“No one I could see. The water was literally coming up the road behind me.”
Jimmy smiled. “You make it sound like one of those films where there’s a tsunami chasing you down or something.”
Malcolm laughed. “Nothing so dramatic as that here in Norfolk, lad. But I can tell you that no one would have made it down the road within ten minutes of me coming up it. Not in a car anyway, and there was no one passing me as I left. So, at five o’clock, it was empty. By the time we came back in the morning to assess the damage, the bunker was sealed and has been until this morning.”
“Why was it never opened before now?” she asked. A seagull squawked as it hunted the shoreline. Kate was glad she had nothing in her hands. The thieving birds were known to steal anything they could get their beaks around. Even from the hands of the unsuspecting.
Malcolm shrugged. “The beach is managed by the National Trust, not us. So it was up to them what happened to it. You’ll have to ask them why they left it till now.”
“If it was theirs to manage, why did you check it that night?”
“Like I said, I had to. I knew that local kids went in there, drinking, shag—excuse me—fooling around, and whatnot. While the adults were all preoccupied with the flood preparations, I wouldn’t have put it past some of the little blighters to go sneaking in there for a bit of fun, not realising it was dangerous.” He sighed. “I couldn’t have lived with it if I’d had the thought, not bothered checking just because it was someone else’s job to do, and then a kid turned up missing or dead.”
Kate smiled. “I understand.”
“Happened anyway, though didn’t it?” He plucked a strand of tobacco from the tip of his tongue and spat out in an attempt to rid his mouth of the foul taste and debris.
Kate didn’t think it was really the tobacco that was offensive to him. The taste of failure was always so much worse.
“You did your best, Malcolm. It was clear when you had to leave to keep yourself safe. That’s all you could do. It’s all anyone can do.”
“Wasn’t enough for that poor bugger, though.” He shoved his hand under his hat and scratched at his scalp.
Kate noticed the red tinge to his fingernails before he crossed his arms over his chest.
“What did you do for the rest of the night?”
“Night of the flood?” Malcolm clarified.
“Yes.”
“I spent most of it with some of the village locals. It was the weekend of the Christmas Market over by the campsite. The marquees were already out and we were hoping and praying that the water wouldn’t come up so far as to ruin everything for the weekend.”
“Why did they not cancel if the weather was so bad?” Jimmy asked.
“Bloody Sands. Thinks he can hold back the bloody tide with a flick of his wrist.”
“Edward?” Kate asked.
“No, the son. Rupert. The Christmas Market’s his baby. Big money-spinner for all the shops in the area, so it increases his revenue.”
“I’m sorry, I don’t understand,” Kate said.
“The Sands own the buildings that the shops operate out of and that the market stalls sit on. They pay a base rent of, say, fifteen grand a year, more in some cases, depends on the size of the property, but they also have to pay a premium on top of that. Fifteen per cent of turnover on top of the base rent. So the more each shop and stall makes every year, the more he lines his pockets.”
Jimmy whistled. “That’s a pretty nice earner.”
“Isn’t it, lad. Extortion at half the price.”
“How do you know about this deal?” Kate asked.
There was a harsh clanging from inside the shed and the doors slid open. A small earth mover trundled out with a figure wrapped up so much that Kate couldn’t tell if it was a man or a woman at the wheel.
Malcolm lifted his hand to acknowledge the driver as they passed and waited for the noise to dissipate before he spoke.
“My wife used to run the bike hire out of the old forge on the farm. Robbing bastards drove her to bankruptcy. We nearly lost the bloody house. She had a breakdown. Spent three years popping pills because of those robbing gits.”
“I see. I’m sorry to hear about that, Malcolm.” Kate stuck her hands in her pocket. “Who’s your wife?”
“Pam Slater. She works behind the bar at the Jolly now. Helen and her go way back. Schoolkids together, you know how it is. Anyway, Helen said she couldn’t see us struggling, and took her on in the summer. She works in the kitchen.”
“Was she with you that night?”
