Under Parr

by Andrea Bramhall

  Gina couldn’t argue with her. She couldn’t blame her…them, apparently. Gina took the envelopes and leafed through them. Sarah, Emma, and Rick. “Notice?” Gina asked, knowing she held their resignations in her hand.

  “A week.”

  Gina lifted her eyebrows. “Do you all have jobs lined up?”

  Sarah nodded. “We wanted to give you a chance to match the offers we have on the table, though.” She shrugged. “You can’t.”

  Bitch. “Well, I wish you all the best of luck then.”

  Sarah scowled. “What? That’s it? You’re not going to beg us to stay or anything?”

  Gina dropped the envelopes into the in tray. “You already told me I couldn’t match the offers you all have on the table, so no. You’ve clearly made up your minds and it’s time for you to move on, so, thank you for all your hard work, and if your new employer needs a reference from me, please give them my e-mail address.”

  Sarah’s scowl deepened as she turned on her heels and slammed the door closed behind her.

  “B-bye then.” Gina muttered under her breath and opened the booking system on her computer. The hostel was fully booked for the weekend, but fortunately, there were no rooms booked for Sunday night or the rest of the week. Making a quick decision, she blocked the weekdays throughout the winter. With only herself and William left to run the hostel and campsite until she could find some new staff—and money to pay them—that was about as much as they’d be able to manage. It also meant she could turn off the heating during the week to preserve fuel and running costs. Her wages bill was down by three quarters, and suddenly she felt a little bit more optimistic about running the place for the winter. Or at least until the money started to come back in.

  She picked up her phone and opened the messaging app. She clicked on the last message Kate had sent her—a simple “What did I do?”—and wondered what it was that was stopping her from responding. No, that wasn’t true. She knew what was stopping her, she just didn’t know when she was going to get past it and get back to being Gina again. She closed the app and used the phone to set an alarm instead—2.45 p.m. should give her plenty of time to get to the school to pick up Sammy. Now she had paperwork to deal with.

  CHAPTER 3

  The clubhouse stood at the entrance to Brancaster beach like a sentry towering over the sands. The two-storey structure looked like a large house with a sprawling collection of buildings behind it, and huge picture windows in an upstairs balcony. Almost like it was upside down.

  Kate and Jimmy were greeted at oversized double doors by a tall gentleman with a shock of dark hair, a firm handshake, and a warm smile.

  “Edgar Spink, club secretary. Terrible business all this. Terrible.”

  “It is. Detective Sergeant Kate Brannon and Detective Constable Jimmy Powers. Pleased to meet you,” Kate said and followed him into a hallway covered in dark wood panelling, polished until she could see her face in it. “Detective Inspector Timmons said there were some folks here from the National Trust.”

  “Yes, yes, of course. This way, please.” He led them into a large social room—again covered in dark wood, highly polished—where the scent of coffee and brandy hung in the air.

  It was exactly how she’d always pictured a “gentleman’s smoking room”. Testosterone and machismo had carved every bold line, painted egos upon plaques, and etched names into glass for prosperity. She couldn’t imagine how out of place she must look. She glanced over and saw another woman sitting with two younger men. Ah. That out of place.

  Kate introduced herself and Jimmy as the woman stood and shook Kate’s hand.

  “Jo Herd, I’m the manager of the National Trust Brandale Centre.” She flicked curly blond hair over a painfully thin shoulder and smiled insipidly.

  “So you’re the supervisor on this project?” Kate asked.

  “Yes. Danny and Steve are two volunteers from our inner city outreach programme. They were doing the actual digging and found…the remains.” She whispered the last two words.

  “Have you been into the bunker today, Ms Herd?”

  She shook her head. “Heavens, no. It must be just awful down there.”

  Kate nodded. “I’m sure, but I’m afraid it’s Danny and Steve that we need to talk to right now.”

  “Of course, of course. I’m here to support them.”

