by David Blake
‘But…we didn’t know!’
Looking over at Jenny, Tanner said, ‘Come on. We’d better see if we can find a boat that can take us across.’
As the two of them hurried over towards the towpath, Cooper called out after them, ‘What about me?’
‘You can stay there, in case Follett comes back.’
‘But…’
‘And call for backup, whilst you’re at it!’ To Jenny he said, ‘If Burgess is stuck inside that mill with Susan bloody Follett, and if she is who we think she is, then God help him!’
CHAPTER FORTY SEVEN
REACHING THE TOWPATH, they cast their eyes ahead, along the purpose- built moorings that followed the river around a gradual bend. But what would have been lined with cruising boats during the summer months, with more driving up and down, looking for a space, in mid-April was still eerily quiet, and there wasn’t a single boat in sight.
Having walked until they could see round the bend, where the moorings ended, they were about to turn back when they heard the sound of a distant rumble.
‘That sounds like one approaching now,’ said Jenny, as she peered out along the river through the rapidly diminishing light.
To their left the sun was sinking fast, cold shadows stretching out towards them from the bare-branched trees on the far bank.
A moment later she called out, ‘There it is!’ just as the sleek pointed nose of a beautiful wooden motor cruiser came into view.
As Tanner looked, he saw a green light appear on the boat’s near side, followed by a red light on the other side as it rounded the bend in the river.
Using the torch function on her phone, Jenny signalled towards the vessel.
As it began pulling over to their bank of the river, they could see the head of an elderly man above the windscreen.
When she thought he was close enough to hear, she took out her police ID, held it high in the air and called out, ‘Norfolk Police! We need a lift!’
The head nodded in understanding, and a moment later a voice with a thick Norfolk accent drifted over to them saying, ‘I’ll bring ‘er up alongside.’
As the boat came near to the mooring, the engine first slowed, and then sped up briefly as the aft end was expertly reversed in.
When it was close enough, without waiting for it to stop, Jenny reached out, grabbed hold of the hand rail which ran the length of the high wooden coach roof, and resting a foot on the varnished gunwale, pulled herself on board with practised ease.
Tanner did the same, albeit without the elegant grace his young subordinate had shown.
Keeping a firm hold of the railing, he began following Jenny back towards the cockpit. As he did so, the driver put the boat into neutral, spun the wheel hard to port, engaged reverse again to pull the nose out, and then spun the wheel back round the other way as he shifted the gear back into its forward position.
Over the gentle hum of the engine, he called out, ‘Where you head’n?’
‘Can you take us over to Fen Marsh Mill?’ asked Jenny.
‘Aye,’ he replied, as a trusting pair of blue eyes sparkled out from underneath a worn tweed cloth cap.
‘How about you?’ she asked, in return. ‘Where are you off to?’
‘Head’n for ‘orning,’ he replied, ‘but it’s later than I thought.’
‘I take it this is your boat?’ she asked, out of professional curiosity. Hired boats weren’t allowed out on the broads at night, and although it wasn’t dark yet, it most definitely would have been by the time he’d reached Horning.
‘Aye,’ replied the man. Giving the steering wheel a loving pat, as if it were a trusted Labrador, he added, ‘I’ve ‘ad this’un for over twenty yare now.’
Jenny wasn’t too surprised to hear that. It had become a rare sight indeed to see hired wooden motor boats out cruising the Broads, at least none in such cherished condition.
As they began rounding the bend in the river, Jenny saw DI Cooper still standing beside Susan Follett’s car. As they motored around a little more, the tall dark blades of Fen Marsh Mill began to loom into view.
Spying an old wooden jetty at its base, Jenny leaned over towards the driver. ‘Could you drop us off there?’
With a nod, he began steering the Broads motor cruiser over towards the far starboard side of the river, whilst easing back on the throttle.
Jenny and Tanner made their way around the front of the coach roof to the side, where they crouched down and waited.
