-focus snap that used to fill albums before camera phones took over. Clough and Nelson peer at it. Five people are sitting on the terrace at Grey Walls. The wisteria is in flower so it must be early summer. Clough turns on his phone torch and, by its light, Nelson sees Ivor March, younger but unmistakable, with his arm round Crissy. There are two other men, one tall and thin, the other shorter, wearing glasses. And between the men is a woman Nelson recognises immediately as Ailsa Britain, from the community centre.
*
‘Breathe deeply,’ says Cathbad. ‘In for four and out for eight.’
Ruth does as she’s told, feeling stupid. They are sitting on a bench by the children’s pool. Kate and Michael are queuing up for the slide. Cathbad is calm, almost detached, but Ruth knows that he is watching her intently.
‘It must have been a panic attack,’ she says. ‘Why would I have a panic attack?’
‘I don’t know,’ says Cathbad. ‘Have you got anything to panic about?’
‘Ivor March wants to see me,’ says Ruth. ‘I’m going to the prison tomorrow. With Nelson.’
‘Well, going into a prison is stressful,’ says Cathbad, ‘all that bad energy and pent-up frustration in the air.’
‘Have you ever visited one?’ says Ruth.
‘I’ve had a couple of friends who were sent to prison,’ says Cathbad, ‘and I spent a night in the cells once.’
‘Really? Why?’
‘It was at a demonstration,’ says Cathbad. ‘In my activist days. Getting arrested was one of our aims.’
Ruth wonders which of Cathbad’s many causes this involved. She knows that he has lived in many places before washing up – his words – in north Norfolk.
‘Was it the thought of prison that upset you just now?’ asks Cathbad. ‘You might have been projecting feelings of claustrophobia, of being trapped.’
‘I don’t know,’ says Ruth. ‘It was just that I suddenly couldn’t breathe, as if the air was being squeezed out of my lungs.’ She watches as Kate reaches the top of the slide and launches herself downwards with a yell of triumph. Michael hesitates for a moment before following her. Please, Goddess, keep Kate this brave for ever.
‘You have to dig deep, Ruth,’ says Cathbad. ‘Reach down inside for the strength that is within.’
Is it there? Ruth wonders sometimes.
‘I don’t know why I’m having panic attacks, if that’s what it was,’ she says. ‘I’ve got nothing to worry about.’
‘That’s the spirit, Ruthie,’ says Cathbad.
*
Ruth repeats Cathbad’s words silently all the way home. Kate is tired after her swim and sits quietly in the back seat, listening to music on Ruth’s iPhone. Ruth has Radio 4 on but, for once, she isn’t listening to Front Row as they talk soothingly about books she means to read but somehow never will. She is reliving the moment when her breath seemed to leave her body, the panic, the sense of darkness closing in. Dig deep, she tells herself, as she follows the signs to Cambridge. It’s the perfect advice for an archaeologist. Dig down, excavate the layers, bring the past to the surface. Is there something in her past which is making her panic now? She has been through a lot in the past few years, one way and another: several disturbing murder cases, the death of her mother, relocation, a new job, a new relationship. Not to mention Nelson, which she isn’t going to do, even to herself.
She parks in the underground garage they rent a few streets away from their house. This is one of the drawbacks of Cambridge; it’s a town for bikes, not cars. When they get in, Kate goes straight up to bed. They had a vegan burger with Cathbad and Michael in Ely. Ruth wishes that she could follow Kate’s example but she has to have a conversation with Frank first.
Frank is in his study but he comes downstairs when he hears Ruth’s key in the door. He makes tea while Ruth tells him about swimming and about Cathbad’s latest utterances. Frank claims to like Cathbad and, in turn, Cathbad opines that Frank is a ‘serene presence’. But Ruth thinks that this conceals their true feelings. Frank distrusts Cathbad because of his connection to Ruth’s past, and to Nelson. Cathbad might think that Frank is serene but he has often said that Ruth, as a Cancerian, needs a partner who will disturb her peace of mind. ‘You need fireworks, Ruth.’ And no one is more disturbing and explosive than Nelson, a Scorpio, born within sight and sound of Bonfire Night.
When they are sitting in front of the television with their mugs of tea, Ruth says, ‘I got a call from Nelson today.’
‘Oh, yes?’ says Frank. ‘He seems to be in touch rather a lot recently.’
Ruth decides to ignore his tone. ‘It’s this Ivor March case,’ she says, disliking the way her own voice seems to be pitched on a placatory note. ‘Ivor March has said that he’ll tell Nelson where the other two bodies are buried. You know the police think he killed two more women?’
She waits for Frank to say what a breakthrough this is but he remains silent. She ploughs on, ‘It’s a big deal. Up till now, March has refused to say where they’re buried. He denies killing them, he denies killing Stacy and Jill too. Yet, suddenly, he says he’ll tell Nelson where the bodies are. The only thing is, he wants me to do the excavation.’
‘You? Why not Phil?’