  Kate caught the stockier of the two rolling his eyes behind Jo Herd’s back and smothered a chuckle. “I’m sure they appreciate that as much as I do, but we have to get official statements from them. Are either of them under the age of eighteen?”

  “No, no, of course—”

  “Are either of them impaired in any way and need a guardian to protect them in a situation like this?”

  “Well, no, of course not.”

  “Okay, then I’m afraid I must ask you to let me speak to them alone. I can do that here or at the station, but I do need to get their official statements.”

  Ms Herd’s lips tightened and the top one disappeared between her teeth. Her eyes pulled into slits as she stared hard at Kate.

  Kate didn’t flinch.

  “Of course. Anything I can do to help.”

  “Thank you.” Kate moved past her to the table with the two young men and introduced herself again.

  “Steve Nicholls, he’s Danny Batty,” the stocky eye-roller said.

  “Nice to meet you both. Are you okay? Must have been quite a shock for you.”

  “Well, yeah. But it was just bones, like. It’s not like it was totally gross or anything.”

  With his cocky grin, his hand tucked down the waistband of his tracksuit bottoms, and his baseball cap turned so that the peak was stuck over one ear, she could practically see him swaggering down the street with his arse hanging out the back of his pants. Danny didn’t seem quite as unfazed as his friend. He sat with his arms folded across his chest like a shield, and his chin tucked into the neck of his hoodie like he was trying to hide.

  “What about you, Danny? Are you okay? We can get you someone to talk to if you think it’ll help you.”

  Danny shrugged and slunk lower in his chair, his head almost disappearing inside his hoodie. “I’m good.”

  Yeah, right. “Okay, so why don’t you tell me what happened.”

  Steve sat up straight in his chair and started gesticulating wildly with his hands. “We were diggin’ out the sand like we was supposed to. Just diggin’ and diggin’. We put the sand on this, like, tray to pull it out of the tunnel. I was pulling ’cos I’ve got these guns. And Danny boy, well, he’s skinny as, so he was doing the diggin’.”

  “I get the picture. So what happened next?”

  “Well, Danny finally managed to unblock the tunnel and then he just went, like, silent as the grave.” He started laughing at his own joke. “Get it?”

  “Yes,” Kate answered without so much as a smile, and turned to Danny. “What did you see?”

  He tucked his hands into his pockets. “You’ve seen it. You know what I saw.”

  “I did, but, you saw it first, Danny. I need to see what you saw.”

  “I saw a dead man.”

  She leaned forward, rested her elbows on the table, and spoke quietly. “How did you see him?”

  “I had a head torch on. So I could see and keep my hands clear. At first I thought there was someone down there with me. Wearing a mask or something. Trying to scare me. I could only see a bit at first. Like out of the corner of my eye. Fucking freaky.”

  Kate smiled reassuringly. “I’m sure it was. When you saw it, did you touch it?”

  Danny shook his head but cast a quick glance at Steve. “Nah, I didn’t.”

  She looked at Steve. “Did you?”

  Steve shrugged. “I might have accidentally knocked into something when I was down there.”

  She blew out through her nose. “You’re not in any trouble. I just need to know what you saw and did in there. Did you move anything, accidentally or not, I don’t care. I just need to know.”r />
  Steve stared at her.

  “Did you?”

  “He did.” Danny said quietly. “He picked up one of the arm bones, but he put it back exactly where it came from and we didn’t touch nothing else. We crawled out of there and called you. Well, the police. You know.”

  “Thank you, Danny. After you crawled out, did either of you go back in, or did anyone else go in before the police arrived?”

  Steve stared into space and Danny fidgeted his legs. Opening and closing his knees like he was dancing to a beat in his head. “The man from the golf course tried to, but the plastic policeman arrived and stopped him.”

  “Which one?”

  “I don’t know which copper it was. Little and dumpy. He’s stood at the tape now.”

  “No, I meant which man from the golf course?”

  “Oh, erm, the tall one with the limp.”

