by Joy Ellis
Robbie shook his head. ‘I reckon he’d clam up, and I’m not sure who we would contact anyway. I don’t know much about the Spanish police system.’
‘The Guardia Civil would be my first port of call,’ Jackman said thoughtfully. ‘The Policia Municipal, the local guys, usually just deal with petty stuff. This is part of a murder enquiry, so I think they’d pass it up the ladder, and that would take time.’ He looked at Robbie. ‘Do you really think you could get something out of him?’
‘Yes, sir. When I talked to him last night I picked up some very odd vibes. He seemed scared for some reason, and he was very relieved that she was out of the picture.’ He drew in a breath. ‘I’m sure a late-night heart-to-heart over a bottle of something strong would produce results.’
Jackman raised his hands. ‘Well, it’s up to you what you do and where you go in your time off. Is your passport up to date?’
‘Oh yes.’
‘How long does it take to get there?’
‘London to la Coruna? Just over two hours, I think.’
‘Then you’d better go pack your sunglasses.’
‘Jammy git,’ Max growled. ‘Why didn’t I think of that?’
‘Because your only brain cell is too busy concentrating on a certain WDC.’ Charlie grinned broadly at his friend.
Max and Rosie had been going out for several months now, and Max was clearly very smitten.
Jackman called his detectives to order. ‘Back to work, guys! We need to keep at this. There is only so much that her ex can tell us — and it’s past history. I want to know what Suzanne did just before she disappeared.’
The team returned to their desks, and Jackman called Marie to his office. ‘How are things going with the super’s niece?’
Marie told him what she knew. ‘I really don’t like it, sir. The stalker is too damned clever. It’s far too organised. Carter still thinks it’s a kid who is totally infatuated with Leah, but . . .’ She shook her head.
‘You think otherwise.’
‘I do. But we’ve hit a brick wall. Although I don’t like it, we’ve no alternative but to watch the girl and wait until he tries something else.’
‘Well, I’m about to take a look at the Holland home. It’s remained empty since the night she went missing. Want a short break from obsessive admirers?’
‘Sure, I’ll come with you. I’ll grab a pool car.’ Marie turned to go.
‘Hold on.’ Jackman beckoned her back. ‘How is Carter today?’
‘Last time I saw him he was heads down with Rosie. They seem to be really coming to grips with getting the Cannon family drugs case ready for presentation.’
‘That’s a relief. If anyone can make it watertight, McLean can, but we all know what the Crown Prosecution Service is like.’
Marie nodded grimly. She had seen numerous cases thrown out or stopped by the prosecutor in what was called “discontinuance.” Some of these had taken months, even years of painstaking work. It was galling and disheartening, and she hoped it wouldn’t happen to the Cannon family case.
‘He seems happy enough working with Rosie, don’t you think?’ Jackman asked.
Marie thought for a while. ‘Yes, but as I said before, it’s a double-edged sword. He needs to prove to himself, and us, that he’s fully capable of doing whatever is asked of him, yet he’s scared to move forward. Hence he’s accepted the soft option to help out Rosie. But I’m certain part of him wants to be back in the thick of it.’
‘I get that, don’t you?’
Marie nodded. ‘I also get the feeling he’s a time bomb waiting to go off. Whenever I walk past him I swear I hear ticking.’
‘In that case, I’m going to leave him where he is for the time being. I don’t want to be the cause of a good detective imploding.’
‘He has to get back in the saddle at some point, or he’ll never know if he can ride again. But I’m mighty glad you are taking it slowly.’
‘Damage limitation, that’s all it is. Now, go get a car.’
* * *
Half an hour later, Marie and Jackman were making their way along the Black Sluice towpath. Few people used this lonely stretch of path, which wasn’t exactly pretty.
Jackman looked at the greenish-brown water of the river. ‘Oh dear, what a miserable place to live.’
‘Or die?’
‘Most likely.’
‘Even if it was an area of outstanding natural beauty, violent death is violent death,’ said Marie. ‘It’s horrible no matter where it takes place.’
