Under Parr

by Andrea Bramhall

  Police tape cordoned off the entrance of the beach. It stretched across the ten-metre-wide expanse of sand from the gates of the golf course on the right to the concrete slabs on the left. The latter created a barrier, to protect the clubhouse from the tide. There were huge boulders at the base, half-hidden by sand. Tufts of marram grass poked out along the cracks. A short police community support officer—PCSO—stood in front of the tape, bobbing from one foot to the other, hands jammed into his pockets, head hunkered deep down into his collar against the wind.

  Kate quickly found a parking space in the almost-empty car park and grabbed her coat from the back seat. “Right, let’s go see what we’ve got then.”

  She clicked the lock as she stuffed her keys in her pocket and fastened the zip of her down jacket, immensely glad she’d allowed Gina to talk her into investing in something that offered a little more protection from the elements than her old leather jacket did. The jacket and the thermal leggings Kate wore under her jeans were her biggest concession to a bout of hypothermia that had resulted from her attempting to collect evidence in the Connie Wells case just six weeks ago.

  “’Bout time you two got here.” The stout, balding figure of Detective Inspector Timmons called to them. “Getting your hair done, were you, lad?” His ruddy face was even redder than normal.

  She hoped that was just the wind and not a case of his blood pressure rising because they were late.

  “Sorry, sir,” Jimmy mumbled.

  Timmons continued to scowl, but Kate thought she saw a twinkle of merriment behind those wily eyes. His usually smart suit was decidedly dishevelled today, and there were wet, sandy patches on his knees that aroused her curiosity even more.

  “What do we have, sir?” Kate addressed DI Timmons with a glance over his left shoulder, trying to get a glimpse of the body they were there to see.

  “It’s not on the beach. Thankfully. The crime scene techs said we’re fine to go in, so follow me.” He turned away from the clubhouse and led them about a hundred yards down from the beach entrance and up into the dunes.

  Kate saw a thick slab of concrete, sand piled on top of it and on either side, and a small hole underneath it that looked to disappear into the sand. “A tunnel?” she asked.

  “Yup. Leads to a bunker that was built during the Second World War. It was the front line of the home defence. If they tried to invade from the North Sea.” Timmons pointed to the concrete. “Well, our lads were going to try and blow ’em out of the water from here.” He waved his hand up the line of the dunes. “There’s a whole network of them up and down the coast. Most of ’em are buried now, and the ones that aren’t bloody well should be.”

  “Why? That’s our history. Our heritage, sir,” Jimmy said.

  “That it may be, lad, but the ones that are still visible are used for nothing more than kids’ hangouts. They’re full of beer cans, used condoms, and used needles. The walls are covered with graffiti, and they stink of piss and vomit.” He knelt down beside the hole. “Not my idea of a heritage to be preserved. Come on.” He slunk down onto his belly and disappeared head first into the hole.

  “You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.” Kate sighed. She hated small spaces. She wouldn’t go so far as to say she was claustrophobic, but that was more to do with the fact that she hated to admit a weakness than anything else.

  “Want me to go first, sarge?” Jimmy offered.

  “No, I bloody don’t.” Kate’s sense of competition was stronger than her claustrophobia. Just. She flipped her hair over her shoulder and tied it into a hairband she kept around her wrist. Kneeling at the entrance, she stared into the black hole. “How far is it, sir?”

  “Not far. Maybe six feet before you can stand up again.” His voice drifted closer. “We’ve got lights down here, but there’s a corner to go round. You’ll see it when you start to make your way.”

  “Right.” Kate swallowed and got down on to her belly. She used her elbows and knees to push herself down the incline. It almost felt like she was falling as she shuffled her way down the sand. At one point she lifted herself too high in her haste to make progress and banged her head on the rough concrete ceiling above her. “Bollocks,” she hissed, and rubbed the tender spot on the back of her head. No lump. Yet.

  “Nearly there, Sergeant,” Timmons said, his voice too loud in the darkness.

  Everything seemed too loud. Her own breathing, her heartbeat, the scuff and scrape of cloth on sand.