‘Because I’m the best,’ says Ruth, bristling. ‘Nelson says that March is so egotistical that he wants the best forensic archaeologist in the area.’ Actually, Nelson had said ‘in the country’.
‘Nelson said that, did he?’ Now the tone is unmistakable. Frank, normally so measured and reasonable, sounds positively snarky.
‘Yes,’ says Ruth, looking at him directly. ‘Have you got a problem with that?’
‘You’re damn right I have.’ It’s almost a shout. Ruth is so surprised that she actually jumps, spilling some tea on her jeans. ‘Nelson had no right to ask you,’ says Frank. ‘Ivor March is dangerous. He kills women. He shouldn’t ask you to meet him.’
‘Nelson will be with me,’ says Ruth, before realising that t
his isn’t the most tactful thing to say.
‘I bet he will.’
‘What do you mean?’ says Ruth, flaring up in her turn. ‘This is my job. It’s his job too.’
‘Your job is to be a university lecturer.’
‘My job is to be a forensic archaeologist. This is why I’ve made a name for myself. Why I’ve written books. It’s because I’ve been involved with cases like this.’
‘And I’ve seen the toll it’s taken on you,’ says Frank. He takes a deep breath and runs a hand through his thick grey hair. When he speaks again, his voice is gentler. ‘Look, honey, I know you’re a terrific archaeologist. I just worry about you meeting a man like March. I think Nelson might be putting you in danger.’
‘He would never do that,’ says Ruth, but her tone is more conciliatory too. ‘But this is important. Just think what it would mean to the families of those women if we find their bodies. That’s why I have to do it.’
It’s a fairly unanswerable argument. At any rate, Frank does not attempt to answer it.
‘Just be careful, honey,’ he says at last.
‘I will,’ says Ruth. ‘I always am.’
Chapter 9
Nelson arrives punctually at eight a.m. Ruth would have preferred to be collected from the college but it’s her day off and so her turn to take Kate to school. Predictably, Nelson jumps at the chance of dropping Kate off on the way. Ruth had also hoped to avoid an awkward encounter between Nelson and Frank but, of course, Frank is leaving just as Nelson is parking on the double yellow lines in front of the house.
‘Hallo, Nelson,’ says Frank. Ruth can see that it’s an effort for him not to remind Nelson about the parking restrictions.
‘Hallo, Frank,’ says Nelson. ‘All right?’ He doesn’t wait for an answer because, at that moment, Kate appears in the doorway and throws herself at him.
‘Daddy!’
‘Hallo, sweetheart.’ He swings her into the air.
‘Are you going to drive me to school today?’
‘I certainly am.’
‘Will you go fast? Can we have the siren on?’
‘Of course not,’ says Ruth. ‘We’ll go at twenty miles an hour just like everyone else.’
‘Unless we have to chase a baddie,’ says Nelson, opening the back door for Kate. She jumps in, neglecting to say goodbye to Frank. Ruth doesn’t remind her because she is already dreading her own farewell. She normally kisses Frank goodbye every morning but she shrinks from doing so in front of Nelson. Ruth and Frank have made up after last night’s almost-row but are still being overly polite to each other. Maybe they should just settle for a warm handshake? In the end, Ruth gives Frank a little wave. ‘Bye, Frank.’
‘Bye, Ruth,’ says Frank. ‘Be careful.’
‘I will,’ says Ruth, getting into the front seat. ‘See you later.’
Nelson revs the car with unnecessary violence. Kate squeals with delight.
*
They drop Kate off at St Benedict’s and then take the road for Thetford, where Ivor March is being held in a category C prison before being transferred to a Category A establishment for more serious offenders.
‘It’s lucky, really,’ says Nelson, as they speed along the Newmarket Road. ‘After sentencing he’ll probably be transferred to Manchester, or even the Isle of Wight. That would be more difficult to get to.’
‘Lucky me,’ says Ruth. She’s feeling very nervous, even about a category C prison.
Nelson laughs. ‘Don’t worry. It’s not like a regular prison visit, with crowds of relatives, all crying and trying to smuggle in tobacco. We’ll be in a private interview room, just you, me and a prison officer.’
‘And Ivor March.’
‘And March, of course.’ Nelson swerves to overtake a caravan. Ruth shuts her eyes. She opens them; they are still alive and the road is clear.
‘What’s he like?’ she asks.
Nelson is silent for a few seconds before replying. ‘People say that he’s charismatic but I have to say that I don’t see it. He’s clever, though, and conceited. He thinks that he’s God’s gift to women. I’ve seen that in a lot of villains.’
‘It’s not confined to villains,’ says Ruth.
‘No, it’s not,’ says Nelson. ‘But March will try to manipulate you. He’ll praise you and rubbish Phil, for a start. But you won’t fall for that.’
‘I’ll try not to,’ says Ruth.
‘He obviously thinks that he can get you onside,’ says Nelson. ‘That’s why he wants to meet you face to face. There are plenty of women who think he’s innocent and want him released. Chantal Simmonds for one, Crissy Martin for another.’
‘Crissy? Really?’
‘Apparently so. I had a very interesting chat with her gardener last night.’