‘Agreed, but look at this spot.’ He pointed to a dirty piece of police tape still strung across the gateway to an old fen cottage. ‘It’s beyond dismal.’
‘We could have driven down the slip road to the back of the cottage. It’s the only way to get to it in a vehicle.’
Jackman smiled at Marie. ‘I wanted to get an idea of the setting. And I thought a walk might help blow away some of the cobwebs from that overworked brain of yours. I’ve never seen you look so preoccupied. And so bloody tired.’ Marie said nothing. ‘Oh, I know what is worrying you. I just don’t know how to help.’
‘It’ll all come out in the wash, as my mum always says.’ Marie shook her head. ‘I appreciate your concern, Jackman, but I think this is one of those awful times when you just have to wait and see what happens.’
‘How do you see the future for Carter?’
Marie sighed. ‘I dread to think.’
Jackman stared at the sad old property, weathered, tired and unloved. ‘If things are really so dire, Marie, I might have to recommend that he be retired out.’
‘No! You can’t do that, sir! He’s working through it, I know he is. He just needs a bit more time.’ She took hold of his arm. ‘Please, he’s really trying hard. I know I shouldn’t bring all my worries about him to work with me, but with our support, he’ll get stronger. Then he’ll be able to decide which is the right way for him to go.’
Jackman squeezed her hand. ‘Okay, that’s fine by me. But talk to me, Marie, because a problem shared and all that? Don’t shoulder all this alone. I’m here, aren’t I?
‘It’s difficult when someone shares their innermost feelings. You kind of feel you’re betraying them if you talk about it.’
‘I know. But try dumping some of the more mundane stuff on me. I have broad shoulders, you know.’ Jackman flexed an invisible muscle.
Marie smiled. ‘I might just do that.’ She looked over to the old cottage. ‘I like rural, and I like traditional, and sometimes I even like isolated, but I do not like this place.’
Jackman nodded. He turned in a circle and gazed out at the surroundings.
There was the river, with a footpath on both sides. Then an expanse of reeds and water grass that was sometimes covered at very high tide, and then a grassy overgrown bank. Finally, mile upon mile of arable fields, broken only by the odd tree or clump of scrubby bushes. In the distance lay the marshland and the grey waters of the Wash. ‘I can only count three other dwellings in the whole area,’ said Jackman. ‘And the reports state that uniform covered those on a house to house that started right at the beginning of the towpath.’ Jackman took a small pair of birding binoculars from his pocket and focussed on the largest of the three homes. ‘That’s Bittern Lodge. I went there once for a charity ball. Very posh indeed.’
Marie stifled a laugh. It sounded odd coming from Jackman, who looked every inch the wealthy landowner.
‘The Lodge is empty this month. Douglas Fitzpatrick, the owner, is out of the country. He left his contact numbers before he left, so that uniform could do a drive by every so often.’
‘What? No servants?’ Marie pretended to be shocked.
‘None that live in. Times is ’ard, milady, didn’t you know?’
Marie borrowed Jackman’s glasses and surveyed the country house. ‘Doesn’t look that way. Does he use nail scissors to manicure that lawn? There’s not a blade of grass out of place.’
‘He does keep it nice. It wasn�
��t his family home or anything. He purchased it when the original owner went bankrupt and had to sell up.’
Marie turned the glasses on the other two properties, ‘And those two? Isn’t that Mallard’s Farm, the old Curtis place?’
‘It is, and it’s been a building site for months. They’ve just finished revamping it. Bit too modern for me now, but each to their own, I guess.’
‘And the other?’ Marie squinted through the lens at a cluster of dilapidated barns.
Jackman shook his head. ‘Not sure. We’ll check it when we get back.’
‘It looks deserted, but it’s a bit far away to be sure.’
Jackman pursed his lips. ‘Then maybe we should drive round and take a look.’
Marie handed back his binoculars. ‘Definitely. Five minutes across the field pads and you could reach that place from here.’
‘Shall we go inside?’
‘Can’t wait.’ She gave an exaggerated shiver.