  Kate looked quickly at Jimmy and caught the tiny shrug. “Thanks, that’s a big help.” She pushed her card across the table. If you think of anything else or you just want to talk, call me.”

  Danny picked up the card.

  “Okay?”

  He nodded and stuffed the card into his pocket. “Thanks.”

  She stood up and followed Jimmy away from the table.

  “Mr Spink didn’t mention anyone else out there today. Nor did Timmons,” Jimmy said.

  “Nope. But more to the point, why didn’t the plastic policeman tell us when we got here either? Danny said he was talking to him.”

  “You shouldn’t call the PCSO’s that. The police community support officers are a vital part of our team, sarge,” Jimmy said.

  She shrugged, wondering how he managed to keep a straight face when he came out with bull like that. “Then they should do their jobs properly and I wouldn’t have cause to.” She spotted a door at the end of the hall with “Club Secretary” stencilled on the dark wood in gold lettering. “I’ll speak to Dumpy later. Right now, let’s see what he’s got to say about it.”

  She knocked on the door and opened it when the voice called, “Come in.”

  “Mr Spink, do you have a staff member on shift today with a limp?”

  He frowned slightly. “Well, yes. That would be Malcolm, the head groundskeeper here.”

  “Would it be possible for us to have a quick word with him?”

  “Of course. I’m not sure where he’ll be at the moment, but I’ll just give him a call.” He indicated the pair of chairs opposite his desk.

  “Thanks,” Kate said as she and Jimmy sat down, and waited for Mr Spink to make his call.

  The room was bright and airy, not at all like the rest of the building they’d seen so far. The computer perched on the desk looked several years old but still perfectly serviceable. Files were neat and orderly, and the old wooden filing cabinet with tiny drawers for stacks of index cards was again so highly polished that she could see the shed and parked cars outside the window in it.

  “Malcolm? There are detectives here and they would like to talk to you,” Mr Spink said down the phone. “I don’t know. Where are you?”

  Kate could imagine the other side of the conversation easily enough.

  “No, no. It’ll be faster for me to bring them over to you.” He hung up and smiled. “He’s over at the tractor shed. If you wouldn’t mind a quick ride, I’ll take you over there.”

  “I’d appreciate it very much. Thank you.” Kate smiled, and they followed him out of the room.

  The ride turned out to be a golf cart that Mr Spink drove them across the golf course in. There wasn’t a single person about, and the only sound was the small engine of the buggy.

  Kate glanced out towards the sea and wondered what it would be like on any given day. Would you be able to hear hoards of tourists just the other side of the dunes during the season? Or was it only ever the roar of the tide that detracted from the silence? Or perhaps the call of the birds? “Is it always this quiet?”

  He shook his head. “Yes and no. Even when there are people on the course it’s the thing I love most about this place. The quiet.” He glanced at her. “I’ve worked at a number of different golf courses over my career, Detective. But this is the only one where I can stand on the course and hear nothing but the wind and the sea.”

  “What do you normally hear on a golf course?”

  He smiled sadly. “Traffic, mostly.”

  “Ah.” She looked across the well-tended lawns and swathes of rough sod to bunkers, which had been cut into the grass and held back by sawn and weathered railway sleepers. Flags of red and yellow fluttered in the breeze as they zipped by, and birds cried overhead.

  When he pulled off the fairway and turned behind what looked to be another mound on the course, Kate was surprised to see a large plant works. The tractor shed was a huge building of corrugated steel, painted a deep green so that it was more difficult to see against the grass. A man in his late fifties stood outside with a cigarette rolled between thin lips. A dark woollen cap covered his head and shaded his eyes as he walked towards them with a pronounced limp.

  “Malcolm Slater.” He held out his hand, and Kate quickly introduced them. She waited until Mr Spink moved away.

  “Did you hurt yourself?” Kate asked, indicating his leg.

  “In a manner of speaking, miss.” He cocked his leg to the side as he bent forward and knocked on it. It sounded hollow. “I can take it off if you like.”