‘John?’
‘Yes, do you know him?’
‘I talked to him a few times when I was staying at Grey Walls. He knows a lot about local folklore.’
‘That doesn’t surprise me. He sounded a bit like Cathbad at times. Well, according to John, Crissy, Ivor and their friends got up to a lot of very odd things at Grey Walls.’
‘What sort of things?’
‘Like picking up lonely women – God only knows what for – bringing them back to the house, letting them stay for a while and then chucking them out.’
‘Chucking them out?’
‘John said that Crissy got rid of them. He said that one day she’d just drive them to the station and they’d never be seen again. We’ve only got his word for that but there are no missing persons’ reports that match the timeframe so I think we have to assume that March didn’t kill them. There’s one case I’m interested in though. An Eastern European girl who apparently vanished completely.’
‘He could have killed her then?’
‘Yes, and, if so, she could have been the start of it. That’s how serial killers work. You get away with one and you think you’re invincible. Then you get hungry for more.’
‘Is that what Ivor March is? A serial killer?’
‘You bet that’s what he is,’ says Nelson, taking the turn towards a sinister high wall with barbed wire along the top. ‘He’s killed at least four women, I’m sure of it.’ Nelson stops at the gate and speaks into the entry phone. The doors open and, when they’re through, shut firmly behind them. Ruth starts to feel even more nervous.
Nelson parks in a space designated for police and he and Ruth walk towards the main entrance. Once again they are buzzed in, then they walk through a scanner like the one at the airport that always protests at Ruth’s underwired bra. In the main lobby they are met by an officer who obviously knows Nelson because they exchange gruff greetings. Another guard with a sniffer dog approaches. Ruth hopes that the animal won’t be excited by the smell of Flint. According to the ‘Guidelines for Visiting Prisons’ Ruth read online, women are advised not to wear ‘revealing or provocative clothes’. This is not a problem for Ruth. She’s wearing a black trouser suit with a white shirt, buttoned up to the neck. It’s certainly not provocative but Ruth is pretty sure that it’s covered with a fine layer of cat fur. But the dog passes them with the canine equivalent of a shrug. They are led into a small room and, once again, the doors clang shut. Ruth realises that she is shaking. The whole set-up, surely designed to make you feel alienated and unsettled, is working perfectly in her case. Oh God, don’t let her have another panic attack. Breathe in for four, out for eight.
‘Are you all right?’ says Nelson.
‘I’m fine,’ says Ruth. ‘Is this where we’ll see March?’
‘Yes,’ says Nelson, who seems entirely unaffected by his surroundings. ‘This room is set aside for interviews with lawyers or the police. It’s nicer than the visitors’ centre.’
Ruth looks around her. They are in a white box, windowless and featureless. There are
four plastic chairs and a Formica table. A security camera whirrs in the corner. It’s hard to see how anyone could describe the room as ‘nice’.
A sound outside and Nelson looks at Ruth. ‘That’ll be him. Don’t worry. Nothing can happen to you while I’m here.’
Ruth wishes that she could believe him.
The door opens and a man enters, wearing a blue prison overall, his hands handcuffed in front of him. He’s accompanied by a prison officer. Ruth hadn’t expected the handcuffs, they seem too dramatic, like something from a student production of Crime and Punishment. It’s a few seconds before she looks up at March’s face and finds herself meeting an amused smile.
‘Good to meet you, Dr Galloway.’
How should she reply to that? ‘Good to meet you, Mr Serial Killer?’ She just says, ‘Hallo.’
They sit down. March and the guard on one side of the table, Ruth and Nelson on the other. Nelson says, ‘You wanted to see us, March.’ His voice sounds harsher and more northern than usual. Ruth realises how comforting it is to have Nelson beside her. His leg, in anonymous dark trousers, is next to hers. She could, if she wished, just reach over and touch it . . .
‘I wanted to see Dr Galloway,’ says Ivor March. His voice is low and rather posh. There are no traces of Cambridgeshire or even London. He could be a Radio 4 continuity announcer.
‘You said you were prepared to tell us where Jenny and Nicola are buried. Where you buried them,’ says Nelson.
‘DCI Nelson is very protective of you,’ says March to Ruth. ‘I wonder why.’
Ruth says nothing, hoping she isn’t blushing. March is still staring at her with that half smile playing around his lips. Ruth supposes that he is fairly good-looking – dark hair and eyes, pronounced cheekbones – but she finds him creepy in the extreme. All that prolonged eye-contact, it’s like something boys do in sixth-form before realising that it makes them look odd rather than sexy. Like serial killers, in fact.
‘You said that you wanted me to excavate the bodies,’ says Ruth.
‘I’ve been following your career,’ says March, still doing the stare. ‘You’re a very impressive woman, Dr Galloway. You found the Iron Age girl on the Saltmarsh. She’s named Ruth after you, isn’t she? That must have been some moment, when you pulled that arm out of the peat, almost perfectly preserved, with the honeysuckle rope still round her wrist.’
The Lantern Men Page 7