Jackman took a key from his pocket and walked up the overgrown path. ‘With the husband tragically killed, and the wife mysteriously missing. No wonder no one comes here.’
‘Jackman? I’ve not read the old reports fully, but why did Tom Holland fly off on a jolly “boys’ outing” with his mates, three days after his wife’s blood was splattered across the lounge carpet?’
‘It’s not very clear, but it seems they’d had a falling out. Tom had walked out and was staying at his mate’s place — Ray Barratt? The groom?’
‘Ah, another of Carter’s dead friends.’
‘That’s the one. As far as we can tell, Tom never knew that anything had happened to his wife.’
‘He can’t have done, can he? He’d hardly have been jetting off on a stag weekend if he knew she had been hurt or abducted.’
‘We have a character profile on Tom Holland, and it would be more than out of character. He was a decent, hardworking lad. I think he would have been devastated, even if they’d had a tiff.’
‘So who found the crime scene?’
‘We did. Well, the local bobby came to break the news of the air crash, but got no answer. When he came back for the second time, he looked through the windows and saw the blood.’
‘And no one had reported her missing?’
‘Apparently not, but then she wasn’t universally liked, or so it seems.’
‘And what was the assumed timescale?’ asked Marie.
‘Forensics thought the incident must have happened about three days prior to the crash.’
Marie gave a little shiver. ‘This is not a lucky house, is it?’
They spent around fifteen minutes in the musty, deserted cottage. Jackman stood for a while longer in the lounge, staring around him and trying to imagine what might have happened. Apart from the discoloured patches on the floor and walls, there was nothing to indicate an altercation or a fight. Whether she was killed or abducted, Suzanne Holland hadn’t struggled. He turned to go. ‘Seen enough?’
Marie nodded. ‘Nothing to see.’
Even so, Jackman hung back. He looked again, trying to absorb every last ounce of atmosphere. Outside, he stared at the ground, at the river, at the sky, and then hurried to join Marie. ‘As I said, a miserable place to live . . . or die?’
CHAPTER TEN
In his lunch break, Carter rang his family solicitor, his financial advisor, his bank manager, and an acquaintance in the property business. If his dead friend could not help the mother of his only child, then Carter McLean most certainly could.
Because of Jack’s warning about the people around Kim, Carter made a few discreet inquiries before he set the wheels in motion. Jack had been right, so cash was out. He would need to set up a series of trusts.
‘They need a safe place to live, too,’ whispered Carter to himself. ‘For a fresh start.’
His property-dealing friend made a few suggestions, and one sounded perfect. There was a small affordable housing complex recently built in one of the fen villages. The village itself had a nursery, a school, a couple of churches, a post office, a bus service and best of all, a bloody good fish and chip shop. What more would she need?
It wouldn’t be done overnight, but in an hour, he had laid the foundations.
This time he would be honest about things. He would go and see Kim as soon as he finished work, and tell her that Jack had been very concerned about her and his daughter and had asked his rich friend Carter for help. End of.
Carter sat back, satisfied. By the end of the day he would know whether his plans for Kim and Phoebe Walker were viable. And if they were, Jack’s child would have a good future to look forward to, and Kim could ditch the vermin that were creeping around her and enjoy being a mother.
He sipped his cooling coffee. Matt’s marathon had been great. Finding Ray’s money had been exhilarating, but helping a mother and child to live a better life had been the most rewarding of all.
Then his shoulders slumped. Because as soon as Jack faded away, it would be time for his fourth friend’s task. He was dreading it.
* * *
Laura Archer was having trouble concentrating on her last consultation of the morning.
The officer concerned ostensibly had multiple problems, but Laura was almost certain that he was trying to work his ticket and get out early with his pension intact.
All the indicators pointed one way. This was not a serious mental health issue at all, just a man desperate to find a way out of a job he could no longer handle. It was sad, but it also made her angry when she thought of Carter McLean.
At last her client left. Laura walked to her desk, flopped down and let out a sigh.
She was still thinking about Carter.