  Kate waved her hand. “No, not at all. I take it isn’t a recent injury?”

  “Nah. Been like this for thirty years now. More, in fact. Army.”

  “Ah,” Kate said.

  “Iraq?” Jimmy asked.

  Kate and Malcolm both stared at him.

  “Iraq?” Malcolm asked.

  Jimmy shrugged a little sheepishly.

  “History’s not your strong suit, is it, lad?”

  “Sorry.” Jimmy had the good grace to look ashamed.

  “Northern Ireland, son.”

  “Oh, right.”

  “Yeah, stood on something I shouldn’t of, and got myself discharged right quick for me troubles. I’ve worked here ever since. But that’s not what you want to hear about today, is it?”

  “No, it isn’t,” Kate agreed. “Why were you trying to get down into the bunker this morning?”

  “I needed to know if it was true or if those young lads were playing a dirty, rotten trick on us.”

  “Why would you think that?”

  “Because I thought I was the last person alive in that bunker before it got shut off from the world.”

  Kate cleared her throat. “Can you explain that please?”

  He nodded his head solemnly. “December fifth, 2013.”

  “The night of the flood,” Jimmy said.

  “Aye. Hell of a night.” He paused, seemingly waiting for an acknowledgment.

  “That it was,” Kate said, trying to urge him to continue.

  “You were here?”

  She shook her head. “No, I was working in Norwich then. They sent me over to Cromer that night. I’ve never seen anything like it. Houses were just crumbling into the sea.”

  Malcolm nodded. “Well, we didn’t lose any houses that way, but by God did we get some flooding. We were prepared, of course. The weather idiots were all over it, warning us of the perfect storm that was heading our way.”

  “The perfect storm?” Jimmy asked.

  “Are you not local, lad?”

  Kate knew it rankled when strangers, and perpetrators, saw Jimmy’s boyish looks as a way to poke and prod. But he often used it to get witnesses to open up to him. It made him far more approachable than many of her colleagues, and sometimes people open up when they think you’re on their side. No matter what they’ve done.

  “I was away at the time of the flood. Working in London.”

  “Ah. Well, you don’t know then. The perfect storm was a high spring tide, highest in a decade, and a wind storm out at sea. They all combined to make the tide so high that it breache
d all the flood defences up and down the coast.”

  “But no one was hurt. No one died in the floods.”

  “True. We were well warned and we evacuated. Went around checking everything to make sure there was no one left that could be hurt.” He pointed out towards the dunes. “You know all those boulders out there?”

  Jimmy nodded.

  “They’re all new. The water picked up the old ones and took ’em away. Same size as those—bigger, some of ’em. And the water just took ’em away like Lego bricks. The dunes were washed away. Every house on this side of the main road suffered flood damage to some extent or another. Every one.”

  “I’m sorry,” Jimmy offered.

  Malcolm waved his hand. “Not your fault, lad. Mother Nature can be a bitch when she’s in the mood.” He offered a weak smile. “So, anyway, we knew what time the road was going to flood, we knew that the chances were this building was going to flood, and that the golf course was going to spend a considerable amount of time under water. So we checked everything. Work sheds, the outhouses, the wheelie bins, and yes, I even checked in that bloody bunker. I didn’t want the death of a kid on my conscience just because it was a ball ache for me to get myself down that half-buried tunnel.”

  “And what did you find down there?” Kate asked. The wind kicked up, tossing her hair over her shoulder and into her eyes. She brushed it back and tucked it into the collar of her coat.

  “A load of half-rusted cans and some used johnnies.”

  Kate nodded. “A local hangout for the kids?”

  “Something like that. Anyway, there was no one down there, except maybe the odd rat or two. There was no one, living or dead, in that bunker when I left it.”

  “And what time was that? Do you have any idea?”

  “We had to be clear of the road by five, and it was the last place I checked.”

  “And there was no one on the road when you drove away?”

  “No. The roads were empty.”

  “Anyone on foot?”