“She came down to the front line—that’s what we called it at the campsite—after she finished work. She finished her shift at nine, but there were lots of other people there. All the staff from the campsite, Connie, even Leah was there that night. We were all stood on the white line in the middle of the road, arms linked like we were a bloody barrier ourselves. Just willing the water to stop rising.”
“Did it?” Jimmy asked.
“At me toes, lad.” Malcolm smiled. “At me toes.” He put his hands in his pocket and pulled out a packet of tobacco.
The wind carried the damp, pungent smell to Kate’s nose. It was one that still reminded her of her father. It was almost thirty years since he’d died, but she could still see him sat at her gran’s kitchen table, rolling a ciggie, and doing everything he could not to look at her. For some reason it was the scent of the fresh tobacco that reminded her of him rather than the acrid odour of smoke. Probably because her gran made him light up outside. She shook her head and focused on Malcolm again. “Do you have any idea who it could’ve been? Was there anyone in particular you knew went in there?”
He shook his head. “Like I said, only the kids messing about, and none of them ever turned up missing or anything like that, so…” He stuck the roll-up between his lips and held a lighter to the tip before dragging a deep breath through the poisonous little stick. “Anything else you need from me?”
Kate shook her head and handed him her card. “No, thanks for all your help, Malcolm. If you think of anything else, please give me a call.”
“Will do.” He flicked ash from the tip of the cigarette and limped away.
“So we’ve got nothing useful,” Jimmy said.
“Au contraire, mon ami. We know when our victim died—the fifth of December 2013 after 5 p.m.—and we know he’s a bloke, who had no teeth of his own.”
Jimmy chuckled. “My mistake, sarge. Open-and-shut this one, then.”
“No need for that level of sarcasm, Jimmy,” Kate said as they climbed back into the golf cart and allowed Mr Spink to drive them back to the clubhouse.
CHAPTER 4
Gina parked her beat-up old Astra on the main road and walked the short distance down the gravel path to the schoolhouse. Most other mums had done the same. Trying to find a spot in the tiny school car park was the butt of many a joke. And you couldn’t even think about being able to turn around. There was a reason the teachers—both of them—came to work on bikes.
She nodded to a few people, but most of the women ignored her. After giving her dirty looks. Gina sighed. She couldn’t even blame them. Not really. No matter how much it fucking hurt. They blamed her for the troubles the village was now facing.
The entire fishing fleet—all three boats—were impounded, and the fishermen and captains were either in prison or out of work. Every one of them had a wife or a girlfriend in the village. Many of them had kids that went to school with Sammy. And while Gina had had nothing to do with the drug-smuggling ring that had been discovered, she was the closest they had to someone to blame. The key witness against the criminals was Matt Green, another member of the smuggling ring and also the father of Gina’s daughter, Sammy. As far as the village was concerned, that was strike one.
Add to that the fact that she was the manager at the campsite. The campsite that was the second biggest employer in the village, and the biggest source of tourist pounds that flooded in every season. And the well-known fact th
at the future of the campsite was up in the air was very definitely strike two.
It was now also known that she was seeing Detective Sergeant Kate Brannon. The detective they all credited with bringing down the drug-smuggling ring and inviting misfortune to their doors. Strike three.
Gina was a visible and convenient target for their disapproval and venom.
At least it’s just dirty looks today. She plastered a false smile onto her face as Sammy trundled out of the door beside her teacher. Shit. What now? She glanced at Sammy, but the little girl wouldn’t look up from her shoes. Gina couldn’t see any obvious signs of problems, though. Her dungarees were grime-smeared as they always were at the end of the day, but they were intact. Not a rip or hole to be seen. There was no blood on her face, her hair was still in the twin braids Gina had put it in that morning—just—and she couldn’t see any bruises either. Nothing to indicate that Sammy had been in a fight. She tried to think if they’d missed any of Sammy’s homework assignments, but couldn’t think of anything.
“Miss Temple,” the older woman started. Her brow was furrowed in a tight frown, and her lips had thinned.