  “I’ve got you.” He wrapped a hand around her bicep and helped her to her knees, then her feet, before offering the same help to Jimmy, and leading them from what had obviously been a corridor into a small anteroom.

  Huge banks of lights had been brought down in pieces and assembled to illuminate the room. The rough breeze blocks were covered in graffiti, and the debris was exactly as Timmons had described. Except everything was covered in a layer of silt, and the scent of putrefaction and decay was as pervasive as the darkness that the lights were attempting to keep at bay.

  “What a place to die,” Dr Anderson said as she examined the body. Well, what was left of it anyway.

  “Good to see you again, Ruth,” Kate said as she squatted beside the coroner.

  “You too, Kate. You okay? You’re looking a little pale.”

  “Not as pale as our friend here.”

  Ruth Anderson took the hint and moved on. “Well, he’s got an excuse.”

  “Male then?” Kate looked at the remains—no, the bones. In the harsh fluorescent light, they appeared white, and covered in scraps of dirty, half-rotted cloth and mud. The small bones of the feet and hands didn’t appear to be in place, but they could have easily been covered by the silt that squelched beneath her feet.

  “Based on the hips, yes, definitely.”

  “And it’s definitely human remains, not one of those skeletons you see in biology class?”

  “Oh no. This was very definitely a real person.” Ruth’s voice had a distant quality to it. Like she was trying to figure something out that didn’t belong. Other than the skeleton in a bunker.

  “What is it? What’s got you all frowny and distant?”

  “There are a few inconsistencies.”

  “Such as?”

  “Well, take a look at the shoes.”

  Kate glanced at the feet of the skeleton. Two shoes. One a man’s black loafer, the other what looked to be a fur-lined slipper boot, the same as she’d seen her gran wear when she was in hospital. Both were clearly different sizes, and both for the left foot. Kate looked more closely at the scraps of cloth covering the bones, but they were too dirty to make out any more details.

  “I’ll be able to tell you more about the clothes once I get them back to the lab and examine them under better light and with the use of a little clean water, but we also have these.” Ruth held up a set of false teeth. Just the upper plate, but there was a name inside the bridge.

  “What the—”

  “The dentist puts a label inside the resin before it sets, so that’s in there permanently but it doesn’t affect the wearer in any way,” Ruth supplied. “It’s a practice that’s used a lot in hospitals and care homes.”

  “That makes sense.”

  “True.”

  “So why is our gentleman wearing Annie Balding’s dentures?”

  “You’re the detective, Kate. Not me.” Ruth smiled at her with a wink.

  “Helpful, thanks,” Kate muttered and continued to stare at the dentures.

  “Now, now, don’t get sulky, Kate. At least we’ll be able to reconstruct the face of this victim for you.”

  “Uh-huh. Good job, since I don’t see you getting me any prints.”

  “True. And DNA isn’t going to be possible either.”

  “It won’t?”

  “No. Submersion in salt water would cause the DNA to denature after forty-eight to seventy-two hours.”

  “But you get DNA from bodies pulled out of the sea all the time.”

  “
There’s the difference. Bodies, not skeletons. If we still had flesh, I could get you DNA. Skeletal DNA is useless after seventy-two hours. I couldn’t get you a profile from this lot if I had a million years to try.”

  “Okay. This is getting better and better. How long has he been here? I’m guessing you can give us a rough guideline to start with.”

  “This place was sealed off by a storm on the fifth of December 2013. No one’s been able to get in since then.”

  “How do we know he wasn’t in here before then?”

  “The rate of decomposition is consistent with a three-year estimate, but until I do some testing, I couldn’t be more exact.”

  “Fair enough.” Kate looked up at Timmons. “So why are we down here now? Why’s it open again?”

  “The National Trust boffins have decided to open it and do it up so that they can bring kids in here as part of a history trip,” Timmons said. “They were planning to dig it all out fully, put doors back on, and keep it safe and clean for the youngsters.”

  “And they’re doing this in the middle of December because…?”