She was happy that his boss, DI Jackman, was aware of her concerns, but even so, she felt uneasy. Laura was certain there was something seriously amiss that she had failed to see. She sighed again. Perhaps she should seek a second opinion.
Laura rubbed her eyes. The first person that came to mind was her old professor, Sam Page. Sam was retired now. He lived close to a bird reserve on the marsh, and spent his time watching his beloved waterfowl. He was always ready for a chat with his star pupil.
Sam was the most astute man Laura had ever met. He was kind, too. He reminded her of her elderly uncle Frank, who had often taken her fishing, and who’d taught her the patience she still used in her work.
She knew Sam’s number by heart.
‘Today I found a nesting Pochard, my dear! You often find them in winter, but a few do stay to nest. I am so lucky! They are an Amber list species, you know, quite beautiful! Will you be coming over to see them?’
Laura gave a little laugh. ‘I’d love to. How about tomorrow afternoon? I have some time free then.’
‘Wonderful! You can grill me about your worrisome patient while we drink tea and watch for Pochards.’
‘What makes you think I have a problem patient? I might be desperately missing your company.’
‘And pigs might fly.’ The old man laughed heartily. ‘But I’m happy to help anyway. I’ll see you tomorrow.’
Laura shook her head. Sam could read her like a book.
She stood up and stretched, hoping he would read Carter McLean as easily.
* * *
Rosie pushed a thick file of statements across the desk to Carter. ‘This is pretty awesome, Sarge.’
‘It’s Carter, according to the new protocol.’
‘No thanks, but whatever, it’s still awesome. I’ve read these half a dozen times and I can’t see a single loophole. You are very good at this, aren’t you?’
‘You’re no slouch either, kiddo. You’ve done a lot of work to bring this together. I’m just mopping up, using a fresh pair of eyes on it.’
‘If the CPS throw this out, I’m going to quit and get a job as a dog food taster.’
‘Nice! Then we’d better hope they accept it.’
Rosie yawned. ‘I’m done in.’
‘Me too,’ said Carter. ‘All this paperw
ork is as tiring as doing a cross-country run.’
‘Fancy a drink after work, Sarge? Max and I were going to call in at the Sea Witch on the way home.’
‘Love to, but I’ve got an appointment. Rain check?’
‘Sure.’ Rosie looked at him. ‘But don’t leave it too long, okay? I know you.’
Carter saluted. ‘Understood.’
He pulled out another file and opened it. One more hour and he would be off to look for Kim Walker, and give her what he hoped was the best news she’d had in years.
* * *
Kim Walker was as cagey as a street kid. It took Carter several minutes to persuade her to let him through the door.
‘It’s a con, isn’t it?’ Kim was slender, in skinny leggings and a graphic T-shirt. Her black hair fell halfway down her back, and her eyes were narrowed to slits.
‘It’s no con, Kim. I really need to speak to you privately.’ Carter heard a thump followed by a string of swear words coming from the room above. ‘Preferably somewhere else.’
‘Tell me exactly who you are again?’
Carter explained that he was Jack’s friend, and the only man to survive the crash. He took out his warrant card and held it out to her. ‘I’m DS Carter McLean from Saltern Division, Fenland Constabulary. I think Jack might have told you about me?’
Light suddenly dawned. ‘The rich git?’
‘That’s me.’ He gave a wry smile.
‘But why now? He’s been dead for eighteen months.’
Good point, thought Carter, Maybe because he only told me yesterday? ‘There has been a lot to sort out, Kim, and I was injured myself. It’s taken me till now to find the courage to deal with everything.’
Her expression relaxed a little, and she nodded. ‘The only one to survive? Yes, I suppose that would take some getting over.’ She looked around. ‘I’ll get Phoebe. Where do you suggest we go?’
‘If it’s all right with you, we’ll take a ride in my car, because there is something I want to show you.’
The distrust returned. ‘A ride? I don’t think so.’
‘Five miles from the town centre, no more. I promise.’
She sighed, went inside and returned with a small dark-haired girl of about three. She was dressed in dungarees with rabbits embroidered on them, and a cowgirl’s check shirt.