Mrs Eastern was a woman who dressed the part of schoolteacher. Hair tied in a bun at the back of her head, her fringe cut over her eyebrows, and spectacles hung from a chain about her neck. A thick turtleneck sweater, royal blue today, and a black skirt made up the rest of her teacher’s uniform. It made her look older than she was, and almost unrecognisable when she was “off duty” and wandering about the streets in her everyday clothes. Gina guessed that was the exact reason why she did it.
“Mrs Eastern.” Gina nodded. “Is something wrong?”
“Perhaps we could go inside and discuss this.” Her voice was stern, her demeanour sour.
Gina felt a knot in the pit of her stomach.
Mrs Eastern’s hand was clamped tightly around Sammy’s shoulder as she turned and led them both back into the schoolhouse. She continued ahead in stony silence through the main entrance, past another two of the mums who volunteered at the afterschool clubs for kids whose parents worked, and into the head teacher’s office.
The head, Mrs Partridge, wore an even deeper frown. She stood up as they all entered the room and pointed to the chairs on the opposite side of her desk. “Please sit down.”
It wasn’t a request.
Sammy moved away from Mrs Eastern and hitched herself into the chair. Mrs Eastern closed the door behind them with a resounding thunk.
Sammy looked up for the first time and grinned at Mrs Eastern.
“Was that stern enough for you, Sammy?” she said. The gentle smile that played across her face made her look younger and much more like the teacher Gina was used to dealing with, despite the many times she’d had to deal with Sammy’s “issues” at school.
“Yep, fanks.”
“Thanks. It starts with a T-H not an F.” She ruffled Sammy’s hair.
“I’m sorry,” Gina said, “but what’s going on?”
“Miss Temple,” Mrs Partridge said, “I’m afraid Sammy’s been having a bit of a rough time of late.”
Gina swallowed and fought the instinct to drop her head. “I know. The past few weeks have been really hard on her.”
Mrs Partridge nodded. “Yes, they have, but I’m not sure you do know. Sammy’s been keeping secrets from you.”
Gina turned to her daughter. “You have? Why?”
Sammy shrugged and looked down at her lap. “S’nuffink, Mum.”
“Sammy, if your teachers are calling me in to see them about it, it most certainly is not nothing. Especially when they’re acting so weird.” Gina glanced at them both. “I’m sorry, but you are. Out there you were all stern and acting like Sammy’s done something wrong, now you’re acting like she hasn’t. What’s going on?”
Mrs Eastern knelt next to Sammy and spoke softly. “Sammy’s been getting a really hard time at school from the other kids. They’re hearing a lot of rubbish from their mums and dads at home, and they’re acting out on it here at school. It isn’t really the kids’ fault, but they’re worried and not sure what’s really happening. They just know that bad stuff is happening.”
“The harbour,” Gina said.
Mrs Eastern nodded. “There are twenty-nine children in this school, Miss Temple, and only Sammy and two other children didn’t have a parent who worked at the harbour, either on the boats, processing the catch, or in what passed for the offices of the fleet, doing the paperwork.”
“I’ve been getting a lot of dirty looks and nasty comments from the other mums when I come to pick Sammy up.” She turned to look at Sammy. “Is that what’s going on?”
Sammy shook her head. “Well, yeah, but not just.”
“Sammy?”
Mrs Eastern ran her hand over Sammy’s head. “At afternoon break I found Sammy at the back of the bins. She had a bloody nose, and was hiding. She didn’t want to come back into class. She also refused to tell me what had happened. She said she fell and hurt herself. I brought her in to Mrs Partridge to deal with the bloody nose and clean her up, but neither of us believed that she’d fallen. I went and asked the class what had happened to Sammy, and every one of them told me that she’d picked a fight with one of the boys, and got hurt when she fell over. But none of them would admit which boy or where the fight happened.”
Mrs Partridge took over the story. “When we told Sammy this, she was understandably upset, and told us the truth. That a group of eight of them had circled her, calling her names, and taking turns pushing and hitting her until she fell on her face, then they ran off laughing.”