When the bow of the boat was about a foot away from the jetty, the driver shifted the throttle into neutral, spun the wheel hard to starboard, and then placed the throttle into reverse, expertly sucking the rear end of the boat in so that it nudged gently up against the mooring.
Stepping off the boat with practised ease, down onto a low wooden jetty that creaked in protest as she did, Jenny turned to thank the boat’s owner.
As Tanner jumped off to join her, the old man asked, ‘D’you want me to moor up?’
‘You’re OK,’ replied Jenny. ‘We’ve got a patrol boat coming up from Ludham. They’ll be able to give us a lift back when they get here.’
‘Right you are, miss.’ He rotated the wheel hard to port and pulled the throttle back to begin reversing out.
Watching him motor away, with Fen Marsh Mill looming up behind them, now just a black silhouette against an ever-darkening red sky, Tanner said, ‘Maybe we should have asked him to stay?’
As the boat’s engine burbled into the distance, leaving nothing but the sound of the forever-whispering reeds that seemed to be closing in around them, Jenny was beginning to think the same thing, but she didn’t say so. Instead, she waved to Cooper, still standing on the other side of the river, and called out, ‘We’re going to have a look around. Keep an eye out for a patrol boat. It should be here any time now.’
At his nod of acknowledgment, she turned to take in her surroundings. She’d only ever seen the mill from the river, never up this close, and it was far larger than she’d expected.
Hearing something move in the reeds to his left, Tanner whipped his head around to see the outline of what looked to be a rowing boat, moored up at the very far end of the jetty they were standing on, but in such a way that it would be hidden by the reeds from anyone trying to see it from the river.
Pointing at it, in a low voice he asked, ‘Do you think that’s what she used to get over here?’
Jenny picked her way carefully over the long-neglected jetty, which creaked and rocked under her feet.
Kneeling down to take a closer look, she noted that although the rope that had been used to tie it to the jetty looked as old as the boat, the knot had been tied recently. Also, the oars which rested inside the boat, with the handles nestled in their pivoting rowlocks, were still wet.
Over her shoulder, she said, ‘I suspect so, yes. And it’s been used very recently as well. She must be here!’
As Tanner glanced around at Fen Marsh Mill behind them, which was now nothing more than a vast black shadow, in the same quiet tone he asked, ‘If she is, then where the hell is Burgess?’
CHAPTER FORTY EIGHT
LEAVING THE ROWING boat where it was, Jenny crept back over the jetty to join Tanner, who by then had found more sure footing on solid ground.
As she approached, she tilted her head back to stare up at the giant wooden blades, hanging motionless above their heads.
‘There should be an entrance here somewhere,’ she said, and began leading the way around the base of the mill.
About a quarter of the way around, she found a small wooden door covered in layer upon layer of flaking white paint. ‘Here, sir.’
By then, Tanner was having serious misgivings about going inside. After all, they were contemplating the idea of entering the property of a suspected serial killer unarmed, without even having taken the precaution of wearing stab vests.
‘How long until you think that patrol boat will get here?’ he asked.
‘Maybe ten minutes
.’
‘OK, then I think we’re going to have to wait for them.’
‘But what about Burgess?’
‘What about him?’
‘What if he’s stuck inside, with her?’
‘All the more reason to wait!’
Seeing Jenny’s hand still resting on the door handle, he whispered, ‘Look, Jen, it’s just too risky! She could be waiting for us behind the door armed with God knows what. Let’s get back to the jetty and see if there’s any sign of that patrol boat.’
Jenny was about to do as Tanner had suggested, when she heard a sound coming from inside the mill.
‘Hold on,’ she said. ‘Did you hear that?’
Tanner didn’t reply. He may have heard something, but couldn’t be sure.
Remaining motionless, they listened again, but the air was still. Even the breeze that had been blowing through the reeds had fallen away.
From over to the west came the distant sound of a bittern, a rarely heard wading bird unique to the Broads, its booming call carrying over the wet reeded landscape towards them. But that wasn’t what Jenny had heard.