  “Low season and it gives them plenty of time to get it ready for the kiddiewinks at Easter.”

  “Right. So this was found when they started excavating?”

  “Yes. They’ve been working on digging out the tunnel all day yesterday, and found Skeleton Stan just about an hour ago when they broke through and came in to take their first look around.”

  “Lovely surprise for them.”

  “Indeed.”

  Kate turned back to Ruth. “Any idea how he died?”

  She shook her head. “I’ll be able to give you more when I get back to the morgue, but without flesh to examine, I may not be able to give you a definitive cause of death. It depends what the bones tell me.”

  “Accidental? Suspicious?”

  “Possibly.”

  “Which one?”

  “Either.”

  Kate sighed. “Fine.”

  “Nice try, Brannon,” Timmons said. “Until we know differently, we proceed as though this is a murder enquiry. I won’t lose vital evidence by sitting around and waiting for the autopsy results if it turns out this is suspicious. If it’s not, then maybe we’ll at least have identified who the poor sod is in the meantime. I’ve got another case over in Lynn that needs my attention. You and Stella and the boys can handle this one. Just keep me informed as you go.”

  “Understood, sir.” She turned back to Ruth. “How long before you can get us the facial reconstruction?”

  “I’ll process the skull as soon as I get back and get it in the scanner. As soon as I send the file to Grimshaw over in tech, he should be able to run it through the computer, and I’d imagine he’d be able to get you an image pretty quickly. Later this afternoon maybe.”

  Kate smiled. “Thanks.” She stood up and turned to Jimmy. “Come on, we’ll go and start pulling missing persons from that period and see if we can find stuff to compare that image to once we get it.”

  Jimmy nodded.

  “Good plan, Brannon,” Timmons said. “Goodwin, Brothers, and Collier are heading over to Hunstanton again to set up. I’ve already spoken to Inspector Savage, and they’re all expecting you over there. I think someone mentioned something about you bringing coffees. I said you’d stop on your way over.”

  “Thanks, boss. I appreciate that,” she said sarcastically. “Before we go play errand boy, though, I’d like to talk to the people who were digging the tunnel out and found the skeleton.”

  “Of course. I have them waiting in the snug over at the golf house.” He led them out of the room and back to the tunnel. “Bit more civilized than keeping them waiting in this bloody wind. Especially as I didn’t know how long Powers’ haircut was going to take.”

  Kate chuckled and followed Timmons up the sand-covered tunnel, pushing and pulling herself up while keeping her head as low as she could. Even though it was physically harder to pull herself out, mentally it was a million times easier.

  “Better?” Timmons asked quietly as he gave her a hand to her feet.

  She nodded and offered him a small smile of gratitude.

  “Good. Well done.”

  He’d known, and let her do what she needed to maintain her focus while she was down there without making a fuss. She’d asked questions that should really have been his to ask, but he’d let her get on with it and not interjected as she dealt with the situation. Her respect for her boss rose a little more. He might look like a throwback to the eighties with his trench coat and leather driving gloves, but he certainly didn’t act like it. “Thanks.”

  “Oh, bloody hell.” Jimmy crawled out of the tunnel rubbing his head. “Fuck me. That hurts.”

  “Oh yeah, Jimmy, watch your head on that ceiling, lad,” Timmons offered, then pointed them both back up the beach.

  CHAPTER 2

  Gina pushed her fingers through her hair and winced when she got her ring tangled in a knot. She had to pull it from her finger before she could untangle the mess and reclaim her ring.

  “You okay?” Sarah asked.

  Gina looked up to the door of her office. “Yeah, I’m good. Just got my ring stuck in my hair.” She rolled her eyes and then looked back down at the papers strewn across her desk. “Good” was probably not the right word. Overwhelmed. Swamped. Scared. Those were much more appropriate options; good…not so much.

  “Look, I’m sorry to have to push, but I kind of need to know where I stand.”

  Gina knew what Sarah meant, but she was in no mood to play the subtle guessing games that Sarah had been playing for the past six weeks. Gina was doing her best in extremely difficult circumstances, and quite frankly, Sarah wasn’t doing much to help the situation.