Gina was torn. She was so upset for Sammy that she wanted to pull her into her arms and cry with her. But equally she wanted to march up to the little shits that had done this and give them the slapped arse their own parents clearly needed to, but wouldn’t. Violence is not the answer, Gina. She repeated it in her head. Trying to convince herself of its truth. She took a deep breath and exhaled slowly. “Sammy, is this true?”
Sammy nodded.
Gina inched her chair closer to Sammy’s and pulled her into a tight hug. The need to comfort her daughter won convincingly in the end. After all, others were much better placed to deal with bullying children than she was.
“So, what are you going to do to these other kids?” Gina asked. She stroked her hand down Sammy’s hair soothingly. She wasn’t sure if it was soothing Sammy or her, but it was keeping her in her seat instead of going to look for the little bastards and showing them what bullying really was. Mrs Partridge was a good headmistress; she’d have an appropriate punishment in mind. She just knew it.
Mrs Partridge cleared her throat. “Nothing.”
“Nothing! Are you kidding? They’re bullying Sammy, en masse, and you plan to do nothing?” Only Sammy’s weight was keeping her in her chair. She tried to lift Sammy away from her but Sammy clung tight, not willing to be moved.
“It’s what Sammy wants,” Mrs Eastern said quietly.
“With all due respect, Mrs Partridge, she’s nine. You’re the adult here. The teacher. What do you plan to do to stop this from happening again?”
“Miss Temple, if you’d let me explain,” Mrs Partridge started.
“Please do. I can’t wait to hear this.”
“As I was saying, the entire school is affected by the events that unfolded six weeks ago. These children who bullied Sammy today—”
“Attacked. They attacked her.”
Mrs Partridge nodded. “Very well. The children who attacked Sammy today are the children whose fathers are facing jail time for their part in the operation.”
“So is Sammy’s dad.”
Mrs Partridge nodded. “I know, but they blame Mr Green rather than consider him one of them. I’m not saying this is right. On the contrary, it is very, very wrong. But Sammy is coping far better than any of us would have predicted and far better than the other children in her class. In my opinion, that is due to how you have dealt with the situation, and how
Sammy hasn’t been lied to or kept in the dark about what’s happened.”
“Well, I’m sorry, but there are lots of things Sammy doesn’t know about what happened, and to be completely honest with you, I wish she didn’t know half of what she does.”
“I’m sure. Believe me, I understand the sentiment, but the fact remains that in knowing the truth behind the situation, Sammy is able to deal with the consequences of it all much better than her classmates. Taking action against these children will undoubtedly cause a great deal of anguish to children who are already suffering through things they don’t understand. Because of everything Sammy saw, she understands what’s happening in a way the others don’t.”
“So she’s suffered the most and because of that she must continue to suffer. That’s what you’re telling me?”
Mrs Partridge shook her head. “No, not at all. It’s our job to make the children understand the right and wrong of what’s going on and what they’re doing to Sammy. What I’m asking is that you give us time to teach them the things that Sammy already knows. And it will take time, because we are going to have to teach them something that is contrary to what their parents are teaching them at the moment.”
Gina clenched her teeth together. No. She ground her teeth together. Her jaw worked as she tried to contain the anger—no, the rage—that was growing inside her. Sammy had done nothing wrong. She’d witnessed a murder. The gruesome, horrible murder of someone she had loved. Her little girl had seen it in all its wretched detail, and for three awful days she’d believed she’d caused it. For three brutal days, she’d believed she’d killed someone she’d loved. By accident. She needed empathy, some understanding. She needed a little fucking slack, and instead she was being treated like the town whipping boy. It was one thing for the adults to give her dirty looks and snub her. But not her daughter. No. That was going too far. “So let me get this straight. Treating Sammy like she’d done something wrong in the playground was for their benefit?”
Mrs Eastern nodded. “And Sammy’s. If they think she’s being badly treated by us too, they may ease off a bit.”
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