After a moment or two’s silence, Tanner eventually asked, ‘What am I supposed to be listening for?’
‘I thought I heard someone calling from inside the mill.’
‘Are you sure?’
Then the sound came again, but it was much louder that time.
It was a distinct call for help.
‘It’s Burgess!’ declared Jenny.
‘Shit!’ said Tanner. She was right. It had sounded like Burgess, which meant that they had no choice, or at least he didn’t.
Having made the decision, he said, ‘OK, I’m going in, but you’re waiting out here.’
‘Sorry boss, but that ain’t gonna happen!’
Seeing the look of firm resolve stamped over her face, Tanner capitulated.
‘Fair enough,’ he began, ‘but I’m going in first, and you must stay close!’
Nodding in agreement, Jenny stood to one side to allow Tanner to take her place beside the door.
He turned the handle and eased the door open, just enough to look through the gap.
Inside the mill it was pitch black. The air was cold and damp, and clinging to it was a thick, pungent smell which Tanner instantly recognised. It was the raw stench of decomposing flesh.
Tanner pulled out his phone and turned on its torch app.
With Jenny doing the same, he pushed the door open and checked behind it.
There was nobody there.
Realising he’d been holding his breath, he let it out with relief.
Following the beam of light, he stared around.
From what he could see, it looked as if the mill had been converted into a home at some point. In the middle of the floor was a large rug on which sat two settees; both double. They’d been positioned in an L-shape around a low wooden coffee table, on top of which were a collection of mugs, newspapers and magazines. Along the far wall was a very basic kitchen made up of a simple work surface, a sink, and a bin underneath, crammed full to the point of overflowing. On the work surface was a double camping gas stove, and scattered around that was a mess of dirty plates, mugs, and unopened tins of food.
Looking over to his right, Tanner could see a staircase that led around the mill’s conical shaped inner wall, up to a floor above. But there was neither sight nor sound of anyone; no Burgess, no Susan Follett.
Before stepping all the way in, Tanner called out, ‘Norfolk Police! Is anyone here?’
They listened to his voice echo out around them, but there was no response.
Tanner whispered, ‘We’d better take a look upstairs.’
He pushed open the door a fraction more, and with extreme caution, made his way inside.
Jenny followed him to the base of the staircase, chasing shadows around the mill with their torches as they did.
‘What is that smell?’ questioned Jenny.
Placing his foot on the first of a dozen or so steps, Tanner replied, ‘I’m not sure, but whatever it is, I think it’s coming from up there.’ He shone his torch up at a large rectangular hole that had been cut in the ceiling, to which the staircase led.
Keeping his torch light focussed on the hole, he began making his way up.
When the top of his head was level with the ceiling, he stopped, checking behind him to make sure Jenny was still there. Then, with his heart beating hard inside his chest, he raised his head just enough so that he could peer over the edge of the floor of the room above.
If the smell was bad downstairs, it was far worse up there.
He ran the torch beam around.
In the middle of what was a much smaller room than the one below were a row of three dark wooden cots, each with slatted sides. He could see that the one nearest to him was empty, but within each of the others was a small blanket-covered bundle.
Apart from an old wooden rocking chair under a small window, and a wardrobe next to a chest of drawers at the other end, he couldn’t see anything else.
Having followed the torch’s light around the full circumference, he eased himself out onto the floor, before turning to offer Jenny his hand.
Once she’d stepped through the hole and was able to see the whole room, she said, ‘It looks like some sort of a nursery!’
‘Doesn’t it!’ agreed Tanner.
Creeping up to the middle of the three cots, Tanner shone his torch inside to stare down at the tiny bundle lying there, wrapped up neatly in a white woollen blanket. For a moment, he couldn’t work out what he was looking at. Where he’d expected to see the angelic face of a sleeping baby, instead was an undulating mass of blackness, which glistened as it moved in the light of his torch.