  Since Gina’s best friend, Connie, had died without leaving a will, Gina had been doing her best to keep the business afloat so that they had jobs and wages coming in, while still trying to figure out what was going to happen to them all in the long term. Neither of which was easy to do. A tourism business in the dead of winter was always a money drain, and Her Majesty’s Revenue and Customs information was, well, difficult to get to grips with.

  It also meant that Gina’s patience was at an end, and if she were truly honest, if Sarah decided to quit, it would make her life much easier. So she decided to make the young woman spell out her issues. “What are you talking about?”

  “I know you’re doing your best to keep the campsite and hostel running, and after everything that’s happened, I think you’re doing an amazing job of it. But I really need to know what’s going on.”

  Gina could feel the crease on her forehead deepening as she watched Sarah simper. “I’ve told you everything I know, Sarah. Connie didn’t leave a will. She had no relatives that any one knows of, and she wasn’t married. Her entire estate is now the property of the state.”

  “Yes, I know, you’ve told us that. But what does it all actually mean? To us. In practical terms. I mean, will I still have a job and somewhere to live next month? Or are they going to close us down and kick us all out?”

  Gina was just as worried as they were. More probably. She had responsibilities they didn’t. She had Sammy to take care of, after all. And trying to get to the bottom of what was going to happen was like trying to find the end of the rainbow. Complex didn’t even begin to cover it.

  She half wished it had all gone to Leah, Connie’s junkie ex-girlfriend. At least then they’d know exactly what pile of shit they had to deal with, rather than the uncertainty they were left with right now. She’d even gone so far as to speak to one of her old friends from school who’d gone on to become a solicitor. She was looking into it for her—as a friend—as it wasn’t the kind of law she usually dealt with. Gina hoped “as a friend” meant “no fee required”, because money was becoming thin on the ground.

  “I don’t know what to tell you, Sarah. I don’t have those answers right now.”

  “And how long will it be before you do?” Sarah fol
ded her arms across her chest.

  “In all honesty, I don’t know.”

  “Well, that’s not good enough, Gina. We need to know.”

  “We?” Gina queried.

  “Yeah, me, Emma, and Rick. We need to know what’s going to happen here so we can make plans if we need to.”

  More than half her staff were mutinying. Ungrateful bastards. “And Will?”

  Sarah shrugged. “He said he’d wait. Something about him owing that much to Connie. He’s a bloody fool if you ask me.”

  He’s a bloody angel if you ask me. “Well, I’m sorry, Sarah, but I can’t tell you any more without making shit up. Which I’ll happily do if you want? I’ve already told you as much as I know of this process. The estate is registered on the Bona Vacantia. People have two years to come forward and try to make a legitimate claim if they think they are entitled to the estate in the absence of a will.”

  “How do you know all this shit?”

  “It truly is amazing what you can find out on the internet when you go looking. Plus, I have a friend who’s a solicitor. She gave me a few tips.”

  “Right. So what happens after two years?”

  “Well, if no one has come forward, then the state can do as they wish with it all. In this case, I would presume that would mean selling the business and her house.”

  “And in the meantime?”

  “I assume I keep running the business as it is.”

  “And am I to assume you can do that?” Her response emphasised all the assumptions Gina was having to operate under, and underscoring the fact that she was basically pissing in the wind and hoping to stay dry.

  Gina shrugged. It was a question she’d been asking herself for the past month. She’d spent two weeks recovering from her ordeal with Ally Robins—well, the physical side of it anyway—before she’d thrown herself back into work and tried to keep together the business that her best friend had built up. A business that was now ownerless and rudderless in the wake of Connie’s murder and the subsequent vacuum. “I will for as long as I’m able to.”

  Sarah nodded and pursed her lips. “I’m sorry, Gina, but that’s just not enough for us.” She held out a small stack of white envelopes. “We need more security than that. We’re not just talking about our jobs after all. We live here as well as work here.”