Curious, he reached out his hand to touch it.
The moment he did, a sickening swarm of flies launched itself into the air, hurtling towards his face.
Stumbling back, he lashed out wildly at them, only for them to vanish just as quickly as they’d appeared.
Jenny shone her torch into the cot to see where they’d come from.
Staring up at her from out of the top of the blanket was a tiny baby’s head; its skin red and blistered, from out of its nose leaked blood-filled pus, and where its eyes should have been were nothing more than two gaping holes, each one crawling with maggots.
Jenny gagged once, then turned to throw up violently over the floor.
‘What the hell is it?’ asked Tanner, forcing himself back to the edge of the cot. ‘My God! It’s…a…’
But he couldn’t bring himself to say the word, not out loud.
As flies began returning to what looked like the remains of a foetus, Tanner heard something move, just beyond the third cot.
Tearing his gaze away, he aimed his torch towards the sound. There, hidden behind the last cot was the body of a man, slumped up against the wall, his head resting to one side.
‘Burgess!’
Racing over to him, Tanner fell to his knees.
‘Jesus Christ! Burgess! Are you all right?’
But it was clear from the outset that he wasn’t.
In the light from his torch Tanner could see that blood had soaked his shirt around his stomach, over which his hand lay, and was spreading out around where he sat.
Burgess’s eyes flickered open.
Without moving his head, he looked up at Tanner, and with a faltering voice, said, ‘The bitch. She stabbed me!’
‘You’ll be all right, don’t worry,’ said Tanner, with as much conviction as he could muster.
Pulling his tie from around his neck, he called behind him, ‘Jenny! I could do with your help here!’
As he waited for her to come, Tanner laid his phone on the ground so that the light shone up towards the ceiling. With both hands now free, he rolled his tie up before moving Burgess’s hand away from where he assumed the knife wound was. Finding a deep gash in his upper abdomen, just below his rib cage, he said, ‘This is going to hurt.’
>
Using the rolled-up tie, he plugged it into the hole.
As Burgess writhed in agony, Tanner called out, ‘Jenny, where the hell are you?’
‘Over here!’ came a woman’s voice from out of the darkness. But it wasn’t Jenny’s.
CHAPTER FORTY NINE
TANNER CURSED UNDER his breath. He knew who it was, and he knew what must have happened.
Before replying, he lifted Burgess’s hand again to place down on top of the rolled-up tie. As he did so, he whispered gently into his ear, ‘Keep that held there, and try not to move.’
Reaching over to retrieve his phone from the floor, he slowly got to his feet, turning around as he did.
Ahead of him, just to the side of the cot where he’d seen the decomposing remains, was Susan Follett, her mass of permed hair tied back behind her head.
Locked in her arms, directly in front of her, stood Jenny.
In the light of his torch, Tanner could clearly see the cold sharp blade of a large kitchen knife resting up against the delicate white skin of Jenny’s neck, stained red with what he assumed to be Burgess’s blood. His attention was distracted by one of Susan Follett's earlobes, which he couldn't help but notice had been ripped in half. The butterfly-shaped earring they'd found under the bridge must have belonged to her, torn off when she’d attacked and killed Jane Richardson.
Taking in Jenny's face, despite it being as pale as the moon and etched over with fear, he could see her eyes still held a look of defiant courage.
‘Are you all right, Jen?’ he asked.
‘Oh, she’s fine, aren’t you, Jen?’ said Susan, pulling her head back by her hair to stare into her eyes.
‘I’m OK,’ came Jenny’s hesitant response.
‘Although saying that,’ continued Susan, ‘she probably won’t be, not after I’ve opened up her throat, right in front of you.’
‘There’s no need for that, Miss Follett!’ stated Tanner. ‘And besides, we didn’t come here for you. We came looking for our colleague, DI Burgess, who’s still alive. So if you let us go, all three of us, we won’t be any more trouble.’